"I have a lot of sources and contacts on the seamy side of life. It doesn't mean I approve of their life-style, or that I'm participating in it, or providing recreational substances for my sources." Joey found himself defending a man he'd never known and didn't like.
"Kit's wife is another problem. Brently Gleason wasn't your typical cop's wife. Not by a long stretch.
Some of the officers felt that Kit had betrayed them by getting involved with an artist." Blake held up his hands to ward off Joey's denials. "I know a man's wife is his business, but Kit was one of the guys. When he started seeing Brently, he changed. He started going to art openings and the theater. The officers felt like he was developing airs, and of course they couldn't blame him, so they laid it at the woman's feet.
That's life." "Would one of those men happen to be Jake Lewis?"
Blake nodded. "Lewis was one. He was at the wedding and very opinionated about the dim prospects for the survival of the marriage. It was almost as if he hoped it would fall apart so Kit could return to 'the brotherhood in blue.'"
"What about you? What was your opinion of the bride?" Joey found it disconcerting to refer to Cori as Brently or "the bride."
"Beautiful, talented, shy. Not exactly the best material for the wife of a detective. But she loved Kit.
That was easy to see."
"And did he love her?"
Blake took a breath. "That's a harder question. Kit was always playing the angles. Every day. He liked to analyze and calculate. Maybe he really loved the woman. Or maybe she was a calculated addition to his life. I guess we'll never know, but I always felt it would be better to leave all of this buried.
It won't help the woman to know Kit was possibly involved in something dirty."
"It would help her to know if he's dead."
"We have a witness." Blake held up his hands. "We have every reason to believe he's dead. But we still don't have a body. We may never find the hard physical evidence we need to prove this case beyond a doubt. She has to make her own choices, Tio. And let's hope she decides to make them out of New Orleans."
"Right." Joey unlocked the door. "Thanks for your time, Blake. And please don't forget to talk to Officer Lewis."
"Today." Blake lifted a hand in farewell.
As soon as the door closed behind Joey, Blake picked up the telephone and punched in four numbers. "Tell Jake to get up here to my office and do it fast. We've got a problem, and it all stems from his big mouth."
Cori heard the old woman's sudden burst of concern, but her gaze was riveted to the man's reflection. She was afraid to turn around, afraid that there would be no one there. Then, certainly, she would have to accept that she was insane.
The old woman's hand on her arm startled her, and Cori looked down into a face wreathed in concern. "Child? Are you okay?"
When she looked back in the window, the man was gone. Whirling, she confronted the street where tourists streamed past, mingling with businessmen and women and kids. There was no tall man. Kit had escaped her once again.
"You're pale as a ghost." The old woman took her elbow and led her through the front door. They went to the back of the shop where a space heater burned before two antique rocking chairs and a basket of crochet and embroidery materials. "When the shop is slow I like to sit back here and mend some of the clothes. It passes the time." She patted Cori's arm as she installed her in one of the rockers.
Cori waited until the pounding of her heart had subsided. She had seen Kit. She was positive. This was no shadow figure or blurry outline. She had seen his face clearly, or at least half of it.
"Mrs...."
"Copperfield."
"Did you see a tall man in a dark coat across the street?" Cori had to know. Mrs. Copperfield had been standing at an angle that might have allowed her to see Kit.
"Indeed I did. He was just across the street, staring at us. I thought perhaps he was going to come over and buy something. And then it occurred to me that maybe you knew him. At any rate, he was staring a hole through you. Then you started acting odd, and I forgot about him."
"But you did see him?"
"Of course. Is there some reason I shouldn't have seen him?" She put a kettle on to heat and took the other chair.
"Some people think he's dead."
"Oh, a spectral visitation."
At her light, mocking tone, Cori looked up. "Ghosts don't frighten you?"
"Not in the least. Besides, that man was flesh and blood. Nothing noncorporeal about him."
"Thank goodness." Cori felt a deep need to call Joey. He had to hear this. He had to believe her.
Maybe together they could track Kit down. He was somewhere in the French Quarter!
At the shrill of the kettle, Mrs. Copperfield got up and brewed the tea. "It won't be long. Now, tell me the intriguing story about you and the gentleman across the street. His interest in you is obvious. Why didn't he simply walk over?"
Cori found that she had no answer for that question. She looked toward the front of the shop. "Can you see if anyone comes in here?" It seemed dangerous for an elderly woman to be so trusting.
"There's a bell over the door. Jingles nicely. I think it has some Pavlovian use. You know, the shopper hears the bell, and based on other past shopping experiences, he believes it's time to spend money."
Cori laughed with Mrs. Copperfield. It was impossible not to be charmed by her. At the same time, she had a sudden thought. She rose abruptly.
"Please stay for tea."
The loneliness in the request made Cori decide that one cup of tea wouldn't hurt. She was torn between a desire to run after the man but she knew if anyone could hide in the Quarter, it was Kit. He would only be found when he was ready. "Just one cup," she said, taking her seat. She couldn't call Joey right now. He was with Blake, and disturbing him there wouldn't be smart, especially if she told him she was in the Quarter. She'd just have to wait until it was time to meet him.
"One lump or two?"
"Two." Cori was distracted by the jingle of the bell.
Mrs. Copperfield rose to greet her customers, a young woman and her little boy.
"There's candy in front of your shop," the boy said, holding out three silver kisses in his palm. "Can I have them?"
Before Cori could respond, his mother gently took them from his hand. "I'll buy you some candy, Chad. We don't know where that came from." She put them on the counter. "They were lined up, right at the door."
"I can't imagine," Mrs. Copperfield said. "Next time maybe they could leave money." They chuckled together as Cori gripped her teacup.
Cori slotted the quarter into the telephone and dialed the U.S. Marshals office. In a moment, her call was being transferred through to Joey's car phone. She'd left the clothing shop and gone straight to a phone booth to make the call. She'd been wrong to go into the French Quarter. Her encounter with Danny Dupray, and Kit's determined shadowing of her every move, had finally unsettled her. She was willing to concede the point to Joey—she was in danger and she was afraid.
"Cori?" Joey took the call with a feeling of dread. He knew before she told him that she hadn't stayed in the federal building. He never should have trusted her to do such a sensible thing.
At the sound of Joey's voice, Cori looked up and down the street. "I messed up, Joey. I'm on Bourbon, by the Jazz Club."
"Stay there." His voice was terse. "Don't you dare move. Just blend in with the crowd, and keep your eyes open."
Her head nodded up and down and she gripped the phone tighter. She had intended to tell him about Kit after they were in the car. She had planned on telling the story in clear, complete detail. No emotion, no outbursts. Just the facts, ma'am. Something his policeman's logic couldn't refute.
"Kit was following me again." Even as she said it she knew it was a mistake. It was all wrong. Her voice was high, breathy. She gripped the telephone cable and twisted it in frustration.
"Stay where you are." Joey took a corner too fast and almost hit a deli
very truck.
"It's true, Joey. Kit was following me. I saw him in the window of an antique clothing store. The lady who owns the shop, Mrs. Copperfield, she saw him, too." The more she talked, the more desperate she sounded. Even the man waiting to use the phone was casting pitying looks at her.
"Easy," Joey said. "Take it easy, I'm on the way."
To Cori's utter dismay, tears blinded her. "But I did see him." Her voice was low but filled with determination.
"Everything's going to be okay," he reassured her, knowing his words were a terrible lie. He could hear the panic in her voice, the fear. It wasn't okay. She was having visits from a dead man. And since he didn't believe in voodoo or ghosts, there was only one explanation.
Cori wanted to yield to the release of her tears, to let out all the bitter disappointment and the hopes and dreams that had died so violent a death with Kit's disappearance. Even on the other end of the phone, Joey gave her a sense of protection. He listened to her. He'd tried to help her, and she had repaid him by lying to him and getting herself deeper into trouble.
She gathered herself and straightened up. "How much longer before you'll get here?"
"Three minutes. Hang on, Cori, I'm almost there."
The tenderness in his voice was almost her undoing, but she managed to lift her face and take a breath. "I can make it, Joey. I'm okay."
Joey felt the dagger of pain slice into his heart. She was so courageous. It didn't matter that her fear was not founded in fact. It didn't matter that she was imagining things. To her, Kit Wells was real. That made her courage even more admirable, and so very, very tragic.
He turned onto the side street beside the club and saw her. She was in a phone booth, clinging to the phone for dear life. A man waited impatiently for his turn, and Joey came too close to him when he pulled up on the sidewalk and signaled for Cori to get into the car. The expression on her face when she saw him made his heart thud. She dropped the phone without hanging it up and ran toward him.
The restaurant was old and quiet. It wasn't safe, but Joey knew he had to talk to Cori, and she'd needed the fortifying glasses of wine. Whatever she'd seen—and it hadn't been Kit Wells—had completely unnerved her. Now her color was looking better, but nothing between them had been resolved.
"Talk to me, Cori," he encouraged her.
"I know you think I'm nuts, but I saw him. Clearly, Joey. Not just a shadow figure or a possibility.
The sun was full on his face and he was only thirty yards away. I saw him, and Mrs. Copperfield saw him, too."
"Did Mrs. Copperfield know Kit?" Joey spoke softly, still avoiding her direct gaze.
"Well, no, but she saw the man, and she described him. It was Kit. / saw him."
Because he knew he was going to hurt her, Joey reached across the table and took both her hands in his. He finally looked into her eyes and held her gaze. "Don't you want to know what Captain Blake said?"
Cori felt a surge of eagerness. "He knows Kit is alive, doesn't he? What did he say?"
Joey felt his lips dry, and his mouth filled with the taste of ashes. Why did it feel like a betrayal to tell this woman the truth?
"Joey?" Cori sensed something was terribly wrong. "What is it? What did Blake say?" The last held a note of accusation.
"He said that Kit was abducted. He was shot and killed. There was a witness. When they told you Kit was dead, they were telling the truth."
Cori felt as if she'd been slapped. It was clear looking into Joey's eyes that he believed Blake. Not her, but Blake. "How is it possible that I saw a dead man?"
Joey wanted to look down. He wanted to look anywhere except into the twin green pools of pain.
"You didn't see Kit. Either you saw someone who looked a lot like him, or you didn't see anything at all.
Except in your mind." There, it was out on the table.
She tried to stand but he held her wrists.
"Let me go, damn you." She tugged hard, pulling his chest into the edge of the table and upsetting the glasses. Wine, water and ice sloshed over the table, cascading down onto his boots and the floor.
"Cori, take it easy."
"Take your hands off me." Her eyes registered total, unforgiving fury.
"The witness saw Kit. He was shot once and pushed into a car trunk." He tightened his grip, expecting her to fight even more at the words. Already the maitre d' was looking toward them and signaling one of the waiters.
"Is there a problem?" The man came up to the table, standing a little distance away, but close enough to give the spilled water and wine an imperious look.
"Everything is fine here," Joey said.
"Everything is not fine." Cori jerked her hands suddenly, almost getting free. Joey had to lunge across the table to recapture them. "This man is hurting me. I want to leave, and he refuses to let me go."
"Sir, the lady would like for you to release her." The waiter was clearly ill at ease. "If you don't let her go, we'll have to call the cops."
"I am a cop," Joey said softly, trying to hide that fact from the now-curious diners who had stopped eating and were watching the drama unfold.
"Take your hands off the lady." The waiter lifted a hand and made a signal in the air to the maitre d', who instantly picked up the telephone.
"I can't," Joey said. "She'll be out of here in four seconds."
"If she wishes to leave..." The waiter didn't finish.
"Cori, you have to believe what I'm saying. You asked me to find out the truth. I said I would help you. Now you have to take my help."
"That isn't the truth. I don't care what Blake said. Either he's lying, or you are. I saw Kit." Her voice lowered to a hiss. "I saw him with my own eyes. Clearly. It strikes me as a little odd that I'm an eyewitness in a double murder and my word and memory are perfectly fine. It's only when it's my own husband in question that my vision or my sanity can't be trusted. Well, I saw Kit. If I didn't, then you're right, I'm insane. But I don't think so. I think someone is playing a terrible game, and I'm the pawn. Now, take your hands off me this instant or I'll have your badge and your career. You might be an officer of the law, but you have no right to touch me."
Joey let her hands go. To hold on any longer would do no good. She was not going to listen to what he said. He'd thought if he could hold her long enough to finish, the weight of the truth would finally make her believe.
Cori stood. "I'm out of your program, Mr. Tio. I'm not a witness for anything. My husband is alive, and I'm going to find him. I don't need you or anyone else."
"Cori, please..."
She turned away and stormed across the restaurant, oblivious to her surroundings, and to the man who fell into step some thirty yards behind her.
Chapter Eight
As Cori cleared the restaurant door, Joey pulled out his badge and flipped it open so the waiter could see. "It's business, man, don't interfere."
The waiter hesitated. "The police have been called. It's our policy...."
"Call them and cancel the summons." Joey stood. "Thanks." He walked out the door as several diners watched him with cold contempt at his manhandling of a woman. Just as he was almost out the door, he heard a young girl.
"Bully," she said, a word as clear as a Christmas bell. "You're nothing but a bully."
Joey didn't bother to refute the charge. He was feeling like a bully. He walked into the street and headed out the way Cori had gone. He had no intention of trying to catch her. It wouldn't do a bit of good. He'd had a chance, one chance, and he'd blown it. He should have taken her to the office and arranged for a counselor to break the news to her, someone who could have managed it with a degree of skill and compassion. But no, he'd believed he was qualified to do it. And he had messed up badly. If it would have done any good, he would have kicked himself all the way down the street.
He caught a glimpse of her dark chestnut hair as she bobbed around a corner. She wasn't jogging, but it was a gait a lot faster than a regular walk. Joey unfolded his legs a bit more
and started after her in earnest. He had to keep an eye on her. And she wasn't going to like that one little bit.
For the first twenty minutes, he thought there was a pattern to her path, but he finally realized she was wandering. Aimlessly crossing and recrossing streets. Walking by places where she would stop and loiter at a storefront. When he realized what she was doing, he felt as if the marrow of his bones had chilled. She was using herself as bait. She was waiting for Kit, or someone else, to come to her. Too many people knew she was in town.
As he darted into the doorway of a small jewelry store, he saw another man and knew instantly that he, too, was following Cori. Joey's subconscious registered the man's patterned jacket—a jaunty combination of red, yellow and black. He walked with his hands in the pockets of the jacket, not an unusual sight on a brisk day, but he was definitely following Cori. He'd been on another corner, had angled across the street and now was behind her again.
Joey started forward, no longer caring if Cori knew he was behind her or not. As the man drew closer to Cori where she stood at a traffic light, Joey broke into a run. His heart pumped, blocking out the sounds of the city. His vision was locked on the man, the way the wind ruffled his thin hair. He was intent on Cori, and there could be no good reason for that interest.
The light changed and Cori started across the street, one woman amid a group of men and women, all moving at the same speed. Except the brightly jacketed man was moving faster—too fast for Joey to catch up. He was ten yards from Cori, and Joey felt more than saw him maneuver the gun in his pocket.
It was going to be a hit. A murder right on the streets of New Orleans. In the confusion the gunman would get away while everyone looked down at Cori and saw the horror of deadly violence, helpless to stop what had already happened.
"Cori!" Joey called her name.
She halted and looked around, finally seeing him. There was a flare of something in her eyes, and then smoldering anger as she turned abruptly and started to walk faster. The man was working through the crowds, closer to her now, as Joey ran as fast as he could. Looking back, Cori saw that Joey was gaining on her, and she began to run, too.
A Christmas Kiss Page 10
