"Chère." Colette nudged her when she saw him, then gave him a big smile. "Look who didn't get his head shot off."
He glanced back at Remy. "Yeah, lucky me."
"I got your reward for surviving Isabel's papa." She handed Sable her spatula and filled a mug from a battered speckle ware pot, which she brought to him. "Here. This will open your eyes the rest of the way."
"Thanks." He took a swallow and closed his eyes as the savory/bitter chicory washed the cobwebs from his mind. "Dear God. Divorce Martin and marry me."
She giggled like a young girl. "You are lucky I am Catholic, chèr, or I might just run away with you. Sit down—I have hotcakes, grillades, and grits."
He took the empty chair across from Remy, who directed his next remarks to Sable. Sable brought more food over to the table, then sat down and launched into a rapid exchange with Remy, also too fast and dialectal for him to follow. Old Martin snorted a few times, gesturing and interjecting a few words, then threw up his hands.
When there was a pause, J. D. touched Sable's arm. "He still upset about me?"
"You, and other people." She rested her forehead against her hand for a moment. "Papa thinks I should leave the parish and go stay with family. He doesn't believe anyone was shooting at me. He thinks they were after you because you're a cop."
But that wasn't all Remy and Sable had said; he'd definitely heard "comme un fils à moi," "son meilleur ami," and "ta mère"—like a son to me, his best friend, and your mother. "What about Marc's murder?"
"He thinks it has to do with Marc's political campaign." She turned toward Remy when he muttered something. "Vous savez que Caine a eu quelque chose faire avec ceci, Papa."
That J. D. could translate—You know that Caine had something to do with this. "Is Gantry involved in the attacks on Marc's businesses?"
Sable hesitated before shrugging. "I'm not sure. No one has said he is, but Caine and the other Cajun fishermen in this area have been hurt by some legislation Marc supported. They're now required to purchase special equipment and individual boat licenses to stay in business, and many of them couldn't afford it. A lot of people are angry, as you saw last night."
"That's why you went to see Caine alone?" He put down his mug and curled a fist around it. "Didn't it occur to you that he may have killed Marc, and told his men to toss you to the nearest gator?"
Remy said something low and vile under his breath.
"No. Caine and those men have known me since I was a baby," she snapped. "They may be a little rough and stubborn, but they're not killers, and they would never hurt me."
"But they'd burn down someone's business to make a point, wouldn't they?" He watched the doubt appear in her eyes, then noticed Remy was listening to him very intently. "Whoever torched that warehouse murdered Marc first, then tried to do the same to you."
She pushed the tines of her fork through the grits on her plate. "Or maybe whoever started the fire thinks I saw them kill Marc."
"Grand-mère?" Hilaire rushed into the kitchen and skidded to a stop when she saw Sable and J. D. She wore an old-fashioned white pinafore over a red puff-sleeved dress with a very short skirt, and a straw hat on top of her curls. J. D. thought she looked exactly as if she'd stepped out of a 1940s pinup. "Oh, thank goodness—I thought you might still be here."
Sable got up and went to hug the girl. "I was going to stop by the store to see you before we left." She glanced back at J. D. "You remember my cousin, Hilaire Martin. Hil, this is—"
"I remember who he is." And her memories obviously weren't fond ones, from the way she flicked her long nails at him before taking Sable's hands in hers. "You have to get out of the bayou, right now. Caine is looking for you."
J. D. went to check the windows, then came back. "No sign of anyone. What does he want?"
"Dee at the roadhouse said a policewoman came over last night and questioned him. Then he sent out all his boats at dawn this morning, but not to fish. Jessie called me and said to look for you and the cop. They'll be here soon."
"Why would Caine do that?" Sable's brows drew together. "He couldn't wait to get rid of me last night."
"Jessie said everybody is angry, but Caine is the worst." Hilaire shot another dark glance at J. D. "It's his fault—he doesn't belong here. He's making everybody nervous."
And Caine most of all. J. D. could think of a few reasons why.
"I will go to Caine," Remy said, rising from the table. "He expects me to be looking for my Isabel; I can lead him away from here."
"Here." Sable came over and tucked a brown plastic pill bottle in the pocket of his shirt. "You take these when you're supposed to, or you won't be leading anyone anywhere."
"We need transportation," J. D. told her. "Does anyone around here have a car we can use?"
Sable shook her head. "People walk or use pirogues. The police might be watching the roads, too."
"I brought my boat," Hilaire said. "I can take you both out of the bayou and no one will see you."
"Can you get us over to the lake from here?" he asked before he swallowed the last of his coffee.
"Yes, but what's at the lake?"
"A safe place." He rose and shook hands with Old Martin. "Thank you for putting us up for the night." To Remy, he said, "I'll look after her."
"You'd better, chèr." Remy shouldered his shotgun. "Or next time, I won't wake you up first."
"Here, Isabel." Colette brought a large, covered basket to the table. "I packed some things for you. Hilaire, you be careful on the water." She twisted her hands in her apron as she turned to Sable. "And you, chère, you don't do anything foolish. Stay with Jean-Delano—let him take care of you."
Sable kissed her thin cheeks. "I will."
Cecilia didn't see Billy's truck until she walked out to the clothesline. He wasn't in the trailer, so she put down the basket and walked around to their narrow driveway.
Billy lay curled up on the front seat, a mostly empty bottle of whiskey cradled in his arms.
He's sleeping with his true love, she thought. Instead of me.
"Pssst." Lilah waved at her from the door of her trailer. "Come here."
Cecilia checked Billy again, but from the deep way he was snoring, it appeared he'd be out for a couple hours. Carefully she walked across the yard and up to Lilah's trailer. "What is it?"
"Come inside." For once Lilah looked nervous. "Hurry."
Cecilia climbed up the stairs. Lilah had a nice double-wide, and she'd decorated the inside in her favorite colors of orange, red, and purple. Billy said it looked like a whorehouse on wheels, but Cecilia always thought the bright colors were cheerful.
"I saw Billy in the truck when I got home from work this morning." Her neighbor led her back to her bedroom. "I looked inside and saw this on the floor, so I took it." She pointed at the quilt on her bed.
Cecilia stared at her husband's shotgun and the box of ammunition. "Oh, Lilah. He'll be so mad."
"No, he won't—and he won't go shooting anyone, either."
"You can't keep it. What if he comes over here? What if he finds out you took it?"
"I don't think he will, but...." Lilah opened the shotgun and removed the cartridges, which she put in the box. She bent over and stuffed the box under her mattress. "There. Now he can't shoot me if he does."
"I can't let you do this." Cecilia reached for the gun. "You don't know how angry he gets."
Lilah tossed the weapon back on the bed and took her hands. "Honey, I've been listening to that man get angry at you for two years. I'm not afraid of him. He's just a drunk and a bully." She touched Cecilia's cheek. "I can't sit back and watch him hurt you anymore."
"He doesn't hit me."
"I know what he makes you do." She glanced at her bedroom window, which was only a few feet from Cecilia's trailer. "I have to listen to it every night."
"Oh, Lord." Utterly mortified, she rushed to the door, but Lilah stopped her.
"CeeCee, wait." Her neighbor glanced over her shoulder at Billy's
truck. "Now you've got me watching him all the time like you do. You have to leave that man, honey, or one of these days he's going to kill you."
"You don't understand." Cecilia shook her head. "I don't have anyone else."
"That isn't true." Lilah put her hands on either side of Cecilia's face. "You've got me."
"You sure you know the owner?" Hilaire asked as she and J. D. finished tying the moor lines of her boat to the lone pier jutting out from the empty-looking lakefront property. When he nodded, she sighed. "All right, then, but if anyone comes out here with a Doberman, I'm jumping back in the boat and you all are on your own."
Sable had been tense, ever since they had left the Tchefuncte River and cruised toward the northern shore area of Lake Pontchartrain. Hilaire had hidden both of them under a tarp, which had been a good thing, considering two of Caine's men had stopped her to ask if she'd seen them.
Lying still and silent under the tarp with J. D. right next to her had been worse than sharing a bed with him last night. At least then he hadn't held a gun in his hand.
After avaricious companies had nearly deforested the area while building the city of New Orleans, the former timber boomtown had been transformed into an exclusive resort area by one of the wealthiest members of Creole society. Wishing to escape the heat of the city, the rich man had bought up thousands of acres and had even built a plantation at the very edge of the lake, to which he invited his equally wealthy friends.
Now the property had been divided up and parceled out to several families, but all of them were rich, if not richer than the original settler. They were definitely back on J. D.'s territory.
"It's back a ways." He pointed to a white-painted boardwalk winding from the bank up into the thick groves of old oak trees. "It's safe. No one will bother us here."
"I hope so." Sable climbed onto the side of the boat to step up onto the pier, then reached up as J. D. helped her out.
"Can you stick around for a few hours?" J. D. asked Hilaire.
"I guess." She handed Colette's basket up to Sable. T left Lacy in charge of the store, and she probably won't bankrupt me until after dinnertime. Why?"
"I need to borrow your boat."
Hilaire's pretty eyes went wary. "I don't know about that, Jean-Del. I'm more partial to this boat than I am to my mama's cherrywood hope chest."
"I won't let anything happen to it. We'll need some supplies." He pointed to one of the pretty marinas a few miles down the shoreline, where there were a number of shops. "I don't want to leave Sable by herself, and if s better if no one sees her."
"What about you?" her cousin demanded. "Caine's men are looking for you, too."
He took the straw hat from her head and put it on his own. "Better?"
Hilaire rolled her eyes. "Makes a bigger target."
"It's all right, Hil," Sable said. "He knows what he's doing."
"Don't make me regret this, Jean-Del." She sighed and handed him the keys. "And don't lose my hat."
He helped her up onto the pier and gave her one of his heart-stopping smiles. "You won't, honey."
As they left the pier and followed the boardwalk back into the woods, Sable noticed signs that someone had been caring regularly for the property. The ground cover beneath the trees had been allowed to grow wild, but the shrubs and flowers lining either side of the boardwalk had been neatly trimmed back. "Does your friend have a groundskeeper?"
"No, she takes care of it herself." He led them down a short flight of stairs and across a mowed expanse of short green grass to a charming little red-roofed cottage.
As Sable watched J. D. remove a key from a planter on the front porch, she felt her cousin nudge her. "What?"
"She takes care of it herself," Hilaire repeated in a whisper, and rolled her eyes. "Plus she leaves out a key for him. Now don't that beat all."
"So he has a female friend." Sable was trying hard not to dwell on it. "His partner is a woman, too. It could be her."
"A cop, with a place like this?"
"Okay, then a family friend." Jean-Del came from money; he would know people with money.
"Oh, yeah." Hilaire snorted. "I bet the man is just surrounded by female friends of the family."
J. D. let them into the cottage, which was beautifully furnished with airy white wicker furniture and a distinct, crisp nautical theme. The combination was unusual—both masculine and feminine—but Sable liked it. He tried one of the light switches, and an overhead ceiling fan spun lazily into life.
"There's a kitchen and pantry, in through there," he said, indicating a door at the left. "Bathroom and bedrooms on the other side."
Sable handed the basket to her cousin. "Put this in the kitchen, would you, Hil?" When her cousin departed, she nodded toward the lake. "You are coming back."
"Yeah, I am." He came to her, and took one of her hands in his. "I don't like letting you out of my sight, either."
"It's not that." She looked down at the beautifully patterned rug under her feet. "Hilaire would kill you if you ran off with her boat."
"Then I'll hurry." He ran the back of his hand down her cheek, then nudged her chin up to give her a quick, hard kiss. "You stay inside and out of trouble."
She nodded and tried to ignore the feeling of impending doom as she watched him leave.
Cort made some phone calls and ran some case files on his computer at home, then dressed and went down to get a cup of coffee before he went in to work. His mother intercepted him in the kitchen and gently maneuvered him into staying to have a light brunch with her.
"I didn't get to finish my breakfast earlier, and I never have a chance to see you anymore," Elizabet chided. "Surely you can spare me thirty minutes before you go into work?"
Her smile wasn't reaching her eyes, Cort thought. Which meant trouble. "You look upset."
"It's hunger pangs." She steered him out to the dining room.
His mother didn't eat much, but she did talk quite a bit, all about her plans for the Noir et Blanc Gala and how important it was for Cort to bring a suitable escort.
"After all," Elizabet said, "Evan will be here with his wife, and J. D. will be escorting Moriah. We wouldn't want you to appear..." She made a small, graceful gesture.
"Hard up for a woman?" he offered.
She frowned. "Are you?"
"No."
"Good." She went back to picking at Mae's excellent omelette. "Because if you were, you know, I could arrange for one of Moriah's friends to accompany you."
"Don't worry, Mother." He kept the irony out of his voice when he added, "I'm sure I can find my own date."
"Please don't leave it until the last minute, Cortland." She didn't look up as his father walked in. "I would like to send a formal invitation out as a courtesy to whomever you invite."
"We should cancel it," Louie said.
Cort glanced at his father, and then his mother. From their expressions, it appeared he wasn't here to eat brunch so much as to act as a buffer.
"Why do you think that, Louie?"
"Marc's dead." He made an abrupt gesture. "I don't feel like that's something to celebrate."
Rather than reacting with horror at the suggestion, Elizabet refolded her napkin. "I know how you feel, my dear, but think. Marc would have wanted us to go on as if everything were normal."
"If I had been murdered," Louie flared, "my friend would not have thrown a party a week later."
"Very well." Cort's mother's expression went chilly. "If you can't see the importance of carrying on the family tradition, I'll cancel everything this morning. It should only take a few phone calls, although I will have to send out some telegrams—"
"No, no. Have your party. Do whatever you want." Louie stalked out of the dining room.
Cort was a little surprised—everything usually rolled off his easygoing father's shoulders. "He's not taking Marc's death well, is he?" Maybe that was the reason they were arguing.
"Marc was his best friend since they were boys." Elizabet stirred a
spoon in her untouched coffee. "He simply has to come to terms with the loss, which he will."
"It isn't really about Marc, is it?"
His mother glanced at him, then sighed. "No."
"Do I want to be in the middle of this?"
Elizabet's lips formed a reluctant curve. "Probably not."
"Then I'm going to work." He rose and went over, and kissed the top of his mother's head. "Get him a box of cigars. That's always worked for me."
"Cortland!" Elizabet swatted at him.
On the drive to headquarters, he ran through a mental list of women to ask to his mother's annual fashion fest. Since Moriah had made J. D. her target for immediate engagement, Cort hadn't bothered to date among the social set much. His mother would know a suitable girl from a good family for him, but if he asked her to handle it, she'd want him engaged to the girl within six months. It would just be easier to ask someone from work.
I'm sure you'll understand that I'm a little too damn busy to hold your hand right now.
Why he thought of Terri Vincent at the moment was a complete mystery to him. His brother's partner probably didn't own a dress, much less know how to conduct herself at a formal social function. She was more at home drinking beer and eating peanuts with her cop friends in the Quarter. J. D. had always insisted their mother invite Terri every year, and yet she had never shown up once. Cort doubted she'd even bothered to RSVP Elizabet about the invitation.
The disapproval he felt faded into annoyance. Christ, I'm getting as uptight as my mother.
At headquarters he checked in with his task force commander, but no one had any new data or leads to report. It would take another twenty-four to forty-eight hours to process the evidence collected from the scene. Once he made a few calls, Cort could do a little canvassing of his own, out on the Atchafalaya.
Or would have, if Terri Vincent hadn't shown up in his office ten minutes after he'd arrived. She didn't announce herself or even knock—his door simply swung open and she sauntered in. "Hey there, Marshal." She wore another of her endless blase suits, her jacket already rumpled. "How's tricks?"
"I'm busy." Although he didn't have to make a call, he picked up the phone. "You have something for me, Sergeant?"
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