Kiss Them Goodbye (10 page)

The frown grew ferocious. “Why are you carrying the dog, Daddy? Is the lady hurt? Can’t she carry her dog? He’s very small.”

“She,” Spike said automatically. He needed a smooth retreat from the brink of disaster. The worst thing he could do would be to make too much out of this. “Vivian’s a nice lady. I know she’ll let you pet her dog if you ask nicely.”

“Why are you carrying the dog, Daddy?” Now the tone was stubborn and behind the owlish lenses, Wendy’s hazel eyes were worried.

“Just bein’ polite and helpful,” he said, feeling fool
ish. He did the only thing he could think of to do and approached the passenger window on the Ford. Vivian rolled it down. “Vivian, this is my daughter, Wendy. Wendy, say hello to Miz Patin.”

“Vivian. Call me Vivian, Wendy. You have the cutest pigtails.”

Wendy reverted to her hair-tugging, pouty act and didn’t answer.

“Did you meet my dog, Boa?” Vivian got out of the car. “She’s a Chihuahua but she thinks she’s a lion. D’you know what I mean?”

Wendy regarded Boa, reached to stroke the dog and received a lick on the mouth with a giggle. “Lions don’t kiss people,” Wendy said. “I don’t think she wants to be a lion.”

Spike met Vivian’s eyes over his daughter’s head. “My father’s here,” he said, indicating the Majestic. “Come on in and meet him—and Gator Hibbs.”

He could see how much she wanted to refuse, and how she argued herself into giving a nod and going up the hotel steps past the colored whirligigs Doll stuck in planters on either side of the door. It would be easy enough to let her off the hook, but she might as well see how different their lives were.

Inside the vestibule they were confronted with rose-covered stained glass in the interior door. Spike reached around Vivian to turn the handle and let them in. Immediately, Wendy wriggled from his arms and ran across the shabby lobby to the room where hotel guests were invited to sit and watch television in the evenings.

Vivian saw there were people in the room Wendy had disappeared into and turned away blindly, walking straight into Spike’s chest. Boa whined.

“Hey, hey,” Spike said quietly. “Nothing fearsome here. Just inconvenient. We’ll have that talk soon, just as soon as we deal with my dad. I warn you, he’s unconventional.”

“Give Boa to me. They’ll have one less thing to wonder about.”

He handed over the dog. Little, showy dogs weren’t his thing, or they never had been.

Wendy dashed back and took her father’s hand to drag him with her into a room papered with more roses, these climbing brown lattices. Cabbage rose chintz covered sagging chairs and two couches. Wendy didn’t smile at Vivian and Spike decided he’d be chatting with his girl later. She knew better than to be rude.

His father and Gator Hibbs had got to their feet when they saw Vivian. Gator wore his customary T-shirt, baggy overalls and ingenuous grin. He wiped his palms on his pants. Good old Homer did what only he could do so well, he got rid of any expression at all.

Vivian stood up tall and met Gator Hibbs’s eyes. He pushed a sweat-stained Achafalaya Gold Casino baseball cap far back on his head. He nodded and hovered, probably waiting for someone to say he could put his round rear back in the chair.

A tall man who could be in his seventies eased forward from the windowsill where he’d been sitting. His hair was still thick and peppered the way blond hair did when it was time to turn gray. A thin face, clean-shaven, and eyes a darker shade of blue than Spike’s gave the impression that Homer Devol was sharp. Vivian could see the lines of the son’s face in the father’s—but no trace of the optimism she saw in Spike’s expression from time to time, or any hint of his knock-’em-dead smile.

“You must be Spike’s dad,” she said, extending a hand. “You’ve got your hands full with the business and a little girl to care for—but Wendy sure is cute.”

“Wendy’s no trouble. Never was. Never will be to me.” He took his time to shake her hand.

Strike one.

“I’m Vivian Patin, Guy Patin’s niece. My mother and I moved into Rosebank.”

“I know who you are,” Homer said. “Reckon just about everyone for miles around does.”

She was proud of her smile and her nonchalance. “And to think some people go looking for fame,” she said. “I like a quiet life myself, not that Mama and I have a choice until this horrible thing is finished with.”

“Who’s keepin’ shop, Pops?” Spike asked. The cold tone of his voice startled Vivian.

Homer’s still sharp chin came up. “Ozaire. Said he was glad to do it, just like he usually does. I’m gonna give him a reel he’s had his eye on.”

Spike’s hands dropped to his sides and he made fists. “You left Ozaire Dupre at our place? The opposition?”

“You never used to mind.” Homer shrugged. “You gotta trust people. Ozaire’s honest.”

“Sure he’s honest. He’s probably making an honest effort to sabotage my crawfish boiler. And while we’re talking about dumb-ass things to do—Wendy alone on the stoop qualifies, damn it all.”

Homer colored and looked away and Vivian felt terrible for both men.

“Hey Pops,” Spike said, raising his palms. “Sorry for sounding off. I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

“I can see that,” Homer said, looking at Vivian. “Better concentrate, boy. I hear that Errol Bonine’s on your case again. I don’t want to be visitin’ your beat-up body in the hospital again.”

Spike set his jaw. “Did Claude’s order get picked up?”

“Sure,” Homer said. “The woman came from the houseboat in her pirogue. Never could figure why a man like Claude would live in the swamps the way he does, him bein’ clever and all.”

“He pays promptly,” Spike said, still grim. “Most of those bayou folks are good business.”

Mumbling incoherently, Gator slid from the room and his feet could be heard clumping up the stairs.

From the corner of his eye, Spike saw Wendy start chewing the skin around her fingernails, something she only did when her beloved Gramps and Daddy were on the outs. He made himself relax. Later he’d deal with his father. Now he was under the gun with other things. “I’ll behave myself, Pop,” he said and grinned at Wendy. “Tell Gramps I can be good if I try.”

Wendy giggled.

Homer looked at his pocket watch. “Watch yourself on the steps, Miz Patin. Spike, maybe you better come on out to the place and make sure Ozaire hasn’t gotten up to anything.”

Burning, Vivian turned on her heel but didn’t make it past Spike who stepped in front of her. “I’ll leave that to you, Pops. Nobody’s tougher than you are. Vivian and I will take Wendy with us to the rectory.”

Vivian didn’t want to be in the middle of this.

“Run up and say goodbye to Wally,” Spike told Wendy. “Tell him he should come over to the station and show me his new Nolan.”

The child went silently. Spike resented that she’d witnessed hard feelings, not that it was the first time by too many.

“No need to take her,” Homer said. He rolled in his lips. “You know I go off sometimes. Bad habit.”

“Forget it, Pops. Wendy enjoys Lil Dupre. She can help her in the kitchen while we see to some business with Cyrus.” He stared at his father. “You’ve been around me enough to know how a murder has a way of taking over everything.”

“T
hey’re still over there at Rosebank, Daddy dear. How long do you suppose it’ll be before someone decides asking us a few questions wasn’t enough. They could decide to check out the inside of Serenity House?”

Dr. Morgan Link held on to the side of the new pool Susan had built for him inside an elegant white marble pool house. Olympia Hurst plagued him daily. He’d expected her to show up here. Calling her mother’s second husband “daddy” while she came on to him appeared to give her a perverse thrill.

He wiped water from his eyes but made sure he didn’t look at her. “If I were a policeman, I would search any properties near the crime scene if I could get the warrants. That’s not always easy unless there’s a real good reason.”

“And that wouldn’t bother you?”

“Why should it?” He pushed off the wall and began swimming a length of the pool in an easy backstroke.

She laughed and shouted after him, “You don’t think
the little secret would come out before you and Mama were ready?”

It wouldn’t come out unless someone talked out of school. He’d have to make sure that didn’t happen.

The strength he felt in his limbs, the perfect tone of his entire body, satisfied him. Only one thing could make this swim more perfect. He reached the far wall, flipped over and started back. Olympia wanted him as much as he wanted her—even if their reasons were the smallest amount different.

Perhaps he should shock the little tease and pull her in here with him. He’d seen her enter the bathhouse in a gauzy white halter top and tiny shorts. She loved to flaunt herself whenever she could get him alone.

She felt safe baiting him, goading him…letting him know she hated the man who took her father’s place, even though she couldn’t stay away from him.

He heard her laughter bounce from the slick and soaring walls. Best not to react. She had no self-discipline and she was like a bitch in heat, wiggling her pretty heart-shaped ass almost in his face, making sure he got the scent of her. So far he’d managed not to touch her.

She hated him but she hated her mother more. She would let poor Susan spend a fortune trying to turn her into Miss Southern Belle yet her ultimate fantasy was to fuck her own mother’s husband. The supreme betrayal. Olympia knew Susan wanted the contest win for herself, to give her another reason to brag. The girl felt the expenses were coming out of her own inheritance. And the excesses Susan showered on Morgan ate more chunks of money the girl wanted for herself. After all, her father had earned it and Susan was only supposed to safeguard it for Olympia, or that’s the way she saw it.

“Look at that, Morgan,” Olympia shouted. “Something’s come up, but I’m sure you’ve already noticed
that.” Her laughter scaled high. “What a waste. And here I am, ready to help you—and me, Morgan.”

How had this become so complicated? He
had
married Susan for her money, mainly. That wouldn’t surprise anyone. All they’d have to do was look at the two of them to figure it out. But he hadn’t planned on the daughter being a vindictive, sex-starved nymphomaniac. Quite the combination, there. “How could you possibly help anything?” he asked Olympia, pushing close to the wall and continuing to float on his back. Let her look at the tent pole his dick had become. Let her squirm and salivate.

She dropped to kneel on the tiled edge, pressed her breasts together with her arms, made sure he could see inside her top. If he sat beside her he’d be looking at her nipples. “I could help a lot,” she said and stretched flat on her stomach. “That can’t be comfortable and it’s certainly a waste.”

He knew what she wanted to do. Perverted little cock-sucker. She wasn’t ready for the finish yet, oh no, O-lympi-a didn’t intend to get him all the way inside her unless and until it suited her crooked plans.

“Come closer,” she whispered, and the whisper ricocheted about the crystalline palace Susan Hurst had built for her husband.

“Why should I?” he said. He slipped a hand inside his trunks to fondle himself.

“I can do that so much better than you,” she said. “Poor baby, that’s what you get for marrying an older woman. You learn to take care of your own needs. Is the money still worth it, Daddy dear?”

Now and again he felt sorry for her—a little sorry. One day when she pushed too far, and had too much to lose by striking back at him, he’d tell her it was too bad she couldn’t study her mother’s mastery of the art of sex because Susan was a master and she could teach a lot to a willing hedonist in training.

“Are you ignoring me?” Olympia whined through pouty lips. Blond and with her mother’s fine bones and soft features, when she looked at him like that, with that child-behind-a-woman’s-beautiful-face impression she pulled off so well, he reminded himself how dangerous she could be.

He splashed water and she squealed. When she swung to sit on the edge with her feet trailing in the water, her soaked and transparent halter didn’t hide a thing. He never tired of perfect breasts.

“Olympia,” he said, tiring of the unrequited ache she caused. “Perhaps you need some therapy, someone knowledgeable to listen to your fantasies.”

“Someone like you, our resident psychologist?” She parted the halter at its plunging V and peeled it apart. “Talk to me, doctor. Tell me what’s wrong with me and what would make it better.”

“Playing with other children, I should think,” he told her and looked at her breasts, naked, and all too tempting in their wet sling. He made sure she knew he was staring at them. “That doesn’t look comfortable. Big girls need all the support they can get.”

“All the support this girl needs is you, Morgan. We’ve been handed a prize. There’s time to collect it, but not too much time.”

“There isn’t a ‘we,’ and I haven’t been handed anything,” he told her, furious at the way she made light of heavy things. “I saw an opportunity and figured out how to use it. But either I make all the right moves from now on or ‘we’ will kiss goodbye to a lot of dreams, yours and mine.”

“Don’t threaten me,” she said and took the top all the way off. She hopped to her feet and shucked her shorts. “I’m not the killing type, remember? You, on the other hand—”

“Shut the fuck up. Never say anything like that again.”
Anger aroused him even more and Olympia, her weight on one foot, running her hands over her body and panting each time she sank fingers between her legs, brought him to the brink.

Without warning she jumped into the pool.

Morgan swung his feet down and trod water, careful to keep some distance between them.

“Is Vivian Patin your type?” she asked.

He frowned at her and said, “Where did that come from? I don’t know her.”

“Do you think she’s sexy?”

“No.” What was one more little lie between friends?

“Will it bother you if they pin the murder on her?”

He must not forget, even for a moment, that Olympia would always put herself first. “You’re letting your mind stray,” he told her.

Grinning, she shot forward, twined her arms around his neck and gripped his waist with her legs. “My mind isn’t straying. I still know what I want.”

Her tongue entered his mouth before their lips met. What followed wasn’t so much a kiss as a feeding frenzy before she flipped onto her back and scissored her legs about his neck. With her feet and ankles secure, she spread her knees.

He could, Morgan decided, use her sex addiction to bind her to him—until he didn’t want her around anymore. And it wasn’t a hardship to play her game.

With his mouth planted exactly where Olympia wanted it to be and his tongue doing rapid pushups, he pulled and shook her nipples. She came quickly and he used the echoes of her spasms to bring her to climax twice more in rapid succession.

With her eyes closed, she pushed away from him, moved her arms slowly while her legs trailed.

Morgan didn’t realize what she was up to until she was already in motion, propelling herself beneath the
water and yanking down his trunks. She popped up for air and gave him a mock snarl. When she gave him a backward push, he obliged by letting his legs float to the surface.

She mouthed, “oh, my,” and slid her lips over him.

The concept of getting a blow job from a woman who hated him only deepened his pleasure. Yes…yes…yes. She was so willing; why not make this a habit?

He exploded and thrashed at the water while he emptied.

Olympia didn’t swallow. He smiled at that thought.

“I knew you’d like that,” she said when his breathing evened out.

“
That
was just the hors d’oeuvres,” he said, calculating every word. “How about the rest of the meal?”

She paddled to the edge of the pool again and pulled her clothes, or what passed for her clothes, into the water. “Wouldn’t want Mama to wander in and see those out there with us in here.”

Earlier they’d visited the rectory at St. Cécil’s in Toussaint, intending to impress Father Cyrus with their neighborly concern for the Patins. The priest had been out and after doing some groundwork with Lil Dupre, the housekeeper, Morgan had returned home with Olympia. Susan had remained in Toussaint to see Bill Green about a piece of vacant land adjacent to Serenity House. He would join her there when she called. He didn’t remind Olympia that she was only fantasizing danger because it aroused her.

“She’s got to go, y’know,” Olympia said, bouncing in the water. “You and I will make the best team ever, perfect partners while we grieve. It’s too bad we’ll never be able to marry.”

“A shame,” he said, anxious to leave and get into Toussaint. “But don’t get distracted. Nothing gets done out of order.”

“How come you get to decide the order?” she said. “What if I want to switch things around?”

He had her by the throat before he could stop himself. Then he didn’t want to. “If I go down because you interfere, I’ll take you with me.”

Her eyes were wide and she grappled with his hands. “You’re frightening me. Stop it.”

Morgan squeezed a little tighter and gave her a shake. “You stop it. Repeat after me—one move at a time.”

“One move at a time,” she murmured.

“And only Morgan’s moves
when
he’s ready to make them.”

“And only Morgan’s moves when he’s ready to make them.”

He nodded at her and eased his grip, placed his thumbs, side by side, on her chin. “And what’s our first, our biggest priority?”

Olympia’s mouth trembled. “To make sure Rosebank never becomes a hotel.”