Same morning: Toussaint’s waking up
Riding a bike was supposed to be something you never forgot. Bleu hadn’t forgotten, but searing complaints from every muscle in her legs reminded her that it had been a long time.
She didn’t know more about Roche’s history this morning than she had last night. But she had been unfair to him, that was for sure.
She rode the ancient bike from the townhouse carport into the courtyard behind his single-story office building on Cotton Street. The only car in sight belonged to him. Not surprising, so early in the morning.
When he had left her place, she asked him where he was going, and he said, after looking as if he wouldn’t answer, “To my office.”
She couldn’t be certain he either meant it then or that he would still be there, but Bleu had set off with the first pink streaks of dawn, as soon as the bike’s lack of lights didn’t matter so much.
Her cell phone, ringing in her pocket, sent her feet slamming to the ground. The brakes on the bike were almost gone, and she scuffed rapidly along until it came to a wobbly stop.
With her eyes on lights in one of Roche’s windows, she answered the phone softly, “Yes.” The number showed as “private.”
“I probably shouldn’t be doing this,” a male voice said. “I couldn’t wait any longer to check on you.”
She recognized Sam Bush. “I’m doing well, thanks,” she told him. “Thanks for caring.”
“I do care,” he said. “A lot. Have you got all your doors locked?”
“Yes, and my windows.” He didn’t have to know she wasn’t where locks made a difference.
“Are you up?” Sam asked.
Bleu took an instant to respond. “Yes.”
“Can I tempt you with some fresh pastries and coffee I just bought? We only see each other for work. It might be nice to get to know each other better. If you’re okay having me at your place, that is.”
He wanted more than she could give him. Bleu felt terrible, but she couldn’t pretend something she didn’t feel. “I’m leaving shortly.” She glanced around, hoping a car wouldn’t drive in and give her lie away.
“I could pick you up,” Sam said. “You didn’t get a loaner car, did you?”
Privacy was a myth around here. Everyone knew your business. Of course, Sam had been there after the fire yesterday. She forced a laugh. “No loaner. They didn’t have one. But I’m looking forward to getting back into cycling. A bike someone left in the garage works just fine.”
“Bleu—”
“Look.” She interrupted him. “I don’t want those pastries wasted. Will you be at the rectory later?”
“Yes.” His voice went flat.
“Great. If you haven’t eaten everything by then, I’ll look forward to heating one up and giving myself a coffee break. I hope you’ll join me.”
“Sounds good.”
From his tone, her suggestion barely beat out a prison sentence in popularity.
He rang off before she could respond again.
Bleu returned her attention to the building. She owed Roche, if not an apology then a chance to fully speak his mind. Last night, he’d left rapidly, his expression closed, and she had decided to wait until this morning to approach him again.
A cruiser pulled slowly into the courtyard. Bleu panicked. She considered riding off, but stopped herself. Goose bumps shot out on her arms and legs and her face felt tight. She didn’t want to be seen coming here at this hour, but she didn’t have a choice anymore.
It was Spike who pulled up beside her. He got out of the car, his hat tilted over his eyes at the usual angle, and stood with his thumbs in his belt. “I told the deputy who called me he had to be mistaken,” he said. “Bleu Laveau wouldn’t be fool enough to go ridin’ around on her own on some old heap of a bike early in the mornin’. Not when she knows the kind of problem we’ve got on our hands. Shows what I know about human nature. Have you lost your mind?”
She heard a door open in the building behind her and took a deep breath. Roche had heard the commotion, too.
“Mornin’, Roche,” Spike hollered. “You got an early visitor.”
Bleu’s spine turned creepy. “How did you know where I was and what I was doing?” she asked, keeping her voice down.
“Told you. Deputy called me.”
“Can’t a person move around this town without being followed and reported on?”
“You can’t,” Roche said, arriving beside them. His eyes were tired, but he still looked way too appealing. “What’s the matter with you, Bleu? Are you going to tell me that after what happened yesterday, you rode all the way here on that heap of junk? On your own? With no one around?”
“Nope,” she said. “I’m not going to tell you that. You can come to your own conclusions.”
The noise Spike made could only be a snigger.
Bleu met Roche’s stare directly. He wasn’t laughing. He did take the bike from her and looked it over with a disgusted expression.
“Thanks for keeping an eye on Bleu,” he said. “Apparently she does need twenty-four-hour surveillance.”
She bit back a retort. Arguing with these two, especially when she hadn’t been smart riding around on her own the way she had, wouldn’t win her any points.
Spike crossed his arms on top of his open cruiser door. “I would have come lookin’ for you two shortly anyhow,” he said.
Bleu felt suddenly very cold. “What’s happened?”
“Don’t go jumpin’ to conclusions,” Spike said. He glanced at Roche.
“Why don’t we go inside?” Roche said. “I’ve even got coffee.”
Spike took off his hat and revolved it by its brim. His dishwater-blond hair needed a cut. His long crewcut was tipping over at the ends, and the piece that tended to stand up in front parted in the middle. “I never thought we’d go even a couple of days without a real solid person of interest,” he said, as if he hadn’t heard Roche’s invitation.
“Has someone else been killed?” Bleu asked quietly. “They have—I can see it in your face.”
He shook his head.
“Spike,” Roche said, “is there something you’re not saying? Are you sure there isn’t someone you’re interested in?”
A sniff and an expressionless stare was all Spike offered.
“There is someone?” Roche said. “You don’t have to say anything concrete.”
Spike shrugged upright, and Bleu didn’t miss the way he raised his brows, very slightly, at Roche. All these signals were wearing her down.
“Like I said, I wanted to have a word with you, Bleu,” Spike said. “The reports came right back on the fire at your place. Like we thought, it was set in that barrel. There were oily rags in there, and you saw the firelighter.”
She nodded.
“But you don’t have any idea who might have done it?” Roche said. There was an edge on his voice.
“Nope. Except he’s an amateur.”
Bleu looked at him sideways. “What does that mean?”
“He wasn’t organized. He could have got there with one thing in mind, then changed it. Maybe a couple of times. The theory is, he probably intended to break in, but he knows Roche’s car and saw it at the bottom of the cul-de-sac so he had to wait.”
“So you do know something about him,” Roche said. “Whoever this is knows about me, too, including what my car looks like. And he knows Bleu and I are acquainted.”
Acquainted. Bleu pinched her hands hard. Funny how a word could make a person feel almost dismissed.
“You’re right,” Spike said. “But that could be a lot of people. Our guy wanted to make sure you didn’t go anywhere, Bleu. He got bored waiting, so he set the fire, but before that, we think he rigged your car. Like I said, he’s an amateur. What he did could fizzle to nothing—or blow a car to pieces. We got something in the middle, thank God.”
“He rigged her car,” Roche said grimly. “Explain that.”
“Arson people reckon he wired a bottle of gasoline to the ignition. He fixed it so when the key was turned, an igniter touched off the gas.” Spike looked directly at Bleu. “Fortunately, we don’t have a dead firefighter. But we could have had one—or a dead Bleu Laveau.”