Nine

 

Palms in the courtyard rustled in the wind. Lightning briefly soaked the darkness to the north, over Lake Pontchartrain, and bathed Celina Payne’s Royal Street sitting room. Jack waited for the thunder, then wished he were at the old house his grandfather had left him at the edge of the lake. He didn’t get to go there nearly often enough.

The thunder, when it came, was distant and disappointing. Tonight was worthy of cannon fire, an explosion to open the skies and bring the cleansing rain in torrents.

He’d left the lights off out of habit. Moving around in the darkness was comfortable. He smiled, but knew it was a bitter smile. A love of darkness probably came naturally, a legacy from his father—like the phobia about standing in front of windows.

His reaction to Celina wasn’t welcome. It wasn’t unpleasant, far from it, but it was inappropriate for too many reasons. What did he feel about her, or toward her? She made him angry.

Now there was a telling first reaction. Anger was a poor basis for a relationship, working or personal. Not that he intended to pursue anything personal. This time his smile felt vaguely embarrassed. If he thought the woman would welcome any advances from him, he was a masochist who enjoyed rejection. Her dislike of him had a whole lot more punch than the night’s first pathetic roll of thunder.

Celina had gone to her bedroom—to change her shoes, she said. Jack had noted that a light showed on the phone in this room, meaning she was using the line and wanted privacy.

He wondered whom she was speaking to and considered, for a short, mad moment, carefully lifting the receiver. A very short, quickly quelled moment.

What the hell had all that been about at Wilson Lamar’s place? He’d swear she’d passed out from some sort of incredible stress. He’d all but carried her into the taxi that mercifully arrived within seconds. But then she had rallied enough to pull into the farthest possible corner of the seat and sit, huddled, peering at houses they passed, and then at the buildings in the Quarter. She’d attempted to leave him in the cab when they got to Royal Street, but he’d ignored her protests and followed her into the house.

The illuminated button on the phone went out.

A gust of heavy rain on the windowpanes surprised him. Nο relief from the electric humidity had been forecast.

A muted snap sounded behind him and a floor lamp in one corner came on. “You’re standing in the dark,” Celina said.

“So I am.”

“What were you doing at the Lamar house?”

It had been too much to hope for that she wouldn’t ask the question. He was not going to tell her that he was curious about her as a woman outside the only arena where their lives had touched—Errol’s arena. And he wasn’t going to tell her that he’d done something completely contrary to his nature and followed her on a whim without knowing what, if anything, he intended to do when he arrived at his destination.

He took his time turning around to look at her. “The same thing you were doing there,” he told her. The lie came easily enough. “Only I was even later than you were.”

She entered the frankly threadbare room with her arms tightly pressed to her sides. Her hands were clenched into fists. An oversized gray sweatshirt and jeans had replaced the black linen dress. “You were on your way to the fund-raiser?” Celina looked out of place among mismatched predominantly brown furnishings.

He’d have to pray she never verified what he said. “Yeah.”

“How come you didn’t mention you were going too, when I left you? I told you where I was heading.”

“I guess I was too tied up with thinkin’ about Errol.” He shrugged and forced himself to make eye contact with her. “I still can’t believe he’s gone.”

At that she flexed her fingers and the abject sadness in her eyes loaded him with guilt. “I appreciate your kindness,” she said. “For bringing me home. I’ll be fine now.”

In other words, get lost, Jack. “Good.”

She looked directly into his face, then quickly away again. But she didn’t look away quickly enough for him to miss either the naked misery, or the moist sheen in her eyes.

“It’s raining,” she said. “Maybe you should call a cab from here instead of—”

“Don’t worry about me. I’ve lived in the Quarter a long time. I know my way around—even in the rain.” What he hoped was an engaging smile didn’t elicit a flicker of reaction. “Celina? Will you let me do something for you? Is there something you need?” Now he was getting soft.

“I”—she pulled her sleeves over her hands—“I don’t need anything, but thank you for offering.”

“You’re very pale.”

“I don’t feel great.” At last a smile appeared, but it wasn’t convincing. “That doesn’t mean I’m ill or something, just that I’m a bit wobbly. Shocked. You must be too, in your own way.”

How right she was, Jack thought He nodded, and it was his turn to Look away. “I lost my best friend today.” That was the kind of thing he never said aloud to anyone. Ms. Celina Payne had an unusual effect on a man. “We weren’t very much alike, really. Not at all alike. But, y’know, I loved the guy. I always knew where I was with Errol. He told it like it was. Played it straight. Aw, hell, I sound like an athlete who’s given one too many interviews.”

“You sound like a sincere human being to me. You sound as if you aren’t what you pretend to be.”

He glanced at her sharply. “What does that mean? I’m really a creep? Or I’m not really a creep?”

She shook her head and caught her bottom lip between her teeth. And when her eyes crinkled, tears slipped free and he swallowed hard. After Elise died, he had cried, and he’d walked around for weeks with what felt like a block of wood in his throat. Since then he’d been able to become emotional only over Amelia. His daughter had become his link to her mother, the wife he’d loved and lost, and his link to a part of himself that would have frozen if he hadn’t had a child. What he felt now, because very lovely Celina Payne shed tears prettily, was an autonomic reaction he might have to a well-produced, well-acted piece of cinematic pathos.

“I think you’re more comfortable if you can make people think you’re a tough guy, Jack,” she said, clearly struggling for composure. “But I don’t think you’re so tough. Toughened, maybe, but not tough.”

“When I was a kid, my mother told me I could make it on the stage.” A laugh stuck in his throat. His mother? He’d mentioned his mother spontaneously after never saying her name or answering a question about her from the moment he knew she was dead.

“I think most mothers think that kind of thing about their children,” Celina said. “My mother got completely carried away with...forget I said that.”

He wouldn’t forget, but he might never have a reason to raise the subject again. “Well, if you’re sure you’re okay, I’ll go on down and find that cab.” He felt inside his jacket for a card. “I know you’ve got my number in the office, but I’ll leave this here. Don’t hesitate to call, please. I can be here in a few minutes.” He put the card near her phone.

“Thanks.” Barefoot, with her hands hitched inside her sleeves and no makeup left, she looked very young and very alone. “I’ll be at my desk in the morning.”

He cleared his throat. “I meant to speak to you about that. Evidently we’re going to have to put up with more visits from the NOPD. They were here all afternoon, so Antoine told me. Errol’s rooms are taped off. They think they’ve done everything they need to do, but until they give the word, it’s off limits over there.”

Her expression turned haunted. She whispered, “Who would kill Errol?”

Jack said, “Not a living soul I can think of. No, I surely can’t think of a soul. Celina, people grinned at the sight of him. It’s corny, but he spread sunshine—you know that. He had a hard time of it for a few years there, but he faced up to his problems and beat them. And he didn’t make enemies along the way.” He looked at her. “Did he? Do you know of anyone with a grudge? Is there somethin’ Ι don’t know?” What he stopped himself from asking was if she was hiding something, and he believed she was.

She seemed to consider, then said, “No. No, nothing. Nobody.”

“No.” There wasn’t anything else to be said, not now. “I’d better go.”

“Yes. Amelia will be watching for you.”

“Amelia had better be asleep.”

“She’s lovely.”

“I know. I’m a lucky man.”

“Children make you feel that way, I’m told. Your own children.”

“Yes.” For some reason, he could no longer visualize her on the runway in a beauty pageant. “You must be very tired.”

“So must you.”

He didn’t like leaving her alone there. “Don’t forget to lock up after me.”

“I won’t forget.”

“Can you take business calls on this phone?”

“Yes.” She tipped her face up to the ceiling. “I’d like to keep on working for Dreams, but if you have different plans, I’ll understand. I know I can keep things afloat until you’re ready to—”

“I’m ready now.”

“I see.” The next second seemed long, and the next. “You mean you’d like me to leave?”

Jack scrubbed at his face. “Of course I don’t mean that. I don’t have any idea what I’ll decide about long-range plans for the foundation.”

“It’s self-sustaining,” she said, so pathetically eager, he detested himself for all the doubts he still had about her.

“I’m not concerned about that,” he told her. “But this was so important to Errol. The most important thing in his life since he lost his boy. Whatever I decide to do will be designed to make Dreams a tribute to a good man’s life.”

“And I might not be good enough to be a part of that?”

“I didn’t say that.” Nor did he mean it. “Could we take our time deciding what comes next?”

“You can take yours. The children we serve don’t have time.”

“I don’t respond well to someone trying to make me feel guilty. Once it was easy to do, but not anymore.”

If it was possible, Celina became even paler. Her blue eyes appeared black and too big for her face. She backed up, sat down suddenly on the lumpy brown tweed couch, and pushed her hands beneath her thighs.

“Do I make myself clear?” he asked. “I have no intention of putting things on hold around here. But I do have to take stock of where things stand. I should think you’d expect that after what you showed me earlier.”

She breathed through her mouth and said nothing.

What the hell, this wasn’t about money. He’d kept the books at his place. “I’ll make things right with the foundation accounts. There won’t be any problem with you writing necessary checks. I can sign them. Just keep on as you’ve been doing until we can talk again. Okay?”

Celina gave a single nod and pushed herself farther back on the couch.

His first instincts about her had been right. They would never be friends. “Good night, then. I’d appreciate it if you’d let me know about any developments.”

Taking off his jacket as he went, he slung it over his shoulder and walked to the door. The rainfall hadn’t done a thing to lessen the humidity, but then, it rarely did. He was too warm.

“Excuse me.”

Jack stopped and looked over his shoulder. She’d spoken so softly, he barely heard her. “What is it?”

“Oh, nothing.”

He turned and retraced his steps, and bent over her. “What did you want to say?” Why would a man who knew better keep walking toward trouble?

“You don’t need this,” she said.

“Now it’s my turn to say, excuse me? What is it I don’t need?” He looked closer. “Are you sick? Do you feel faint again?”

“No, of course not.”

“You’re shivering.”

“Uh-uh. I’m highly strung. I—I’m okay. Good night, Jack. Thanks for helping me out when I needed it.”

“You passed out, or just about passed out when you were leaving the Lamars’.”

“I told you I got upset because of that boy being knocked down, then arrested.”

Jack narrowed his eyes. Sweat stood out along her hairline. “I thought you said he’d been caught attempting to rob the place.”

“He didn’t have to be beaten like that.” She slumped against the back of the couch. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

“As in throw up?” Jack tossed his jacket aside and made to pick her up.

Celina pushed him away and struggled to her feet. “Nο. Thank you, but I like to be in control. You can get hurt if you give up control, if you trust someone.”

A lot of sense the lady made? “Whatever you say. I’ll just hang around while you decide if you’re going to collapse, okay?”

She clapped a hand over her mouth and made a wavy path into the corridor. Jack followed her to her disordered bedroom and inside. He registered lots of white scattered with blue polka dots on the bed, and at the windows. He also noticed the scent of burning, or something that had burned.

By the time she reached the bathroom, her slim body was doubled over and she made retching sounds.

“Hey,” Jack said, clicking into take-charge mode, “let’s get you in there before we end up havin’ to clean the carpet.”

A hand waving him away was all the thanks he got. Jack ignored the embarrassed signal and all but lifted her into the bathroom. With one hand he whipped up the toilet seat and with the other he lowered her to her knees.

“Go away,” she moaned, but without any force, before she gripped the edge of the toilet and no longer cared if he was witnessing her misery or not.

Jack gave thanks for her short hair, kept a hand under her arm, and reached for a washcloth. Celina’s wasn’t the first brow he’d sponged in the early hours of the morning. Single parents became experts at these things.

He didn’t like the limp weakness he felt in her body. When she tried to get up, her legs showed little interest in supporting her, but he didn’t lift her. Instead, he held the wet washcloth on the back of her neck and walked her to the bed. He sat her on the edge and lifted her legs.

Instantly her eyes shot wide open, and the terror he saw there made him angry. No woman had ever had a reason to he terrified of him. The instinctive urge to let her legs fall again passed quickly. She was ill, perhaps very ill. Rather than back off, he stretched her out carefully and pulled a sheet over her.

She closed her eyes.

An outer door slammed and footsteps came toward Celina’s rooms. Jack looked around for something to arm himself with.

“Hey, Celina sugar, where are you? It’s me, Dwayne. I’d have come earlier, but I had to close and you know how things get.” Jack heard the other man go into the sitting room. “I called this afternoon, but you weren’t back. Celina?”

“In here, Dwayne,” Jack called. “In the bedroom.” There was silence before Dwayne called back, “Is that you, Jack Charbonnet?”

“It surely is.”

“Why, you devil, you. I had no idea. I’m such an innocent. Celina? You okay, lamb? Just say yes and I’ll be on my way. Big, strong Jack will keep you safe.”

“Quit the crap and get your rear in here, Dwayne,” Jack shouted. “Celina’s ill. We need a doctor.”

“Νο!” She sat up and gripped her stomach. “No doctor. I don’t like doctors. I’ll be fine.”

Resplendent in a rain-spattered burgundy and gold caftan and wearing gold sandals, Dwayne rushed into the bedroom and directly to Celina’s side. “What’s happened to you?” he demanded, glaring at Jack before stroking her hair. “Did he hurt you?”

“Don’t be silly,” Celina said.

“Oh, thanks for that anyway,” Jack muttered, and felt foolish. “Persuade her to let us call a doctor.”

“Persuade?” Dwayne said, giving him a pitying look. “I’m calling one anyway.”

Celina drew up her knees and rested her face on top.

“Excuse the camp getup,” Dwayne said, flipping through a little book he produced from somewhere beneath the voluminous caftan. “One of those wretched girls didn’t show up, and I had to go on. Happens all the time. Bitch. Wait till tomorrow.” He found an entry in his book, picked up the phone, and punched in numbers. A few terse directions to someone who evidently didn’t argue at two in the morning, and he hung up.

He stroked Celina’s hair again and frowned meaningfully at Jack, silently indicating that her head was wet, and that he was worried. Jack had known and liked Dwayne LeChat for years, and he couldn’t think of anyone he’d rather have around at that moment.

“How long will it take for the doctor to get here?”

Dwayne said, “Not long. Celina hon, would you like to put on a pretty nightie? Something cool. You aren’t hot, but I’ve got to tell you, you’re sweating like a bull, baby.” He caught Jack’s grin and made a small bow. “The English language has such infinite possibilities. I believe in using them just as colorfully as I can.”

“Errοl’s dead,” Celina said into her knees. “I can’t believe it. I know it, but I can’t make it stick in my head.”

“Are you feeling any better?” Jack asked, heartened by the sound of her voice.

“Tell the doctor not to come,” she said.

Jack’s and Dwayne’s eyes met, and they both shook their heads.

Dwayne went to a chest of drawers that had been painted white by someone who hadn’t done much painting. He held his tongue between his teeth, frowned, and began searching the contents of the chest. “Turquoise? No, it’ll clash with those horrible blue polka dots. I’ve got to give you some advice about the decor in here, Celina. You’ll just have to wear white. Nothing else will do.” He produced a short white cotton nightgown with a pair of abbreviated, matching shorts. “We’re going to turn our backs and you’re going to slip these on. Okay?” He put his selections on the bed.

“If you stop the doctor from coming.”

“This is not a time for striking bargains, my little flower,” Dwayne said. “Put these on, please. I want you comfortable. And I want to straighten up this room, so be quick.”

Following Dwayne’s lead, Jack faced the wall farthest from the bed and crossed his arms. In a full and beautiful bass, Dwayne broke into a familiar number from Porgy and Bess.

“I had no idea,” Jack said when his companion paused for breath. “The last time I heard you sing that, you were Bess, not Porgy.”

“I’m very versatile,” Dwayne told him, putting a finger to his lips. “And sometimes I just can’t help myself, I have to show off.”

They were silent, listening to movements on the bed.

“Do you know that fabulous piece from Phantom?” Dwayne said. “Christine and the Phantom. You must know the one. He tells her, ‘Sing for me, Sing for me.’ ”

“Sure I know it,” Jack said.

“Oh, good. Shall we?”

Jack screwed up his face. “Shall we what? Sing it? You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Oh, be a sport. I’ll sing Christine.”

This time it was Jack who put a finger to his mouth. Celina had grown silent. “Is it okay if we turn around?” he asked. She didn’t say anything.

Jack raised his brows to Dwayne, and they both looked at the bed. With the sheet pulled up to her chin—and her sweatshirt and jeans in a heap on the floor—Celina lay on her back with one hand thrown over her head, the other curled into a fist against her throat.

“I think she’s got food poisoning,” Jack said. “Where the hell is the doctor?”

“He’ll be here. He was just finishing with his last client.”

“Client?” Jack said. “He calls his patients clients?”

Dwayne hovered over Celina. “Don’t be ridiculous. He’s a medium. In his spare time, naturally. He’s very popular, so I’m told. Personally, I have enough trouble talking to the living.”

“Is—” Jack motioned for Dwayne to join him at the bottom of the bed, then whispered, “Are you telling me this is some sort of witch doctor?”

“What do you think I am?” Dwayne hissed back. “The man has one of the most prestigious practices in New Orleans.”

“But in his spare time he conducts séances on Conti?”

“Yes, Jack. Loosen up. Some people accept the possibility that there may be more to the world than whatever they can see or touch. And they do say that séances can reduce the blood pressure. Al’s an internist. And he’s a very nice man. He’s good with people and he’ll put our little friend at ease. He’ll also tell it like it is. I don’t like the way she looks.”

Jack glanced at the bed. The only noticeable difference between Celina’s skin and the sheets was that she didn’t have blue polka dots. She opened her eyes and looked at him. “I think this is some sort of delayed reaction to what’s happened,” she said; and wetted her lips. “I’d be a liar if I said I didn’t feel awful.”

“What have you eaten today, sugar?” Dwayne asked.

“We’re wondering if you’ve got food poisoning,” Jack said. “They say most of us get varying doses of it.”

“That’s what it is,” Celina said. “Call the doctor back.”

“What did you eat?” Dwayne repeated.

“I’ve forgotten.”

The street bell sounded, tinny and echoing, through the thick-walled building.

“That’ll be Al,” Dwayne said, and hurried away.

“You picked at lunch,” Jack said to Celina. “Jeez, why didn’t I think of that? You didn’t eat anything. Or nothing to speak of. Did you drink at the Lamars’?”

“Oh, yes, I did.”

Her enthusiastic response made him suspicious. “What, exactly?”

“Um, spritzers.”

A strong booze lush. “How many?”

“One—a sip of one.”

Dwayne breezed back in with a dapper, damp, and prematurely gray man striding behind him. “Al Vauban. That’s Dr. Alain Vauban for our purposes.”

Bag in hand, Dr. Vauban went directly to Celina and smiled down at her. “Hello, Celina. We met at an auction at your parents’ house. Not that you’ll remember. I liked Errol very much, and respected him. His death is a great loss. There aren’t enough people like him.” He was, Jack decided, a small but handsome devil. The thought didn’t please him. A picture of him presiding over bumping tabletops wouldn’t quite take shape.

Dwayne slid a hand firmly around Jack’s arm and tugged. “Come along, Jacko. We’ll let the professional do his job.”

They went back to Celina’s sitting room, where Dwayne trailed around, clucking and threatening to do foul and deadly things to the furniture. He picked up a metal wastebasket, held it to his nose, and sniffed with distaste. “Something burned in here. I swear that baby girl will kill herself if we don’t look after her.”

Yesterday Jack would have protested that her welfare was no concern of his. Tonight he realized he couldn’t say that with conviction. “Waste paper?” he asked.

“Oooh, no. Somethin’ nylon—or maybe silk with some nylon. Looks melted. Rubber too. That’s the worst. Disgustin’.”

Jack’s interest was instantly piqued. He took the stainless basket and peered inside. He said, “Promise me you’ll forget this,” without intending to say any such thing. “Unless I change my mind. Okay?”

“Okay,” Dwayne said.

“It’s just that—”

“ ‘Nuff said. A friend I respect asks somethin’ of me, he gets it.”

“Thanks.” Celina had done a bad job of trying to burn the black underwear and silk bonds that had been in Errol’s room. Jack had already started to regret holding the evidence back—unless it did, indeed, belong to Celina.

Damn, he couldn’t get emotionally involved with her.

“Hush,” Dwayne said abruptly, holding up a hand. “I do believe we’ve got more company.”

They looked at each other and listened. There was no doubt that someone was climbing the outside steps from the courtyard to the second story.

“Let us not forget that our dear friend was murdered in this house less than forty-eight hours ago,” Dwayne whispered. “Could be whoever did that to him decided to come back for somethin’.”

Jack slanted a glance at the wastebasket and said, “Could be.”

The outside door to the corridor opened, then closed, and the footsteps advanced.

“We don’t want Celina upset anymore,” Dwayne said, going for the corridor himself. “I’ll deal with this.”

“Not on your own, you won’t,” Jack told him, and they went to greet the latest visitor side by side.

And stopped—side by side.

Jack didn’t tend to spend a lot of time analyzing men’s looks, but the man he confronted now was probably the most handsome specimen he’d ever encountered.

Dwayne murmured, “Oh, my,” under his breath, then, “Good evenin’, could we ask you to come into the sittin’ room before you explain yourself. There’s someone sick here.” When Dwayne said, “here,” it was so pronouncedly “heeyah” as to sound affected—which it wasn’t.

The very tall newcomer nodded and approached. Jack and Dwayne stood back to allow him access to the sitting room.

“Where is Celina?” the man asked, facing them. “How sick is she?”

The navy-blue slicker he wore dripped on the worn carpet. Jack noted that water beaded on well-polished shoes that were nevertheless old and deeply creased. His dark, curly hair was cut short and currently soaked.

“How did you get that wet?” Dwayne asked. “Where did the cabdriver let you out, for goodness’ sake?”

“I walked,” the man said shortly. “I asked about Celina.” If he was surprised by Dwayne’s caftan, he gave no sign.

“The doctor’s with her now,” Dwayne said. “She’s had a terrible day. We all have. A shock, you know.”

“Yes, I know. I’m deeply sorry about Errol. Such a loss.” His eyes were an extraordinary color, not blue or green, but a mixture of the two. Every line of his face was sharply defined and ruggedly perfect. He had the straight-backed, leanly solid physique of an athlete, perhaps a rower. “Celina told me about it on the phone. That’s why I came at once. Fortunately I had to come into New Orleans for a meeting and I’d given her a number where she could reach me when I got in tonight. I’m glad I was here.”

The phone call, Jack thought. He was sure he’d never met the man, yet he seemed familiar. “I’m Jack Charbonnet,” he said, extending a hand.

“Cyrus Payne.” A long-fingered hand enveloped Jack’s in a firm shake. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I said Ι was Celina’s brother.”

Jack smiled, and immediately hoped he didn’t look as relieved as he felt. And then didn’t want to think too hard about why he felt relieved. “I didn’t know Celina had a brother.”

“The priest,” Dwayne said, taking his turn at shaking Cyrus’s hand. “Of course. I should have known the moment I saw you. You look like Celina. Oh, priests are so fascinating to some of us, you know. So mysterious.”

Cyrus raised one very well-defined eyebrow and said, “Really?”

“Yes,” Dwayne continued, apparently unaware that he’d amused his audience. He gestured expansively and got closer to Cyrus. “I’m Dwayne LeChat, by the way. A friend of Celina’s. There’s a forbidden quality about priests—maybe a keep-away quality would explain it better. Do not touch. There, that’s it. It’s the whole thing—the collar, those lovely robes. You don’t even have to say anything to cast a spell.”

“I wish I could just stand in front of the congregation at mass and cast a spell without saying anything. How long has the doctor been with my sister?”

“Not very long,” Jack said. “She hasn’t felt well all evening. We think she may have food poisoning.”

Cyrus took off his slicker and looked around for somewhere to hang it. Dwayne took it from him and tossed it on a chair. “A little rain can’t make that monstrosity any worse.”

“Celina doesn’t care about material possessions herself,” Cyrus said. Despite already knowing he was a priest, the clerical collar was almost a shock. “She was born with her priorities straight.”

“Is that why she competed all the way to the Miss USA Pageant?” Jack began to feel his tongue was a liability tonight.

“If Celina wants to talk to you about that, she will.” The lady’s brother had a hard edge to his deep voice, and the eyes might just be able to see their way to a man’s world-worn soul. Not at all a comforting idea.

Dr. Vauban joined them. He nodded when Cyrus introduced himself, and took a seat on the couch, where he started writing prescriptions. These finished, he dropped the pad into his bag and took out a notebook. “I’m going to leave some instructions,” he said. “She’s tired. Emotionally as well as physically. She needs sleep and care. She needs to eat properly. And she needs understanding, support.”

“She doesn’t have food poisoning?” Dwayne asked.

“No, and she doesn’t wish she did,” Vauban said. “She’s resting now. She told me I could talk to you, Father Payne. I was going to leave a number where you could reach me. But we’ll chat right here, if it’s all right with you.”

“It’s fine, but I prefer to be called Father Cyrus.”

Dr. Vauban cast a significant glance at Dwayne and Jack. Naturally he wanted them to leave.

“Lordy,” Dwayne said, grinning. “I know what this is all about. We’re going to have a baby, Al, aren’t we?”

Dr. Vauban wasn’t quite successful in smothering his own smile. “Not unless you’ve only been passing all these years.”

Dwayne laughed aloud. “You know what I mean. Celina. She’s pregnant, isn’t she? Why didn’t I think of that?”

Jack’s mind refused to deal with what he was hearing, or what he was thinking.

“I’m not at liberty to discuss that with you,” the doctor said. “If Celina and her brother choose to share information with you, that will be their decision.”

Father Cyrus went, very deliberately, to the door and closed it. He looked from man to man, and said, “Obviously, there’s no secret here. But as far as what you’ve learned tonight goes, you’ve got short memories. This is my sister we’re talking about, and I won’t see her hurt any more than she’s already been hurt. Do we understand each other?”

Dwayne nodded.

Jack barely stopped himself from swearing. He needed to be alone, to think.

“Celina is pregnant,” Cyrus Payne said. “That’s why she asked me to come this evening.”