A Christmas Kiss (26 page)

"Making threats against a fellow officer is a crime." Applewhite straightened his tie.

"Murder is a crime. Selling information to thugs is a crime. There are lots of crimes going on here. If you're involved, you won't get a chance to hire a lawyer and get out of it."

"Chill out, Tio. You're in enough trouble here. Bascombe is ready to fire you, and after this display, that may be a good idea."

"Get out of my office while you still can." Joey picked up the file. It was his personnel jacket. Was Applewhite getting ready to sell information on Joey's family, or had he really been looking up Laurette's home phone number?

"You better cool it, Tio. That temper is going to get you in a big, bad mess." Applewhite opened the door and slammed it hard behind him.

Joey walked behind his desk and found a telephone message from Cliff at the Lafayette hospital.

Fear for Laurette seized Joey, and he dialed. Cliff's voice, slow and steady, calmed Joey immediately.

"How's Laurette?" Joey asked, not even bothering to identify himself.

"She's better, Joey. She's worried about you. As soon as she came out from under the anesthesia she started nagging me to call you. She remembered something, or she dreamed something. Anyway, she's been on fire to have me tell you."

"What is it?"

"She said when she was in the emergency room waiting for them to take her into surgery, a police officer came in. He said he had to question her. She was woozy from the medicine they'd given her, and she knew it wasn't right. A real cop wouldn't have done such a thing."

Joey felt his apprehension begin to build again. "What did he want?"

"It was about Cori. He wanted to know where she was going."

"Did Laurette tell him?"

"She didn't know. Only to New Orleans."

"Was this man in uniform?"

"That was the strange part. He was. And she recognized the uniform as NOPD. When she came to, she was wondering why a New Orleans city cop would be in Lafayatte asking questions about a federal case."

"Was the guy tall and blond?"

"That's him," Cliff said. His voice grew more excited.

Joey leaned on his desk. Kit had returned, once again. And he'd brazenly walked into a hospital in uniform.

"Thanks, Cliff. And thank Laurette."

"How's Cori?" Cliff asked. "Laurette will be mad if I don't have an answer."

"Cori is fine." Joey lied through his teeth, but there was no point upsetting Laurette when she needed to concentrate on getting well. "Everything is fine here. You just take care of my sister."

"You got it."

Joey had no sooner put down the telephone when it rang again. He picked it up, expecting to hear Clayton Bascombe's voice ordering him into the office.

"Joey, it's Jolene." She sounded tentative, unsure. "I just got the strangest telephone message from Cori. She begged me not to tell anyone, but she sounds desperate. She's going to call me back at four."

Joey checked his watch. He had less than twenty minutes to get to Jolene's before the call. He'd have to make it.

"I'm on the way. Keep her on the line, Jolene. Keep her talking until I can get there. I have to tell her something." He hung up the phone and started out of his office only to run smack into the full figure of Clayton Bascombe.

"Tio, I want to see you in my office."

Joey didn't hesitate. "Not now." He held up both hands in a plea as he hurried out of the office in a backward trot. "There's no time for you to fire me. It can wait until tomorrow." He turned and ran.

He pushed the Supra to the maximum on every open stretch of road, brutally cutting in and out of traffic. Behind him horns blared and people made ugly gestures. He didn't slow.

He pulled into the quiet neighborhood that was sheltered by the huge old oaks, and he felt his anxiety begin to level out. He had made it. It was 3:58. Two minutes to spare. He left the car door open and ran to Jolene's house. The front door was unlocked, waiting for him.

"Jolene!" He called her name. "Jolene!"

Empty air answered him. Chills touched his lower back, creeping up his spine. He stepped into the living room and was surprised to find the French doors open wide, the sheer curtains billowing on the chill December air. On the stereo there was the sound of Christmas music, horns softly playing "Joy to the World."

"Jolene?" Joey continued through the house.

In the kitchen he saw the telephone. It dangled ominously from the cord, bobbing lightly.

Joey froze. Someone had managed to beat him to Jolene's. The telephone slowly stopped bobbing, and he knew that only moments before, Jolene, or someone, had held it in her hand.

Hoping against hope, he picked it up. There was only a dial tone.

"Damn!" He held the phone against his forehead and squeezed his eyes shut. "Damn, damn, damn."

He felt completely defeated. Totally lost. Until he remembered the answering machine. Jolene might possibly have waited for the machine to click on before she picked up the phone.

Running into her bedroom he saw the red light blinking, a beacon of hope to a drowning sailor. He punched the rewind button. Cori's voice came to him, clearly afraid but strong, determined.

"Meet me in the Aquarium at five. They'll be about to close, and that'll be a good time. We can mix with the people leaving."

"What do you need?" Jolene asked.

"Just a place to stay tonight. Some money. And maybe you could help me get my car. If I can get my car, I can get out of town. I can hide out until the trial."

"You're going to testify?" Jolene's voice quavered. "Maybe you should reconsider___"

Joey clenched his fists. Jolene was in danger, and she was trying to warn Cori.

"No, I believe the only thing I can do now is testify. If they want to kill me this badly, then I have to tell what I saw."

"Think about it, Cori. Maybe you didn't see what you thought you did."

"Are you okay, Jolene?" There was a rushed intake of breath. "Is something wrong?"

Jolene's voice caught. "No, of course not. I'm on my way to the aquarium. By the white alligator tank."

"I'll be waiting."

The line went dead.

Cori didn't hang up the telephone but retrieved another quarter from her purse. Jolene's tone had been off. She couldn't put her finger on it exactly, but there had been something there. The warmth that she had associated with the redhead had been absent.

Flipping through the white pages she found the listing she wanted. She punched in the number and waited for the receptionist.

"Farris Quinn, please," she said.

The phone rang once before it was picked up by a man with a harried voice. "Quinn, what can I do for you?"

"Mr. Quinn, this is Brently Gleason."

"The witness from the DeCarlo trial?" He made no pretense of not knowing instantly who she was.

"Yes, that's me."

"Where are you?"

"I'm in New Orleans, and I'm in serious trouble. I thought maybe you'd like to talk to me about it."

"When and where?"

"The Aquarium. Now. And bring a camera. I have to tell you, though, someone is trying to kill me.

You may be stepping into danger if you meet me."

"I may be stepping into a Pulitzer. I'm on my way. Look, I'm no photographer, how about if I get a real one to come along?"

"No!" Cori was afraid it would turn into a production. She couldn't afford to have an entourage dragging after her. "Just you."

"You got it."

Cori replaced the phone and looked out across the street at the large, solid building that housed the aquatic display so popular with city residents and tourists. It had been a long time since she'd visited, but it was the perfect place for the meeting she had in mind. Anonymous, yet filled with spectators.

Quinn couldn't protect her, but it was her only shot at getting the truth out to the public. There was something terribly dirty going on with the whole Ben DeCarlo mess. She was no longer certain who were the good or the bad guys. Maybe the reporter could figure it out.

Checking her watch, she looked out the window of the small grocery-cafe across the street from the Aquarium. She'd give Quinn ten minutes, and then she'd go over and wait. The newspaper wasn't far away, and he sounded like a man intent on making his time count. If anything did happen, at least there would be a witness. Someone to tell the truth. It was exactly the sort of bet-hedging she didn't like, but she'd be damned if she was going to go down as a coward or let Joey take a rap for being a bad marshal. Telling the truth—one more time—was the least she could do for him.

Before she relinquished the phone book, she looked up the number of the U.S. Marshal's office.

Not that she intended to dial it. It was a sentimental thing, a juvenile thing to do. She memorized the number, anyway, a sort of talisman, a last connection to the man she had come to love. She closed her eyes and saw him, handsome and so caring. A sigh escaped her. For Joey. For the future.

At the counter she paid for the soft drink she'd ordered and stepped into the fading sunlight.

A shop down the street played a continuing series of jaunty Christmas songs. "Up on the Housetop"

was the current selection, and a young boy tap-danced to the number, using his feet to sound out the click, click, click. Cori passed by him without a shred of feeling. She was completely numb.

There was no admittance line to the Aquarium. The day was late, and the ticket seller tried to convince her to come another day when she would have time to see all the exhibits and to get her money's worth.

"I want to see the alligators. I'm going home tomorrow," Cori told her, pressing the point.

"It's your money you're wasting. We'll be closing in half an hour, and there's no way you can see everything." The woman pushed the ticket through the slot.

Cori entered, caught instantly by the light filtering through water in the big tanks where flashy-colored fish swam around. It had the feel of being underwater, a sinister sensation, yet also curiously pleasant.

She followed the most obvious path between the huge tanks, the strange creatures of the sea swimming up to the glass to stare at her. She felt a heartbeat of pity. She knew how it felt to be a prisoner in a controlled environment.

Even with the protective glass wall, she shifted back from the shark tank. The gray bodies sliced through the water, headed straight at the glass, their mouths open and teeth displayed. At the last second they would veer away. Cori hurried past, trying to shake the feeling of dread. Her goal was the display that contained a collection of rare albino alligators. It was fitting, she thought. The alligator had become the latest motif in her life, a creature that looked like a floating log until it lashed with its tail and opened its mouth. Until her trip to the swamp, she'd never given alligators much thought. City dwellers didn't spend a lot of hours worrying about reptiles crawling out of the wilds and snapping off a leg.

She found the tank and touched her fingers to the glass. The alligators were hideous. Their white skins made them victims as well as deadly aggressors.

"Less than half the baby alligators survive the first weeks of life. They're often eaten by birds." An Aquarium employee came up to stand beside her. "These albino alligators are even more vulnerable.

They have none of the protective coloring they need."

Cori had to get the young girl out of the way in case anything went wrong. She turned to her. "I can read, you know," she snapped.

Confused by the ugly attack, the girl backed away. "Sorry," she said as she went to find someone nicer to talk with.

"Are you always that nasty-tempered, or are you just having a bad day?" Farris Quinn held out his picture ID and stepped toward her. He carried a notebook in one hand and camera in the other.

"I'm having a bad day, and I don't want to see an innocent young girl blown to pieces because she was trying to be helpful. I'm somewhat adverse to involving innocent people. I have some hesitations about talking to you, as well."

"Tell me your story, and I'll tell you what I've discovered. I don't have any proof, but I do have some very interesting theories."

Cori gave him the highlights of the past forty-eight hours. She kept her voice flat, her words factual.

When she finished, he gave a low whistle.

"Sounds like the best story I've done in ten years. Any idea who's actually trying to kill you, other than your husband, who was supposed to be dead?"

She shook her head. "Do you?"

"Ben DeCarlo is the obvious choice." He scratched his cheek with his pen. "Maybe too obvious."

"I've worried and worried this. I can't make head nor tail of it," Cori confessed.

"When this story hits the streets tomorrow morning, you'd better be in a safe place. No one is going to be on your side. Especially no one in the U.S. Marshals. There has to be someone in that office who's leaking information. How else did your husband, for want of a better descriptive term, find you in Houston?"

"That's exactly what I wonder."

"I think with this information we can launch a full-scale investigation of the WP program here in New Orleans. Emmet Wyatt's death was terrible, but I couldn't find a single bit of evidence to support the fact that he had been lured back here and murdered. You've given me what I needed. You may have saved a lot of lives in the future."

"I want it clearly understood that Joey Tio was not involved in any underhanded business. He risked his life to save me. His sister is lying wounded in a hospital because she was protecting me. Whatever is going on, I want his name cleared, in print."

"If he's the guy in the white hat you say he is, then I'll do a special sidebar piece on him to make sure he's not dirtied by the guilty parties.''

Cori nodded. This was what she wanted from Quinn. "Thanks."

"Thank you. You know, it's funny, but I suspected the NOPD. I mean, there are so many of them, and the press on them lately hasn't been great." He made a wry face. "I never would have suspected the marshals."

"I put my life in their hands."