21

Mickey looked up as Delaney came back balancing two cups of hot coffee and four doughnuts. Another doughnut protruded from his mouth. All around them was the comforting clatter, chatter and ringing phones of other detectives following other leads in other homicides.

He didn’t like admitting it, but he missed the quiet, phoneless, nearly people-less Seymour house. Of course, it didn’t help that he could feel Caroline’s glare boring a hole in his back. One date and he was in the dog house. Women were so unfair.! Mickey gave a half-twitch, half-shrug to shake it off. It didn’t work, but lucky for him, he saw her grab her purse and head out with her partner. Until now he wouldn’t be relieved there’d been yet another homicide added to their yearly tally, but he needed the hostility break.

“Any movement yet?” Mickey asked Delaney. Ever since they’d driven away from the Seymour’s he’d had the feeling they were in the calm before the storm. He’d been a cop too long not to know when serious shit was about to hit the fan. He’d like the chance to duck when it did.

“Nada.” Delaney put one cup and one doughnut in front of Mickey. “You know, he could have decided to cut his losses and booked on out of here.”

“He didn’t,” Mickey said. “If he was gonna leave, he’d have done it before he started offing people. He’s in too deep to stop now.”

Delaney nodded, studying the circle of fried dough like it held the answers to all the questions if he could just learn to speak doughnut. Mickey had never found any answers in food, up to and including tea leaves. Just got heartburn and a few extra pounds.

Mickey looked at the file, then tossed it aside with a snort of disgust. They’d exhausted their leads and themselves. It was a waiting game now, with the ball in Arthur Maxwell’s court. Mickey hated waiting games and the noise he’d missed while doing time at the Seymour’s was now giving his headache a chance to do a return show. He dug out his mega bottle of aspirin and tossed back two, then two more. He’d get over it, he told himself. He’d been orbiting the Seymour planet for nearly five days. That long in what amounted to a loony bin would leave its mark, but he had to admit, if only to himself, that the real problem was distance from Luci.

Would the people they’d left as watchers know how to deal with her? How to keep her safe from Maxwell and herself? And, like a rat following a maze, his thoughts went back to the big why. Why did Maxwell want her dead? Mickey pulled the chain letter out of the file and studied it, but none of the addresses were in Wyoming, let alone Butt Had. That didn’t mean Maxwell had never been to Butt Had, of course. Be stupid of him to leave a trail to his home base.

“I’m going to fax Maxwell’s mug shot to Butt Had. The connection has to be there. Luci said she doesn’t travel much.” Something teased at the edges of his mind. Something Luci had said. Problem was, she’d said too much and he was too tired to recall half of it, let alone sort out the important stuff. Always supposing she’d said anything important. “Should have thought of it sooner.”

“We’re both tired.” Delaney looked up, shaking off his blues long enough to say, “Send it to the local Post Office, too. Whole town passes through the PO. Then go lie down. I’ll wake you in an hour.”

It was Artie’s knowledge of the old ladies’ habits that formed the basis of his plan. It took some heavy thinking and some careful circuits through the neighborhood before he located the cemetery he’d escorted them to a couple of months ago. He walked down the rows until he found the Seymour crypt. He was early, so he scored some flowers off another grave and sat down out of sight of the street.

There were too many people looking for him. He had to finish this and get out of town. Max had made sure Artie knew Dante was gunning for him, just in case he hadn’t figured it out. If Cloris could get Dante to call off the dogs long enough for him to get clear...he could soothe her down, spin her a tale, promise her what she wanted to hear and then disappear.

It was risky. He didn’t know how much power Cloris had, but he had to try. If he’d just left her, not taken the money, would Dante be looking so hard? He was so close, so very close.

“Such a lovely day,” he heard Miss Weena say in that breathless way of hers. He peered around the crypt and saw, with satisfaction, that all three of the old ladies were walking into his trap. All he had to do was close the door.

Mickey didn’t get to lie down. He faxed the mug shot and was heading down the hall to the lounge when Delaney intercepted him, his face grim. Cold fear started a slow creep through his body.

“The old ladies took a walk this afternoon and haven’t been seen since. Louise got worried and gave a note to one of our watchers.”

Mickey cursed and rubbed his face in hopes it would clear his head and not just his vision. “Well, we wanted Maxwell to make his move. He smelled the trap and decided to have the money come to him.”

Delaney looked frustrated. “We should have told them what we were planning. Warned them—”

Not to tell them had been the captain’s decision. He’d be sweating this one out, big time, Mickey decided, but they’d all be in the hot seat if the old ladies got hurt.

Fear quit creeping and started a stampede. “We should go over there—”

Delaney shook his head. “Captain wants us to stay here for now and keep working.”

“APB?” Mickey asked, following him down the hall.

“Being treated as a kidnapping.” Delaney dropped into his chair. “Be interesting to see how Maxwell makes contact, since there’s no phone.”

“Did he say how Luci was taking it?” Mickey asked.

“She’s not home yet. Old ladies sent her out to run some errands—”

“What? Is she—”

“With a uniform,” Delaney said, a faint grin lightening his expression. “She’ll be back soon. I understand it was a long list.”

Dante knew the police were tailing him, but he wasn’t worried. They could follow him home if they wanted to waste their time and the taxpayers’ money. He missed Max but was too annoyed about Artie smoking him to do anything about it. He brooded all the way to his Garden District mansion. He’d do something about Artie when he found him. And Luci, who he was sure had set him up. It made the trip seem fast, despite the rush hour traffic slowing everything to a crawl.

When the limo swept around the curving drive in front of his house, he saw Cloris peering out the window, watching for him. It was enough out of character to stir up a mild interest.

Inside, she waited until the butler had taken his briefcase and handed him a drink before pulling him into the parlor and shutting the door. She was wringing her hands like a heroine in a melodrama and there was wildness to her eyes that sharpened his suspicions to a needlepoint.

“What’s going on?” He stopped her from turning away from him. “What’s happened?”

“He called me.”

This was just what he wanted to hear. Dante let her go and smiled. “Really? And what did he say?”

“He wants to meet—”

Dante grabbed her again. “Where?”

“Promise you won’t hurt him!”

“Of course.” The promise came easy. He could work out a story later.

“I mean it. He wants to come back to me. He misses me.” Pink flushed her cheeks. Dante wasn’t surprised she couldn’t look at him. He could hardly look at her. Did she believe him? Did it matter? Not really, he decided. He smiled more and patted her shoulder. “Of course he does. He was a fool to leave you.” He hesitated. “Did he mention your money?”

The pink turned red in her sallow cheeks. “He’s giving it all back. He only meant to borrow it until a deal came through for him.”

Sure he did. It was going to be a pleasure popping the bastard.

“What time is the meet?” Dante asked.

“At eleven tomorrow night,” she said. “In the Metairie cemetery. It was his idea,” she added, as if she expected Dante to object. “And I’m going.”

Dante gave a mental snort. It was a perfect meeting place. He made a mental note to put Cain and Abel on alert. They could quit watching the Seymour house, which was, of course, what Maxwell wanted. Get them in place at the cemetery well before Maxwell would be watching. Might as well let Maxwell have a clear field to move the money. When it was over, he’d tell them where he took it. He’d tell them everything before he died. When they were through, Cloris would pull the trigger herself.