Midafternoon, two days later
Bleu sat at a table in the window at Hungry Eyes. Glaring like polished gold under a spotlight, sunlight bounced off the glass. She squinted and pulled sunglasses from her bag.
A bee buzzed just under the fan above her head, caught in a pocket of calm but surrounded by waiting currents of air.
Outside, the street glittered with fragments of mica. The sunglasses didn’t lessen the painful brilliance much. Bleu raised her shoulders and shivered. Like the bee, she was becalmed in stillness but the storm waited. The sky should be green-black, heavy on the rooftops, filled with thunder and lightning; rain ready to fall in sheets that would sweep every surface with demonic, sparkling strokes.
Roche would meet her at the café as soon as he finished with his last patient. He had become her binding heat and her liberating storm. Whether he knew it or not, he controlled her future now.
“Bleu?”
Startled, she looked up at Wazoo and almost touched the woman’s hand. Instead, Bleu spread her fingers at the base of her own throat. “Sit down,” she said, more sharply than she intended. “What’s the matter with you?”
Wazoo hovered, stared through the windows, looked over her shoulder. The only other customers, a woman and a toddler boy, talked at the back of the book stacks. The woman read to the boy in a low voice. He repeated words in bursts, laughing each time.
“You’re tryin’ to make decisions,” Wazoo said. “Me, I got decisions to make, too. One decision.”
Bleu kept quiet. Wazoo wasn’t asking for input yet.
“You come here to be close to your man?” Wazoo said, nodding in the direction of Roche’s office on Cotton Street. “You still frightened because you want him? He’s a powerful man. Powerful sexy. You afraid he’s gonna be too much for you?”
Little that Wazoo said shocked Bleu anymore, but she had caught her by surprise again this time. “What am I supposed to say to that?”
Wazoo went to the counter, reached over and picked up a jug of iced tea and a glass. She returned to pour for herself and give Bleu a refill. “Too hot to eat,” she said.
“Uh-huh.”
“We’re in limbo,” Wazoo said. “Whole damn town is holdin’ its breath.”
“We’re feeling the same things,” Bleu said. “Nothing’s happened for so long.”
“Only a day or so,” Wazoo said. “Just seems longer. It can’t stay quiet much longer.”
Bleu looked at her and set down the glass. “Have you heard anything?”
The woman and her son came from the back of the store with a book in hand. Wazoo looked more relieved than she should to jump up and make a sale.
After the door closed behind the customers and the bell stopped jingling, Wazoo said, “Where you got the dogs?” She rejoined Bleu at the table.
“They’re at the rectory. I would have brought them, but it’s too hot.”
“I thought you come to your senses and sent ’em back to Ozaire.” Wazoo laughed. “You’re the same kind of fool for animals as me.”
“They’re something. They’ve settled right in. You’d think I had them from birth.”
“Roche wouldn’t like you leavin’ them behind,” Wazoo said. “They supposed to be guardin’ you.”
“I’m fine,” Bleu told her, wishing she felt fine rather than jumpy. She picked up a spoon, but dropped it without stirring her tea. “The handle’s hot from the sun,” she said, giving her fingers a shake.
“I heard you got the big story about Roche.”
“Where did you hear that?” How many people knew about it?
“Doesn’t matter. And I mean it doesn’t matter. That woman, she went lookin’ for him. She wanted to use him. They used each other. Slippery bodies, they always good to make the movin’ easier, sexier. Why wouldn’t a hot mudroom be real good? Hoo mama, I want me some hot mud one of these days.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Roche, he didn’t do anythin’ wrong. He’s just a man with an imagination and a real good way to work with it.”
“I love Roche,” she said, and sat quite still, frowning.
Wazoo smiled. “You surprised yourself.” She chuckled. “You told him that?”
Bleu put her face in her hands. Loving him could be dangerous to her health. She didn’t know why she’d admitted it aloud.
“Movin’ on,” Wazoo said. “They stopped workin’ on that school place?”
“Yes.” Bleu’s voice sounded muffled in her own ears. “The old walls are gone.”
“But you’re not carrying on.”
“Not immediately,” Bleu said.
“I heard all about what Kate Harper said. Why would she lie about little ones dyin’? Could be, she’s crazy.”
“I don’t think she’s crazy,” Bleu said. “In shock, that’s what Cyrus thinks.”
Smoothing the tablecloth, Wazoo frowned. “You know George Pinney?”
“No, not really.”
“That’s a beautiful-lookin’ man. They reckon Spike doesn’t think he’s done anythin’ wrong.” She glanced around the shop. “Poor Mary, dyin’ like that. Me, I keep thinkin’ she’s still here.”
Bleu hunched her shoulders. She believed there had been a pirogue beside Eugene Cashman’s cabin. And she was certain she had heard the murderer putting Mary in that pirogue and dragging her to the bayou. The other sound had been the drill, killing her. Knowing she’d been there, but couldn’t do anything to help, sickened Bleu.
“Will you look at that?” Wazoo said.
The sheriff’s cruiser shot to a stop at the curb. Instead of parallel parking, Spike nosed in and just left the car there. He slid out and came toward the shop at a rapid lope.
“I’m lookin’ for you,” he said to Bleu the moment he was inside. “Madge said you were meetin’ Roche here. Good thing you’re makin’ sure folks know where you are.”
“Why? Did something happen?”
Spike glanced at Wazoo who started to get up. “Sit down,” he told her. “You’ll find out what I say, even if I don’t say it.”
“Why, thank you,” Wazoo said. “You were always smooth with the compliments.”
Spike shook his head. “I’m looking for Sam Bush,” he said. “Madge said you’ve been doing some work with him at his place. She hasn’t seen him for a day or so that she can remember.”
Bleu frowned. “Madge is muddled up. It’s been days since I was at his office.” She thought back. “He was at Pappy’s with everyone. I haven’t seen him since then.”
“Excuse me!” Wazoo leaped up. “I forgot something. Be back.”
Spike turned to watch Wazoo hurry behind the counter and through a door that led to a storeroom and a flight of stairs to the flat above. He met Bleu’s eyes and raised his brows. “It’s not like Wazoo to duck out on fresh information.”
Bleu agreed, but didn’t say as much. “Sam’s probably busy working.”
“He lives at Rosebank, remember,” he said as if she would finish the rest of the thought.
She did. “You haven’t seen him out there?”
“Nope. If he contacts you, I want you to listen, agree with whatever he says, then get to me. Get to me right then. If I’m not the one who picks up, you tell whoever does that I told you to talk to me.”
“Yes.” Bleu swallowed. “Do you think something’s happened to him?”
“I can’t talk about that.”
“Then I can’t call you if Sam calls me,” she said in a spurt of anger, and then felt foolish. “I’ve been through everything that’s going on from the beginning. Why can’t you tell me why you’re worried about Sam?”
Spike ran a finger around the inside of his collar and turned his head from side to side. They were all accustomed to stifling weather, but today was a scorcher.
“Spike?” she prompted him.
He tipped his face down and crossed his arms. Then he looked up at her. “It’s not Sam I’m worried about.”