Be My Baby (11 page)

“Yeah,” Josie Lee murmured sarcastically. “It’s been—what?—a whole five hours since you were here this morning.” She was clearly PO’d he’d allowed the door to bounce back on her.

Fortunately, Luke, who knew his sisters almost as well as he did, had the good sense to ignore her. “McDoskey caught a homicide at Jackson Square,” he said. “And Murphy’s on a burglary down on Chartres.”

“And this is good?” Juliet asked with barely disguised incredulity.

Both men turned what Beau imagined were identical expressions her way—looking, no doubt, like a couple of carnivores who’d just been tossed fresh meat. God, he loved police work.

She blinked at him and then glanced questioningly at Josie Lee, who shrugged.

“Don’t ask.”

“Okay.” She turned back to face him again. “I’ll ask something else I’ve been wondering for a while. What type of detectives are you?”

“Good ones,” Beau immediately retorted, and Luke nodded.

“The best.”

“Modest individuals, aren’t you,” she murmured but then persisted, “No, truly, Beau, you were assigned to my case, so does that make you…Burglary?”

“New Orlean decentralized in the Fall of ’96, Ms. Lowell,” Luke explained.

“Call me Juliet,” she invited. “What does that mean, ‘decentralized’?”

“It means, Rosebud, that we no longer have units like the ones you’re thinkin’ of. This ain’t like television; N’Awlins no longer has a Homicide, Narcotics, or Vice. There are—what, Luke, twenty-three?”—Luke nodded—“twenty-three detectives
assigned to this district. Except for the Juvenile and Rape Investigation sections, which are highly specialized, every man and woman here covers whatever comes in, as it comes in.” He turned back to Luke. “What do you know about a patrolman named Bostick?”

Luke thought about it a moment and then shrugged. “Nothing. Why?”

“Pfeffer assigned him to keep an eye on the Garden Crown in the evenings. I suspect the kid’s right out of the academy, but I was kinda hopin’ the Pissant selected him because he’d already managed to distinguish himself. But I guess if you haven’t heard anything…” Shrugging his shoulders, he let the sentence trail off.

“I’ll ask around.”

“Thanks, I’d appreciate it. And we’ll let you get back to it. Still working on that drug bust at the park?”

“Yeah. And I’ve got a snitch coming in at three on the Middlemyer case.” He smiled wryly. “I’m not exactly holdin’ my breath on that one.”

“No progress, huh?” At Luke’s shrug, Beau stepped back from the desk. “Well, like I said, we’ll get out of your hair. See ya, Jose.” He reached for Juliet’s wrist and headed for the door.

“Beau, wait!” Josie Lee’s voice stopped him and he pivoted back to face her, elevating an eyebrow questioningly.

“The DA’s playing at Maxwell’s Cabaret tonight. I was kind of hoping you’d take me.”

“It’s not a good night, Jose.” He looked past her to his partner. “Maybe Luke could do it.”

A muscle tightened in Luke’s jaw and Beau immediately backpedaled. “I’m sorry, pard. You probably got a date, huh?” He had to quit expecting his friend to drop everything and babysit for him.

“No date,” Luke said flatly. He hesitated a moment and then tossed his pen on the desk. “I’ll take you, Baby Girl.”

“Good.” Beau nodded, satisfied to have the matter settled so expeditiously. His sister got a chance to go out, which would keep her from jumping all over him out of sheer boredom the moment he walked through the door tonight. And he could relax and concentrate on his own work, knowing she was in good hands. He grinned. “See y’all around.” Without further ado, he opened the door to the stairway.

They were almost through it when he felt Juliet dragging against his hold. Turning his head, he saw her craning her neck around. “It was nice meeting you, Josie Lee,” she called softly.

Josie Lee flashed her a smile. “Nice meetin’ you, too,” she said. “Hope I see you again.”

Beau and Juliet didn’t speak as they clattered down the stairs. Once they passed through the lobby, however, and pushed through the entrance door, Juliet paused beneath the Doric columns on the white marbled porch way, blinking in the bright sunlight. Beau watched the humidity have its predicable effect on her hair.

She looked up at him. “Your district attorney performs at a cabaret?”

“Yeah, our DA is Harry Connick, Sr.”

“As in Harry Connick,
Jr
.?”

“His daddy. He plays jazz at Maxwell’s sometimes. Guy’s pretty damn good.” A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Better yet, he’s a decent DA as well.”

He watched her blink up at him as she absorbed the information. Then a slight smile tugged up the corners of her lips as well.

“Lordy. This is such an interesting town.”

“
M
r. Lowell is on line two.”

“Thank you, Roxanne.” Juliet released the intercom button, and with a familiar, uneasy blend of pleasure and anxiety that she should have long outgrown, she punched the button for the correct line. “Hello, Father. How lovely to hear—”

His impatient voice cut her off. “What’s this I hear about a brake line being cut, Juliet? You were in that car? Why the hell wasn’t I apprised of the situation the moment it occurred?”

Her programmed response was to apologize, but she caught herself and drew in a deep breath instead, holding it for a moment before slowly exhaling. Mustering the composure that always, in the end, was her final defense, she said quietly, “There was nothing you could have done from up there, and I didn’t see the value in worrying you.” Not that she’d heard a single inquiry as to her welfare. “How have you been, Father? And how is Grandmother?”

“You might pick up a telephone and give her a call to see for yourself,” he said brusquely. “She’s not getting any younger, you know.”

“You haven’t been to see her since I left, huh?” She was immediately appalled by her uncharacteristic snideness. What on earth was the matter with her?

There was a moment of silence from the other end of the line, and she was on the verge of apologizing when her father said tightly, “I haven’t seen a progress report on the Garden Crown, young lady.”

She sat up straight. “Nor shall you. This is my project, Father. You wouldn’t expect anyone else in the corporation to drop everything in the middle of a start-up to write a progress report; kindly grant me the same courtesy. Now, if that’s all, I have quite a bit to do. Thank you for calling—give Grandmother my love when you talk to her.” She replaced the receiver and dropped her head into her hands, grinding the heels into her eyes.

When would the need to please him finally go away? She was thirty-two years old and still struggling with an instinctive urge to placate, to win his approval. What was it going to take—would she have to turn thirty-five, forty-five,
fifty
before she finally learned to deal with him as one adult to another?

At least she’d stood her ground with him this time…and it hadn’t seemed as difficult as usual. Something down here appeared to be effecting a change in her, one that could only be considered an improvement. She dropped her hands to the
desktop and straightened. Reaching for the paperwork the phone call had interrupted, she caught sight of herself in the curved surface of a highly polished brass vase and leaned forward to scrutinize the reflection more closely, arrested by its eroticism. My God. Was that
her
? With those full, rose-colored lips, those sultry eyes, and the verging on out-of-control hairdo? She sat back.

Perhaps she ought to rethink this change-can-only-be-an-improvement thing. Because she didn’t recognize that woman in the vase at all.

She made a conscious effort to get herself back to the woman she did know in the days that followed. A week ago that would have come naturally, but suddenly she had to work at it. Her hair wouldn’t stay in its neat French twist, and she found it difficult to keep her hand from straying to the dresser top where she kept the tube of lipstick. And no matter what, she simply couldn’t bring herself to don nylon stockings in this ungodly heat. She did refuse to allow Beau to drag her around town, but privately admitted in her more honest moments that she missed the excitement.

It had been almost two weeks now and nothing untoward had happened. Juliet almost wished something would, because each day that passed uneventfully added to Beau’s restlessness. And a restless Beau was a definite impediment to her determination to hold onto her old self. The seductive freedom he represented was a dangerous thing.

Surely even policemen didn’t court danger twenty-four hours a day. Deprive Beau of car
chases, hunting down suspects in lowbrow dives, and other sundry hair-raising events, however, and he turned his attention to her. And he was growing increasingly outrageous by the day.

Yesterday he’d shown up wearing a yellow T-shirt with
CALL 911 AND MAKE A COP COME
emblazoned across his chest. He’d barged into the office time after time for no better reason than to drape himself over the corner of her desk and talk trash. The man could take the most innocent utterance and turn it into an innuendo, and bottling up her instinctive responses proved pointless, for he was absolutely relentless in his pursuit of one. He seemed to thrive on making her react, and didn’t seem to care if that reaction was anger or sounding like a prig.

It had to be boredom.

Now, Juliet looked around the sumptuous grounds at the garden party Celeste had arranged at a River Road plantation to avoid catching Beau’s eye, knowing that the sizable crowd milling throughout the gardens wouldn’t hinder him at all. If someone else was within earshot, she trusted Beau to behave with absolute professionalism. Let him get her alone for a moment, though, and all bets were off. And the couple with whom she’d been conversing had just walked away.

She felt his gaze on her as she balanced her glass of iced tea in one hand and dug through her purse for her checklist and a pen with the other.

“Think you got enough stuff there, angel face?” he inquired lazily once she’d pulled everything out. “How ’bout I flag down a waiter for a couple
of hors d’oeuvres?” He moved in and she felt his breath on her cheek. “Then you’ll have something to occupy all your dainty little fingers.”

She stepped back, straightening her spine. “Idle hands are the devil’s workshop,” she heard herself reply primly and could have groaned. How did he
do
that? How did he get her to utter things so prudish it would make Grandmother sound liberated by comparison?

And of course he had the last word. “Yeah, I’ve heard that said,” he agreed in a murmur, “but busy hands’ll make you go blind, dawlin’.”

The checklist dropped from her fingers.

She stooped to retrieve it, glancing around for an excuse that would remove her from his immediate vicinity without giving the appearance of running away—even if she was.

He squatted down next to her. “I bet I could make you go blind,” he said in a low voice and her eyes were drawn helplessly to his hands dangling over his knees. He was constantly saying things that planted images in her mind. Vivid images that never in a million years would she have thought of on her own.

She straightened her spine. “A skill learned in the devil’s workshop, no doubt.” If her voice sounded more like Minnie Mouse on helium than the acerbic tone she’d been shooting for, at least she’d achieved a reasonably cool delivery. She cleared her throat. “I’m afraid you’ll have to practice it elsewhere, though, Beauregard. Perhaps with someone who’s interested.” She forced her gaze away from his long, tanned fingers. “Oh, look,
there’s Edward.” She rose to her feet, smoothed the skirt of her dress. “Excuse me, won’t you?” Her glance bounced away from the lazy amusement in his face. “I need to talk to him for a minute.”

She’d nearly wondered aloud what on earth Edward was doing. Fortunately she’d caught herself, since the slightest opportunity to solve even a minuscule mystery would likely encourage Beau to tag along, and the idea was to get away from him. She was curious, however, and she watched Edward as she skirted the boxwood maze. He seemed to be cutting slips from a upright shrub in one of the Chinese pots.

“Hello,” she called softly as she came up behind him.

Edward turned a singularly sweet, unrepentant smile on her. “Hello, my dear; I’m afraid you’ve caught me. You, too, Sergeant,” he added, and Juliet suppressed a sigh when she turned to see that Beau had followed her.

“I do hope you’re not going to arrest me,” Edward continued without noticeable concern.

“For coppin’ a few inches of branch off some bush?” Beau hitched a shoulder. “Nah. I don’t think so.”

“Oh, this isn’t just any shrub.” Edward collapsed the blade back into his penknife and slipped it into his pocket. “This is a
Hibiscus Rosa Sinensis
.” He carefully folded the two slips he’d cut into a snowy handkerchief.

“Huh?”

“A Rose of China, Sergeant. It was originally presented to the Fancy Hibiscus Society by the Chinese
ambassador to the United States during a hibiscus showing in Washington, D.C., in 1990. Only a few plants were distributed to very special people.” He ran a reverent finger over one of the powder-puff-pink flowers that adorned the shrub. “I never thought I’d get a chance at one myself, so you can imagine my excitement.”

“Uh, right…excitement.” Beau stuffed his hands in his slacks pockets and rocked back on his heels. “The sorta stuff that gets me excited tends to be of a different variety.”

“I’m sure it is.” Edward regarded him solemnly. “By your very profession, you’re a man of action. Flowers must seem rather tame in comparison, but we all have our passions.” He turned to Juliet. “What is your passion, dear?”

Beau turned an interested gaze on her, eyebrows raised inquiringly.

The steamy interior of his GTO sprang immediately to mind, and Juliet took a hasty step backward. “My passions? I suppose that would be my work, and—Oh, I do believe Celeste is signaling me. If you’ll excuse me?” Giving them her most winning social smile, she turned away, the smile immediately fading. Whew. The last subject she wanted to discuss in front of Beauregard Dupree was passion.
Excellent timing, Celeste. Thank you
.

Celeste did not like the fact that Sergeant Dupree was talking to Edward—she didn’t like it one bit. She refused to give in to senseless panic, however. Chances were, it was about something entirely harmless.

She introduced Juliet to Georganne Hollister, her ostensible reason for summoning the young Northerner. Within moments, however, she’d sent Georganne on her way. The Hollisters were really quite nouveau; she hadn’t the first idea how’d they managed to worm their way onto the A list that comprised today’s guests. Her attention turned to Juliet. “How are you holding up, dear?”

“Fine, thank you. It’s a lovely function. Father will be pleased with the number of business contacts I’ve made today.”

“Yes, this is the crème de la crème. They’re the people in a position to steer the right kind of clientele to the Garden Crown.” And if strangers had to be living in
her
home, at least it would be people with close associations to members of the Boston Club, which was so exclusive not even Edward had been invited to join. Glancing across the lawn, Celeste’s stomach churned. “I see your detective is talking to Edward. I can’t imagine what those two could possibly have in common.” But their conversation looked more intense than it had a moment ago.

“I left them discussing hobbies and passions and whether Edward’s would ultimately land him in jail,” Juliet said with a slight smile.

Blood roared in Celeste’s ears, but she managed a credible laugh. “Oh, law, is that devil filching from the rose garden?” Patting Juliet’s hand as if it were all a huge joke, she excused herself while she could still string together a few coherent words. She headed for the stand of sweet olive trees just beyond the boxwood maze, stroking the leather of
her handbag over the 1849 Pocket Model revolver within. Heavy, awkward thing—she’d been packing it around with her for several days now, instinctively knowing the moment might come when she’d have to use it.

It looked as if that moment had arrived. Now if she could only remember all the steps for forcing the balls into the front of the cylinder, and placing the percussion caps on each of the nipples on its backside.

Well, it would come back to her. She was a Butler and a Hayes, after all, which by definition meant preeminently capable. One merely needed to give one’s full attention to the task at hand. And that she fully intended to do.

For it was time to take care of the Sergeant Dupree situation once and for all.

Storm clouds were beginning to amass to the south, and if Beau was any judge they’d soon be moving this way. Seeing Juliet on her own again, he caught her eye and gave her an imperious jerk of his chin. He grinned when her elegant little chin racheted several notches skyward in response. She nevertheless dutifully picked her way across the garden toward him.

He knew he ought to muzzle himself before he pushed her too far and she had him kicked off her case. But she’d withdrawn behind her damn impeccable manners, and for some reason it had plucked a chord of recklessness in him. He rolled his shoulders to relax the tension. So, what the hell. Giving his impulses free reign had at least nudged
her out from behind her wall. Besides, it was just so much fun to mess with her.

His amusement grew frayed around the edges, however, as he watched first one society type and then another waylay her as she wended her way through the garden. By the time she got to him, he was impatiently loosening the knot of his tie.

“You beckoned?” Her tone was ironic when she stopped in front of him and looked up into his face.

“You ’bout ready to call it a day? This hoedown looks like it’s starting to wind to a close, and I don’t like the look of those clouds.” The sky was rapidly darkening as the roiling bank of clouds approached, but looking beyond her, he saw that while much of the crowd had begun to drift toward the parking lot on the far side of the plantation house, several diehards were still swilling tea and knocking back hors d’oeuvres. “Don’t any of these folks
work
for a living?”

“Well, not all of us are cut out to be the fearless defender of law and order that you are,” she informed him dryly. “Nevertheless, here’s a little news flash for you. Most of the women I’ve met today put as much time and effort into their committee chairmanships as you do into your job.”

“And that’s what the world needs, all right: another charity ball.”

“Why, Beauregard Dupree, you’re snob!”

He glowered at her down the length of his nose. “The hell you say.”

“I do say. A reverse one, perhaps, but a snob nonetheless.” And she looked downright delighted by the discovery, too. She took a step closer and
reached out to give his tie a little tug. “Those charity balls that you’re so contemptuous of fund a lot of very worthy causes.” Tucking her little purse beneath her arm, she started to seriously mess with his neckwear, snugging the knot back up under his Adam’s apple. “They raise a great deal of money for people who might otherwise go without.”