Be My Baby (20 page)

“Miz Roxanne, can you hear me?” he said. “Look at me, sugar—that’s good, that’s good, keep your eyes up here. Now I want you to reach up with your other arm. No, don’t look down! Just give me your other hand and I’ll have you out of this mess in nothin’ flat, okay?”

Roxanne didn’t reply, but finger by finger she disengaged her death grip on the loose section of railing still in her hand, and it tumbled away.

“No, don’t watch it go,” Beau commanded as it smashed to the floor below. “Just give me your hand, Roxanne. Come on, now—that’s it sugar, that’s it—I’ve got you!” And his shoulder, back, and upper arm muscles strained against his tux jacket as he hauled her to safety.

He handed her to Juliet the moment she cleared the gap in the railing, and the two women knelt, breast to breast, clinging to each other. Juliet was vaguely aware of Beau commanding someone to cordon off the gap as she pulled away far enough
to smooth Roxanne’s hair off her face with fierce tenderness.

“Are you all right? My God, I’m so sorry, Roxanne—I’m so very, very sorry.”

“It’s…not…your…fault,” Roxanne gasped.

“It
is
my fault. Someone clearly meant that for me—they probably thought I’d lean on the railing during my speech.”

“Then they don’t know beans about your granny’s training, do they?” Roxanne’s mouth slanted. “As if an Astor Lowell would ever be caught dead leaning.”

A hysterical giggle escaped Juliet’s throat. “Caught dead. Oh, God. I’m so sorry.”

“Hey.” Roxanne gave her a stern look. “I know you Astor Lowells like to believe you’re up there at the right hand of God, but get over yourself, girlfriend—only He could have foreseen this.”

“You’re right. This is not about me. I’m not only being arrogant, but self-indulgent.” Juliet lightly gripped Roxanne’s shoulders and held her away to inspect her. “How are you feeling? Can you get up?”

They struggled to their feet, and Juliet smoothed Roxanne’s cocktail dress into place. “You know what we need?”

“Barring tranquilizers, you mean?”

“Yes, barring about ten milligrams of valium, we could both stand a great big glass of champagne. A huge glass, I daresay.”

“Or maybe the entire magnum,” Roxanne agreed. She gazed down at the buzzing, milling crowd below, then looked back at Juliet. “Well, one
thing’s for certain,” she said dryly. “I bet the Garden Crown’s gonna take off like a rocket. It might not be exactly what your daddy would’ve ordered, but we couldn’t
buy
the kind of publicity this little episode is going to give us. Especially on the heels of you getting yourself shot at last week.”

R
age burned through Beau’s veins. Sure as hell, it was no fluke that the balustrade had broken apart the way it had. Even if he believed in that kind of coincidence, it would have taken only one fast glance to disabuse him of the notion. The railing had been sawn through. With premeditated intent, someone had meant Juliet Rose Astor Lowell to fall through sometime during her thank-you speech.

He couldn’t for the life of him think of a logical reason why anyone would want to do that. But he would, by God, find the person responsible and slam his sorry ass in jail.

With all the people who had been in and out of here this past week, though, it wasn’t going to be a walk in the park. The cocktail party’s schedule hadn’t exactly been posted in the lobby for everyone to see, but all the staff knew what it was, and there was nothing New Orleanians loved more than to talk. There was no end of opportunity for
anyone with a strong enough desire to dig out exactly what they wanted to know.

Considering that statistically most suspects turned out to be either a family member or a significant other, though, maybe he’d just start with Big Daddy and see what sort of motives shook free. More than likely Rosebud was the recipient of a trust fund, and profit was the biggest incentive going when it came to criminal behavior. Just possibly, Thomas Lowell had a pressing need of his baby girl’s money to bail him out of a bad investment—it would be interesting to see who her beneficiaries were. God knew her old man didn’t sound like the world’s most loving parent. And her little ol’ grandma was frankly beyond his ken, too.

Minutes after hauling Roxanne to safety, he went looking for answers. His first stop was the Pissant, whom he found being his usual ineffectual self down in the lobby. Grasping him by the elbow, he whirled the man around without regard to the social-register type whose conversation he interrupted. “I want Gardner assigned to this,” he demanded through his teeth, “and I want him now.”

Wisely, Pfeffer didn’t argue with him—probably because he knew his hide could be tacked to the wall if Beau chose, after ignoring his many requests this past week for additional personnel to prevent this exact type of security breech. Pfeffer reached into his tux jacket’s inner breast pocket and pulled out a slim cell phone. Three minutes later, he flipped the phone closed and returned it to his jacket. “He’ll be here in ten minutes.”

Beau didn’t bother to say thank you. Turning on his heel, he went to corral two of the burliest servers he could find to cover the exits until the professionals arrived. No one was leaving before he or Luke had a chance to talk to everyone, if he had anything to say about it.

As it turned out, no one appeared to have any intention of leaving. Champagne disappeared from trays, and the decibel level of excited chatter rose apace. Apparently, a near death made the cocktail party a hotter ticket than attendance at the Comus Carnival Ball, which until tonight had been the most sought-after invitation in New Orleans’ society.

He was nevertheless relieved to see Luke and three uniforms walk through the hotel entrance a short while later. He sent two of the uniforms to relieve the servers he’d posted and the other to stand guard over Juliet and Roxanne. Then he turned to Luke and filled him in on the evening’s events.

“This is fucking nuts,” was Luke’s baffled response.

“Yeah, that’s pretty much my assessment,” Beau agreed. “If it’s the work of a fanatic preservationist who thinks he’ll run the Garden Crown out of business, he’s sure going about it all wrong. Hell, this sorta shit is guaranteed to bring in
more
publicity, not less. It might not land on the society or business pages where Crown Hotels would prefer to see it, but people being what they are, they’ll flock here in droves anyhow just to meet Juliet and see what kind of woman inspires so much off-the-wall pas
sion. And if it isn’t some save-the-historic-building lunatic…well, I’ll run some checks on her family tomorrow.”

“You think Daddy might be in some kind of cash crunch?”

“I don’t know what I think at this point, but I’m damn well going to make sure I cover all the bases. And I know that antique gun fits into the equation somewhere, Luke. My gut tells me it’s the key, and I’m gonna run it down if it’s the last thing I do. There’s something about this whole thing that just doesn’t smell right.”

“I hear that,” Luke agreed. “I can’t pin it down myself, but something’s off, for damn sure.”

“Thanks, Luke. I knew you’d be the best one to work with me on this.” Beau hesitated, then said reluctantly, “Listen…about Josie Lee. Maybe I’ve overreacted a bit about your relationship with her.”

“Ya think?” Luke snorted. “There’s an understatement—you’ve overreacted a ton.”

Beau scowled. “I might’ve been a little off base.”

“You’ve been out of the friggin’ ball park, bud.”

Beau thrust his face up to Luke’s. “Listen, you asshole, I’m tryin’ to apologize here.”

“You call that an apology?” Luke thrust his chin right back at him. “All I’m hearin’ is a bunch of maybes and might haves. You made your sister cry, you dipshit, and not just once, either. You think I went looking for this to happen between me and Josie Lee? Think again. But I’m so over-the-moon crazy about her that I can hardly see straight, and I don’t like seein’ her crying because of you.”

“Crying, my ass.” Beau was disgusted that his
friend would flat-out lie like that. “Don’t insult my intelligence, Gardner. She came after me with a freakin’ frying pan.”

“Jesus, Beau, for a guy who’s normally so self-aware, you’re incredibly dense these days. Josie Lee idolizes the ground you walk on. She wants your approval, man, but she’s
in love
with me, get it? We’re not talking about puppy love or a high school crush here—we’re talkin’ adult, I-accept-you-warts-and-all
love
. She. Is. No. Longer. A. Kid.” He spaced the words out between his teeth. “
Get it?
”

“I get it; all right, already,” Beau muttered. And he truly was beginning to. But it made something inside him hurt.

“Then get this, too. It puts her between a rock and a hard place, because as much as she loves you and wants your stamp of approval, she’s not about to give me up just because you refuse to realize she’s a woman. And if that’s too hard a concept for you to grasp, then, dammit, you know
me
. You know damn well I’ve never chased younger women in my life. I don’t need a teenybopper to make me feel like a big man, and I’m sure as shit not searching for some sweet young thing I can dominate.”

That elicited a snort of amusement out of Beau. “As if anyone could ever control Jose. I’d pay big bucks to see that happen.”

Luke grinned. “Yeah. Me, too.”

Beau rolled his shoulders uncomfortably. “So maybe I’ll stop by the house tomorrow and talk to her.” It was painful, but the truth was he did know
Luke, and deep down he knew his sister, too, so he took a deep breath and just said it. “Give her my, uh, stamp of approval.”

“Good plan.”

Beau looked at his partner for a moment. “You hurt her, though, Gardner, and I’ll come gunnin’ for you.”

“Wouldn’t expect it any other way, Dupree.”

“Okay, then.” Edgy, Beau looked around the crowded lobby. Everything seemed to be slipping beyond his control these days. “Let’s get to work. I gotta wrap this thing up and get my life back to normal.”

The look Luke gave him struck him as suspiciously pitying, as if his partner knew something that he ought to. Beau straightened and said defensively, “I
will
get it back to normal.”

“Hey, sure, whatever. If it makes you happy to think so, bud.”

Celeste was not happy. Sourly, she eyed Juliet, who still hovered over her upstart secretary. Good Lord, she’d seen flea-bitten alley cats with fewer lives than the Yankee trollop seemed to have. And didn’t it just
figure
her mongrel typist would be the one to lean on the railing during the thank-you ceremony, and screw everything up? It wasn’t easy being surrounded by incompetents.

Between that sorry exhibition the two of them and Dupree had put on like so many cut-rate circus performers, and the way the Yat cop had then cut through group after group of the people who mattered like a demented bull in a crystal shop, at the
very least she should have had the satisfaction of watching everyone flee in disgust, never to darken the Garden Crown’s doorstep again. After all, the crème de la crème that she’d lured here tonight were people with delicate sensibilities and rigid rules. But for some odd reason, everyone seemed to be treating tonight’s incident as some sort of lark, as if it had been staged purely for their delectation. She’d expected better of the Boston Club people; she really had.

The only highlight in the whole dreary evening was that rather than finding her position tarnished by this fiasco—which she’d risked and had rather feared—she’d had several people seek her out, thank her for thinking of them when she’d issued the invitations, and hint they’d love to attend the Grand Opening as well. There’d even been indications that a reciprocal invitation would be forth-coming for next year’s Comus Ball. She should be thrilled, for it was an unforeseen reward and something toward which she’d strived her entire adult life. Goodness, she and Edward had just moved one rung higher up the ladder. And that was as it should be—it was wonderful. The only thing was…

She now had that much farther to fall.

Juliet had begun to think the night would never end, when suddenly it did. She watched the door close behind the last guest and immediately sank down upon an armchair. “At last,” she murmured. The starch melted out of her spine, leaving her wilted.

“Well, if you didn’t have such a Puritan work ethic,” Roxanne chided as she took an adjoining chair, “you could have gone upstairs hours ago and let the party wind down on its own.”

“Look who’s talking.” She looked at her assistant. Exhaustion and stress had given her skin a grayish tinge. “I am so sorry you got caught up in this mess, Roxanne. I wouldn’t blame you a bit if you caught the first flight back to Boston.”

“What, and miss all the excitement?” Roxanne reached over and squeezed Juliet’s hand. “I’m afraid you’re stuck with me for the duration. Lord, girl, this is like being an improv actor in a Southern Gothic play. It’s terrifying, but titillating, too, in a thrills and chills sorta way. Besides”—her smile was game, if bone-weary—“I’ve got a hot date with that cute Officer Bettencourt tomorrow night, and it’s the first chance I’ve had to rub up against a little testosterone-fed beefcake since we’ve come down here. No way I’m passing that opportunity by.”

Juliet squeezed Roxanne’s hand in return. “You are the best, you know that? And not only as an asset to the Crown. You’re so funny and smart and insightful, and I would really, truly be honored if you’d consider me your friend. You’ve certainly been a good friend to me.”

Roxanne looked at her without speaking for a moment. Then she burst into tears.

Horrified, Juliet scooted forward and wrapped her arms around her assistant, offering a stiff but genuine hug. “Oh, my God, I’m so sorry. It wasn’t my intention to put you on the spot.” She patted
Roxanne’s shoulder. “That was very gauche—friendship is certainly not requisite to your job or anything.”

A strangled laugh erupted out of Roxanne as she emerged from Juliet’s embrace. “That’s not it, Juliet!”

“It’s not?”
Thank you, God
.

“Of course not. Oh, shit, I feel like such an idiot.” Roxanne knuckled away the tears pooling beneath her eyes. “I can be tough as nails when things get rough, you know. Hey, drop me off a balcony—I’m cool. Nerves of steel. But say something nice, and I fall to pieces.” She looked at Juliet, who sat, her spine very erect, on the edge of her chair, and added gently, “And that
was
very nice. I honestly can’t think of anything I’d like more than to be your friend.” The corner of her mouth tipped up in an irreverent smile. “Well, except maybe to get laid sometime before the end of the millennium.”

Juliet smiled with such radiance it made Roxanne blink. “Wow,” she said. “And me without my shades. If this is the sorta reaction I get, you must not have many friends.”

“I don’t,” Juliet confessed. “I’ve got a ton of acquaintances handpicked for me by Grandmother. And they’re perfectly nice women, you know? But I always felt somehow—I don’t know—
different
from them.” She tapped her breast with a gentle fist.

“Probably because you’ve spent your entire life trying to repress a shipload of passion, the likes of which most of those white-bread chicks wouldn’t
recognize if it came up and bit ’em on their blue-blooded butts.”

“Oh, no, I don’t think that’s the reas…well, yes, I suppose I do have more, um, passion than one might have previously suspected—” Breaking off, she flashed a delighted smile. “White-bread chicks?”

“Oh, definitely.”

“As opposed to myself, who is…?”

“A babe. Refined, but nevertheless red-hot.” And looking at her friend in her sleek evening gown, with most of her hair slipped free of its confines and her cheeks flushed, she was entirely serious.

“Oh, my.” Juliet’s sudden laugh sounded self-conscious but pleased. “Oh, my.” Then, abruptly, she sobered. “I shouldn’t be so tickled, Rox,” she said guiltily. “Someone’s trying to kill me.” Her fist clenched in her lap as she stared at Roxanne. “Lord. I can’t quite get a grasp on that.”

“I’m not surprised. I can only imagine how it must make you feel.”

“Embarrassed,” Juliet promptly supplied. “As if I’ve committed some major social faux pas.”

“Good God, Juliet.” Roxanne felt her eyes roll up. “We have got to work on your attitude. Is that really what you’d like to see inscribed on your tombstone: ‘Here lies Juliet. She apologizes for being murdered’?”

“I would rather avoid being murdered entirely, if it’s all the same to you.”

“That’s exactly the kind of attitude adjustment I like to see. It’s much better to be a little pissed than apologetic. None of this is your fault,” Roxanne
stated firmly. “You’ve just got to keep that thought solidly in mind.” Looking up, she saw Beau bearing down on them, looking grim and determined. “And here comes the guy who will ultimately unravel this mess. If anyone can get to the bottom of things, Juliet, I’d put my money on Sergeant Cutie.”