Dead End (9 page)

That brought a fresh gale of tears from Oribel, who trembled and rocked on the glider.

“I’m sorry,” Reb said, wishing she hadn’t come home. “Of course, you found Bonnie. That’s never going to be easy for you to think about.”

“Never did believe in cell phones,” Oribel said. “But I got me one now. I didn’t want to leave that girl there alone but I had to. Why Father had that newfangled phone put in the…It doesn’t matter anymore; I had to go for help. I ran all the way to get Father Cyrus. I didn’t want to wake him up, but there wasn’t a choice.” She hiccuped and her shoulders shook. “Like I told you when you got there, I thought she was still alive—even though she was all broken up,” she ended on a whisper.

“You turned her over,” Reb said gently. “You heard trapped air escaping from her lungs, that’s all. She was already dead, so you did everything you could.”

Precious had grown still and quiet. When Reb looked at her, she said, “What does Bonnie have to do with Marc Girard being here?”

She had, Reb realized, spoken carelessly. Now she might as well tell it straight because everyone in town was likely to find out anyway. “Amy Girard—Marc’s sister—dropped out of sight a couple of months ago. He thinks she came here. He thinks she was the woman who died in the church.”

“My heavens.” Precious sat down. Mother and daughter stared at one another. “Why, that’s the craziest thing I ever heard.”

Oribel shook her head over and over again. Every hint of color had left her face.

“You asked what was on Marc’s mind, and I told you. Better to give it to you straight.”

“Yes.” Oribel nodded mechanically. “I hope the restaurant y’all are goin’ to for dinner is somewhere a lot of people go.”

“We’re not going to a restaurant. Marc’s taking me out to Clouds End to eat. Cletus will be there, so—”

“Out to that old place?” Oribel’s voice rose. “Why, it’s halfway to Breaux Bridge and in the middle of nowhere, and that Cletus is a hundred if he’s a day, and deaf. What good would he be if that man decided to ravish you?”

“And Pappy’s place is no place for a lady,” Precious added.

An urge to laugh was very inconvenient for Reb. Precious was no stranger to Pappy’s, or so gossip said.

“Taking you there shows no respect,” Oribel said. “And a man can’t be trusted if he shows no respect.”

“You know what’s next door to Pappy’s,” Precious said, obviously enjoying herself. “The Lay By. Three hours for fifteen dollars. Very convenient for a man who wants inside a woman’s pants.”

Reb snorted, and sat down to laugh.

“That is the most disgustin’ thing I ever heard,” Oribel said. “And you laugh, my girl? Book learning’s all very well, but you’re too unworldly for your own good. You make sure he sticks to undressing you with his eyes. I got to talk to Father Cyrus right away.”

“We’ve all been to Pappy’s,” Reb said. “Maybe Marc Girard’s the one who should look out for his honor. I’ve been feeling a bit—well, you know, frisky lately.”

“That’s it.” Oribel stood up. “Come along, Precious. This girl doesn’t have a living soul to look after her or care for her. I knew and respected her pappy. In his memory I’ve got to do the best I can for her. Father Cyrus will know what’s best.”

Precious followed her mother’s footsteps to the front door, but she looked back at Reb and wiggled her eyebrows. Reb smiled and was grateful to hear the door slam behind them.

She gathered the glasses and carried them into the kitchen. There was plenty of time to get ready, but she wanted to enjoy it. For once she’d pretend she was like other single women and about to spend a romantic evening with a man she was mad about.

Pursing her lips, she rinsed the glasses and put them in the dishwasher. Marc Girard had the power to move her—maybe too much.

Gaston whined.

“Okay, buddy, enough sulking. Hey, you didn’t eat your food. C’mon, do it now. You’re looking after the house tonight.” She’d already decided not to take him to Clouds End.

The dog sighed, and his brows drew up and together in the middle to make a tragic picture. He’d curled himself around his food dish, but Reb could see he hadn’t touched it.

“Sometimes you are just too cranky for your own good,” she told him. “Oh, don’t look so sad. You’re a sweetie pie and I love you.” She knelt down and scooped some of the wet food onto her finger to feed him—something he liked a lot.

“Ouch.” She drew back and snatched up the dish. Blood ran from a cut on her forefinger. With a spoon from the sink she stabbed at the chicken and rice. “Oh my Lord.” Pieces of broken glass crunched beneath the bowl of the spoon.

Reb turned on cold water and ran it over her finger. She grabbed a paper towel to staunch the flow of blood and picked up Gaston to examine his mouth. There was no sign of a wound, but she’d check him over anyway.

She hadn’t broken any glass. No shards were on the floor or in the sink—just in Gaston’s bowl. But something must be broken. She’d been too involved with Oribel and Precious to notice before, but the latch had been popped off on a sash window she always kept locked. The window had been opened and left that way. White cotton curtains ruffled in the breeze.

Feeling sick, Reb went closer and picked the latch off the floor. Someone had slipped a sharp implement between the upper and lower windows and pried off the metal lever.

Getting in had been just that easy. She knew, because she’d done it often enough herself when she’d forgotten her keys.

If he told Reb she smelled like the wild roses at Clouds End…she’d laugh herself sick.

Once out of Toussaint, Marc got on 31, drove four miles north, and cut off before reaching St. Martinsville. When he’d arrived a few days earlier he’d expected things to feel unfamiliar, but he’d driven to the old place just like he’d never been away.

“Sorry, Reb,” he said, breaking a long silence. “Would you rather I rolled up the windows and used the air conditioning? That’s what happens when you spend a lot of time alone—you forget not everyone likes things the way you do.”

“Don’t change anything,” she said. Her hair was wound up in the professional do again, and he decided he liked it. “I’m fond of this time of evenin’ when the sun’s low and it feels like a cool sauna instead of a real hot one.”

He grinned and reached to close the windows.

Reb put a hand on his forearm. “I never did learn to leave off the little dig,” she said. “I mean it. I’d rather have the windows open.”

She withdrew her hand just as quickly as she’d touched him, but the sensation remained. Well, damn, he did believe he was developing an inconvenient interest in the doctor—again.

“You don’t seem relaxed,” he told her. “Is that because of me?”

“I’m not a good passenger,” she said. “I like to be in control.”

Marc glanced at her again, and she shrugged at him. He’d never forgotten how her green eyes could open wide and make him smile. He smiled at her now, and she wrinkled her nose at him the way she used to when she was a kid, only neither of them were kids anymore. They’d both do well not to forget it was the small, teasing things that could get a man and woman into trouble—if sex between them was a bad idea.

Well now, he mused, time to lock up the old testosterone and think pure thoughts.

He hadn’t made any comment when she put her dog into the back seat, but he’d taken it as a reminder that their being together was almost strictly business. Anyway, he had more or less invited the toothy critter to come. “How about Gaston? Is he a nervous passenger, too?”

“Not if I’m driving. Forgive me for bringing him. I was going to leave him at home, but he’s been alone most of the day and he won’t be a bother.”

Only a desperate man took heart at a comment like that. “I like animals.” Maybe she hadn’t brought the poodle along for protection—or because the evening meant nothing to her.

“I know you do.” She settled her head against the rest, closed her eyes and let hot wind through the window toss loosening strands of curling hair. “I remember Buzz. Took me ages to figure out you called him that because he was a Ridgeback and the fur on his spine stood up like a buzz cut.”

“Good dog,” he said. “I remember him, too.”

She wasn’t relaxed at all. Her eyes moved beneath their lids, and her teeth were so tightly clamped together, muscles flexed in her cheeks.

“Is something wrong?” he asked, then wished he hadn’t.

“Nothing.”

“I’m not going to lie,” he told her. “I intend to ask you questions about the woman you call Bonnie Blue, but I also hope we can have an enjoyable evening. It’ll be fun to look at Clouds End with you after so long.”

She jerked to sit up straight. “It’s all about you, isn’t it? It always was.”

“Where did that come from?” He raised an eyebrow at her. The overgrown entrance to Clouds End was just ahead.

“Forget it.”

“Okay.” The sign for the house was barely visible beneath a tangle of berry bushes. Grass sprouted in tall clumps through cracks in the paved drive that needed resurfacing.

Reb crossed her arms and sighed loudly.

“It’s a mess, isn’t it,” he said. “It depressed me when I first drove in, too.”

“Unbelievable,” she said. “Why would I be depressed because Clouds End isn’t in the kind of gorgeous shape it used to be when y’all lived here? I shouldn’t have come. I’ve got too much on my mind. Too much personal stuff, my stuff, not yours, Marc.”

The driveway was a mile long and lined with live oaks, his father’s favorites. Marc arrived in front of the house frowning, and searching for whatever he ought to say.

“Let’s discuss this,” he told her, suddenly inspired. Women wanted to talk. She’d decided he was selfish. He’d talk until she realized she was wrong. “You know what’s on my mind. That’s not fair. It gives you the advantage. Tell me what’s going on for you.”

“Nothing,” she said again and sat with her head bowed and her hands pressed together between her knees.

So maybe she was different from other women.

Marc turned off the engine and slowly applied the emergency brake. She wore a wide-necked, sleeveless gray dress with a full skirt and a narrow matching belt. Her pager decorated one side. He didn’t remember ever seeing her other than plainly dressed. Rebecca O’Brien, who had refused to answer to anything but Reb for as long as he remembered, didn’t need finery to make her unforgettable.

He got out and went around to open her door.

Reb looked into his face, and her expression stopped him. He stared back at her. “There is something,” he said. “Come out here and tell me what it is. Better yet, I’ll get you inside the house and give you a drink—then you tell me.” He offered her a hand and she held it while she twisted sideways in her seat and hopped to the ground.

Before she could call the dog, Marc reached in and picked him up.

“Oh, don’t,” Reb said. “I don’t think he’d bite, but I don’t want to find out.”

Eye to eye with Gaston, Marc knew he was being sized up. The animal bared his teeth in what might have been a smile. Marc put him down before the dog could prove him wrong.

“Shall we go in?” he asked Reb. She surveyed the lush but ruined grounds, including tennis courts with rambling roses cascading from the wire fencing. Vines scaled massive Ionic columns at the entrance to the house. “Reb?” He held her elbow.

Steps rose to a terrace that stretched the width of the central wing. Two stories of windows flanked substantial front doors. A second and third wing, one on either side, were recessed. Dormer windows in the attics were opaque with filth. The basement had no windows at the front of the house. The steps had been brushed clean. A crew had labored on the inside of the house all day, but they would have weeks of work ahead of them.

“It’s still very beautiful,” Reb said. “What does Cletus do with himself out here? You’re lucky he’s so spry—amazing, really. It’ll be good to see him.”

“He was tired from all the activity around here today,” Marc said. “He doesn’t do much but live in rooms off the kitchens just so there’s someone here. He wouldn’t want to be anywhere else now, so he’ll stay as long as he wants to. His daughter came over this afternoon and took him to Lafayette to spend the night.”

The speculative flicker in her eyes surprised him. So, she wasn’t completely unaware of him as a man—or of being alone with him. He’d grin, only she might catch him.

He unlocked the front doors and pushed them wide. Reb walked onto dark wooden floors—something else that needed work. She stood with her back to him, taking in peeling wallpaper and peeling paint. Rolled and wrapped carpets were stacked to one side of the staircase. The way Reb patted a thigh must be a habit. When she glanced down, then back at him, he realized she’d expected the dog to be at her side. Gaston sat beside his left foot, but when Marc bent to scratch his head another of the maybe-smiles appeared and Marc changed his mind.

“You used to like the conservatory,” he said. “It’s a bit surreal now but still kind of special. I thought we could have drinks out there. There’s an ice chest. Try not to be wowed by all the ultramodern comforts. I’m campin’ out.”

“I’d forgotten how much I miss this place.” She started toward the open doorway into the dilapidated chaos of what had been his mother’s pride and joy, the dining room.

“Good thing the furniture was draped,” he told her, indicating fallen ceiling plaster scattered in chunks on the table that could easily seat twenty-four. “The roof is a priority. Damp made its way through the walls and between floors.”

“Your father and mine played their chess in there,” Reb said, leaving the dining room for a small drawing room and pointing toward what had been his father’s study, a handsome space opening off the drawing room.

The certainty with which she marched through the house amused him, and lifted his spirits. It was good to share a special place with someone who had also made good memories there.

This was likely to be the calmest time he spent with her tonight, perhaps ever, so he might as well enjoy himself.

She reached the conservatory that had been built for his grandfather by an Englishman for whom limits didn’t exist.