Simone refused to speak to him during the one-hour drive back to Houma, which really pissed him off, more than he was already pissed off. He was the one who should be angry here, not her.
“Do you realize what a goat fuck that was about to become back there? If you and the nutcake doctor didn’t participate in their games, Pitot would have retaliated, and it wouldn’t just be kicking you out. Believe me, killing is the most merciful of things that psycho does to his enemies.”
When that didn’t prompt any reply, he told her, “I pulled in some favors to get a pal of mine and his friends to ride a couple vehicles into the area with their sirens going. Even so, Pitot might investigate and wonder if I had anything to do with the interruption.”
Did she express concern on his behalf? Not even a little.
“Or you. He might wonder if you two were involved.”
Still no concern, not even for herself or her employee.
He couldn’t in all honesty let her think there was imminent danger, though. “I’m pretty sure we’re safe in that regard.”
Did she thank him then? Hah! Not even a blink of the eyelashes, which he was pretty sure were fake.
So, he tried a different tack. “You look hot in that outfit.” And, man, did she ever! He could practically see her nipples through the straining fabric of her blouse, and the skirt had ridden up almost to the top of her thighs.
She shot him a glare that pretty much said he’d never see her in the outfit again. Too bad!
Which prompted his fool tongue to say, “I don’t mind a bit of role playing myself. One-on-one, though. No sharing the goodies.”
He thought her upper lip curled at that remark. And he noted that her lips were slightly swollen-looking. From his kisses last night, he hoped, not anything that might have happened back at Happy Horndog’s.
Just to get back at her, he observed, “There will probably be butt cheek imprints on the leather seat you’re sitting on.”
That crudity caused her to shift uncomfortably. She was probably blushing. He couldn’t tell in the dim lights of the highway.
Another ten minutes of silence, and he was back to being angry again. “I was worried about you. Do you ever consider other people when you take your risks?”
Silence.
“And how about your mother? Did it occur to you that Mike Pham won’t like anyone who harbors his wife?”
That caused a jolt of surprise on her face, that he knew about Thanh and Adelaide Daigle. But then she immediately wiped all expression from her face again.
It was the indifference that was goading him. Mutual anger, he could handle. Indifference was somehow more insulting.
“To think I was almost falling in love with you!” he muttered.
Big mistake!
For the first time in more than a half hour she spoke, “Tell that to someone who cares!”
For the rest of the trip, they both remained silent, and when they got back to Legal Belles and he was about to get out and accompany her up the steps, she opened the passenger door and flew out, calling over her shoulder. “Stay where you are! I can take care of myself.”
With those ominous words, he just sat for several minutes, watching as she looked under a potted plant on the landing, which must hide a second key, opened the door, and slammed it behind her. Even when the lights turned on inside, he still sat, fuming.
If that was the thanks he got for saving her, then so be it. He stepped on the gas and raised gravel as he shot away down the alley.
It was over.
How many times can a heart be broken? . . .
Simone was so angry, she could cry. And she did.
Then, she was so angry, she could throw things. And she did. Every item in her cowgirl porno outfit as she made a path toward her shower where she needed to scour away the sex club cooties.
Still angry after her shower, she stomped around her apartment in her fallback comfort clothes—oversize sweatshirt, running shorts, and thick cotton socks, no shoes.
“‘To think I was almost falling in love with you!’” she mimicked Adam’s words aloud in her empty rooms. It wasn’t the reversal of his emotions that had her upset, well, not quite, but that clueless use of the word almost. Was there any woman in the world who wanted a man to be “almost” in love with her? Better he say nothing at all.
The jerk!
The problem was, there was no “almost” about her feelings for Adam. She was full-blown, heart wide open to be broken, Cajun Crazy in love with . . .
The jerk!
But, of course, the worst thing of all was his coming to rescue her. This was her job. If she couldn’t take care of herself, she had no business doing it, whether it be law enforcement or Legal Belles. And, yeah, sometimes the job put you in touch with distasteful, even dangerous people, but those were the risks. Manageable risks.
Furthermore, he’d jeopardized the entire mission. It remained to be seen whether Marcus would connect the dots about newcomers, Dr. Larry and Diane Storm, Adam suddenly showing on the scene after all those years of disinterest, and sirens heading toward the lake lodge just as things were about to get interesting, depending on your definition of interesting. The repercussions could be disastrous.
Even though it was late, she called Helene, who would be worried about her. She expected to get her answering machine, but instead her partner picked up on the first ring.
“Are you okay?” she asked without preamble.
“I’m home, and I’m fine.”
“You’re home already? I thought you’d stay overnight in Nawleans.”
“Things changed. I’ll explain tomorrow.”
“Did you get the goods on Pitot?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“You sound funny.”
“I’m just tired.”
“Well, go to bed. I’ll come in to the office early.”
“It’s Saturday. Don’t you have plans?”
“I wish. I’m going over to my parents about nine. They want to take the boat out.”
“Ooh, I remember the days on that pontoon.”
“Wanna come along for the day? A little swimming, a little fishing, just relaxing.”
“You have no idea how tempting that is, but I have too much to do.” Plus, Adam had planted the idea in her head that her mother might be in danger. She would need to go over to The Gates to check on her.
“I’ll see you on my way, then. If you’re not up yet, don’t crawl out of bed for me. I’ll come up to the apartment.”
She called Gabe, as well. “Just making sure you made it out safely.”
“Piece of cake! They were in such a rush to change their costumes and lock things up that they never noticed me leaving. And turns out the sirens weren’t headed to the lodge after all.”
“I know.”
“Adam’s doing?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Looks like he saved the day for us.”
“We would have managed on our own.”
“Probably. I’ll bring your clothes and stuff when I come down to Houma this morning.”
“You don’t have to come all the way here on the weekend.”
“No problem. Livia and I are going catfish noodling in the bayou with a group of friends.”
Seems like everyone had water plans for the day. And wasn’t it nice that Gabe could go from a perverted sex party to a fishing party with such ease? “How could you have made those plans when you didn’t know we’d be done with the Pitot case last night?”
“If I’d been tied up, ha, ha, ha, Livia would have gone without me.”
“Okay.”
“Did you think I would leave you to your own devices, ha, ha, ha?”
“Very funny!”
“Anyhow, I’m anxious to see what kind of photos and audio we get from those computer chips,” he said.
“Me, too.”
“That party was a hoot, wasn’t it?”
She pictured Marcus as a bull with a swinging penis, and Chantung as a horse, and had to laugh. “It was a hoot, all right.” Then she added, “I hope we have a picture of you as the naked cowboy. Your girlfriend should get a kick out of that.”
“Liv’s already seen me as the naked cowboy. And the naked astronaut. And the naked biker.”
He was probably kidding.
Then he added, “Too bad you wouldn’t let me take a pic of you as Deep Throat Cowgirl. But then, I’m pretty sure your boyfriend, Adam, has that image imprinted on his brain forever. Did you see the look on his face when he first got an eyeful of you?”
She was about to correct Gabe’s impression of Adam being her boyfriend. Not anymore. But she figured that would take too much explaining.
After she clicked off her cell phone, she made herself a cup of steaming chai ginger tea with a splash of honey and took it into the bedroom with her. It usually helped her sleep. It was three a.m. by the time she climbed under the covers. As she lay in the darkness, listening to the silence, she realized that she’d been expecting Adam to call and apologize.
But he didn’t.
By five a.m. when the sun began to rise in a pink haze, she was still awake, and still waiting for a call that did not come. She realized then that he might not call tomorrow, either, rather today, or the next day, or at all. He might be as adamant about the rightness of his actions as she was about hers. That didn’t make her any less certain of the stand she’d taken.
Her anger returned, and it was a cold, hard stone, which settled right in the vicinity of her broken heart. Her mother was right. She was Cajun Crazy. Again.
Shop till you drop . . .
Adam fully expected Simone to call him and apologize, then thank him profusely for saving the day—and her ass—in that centerfold cowgirl skirt . . . that made a man want to drop a coin for her to pick up . . . and the snap-button shirt that posed all kinds of unsnapping possibilities. He was still angry as hell. But he was mellowing as he pictured all the ways he would make her “pay” for his forgiveness.
But then he remembered the reason he’d been so angry, and still was. Simone was a stubborn risk taker who would be more likely to be engaged in a shoot-out at the local corral than baking brownies for the PTA. Not that she would have any reason to be involved with a PTA, or that he would want that kind of woman, unless he was thinking about marriage.
Which he was not.
But suppose he was.
He couldn’t predict what Simone would do in any given situation. It would be crazy to bring a stick of dynamite into his home and hope it never went off. Bad comparison, but still.
When she didn’t call before he fell asleep, he wasn’t concerned. He intended to let her call go to voice mail, anyhow. He just wanted the satisfaction of knowing that she realized her mistake.
She’d said that she didn’t care. Hah! He would call her bluff. She cared, all right.
But she didn’t call that night, or the next morning, or while he tortured himself that afternoon strolling the aisles of Party Circus with Maisie, who thought everything was “So cool!”
He refused to buy Uncle Sam, Abe Lincoln, and Betsy Ross costumes for himself, his father, and Maisie on the premise that they would be ruined when going in the pool. But she did talk him into a dozen each of the Uncle Sam top hats and Lady Liberty tiaras.
Which made him think of the costumes he’d seen last night. In particular, the one worn by Simone, who, incidentally, had not yet called. But he soon cut off that line of thinking, or rather, his daughter did with her definitive ideas on what constituted a good party. Like they had to have twirly whirlys, cascade centerpieces that looked like rockets blasting out tinsel sparks, and window clings, whatever the hell they were.
His cart soon overflowed with flag décor table covers, banners, tiki lights, pool inflatable rafts, lawn pinwheels, and a huge flag and pole for the front yard, even a flag bathing suit for Maisie and, yes, for himself. In addition there were red, white, and blue paper plates, cups, napkins, straws, and balloons. And star-spangled nail polish, which he’d promised to help her put on.
“Oooh, look at that wavy flag cake mold. It serves twenty-four. PawPaw would like that,” Maisie said, dropping it into their overflowing cart. “Make sure we get some food dye and red, white, and blue sprinkles.”
“Of course.”
Maisie missed the sarcasm.
“I thought Tante Lulu was making Peachy Praline Cobbler Cake.”
“She is, but we have to have a flag one, too.” She gave him that patronizing look that said he should know that.
“Okay, but no fireworks. We already agreed that we could see the fireworks being set off at the park from our backyard.”
Reluctantly, she took several rockets out of the cart and put them back on the shelf. “How ’bout some sparklers?”
“Only if you promise not to light any unless me or PawPaw are with you.”
She nodded.
As they were checking out, with not one but two carts, the bill came to almost four hundred dollars. Wincing, he asked, “What’s our RSVP total so far?”
“Only sixty.”
He shook his head and grumbled, “Where are we going to fit everyone?”
“Oh, Daddy! People circle-late at a party. Dontcha know that? They’ll be in the pool, on the patio, dancing, in the house, everywhere.”
She thought about all the possibilities, and beamed.
He thought about all the things he’d have to lock up. Like Hannah’s fragile pottery. And any legal documents he had lying around.
“Do I need to have the cleaning lady come in before the party?”
She thought for a moment. “No, but we’ll prob’ly need her the next day.” Then, with the astuteness of a five-year-old matchmaker, she said, “Why do ya keep checkin’ yer cell phone, Daddy? Are ya waitin’ fer See-mone ta call?”
Busted! By his five-year-old kid!
To atone for his lack of attention, he spent the rest of the afternoon by the pool with Maisie and his dad, who was barbecuing ribs for dinner. “So, do you have a final menu for the big party?” he asked.
“Aside from all the stuff that interfering old lady is bringing?”
Adam assumed that interfering old lady referred to Tante Lulu. “You mean that peach cake?”
“And much more. Okra poppers, bourbon beans, Creole mustard greens.”
“Um, that’s nice of her.”
“Yeah, it is. But, holy smokes, she tends to take over.”
“What are you making then?”
“Traditional stuff, like hotdogs, hamburgers, and salads, sliced tomatoes and cucumbers from my garden, skewers of andouille sausage with green peppers and mushrooms. Oh, and that blankety-blank flag cake, thank you very much.” He could imagine the word his dad, a former cop, would like to use, but they both tried not to swear in Maisie’s hearing.
“That was Maisie’s idea.”
“I’ve made it three times already, and the waves in the flag keep breaking.”
“Aren’t waves supposed to break?” he joked.
His father made a grunting noise of disparagement.
“Hey, I bet you don’t know what a twirly whirly is,” Adam said.
“Sure do. That’s when a guy sticks his penis in a vagina and spins it around.”
“DAD!”
“What? You asked what a whirly twirly was and I told you. Jeesh!”
“I said twirly whirly, and it refers to long strands of foil twists that are used for decorations. Like they sell at Party Circus.”
“Oh. I like mine better.” His dad grinned at him. “Ever tried it?”
He shook his head at his dad and stood, about to take a dip in the pool where Maisie was trying out one of the floats they’d bought earlier. The pool was fairly large for a residential pool—about thirty-six feet—but not that conducive to laps for a six-foot-one male. On a ninety-degree scorcher, like it was today, it would do fine.
Just then, he noticed someone coming around the side of the house and stopping by the gate into the backyard. Red hair. A blouse knotted at the waist. Short denim shorts. And sandals.
It was Sonia.
Talk about timing. He had been thinking about how things were probably over with Simone, seeing as how it had been fifteen hours since he’d dropped her off last night and still no call, and here stood a likely replacement.
Why then did he say with unintended rudeness, “Hey, Sonia. What are you doing here?” Immediately, he walked over and unlocked the gate. “Sorry. I was just surprised to see you.”
“Didn’t your dad and daughter tell you that I stopped by last week?”
“They did, but I was tied up with a trial.”
“I read about it in the newspaper. Congrats,” she said, waving at his dad and Maisie, both of whom were in the pool now.
“Thanks.” He led her to a patio chair and asked, “Can I get you a drink? Iced tea? Lemonade? Beer?”
“Iced tea would be nice. No sugar.”
“Sweet tea is all we have.”
“Just ice water then.”
When he came back with a frosty glass of ice water for her and a frosty longneck beer for himself, he sat down across from her. In his peripheral vision, he noticed his dad and daughter playing Capture the Goldfish with a lot of laughter and splashing. He wished he could join them.
Taking a long draw on his beer, he remarked, “So, you’re not going to California, after all?”
“I am . . . but not for a while yet. The financing fell through, and my sister’s working on a new proposal. It might be another six months before I leave. My boss at the yoga studio hadn’t hired a replacement for me yet.” She shrugged and gave him a flirtatious little smile that indicated they could resume where they’d left off.
He studied her for a long moment. She was a good-looking woman. Pretty. Flaming red hair that would catch anyone’s eye, and a killer, toned body that would catch any man’s eye. Why then was he feeling so . . . uncaught?
Truth to tell, this was the second time Sonia had come to his house, uninvited, and he didn’t like it. Under his old policy, which might still be his current policy, he did not invite women into his home where they could meet his daughter. Simone had changed that, but that didn’t mean he wanted women showing up here.
Would I feel the same if Simone popped in? he asked himself.
Before he could answer himself, she concluded, “You’re upset that I’ve come here.”
“Not exactly, but I do try to keep my personal and family life separate.”
“I should have known when you didn’t return my calls.” She knocked the side of her head with the heel of one hand, as if to knock in some sense. “I’ll leave,” she said, face flushing, as she started to rise.
“No, don’t.” He reached across the table and put a hand on her arm, indicating she should sit. “I’ve been anal on that issue, and it doesn’t work anymore, anyhow.”
“It doesn’t? Why is that?” She cocked her head to the side. “You’ve met someone?” she guessed.
“Well, sort of,” he admitted, though not wanting to tell her that his new love was already an old love, or no love at all.
Sonia wasn’t upset. Theirs had never been a serious relationship, just sex. Certainly no dating. So, they talked then about other things.
Finally, he said, “Why don’t you come in the pool and stay for dinner?”
“I didn’t bring a suit.”
“You can wear what you have on, and I’ll give you a sweatshirt for afterward. Besides, your clothes will dry off almost instantly in this heat.”
She hesitated, then smiled. “You’re on.” Kicking off her sandals and taking off her watch, she ran to the pool and shouted to Maisie and his dad before diving in, “Marco Polo anyone?”
Thus it was seven o’clock before Sonia left, and he and his dad were sitting on the patio together once again. Maisie, after a day outdoors, had fallen asleep on a nearby chaise longue.
“That is one fine woman,” his dad remarked after Adam told him about Sonia’s plans to go to California. “Bet she’d stay if you asked her.”
“Maybe.”
“What’s the problem, son?”
The problem was that it was now twenty hours, and Simone had not called him to apologize, or at least try to make up.
He told his dad about Simone and their “disagreement.” He ended by saying, “You were a cop, Dad. Am I wrong to be concerned about the danger?”
“Danger goes with the territory. If you can’t take the fire, don’t be toasting any marshmallows.”
“Thanks a bunch.”
“Seriously, we live in dangerous times.” When Adam was about to speak, his dad raised a halting hand and continued, “But some jobs are definitely more dangerous than others. It takes a certain kind of person to live with a risk taker.”
“It’s one thing to live with a risk taker, and another to expose your family—a little girl—to danger.”
“Bull-pucky!”
He arched his brows at his father.
“You’re just making excuses for being scared to death of committing yourself to a woman again, and being stabbed in the back.”
“This isn’t about Hannah.”
“Isn’t it?”
“Not totally. Honestly, Dad, was it so wrong for me to be concerned about the danger Simone had placed herself in?”
“Your concern was commendable—your method of showing your concern was insulting.”
Whoa. That was blunt. “How so?”
“Simone is a trained professional, probably better suited to protect herself than you are. You rushing in like that was like saying that you didn’t respect her abilities.” He shrugged. “Maybe you’re just not suited to that kind of woman. No reflection on you.”
Adam bristled at that assessment of himself.
“Don’t you think that these are the kinds of things you should be discussing with her?”
“I suppose so.”
“What? She’s not taking your calls?”
Adam could feel his face heat. “I haven’t called her.”
His father blinked at him with disbelief. “And why is that?”
“I’m waiting for her to call me.”
His father glanced at the cell phone sitting on the table in front of him, ominously silent. “How’s that workin’ for you?”
“Wiseass!”
They changed the subject then, and talked about the upcoming season for the Rangers, his dad’s longtime favorite baseball team, and what would be expected of the Saints in football recruits come next fall. They also talked about the pool maintenance service, which was less than efficient, and a bonefishing trip to the Bahamas his dad was planning with some buddies for October. Plus, Maisie wanted to take karate lessons at a gym where his dad was thinking about offering classes in self-defense.
When his dad and Maisie were down for the night and Adam did a walk-through of the house to lock up, he had a chance to think about Simone once again. He was still angry, and he still thought he was right . . . or partly right. And, besides that, he had his pride.
Later, after an hour of being unable to fall asleep, he was reminded of the old proverb that said, “Pride goeth before. . . . something?” He couldn’t remember exactly what. He would think about it tomorrow. By then, hopefully, Simone would have called and he wouldn’t still be so angry/offended/hurt/confused.
Why did being right feel so wrong?
Using her noodle . . . or not . . .
Simone hadn’t slept a wink. So, by seven a.m., she was down in the office, catching up on paperwork.
She took the chips out of Gabe’s medallion and her earrings and inserted them, one at a time, into the special device that fit into a computer like a flash drive. The photos they’d gotten, and the audio, were great, but they would have to be edited and reduced down to something manageable. She and Gabe would look them over when he came in. A half dozen or so photos and an audio recording should be sufficient to satisfy Saffron Pitot’s job. The bill was going to be hefty.
Helene came in at eight, carrying two extra-large Styrofoam cups imprinted with Creole Grinds, that new Starbucks copycat shop at the edge of town. “Double shot skinny white mocha lattes with extra whipped cream,” she announced, handing one to Simone and sipping from hers as she sat down in the chair in front of Simone’s desk.
“Yum! But that’s an oxymoron if I ever heard one. Skinny and whipped cream?”
“Works for me. Anyhow, maybe I should have made it a triple shot. You look as if you haven’t slept at all.”
“I haven’t.” When Helene was about to ask why, Simone said, “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Okay, tell me everything about Pitot.”
Simone proceeded to do just that, in detail, starting with the skinny dipping in the lake. Many questions and much laughter later, they were both sitting before her computer staring at the photographs.
“Holy crap!” Helene said on seeing Heidi in the horse outfit. “Reminds me of those female erotica novels we read in college.”
“The Anne Rice one!” Simone hooted with laughter. “The ones she wrote under a pen name. Oh, Lord, I forgot about those. Remember how we gathered in Patti LeBraun’s dorm room and read the passages aloud?”
“I never thought real people actually did that stuff.”
When she flicked through the gallery of photos, James came up as a Mexican bandito.
“He looks almost normal,” Helene remarked.
“Not when he turned around. His denims were assless.”
Helene just shook her head.
But then Marcus the Bull showed up, which at first made Helene’s jaw drop. “You’ve got to be kidding me!”
“That’s the money shot,” Simone told her.
Before Helene left, Simone asked, “Any chance Norah is going with you today?”
Helene just shook her head.
Helene and Norah had been partners for years, ever since law school. Simone had known they’d broken up before she returned to Louisiana, but Helene had never wanted to talk about it.
“I know how she used to enjoy a day out on the pontoon with you and your family,” Simone remarked, hoping her friend would open up to her.
“We haven’t talked for more than six months.”
“Irreconcilable differences?” Simone asked.
“Oh, yeah.”
When Helene didn’t offer any more information, Simone dropped the subject. They discussed how and when they would give Saffron her photos and audio reports as well as a few upcoming cases before Helene left.
Gabe showed up then, dressed for his bayou excursion in Hawaiian floral board shorts, a sky-blue T-shirt, and flip-flops. He looked like a college surfer boy.
“Where’s Livia?” she asked.
“She dropped me off while she went over to Starr Foods for some goodies. She’ll be back in a half hour or so.”
They discussed the material from the chips then what to delete and what to include in the final report.
“Do you have the technical ability to put this all together?” she wondered aloud.
“It’s really not that complicated.”
“Do you want to take the chips with you and work on them at home?”
“Not today. I’ll be down the bayou, and I wouldn’t feel comfortable with them sitting in my car. How about you put them in a secure place here, and I’ll stop in for them on Monday? We’ll have to make sure we have duplicates of everything, for your files as well as Mrs. Pitot’s.”
“Maybe I could have you deliver the reports to her and give you a chance to grill her about possible soap opera work.”
“You would do that for me?” He tilted his head in surprise.
“Sure. Why not?”
“Thanks a lot. Are you sure you won’t come with us today?”
“I have so much to do, and—”
“C’mon,” he coaxed. “After last night, you need a little fresh air and sunshine to cleanse the pores.”
She laughed. He had a point.
Thus it was that she found herself with a bunch of twentysomething guys and girls wading in muddy water, catching catfish with her bare hands, and hauling them onto the banks. There was much laughter, splashing, scratching of arms and legs, teasing, and total dunking. Although this crowd was only a few years younger than Simone, she felt somewhat like they were kids and she was the adult.
Fun was had by all, though, helped along by the vast amounts of beer and wine consumed. She was glad she’d come.
Even gladder—if there was such a word—was her mother when Simone pulled into the Pearly Gates, parked her car, and carried in a forty-pound dead catfish.
Scarlett greeted her with a long meow.
Which didn’t fool Simone one bit. Her pet cat was more interested in the fish treat that would be in her bowl that night, rather than her missing owner, if it could be said that any person “owned” a cat.
“Ooooh, blackened catfish fer supper,” her mother said.
Catfish were mean creatures when wrestling with humans, Simone had discovered today, and she didn’t think she could eat any of the mud cats again in this lifetime, blackened or otherwise.
“Ooooh, Canh Chua Dau Ca,” Thanh said, “Sour fish head soup.”
That’s all I need! Fish eyes staring at me while I eat.
After ascertaining that her mother and her guest were safe, and cautioning them to be extra careful, Simone went home. Only then did she allow herself to check her cell phone.
No messages!
On that happy, or unhappy note, she went to bed at seven p.m. On a Saturday night! And slept right through until Sunday afternoon.
And still no calls!