Seven

The detective—Celina thought Jack had called him O’Leary—hadn’t actually said they were calling Errol’s death a murder. Couldn’t he have slipped under the water, then struggled out and…

Errol had drowned. Someone had drowned him, then tried to make it look like something else killed him. He had, in fact, had a heart attack, but the coroner had been adamant—according to this O’Leary—that it hadn’t been his heart that precipitated Errol’s death.

Jack’s embrace hadn’t surprised her until she’d left him and had time to think about it. He wasn’t the kind of man she associated with spontaneous kindness, but evidently she was wrong. She didn’t know how long they had stood there, just holding each other, but the effect had been more disquieting than calming. He was a strong man in every way, a man with a heady ability to make a woman feel very much a woman—and like it.

The analysis was a waste of time. She doubted she’d spend more time wrapped in Jack Charbonnet’s arms.

The cab she’d taken from Chartres Street dropped her in the driveway of the Lamar house. She paid the driver and he gave her a card with a number to call when she was ready to go home. She’d have liked to go then, but her mother would already be watching for her and worrying. How embarrassing it was when Celina, who had once been a part-time member of Wilson Lamar’s campaign force, failed to show up on time, showed up many hours late, in fact. Mama and Daddy were turning their connections into cash again by smoothing Wilson Lamar’s path to the old money New Orleans set. They needed and expected Celina’s support.

She loathed the prospect of seeing Wilson.

Small white lights trembled in the oaks lining the drive. More lights outlined the two galleries along the front of the house. And from the volume of laughter and music issuing through the open front door, enough liquor had flowed to make it unlikely anyone would either notice her arrival, or care if she was or was not there. Except for Mama. And Wilson. Wilson noticed everything.

The first word Celina heard clearly when she entered the Lamars’ elegant foyer was her own name. Someone screamed her name, and a sudden surge toward her made her consider retreat.

She stood her ground while drunken partygoers swarmed about her.

“Where have you been, Celina?” Mama’s voice was always easily recognized. “We’ve been waiting for you for hours. There was no answer at your apartment.”

“You aren’t going to stay in that grizzly place, are you,” Mrs. Sabina Lovelace asked, her thin-bridged nose very red. Mrs. Lovelace, of the timber Lovelaces, was a close friend of Mama and Daddy’s. Many people here were their close friends.

“What grizzly place would that be?” Celina asked, deliberately widening her eyes.

“Why”—Sabina Lovelace’s voice dropped—”the Royal Street place, of course. How could you even think of sleeping there. They say it takes the dead a while to vacate, if you know what I mean.”

Celina let her eyes get even rounder. “Vacate? You mean Errol Petrie?”

“Well, Ι surely do. He’s the only one who died there recently, isn’t he? And they say violent deaths are the worst. The poor, dear departed has been violated and can’t rest while he or she is watching and waiting for justice to be done.”

Celina smiled suddenly, brilliantly, and said, “Why, Mrs. Lovelace, I thank you. I’ll feel so comforted knowing Errol is still there with me.”

The woman moaned and turned to Celina’s mother. “Bitsy, you poor thing, I think your girl is unbalanced. Must be because of the shock. You need to get her to a good therapist, and soon. I’ll call you with the name of mine in the morning. I need another drink.”

Questions burst from all sides. Who had been the first to see Errol after he died? Who had been the last to see him before he died? What had he looked like when he was dead? Did the police think it was murder? Was it true that Errol had been involved in a sex orgy and that he passed out from...you know? Did he hit his head on the floor because he slipped? They always said most fatal accidents happened at home. And it was murder, wasn’t it?

“Let the poor girl be.” Wilson Lamar’s voice boomed over the rest. “She’s had a terrible day, I’m sure. Thank you for makin’ yourself come, Celina. I take it as a personal compliment and a sign of your commitment to my senate bid. What will you have to drink?”

She didn’t want anything, not if it came from Wilson, but she forced a smile and said, “I’ll take a cranberry juice and tonic, please.” Her breath always shortened around the man. Why couldn’t her parents see that he was slime and wanted people only for what he could get out of them?

Wilson snapped his fingers and sent a waiter sliding through the throng to get the drink.

Sally Lamar appeared at her husband’s side, her long, reddish hair caught up at each side with a diamond comb. More diamonds glittered at her ears. A soft face. Rounded cheekbones and jaw, a full mouth colored pale pink and moistly shiny, ingenuous brown eyes that managed to appear liquid and innocent at all times. Sally was a perfect compliment to her tall, fit husband. Wilson’s blond good looks, his easy smile, usually drew attention away from a vaguely supercilious light in his intelligent eyes. The most stunning couple in the county, that was what was said about the Lamars. Sally’s sequined shift was the color of Irish coffee and set little reflections dancing off her smooth white skin. Matching pumps with very high heels drew attention to beautiful legs shown to advantage all the way to mid-thigh.

Celina detested both of them.

“You do know how to draw attention to yourself, honey,” Sally said to Celina. “All over the television screen all day.”

“Oh, Sally, you couldn’t even see her face,” Mama said, not looking at the other woman. “And they just kept repeating the same footage. You know how those things go.”

“No, I don’t, thank goodness,” Sally said sharply. “Unless I’m at my husband’s side—which is my job and my pleasure—Ι manage to keep myself out of the limelight. We can only hope Celina’s attachment to Wilson’s campaign won’t draw any negative attention.”

For her mother’s sake, Celina didn’t remind the gathered company that she was no longer involved in helping with Wilson’s senate bid. “Well,” she said with forced cheer, “you all look as if you’re having a time of it. Nice music, Sally, and the house looks gorgeous.”

Sally simpered, and hung on Wilson’s arm. “My daddy was famous for giving the best parties in the parish. Some said the best parties in Louisiana. I guess I inherited his talent.”

“I guess you did, sugar,” Wilson said, patting her hands while he took subtle advantage of the moment to release himself from her. “Here’s your drink, Celina. It’s hot in here. Let’s find a couple of seats outside and you can catch me up on everythin’ that’s been happenin’ to you. Old friends shouldn’t lose touch.”

Celina’s skin crawled. Goose bumps shot out on her bare arms.

“There you are, little pet.” Dear, ineffectual Daddy tottered up to Celina and dropped a liquor-laced kiss on her cheek. “You are lookin’ lovely, as always, my child. You make your daddy proud. I worried about you today. All that unpleasantness. You ought to come home to your mother and me.”

A big man who still showed remnants of how handsome he’d been when he’d married Celina’s young, newly widowed mother—back before the liquor did its worst—silver strands glinted in his sandy hair. He still worked out—when he was sober enough. Neville’s primary problem had been that although he was physically strong, he was one of the most emotionally ineffectual men she’d ever known.

Grateful that he hadn’t yet drunk enough to turn nasty, she hugged him and felt the first rush of genuine warmth she’d felt all night...except for when Jack Charbonnet had embraced her, and that had been an entirely different kind of warmth. “Hi, Daddy,” she whispered. “I love you, y’know.”

He drew back and looked at her with eyes that didn’t quite focus but which became instantly teary. He patted her arms, stroked her cheek, leaned close, and whispered back, “Forgive me, pet. I wish I could have done more for you. Never could quite...well, you know. Never mind, your mama’s strong enough for all of us, hmm?”

Celina nodded and smiled, but sadness struck very deep. Neville Payne had married Bitsy and adopted her children. His deterioration had kept pace with the speed with which he’d spent his wife’s fortune—which meant it had been relatively rapid.

“I’m borrowin’ your daughter, Neville,” Wilson announced. “This is one savvy girl you raised here.” He affected the drawl of a southern gentleman—which he was not. When he looped a muscular arm around her shoulders, she was heavily pressed not to shrug away—or scream.

“You aren’t leaving our guests, are you,” Sally whined. “Marshall Compton wants to talk to you about something, darling.”

Wilson ignored her and shepherded Celina outside and along the path that skirted the house until it reached the wide white marble ledge around an oval pool. The pool shone turquoise under soft lighting.

She didn’t want to go with him, but neither did she want to make a scene.

He pulled up two Adirondack chairs and placed them so that the arms touched. “Now, you sit right here, Celina. You’ve had a terrible day. It would be terrible for anyone, but you’re a sensitive little woman. You were never intended to deal with unpleasantness.”

“Thank you for thinking of me,” she said, gingerly taking a seat. “But I’m pretty tough, Wilson. I’ve got to be to do what I do.”

“Did,” he responded promptly, lowering himself into the chair beside her. “That’s something I want to talk to you about. I need you, Celina. You made a memorable Dreams Girl, but obviously Dreams won’t continue with Errol gone. He was the heart and soul of that little effort. Of course, I’m the first to say it’s sad to see it disappear, and I intend to put forward a plan to provide special little services to these terminally ill children. And when I’m elected, I won’t be one of those politicians who forgets the platform he ran on, so don’t you worry about that. But in the meantime, I need you, my dear. I’ve missed you. Now, I know we haven’t always seen eye to eye, but I do think that philosophically we’re on the same side, and it’s a thorn in my side to think of you doing anythin’ but workin’ for me, and for the good of your brother and sister Louisianans, and your countrymen. What do you say?”

She stared at the bright, lapping water and didn’t trust herself to say anything.

Wilson covered her hand on the arm of her chair and Celina promptly pulled away.

If Wilson was offended, he hid it very well. He said, “Now, I know I’ve probably surprised you by moving so quickly, but you know that’s how it has to be in my business. The man who misses a beat, misses the boat, so to speak. It’s time to put any disagreements behind us for the good of the cause. You’re too sophisticated a woman to dwell on little misunderstandings.”

Her nerves felt sheared. He was incredible. Nothing stopped him, not the fact that he continued to laugh at her parents behind their backs while he used them and that he’d told Celina he would drop them the instant he’d got everything he could out of them, and not Celina’s decision to leave his campaign staff because she’d discovered that he was skimming funds. She had told him what she knew, and he’d laughed at her, and threatened to make her “pathetic” parents look like fools in front of all they had left, their connections, if she made any move against him. But that hadn’t been all Wilson Lamar had done to try to ensure her “loyalty.”

“You think I can forget the past, Wilson?” Her voice sounded unused.

He guffawed and reached to pat her thigh. His hand lingered, and squeezed. “Might as well, sugar. It isn’t as if deadbeat Mama and Daddy are going to take up your financial slack. You’re going to need a job, and what better job than with someone who really appreciates your gifts? I’ll make it well worth your while. Have you ever been to Washington?”

Glass splintering brought both of them to their feet. A boy in jeans and a striped T-shirt, with a hood pulled over his head, dashed from the house. He’d collided with a waiter carrying a tray of glasses and knocked both the man and his tray to the ground.

“He’s a thief!” a slurred voice yelled. “God knows what he’s taken. He’s a thief, I tell you. A thief! Looking through the coats. Stop, thief!”

The boy dashed toward the pool, and the fence that skirted it on the side farthest from the house, then saw Wilson and Celina. Wilson was on his feet. The boy dithered, deciding which way to go.

Another figure, this one much bigger, emerged from the pool house. Dressed in jeans, but with his chest bare and shining slightly in the subdued garden lights, he launched himself. It would be some time before the intruder learned what hit him—and then only because someone would tell him.

Not even a cry escaped the boy. The newcomer tackled him at knee level from behind, sending him whipping down on the pool surround. Celina heard the crack of a skull hitting tile and winced.

Opi, the man who ran the Lamar household, walked rapidly from the terrace with Sally trotting behind him. Guests began to crowd forth from the house.

“Who is that?” Wilson asked Sally when she reached him. “The man who stopped him. He came from the pool house.”

“Umm.” Sally’s uncertain tone made Celina look curiously at her. “Well, I do believe that’s the person you hired to put in those beautiful aquariums of yours.”

Having made certain their interloper wasn’t going anywhere, first because he was semi-unconscious, and second because the bare-chested, dark-haired adonis had him pinned to the ground, Opi approached his employer. “Police on their way, Mr. Lamar.”

Wilson didn’t answer Opi but went to stand over the two men beside the pool. “Fellow who put in the aquariums, aren’t you?” he asked.

“Yes, sir. Ben Angel.”

Wilson snorted. “It’s a good thing you’re big. No one would be stupid enough to make anything out of that name, Angel. What were you doing in the pool house?”

“I’m a perfectionist, me,” Ben Angel said, and now Celina could see that he was young, probably not more than in his early twenties. “With the important party going on, I wanted to be close in case anythin’ go wrong with my aquariums.”

Wilson said, “I like that,” and dropped to his haunches. He felt the prostrate boy’s neck for his pulse, but drew back when the kid moaned and started to move. “He’s going to have the mama and daddy of all headaches. Keep him where he is, Angel, there’s a good man.”

“Let the staff take care of it, Wilson, do,” Sally said. “Come and be nice to our guests. You come too, Celina. Really, you’ve had more than enough to deal with for one day.”

“I can handle things here if you need to go, Mr. Lamar,” Ben Angel said.

“Not at all.” Wilson eyed him speculatively. “I like a youngster who can act and think. You set on sticking with the aquarium business?”

“Oh, Wilson,” Sally said, catching his sleeve and tugging. “What a question.”

“I’ m not plannin’ to stay married to it, if that your meanin’,” Ben replied.

“Come and talk to me in the mornin’,” Wilson said. “Ten sharp. Opi, make sure he gets in to see me.”

“Yes, sir,” Opi said.

Celina couldn’t take her eyes from Sally’s face. The woman looked sick, and she looked sick while she stared from her husband to Ben Angel and back again.

Sirens sounded and rapidly grew closer. Flashing lights spun through the darkness outside the estate. Assuming his smooth, in-charge demeanor, Wilson was on his feet and standing over the culprit by the time the police—with several reporters in pursuit—made their way through the gibbering throng on the terrace.

Celina was amazed to see the gossip columnist Charmain Bienville in the lead, shouting orders at an accompanying cameraman as her high heels quickly covered the space to the drama area. Her close-cropped white-blond hair glinted. She was a tall woman but probably wore size four Armani suits. “Hello, Wilson,” she said briskly, touching his arm lightly. “Fundraiser turns into a drunken brawl, hmm? Anything you’d like to say about that? Fred, you know what to do.”

“Fred” promptly dropped to make sure that his shots would include Wilson as well as the kid with blood running from his nose. The camera also captured Ben Angel and the bevy of inebriated guests who had finally gained enough courage to totter close.

A policeman ordered everyone to back off, but they were slow to react.

Charmain’s sharp eyes singled out Celina. “Oh, my dear girl,” she said, throwing her arms around Celina, who had no relationship whatsoever with the woman. “What a terrible day you have had. Listen, I’ve been trying to reach you. Ι want to do my best to help as much as I can. These will be difficult times. You’ll have to deal with all the unpleasant rumors—”

“Good to see you here, Charmain,” Wilson said. “How about some champagne?”

“Thanks,” she said, and turned back to Celina. “People can be so nasty, dear. Are you staying on in Royal Street?” Mesmerized, Celina nodded.

“Good. I shall come over and we’ll have a girl-to-girl chat and I’ll help you plan your counter offense.”

“Counter offense?” Celina frowned. “To what?”

“The people who will want to undermine Dreams because of all the talk about Errol, of course. Aren’t you...oh, you don’t plan to keep things going. I should have thought of that. After all, you were just the Dreams Girl, not the foundation itself. Errol Petrie was the foundation, and he was well loved. It would be a pity if everything he did came to mean nothing because of what they’ll say about him. But we should still talk.”

More camera flashes popped, and reporters yelled questions. Celina noted that the police didn’t seem at all annoyed at their presence, which lent credence to suggestions that the first item on the police dispatchers’ list was to inform the media of anything interesting going down.

The boy sat up and hung his head forward while a policeman read him his rights.

Charmain slipped an arm beneath one of Celina’s and said in a confidential tone, “Is it true that Jack Charbonnet helped fund Errol Petrie?”

“They were very close friends.” Celina knew she was out of her depth with this, and the less she said the better.

“But Errol had money problems because of some, well, isn’t it true that his wife left him because of certain differences of opinion about the kind of entertainment he preferred?”

Celina pressed her lips together and squelched her temper. “Errol Petrie’s son died of an autoimmune disorder. That cost ...” She was playing into this woman’s hands. Smiling wasn’t easy, but she managed. “I’m sorry. You’re trying to help me with my job and I’m just too upset to know what to do or say at the moment. I must ask you to forgive me. Perhaps we can talk later.” Much later. Like never.

“It’s nice you’ve got Jack Charbonnet’s shoulder to cry on now.” Charmain raised dark eyebrows, and her oddly light eyes shone conspiratorially. “And what a shoulder, my dear. That’s a coup no other woman has pulled off since his wife killed herself. Drove into a swamp. Drowned in there. Horrible story.”

Suicide? Celina couldn’t stop herself from registering distress, which she instantly realized would let Charmain know she’d delivered some news.

“Here’s your champagne. Charmain darlin’,” Wilson said, insinuating himself between Celina and the columnist. “We’ve had quite the fund-raiser here this evening. Anyone you may have been wanting to interview is undoubtedly here. Why not let me introduce you to a few people.”

Charmain looked at him, and her eyes became old and knowing. “How’s the campaign, Wilson?” Before he could respond, she said, “I’d better see what we have going on by your pool. Amazing how it’s not safe to go to a party at the home of someone like Wilson Lamar.”

“I hope you don’t intend to print that,” Wilson said with one of his most boyish smiles. “When I’m in the Senate I’m going to make crime in this country one of my priorities. And I’m not going to be one of those senators who goes to Washington and forgets the platform he ran on.”

“We’re taking this young man in,” one of the policemen said. “Evidently he was interrupted before he actually got what he came for. We’ve searched him and he’s clean. We’d appreciate it if you’d do the necessary.”

“The necessary?” Sally said. “What do you mean, the necessary?”

“Nothing to get upset about, ma’am,” the policeman said. “We need to have Mr. Lamar file charges.”

“Of course, Officer,” Wilson said.

Celina felt tired, so very tired. She’d done her part and come to the party because her parents had begged her to. And she realized she hadn’t seen either of them among the group outside. Bitsy and Neville knew when to make themselves scarce.

“I’ll be calling you,” Charmain told her, and pressed a dry kiss on her cheek. “Take care of yourself, dear. You don’t look well.”

Wilson took Celina by the shoulders and studied her. “No, you don’t, young lady. Not that you should after everything you’ve been through. But you will give serious thought to what I mentioned to you, won’t you?”

“What was that?” Charmain asked so offhandedly, it was hardly a question at all.

“Why, I want Celina to join my staff again, of course,” Wilson said heartily. “She used to work part-time for the campaign. Now she’s going to have lots of free time. She’s not just beautiful, she’s brilliant, and I don’t like to see that kind of talent going to waste.”

Celina bowed her head and took a small step closer to Wilson, just close enough to murmur, “That was a mistake.” Then she nodded in all directions and moved away from him. “I think I’m going to take the advice of my well-wishers and toddle off to get some rest, so I’ll bid you all good night.”

A chorus of good-byes followed her as she walked toward the house and made for the nearest telephone to call the cab back. A faint buzzing began in her head. Once before she’d felt the sensation, and she’d almost passed out. That had been when she’d had an encounter with Wilson, too, and it had terrified her.

She used the passage of the police through the house to make her getaway without having to speak to her parents again, and ran the length of the driveway until she could s1ip through the gates and wait outside.

Within moments the police cars pulled away, their lights flashing again.

Tired didn’t come close to describing how she felt. Her limbs were heavy and her head ached so badly, she wanted to close her eyes.

“Are you out of your mind, Celina?”

She jumped, and clutched the neck of her dress.

Jack Charbonnet, his hands in his pockets, leaned menacingly over her. “You really have a thing for courting danger, don’t you? What the hell are you doing out here on your own? Trying to see if you can pick up a murderer? Or maybe just a rapist?”

“Don’t!”

His face moved, grew less distinct. She threw out her arms and was vaguely aware of hands gripping them as she began to fall.

She should ask him what he was doing there.

A cold place cleared at the center of her mind, and she saw another face—Wilson Lamar grinning at her.

She shook her head, willing the image away. Tears sprang in her eyes. She couldn’t stop them.

“Celina?” Jack Charbonnet. “Hold on, kiddo, hold on. It’s okay.”

You never trusted men who told you things would be okay.

Wilson sweated and stood very close to her. “I need you, Celina. Trust me, it’ll be okay. “ They were in the small sitting room on the second floor at her parents’ home. “I swear if you won’t talk to me, I’m going to kill myself.  I’ve got a gun in the car and I’m going to drive out to the Atchafa1aya Swamp and put the thing in my mouth. By the time they find me, there won’t be anything left.”

“Celina, can you hear me?” Jack asked. “I’m taking you home. I’m going to drive you home.”

She hit him. Hit him again. And she cried.

Wilson had closed and locked the sitting room door and begged her to hold him, to let him tell her what was destroying him.

And she’d been afraid of him, but sorry for him too. Before she’d found out he was stealing, she’d believed in him and in what he said he wanted to do for Louisiana.

“It’s okay, honey.” Jack’s voice again. “Hit me if you want to. I can take it. You’re angry. Come on, hold on to me.”

“Hold me, Celina, please hold me. I’m going to do great things for Louisiana, baby. You wouldn’t want to get in the way of that by telling people things that don’t matter. I needed that money. To help me get where I want to—where I need to go for everyone’s sake.”

How long ago had it been? Five months now? A little more? She couldn’t make herself remember clearly anymore. She’d been afraid of him, and she’d asked him to go home and get some sleep, told him they’d talk things out when he was calmer.

Wilson Lamar had put his hands around her neck and smiled, and said that he would just have to make sure she saw things his way. He’d have to create some insurance for himself, and if she chose to keep on threatening him, her parents would be the ones to suffer. He’d just have to let their hypocritical little world know that their daughter was a tramp who had tried to trick him into leaving his wife. Celina had come on to him. That’s what he’d tell the world. She’d flaunted herself and he’d been weak. He’d throw himself on public mercy and get it. She’d never be believed. After all, there were precedents, and she was a beautiful, sexy woman. The former Miss Louisiana, a woman accustomed to using her body to get what she wanted.

Then Wilson Lamar took out his insurance.

He had raped her that night.