Eleven

 

Jack had made up his mind what he had to do. The way he’d got through the difficult years after his parents’ death had been to make up a code of ethics known only to himself, and live by that code. The first tenet had been that he was never to completely rely upon anyone. He’d kept that one. Even with his grandfather—his mother’s father, who had largely brought him up—he’d held a part of himself back, although Granddaddy never knew, at least, Jack didn’t think he did. Another rule was that once he made up his mind to do something, it got done, and unless they killed him, nobody would stop him.

So today Jack would do what he’d spent most of two nights and a day thinking about. He’d dropped Amelia at school and returned the car to the garage before setting off again on foot. He hoped to catch Dwayne at his club before doubling back to Royal Street.

The city was heating up, but there was still a breeze to make the walk pleasant enough. Plastic cups from margarita bars littered Bourbon Street. An early-bird street artist had set up her easel, and displayed her sketches of Tom Cruise, of Billy Crystal, of Whoopi Goldberg, and other famous faces who hadn’t sat on her rickety metal chair, on this celebrated and stained sidewalk, to win a place in the pictured company. Even Wilson Lamar was there, showing his perfect teeth, teeth the common folk could trust. Jack smiled a little. The smells were old; old buildings, old memories, older sins. Sin. Now there was a stench Lamar could generate all on his own. Jack knew that Wilson and trust were strangers. Unfortunately Wilson had once stumbled into a situation Jack intended to keep private—for Amelia’s sake—and that piece of knowledge kept the other man safe from Jack.

“Mornin’, gorgeous. Hey, Jack Charbonnet, I am talking to you.” Dwayne hailed Jack from the open front doors of Les Chats. “Are you looking for something special? Something different? You surprise me, so early in the day. Why, Jack, I do believe you are insatiable.”

“Save it,” Jack called back, laughing. “I don’t embarrass that easily.”

When Jack drew close to Dwayne, he took quick note of the other man’s tired eyes and the tense expression he wasn’t quite managing to hide. “Could we hope for some decent coffee in this high-class establishment of yours? I need to wake up, and you look as if you need to go to sleep. Probably means we both need that coffee.”

Dwayne gave up on the grin. He lowered his voice and said, “I tell you, Jack, I am dead where I stand. I mean, I am aware that the whole world isn’t necessarily as uncomplicated as I am, but there are things going down around here that shake me.”

“Me, too,” Jack agreed.

“There are some who think it isn’t safe here anymore.”

“It never was.”

“You know what I mean.”

“No,” Jack said, “I don’t think I do.”

“Forget the coffee. We probably shouldn’t even be seen together.”

Jack looked behind him. “Now you’ve got me jumping. Did something else happen?”

“Other than the murder of our mutual best friend?” Dwayne asked, drawing Jack into his glittering, mirrored club. The debris of the previous night had already been cleared, and the flashing neon lights inside groups of velvet-covered “scratching posts” were being checked out for the next performance of Catting Around. Dwayne said, “You had better be ready to jump, my dear friend. Perhaps very quickly and with no warning.”

Dwayne’s dramatics were legendary. “I agree that Errol’s death has shaken me,” Jack told him. “I wouldn’t be normal if it hadn’t. But I’m still not convinced it was murder.” He had already created a new scenario, one involving the lady visitor to Errol. Why couldn’t he have drowned accidentally and been removed from the bath? Terrified people could find unnatural strength.

Dwayne watched him as if expecting him to say more. When he didn’t, Dwayne said, “I do not know what you may be thinking, Jack, but you are probably wrong.”

“Why so sure?”

Dwayne shook stiffened fingers in the air. “I do not know anymore. Perhaps I am trying to say that not one of us knows what’s going on. I keep waiting for an announcement on Errol. Why aren’t the police saying anything?”

“Perhaps because they don’t know anythin’,” Jack suggested.

A great, frustrated sigh raised Dwayne’s chest. “None of this feels right. They should know something by now.”

A lithe man with a glass in one hand and a cigarette between pursed lips seated himself at a piano and tinkered, one-handed, through the melody of “Careless Love.”

“He is so talented,” Dwayne said of his partner, Jean-Claude. “I’m a lucky man. At least I find a little peace with him.”

Jean-Claude set his glass on top of the piano, squinted through his cigarette smoke, and showed just how talented he was. He grinned at Jack and Dwayne.

“You are lucky,” Jack said.

“I know. But I don’t enjoy being scared.”

“Okay.” Jack faced Dwayne. “Concentrate. I came by to touch bases and find out if you know something I don’t know about Celina Payne. Do you?”

“Oh, I am sure I do.”

Jack looked at the toes of his boat shoes. “Don’t keep me in suspense.”

“Celina Payne is special. She’s kind, generous, and honest. And she is not an empty-headed bimbo. The whole pageant routine was her mama’s thing. That woman and her big, useless husband drove her son away and came close to ruining her daughter’s life before she had any chance to live it at all. Bitsy Payne thinks that if her family had not been so refined, she would have been winning those paste crowns herself. From when she was a little child, Celina kept quiet and did what her mama told her to do. You don’t know a whole lot about family, Jack, any more than I do. Yours wasn’t around long enough—God rest their souls. Mine, we will not discuss. But Celina is still working herself free of her parents’ sticky fingers.”

Jack pretended to gasp. “That was some speech. Is the lady running for office? If she is, she’d better make sure your friend Dr. Al doesn’t have a big mouth.”

“The only potentially big mouth we have to worry about is yours, Jack.” The deadly serious cast of Dwayne’s face surprised Jack. “People in Al’s job don’t discuss cases. Evidently Cyrus is another walking miracle, a Bitsy offspring who outran the odds and became a really decent human being. He’ll always protect his sister. I wouldn’t discuss Celina’s business with the Angel Gabriel if she didn’t want me to—even though I do celebrate this baby. A baby is a blessing, friend, an innocent creature meant to be loved and nothing else.”

“Yeah.” How could he point out that this particular innocent, lovable creature wasn’t exactly coming along at a perfect time, not as far as he could see? “Who’s the father?”

Jean-Claude quit the piano and hopped onto a stage, where he leaped into a tap routine. To Jack’s uneducated but appreciative eye, the performance looked like competition for Gregory Hines.

“I’m not going to talk to anyone about Celina’s pregnancy,” Dwayne said, an unexpectedly steel edge in his voice. “That’s what you came to ask about, and I’ve told you all I’m going to tell you.”

“Does that mean you do know who the father is?”

“It means, dear Jack, that you can fuck off and die before I’ll play a game of whodunit with you on this one.”

“You don’t know? Or you do?”

“I don’t fuck—”

“All right, all right. But do you think it might have been Errol?”

Dwayne’s mouth opened and closed. He shook his head and walked away, then turned around and came back. “You’re unbelievable. Or you would be if I hadn’t known you long enough to almost expect you to be outrageous.”

“Me outrageous?” With an expansive gesture Jack took in the entire club. “What does that make this—and you?”

“I’m just a working fool trying to keep bread in my mouth,” Dwayne informed him primly.

“So you say it wasn’t Errol?”

“I did not say any such thing. I said you are outrageous to ask personal questions about Celina.”

“You thrive on gossip.”

Dwayne rounded on him so abruptly that Jack stepped backward. “Listen up, Jack baby. I thought you were listening, but I was wrong. Celina is my friend. I respect her. I told you I can be trusted with my friends’ most intimate secrets, and I meant it. Those are the things I don’t gossip about.”

“You do think it was Errol.”

Dwayne yelled, “Jean-Claude, save me,” threw up his hands, and fell into a chair. “I have to keep different company. You are all driving me mad. Jean-Claude! Go away, Jack. Go ask Celina if you dare. That little lady might eat you up, but ask her anyway, because she’d be doing us all a favor.”

“Well, thanks,” Jack said, but he grinned, and snapped his fingers to a Dr. John disc Jean-Claude snapped in behind the bar. “Maybe I’d like it if she did too.”

Dwayne pretended not to hear. He batted at imaginary dust on his bleach-splattered but carefully creased jeans. “Listen to me, Jack. But don’t look as if I’m saying anything important.”

“What ...” Closing his mouth, Jack studied Jean-Claude’s long, loose-limbed walk—his dancer’s walk—when he slowly approached. chatting to employees on the way.

“I had a visitor a while ago. He came through the kitchens. Wore a cowboy hat with his usual getup. As if the hat was some sort of disguise. Pretty scary, I can tell you. He made my stomach loop-de-loop. Felt like it was getting ready for a Blue Angels’ audition.”

Dwayne became silent. He glanced in every direction.

“Okay,” Jack said. “Put me out of my misery here. Who are we talking about?”

“Antoine.”

“Antoine?”

“Keep your voice down. Yes, Antoine.”

“He came here in a cowboy hat? I don’t believe you. Here? He wouldn’t be caught dead—”

“Don’t say that,” Dwayne ordered. “I am well aware of Antoine’s religious beliefs. He is a good man. He came here because”—he dragged Jack so close, their noses all but touched—“he came because he saw something.”

Jack watched the other man’s pupils dilate. “Antoine saw something?” he whispered. “You don’t mean...you do mean the night Errol died, don’t you?”

“Very early in the morning. Antoine likes to start early, but on that morning he got there really early because he had some things left over from the previous day that needed to be finished. Antoine is a very industrious man.”

“But the coroner said Errol died around midnight.”

“This person came into the courtyard with the dawn—Antoine’s terms, not mine—he came with the dawn, carrying a bag, and left soon after, still carrying a bag, and still moving with the shadows.”

Dwayne must once have had acne. The pores around his nose were enlarged. Jack realized he was refusing to concentrate because he wasn’t ready to deal with potentially tangible facts about Errol’s death—and his killer.

“Well?” Dwayne said.

“Antoine went up then?” Jack asked. “When I arrived, he already knew Errol was dead? Why didn’t he do something? And why didn’t he say something when he saw me?”

“I don’t know. And 1 don’t know if he did go into the house. He may not have thought it was for him to interfere.”

“Of course you know. Antoine came to tell you all this.”

“I do not know the rest of his story. He said he knew too much. Then he told me he must be careful not to hurt good people who were his friends, then he stopped talking. Not another word, I tell you. He said he was afraid. He said he thought he’d been followed here, and he was leaving.”

Jack threw up his hands. Jean-Claude was still making slow progress toward Dwayne, but he was on his way. “Tell me quickly, please. What was he afraid of?”

“It’s obvious, dear. He thinks he saw the murderer—who evidently went back into the house because he’d forgotten something, and then sneaked out again, never expecting to be seen. All that would be good news, or it could be, if Antoine didn’t think this guy—although he’s not certain it was a guy—it could have been really useful information for the police if Antoine hadn’t told me he’d clam up if we told them because he’s afraid he’ll be the next one to turn up dead.”

Celina stood at the single window in her small sitting room and looked down into the street. A silver Mercedes was parked at the curb with a tall, broad-shouldered young man leaning against the driver’s door. “Is that yours?” she asked without looking at either Sally or Wilson Lamar. “The new Mercedes?”

“Isn’t it lovely?” Sally said. “Actually it’s all mine. Wilson insisted.”

The man by the car was familiar, but Celina couldn’t place him. “And the chauffeur? Is that man leaning on the car yours too, or should you go down and tell him to go away?” Then get in your “lovely” car and leave.

Sally giggled. “That’s Ben. He’s supposed to be Wilson’s chauffeur, but that’s not really what he is.” She sent Celina a knowing glance.

“What is he, then?”

“Oh, don’t be naive. He’s Wilson’s bodyguard. There are dangers attached to running for public office, you know. Aren’t there, Wilson darlin’?”

“We aren’t here to discuss our household staff,” Wilson said brusquely. “We came to talk about you, Celina, and our concern for you.”

She hated him. One of her hands went to her stomach. She hated the father of the child she carried, and loved. That shook her deeply.

“I heard your brother is with you,” Sally said, peering around as if Cyrus might be hiding behind a piece of furniture. “Your parents would have come with us this morning, but they are very upset that their only son—and he a priest—has returned to their very doorstep, so to speak. And he’s been here for ages, but he hasn’t bothered to go and see them.”

“Cyrus is here on personal business.” Could she really lie about something like this? Celina glanced involuntarily upward. “Visiting the diocese. He had to come on short notice and he needed a place to stay. I’m closer to the chancery than our parents.” Cyrus had come to New Orleans to visit the diocese, but he’d had no plans to stay until he’d discovered Celina’s plight.

Sally had lost interest in why Cyrus was there. “Where is he?” She pressed her palms together. “At mass? Such an unusual man.”

“That’s right, he’s at mass. Why did you say you were here?”

“To make sure you’re all right, of course,” Sally said, trotting on her inevitable high heels to put an unwelcome arm around Celina’s shoulders. “We are all so worried about you. Your mother and father begged us to come and persuade you to do what you should do.”

“Which is?”

“Now, just a minute, ladies.” Wilson had yet to meet Celina’s eyes. Dressed in a light gray silk suit and luminously white shirt with a black tie, he exuded health and vitality from every tanned inch of skin. “There are a few things I’d like to say at this juncture. I owe it to Bitsy and Neville—without whom I’m not sure I should be in quite so enviable a position—I owe it to them to follow their instructions to the letter. So I must ask you both to let me talk for them. And I must ask you to listen without interrupting me.”

Sally rolled her eyes, wrinkled her nose, and flopped down on Celina’s couch.

“Your parents are very worried about you,” Wilson said solemnly. “And so are Sally and myself. There is a murderer on the loose.”

How could she ever have thought he was a good man who cared for people? She wanted him anywhere but near her. She said, “In New Orleans, one murderer on the loose would be good news.”

“That’s not the point, Celina. This man struck in this very house.”

“Oh, don’t!” Sally said, rubbing her bare arms. “You make me prickly all over.”

“Good. I hope I make Celina prickly all over too. Perhaps that will persuade her that she’s foolish to remain here.”

Celina shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “I am safe here. Probably more safe than if poor Errol hadn’t been killed. Whoever did that awful thing isn’t likely to come back.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“It’s logical, isn’t it? He’ll assume the house is being watched. And he’ll also notice that Cyrus is staying here at the moment.”

“Aha!” Sally pointed a pink nail at Celina. “Now we have it. That darling Cyrus came because he was worried about you too. But she does have a point, Wilson. I hardly think whoever did it will come back to the same place, especially since there’s a man staying here. A man who would make anyone think twice about trying anything.”

Sally’s smile and faraway look disquieted Celina. She knew how much Cyrus disliked any attention that had sexual overtones.

“You are both kind to come and check on me,” Celina said, every word a stone in her throat. “But this is my home at present. And my work is here. So it’s natural for me to remain.”

“Bitsy and Neville want you back at home. Now.” Wilson was never convincing in the masterful but reasonable mode—not to Celina. Violent suppression of someone weaker was his style. “We want to take you with us when we leave this morning. You get packed while we wait for your brother. When he gets back, you can tell him you’re moving home.”

“And we’re going to help you through these difficult times,” Sally said. “Wilson and I know how much Errol and Dreams meant to you. It’s going to be a difficult transition, and we don’t want to make light of that. So Wilson has something wonderful to tell you.”

Celina didn’t trust herself to speak at all.

“I have a job for you, Celina,” Wilson said, rocking from his heels to his toes and lacing his hands behind his back. “I want to put you in charge of publicity for the campaign. I haven’t been pleased with the current arrangement. Ι need your expertise. You can be our Dreams Girl.” His smug smile nauseated her.

“Isn’t that wonderful?” Sally said.

Wilson continued. “We all know it isn’t realistic to think Dreams can carry on now. Not with everything that’s coming out about Errol. But Ι won’t forget those children and their needs. I’ll make sure their needs—”

“What are you talking about? What’s coming out about Errol?”

Sally opened the large straw bag she carried and took out a newspaper. “I should be angry with Charmain, but she’s only doing her job and she’s so interesting.” She held the front page up for Celina to see. “Ι never knew Errol was a sex addict.”

“He wasn’t anymore,” Celina said, scanning a headline that blared: Saint or Sinner. Local Philanthropist Had History of Sexual Addiction.

“This is only one paper,” Sally said. “And it happens to be Charmain’s byline. But there are similar pieces—not as informed—but similar pieces in other papers.”

Celina returned to the window and pulled a curtain aside. She didn’t trust herself to speak.

“We should be ready to leave when—”

“I’m not going anywhere. And that stuff about Errol is so unfair. It was a long time ago and he’s made up for it in so many ways. These people are despicable.”

“It says he used to pick up women and bring them back here,” Sally said, reading.

“Please leave.” Celina went to the door and held it open. “Please go now. I want to be alone. And Ι will be carrying on with my work for Dreams. In fact, I have a very full schedule of appointments today. Jack Charbonnet. You know him, of course. Although Jack didn’t take an active part in the foundation, he was Errol’s partner. Now he intends to take over from Errol, and he wants me to do exactly what I’ve been doing.”

“Charbonnet?” Sneers didn’t suit Wilson. “You really think you are goin’ to have any luck gettin’ support in this town with a man like that at the helm? He’s a gangster’s son and he owns a casino. A riverboat. Somethin’ else I intend to work to eradicate. Law-abidin’ people don’t want the element that comes in with gamblin’.”

“Organized crime is what comes in,” Sally said, elevating her chin. “For your dear mother’s and father’s sakes, you won’t have a thing to do with that man. He’s bad, Celina. Everyone knows it.”

Pointing out that he wasn’t so bad that they hadn’t invited him to their last fund-raiser would be pointless. She already knew they would take anybody’s money. She made herself breathe deeply. “I know you mean well, but I can’t leave my work here, especially not now, with so much left undone.”

“It’s not going to happen now,” Sally told her, her mouth in a thin line. “None of it. You’ve just got to accept reality, Celina. Donations aren’t going to be made. There’ll be no auctions, and no big bucks to play Lady Bountiful with. People all over the country have read about Errol today. Some of them will be worrying about whether or not he was dangerous to have around their children.”

“Errol’s dead,” Celina said quietly.

“Well, I know he is. But I mean that when he wasn’t he could have been doing goodness knows what when he was alone with one of those children.”

Wilson had the sense to cough and shake a hand at his wife. “That’s not important, Sally. All that rumor stuff. From what the papers say, Errol wasn’t likely to be into pedophilia.”

“Shut up,” Celina said loudly. “Shut up and get out. How dare you come here making such disgusting suggestions. Here’s the door. Use it.”

“We’re not going without you,” Sally said, all huff. “I hear Cyrus coming. He’ll talk sense into you.”

Not Cyrus, but Antoine appeared in the doorway. “I been lookin’ for you, Miss Celina. I need to talk to you about somethin’, me. Somethin’ I saw. I should have said before, much before.”

“Of course, Antoine. My company’s leaving.”

Antoine looked past her and backed away. “You got comp’ny. I’m sorry, Miss Celina, I didn’t notice. I come back later, me.”

“No. Stay.” She didn’t even know for sure that Antoine heard her last words, because he’d already reached the door to the outside and in seconds she heard his feet thudding down the steps.

“Celina—”

“Please, Wilson, go away. You have no tact. Neither of you has any tact. My parents think a great deal of you, or I would never speak to you again.” Whatever she did or said she must keep some semblance of detachment with this man—a distance that would help establish that she had no connection to him and never had. How she wished that were true.

Sally got up and smoothed her tight white dress over her very nice body. “She’ll change her mind,” she told Wilson. “She’s not thinking properly. We’ll give her time.”

Wilson looked dubious.

“How insightful of you, Sally,” Celina said. She’d do anything to get rid of them. “I’m on overload. Be careful going down the steps in those heels. I wouldn’t want you to break your neck.” She smiled.

Sally didn’t smile. She went to Wilson and took a firm hold of his hand. “We’ll be going directly to Bitsy and Neville. Those poor dears are beside themselves. If you were a dutiful daughter, you’d want to save them that.”

Celina wanted to say that Sally would make a great mother in the Bitsy Payne school of mothering. Ladle on the guilt whenever possible was Mama’s theory.

“We’ll be back,” Wilson said, giving Celina a long look. Reason had left his eyes, and she saw again the man who had violated her. If she were alone with him now, he’d be likely to try force again.

She held her tongue until they left, then marched back and forth with gritted teeth and clenched fists. There was a new focus in her life, and she mustn’t forget it no matter how hard that focus was going to make the immediate future. The Lamars had to be kept at bay.

She’d bought several new dresses that skimmed her breasts and flared just enough to look stylish and soft. In bright shades and made of georgette or challis, they flipped about her knees. The look was good and drew attention away from her stomach, but someone with a practiced eye could look at her now and guess she was pregnant.

Celina spread a hand over her belly. A flare of tenderness brought tightness to her throat. She’d begun to visualize the child within her, and to wait. Mothers throughout time must have known that sense of waiting.

On the heels of warmth and possessiveness came a fear so deep and strange, she caught her breath. What if she should lose her baby? She couldn’t. Oh. please let her baby be safe and healthy.

There was too much to do for her to wallow in anxiety.

The first order of business must be to locate Antoine and find out what was disturbing him. Celina looked down at her tummy. She couldn’t help remembering Dwayne’s enthusiasm, and it made her smile. He’d been right. A new life was reason for celebration. When she held her child in her arms, he or she would be all that mattered. This little one was innocent, and she would not give him or her up.

She left her sitting room but didn’t get much farther. Jack let himself into the house. He didn’t immediately realize she was there, and his bowed head showed off the dramatic angles of his face. It also accented a deeply troubled expression.

Her heart lifted at the sight of him. That had to be because she felt alone and vulnerable and he was a strong man who seemed afraid of nothing.

“Hi, Jack,” she said, not wanting him to think she was watching him covertly—even though that’s exactly what she’d like to do. “I swear I shall never get any work done today. I’m so popular. The visitors keep on coming.”

“I’m not a visitor.”

He had a talent for cutting through any attempt at lightening the mood. “No. of course not.”

“What did Lamar and his wife want?”

“They wanted me to move home with my parents and go to work for Wilson.” Not that Jack had a right to know what her visitors had said.

“Sounds like a nightmare.”

“And you sound rude. I avoid insulting people’s parents.”

“Don’t be coy. You know what I mean.”

“Perhaps I do. Errol’s room is still taped. The police have said I can use the rest of his suite now. I should go there and get on the phone. I need to start picking up some pieces.”

The denim shirt Jack wore was open at the throat and the sleeves were rolled up over his tanned and strongly made forearms. He studied her more carefully than made for comfort.

“I really should get on, Jack. Are there things you need to look over? I’d be happy to organize whatever you need.”

He shook his head once. “Have you seen the papers?”

“What we have to do is work on damage control.”

She liked him for his matter-of-fact response to trouble. “I think so too. Do you think it would be useful to contact Charmain Bienville? I was trying to think of something we could offer her to call off the dogs.”

Again she got the short, sharp shake of the head. He ran his eyes over old black and white Petrie family photographs that covered the walls in every corridor. “Errol was the last Petrie,” he said absently. Then he looked at her. “I think we meet the gossip head-on and play to public sympathy. Yes, Errol had problems, big problems. But he faced up to them and sought treatment. He was an example to be followed. And this was years ago.”

“I agree.” Just having some sort of plan brought a rush of relief. “I’ll get right on it and write a press release.”

“I’ll help you. First there’s something you and I have to talk about.”

Apprehension turned her palms moist. “It’s probably not a good idea to waste time. I also want to reach the local TV stations.”

“That too. But you and I need to talk about our last two meetings.”

The corridor began to feel too small for the two of them.

“There’s nothing to say, Jack. You know what you know. But you won’t talk about it because you don’t want more mud on Errol’s name—any more than I do. Can we let it drop, please?”

“Pregnancies don’t stand still, Celina.”

“Thanks for the information.”

“I’m not in the mood for sarcasm. I’m deadly serious about this.” He studied her body so frankly, her cheeks began to burn. “You choose your clothes well, but you must be starting to thicken at the waist.”

She pressed her hands to her cheeks. “Please, don’t.”

“I think pregnancy looks great, but then, I’ve always thought pregnant women look great. I’m just stating facts.’’

“I’m taking care of things. I’m making slow changes in my clothes, but I’ve got to be careful to avoid anything too flamboyant, or I’ll do the opposite of what I want to do.”

“Which is?”

“Buy time, of course. Disguise my pregnancy for as long as possible.”

Jack put his hands in his jeans pockets. He turned sideways, but looked at her. “This means you’ve decided to keep the baby.”

“I think I already told you that. Jack, I’m five and a half months. Think about it.”

“I’m just making sure you haven’t changed your mind.”

“I want this baby. And I’m never going to change my mind about that. End of discussion.”

He sucked in a breath, then blew it out through pursed lips. “Have you examined your reasons? Babies aren’t toys. And they don’t replace love you think you’ve missed elsewhere. They need. They need everything you have to give, and they deserve that.”

“Finally we agree on something.”

He was too involved in his own thoughts to react to comments that she would expect to irritate him. “I was thinking that you’ve obviously been avoiding alcohol. That’s very important.”

“I know.” Now she was going to get a well-baby lecture.

“What did you have for breakfast this morning?”

The change of topic disoriented her. “Um—I haven’t yet.”

“Pregnant women need to pay attention to those things. Come on, I’ll buy you a good meal.”

She opened her mouth to refuse, but voices in the courtyard stopped her. “This place has never been so busy,” she said. “People keep showing up.”

“Have you had a lot of calls from the press?”

“Early this morning. I refused to say anything, then I turned off the phones.”

“We’ve definitely got more company on the way. Maybe we should go to the office.”

He headed in that direction and Celina followed. They’d barely entered the office Celina had shared with Errol, when the voices became louder.

Celina opened floor-to-ceiling drapes of dark brown tapestry and hurriedly straightened items on top of her own small desk. Dust flew.

Α timid knock on the open door preceded the entrance of a man and woman who looked to be in their sixties.

“Good morning,” Celina said.

Jack muttered something unintelligible.

“We’re Joan and Walt Reed,” the man said, holding out a big, work worn hand which Celina promptly shook. “We had to come as soon as we could. It would have been sooner, but we had to make arrangements.”

The accent was southern, heavily southern, but Celina couldn’t place it.

Joan’s blue eyes watered, and she sniffed. “Did he—did Errol talk to you about us? You are Celina, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“I just knew you were. He talked so sweetly about you always. Oh, Walt and I are beside ourselves.”

Jack came forward. “I’m Jack Charbonnet, Mr. and Mrs. Reed. Errol’s partner. You were friends of his?”

Walt Reed sighed. He held a broad-brimmed hat in both hands and his scalp shone through a helmet of carefully styled silver hair. “That boy was like a son to Joan and me. We felt the good Lord sent him to us, because although Joan had a boy from her first husband—God rest his soul—the two of us was never blessed with children of our own, and the Lord knew Errol and us needed each other.”

Joan Reed bleached her hair, and wore it “big” with bangs that obscured her eyebrows. “I can’t believe what those horrible people are sayin’ about him in the papers. Why, he fought so hard against his demons.”

Celina’s spine tingled and she looked at Jack. He raised his eyebrows and went to Errol’s desk, where he sat down and opened the top drawer.

“We are humble people,” Walt said. “We came from humble beginnings, but thanks to the Lord, we’ve made a good life, isn’t that so, Joan?”

Joan swayed, and nodded sadly. Her dowdy gray and white checked dress didn’t go with the hair. She wore flat lace-up shoes and no hose but plenty of makeup.

“We want to help shut those devils up,” Walt said, putting his hat on the arm of a chair and unbuttoning the jacket of his black suit. “If you have the Lord on your side, you can overcome. Never forget that. Errol didn’t.”

“Didn’t keep him alive,” Jack said, taking papers from the drawer and heaping them on top of the desk.

“You’re grieving, son,” Walt said. He went to Jack’s side and settled a big hand on his shoulder. “Errol must have been your friend as well as your partner.”

“He was. I couldn’t have asked for a better friend.”

“Neither could we,” Joan said, and burst into tears. She located a handful of tissues and blotted her eyes, looking upward to avoid smudging her mascara. “When the tent needed repairin’, Errol paid for it all. And he replaced our trailer. Bought us a brand new one out of his own pocket. He would not take no for an answer. We’ve got to do something for him now.”

“The people who saved Errol’s soul,” Jack said slowly. “Yes, you were mentioned. Or the event was mentioned.”

“God saved his soul, boy,” Walt said severely. “Never underestimate the power of the Lord.”

“What exactly are you here for?” Jack asked.

“To help,” Joan said, her voice shifting higher. “It’s the very least we can do. We have suffered a great loss, but it’s not for us to question the Lord’s ways.”

“You think the Lord lines up killers?”

“I think the Lord cries when we cry,” the woman said, twining her hands together in front of her. “But we must put these awful stories straight. Errol had repented and started a new life in the Lord.”

Celina felt out of her depth. She’d been aware of Errol’s religious convictions but knew nothing of his practices.

“Well,” Jack said, ceasing his fiddling, “I do thank you for feeling you want to help. I’m sorry if I sound less than grateful, but we’re trying to rescue the foundation that was Errol’s life, as well as his reputation, and we’re under a lot of pressure.”

“Why, of course you are, son,” Walt said. “But don’t forget that Errol had turned his face to higher things, the way a man does when he realizes his soul is in danger. Why don’t we all say a prayer together?”

Celina curled her hands into fists, not daring to meet Jack’s eyes.

“You’re kind,” he said. “But I’m not ready for that yet. I’m still too angry. Why don’t you leave us your address and we’ll arrange a more suitable time to talk about your old times with Errol.”

“He was so kind to us,” Joan said.

“You told us.” An aura of impatience vibrated about Jack. “Perhaps Errol had promised you some ongoing financial help?”

Celina cringed and held her breath. She couldn’t bear to see people embarrassed.

“Oh, we didn’t come because we want anything,” Walt said with no hint of anger at Jack’s suggestion. “All we aim to do is be around to offer our assistance as we can. Joan and I use our lives in the service of the Lord, and we know He would want us to be here for both of you.”

“Thank you,” Celina said quickly, drawing a doleful smile from Joan.

“We took us a room at the Pontchartrain. Nothing fancy, but it’s quieter there and still close enough so as to be easy for us to get here.”

“Nice hotel,” Jack said offhandedly. “When will you be leaving town again?”

“Oh, not too soon,” Joan said, looking sideways at her husband. “We know our duty, and our duty is to the memory of a man who became like a son to us.”

Jack’s frustration was palpable. “It’s always nice to have a change of pace. I imagine living in a confined space can become tedious, even if you like life on the road.”

“We don’t spend much time on the road,” Walt said. “We’ve got a nice little spot just south of Baton Rouge. Permanent place for the tent. Fill it up every night, we do. That’s how we met Errol. But the money isn’t for us. We use it for the greater glory of the Lord. We serve Him.”

Celina smiled and got up. “I’ll touch bases with you at the Pontchartrain,” she said. “Thank you for coming by.”

“We wouldn’t have done anything else.” Joan wore what Celina recognized as Cartier’s So Pretty. The soft perfume wafted through the room where the air had grown stale from being closed in.

“We’ll wish you good-bye, then.” The upward turn at the corners of Jack’s mouth hardly qualified as a smile. “Thank you for being good to Errol.”

The Reeds stood side by side. Walt cleared his throat and glanced at his wife, who said, “I suppose you’re in charge of his affairs?”

Jack frowned but said, “Yes.”

“He told us you would be.”

“Why would he tell you that?”

The woman shrugged. “So we’d know where to come if we ever had to.”

“Do you want to spit out what that means?”

Reed picked up his hat and waved it. “Nothin’, really. Just that Errol pledged ongoing support and we were wonderin’ about his will.”

Anger blossomed in Celina. The tears that pricked her eyes were tears of frustration.

“We should be there when it’s read. Errol would surely want it that way.”