A Twisted Ladder (11 page)

DADDY BLANK ADDRESSED THE
forest of gowns and tuxedos, calling focus upon himself as he rang his spoon against his glass. His tux shone sleek like the plumage of a blackbird, the chain of his pocket watch gleaming in a dip of gold from his cummerbund to his pocket. Madeleine moved through the crowd with Sam in tow.

“My friends,” he said. “The good folks on the board of advisors have done a tremendous job organizing our efforts in rebuilding New Orleans, this beautiful city, I dare say the pride of the South. Not to mention they know how to throw one hell of a party.”

Laughter rippled through the crowd as Maddy and Sam found their way to an opening near the front of the circle. Madeleine was so focused on her father’s words that at first she didn’t realize she had planted herself next to Joe Whitney, her father’s counterpart on the gossip hot seat.

Daddy continued, “We have all striven to preserve the historic buildings of our city, big and small, through our diligent labor, our financial contributions, and our time.”

As if nothing at all had happened. As if he hadn’t gone missing
.

His voice was robust, accented in a combination of southern Louisiana and a hint of New Orleans. He looked youthful beyond his years.

As if he hadn’t left her in Washington, D.C., standing in front of those politicians like a peeled housefly
.

“And so I ask you to join me in a toast.” Daddy raised his glass.

Madeleine became aware of Joe Whitney’s gaze upon her. She turned sharply. Whitney’s eyes were trained on her face, but she suspected they’d been lingering somewhere below her neck. Just once she wanted to catch him in the act.

Whitney smiled and whispered, “Why Miss Madeleine, or should I say Dr. LeBlanc, so nice to see you here this evening.”

She nodded and returned her focus to the toast.

Daddy’s glass was still raised, and she realized he was looking her way. “But I do not ask that we toast those members of the board, or even your hardworking selves.” He paused and scanned the room. “For there are those among us, pretending to be our allies, who are in fact our enemies.”

Whitney’s gaze snapped to attention. Daddy was now staring directly at him.

“Devils who have come to sabotage the very cause they profess to defend. It is to them, our enemies, I would like to propose this toast. Because without them we would become complacent, and would not be motivated in our duties. They are the fuel to our fire.”

Eyes began to flicker toward Whitney. Some guests pursed their lips to repress smiles; others openly chuckled.

And Daddy said, “Ladies and gentleman, please join me in a toast: To our enemies!”

The crowd chorused in return, “To our enemies!”

Almost everyone in the entire room nodded at Joe Whitney as they raised their flutes to him.

Almost everyone.

Whitney turned from white to scarlet, and then purple. His back stood rigid, and he did
not
raise his glass.

Nor did Madeleine.

ZENON COULD TELL THAT
Jasmine caught his scent before she even saw him.

He was standing in the alley outside the bedroom. Samantha’s dogs had been silent, probably dozing among the remnants of what had once been miniblinds. A breeze curled around Zenon and drifted through swelling curtains at the rear of the house.

With it, he heard the distant rumble of Jasmine’s growl.

The sound of paws clicking across the wood floor, coming to a stop just opposite the wall near where he stood. The curtains swelled again.

From the alley, Zenon could see the tiny dog’s illuminated form reflected in the mirror opposite the window. She sniffed the air, rising on hind legs with her front paws pressed against the dresser. She gave a low woof. Zenon remained still.

After a few minutes, he creaked atop the chain link fence and pulled himself up into a tree so that he could peer down inside. Jasmine worried by the dresser several feet below.

He revealed himself, curling his fingers under the window frame, and lifted.

Jasmine flew into a rage of wild barking.

MADELEINE DIDN’T KNOW WHETHER
to throw her arms around her father in relief that he seemed clearheaded and safe, or march up there and throttle him.

Beside her, Whitney slumped. He grit his teeth under the scrutiny of the crowd and raised his flute with resignation, then drained the champagne in a single swallow.

“Miss Madeleine,” he laughed with forced humor. “I am sorry to see that your father is having another one of his episodes.”

Sam couldn’t resist getting in her own dig as Whitney turned away. “I don’t know, Joe, Daddy Blank seemed pretty lucid to me!”

Joe stalked off. Sam was grinning so hard it looked like the corners of her mouth might get hooked behind her ears.

She turned to Maddy. “Well! Guess that shows where you get your wit. Your father is an absolute hero. Called ol’ Whitney out in front of everyone.”

“Our exalted champion,” Madeleine said in a flat voice as Sam started toward the crowd haloing Daddy Blank.

Madeleine watched Sam lean forward and kiss him on the cheek while others shook his hand or patted his back. Daddy had them absolutely charmed. He said something to the circle of folks who’d gathered around them, and they roared with delight. In a few weeks he may not even know their names, and they’ll cross the street just to avoid passing him on the sidewalk.

She stepped back; no desire to join in with the worshipers. She saw Chloe across the way in the ballroom.

“Hello again.”

Ethan Manderleigh.

She smiled at him. “Hello. Guess we found Daddy.”

He shook his head with a laugh. “Guess we did. Trouble was I was supposed to find him first.”

He leaned toward her with an enticing grin. Madeleine remembered the “first dance” bargain he’d laid and pressed away her own smile, averting her gaze. Suddenly music surged in the ballroom, and people flowed into it as if drifting on a wave.

“Anyway I know I didn’t hold up my end of the deal,” Ethan said as he offered his arm. “But perhaps you’ll—”

“There you are!”

One of the debutantes linked her arm through Ethan’s. She beamed up at him, that green-eyed pearl of a beauty Madeleine had seen before. “Music’s started. First dance?”

Madeleine took a step back.

Ethan looked annoyed. “Miss Madeleine and I were just going to—”

“Go ahead,” Madeleine interjected. “You two have fun.”

The green-eyed girl tugged on his arm but he remained rigid, eyes fixed on Madeleine. She lifted her face and smiled. The young woman looked from Ethan to Madeleine and gave another tug. This time Ethan sighed and leaned his cane against the wall. He escorted her to the dance floor.

Madeleine watched them go, wondering what was wrong with her. One dance with a handsome brain doctor couldn’t possibly hurt a thing, and yet she’d all but thrown him at the other woman. It occurred to her that she’d dodged him twice now. It wouldn’t happen a third time.

And then to Madeleine’s complete surprise, Joe Whitney approached carrying two champagne flutes.

Oh, joy
.

“My dear.” He placed a flute in her hand.

A comeuppance for having ditched Ethan. My, but don’t karma move fast?

She accepted the glass with a raised brow. “Thanks, Joe. I’m surprised you came back. Anyone else would have slipped out of the building after Daddy’s speech.”

Joe took a sip. “Actually, Miss Madeleine, contrary to what it may seem, I did not come here for the sole purpose of losing verbal battles to LeBlancs. And I apologize if I was rude earlier.”

She shrugged. “Apology accepted.”

She made a point of raising her glass to him, since it seemed to be the fashionable way to address him that evening.

He cocked his head toward the orchestra. “Shall we dance?”

She paused. It seemed blasphemous to have scorned Ethan in favor of Joe. And she wondered why Joe would want to dance with her in the first place. It carried a whiff of scheming to it. But Daddy’s burbling had gotten under her skin, and so Madeleine set down the champagne flute, straightened her back, and strode into the ballroom with none other than Joe Goddamn Whitney.

JASMINE’S SNARL ERUPTED WITH
such ferocity that Samantha’s dogs leapt from sleep, barking before they had even fully awakened. Zenon chuckled.

The window, which had been open only slightly, would neither rise nor lower more than an inch in either direction. He removed his fingers from the frame and rested back in the tree.

The Akita and the Airedale padded into the bedroom. Still unaware of his presence, they watched in alarm as Jazz continued screaming and bouncing toward the opening, her paws scrabbling at the dresser. Finally, she caught the lip and vaulted herself up, scurrying across the top and sending bottles of perfume and makeup flying in all directions.

Come get me, Jazz. Come on up through this window and kick my ass
.

Seeing Jasmine atop the dresser snapped the other two dogs into action. The Akita rose to hind legs, stretching his massive head and clamping his jaws onto a bag of SunChips. He dragged it to the floor so that he and the Airedale could ransack its contents.

Jazz remained atop the dresser, raging at the open window.

Keep trying. I’ll bet you can wiggle your little rat body right through the crack
.

Though she jumped and scraped at the sill, the height of the dresser prevented her from gaining enough leverage to make it through the narrow opening, and she managed only to catch swatches of curtain in her teeth. Her paws dispatched a hand mirror that flew crashing to the floorboards, causing Samantha’s dogs to pause in their gobbling, but only for a moment.

Zenon snorted. He couldn’t get in and she couldn’t get out. Enough of this.

He jumped from the tree and strolled to the front porch, dusting off his fancy slacks.

Jasmine pursued, sailing through the living room and slamming the fractured blinds. This time the other dogs saw him too. They leapt to the little terrier’s side, frenzied and snarling, separated from Zenon by only a pane of glass and a rapidly diminishing set of blinds.