A Twisted Ladder

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A Twisted Ladder Page 7

by Rhodi Hawk


  Laughter rippled through the crowd as Maddy and Sam found their way to an opening near the front of the circle. Madeleine was so focused on her father’s words that at first she didn’t realize she had planted herself next to Joe Whitney, her father’s counterpart on the gossip hot seat.

  Daddy continued, “We have all striven to preserve the historic buildings of our city, big and small, through our diligent labor, our financial contributions, and our time.”

  As if nothing at all had happened. As if he hadn’t gone missing.

  His voice was robust, accented in a combination of southern Louisiana and a hint of New Orleans. He looked youthful beyond his years.

  As if he hadn’t left her in Washington, D.C., standing in front of those politicians like a peeled housefly.

  “And so I ask you to join me in a toast.” Daddy raised his glass.

  Madeleine became aware of Joe Whitney’s gaze upon her. She turned sharply. Whitney’s eyes were trained on her face, but she suspected they’d been lingering somewhere below her neck. Just once she wanted to catch him in the act.

  Whitney smiled and whispered, “Why Miss Madeleine, or should I say Dr. LeBlanc, so nice to see you here this evening.”

  She nodded and returned her focus to the toast.

  Daddy’s glass was still raised, and she realized he was looking her way. “But I do not ask that we toast those members of the board, or even your hardworking selves.” He paused and scanned the room. “For there are those among us, pretending to be our allies, who are in fact our enemies.”

  Whitney’s gaze snapped to attention. Daddy was now staring directly at him.

  “Devils who have come to sabotage the very cause they profess to defend. It is to them, our enemies, I would like to propose this toast. Because without them we would become complacent, and would not be motivated in our duties. They are the fuel to our fire.”

  Eyes began to flicker toward Whitney. Some guests pursed their lips to repress smiles; others openly chuckled.

  And Daddy said, “Ladies and gentleman, please join me in a toast: To our enemies!”

  The crowd chorused in return, “To our enemies!”

  Almost everyone in the entire room nodded at Joe Whitney as they raised their flutes to him.

  Almost everyone.

  Whitney turned from white to scarlet, and then purple. His back stood rigid, and he did not raise his glass.

  Nor did Madeleine.

  ZENON COULD TELL THAT Jasmine caught his scent before she even saw him.

  He was standing in the alley outside the bedroom. Samantha’s dogs had been silent, probably dozing among the remnants of what had once been miniblinds. A breeze curled around Zenon and drifted through swelling curtains at the rear of the house.

  With it, he heard the distant rumble of Jasmine’s growl.

  The sound of paws clicking across the wood floor, coming to a stop just opposite the wall near where he stood. The curtains swelled again.

  From the alley, Zenon could see the tiny dog’s illuminated form reflected in the mirror opposite the window. She sniffed the air, rising on hind legs with her front paws pressed against the dresser. She gave a low woof. Zenon remained still.

  After a few minutes, he creaked atop the chain link fence and pulled himself up into a tree so that he could peer down inside. Jasmine worried by the dresser several feet below.

  He revealed himself, curling his fingers under the window frame, and lifted.

  Jasmine flew into a rage of wild barking.

  MADELEINE DIDN’T KNOW WHETHER to throw her arms around her father in relief that he seemed clearheaded and safe, or march up there and throttle him.

  Beside her, Whitney slumped. He grit his teeth under the scrutiny of the crowd and raised his flute with resignation, then drained the champagne in a single swallow.

  “Miss Madeleine,” he laughed with forced humor. “I am sorry to see that your father is having another one of his episodes.”

  Sam couldn’t resist getting in her own dig as Whitney turned away. “I don’t know, Joe, Daddy Blank seemed pretty lucid to me!”

  Joe stalked off. Sam was grinning so hard it looked like the corners of her mouth might get hooked behind her ears.

  She turned to Maddy. “Well! Guess that shows where you get your wit. Your father is an absolute hero. Called ol’ Whitney out in front of everyone.”

  “Our exalted champion,” Madeleine said in a flat voice as Sam started toward the crowd haloing Daddy Blank.

  Madeleine watched Sam lean forward and kiss him on the cheek while others shook his hand or patted his back. Daddy had them absolutely charmed. He said something to the circle of folks who’d gathered around them, and they roared with delight. In a few weeks he may not even know their names, and they’ll cross the street just to avoid passing him on the sidewalk.

  She stepped back; no desire to join in with the worshipers. She saw Chloe across the way in the ballroom.

  “Hello again.”

  Ethan Manderleigh.

  She smiled at him. “Hello. Guess we found Daddy.”

  He shook his head with a laugh. “Guess we did. Trouble was I was supposed to find him first.”

  He leaned toward her with an enticing grin. Madeleine remembered the “first dance” bargain he’d laid and pressed away her own smile, averting her gaze. Suddenly music surged in the ballroom, and people flowed into it as if drifting on a wave.

  “Anyway I know I didn’t hold up my end of the deal,” Ethan said as he offered his arm. “But perhaps you’ll—”

  “There you are!”

  One of the debutantes linked her arm through Ethan’s. She beamed up at him, that green-eyed pearl of a beauty Madeleine had seen before. “Music’s started. First dance?”

  Madeleine took a step back.

  Ethan looked annoyed. “Miss Madeleine and I were just going to—”

  “Go ahead,” Madeleine interjected. “You two have fun.”

  The green-eyed girl tugged on his arm but he remained rigid, eyes fixed on Madeleine. She lifted her face and smiled. The young woman looked from Ethan to Madeleine and gave another tug. This time Ethan sighed and leaned his cane against the wall. He escorted her to the dance floor.

  Madeleine watched them go, wondering what was wrong with her. One dance with a handsome brain doctor couldn’t possibly hurt a thing, and yet she’d all but thrown him at the other woman. It occurred to her that she’d dodged him twice now. It wouldn’t happen a third time.

  And then to Madeleine’s complete surprise, Joe Whitney approached carrying two champagne flutes.

  Oh, joy.

  “My dear.” He placed a flute in her hand.

  A comeuppance for having ditched Ethan. My, but don’t karma move fast?

  She accepted the glass with a raised brow. “Thanks, Joe. I’m surprised you came back. Anyone else would have slipped out of the building after Daddy’s speech.”

  Joe took a sip. “Actually, Miss Madeleine, contrary to what it may seem, I did not come here for the sole purpose of losing verbal battles to LeBlancs. And I apologize if I was rude earlier.”

  She shrugged. “Apology accepted.”

  She made a point of raising her glass to him, since it seemed to be the fashionable way to address him that evening.

  He cocked his head toward the orchestra. “Shall we dance?”

  She paused. It seemed blasphemous to have scorned Ethan in favor of Joe. And she wondered why Joe would want to dance with her in the first place. It carried a whiff of scheming to it. But Daddy’s burbling had gotten under her skin, and so Madeleine set down the champagne flute, straightened her back, and strode into the ballroom with none other than Joe Goddamn Whitney.

  JASMINE’S SNARL ERUPTED WITH such ferocity that Samantha’s dogs leapt from sleep, barking before they had even fully awakened. Zenon chuckled.

  The window, which had been open only slightly, would neither rise nor lower more than an inch in either direction. He removed his fingers fr
om the frame and rested back in the tree.

  The Akita and the Airedale padded into the bedroom. Still unaware of his presence, they watched in alarm as Jazz continued screaming and bouncing toward the opening, her paws scrabbling at the dresser. Finally, she caught the lip and vaulted herself up, scurrying across the top and sending bottles of perfume and makeup flying in all directions.

  Come get me, Jazz. Come on up through this window and kick my ass.

  Seeing Jasmine atop the dresser snapped the other two dogs into action. The Akita rose to hind legs, stretching his massive head and clamping his jaws onto a bag of SunChips. He dragged it to the floor so that he and the Airedale could ransack its contents.

  Jazz remained atop the dresser, raging at the open window.

  Keep trying. I’ll bet you can wiggle your little rat body right through the crack.

  Though she jumped and scraped at the sill, the height of the dresser prevented her from gaining enough leverage to make it through the narrow opening, and she managed only to catch swatches of curtain in her teeth. Her paws dispatched a hand mirror that flew crashing to the floorboards, causing Samantha’s dogs to pause in their gobbling, but only for a moment.

  Zenon snorted. He couldn’t get in and she couldn’t get out. Enough of this.

  He jumped from the tree and strolled to the front porch, dusting off his fancy slacks.

  Jasmine pursued, sailing through the living room and slamming the fractured blinds. This time the other dogs saw him too. They leapt to the little terrier’s side, frenzied and snarling, separated from Zenon by only a pane of glass and a rapidly diminishing set of blinds.

  He paused, watching, then tapped the pane and said, “Be quiet.”

  And from his mind: Be quiet.

  The Akita and the Airedale trailed off. They licked their muzzles, panting, and rested back on their hindquarters. Jasmine was the last to settle down. She barked and peeled back her lips, her tongue darting over fangs. Then she, too, quieted.

  Zenon smiled. Stubborn like your owner, Jazz. Now then, altogether: Step forward.

  The dogs stood, a little uncertain, but they took their step in a disconnected gaggle. All three of them. The sense of power was intoxicating.

  Zenon turned his focus to Samantha’s dogs, speaking to them through the glass. “How about we have a little fun with Miss Jasmine?”

  He visualized what he meant, and let that image transfer to the larger dogs.

  The Akita bared his teeth, gleaming white in the darkness. He uttered a low, rolling growl.

  “You ready, Jasmine? Cuz we’re gonna see what you’re made of.”

  AS JOE WHITNEY ESCORTED Madeleine to the dance floor, she felt eyes from every corner of the room. Indeed, they were an unlikely duo: He, twice her age and white as an egg; and she, a blue-eyed black Creole whose father had just scalded him in public.

  But then Madeleine realized his angle. Waltzing with her, the daughter of his accuser, was Joe’s way of winning back the crowd.

  Madeleine felt Ethan’s eyes on her as she danced. And when she met his gaze he looked bemused, as if laughing at her for dancing with Joe. His limp didn’t seem to affect him much. He moved less than other folks, but that was about it. She gave him a broad smile. She and Joe danced through the song and then retreated to the outer rim of the ballroom. Sam appeared with Daddy in escort.

  The men greeted each other coolly.

  “Joseph.”

  “Sirrhh.”

  Daddy turned to his daughter and offered his arm as the quartet began to play a foxtrot. “Madeleine, honey, let’s dance.”

  She gritted her teeth, having lost her heart for dancing, but took his arm. Behind her, to everyone’s surprise, Whitney asked the same of Samantha.

  “Well all right, fine,” Sam said rolling her eyes.

  Daddy was smiling with the carefree abandon of someone content to be right where he was rather than anywhere else on earth. And yet . . .

  “So. Been taking your meds, Daddy?”

  His smile vanished and he looked away. “Aw, who wants a chemical lobotomy? Those things make me sick.”

  She frowned. “Better than the alternative.”

  “Come on, don’t be that way, kitten. I’ll be fine.”

  He smiled and squeezed her hand as they waltzed, and then his face changed. He lowered his chin and said, “Listen honey, I’m sorry I left you in Washington like that. Cold feet, I guess.”

  He was struggling for words, an unusual phenomenon for him. “And then I was too ashamed to face you. I can see that things have hit you harder now that Marc’s gone. Can you forgive me, honey?”

  She felt tension in her eyes, and was disgusted to find a threat of tears. She breathed in deeply.

  “I never should have put you in that position.” And it was true; she knew better.

  The waltz ended and as she released his hand, he pulled her in and wrapped her in a strong hug.

  “I love you, baby girl,” he whispered, patting her hair.

  This time the dreaded tears found their way to her eyes, and she quickly blinked them away before he could see them.

  They returned to the spot by the commode where Sam and Whitney were already waiting.

  Sam looked at the two men and raised her brows. “So. Joe? Daddy Blank? Will you two be dancing the next one together?”

  They both laughed. Joe grabbed two long-stem red roses from a table and presented one to Madeleine and one to Sam. For once, Sam was at a loss for words, and Daddy rolled his eyes elaborately as he turned to leave. Then Joe left abruptly too, and Madeleine saw he was making a beeline for Buddy Caldwell, attorney general by day and country music singer by night. Madeleine watched as both Joe and her father worked the room, each one shaking hands and demonstrating his own brand of wit.

  “You’re wearing those shoulder earrings again,” Sam said.

  Madeleine frowned. “Guess I got a lot on my mind.”

  “We can leave. I’ve had enough of all this pomp and circumstance. Wanna go to a titty bar instead?”

  Madeleine looked at her, shocked, then burst out laughing. Sam gave her a sly grin. They turned and started toward the coat check.

  “I know I’m a wet blanket,” Madeleine said. “This whole thing with Daddy—Trying to keep him on his meds and off the street is like trying to bottle smoke.”

  Sam shrugged. “Maybe you should just let smoke be smoke.”

  “Sounds great, but the reality is that smoking can be dangerous.”

  Sam arched a brow and pointedly took out a pack of Capris. “You can’t always do what’s good for you, you know.”

  Madeleine tightened her lips.

  Sam said, “Hey, at least you know he’s all right now, Maddy. I’m just saying sometimes it’s worth putting a little faith in miracles. He was brilliant and charming tonight. Talk of the town.”

  “Yeah. After he left me twisting in the wind in D.C.”

  “So that’s what this is really about?” Sam tapped a cigarette from the pack. “Hey listen. It’s understandable that you’d be mad at him.”

  Madeleine tried to slow her breathing, but her fury was on the rise. “Yeah, well, it’s that and it’s not. I’m just so . . .” She shook her hands. “Frustrated. That testimony in D.C. was for his benefit. To treat his condition. He’s charming now because he doesn’t feel sick and rummy, which means he’s off his meds. It’s just the first stage of the cycle. The next step is that he winds up on the street, wandering around muttering or shouting, or worse. You’ve seen it—he can get violent, Sam. And I sit around and worry that he’s going to end up in jail, or dead, or God knows what.”

  She tossed her head, and then spoke the most frustrating truth of all: “And in the end, there’s really not a damn thing I can do about any of it.”

  At this, her temper began to lag.

  “I can’t make him take his meds. But just now, I barely even tried . . .” She let the words fall away, and stopped.

  Sam stepped closer an
d touched her arm. “I’m sorry Maddy. I didn’t mean—I’m sorry.” She knit her brows. “Forgive me?”

  Madeleine took a deep breath, reassembling a state of calm. “No, don’t. Of course I forgive you. But I’m the one who should apologize. Things got real weird tonight in a lot of ways and it put me in a funk.”

  Madeleine linked her arm into Sam’s and squeezed, “Thanks for putting up with me.”

  Sam responded by touching her head to Madeleine’s. “Guess we’d better get the truck.”

  Madeleine nodded, but an unsettling feeling stole over her: They were being watched.

  She looked right and left, suddenly worried that Zenon might have come back. But no sign of him. And then she saw her. In the cloakroom a few feet away, the little girl stood partially concealed behind fabric. Though one single eye and a tousle of hair were the only visible features, Madeleine recognized her as the child who lived with Chloe.

  She handed her valet stub to Sam. “Do you mind seeing to the truck? I need to check on someone.”

  “Sure,” Sam said with a shrug.

  She took the ticket and turned, pausing to light the cigarette as she stepped through the front doors.

  Madeleine approached the small chamber. She couldn’t imagine why this girl was allowed to wander unattended so frequently. It was about time Madeleine met her face-to-face.

  JASMINE STOPPED BARKING. SHE took a step backward, a question emitting from her throat. The other dogs growled. The Akita’s eyes held savagery. Jasmine lowered her ears and bent her legs in a cringe. A soft breeze gusted and crickets chirped from the drainage passages.

  Zenon smiled. In his mind, he turned the screw another half step.

  The Airedale lashed out, teeth striking Jasmine’s haunches. She yelped.

  The Akita stepped forward and snarled over her, his tongue gaping through fangs, his head almost as large as Jasmine’s entire body. She gave a singing whimper, crouching wide-eyed with her tail curled beneath her.

 

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