“Emergency supplies, Boa.”
Spike returned and Vivian did her best to ignore the women who sat inside by the window pretending, pathetically, not to stare.
Spike poured water from a plastic glass into a saucer and put it on the table. Apparently he’d decided he was irresistible to dogs, even small, feisty dogs who weren’t keen on men.
A Land Rover pulled into the shade of a dogwood tree at the edge of the sidewalk and right in front of All Tarted Up. The dark-haired man who got out, jangling keys in his palm, was the type who got noticed.
“Hi, Marc,” Spike said. “How you holding up?”
The man shook his head slowly but gave a wide smile when he said, “The final months are the hardest.”
Spike introduced Vivian to Marc Girard, Dr. Reb’s tanned, black-eyed husband. “He pretends he’s working out there at Clouds End,” Spike said. “Bein’ an architect. Doodling more likely.”
“And taking care of Reb,” Marc said. “Time to take that woman home. I don’t like her walking around in this heat.” He lost the smile and studied Vivian. “I heard what happened at Rosebank yesterday—and about that ass Bonine. I’m sorry for your trouble. Let us know if we can do anything.” He clapped a hand on Spike’s shoulder and went into the shop.
Spike watched Marc go, then he scratched Boa’s head and carefully lifted her little body from the basket.
“Spike! Watch out.”
The man took no notice of Vivian and set Boa on the table where she went straight for the water, scowling at Spike each time she paused for breath.
“Dogs don’t belong on the table.”
“My friend, Dr. Reb, taught me how dogs have less germs than people.”
“That doesn’t extend to the feet they walk through…through everything on.” She felt eyes through the window again and her spine straightened. Looking directly into Thea’s face, Vivian smiled—and Thea smiled back. The woman did her job at Rosebank enthusiastically and often mentioned how glad she was for the chance. She’d probably known Doll Hibbs for years and was used to the woman’s rude curiosity.
Behaving as if having the town’s law officer hover over her and her dog was nothing out of the ordinary could be the best way to go. Vivian waved at Thea who waved back and grinned. Wazoo waved, too, and Vivian wondered why the woman had chosen to dust her face and hair with white powder.
Boa was on her second helping of water and actually paused to lick drops from Spike’s fingers.
Vivian watched the man turn his hand this way and that and got a tingling sensation in her limbs. The slightest thing about him heated her up. She glanced at his face. Spike held the tip of his tongue between his teeth while he smiled at the dog. Vivian stifled a groan and looked away. He had a mouth she’d never forget, not the way it looked, or the way it felt.
“I’m not much for audiences,” he said, inclining his head toward the bakery window. “How about taking a walk with me?”
She breathed in air too warm to expand her lungs. “Why would we take a walk together?”
“You aren’t helping me out here, Vivian.”
“You’re a strong type. You don’t need help, least of all from a woman—a woman in trouble no less.”
What did they call those things? Spike mused. Pheromones? That was it, Vivian’s pheromones and his own did something happy together.
“Afternoon, Spike.” Ellie Byron walked by. Ellie owned Hungry Eyes, a bookstore and café with two apartments above it, one of which Samie Machin called home. The cottage Bill leased stood in a sizeable enclosed garden behind the building.
“Afternoon, Ellie,” Spike said. “You met Vivian Patin and her pit bull, Boa?”
Ellie stopped and seemed edgy before she held her hand out to Boa who turned her back. “You’re out at Rosebank,” Ellie said to Vivian. “I love that house. Your uncle Guy was a lovely man.”
Vivian nodded and shaded her eyes to see Ellie better.
“I did a few book searches for him and took stuff out there when I got it in. A really kind, good man. He knew so much about so many things—particularly antiques. But he’d dealt in them for years when he was younger. He used to call me up and tell me he’d cleaned out some books and I could have them. That usually meant he’d decided to part with one or two of the thousands he had. And then I had to hang on to them for a while to make sure he didn’t change his mind.” She clucked her tongue. “You don’t need me to tell you about your own uncle.”
“I loved him,” Vivian said. “When I was a kid, coming to Rosebank was like getting into Aladdin’s cave. He gave me the run of the house. ‘Take an apple with you,’ he always said when I took off around the place after breakfast. It’s huge, did you realize that?”
“Oh, I surely did…Well, will you listen to me, forgetting myself.” She held out a hand. “Ellie Byron. Hungry Eyes at the other end of the square belongs to me. Books and gifts, mostly books—new and used. And the iced tea is always free. There’s a little café, too. That’s not free.” She smiled and laughter in her eyes transformed her serious expression.
“My kind of place,” Vivian said, liking this woman but wishing she could be alone with Spike again. “You weren’t always there, though.”
“About two years now,” Ellie said. “The place used to be Connie and Lorna’s Eye For Books. For the first year I managed the shop, then Connie and Lorna moved to Rayne to open a Mardi Gras costume business. That’s when I bought them out.”
“I’ll visit you,” Vivian promised.
The afternoon felt airless but there was enough of a cross current to move Ellie’s short brown curls. When she smiled she looked even younger than she probably was. A pretty woman with a voluptuous body under the loose gauze dress she wore. Ellie’s bright blue eyes were the only jarring note. Beautiful, faintly upswept eyes—too old in their depths and wistful even when she laughed.
She cleared her throat and fidgeted. “You’re having a hard time,” she said. “I can only imagine what you’ve been through with your father’s death and now this thing that happened at Rosebank. I’m very sorry.”
Vivian glanced briefly at Spike. “Thank you, you’re kind.”
“See you at the shop one day, then,” Ellie said. She hovered as if she had more to say, but then she walked on. “Good to meet you. Bye, Spike.”
Spike and Vivian said, “Bye,” in unison and as soon as Ellie was out of earshot, Spike told Vivian, “We need to talk but not here.”
“Where?” she asked, her heart pounding in her throat.
“Do you have your own car or did Madge—”
“I brought my own. It’s parked near your station. Madge said that’s where smart people park because it’s safe.”
He didn’t comment on that. “Leave it there. Walk to my car with me. If we go to the office someone will hear about it and some folks will come to the wrong conclusions.”
“Are you embarrassed to be seen with me?” she asked him. “Or afraid of guilt by association?”
He held her arm and helped her to her feet. The way he looked at her made Vivian squirm and his hard fingers ground the bones in her forearm.
“What is it with you?” he said. “Are you trying to goad me? I’m afraid of very little, and you don’t qualify at all. And embarrassed to be seen with you? Hell, I’m not wasting my breath on that. Common sense is never a bad idea though, cher. Toussaint, birthplace of gossip. And that’s about the way it is, so for your sake I don’t want anyone getting the wrong idea. Like I’m questioning you officially.”
“The inevitable?”
“Almost inevitable. Some could already be linking our names. If they get serious about it because we give them reasons, that will not be a good thing. Walk.”
Spike handed Vivian her basket and swept Boa under his arm. She figured a dog attack wouldn’t be long in coming and could be ugly—and when Spike Devol blamed Boa for biting him, Vivian would tell him she had witnesses to the fact that he’d been warned the animal coul
d be hostile.
A man’s firm hand at her waist felt better than it ought to. This man’s hand felt fantastic.
They walked down one side of the town square—which had a triangle of grass decorated with painted gnomes, stone animals and plastic flamingoes at its center. Santa and his sleigh were kept permanently ready to be illuminated for the holidays.
By the time they reached Spike’s official Ford, Vivian could see her van in the distance.
Spike opened the passenger door for her and closed it once she was inside. Her ducked head, the way she frowned through the windshield made him look around expecting to see something or someone nasty. Not a thing. He checked her out again and shook his head. Boa had wriggled around until she could rest her head on his shoulder and he figured the boss wasn’t believing what she was seeing.
“Daddy! Daddy!”
Wendy’s voice surprised him and he swung toward the buildings. She ran down the steps of the gaudy Majestic Hotel and leaped into his free arm. “Hey, sweets, where’s your gramps?” he said and barely stopped himself from asking who was taking care of business.
“He’s talkin’ to Mr. Hibbs. He let me sit on the steps as long as I ran back inside if anyone came. I saw Wally, too. He said I was a baby. He’s eleven, you know. But he let me see Nolan. Oh, Daddy, you bought us a dog. You said you wouldn’t, but you did.”
Spike’s daughter bubbled and smiled, and scratched between Boa’s ears with small, slightly grubby fingers.
The subject had to be changed until he could think of the best way to get out of the dog thing. “You couldn’t have seen Nolan,” he told her. “Nolan went to tarantula heaven.”
“This is Nolan two. That doesn’t mean he’s Nolan, too, just that he’s another Nolan. He’s got cute legs. They’re all fuzzy.”
Spike kissed her nose, hugged her tight, and thought as he so often did that he was one lucky man.
Inside the car Vivian watched with a smile on her lips and tears in her eyes. And she felt like a complete outsider. The little girl had to be Wendy. Pretty small for five, Vivian thought, not that she was an expert. Straight, tow-colored braids stuck out from the sides of her head, and an impishly upturned, freckle-spattered nose balanced a pair of pink glasses with round lenses. Thin arms and legs. Wendy was the kind of waiflike child Vivian invariably had an urge to gather up and care for.
Spike talked to Wendy as if no one else existed on earth. He sat her comfortably on a forearm and she held on tight with both arms around his neck. Bows at the ends of her pigtails matched the fabric in a blue floral dress she wore tied with a sash around the waist. The dress seemed old-fashioned but well-cared-for and whoever combed her hair had practiced.
Vivian had passed the Majestic a few times but never really saw it clearly until now. Thea had told her how Doll Hibbs figured the place was all the hotel the area needed.
Lime green walls and a lilac-colored, gold crosshatched dome on top of a tower at one side made for a lot of visual interest.
“You’ve got a prisoner in your car, Daddy,” Wendy whispered in Spike’s ear, her sunny smile giving way to a frown. “Is she dangerous?”
“Oh, yeah—what am I sayin’, of course she’s not dangerous, and she’s not a prisoner. That’s Miz Vivian Patin. Remember that big house where we went to pick roses one time? Rosebank? Vivian and her mother live there now.”
“Why is she in your car?”
Five-year-olds could have one-track minds. “I’m going to drive her to her vehicle. This is her dog, Boa.”
The frown grew ferocious. “Why are you carrying the dog, Daddy? Is the lady hurt? Can’t she carry her dog? He’s very small.”
“She,” Spike said automatically. He needed a smooth retreat from the brink of disaster. The worst thing he could do would be to make too much out of this. “Vivian’s a nice lady. I know she’ll let you pet her dog if you ask nicely.”
“Why are you carrying the dog, Daddy?” Now the tone was stubborn and behind the owlish lenses, Wendy’s hazel eyes were worried.
“Just bein’ polite and helpful,” he said, feeling foolish. He did the only thing he could think of to do and approached the passenger window on the Ford. Vivian rolled it down. “Vivian, this is my daughter, Wendy. Wendy, say hello to Miz Patin.”
“Vivian. Call me Vivian, Wendy. You have the cutest pigtails.”
Wendy reverted to her hair-tugging, pouty act and didn’t answer.
“Did you meet my dog, Boa?” Vivian got out of the car. “She’s a Chihuahua but she thinks she’s a lion. D’you know what I mean?”
Wendy regarded Boa, reached to stroke the dog and received a lick on the mouth with a giggle. “Lions don’t kiss people,” Wendy said. “I don’t think she wants to be a lion.”
Spike met Vivian’s eyes over his daughter’s head. “My father’s here,” he said, indicating the Majestic. “Come on in and meet him—and Gator Hibbs.”
He could see how much she wanted to refuse, and how she argued herself into giving a nod and going up the hotel steps past the colored whirligigs Doll stuck in planters on either side of the door. It would be easy enough to let her off the hook, but she might as well see how different their lives were.
Inside the vestibule they were confronted with rose-covered stained glass in the interior door. Spike reached around Vivian to turn the handle and let them in. Immediately, Wendy wriggled from his arms and ran across the shabby lobby to the room where hotel guests were invited to sit and watch television in the evenings.
Vivian saw there were people in the room Wendy had disappeared into and turned away blindly, walking straight into Spike’s chest. Boa whined.
“Hey, hey,” Spike said quietly. “Nothing fearsome here. Just inconvenient. We’ll have that talk soon, just as soon as we deal with my dad. I warn you, he’s unconventional.”
“Give Boa to me. They’ll have one less thing to wonder about.”
He handed over the dog. Little, showy dogs weren’t his thing, or they never had been.
Wendy dashed back and took her father’s hand to drag him with her into a room papered with more roses, these climbing brown lattices. Cabbage rose chintz covered sagging chairs and two couches. Wendy didn’t smile at Vivian and Spike decided he’d be chatting with his girl later. She knew better than to be rude.
His father and Gator Hibbs had got to their feet when they saw Vivian. Gator wore his customary T-shirt, baggy overalls and ingenuous grin. He wiped his palms on his pants. Good old Homer did what only he could do so well, he got rid of any expression at all.
Vivian stood up tall and met Gator Hibbs’s eyes. He pushed a sweat-stained Achafalaya Gold Casino baseball cap far back on his head. He nodded and hovered, probably waiting for someone to say he could put his round rear back in the chair.
A tall man who could be in his seventies eased forward from the windowsill where he’d been sitting. His hair was still thick and peppered the way blond hair did when it was time to turn gray. A thin face, clean-shaven, and eyes a darker shade of blue than Spike’s gave the impression that Homer Devol was sharp. Vivian could see the lines of the son’s face in the father’s—but no trace of the optimism she saw in Spike’s expression from time to time, or any hint of his knock-’em-dead smile.
“You must be Spike’s dad,” she said, extending a hand. “You’ve got your hands full with the business and a little girl to care for—but Wendy sure is cute.”
“Wendy’s no trouble. Never was. Never will be to me.” He took his time to shake her hand.
Strike one.
“I’m Vivian Patin, Guy Patin’s niece. My mother and I moved into Rosebank.”
“I know who you are,” Homer said. “Reckon just about everyone for miles around does.”
She was proud of her smile and her nonchalance. “And to think some people go looking for fame,” she said. “I like a quiet life myself, not that Mama and I have a choice until this horrible thing is finished with.”
“Who’s keepin’ shop,
Pops?” Spike asked. The cold tone of his voice startled Vivian.
Homer’s still sharp chin came up. “Ozaire. Said he was glad to do it, just like he usually does. I’m gonna give him a reel he’s had his eye on.”
Spike’s hands dropped to his sides and he made fists. “You left Ozaire Dupre at our place? The opposition?”
“You never used to mind.” Homer shrugged. “You gotta trust people. Ozaire’s honest.”
“Sure he’s honest. He’s probably making an honest effort to sabotage my crawfish boiler. And while we’re talking about dumb-ass things to do—Wendy alone on the stoop qualifies, damn it all.”
Homer colored and looked away and Vivian felt terrible for both men.
“Hey Pops,” Spike said, raising his palms. “Sorry for sounding off. I’ve got a lot on my mind.”
“I can see that,” Homer said, looking at Vivian. “Better concentrate, boy. I hear that Errol Bonine’s on your case again. I don’t want to be visitin’ your beat-up body in the hospital again.”
Spike set his jaw. “Did Claude’s order get picked up?”
“Sure,” Homer said. “The woman came from the houseboat in her pirogue. Never could figure why a man like Claude would live in the swamps the way he does, him bein’ clever and all.”
“He pays promptly,” Spike said, still grim. “Most of those bayou folks are good business.”
Mumbling incoherently, Gator slid from the room and his feet could be heard clumping up the stairs.
From the corner of his eye, Spike saw Wendy start chewing the skin around her fingernails, something she only did when her beloved Gramps and Daddy were on the outs. He made himself relax. Later he’d deal with his father. Now he was under the gun with other things. “I’ll behave myself, Pop,” he said and grinned at Wendy. “Tell Gramps I can be good if I try.”
Wendy giggled.
Homer looked at his pocket watch. “Watch yourself on the steps, Miz Patin. Spike, maybe you better come on out to the place and make sure Ozaire hasn’t gotten up to anything.”
Kiss Them Goodbye Page 9
