Dead End (38 page)

Wally shook his head, then remembered himself. “No, thank you. I had breakfast.” He rolled onto the sides of his sneakers.

“There’s always something to worry about,” Oribel said. “What’s the matter with you, Wally. Don’t mumble, either. Spit it out.”

Wally gave Cyrus a desperate look. Spike walked in, and Wally jumped. He fell over his sneakers, and Cyrus caught him by the arm.

“Such silliness,” Oribel said, pulling the boy’s head down so she could attempt to tame his hair. “You’re a bundle of nerves, and it’s not right for a boy to be like that.”

Spike tipped his Stetson to the gathering and went to the counter where he took the hat off to exchange comments with Jilly in low tones. She smiled at him and tilted her head. Spike spread his hands wide on the edge of the glass cases, and there was no doubt that they were absorbed in each other.

Cyrus barely restrained a groan. Either he had a fixation and saw romantic attachments wherever he looked, or this town had been dusted with pheromones.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Oribel spoke so sharply to Wally that they all jumped. The boy had taken a step toward the door. He reddened and had nothing to say.

“The deputy,” Oribel said, still not keeping her voice down. “That’s what did it. He came in, and now you look like a scared rabbit. What’s the matter with you? Just because your folks have no sense it doesn’t mean you have to be afraid of everyone, least of all the law. As long as you don’t do anything wrong.”

Wally shuffled his feet. “I did something wrong. I found Bonnie’s purse and didn’t give it back.”

“You’ve given it back now,” Oribel reminded him.

“But something’s going to happen to me,” Wally said. “I keep waiting for it to happen. And I’ve been scared ever since I found the purse. Bonnie wouldn’t have bullets if she didn’t have a gun, would she?”

“You don’t have to concern yourself with that,” Marc said. “You aren’t going to be hurt.”

“That’s right,” Madge agreed. “Now we want you to sit down and be quiet for a bit. Just till you stop being upset.”

“We won’t let anything happen to you,” Reb told him.

Oribel got another chair and guided Wally into it. “Hot milk, please, Jilly,” she said.

Wally wrinkled his nose but kept the peace.

“Spike Devol,” Oribel said. “Don’t you have anything to say to the people you’re supposed to keep safe? Not a word from you, as far as I can tell. You still workin’ on that recording machine? Disgrace how long it takes, I say.”

Spike leaned on an elbow and crossed one booted foot over the other. “I haven’t been sleeping, Oribel. We’ve got a print, but it’s takin’ time to find a match.”

“Better than nothing,” Oribel told him.

Yet again the shop door opened, this time to admit William. Cyrus didn’t remember ever seeing him in town before, much less in a shop like All Tarted Up.

He stood a few feet away and said, “I’m goin’ to the church, me. You come, too, Miz Oribel.”

Oribel didn’t meet anyone’s eyes. To Cyrus’s confusion, she got up with her pastry box in her hands, mumbled a good-bye, and let William usher her to the sidewalk. He took the box from her and put it in her bicycle basket. Oribel walked beside him while he pushed her bike.

“Pheromones,” Cyrus said, and drank down his now cold coffee. He set the mug on the table and found all eyes on him. “What?” He felt annoyed.

“Pheromones?” Reb said.

“Got to be. They’re in the air. Why else would complete opposites like that fall for one another.”

There were no arguments against Oribel and William as a couple. Cyrus would have found them comforting if there had been.

Wally said, “William and Miz Scully are nice. They’re nice to me.”

Madge gave Cyrus a “watch what you say” look.

“They aren’t just opposites,” Marc said. “They’re two different life-forms.”

Spike was the first to laugh, with Jilly a close second before they all joined in.

Gaston was accomplishing the impossible. Marc must have tucked the dog under his arm to carry him into Reb’s house. The instant pet sighted owner, he contrived to rotate until he hung, his belly and legs up, his flaccid neck and closed eyes down, across Marc’s elbow.

“Look at this,” Marc said. “This is the gratitude I get for bringing him with me. He’s pretending I’ve murdered him.”

“He likes being upside down,” Reb said, closing the door behind Marc. “But he probably needs water. We’re all used to hot around here, but this is a killer day. I swear I haven’t felt a puff of breeze in hours.”

“Are you ready to leave?” Marc asked, and she shook her head faintly. He was still fuming about Chauncey showing up with the car. Marc didn’t realize that if he’d made his feelings less obvious, she would have politely declined Chauncey’s offer and explained she intended to go into Lafayette over the weekend and buy another bike.

“The pool was filled today,” he said. “I didn’t think you’d say no to a swim before dinner.”

She couldn’t look at him, or even think about him without losing her concentration.

“Leave Depew’s car here. You don’t need it.”

When he said something like that Reb wanted to pull his ears. She lifted floppy Gaston out of his arms and set him down. “Go ahead without me. I’m still waiting for lab results.” She started toward the study, changed her mind, and went to her consulting room instead.

Marc was a step behind all the way. “It’s after four. I know you. If I leave you here you’ll forget the time.”

And she wasn’t allowed in her own home once it started to get dark. She pulled tissues from a box and blotted her forehead and the back of her neck. “This is getting old,” she said. “A person has a right to be safe in her own home.”

“Yes, she does,” Marc said promptly. “But you aren’t.”

It was too hot to argue. “Don’t worry about me. Go ahead and take your swim. And have dinner. You don’t need to entertain me. I’ll eat here and be out there before the light goes.”

Marc put his hands in his pants pockets and braced his feet slightly. He narrowed his dark, dark eyes, and she had to look away.

Someone rang the front doorbell, and she had never been more grateful to hear it. “Excuse me,” she said, intending to slip past him, only to be stopped by a gentle but firm hand on her arm.

“You there, Reb?”

Marc’s grip tightened. “You didn’t lock the door.”

“Reb? It’s me, Cyrus.”

“
You
were the last one through that door,” Reb said. “Come on in, Cyrus. We’re in the consulting room.”

Marc released her arm and hoisted himself to sit on the examining table. He said, “Hi, Cyrus. Good to see you,” and sounded as if he meant it.

When Cyrus didn’t immediately appear, Reb and Marc frowned at each other.

Cyrus didn’t speak or make any noise at all.

“What do you think’s up?” Reb whispered.

“Nothing would surprise me,” Marc mouthed back. “Hey, Cyrus. Get in here. I want your opinion on something.”

“Surely,” Cyrus said. “Coming right now.” He appeared in the doorway to the consulting room. His hair was soaked, and so were the shoulders of his jacket. Water trickled down his neck and under his collar. “Downpour,” he said. “Tropical downpour. The rain’s bouncing off the sidewalks, but it’ll be over as fast as it began. Too bad we can’t hope it’ll cool things down.”

Reb knew Cyrus too well to be fooled by chatter that was no more than a substitute for whatever he really came to say.

“Must have just started,” Marc said. He looked as puzzled by Cyrus as Reb felt.

If a contest were held for most mesmerizing male eyes, Cyrus would win hands down. Reb didn’t think she’d ever seen his particular mix of blue and green, or that kind of mysterious depth. He could also look at a person and make life real uncomfortable—which was what he was doing at that moment.

“Will you tell Reb it’s a bad idea to accept a gift from Chauncey Depew, especially an expensive gift,” Marc said.

She turned on him. “Watch your mouth, Marc Girard. I don’t like the way you make that sound, which is just what you intended. That car isn’t a gift, it’s a loan, and I accepted it because everyone needs second chances.” Maybe it wasn’t the real reason, but she wouldn’t let this man know he could goad her into going against her instincts. “Couldn’t it be that Chauncey’s trying to turn over a new leaf?”

Marc gave her a sideways and measured look. “No.”

Cyrus, smacking his palms together and walking back and forth, distracted them.

“Now what?” Marc said. “Hell, Cyrus, quit pacing.”

“You’re really into telling people what to do and think, aren’t you?” Cyrus said.

Those few words muzzled all of them.

Reb picked up Gaston and hugged him, ignoring his outraged complaints.

“Must be nice to be perfect,” Marc told Cyrus, his tight lips pale. “Was that the pull of the priesthood for you—the idea that you’d be able to push people around?”

“
Marc.
”
The two men faced each other and both flexed their hands as if spoiling for a fight. “Oh, stop it, both of you. Where do you think you are, on the playground?”

“Don’t hold anything back,” Cyrus said to Marc. “Why not say what you really think about me?”

This was awful, unspeakable. “Grown men don’t behave like this—not if they’ve got a brain cell between them.”

“Not if they’re as
reasonable
and intelligent as you are, you mean?” Cyrus said. “I...” He stopped with his mouth still open, and horror slowly brought a glitter to his eyes.

“That’s not what Reb meant,” Marc said, but the anger wasn’t as strong. “She wouldn’t deliberately do anything to hurt anyone—least of all you, Cyrus. She thinks the world of you.” He drew himself up and let breath out slowly. “So do I, for that matter. Don’t ask me why, when our history is so short.”

Reb felt her chin quiver. She would not cry.

“You’re good for Toussaint, Marc,” Cyrus said. He sat down abruptly. “And I like you. Maybe that’s because Reb thinks you’re really something and she’s got good taste.”

“Enough,” Reb said, holding her stomach and pretending to feel sick. “I can’t take any more of this. We think we’re all great. This is a good thing because it helps the peace. But we are not relaxed. Cyrus, you came—”

“To confess,” he said, leaping to his feet again. “Oh, grant me patience. Every word out of my mouth is the wrong one these days. I came because I believe I’m a piece of the puzzle. A
real
piece of the puzzle.”

He made a good job of silencing his companions. For a scary moment Reb thought Marc was going to whistle in the name of nonchalance and resolved to make him suffer if he did.

He didn’t.

They caught each other’s glances and quickly looked away. “Aren’t you going to say anything?” Cyrus asked.

“You’d probably prefer it if Reb weren’t here for this,” Marc said. “Do it man-to-man.”

Reb heard Cyrus swallow. “There’s nothing man-to-man about this,” he said. “Reb—could we look at that photocopy in a good light? The one of the photo Bonnie had?”

“You talk as if there wasn’t a good possibility ‘Bonnie’ never existed.” Marc said. His face was hard. “It’s just as likely the photo belonged to Amy, not that there was anything familiar about it.”

She wished she’d never made the copy, and even more so, she wished she hadn’t felt compelled to display it at All Tarted Up.

“Is it still in here?” Cyrus asked, lifting her bag onto the desk. “I feel your pain, Marc. I don’t have the answers you’re looking for, but we aren’t giving up on the truth. We will know everything in the end.”

Marc stood beside Cyrus and said, “You bet we will.”

Reb hoped they were both right. She slid out the photocopy and set the bag on the floor again. “It’s really bad quality. If we asked, I’m sure we could get to see the original.”

“Let’s take a look.” Marc unfolded the paper and smoothed it out. He turned on her desk lamp and trained it on the black-and-white photo. “I wonder how long ago it was taken. A bald baby has always been a bald baby. The guy could be any man in a dark suit.”

Reb bent closer and almost bumped heads with Cyrus. “I don’t know,” she said. “Something’s familiar, but—”

“The baby’s name is Dwayne Errol Cyrus Charbonnet. Nickname’s Deck. That started because he hit the floor a lot at one point, and it stuck. He’s my nephew, my sister and brother-in-law’s son. The shot’s from his baptism a couple of years ago. I’m the man holding him.”

They hadn’t come up with a single explanation for Bonnie having the photo. Marc was glad to finally be at home and to have Reb with him—and Depew’s car still parked out back of the Conch Street house.

At Cyrus’s insistence, dinner had been back at the rectory, with Oribel still in the subdued mood she’d reached by the time she left Jilly and Joe’s place that morning. She served fried chicken and mashed potatoes with corn, followed by a peach cobbler. Oribel refused to join them and set off for home with a pinched appearance about her.

From every direction, Reb and Marc had approached the puzzle of the photo that had been in Bonnie’s pocket. Why had she had it in the first place? Why had it been torn up and stuck back together? What would make the thing so important to Bonnie? Where had she found it—Cyrus didn’t remember seeing it before.

Eventually Reb and Marc left, after agreeing to get together again tomorrow—and to ask Spike if he would join them.

This evening Marc had other issues on his mind. He wasn’t naive enough to imagine Reb would be ecstatic about one particular thing he’d done today. Not at first, anyway.

“Oribel mentioned some pretty personal comments being made about the two of us,” he said when they were in the foyer and Reb showed signs of going directly to her room. “She wasn’t completely candid. I think she was embarrassed to tell me, but thought she ought to. Protecting you was on her mind.” The heat wasn’t lessening, and inside a house that depended on fans hanging from twelve-foot-high ceilings, although it was slightly cooler, the air remained muggy.

Reb put Gaston down. “What sort of comments?”