French Silk (29 page)

She slipped inside French Silk and slammed the door in his face. He cursed expansively as he heard the bolts clicking into place.

* * *

Ariel impatiently tossed aside her magazine. It was late and she was perturbed. The man in New Orleans had promised to call her tonight no matter how late. It was now well past midnight.

Downstairs, Josh was playing the piano. He'd been at it for hours. That detestable classical music. She couldn't find a tune in any of it. Each song sounded like all the rest. They didn't even have lyrics, so what was the point? She couldn't figure out how anyone could become so absorbed in it. Yet, when Josh played classical piano, he forgot everything else—eating, sleeping, even sex.

Not that she'd missed the sex. She was focused on more important matters now. The picket line had been a fiasco. She had wanted her people to look like crusaders on a divinely inspired mission. Instead, that crazy old broad at French Silk had made them look mean-spirited and stupid. The media coverage had been extensive, but the story had been reported tongue-in-cheek. Ariel Wilde was not going to be a laughingstock!

To restore her credibility, she had finagled the CNN interview, which, in her critical opinion, had gone exceptionally well. Without being downright libelous, she'd hinted that Claire Laurent was a coward who refused to debate her, that she was a prime suspect in the murder, and that she and everyone else involved with French Silk were immoral scum. Luckily, a devoted follower living in New Orleans had known about Claire Laurent's illegitimacy. Ariel planned to continue hammering home the theme immorality begetting immorality.

But Claire Laurent had appeared on CNN today, looking as regal as Princess Grace in her heyday and talking in that honeyed drawl that seemed to have bewitched the interviewer—and probably a majority of the viewing audience. She had been articulate and straightforward without seeming abrasive. She'd dismissed Ariel as being delusional but left no doubt that she would take legal action if the persecution continued.

Twice now she'd made the Jackson Wilde Ministry look like a pack of fanatic fools. Ariel simply wouldn't have it. Anyone as cool and controlled as Claire Laurent must have secrets. Why else erect such an impenetrable shield of gentility?

So, Ariel had hired someone to keep an eye on her nemesis and make daily reports. When the telephone on her nightstand rang, she lunged for it. It was the call she'd been waiting for.

"We struck gold on the first try," said the man on the phone, chortling. "For all her denials on TV, she's still a prime suspect. Cassidy went to see her again tonight."

Ariel sat up against the pile of pillows at her back. "Really? How long did he question her?"

"They went for a long walk through the French Quarter." The more she heard about Claire Laurent's most recent meeting with the handsome, young, sexy prosecutor, the faster the wheels in her brain whirred. She was so busy analyzing the information, she almost missed the most valuable nugget. "Excuse me," she said, interrupting. "What did you say? They what?"

"That's right, Mrs. Wilde. You heard me. They kissed." Eagerly, Ariel listened to the entire account without another interruption. "Thank you," she said when he'd finished. "Keep me posted on developments. I want to know everything. Remember, you're my eyes and ears." As an afterthought, she added, "God bless, and I'll be praying for you."

Josh strolled in as she was hanging up. "Who's calling at this time of night?" He pulled his T-shirt over his head and began undressing.

"The guy in New Orleans who organized the demonstration at French Silk."

"What a debacle," he muttered as he wobbled first on one foot, then the other, to remove his sneakers.

Ariel wasn't familiar with the word debacle but didn't like the sound of it and took his criticism personally. "How could we predict that Claire Laurent's daft old mama wouldn't know any better than to go up against a hostile crowd?"

Josh chuckled as he slid into bed beside her. "You wanted fireworks from them and got Kool-Aid and tea cakes instead."

"It's not funny," she said, slinging off the arm he'd placed across her waist. Throwing back the covers, she left the bed and lit a cigarette, a habit she'd resumed since Jackson was no longer there to forbid it. She ripped open a package of Ding Dongs and stuffed one into her mouth.

"Tomorrow I want to take this show on the road," she told Josh around the mouthful of devil's food cake. "We'll go to several cities and hold only one service in each," Her mind was clicking furiously now. "We'll make them special. We'll call them emergency prayer meetings for the capture and conviction of Jackson's killer."

Groaning, Josh laid his arm across his forehead and closed his eyes. "Ariel, these things take time to plan. You've got to rent a facility—"

"I don't care if we conduct them on football fields," she shouted. "I want a lot of people to attend and a lot of press, and I want you," she said, turning and aiming her finger at him, "to appear shattered by bereavement."

"I'll have to borrow your eyeshadow."

"Go to hell."

She got back into bed, but not until she'd swallowed two laxative tablets to counteract the calories in the Ding Dong. "Not now," she grumbled when Josh rolled toward her and covered her breast with his hand. "I've got too much on my mind."

"It's just as well," he said. "You're so skinny your bones rattle when we make love."

"Fuck you."

"That's what I had in mind, but…" Laughing, he burrowed his head in his pillow. Ariel was too wired to sleep. She consumed such vast quantities of caffeine and sugar, it was rare that she slept more than three or four hours a night. Some of the dark shadows under her eyes weren't cosmetically enhanced.

Mentally she reviewed everything she knew about Claire Laurent. Some classy broad, she thought grudgingly. Tall. Naturally sender. Well dressed. Classic features. She was the kind of woman Ariel aspired to be, but she knew in her gut that it wasn't in her genes. She could try from now till doomsday and never achieve that cool elegance. You were either born with it or you weren't.

Claire Laurent was taking long, leisurely walks through the French Quarter with A.D.A. Cassidy, who had never looked at Ariel with anything except suspicion and ill-concealed derision. He seemed to know that no matter how often or how hard she washed, she never felt completely clean. He had kissed Claire Laurent! Shame, shame. The possibilities of how she could use that tidbit made Ariel giddy and almost compensated for her envy.

The snooty bitch had bamboozled him. It was as simple as that. Did he think someone as hoity-toity as Claire Laurent was incapable of murder?
Think again, Mr. Cassidy
.

However you looked at it, he'd been derelict in his duty. Tomorrow morning, even before she called a news conference to announce
Ariel Wilde's Prayer and Praise Hour's
latest undertaking, she had a vitally important telephone call to make.

* * *

Cassidy had been forewarned that the chief was on the warpath, so Tony Crowder's imperious summons came as no surprise. "He's waiting for you, Cassidy," the secretary informed him sympathetically. "Go right in."

Cassidy assumed a casual air. "Good morning, Tony. You wanted to see me?" From behind his desk, Crowder glared at him. Cassidy took a seat, crossing his ankle over his opposite knee. "Actually I'm glad you called me in this morning. I've got something to discuss with you."

"I'm taking you off the Jackson Wilde murder case."

"What?" Cassidy's foot hit the floor with such impact that it rattled Crowder's cup of coffee against its saucer.

"You heard me. You're off it. I'm reassigning it to Nance."

"You can't."

"I have. Or at least I will as soon as this meeting's concluded. Which it is."

"Like hell." Cassidy shot up from his chair. "Why're you doing this?"

"I'll tell you why," Crowder thundered. "I'm catching holy hell from everybody about this. The mayor. The P.C. Judges. Especially that tight-assed Harris. Congressmen. Even the freaking governor has put in his two cents' worth. I've got Jackson Wilde coming out my ass, and I'm sick of it. I want an end to it, and so far you've failed to make that happen."

"I'm trying."

"With Claire Laurent?"

Cassidy cautiously assessed the glint in his superior's eyes. Uneasiness crept in behind his anger. "Among others."

"Exactly what are you 'trying' with Claire Laurent?"

"I get the impression that's a loaded question."

Crowder maintained a bead on Cassidy as he reached for his coffee cup and slurped from it. "I got a call this morning from Ariel Wilde."

"Okay, I get the picture," Cassidy said, breathing easier. "She reminded you that we haven't arrested her husband's killer yet, and you felt the need to chew ass. Is that what this is about?"

"That's part of it. Not all."

"Well?"

"Did you take Claire Laurent on a romantic moonlight stroll through the French Quarter last night?"

Although Cassidy's heart had dropped to his knees, he kept his expression impassive. "I went to French Silk and confronted Ms. Laurent with information I'd obtained from other sources." He explained about the telephone calls and the discrepancies in timing. "Ms. Laurent claimed that she had filled that time by taking a walk to cool off after meeting Wilde face to face at the crusade. She suggested that we retrace her steps."

"That included a stop at Café du Monde?"

"Yes."

"And a stroll along the Moonwalk?"

"Yes."

"Which is probably where she disposed of the murder weapon."

"I mentioned that," Cassidy said defensively.

"And what did she say?"

"She maintains that she's never owned a gun of any kind and wouldn't even know how to fire one."

"You don't have to be too good a shot to shoot off a man's balls at point-blank range."

"I mentioned that, too," Cassidy said with a laugh.

"You think this is funny?"

"No. The chuckle was my way of pointing out how alike we are."

"Oh yeah? I've never romanced a suspect."

Cassidy's eyes snapped to Crowder's. "Neither have I," he said, giving Crowder back his hard stare.

"That's not what it looked like to Ariel's spy."

"Spy? What the hell are you talking about?"

"Our dear Mrs. Wilde had one of her flunkies keeping an eye on Claire Laurent and reporting anything incriminating or suspicious. So far the only suspicious thing she's done is go out on a date—"

"It wasn't a date!"

"—with the man who may very well have to prosecute her in a court of law. Only I'm eliminating that probability by removing you from the case."

"You can't take me off the case," Cassidy shouted. "I told you how that walk came about."

"Don't play word games with me. Ariel Wilde's man was thorough. He told her every move you made, and she passed the details along to me. You gave Claire Laurent your jacket. You embraced her. You kissed her. Didn't you?"

Cassidy gave a terse nod.

"According to the spy's account, it wasn't a polite little peck, either."

"No," Cassidy said gruffly. "It wasn't."

"Jesus!" Crowder rose to his feet and banged his fist on his desk. "What the hell were you thinking of?"

Cassidy bowed his head. "Shit." After a long, still moment, he raised his head. "I can see how it might have looked to someone who didn't know that circumstances. I was questioning her, Tony."

"You were also swapping spit!" he bellowed.

In a much softer, more reasonable tone, Cassidy said, "I was shooting holes in her defense, trying to find the element that's missing from her story."

"So you're sure there's a missing element?"

"Almost positive. I don't know if she's lying to protect herself or someone else, but she's not telling the whole truth. Unfortunately, I can't arrest her on a gut feeling."

"'Unfortunately'?" The D.A. studied him with shrewd eyes that missed nothing. "Are you going to sit there and tell me you don't find this woman attractive?"

"No." Cassidy looked him straight in the eye. "She's extremely attractive to me."

Crowder sank back into his chair and ran a hand over his thinning hair. "I should have become a dentist like my mother wanted me to." Grumbling, he added, "At least you didn't lie to me. And I'd have known if you had. There've been rumors."

"Rumors about what?"

"About your attraction to Ms. Laurent. Glenn complained to the P.C. about it. He came to me with it."

"Christ!" Cassidy exclaimed angrily. "Glenn had no right to—"

"Dammit, he had every right. This is his case, too, remember? He doesn't want it fucked up by a prosecutor with a valentine where his head should be." He shook his head. "I don't want to do this to you, kid. But you leave me no alternative. I've got to take you off the case."

"Don't, Tony." Cassidy left his chair and leaned over Crowder's desk. "I've got to have it. I'll bring the culprit to trial and I'll get a conviction. My career's riding on it. I won't squander this opportunity. Not for anything."