Slow Heat in Heaven (34 page)

"Well your lie certainly worked to do that."

"Oui,
it did."

She wet her lips. They still tasted like him. The whisker burns stung. "Do lies always come to you that easily?"

He backed into the darkness and was swallowed up by it. "Always."

"I suppose you expect me to wait on her hand and foot."

"On the contrary, Tricia. I expect you to pretend that Gayla isn't here."

"Good. That's what I plan to do."

The two sisters were in the downstairs hall. Schyler was dressed and ready to go to work. She had just spoken to Cotton over the telephone, promising to visit him that afternoon with a full account of her interview with Endicott.

"Gayla only drank tea for breakfast and then went back to sleep," Schyler told Tricia. "I imagine she'll sleep most of the day. I've left Suit juice on the nightstand beside her bed, along with the muffins Mrs. Graves baked yesterday. If Gayla gets hungry before I come home, she can eat those without having to disturb you. I've left her a note to call the office if she needs me."

"Mrs. Graves left this morning."

"Good. That's one less thing I have to worry about."

"Don't expect me to do any housekeeping. This place can rot and fall down for all I care."

"I'll start looking for a housekeeper as soon as I get to the office."

"And what am I supposed to do in the meantime?"

Impatiently Schyler said, "In the meantime, you can fend for yourself or go hungry."

Tricia's eyes narrowed. "You can't order me around like you do everybody else, including my husband. It's going to stop, Schyler, do you hear me?"

"I'm sure everyone in the neighboring parish heard you, Tricia. Kindly stop yelling at me."

"I have every right to yell. You've got Cajun white trash and a nigger whore traipsing through my house."

Schyler came close to slapping her. Perhaps she would have had the telephone not rung just then. Instead of raising a hand to Tricia, she yanked up the receiver. "It's for Ken." Laying the receiver on the table, she picked up her handbag and left before she submitted to an impulse to throttle her adopted sister.

Ken took the call upstairs. "Hello?"

"Hiya, Kenny."

Sweat popped out on his forehead. "I've got it, Tricia." He waited to make sure that she had hung up the extention downstairs before he said anything more. "What the hell do you think you're doing by calling here? I told you never to call me here."

"What you told me ain't worth shit. If it was, Kenny, I'd have my money by now, wouldn't I? It really pisses me off when people don't keep their word to me."

"I asked you for more time." Ken slumped down on the unmade bed and massaged his forehead.

"And like a sap I granted you more time. Have I got my money yet? No."

"I'll get it to you."

"Tomorrow."

"But—"

"Tomorrow."

The telephone went dead. Ken stared vacantly at it for a long time before hanging it up. He didn't have the energy to move, so he sat dejectedly on the edge of the bed. When he finally raised his head, he saw that Tricia was standing in the doorway looking at him curiously.

"Who
was
that?"

"Nobody." He stood up and went to his closet, randomly selecting a tie. As he tied it, he was uncomfortably reminded of a noose.

"It was somebody," she said petulantly. "I didn't like the sound of his voice."

"I don't like the sound of yours," Ken said, shooting her a hateful look. "Not when it's got that edge to it and not this early in the morning."

"We need to talk."

"We talked until the wee hours last night."

"And nothing was resolved. What are you going to do about her?" She aimed a finger in the direction of Schyler's bedroom where Gayla Frances lay recovering.

"There's not much I can do. We called the sheriff. You saw how that turned out. Personally I don't want to get involved with Jigger Flynn. If you're smart you won't either."

Lighting a cigarette, Tricia snorted. "Hardly. All we need around here is another lowlife. They seem to be taking over Belle Terre. If Schyler had her way we'd become a branch of the Salvation Army."

Ken laughed. For once Tricia wasn't flattered that her joke had gone over.

"I'm glad you think all this is funny," she snapped. She was on his heels as he went downstairs. "I don't think it's at all amusing that we've got a former servant's daughter residing here like she was the Queen of Sheba. Or that my sister," she sneered the word, "has her trashy lover strutting around here like he owned the place."

"Boudreaux isn't her lover."

Tricia laughed out loud. "Will you grow up? Of course he's her lover. Didn't you see the way she looked at him when he came down those stairs? Are you blind? Or is it that you just close your eyes to what you don't want to see?"

On top of his recent telephone call, Ken didn't need Tricia's harping. "Look, I don't like the way Schyler has come in and taken over everything either, but I don't know how to stop her."

Tricia flung back her hair and faced him challengingly. "Well you'd better find a way, darling."

"Or what?"

"Or I'll take matters into my own hands." She gave him a feline smile. "And you're a lot nicer than I am."

"Knock, knock?"

Schyler, holding the phone in the crook of her shoulder, signaled for Ken to come in. He closed the door of the landing office behind him. If he noticed the fresh coat of paint on it, he made no remark.

"That will be wonderful, Mrs. Dunne," Schyler said into the receiver as she smiled at Ken. "Yes, it does seem like providence, doesn't
it?. . .
And we'll look so forward to having you at Belle Terre. . . This afternoon
then?. . .
Very good. Good-bye."

She hung up and whooped loudly. "I can't believe it. Mrs. Dunne was a cook in the public school cafeteria and comes highly recommended. She quit several years ago so she could stay at home with her ailing husband. When he died, she contacted an agency in New Orleans that specializes in domestics. When I called them, they referred her. Isn't that a coincidence? She won't have to relocate, except to move into the quarters. And I won't have to exhaust myself with interviews. She won't mind looking after Daddy either." She paused for breath and smiled broadly. "Well, what do you think?"

"Will all our meals taste like school cafeteria food?"

"It can't be any worse than what Mrs. Graves served." She shuddered. "Where did Tricia find that stick woman?"

"Search me. That's Tricia's department."

She let him get seated comfortably before asking, "Why didn't you interfere when she fired Veda, Ken?"

"It wasn't my place to," he said defensively. "I didn't grow up sitting on Veda's knee the way you did. To me she was just a housekeeper."

"To me she was a member of the family," Schyler said sadly. "I'm surprised Tricia didn't feel that way about her, too." Then, forcing herself out of her unsettling reflections, she asked, "What brings you to the landing? While you're here, you can take this. It's your copy of the Endicott contract."

"You didn't even mention it last night."

"I hardly had a chance, Ken."

"Boudreaux went with you, didn't he?"

"Yes, he did," she confessed with chagrin. "His assistance was invaluable."

"Hmm. You were with him all day then."

"It's a long drive."

He had more questions to ask but lost his nerve. "How'd it go?"

"I know you'll be pleased."

She handed him a copy of the contract and braced herself for criticism when he got to the clause about receiving no payment before the entire shipment was received. Ken barely glanced at it before folding it and stuffing it into the breast pocket of his summer blazer.

"Aren't you even going to read it?"

"I'll go over it later," he said. "I'm sure everything is in order." He wouldn't look her in the eyes and he was fidgeting as nervously as a kid at a piano recital. "Actually, I came here this morning to talk about something personal."

Schyler sighed and rose from her chair. "If it's about Gayla, I've said all I have to say."

"It's not about that."

Schyler sat down on the comer of the desk, her legs at a slant in front of her. "Then what?"

"Money." He finally looked up at her. "I need some money."

"Don't we all?" she asked lightly.

His grin was half formed and fleeting. "No, I mean now. Immediately."

He was serious. This was no laughing matter. Schyler matched her mood to his. "How much, Ken?"

He shifted in his chair and cleared his throat. "Ten grand."

"Ten thousand dollars?" She didn't even attempt to disguise her dismay.

"It rounds off to that." Again, his smile vanished as soon as it was formed. "It's for a good cause."

"Your health?"

He seemed to find that funny and laughed out loud. "In a manner of speaking."
"Ken?" She stood up and placed a hand on his shoulder. "You're not ill, are you? Is something—"

"No, no, nothing like that." He came to his feet. "But it's important, Schyler, or I wouldn't come crawling to you like a goddamn beggar. Trust me, you're better off not knowing what it's for. And I'll repay you. I promise."

"I don't want guarantees or explanations from you. If you need the money, you need the money. If your reasons for needing it are personal, I honor your privacy."

"Then you'll loan it to me?"

"I wish I could, but I can't."

"Can't?"

"I don't have it."

"Don't have it?"

His echo was bothersome, but she tried not to show her irritation. "I'll barely have enough to live on until I get my next check."

Ken ran his hand through his hair in befuddlement. "What next check?"

"I put my legacy from Mama in a trust. My attorney in London doles out allotments on the first of every month. Those allotments come out of the interest. I've never touched the principal and don't intend to unless it's absolutely necessary."

"You mean you can't have use of your own money when you want it?"

"I could, but I'd have to pay costly penalties to take out lump sums and later replace them. Besides, if Crandall Logging doesn't pull out of this slump and pay off that loan, I'll have to use part of my inheritance as collateral on another loan. I can't start depleting the account."

"Doesn't that Mark character you work for pay you anything?"

"Yes, but I insisted on working strictly on commission. As you know I haven't been there for almost a month."

He began to pace. He looked like a man who had run out of options. Schyler took sympathy on him. "I'm sure you could make arrangements for a personal loan at the bank."

"My old man didn't trust me with my own inheritance. I can't touch it until I turn forty. I don't have shit to use for collateral."

"Tricia?"

He softened. "She spent the last of the money her mother left her years ago. Since then she's been sponging off Cotton and the paltry salary he pays me."

"When the business is in the black again, I'll see that you get a well-deserved raise."

"That's not going to help me now, Schyler," he shouted. At her stunned expression, he moved toward her and clasped her shoulders. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell at you."

"Ken, you're frightening me. Just how desperate are you for cash?"

Her concern set off warning bells. He couldn't afford to reveal too much. His face relaxed and he forced himself to smile. "Not so desperate that you need to worry about it." He ironed the wrinkle of worry out of her forehead with his index finger. "It'll take care of itself. Something will turn up."

His finger didn't stop with the furrow on her forehead, but slid down her cheek and then along the rim of her lower lip. "So pretty. And so strong." He drew a deep breath of longing. "My God, Schyler, do you know how sexy you are? The air fairly crackles when you walk into a room."

Schyler tried to move away. "Ken, stop it. I've asked you more than once not to touch me."

"You know I still want you. I know you still want me."

She denied that with a hard shake of her head. "Your come-ons are not only wrong, but tiresome. We've said everything that need be
said . . .
repeatedly. Now for the last time, cut it out!"

Again, he refused to take no for an answer. If anything, he seemed more determined than ever. He moved forward and embraced her tightly. She pushed him away. He only clasped her tighter.