French Silk

by Sandra Brown

  She realized at once that her words had been ill chosen. She looked quickly at Cassidy, who was watching her closely. “And killing him didn’t quite do it.”

  “That’s not what I said.”

  “Have I been barking up the wrong tree, Claire? Was it you and Josh who were in cahoots and not him and his stepmother?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I met Joshua Wilde for the first time tonight.”

  “You’re lying, Claire.”

  “I’m not!”

  Cassidy snorted a laugh. He moved away a few steps, turned his head, and studied a stack of shipping crates before swinging his gaze back to her. “Give me a little credit. I know you significantly better now than I did a few weeks ago.”

  All the excitement and passion that had seized them during the thunderstorm at Rosesharon enveloped them now. Claire was the first to draw her stare away from his. “I’m not lying. I met with Joshua Wilde tonight and offered him a check in exchange for peace and quiet.”

  “Maybe. But what aren’t you telling me?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Claire!”

  “Nothing!”

  Cassidy swore beneath his breath. “Okay, I’ll play along. How’d Josh react?”

  “He was incensed.”

  “Turned you down?” he asked incredulously.

  “Flat. He said he isn’t an extortionist.” She gave Cassidy a level look, lifting her chin a notch. “I believe him.”

  “Then you’re in the minority, because I’m not buying any of this crap. You offered Josh a bribe and he turned it down. Is that what I’m supposed to believe?”

  “I don’t give a damn what you believe.”

  “You’d better give a damn, Claire. Because I think you’re concealing the real reason you made an appointment with Joshua Wilde.”

  “What other reason could I have?”

  “I don’t know, but I find it hard to swallow that you would offer anybody a bribe. First of all, you’re too proud. Second, you don’t care that much about the public’s opinion of you. Finally, you told me yourself that this mess has been good for your business, so the Wildes aren’t placing it in jeopardy. And I find it even harder to believe that Josh would refuse a bribe. In either case, it’s suspicious as hell.”

  “You never give up, do you?”

  “No. I can’t. I’m paid not to.”

  “But you might be forced to. You’re going to be replaced. Powerful people are calling for your head on a platter. Even your mentor, Anthony Crowder, won’t defend you much longer.”

  “What’s your point?” he said tightly.

  “You’re trying to build something from nothing. You’re no closer to solving Wilde’s murder than you were the morning following the crime.”

  “Don’t be so sure.”

  “I’m sure of one thing. His son didn’t kill him.”

  “Then that still leaves you, doesn’t it, Claire?” He reached around her for the door and left without saying goodbye.

  “Oh, Christ. Go away and leave me alone.”

  “Open up.”

  The hotel room door was closed momentarily so the chain lock could be released, then Josh opened it. “It’s late,” he grumbled.

  Cassidy walked into the room and took a slow look around. The bed was still made, although the covers were rumpled. “You hadn’t gone to bed yet. My guess is you’ll have trouble sleeping tonight, Josh. I know I will.”

  Josh threw himself into one of the two easy chairs in the room and motioned Cassidy into its twin. “You’re a bastard, Mr. Cassidy. I went to you of my own volition, spilled my guts, shared with you what I mistakenly assumed was privileged information. Next thing I know, it’s front-page news. Ariel’s gone ape-shit and will no longer speak to me. She fired me, you know. The moment the headlines hit the newsstands, Judas Iscariot here was history with the Prayer and Praise Hour. I think she fully expects me to go out and hang myself.”

  “Bet getting fired came as a blow.”

  Josh chuckled sourly. “Best thing that’s ever happened to me. You’ll probably find that hard to believe, but I swear to God it’s the truth. I feel freer than I’ve ever felt in my life.”

  “Funny. You don’t look like a guy sitting on top of the world,” Cassidy remarked. “You look like you’ve been dunked in a tub of shit.”

  “I’ve got you to thank for that. The most recent stories I’m reading in the papers are strongly hinting that I might be a suspect again.”

  “By definition, Josh, suspect means someone whose actions are suspicious.”

  Josh raised his shoulders in an innocent shrug. “Like what?”

  “Like trying to cast doubt on your stepmother/lover.”

  “I thought I was doing the right thing.”

  “Your conscience got the best of you?” Cassidy asked caustically.

  “I didn’t want to go down with her. I told you that.”

  “Okay. Explain this. Why’d you meet with Claire Laurent tonight?”

  Josh’s eyes sharpened on Cassidy. “How’d you know about that? Did you have me followed?”

  “I saw you myself when you left The Gumbo Shop.”

  “You just happened to be passing by?” Josh asked angrily.

  “Answer the question.”

  Cassidy’s shout squelched Josh’s brief, indignant outburst. He cast around for something to look at besides Cassidy’s incisive stare. “She called and arranged that meeting, not me.”

  “You and the owner of French Silk make a very strange pairing.”

  Josh left his chair and began moving restlessly around the room. His motions were disjointed, jerky. “I nearly dropped the phone when she called and identified herself.”

  “You’d never met her before tonight?”

  “Hell no. After all the dirty water that’s gone under that bridge, she was the last person I ever expected to call and ask if I’d meet her for drinks.”

  Like Claire, Josh was lying or at the very least expurgating the truth. Cassidy went fishing. “Classy-looking lady.”

  “I guess,” Josh replied warily.

  “You appeared to be upset when you left the restaurant.”

  “I was.”

  “Let’s stop dancing around it. What’s she want, Josh?”

  “It has nothing to do with my father’s murder.”

  “Let me decide that.”

  The younger man seemed to wrestle with himself for several moments before blurting out, “She offered me a check for twenty-five thousand dollars to call off our dogs.”

  Cassidy whistled. “Pretty steep price to pay to stop a protest demonstration.”

  “All that stuff. The picketing. The prank calls. The things Ariel’s telling the papers. Ms. Laurent wants it to stop. Can’t say that I blame her.”

  “So what’d you tell her?”

  “I told her to piss off. What she obviously doesn’t know is that I don’t wield any influence over Ariel. Since Daddy died, she calls the shots, not me. I couldn’t put a muzzle on her if I wanted to.”

  “So you declined Claire’s offer?”

  “I tore her check in two and symbolically threw it in her face. I told her that I had nothing to do with the ministry’s operation. Never had. Never will. Never even wanted to. I play—played—the piano. That’s it. That’s all I ever wanted to do. I don’t make the policies. I didn’t cultivate my father’s enemies. He was capable of doing that quite well all by himself. If he was accepting bribes, that was his business. I don’t want any part of it.”

  “You’re out of a job. You could have promised her what she wanted to hear, taken the check, and laughed about it all the way to the bank.”

  Josh gave him a cold, hostile stare. “You’re full of shit, Cassidy. Get out.”

  “Not so fast. You were in there for more than half an hour. Is that all you and Claire talked about?”

  “There were a lot of awkward silences.”

  “Oh, come on!”

  “I’m serious. On
ce she got to the point, it was over in a matter of minutes. She picked up the pieces of the check, put them in her purse, and laid down enough money to cover our drinks. As we left, she said goodbye. That’s all.”

  “You paused on the sidewalk as though you were tempted to go after her.”

  Josh raked back the wave that had fallen over his forehead. “I don’t remember that.”

  “I do. Distinctly.” Cassidy leaned forward. “Were you having second thoughts about taking the money?”

  “No. I’m not a murderer and I’m not a thief.”

  Cassidy wanted to grab him by the collar and shake him. “There’s something you’re not telling me, Josh. I’m through screwing around with you. What are you holding back?”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “She—”

  “What?” Cassidy demanded.

  “I don’t know.” Josh grimaced with frustration.

  “If I was staring after her as you say, it’s because I wasn’t only mad but puzzled.”

  “About what?”

  “About her. She has a way about her, you know?”

  “No, I don’t know. Explain it to me.”

  “I don’t think I can.”

  “Try.”

  “It was like she could see into me,” he cried. “But I felt like I was looking at her through a veil. We were speaking the same language, but the words didn’t fit the messages I was getting from her eyes. She freaked me out.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  Actually he knew exactly what Josh was talking about. Every time he’d been with Claire, with the exception of those moments when she had openly and freely shared her passion with him, he’d felt totally exposed, while an essential element of Claire always remained masked. It was like looking into the screened face of a fencing opponent. You knew who it was, but you couldn’t distinctly see him.

  “I knew you wouldn’t believe me,” Josh mumbled. “That’s why I didn’t bring it up myself.”

  Hoping to prize more information out of the troubled young man, Cassidy lied and said, “I think you’re feeding me a bunch of bullshit to throw me off track.”

  Josh cursed and made a gesture as though trying to capture the correct words to express his thoughts. “I had never seen this woman face to face, but I got the eerie feeling that I knew her. Or, more to the point, that she knew me. Hell, I don’t know. Daddy had people coming and going all the time. Maybe I bumped into her once and only my subconscious remembers.”

  He stopped pacing and spun around to face Cassidy. “Something just occurred to me. Maybe Claire Laurent tried the same tactic with my father, and when he refused her bribe, she bumped him off. Had you thought of that?”

  Without answering, Cassidy stood and headed for the door, where he turned back and said in a menacing tone, “Josh, if you’re lying to me, I’m going to come back and do you severe bodily harm. Then I’m going to pull your lower lip over your head, all the way down your back, and stuff it into your asshole.” He aimed an index finger at him. “I’m going to ask one more time—had you met Claire Laurent before tonight?”

  Josh swallowed visibly. “No. On my mother’s grave, I swear it.”

  Outside, Cassidy dropped his tough demeanor. It was too exhausting to maintain. He trudged to his car. Fatigue settled over him heavily. During the drive to his condo, his eyes itched and burned, irritated by every pair of headlights he encountered, but he knew that as soon as he lay down to sleep, they would open and remain that way until dawn, when the whole unproductive routine would begin again.

  Wearily he let himself into his airless living room, cursorily sorted through his mail, then plodded into the bedroom. As he regarded his haggard reflection in the mirror over the bathroom sink, he realized why he felt as depleted as a marathon runner following an uphill race. Claire had been cleared of one lie tonight, but in the process he had uncovered another possible motivation for her to kill Jackson Wilde.

  Cassidy had left Claire very upset. Long after she had locked the door of French Silk behind him, she remained there, her head resting against the cool metal. She had wanted her meeting with Josh to be carried out in absolute secrecy. From now on, she must be doubly careful. She wouldn’t again make the mistake of underestimating Mr. Cassidy’s far-reaching arm. His resources outnumbered hers. He probably had plainclothesmen watching her around the clock.

  That thought unnerved her for several reasons. First, her privacy was being violated. Second, regardless of the new slant to his investigation, she and everyone associated with French Silk were still suspects. Most upsetting was that a man she had been intimate with exercised tremendous authority over her.

  His superiority defiled the tenderness and sweetness of their lovemaking, like a bed of flowers being trampled into the mud by someone uncaring and insensitive. The flowers were still flowers, but their beauty had been irreparably tarnished.

  With that dismal thought, she pushed herself away from the door and walked toward the freight elevator. As she approached, she heard its clanking descent and saw Yasmine through the metal accordion doors as it ground to a stop on the first floor. “Hi,” she said, trying to inject her voice with more spirit than she felt. Unfortunately, seeing Yasmine didn’t cheer her. She was another source of worry. “Are you going out again tonight?”

  “Yes, for a while.”

  “Want some company? I’d enjoy an evening out. I could call Harry to come sit with Mama.”

  Yasmine was already shaking her head. “I’m sorry, Claire, but I’ve made other plans.”

  Claire tried valiantly to keep her smile in place. “I’m glad to see you’re putting yourself back in circulation. I was getting worried about you.”

  “You shouldn’t have been. Everything’s working out.”

  “Good. I knew it would. Do you need my car?”

  “No, thanks. I’ll take a cab.”

  At the risk of prying, Claire didn’t ask where she was going or what her plans entailed. Yasmine’s clothing gave her no clues. She was dressed in a semiconservative, plain silk dress. The melon color gave her complexion a special glow. Her hair had dried naturally, encircling her head in glossy, ebony curls. Large gold disks were clipped to her ears. The trademark bangles glittered on her slender wrists. She looked exceptionally beautiful and Claire told her so.

  “Thank you. I wanted to look good tonight.”

  “Even on your worst days you look good.” Acting on impulse, Claire embraced her.

  Yasmine returned the tight hug. “Thanks for everything, Claire.”

  “No need to thank me. You’ve been going through a rough time.”

  “But you’ve stayed my friend when anyone else would have given up on me.”

  “Never. You can count on that.” She squeezed her extra tight. “Take care tonight.”

  “You know me, sugar.” As she broke the embrace, Yasmine winked and clucked her tongue. “Always on top of things.”

  Claire laughed. This was Yasmine at her sassy best. She wondered briefly if Alister Petrie had called her for a reconciliation. That would account for the special pains she had taken with her appearance tonight. “Shall I worry if you’re late?”

  “No, don’t wait up. ’Bye-bye. I’ll set the alarm on my way out.”

  “Thanks. ’Bye.”

  Claire waited until she had crossed the warehouse floor. At the door, she turned and gave Claire a jaunty little wave. Even from that distance, Claire could hear her bangles jangling.

  Upstairs, Claire checked on Mary Catherine, who was sleeping peacefully. As she was pulling her mother’s bedroom door closed, the smell of smoke brought her to a dead standstill.

  When she’d had the old building renovated, she’d paid dearly for a state-of-the-art sprinkler system and smoke detectors, knowing that a fire would be costly, in merchandise and possibly in lives. Even with that safeguard, she was paranoid about fire.

  She traced the faint whiffs to Yasmine’s bedroom. She hadn’t been ther
e recently, but before her breakup with Alister, Yasmine had rarely kept the door closed. Claire had no qualms about opening it now to check for the source of smoke.

  As she stepped across the threshold and entered the room, she received a shock to her sensibilities and to her nervous system. Reflexively clapping her right hand over her nose and mouth, she moved forward, reluctantly approaching the makeshift altar that had once been an ordinary nightstand.

  Encircling the perimeter were smoky, sputtering candles that cast wavering shadows onto the walls. Unidentifiable herbs and oils had been sprinkled over the surface of the nightstand. They accounted for some of the malevolent odors permeating the room. But only some.

  In the center of the altar was a crude crockery bowl. It was filled with what appeared to be the entrails of a small animal. At one time, organs might have been discernible. Now it was a mishmash of gore. The odor made Claire gag behind her hand.

  Blood had been painstakingly dripped onto the surface to form symbolic patterns. The small effigy of Alister Petrie, the doll that Claire recognized as the one Yasmine had shown her, had been decapitated and emasculated. Like a stake through the heart, a vicious pin thrust up from the center of its chest.

  “My God,” Claire moaned, backing away from the grisly sight. “Oh my God, Yasmine. No!”

  As soon as Harry arrived in response to her frantic call, Claire raced to her car and headed for the exclusive neighborhood along the shore of Lake Ponchartrain where Congressman Alister Petrie lived with his wife and children. She hoped she wouldn’t arrive too late.

  “Want me to wait?” The cabbie slung one arm over the back of the seat and gaped at his stunning passenger.

  “No, thanks.” Yasmine passed him a twenty-dollar bill. “Keep the change.”

  “Thanks, miss. ’preciate it. Say, uh, do I know you? I mean, should I? Aren’t you famous?”

  “I was a model. Maybe you’ve seen my pictures in magazines.”

  He slapped his forehead with the heel of his hand. “Jesus H! I thought that was you.” He grinned, revealing crooked, tobacco-stained teeth in the feeble dome light of his cab. “Who’d’ve ever thought you’d ride in my cab? The only other celebrity I’ve ever hauled was that cooking lady on TV. Julia somebody. Say, I’ll be glad to come back for you later. I can give you my card. You can call when you’re ready to be picked up.”