by D P Lyle
“As could you.”
“No doubt.” She stood and began unbuttoning her blouse.
“Let me make a call first.” Tony picked up his cell from the bedside table and scrolled through his contacts, found what he wanted, and pressed the number. Ray Longly answered after only one ring.
“This is Tony Guidry. We need to talk.”
“You must be reading my mind,” Ray said. “I was just getting ready to call you and say the same thing.”
“Seven thirty. Dickie Brennan’s over on Iberville. I’ll grab a private room there. The Champagne Room.”
“Will do.”
When he hung up, Melissa, now down to only panties, walked over and pressed her tight abdomen against his face, her fingers sliding through his hair.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
“TONY GUIDRY?” NICOLE asked. “He wants to have a chat?”
“Actually, dinner.”
“You’re kidding.”
“It’s what Ray said.”
We were in our room at the Monteleone, lying on the bed. Ray had just called and told me about the meet and greet that evening. I had been reading from my self-defense book, getting more dangerous by the day. This chapter definitely so. Dealt with how to kill or severely incapacitate someone with various blows to the throat. Even the diagrams were gruesome. I had told Nicole that, showed her the line drawings. She said I was a wimp and went back to watching HGTV where a couple was remodeling a house.
She muted the TV. “Why would he want to talk with us?”
She rolled toward me and propped up on one elbow. I wore cotton drawstring pants, no shirt; Nicole, one of my tee shirts that rode up as she turned, revealing a nearly nonexistent black thong.
Now, where was I? Oh yeah. Kirk, DNA, Tony.
“I guess the DNA results have him rattled,” I said. “I mean, to me, it seemed he was dead-solid sure Kirk was the one that killed Kristi.”
“He wasn’t alone in that assumption.”
“You?” I asked.
“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have some doubts, but no, not really. My gut tells me he didn’t do it.”
“Not to mention the gypsy woman,” I said.
She punched my ribs. Hard.
“Hey, I was just—” I couldn’t come up with the right words. Then I did. “Pulling your leg.”
“I know what you were doing.”
“And I do love doing that.”
“What? Giving me shit?”
“No. Doing stuff with your legs.”
“Stuff?”
“Maybe that’s not the right word.”
She laughed. “But it’s the sentiment that counts.” She nestled in the crook of my arm. “What time’s the dinner meeting?”
“Seven thirty.”
“That means we have some down time.” She ran her hand across my abdomen, lower. “Or up time.”
Lord, I love the way she thinks. The book outran gravity on its way to the floor. She rolled on top of me.
“Pancake didn’t need to give you that bat,” she said with a laugh. “You already have one.”
“Shut up and do me.”
“Do you?” She sat up, straddling me. “You are such a pig.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be. It’s cute on you.”
Thirty minutes later, we lay there trying to catch our breath.
“You’re kind of fun,” Nicole said. “Maybe I’ll keep you.”
“Funny.”
She rolled away from me and stretched, her body all naked and perfect. “Maybe I’ll jump in the shower and then get dolled up.”
“You’re dolled up right now.”
“I think if I went this way, I’d be a distraction.”
“You will be anyway.”
“Isn’t that part of my job? Distract the bad guys while Ray fillets them?”
I gave her a look. “You’re getting dangerous.”
She slid off the bed, picked up my book from the floor, and handed it to me. “Here. Try to catch up.”
“Bitch.”
“Pig.”
And with that she disappeared into the bathroom.
By six o’clock we were ready to go. I decided on tan slacks, white golf shirt, and a black sports coat. Nicole a plain black dress that was far from plain on her. Low-cut and short, only reaching mid-thigh, exposing those legs. Lean, mean, athletic, and perfect. Her hair was pulled back and bound into a ponytail by a polished gold clasp that matched her hoop earrings. Lipstick pink. To match her new nail color, she said.
We headed toward the bar. While we waited for the elevator, I called Ray and said we’d meet him and Pancake there.
I had hoped for a seat at the Carousel Bar, but, as usual, it was filled. I still hadn’t ridden it. We moved past and saw the twins at one of the two-tops along the windows that looked out on Royal.
“How was the rest of the day?” Nicole asked as we approached.
“Good. We’re back on schedule and have a short day tomorrow,” one of them said.
Unfortunately, they weren’t wearing their named tee shirts, both now in jeans and dark green silk blouses.
“Want to join us for a drink?” Nicole asked, motioning to the vacant sofa and chairs nearby.
“Sure,” the other twin said. They grabbed their wine glasses, and we settled around the pair of thick glass coffee tables. Nicole and I on the sofa, the twins flanking us in chairs.
“That’s Tara,” Nicole said, nodding toward the twin to our left.
“You can tell?” Tara asked, glancing at her sister.
“Sometimes. Depends on the light.”
“Wow,” Tegan said. “You’re like maybe the third or fourth person ever.”
Nicole shrugged.
“She won’t tell me how,” I said.
Nicole laughed. “It’s on a need-to-know basis.”
Tara laughed, too. “Love a girl who can keep a secret.” She raised her wine glass to Nicole.
“It’s not fair,” I said. “I want to join the club.”
Nicole mussed my hair. “No boys allowed.”
They all laughed. I didn’t. But I did plaster on a fake pout.
The waitress appeared and we ordered. Me, a Blantons on the rocks; Nicole, red wine. The twins, another round of dirty martinis.
“That was pretty crazy today,” Tegan said. “All that techie stuff.”
“It wasn’t bad, though,” Tara said. “And maybe it’ll help find the real killer.” She looked at her sister. “And get Kirk off the hook.”
“Will it do that?” Tegan asked. “Get him out of this mess?”
“Maybe,” I said. “It does create reasonable doubt. But whether a jury sees it that way or not is anybody’s guess.”
“Let me ask you girls this,” Nicole said. “You know Kirk about as well as anyone after all these years. Is there anyone out there you think would hold a grudge strong enough to do this? To set him up?”
“Or Kristi?” Tegan said. “Couldn’t it be her that was the target?”
“I thought so,” I said. “That she might be the one that brought all this down. But, the one thing I couldn’t get around was, if that’s the case, why do it in a hotel room? A movie star’s room? Seems very risky to me. If she was the target, it seems that some other location would be easier. Such as at her apartment or on the street.” I shrugged. “Not to mention I’m not sure anyone around these parts would have the huevos to kill Tony Guidry’s niece. Seems to me that would be a suicide mission.”
Nicole looked at me. “But if somebody gave her a loaded joint, doesn’t that play into this?”
“Unless they thought she’d do it at home,” I said. “Make sneaking in much easier if she was out of it and alone, rather than in a hotel room.”
Nicole nodded. “That makes sense.”
“Of course it does.” I smiled. “I’m very clever that way.”
“Jake, even a blind dog finds a bone every now and then.”
I shook
my head. “That sentiment aside, in the end, Kirk being the bad guy is still in play. I can suspect that Assistant DA Mooring is already working how to spin this. Maybe even get it tossed by the judge.”
“True,” Nicole said, “but back to my question. Anyone you can think of?”
The twins exchanged a glance, then Tara said, “We love Kirk to death. But we also know he’s a player.”
“Big-time,” Tegan added.
“Meaning?” I asked.
“He hasn’t always been the nicest guy,” Tara said. “He picks up women all the time. And I mean all the time. He has a brief fling and then they’re gone.”
“And he’s not the kindest person I know at breaking up,” Tegan said. “More than once, it’s been a text or a voice message.”
“Or nothing,” Tara said. “He just doesn’t call. Or answer calls.”
“You dated him once, didn’t you?” Tegan asked Nicole. “What’s your take on him?”
Nicole shrugged. “I wouldn’t say we dated. We went out a couple of times.” She glanced at me. “Nothing physical. We were friends who went to dinner a couple of times. A party once. That’s it.”
“You were lucky, I guess,” Tegan said.
“Truth is he wasn’t my type. I knew he was into hit and run. One-night stands. That sort of thing. And we had no real chemistry anyway.” She smiled. “Besides, a girl doesn’t want to go out with a guy that’s prettier than she is.”
“What?” Tara said. “You’re beautiful.”
Nicole laughed. “But he’s more so.”
“Not to me,” I said.
“Are you trying to get in my pants?” Nicole asked.
“Again?”
That got a laugh from everyone.
“Wasn’t there an old actor that had that rap? Big-name actresses wouldn’t work with him because he was so good-looking?”
“John Derek,” Nicole said. “That was the rumor anyway. He sure was hot as Joshua in The Ten Commandments.”
“But he did marry Ursula Andress, Linda Evans, and Bo,” I said. “So there is that.”
“Look,” Tara said. “Kirk has pissed off a lot of women over the years. I’m sure the list of those who wanted to strangle him is long.”
“Are any of them here?” I asked. “In New Orleans? On this shoot?”
The twins looked at each other as if trying to recall.
Tegan shook her head. “No, I don’t think he’s hooked up with anyone on this set.”
“And we would know,” Tara added. “He never tried to hide his escapades. That’s for sure.”
“So just Kristi?” I said. “No one else?”
The twins nodded in unison.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
THERE ARE MANY great restaurants in New Orleans, and Dickie Brennan’s is among the best. So I’d heard. Never been there. The hostess led us past the bar, through the main dining room, and into the Champagne Room. Nice. Classy. The far wall, where Tony Guidry stood, was an enclosed wine cabinet. He was examining a bottle when we entered. He replaced it in its bin and turned to greet us, walking around the table to shake hands. And, of course, peck a kiss on the back of Nicole’s hand. A true gentleman.
Then we sat. Pancake, Nicole, and I along one side of the rectangular table; Tony’s muscle, Reuben Prejean and Johnny Hebert, across from us. Tony sat at one end, Ray the other, facing each other. Sort of like an old west duel. I was sure Reuben and Johnny were armed and that Ray wasn’t. Didn’t know about Tony. Me? I had neither bat nor balls, but I had read a couple of more chapters in my self-defense book today. Didn’t see anything about how to handle someone with a Glock.
Tony made it clear from the jump that this was his treat, his show. Total power play, but Ray nodded and thanked him for inviting us. A sommelier appeared and, with great flourish and expertise, opened two bottles of wine. Red, probably expensive.
“I took the liberty of ordering wine,” Tony said. “I hope that’s okay.”
“It is,” Ray said.
The meal that followed was magnificent, the talk carefully small. Tony proved to be an expert of sorts on New Orleans history and told tales of the founding of the city, Jean Lafitte, Andrew Jackson, the Battle of New Orleans, and even the Louisiana Purchase. He went into great detail on the effects of Yellow Fever on the city. According to Tony, it took over 40,000 lives in the 17th century, including nearly 8,000 in the great 1853 epidemic alone. He talked of the mob control of Bourbon Street and surroundings under Carlos Marcello who held sway from the 1940s until his grip was loosened in the 1970s. I noticed he avoided discussing the Dixie Mafia. But overall, I was impressed with his knowledge of essentially everything New Orleans. And he was a great storyteller. I wasn’t sure who he was trying to impress the most, Ray or Nicole—that dress, that face did make her the center of attention—but the undercurrent was clear. This was Tony’s town. He knew everything about, and by extension controlled, the Quarter.
When I first saw him at the courthouse, Tony looked almost bigger than life. Godfatherish. Was that a word? But here, with Pancake sitting just to his right, he seemed much smaller. Less intimidating. But then Pancake had that effect. Still, Tony was large and in charge.
After dessert and after a round of Louis the XIII cognac was poured—which I had never had because it runs well over $100 a shot—Tony got down to business.
He looked at Ray. “What do you make of this new DNA evidence?”
Ray shrugged. “Not sure what to think. Definitely not what I expected.”
“Do you think Kirk Ford did this?”
“I did.”
“Did sounds past tense,” Tony said. He took a sip of cognac.
“Closed room. Two people. A logical conclusion to think he was the guy.” Ray folded his hands before him. “But this might change things. Don’t you think?”
“Maybe.” He hesitated. “Could be the DNA had been there for a day or more.”
“The ME doesn’t think so,” I said.
Tony opened his hands. “An opinion. Doesn’t mean it wasn’t.”
“But you don’t believe that,” Ray said. “Otherwise I don’t think we’d be here.”
Tony took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, puffing out his cheeks. “I admit I was sure, absolutely sure, Ford was the killer. But now? I’m not so sure.”
“That’s refreshing to hear,” Ray said. “I feared you might have tunnel vision on this.”
Tony shrugged. “Hard not to under the circumstances. But with this new evidence, I must admit, it doesn’t seem so clear now.”
“What about the prosecutor?” I asked. “What does she think?”
“I don’t know.”
“You know her,” Ray said. He let that sit for a beat. “Haven’t you talked with her about it?”
“Not yet. But I will.”
He was lying. I saw it in his eyes. I was sure that his first call after he learned of the DNA was to her. Hadn’t she, with a single glance and his permissive nod in the courtroom, essentially secured his permission to allow Kirk’s bail to go through? No way he hadn’t contacted her.
This also showed Tony’s reach. The only way he could have found out about the evidence so quickly would be if he had people inside the police, the crime lab, even the ME’s office. No surprise. The surprise would be if he didn’t. I did wonder if he had received the information from Assistant DA Melissa Mooring herself.
“I suspect she’ll say it piles a bit of reasonable doubt on Kirk’s side of the table,” Pancake said.
Tony nodded. “True.”
“Then who?” Ray asked. “If not Kirk, who?”
“That I’d like to know,” Tony said. “Let’s say this evidence does indeed point to someone else. To a woman. Is there anyone in Kirk’s world, anyone involved with this movie, that jumps up on your suspect radar?”
“Does this mean you think the killer might be someone trying to frame Kirk?” Ray asked.
“That’s a possibility,” Tony said. “One that’
ll have to be considered.”
“We asked Kirk about that,” I said. “Nicole and I, and Detective Doucet. He said he had no issues with anyone in this crew.”
“That was confirmed by Tara and Tegan James,” Nicole added. “They probably know Kirk better than anyone and they agreed.”
“But he did collect DNA from all the women involved with the film,” Tony said.
Yes, Tony’s reach was deep.
“Detective Doucet said he wasn’t optimistic,” I said.
“Really?” Tony asked.
“He watched the women being tested. Said he didn’t see anyone with guilty stamped on them.”
Tony nodded. “Many of them are actresses, I assume?”
“Besides the twins, maybe a couple,” Nicole said. “Most are makeup artists, script girls, and a pair of producer types.”
“Regardless, Doucet said we’d have results tomorrow,” I said. “Preliminary ones, anyway. Maybe we’ll know something then.”
“Or not,” Ray said. He nodded toward Tony. “Let me ask you this. You knew Kristi. Is there anyone around her that would or could do this?”
Tony sighed. “Believe it or not, I’ve asked myself that question many times over the past few days. Even though I was, and more or less still am, convinced that Ford is the guilty party here, I had to at least consider other possibilities.”
Interesting.
Tony continued. “I came up empty. I mean, Owen would be a consideration, but I don’t see him as a viable possibility. He’s a good guy. Decent. And he truly loved Kristi. I’ve sniffed around her friends in college, the folks she worked with over at Café du Monde. No one looked good for it.”
“So, where does that leave us?” Nicole asked.
“If the DNA comes up a bust,” Ray said, “I think the key will be to uncover who gave Kristi that kicked-up joint.” Tony started to say something, but Ray waved him away. “I know. It could have come from Kirk. But, I don’t think so.”
“What makes you think that?” Tony asked.
“The cops did find several joints. A couple Kirk had, and he said Kristi brought the one they smoked.”
“He would, of course, say that,” Tony said.
“True,” Ray said. “But it’s the details that make me believe him. Kirk said he couldn’t roll a joint to save his life. Loose was how he put it. Tended to fall apart. The one they did smoke was rolled by someone who knew what they were doing. According to Doucet, that’s what it looked like.”
