Six

 

Jack heard Amelia’s bare feet on the wooden floor in the corridor—again. He could also hear Tilly smacking pots and pans together in the kitchen.

He peeled off his reading glasses and lowered his feet from the leather ottoman in front of his chair. What a hell of a day. And now his daughter was mad at him, and his housekeeper was mad at him.

Women. He would never figure out what made any of them tick.

Amelia pushed the door to his study open and stood there, hanging on to the doorknob and clutching her oversized buddy, Frog Prince, beneath an arm.

He set aside the sheaf of papers he’d been studying. “What now, squirt?”

“There’s an ugly ghost eating my toys. He’s making loud chewing noises and he doesn’t say he’s sorry when he burps.”

Jack struggled not to laugh. “Wow. You’d better not say that too loud. All the other kids will want one.”

“There aren’t any other kids, Daddy. Just me, and there’s an ugly—”

“Amelia,” Jack said, “I put you to bed. Tilly put you to bed. I put you to bed again. There isn’t an ugly ghost.”

She swung back and forth in her blue cotton nightie, and swung a small foot too. Her short black curls shone. There was no hint of either anxiety or remorse in her green eyes. “You didn’t take me to school.”

“No, and we already discussed that. I had something unexpected come up and I had to ask Tilly to take you.”

“That’s our time. You said that. It’s our time when you take me to school. You didn’t have breakfast with me either. That’s our time too.”

“It sure is, squirt. But sometimes we have to make allowances because of something important.”

Amelia stopped swinging. “This is important.”

Jack started to get up, but changed his mind. “Okay, shoot. What’s important?”

“I’m upset because we missed our special times this morning, and you have to make allowances.”

This was the price he paid for treating his little girl like a sidekick, and for talking to her as if she were an adult, and insisting her grandmother and Tilly talk to her in adult terms. “I’m sorry you’re upset.”

“I forgive you. A story would be a good allowance.”

Jack shook his head and held out his arms to receive his daughter when she hurtled across the room and scrambled onto his lap. She went through her ritual of getting settled, and arranged her frog—with his shiny patches where the green fuzz had worn off—on top of them both. Jack wrinkled up his face as he got ready to continue the same story he’d been making up for years.

“Phillymeana and the Dragon Prince have rescued another elf baby from the Ice Wizard.” Amelia inevitably provided a recap of the previous episode.

“Philomena,” Jack automatically corrected her.

The sound of the doorbell surprised them both. They rarely got evening visitors.

“You want me to answer that, Mr. Charbonnet?” Tilly yelled as only Tilly could yell. “Or you want me to follow my instincts and ignore it?”

Jack set Amelia on the floor and called, “I’ll go. Thanks, Tilly.”

Tilly lived in. Jack’s connections had allowed him to buy a coveted apartment above two antique stores on Chartres Street and Tilly lived in comfortably renovated third-floor quarters that had once housed servants.

Tilly was not a servant. She was Amelia’s companion, Jack’s household consultant.

The banging of pots resumed and Jack went down the stairs that led to the door from the street. An outside lamp glowed through the fanlight. Adhering to a rule he’d imposed on himself because of Amelia, he used the peephole before shooting back the old but effective bolt.

“Well, well,” he murmured, and opened the door. “I hope you’re going to tell me your bodyguard’s somewhere around,” he said to Celina Payne.

She frowned at him and glanced over her shoulder at the stream of people that trolled back and forth on the sidewalk, and spilled into the street. “You’ve got to be joking,” she told him. “I know what I’m doing. I’m not a tourist.”

“Does that mean you’re immortal?”

Even in the gloom he saw her pale, and felt a morsel of guilt—a very small morsel. “What do you need?” Now he sounded rude—great.

“Please may I talk to you?”

“I didn’t think you just wanted to look at my pretty face.” She ducked her head, but not before he saw a faint smile. “Did I say something funny?”

“Not especially. You’re so prickly. Looking at you is dangerous to the eyeballs.”

He leaned on the doorjamb. “Okay. You do want to look at my pretty face.”

Celina Payne gave him a cocky grin and said, “I don’t want to prick my eyeballs.” Their lunch together hadn’t been exactly cozy, but it had broken a little ice. Tonight he saw a strong spark of the aplomb that had helped make her Miss Louisiana. She added, “But you do have a pretty face, Jack Charbonnet. Too bad you’re such a nasty man.”

Maybe more than a little ice. It was impossible not to smile back at her. “What d’you need, Celina?”

“Could I come in, please? I can’t talk about this out here.”

Jack had never brought a woman to Chartres Street. Not to his home. This was Amelia’s territory, the territory she shared with Jack and Tilly—and Frog Prince—and where she didn’t expect intruders. “Couldn’t it wait until tomorrow? This has been a long day.”

“Not for Errol,” she said, all hint of humor gone. “It was really short for him.”

“Grief counseling isn’t my forte.” Sounding mean again. He guessed it was just his nature.

“Errol was pretty good at it. Did you ever see him with the parents of a dying child? He was wonderful. Now he’s the one who needs something. He needs champions who won’t give up until whatever happened to him—and why—is brought into the open.”

No wonder she was so good at her job. She knew how to drive the knife to the heart if that’s what it took to get what she wanted. Convincing people to make fabulous donations to Dreams must be child’s play to Celina Payne. “Come in,” he said, hoping Tilly—who frequently reminded him that Amelia needed a mother—would buy it that this was business and leave it at that.

He ushered Celina up the stairs in front of him and guided her to his study. When Celina entered the room, his daughter was seated in his leather chair with her arms crossed and her feet straight out in front of her.

“Would you run and tell Tilly a business associate has dropped by, Amelia? We have some things to discuss and we don’t want to be interrupted. Then go to bed. Sorry about the story. If you’re still awake when Miss Payne leaves, I’ll tell you some when 1 tuck you in. Okay?”

“I’m Amelia Charbonnet and this is Frog Prince, F.P. for short,” Amelia said to Celina. “Sometimes Daddy forgets his manners.”

With a completely straight face, Celina said, “I’m Celina Payne. I’m pleased to meet you and F.P.”

With evident reluctance his daughter climbed from the chair and went slowly from the room, not taking her eyes off Celina until she had to.

“I didn’t know you had a child,” Celina said. “Errol never mentioned her. Neither did you.”

“You and I have hardly been in a situation where we swapped personal information. Errol knows—knew I prefer to keep my private life private.”

“Is that because of what happened to your parents?”

She stopped him for an instant. He didn’t answer her question. “As Amelia says, my manners are a little rusty. I don’t suppose you want a drink, though.”

“Charming offer,” she said. “Thank you. I’ll have a gin and tonic. Make it very light. Oh, actually just tonic.”

“I don’t have any tonic. Or gin.”

She looked at him and said, “Oh.”

“I’ve got some wine. At least, I think I do. A merlot.”

“That would be nice.”

He left the room and went deeper into the apartment, to the kitchen—and jumped at the sight of Tilly standing in the shadows with her arms crossed. This was where Amelia got many of her mannerisms. “Everything’s under control,” he told Tilly. “Thank you. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” That was very true.

“Who’s the woman?”

He was accustomed to Tilly’s blunt manner. “Celina Payne. She worked for Errol.”

Tilly shook her head, an exercise that didn’t move her tightly permed gray hair. “Mr. Petrie. What’s this world coming to? A nicer man never walked the face of the earth. Picked off in the prime of his life. Plucked from the garden when his scent was still full. They say the Lord takes only the best blooms. It’s hard, though. We need those blooms down here among the sinners.”

“We do indeed,” Jack said. “I need that bottle of merlot I got as a gift.”

A pinched expression pulled Tilly’s thin features together. “She’s a drinking woman?”

At first Jack blanked, then he shook his head no. “Just being polite,” he said. “Miss Payne was there this morning when we—when I found Errol. She suffered a terrible shock, just as I did. I’m concerned for her. She looks very pale.”

Tilly didn’t move, except to cross her arms even tighter. “You care about this Miss Payne? Are you planning something with her?”

“I’m planning to have a short business discussion with her.”

“So why do you need to ply her with alcohol?”

Ply her with alcohol? “Where’s the wine, please?”

Small and wiry, Tilly had large feet and wore “sensible” lace-up shoes with leather soles that slapped the floors. They slapped the floors now when Tilly marched to pull out a step stool, and climb up to remove the lone bottle of merlot from a cupboard above the refrigerator.

“Thank you,” Jack said, searching for and finding a corkscrew, then taking down two wineglasses and dusting them.

“Looks like you’re planning a seduction to me,” Tilly said. “Don’t forget there’s an impressionable five-year-old child in this household.”

“I won’t,” Jack said.

“Maybe I should take Amelia up with me. I could play music to drown out any sounds of passion from down here.”

“We’re going to talk,” Jack said, dangling the glasses upside down between his fingers and picking up the bottle. “Amelia will be perfectly fine in her own room. It’s time we worked on makin’ sure she stays there when she’s put to bed. The first time. 1 think we’re spoiling her.”

“I knew it. A woman comes into the picture and you lose your focus on what’s important. Your first responsibility is to that motherless child.”

“I thought you believed I should be looking for a new mother for Amelia.” The devil made him say it, Jack thought, and grimaced. “Not that Miss Payne is in that sort of category. But how would I go about findin’ someone if you don’t even want another woman in the house.”

“You’re changing the subject. Certainly on a first visit it isn’t suitable to be drinking and shutting yourselves away. You’ll give everyone the wrong idea.”

` `Everyone?”

“You know what I mean.” She pulled out a chair, produced a sewing basket, and sat down at the kitchen table. “I’ll just stay here in case Amelia needs anything.”

Jack rolled his eyes and left the room. When he returned to his study he found Celina exactly where he’d left her, standing in the middle of the carpet with the strap of her brown leather purse still over her shoulder. There were dark, purplish marks under her eyes, but that didn’t stop them from being bright and beautiful—and very troubled.

He put the glasses down on his desk to one side of windows that opened onto the gallery, and poured wine into each. He gave one to Celina. “Sit there,” he told her, pointing to his own chair, the only comfortable one in the room. “Put your feet up. You look as if you need some TLC.”

Her raised eyebrows suggested that an offer of TLC from Jack Charbonnet had been the last thing she’d expected, but she said, “Thanks,” and did as he suggested. “Errol trusted you, Jack. He used to relax when he heard your voice on the phone. I watched it happen time after time.”

Jack swallowed hard. He’d never be able to forget Errol, but he wished he didn’t have to think about the way he’d found him that morning.

“You were kind to me today. Thank you for that.”

“I got you out of the Royal Street house, that’s all,” he told her. “Anyone would have done the same thing.”

“Not if they hated my guts, and you do.”

She silenced him with that.

“I appreciated the lunch and a chance to get myself together. I apologize for my mother. She didn’t mean anything by what she said at the house. She’s led a pretty sheltered life, and she doesn’t think sometimes.”

“I don’t hate you, Celina.” He wanted to let her down lightly where her mother was concerned, but the sight of a chink in his own armor scared him. “But you do have a way of believin’ what you want to believe, don’t you? Your mother is sheltered? It’s too bad she didn’t shelter you rather than push you through all those kiddie beauty pageants.”

Celina looked away. “You know about that?”

“Everyone does. How could they not? You were Miss Louisiana and there was talk about how your mother pushed you from when you were a kid. They showed a lot of cute footage. As a parent, it scares the shit out of me to think that stuff still goes on.”

“She did that for me.”

“Bunk.”

“I beg your pardon.”

“I said bunk. Your mama had one chick and decided to live through that chick.”

“My mother could have gone places herself. She chose to dedicate herself to me instead. I’ve got to respect her for that.”

Maybe this was a nice woman after all. She had to know she was spouting what her ambitious mama would love to hear, which was absolute garbage. Jack detested people who didn’t protect their children from the world as much as they could without stunting them and making them unable to cope. And the word he’d use for a parent who exploited a child was “criminal,” and that would be on a day when he was feeling generous.

He sat in a straight-backed cane chair some distance from her and sipped his own wine.

“This is a nice room,” she said.

“Thanks.”

“I wouldn’t have pegged you for a reading man.”

“I’ve got a lot of books. That doesn’t make me a reading man.”

She looked sideways at him. “Aren’t you?”

He ran his eyes over the cases of books that covered every available wall space. “I am, yes.”

“Do you let anyone know you?”

“Errol knew me.”

He saw her consider reminding him that Errol was dead. “How about Amelia’s mother?”

Four and a half years and a stray mention of Elise still had the power to cast him into a black place he wanted to forget. “My wife died.”

Celina turned very red. “I’m sorry. I had no right to ask something so personal.”

“Why did you come here?”

Her eyes flickered away. “You own a big share in that new riverboat.”

“I do.” Whatever she wanted, she was finding it hard to get to.

“I thought all the offshore gambling was—well, you know.”

“Do I?”

“They say you’ve got to have connections to that family—the criminal one—to be involved with anything like that.”

Jack sipped his warm wine. “Is that what they say?”

She nodded.

“Well, what do they know? You can see what my life is. I’m a quiet man who looks after his daughter and his investments.”

“You and Errol went into Dreams fifty-fifty.” She stuck her nose into her glass but didn’t actually drink any wine. “At the beginning it was almost a hundred percent your money because Errol didn’t have it. He told me that. Then he paid you back but you wanted to be involved, so you’ve kept a half interest. I expect you do that for income tax purposes.”

“I probably do.” Watching her fascinated him. And listening to her. She thought her way along out loud, almost as if she didn’t expect any answers. “What’s your interest in Dreams, Celina?”

“I love it. I love working for children. It’s everything I ever wanted to do. I’ve got a marketing background, which helps. And to be frank, the only good thing that came out of the pageant stuff was that it opens doors for me. People want to see me up close.” She surprised him by giggling. “By the time they get over wondering what the big deal is, they’ve agreed to donate a round-the-world cruise, or a new Mercedes, or liposuction and a face-lift.”

Jack had never seen this lighter side of her. She electrified him—for an instant. He deliberately studied his hands. “So you’re good at asking for things. What else are you good at?”

Their eyes met. Celina looked away first, and color crept up her neck. “I’ll be very good at running things—at least until everything settles down again. Errol would have wanted business as usual. We’ve got a lot in the works, including another auction.”

“At your parents’ house?”

“That was never my idea.”

“Whose was it?”

She moved in the chair and crossed her legs. Tonight she wore a loose black linen dress that settled several inches above her knees, and her short curls were slicked severely against her head and back from her face. No makeup to speak of. Great bones.

Great legs.

He noted that she avoided clothes that drew attention to a figure he knew from photographs was spectacular. Maybe he was old-fashioned, but he approved of that.

“My parents have a lot of connections. To rich people—bored rich people who can afford to spend more than something’s worth just for the kicks. Then, a lot of them like to see their name on contributor lists. I’m not saying they aren’t nice people, only that they’re the kind of people we need and my mother and father know them. Mama and Daddy also have the kind of home that lends itself to entertaining—entertaining the way Errol thought it should be done. Graciously.”

He decided not to press her to say her parents had pushed for their house for the purpose, or that they kept their financial noses above water with the money they earned from foundation projects.

“You didn’t come here tonight to give me a rundown on things I already know.”

“No, I didn’t.” She popped up out of the chair and paced, rolling the glass between her palms. She wandered to the window and stood looking out into the darkness.

“Please don’t stand in front of the windows,” he said automatically.

She jumped, took several steps back, and stared at him, aghast. “Why?”

Because it’s a good way to get shot. He stood too, and shrugged. “Just an old phobia. Don’t mind me. I never liked the idea of being seen when I couldn’t see.”

“It’s because of what happened when you were a kid, isn’t it?”

“You haven’t learned to figure out what subjects to avoid, have you?”

“Sorry. It’s been quite a day. I guess my instincts aren’t functioning too well.”

She’d feel good to the touch.

Where had that come from? He bowed his head. He knew where it came from. His last, carefully chosen female companion had gotten too serious and he’d done what he always did, cut the cord. And that had been too long ago for a man with his kind of drive.

“How long have you lived here?” she asked.

“About four years. Why?”

“I didn’t think anyone could get one of these unless…well, I know they’re difficult to come by.”

“Unless they’ve got connections? I have.” She was wondering if what they said about Jack and the Giavanelli family was true. “You just have to know some of the right people.”

“And have the right kind of money,” she told him.

“You don’t believe in subtlety, do you?”

“I didn’t take you for a man who needed pussyfooted fawning, Jack. Was I wrong?”

“No.” In fact, he almost liked her for her directness. “Ι really will need to get back to my daughter shortly. We ought to get to the point, Celina.”

She tipped her glass, barely touched the wine to her lips, coughed, and held the glass out for more.

Jack raised his brows and added a few drops.

“I’ve never been good at guessing games,” she said. “Or uncertainty. I can work as hard as Ι have to work, but until we find out what provisions Errol made for his death, I’m adrift. Sort of. Ι can run things just fine. I’ll need some help. That won’t be hard to find. What Ι need to know now is where I stand and, since you were Errol’s best friend, and you helped him get started with Dreams, Ι thought you might have some thoughts on how he’d want me to continue.”

Jack’s courtly skills were rusty. Since Elise’s death, his relationships with women had been selected to avoid the kinds of situations that would require champagne and roses. Sensing that Celina was a woman who might respond to the gentlemanly arts his mother had started to teach him—and Elise had made him want to practice naturally—he put a hand under her elbow and gave her a serious sideways glance. “Errol always said you were his right hand, and his left. I did suggest there ought to be a bigger staff, but he held out.”

“He held out because he wanted to spend the minimum of funds on administration. And since we confined our self to New Orleans rather than trying to go national, we managed very well. The operation is simple, Jack. I go after the kind of glamorous donations I know will pull people into an auction—and they do. Apart from Errol’s running expenses…” She choked up so suddenly, Jack got the feeling she hadn’t expected it.

Awkwardly patting her back, he let her cry. He produced a handkerchief and pressed it into her hands. She sobbed for only a couple of minutes, then sniffed and turned her back on him while she collected herself.

“Take a few days off,” he said. “You can’t expect to jump right back in after somethin’ like this.”

“We have things in the works,” she said indistinctly. “Time to spare isn’t something we ever have. The children we work with certainly don’t have any.”

“You never met Errol’s boy, did you?” Jason Petrie had been a young, too-small version of his father. “Of course, you wouldn’t have. Errol idolized that boy.”

“Like you idolize your daughter.”

The analogy made his skin cold. “Like that, yes. Jason had an autoimmune disorder. They put him in one of those tents, but somethin’ went wrong and they lost him. Errol just about lived at the hospital. He hated it that there were kids who almost never had a visitor.”

“I know.”

He just bet she did. “You knew Errol very well, didn’t you, Celina?”

“Yes, I did. He was the first man I ever met who didn’t try to put the make on me.”

So she said. “Errol had a hard time of it for some years, but he beat the bad stuff.”

“You bet he did. He dedicated his life to helping other people—helping children. They became his, and their joy was his. He was a saint.”

Jack didn’t say what he thought, that he considered that a bit rash. “I would be more than happy to hire someone to help you with the day-to-day runnin’ of things. Do you think you’d be comfortable takin’ over as liaison with the hospital and parents?”

She was silent for a moment, and he knew he didn’t imagine the chill that entered the room. “I’m comfortable taking over everything.”

This was something else he’d been afraid of. “I wouldn’t expect you to do that. It’s too much for one person. Too much for two. You need someone to deal with your administrative tasks. That’ll free you up to concentrate on what you do best. Charm the people.”

“I’m not just charming, Jack. I’ve got a mind. Errol made sure I could do his job if necessary.”

“You and Errol were very close.”

“So you keep reminding me, and we were. But not the way you think.”

“What way do 1 think?”

She colored again. Blushing suited her. “You think there was some romantic attachment between Errol and me. There wasn’t. You can choose to believe that or not—I can’t make you. But it’s true.”

He shouldn’t want to believe it quite as much as he did. “It isn’t my business.”

“But you keep alluding to it anyway. Look, I came here out of politeness. I know you have money in Dreams, but I also know you aren’t the kind of man who’s interested in a hands-on involvement. I’m ready to assume responsibility, but I do need some help, and I’ll hire it.”

“You do that,” he said, thinking fast. “You’ll be able to stay on in Royal Street, if that’s what you want to do.”

She faced him again. Up close she was translucent. Her mouth was the full-lipped, naturally slightly puckered type that made a man think thoughts he hadn’t planned on.

“The Royal Street house was Errol’s. He owned it.”

Jack owned it—he’d bought it when Errol showed signs of losing it, and Errol had been making payments to Jack for years.

“There shouldn’t be any hitch to keeping the headquarters where they are,” he told her.

“I never knew anything about his extended family,” Celina said. “He never mentioned them. But I expect they may want to sell the house.”

“It belongs to me,” he said without looking at her. “I have no plans to sell. Don’t you think it would be a good idea to keep things as status quo as possible? People have an odd way of reacting negatively if they think there’s anythin’ shaky going on.

“The house belongs to you?”

He should have expected her to be shocked. “Errol had some problems—financial type—some years back. Jason’s illness just about wiped him out. He sold to me and then started buying it back again. That house has been in his family since the late eighteen hundreds.”

“Jack.” She gave him her full, more than a little disconcerting attention. “I was no part of whatever happened to Errol. You believe that, don’t you?”

He said, “Yes,” more because it was what she needed to hear than because he absolutely believed it.

“When will we hear the results of the coroner’s findings?”

“When they’re ready to give them to us. You can be certain they’re as busy as little bees right now, flitting back and forth seeing what they can dig up on each of us, and on Errol.”

“I’m boring,” she said. “There’s nothing to dig up on me.”

The timing was wrong for him to tell her he found her anything but boring, but wished he didn’t. “Errol had a past,” he said. “I’m not talking out of school when I say that. You know some of it yourself. My so-called past isn’t my own, but it’s plenty interestin’, and if they decide to get into it all over again, we’ll see stuff no one wants to see again—least of all me.”

“When people are reminded of what made Errol want to start Dreams, they’ll forget the other.”

He wished he was as certain as she was. “Maybe.”

“Oh, I just know they will. People are good at heart, especially when it comes to helping children.”

There would never be an easy time to tell her what he’d decided—what he’d promised Errol several years back. “I’ll be taking an active part in Dreams, Celina. That was Errol’s wish.”

“An active part?”

“A certain amount of time in Royal Street. And...Celina, I’m going to be taking over Errol’s place. More or less. I’m hoping that if we get you more help you’ll agree to take some of the routine things off my plate. I’m not a man who enjoys public appearances, although I will make them when you consider them necessary.” And from the way she was looking at him, he doubted there would be many of those.

She sat down again, this time on the cane chair he’d vacated, and scrutinized the room from the old Aubusson carpet that had belonged to his grandmother on his mother’s side to the green-painted wooden ceiling fan that wobbled on its rod. He supposed you’d call the decor ancient and modern and the color scheme mud, but he liked it. Celina’s sleek presentation didn’t fit here, but then, neither did Celina.

“Are you goin’ to give me any thoughts on what I just told you?” he asked.

“When I can stop my brain from going in circles I’ll give it a shot.”

“Fair enough. Any estimates on how long that might take?”

“Look.” She fastened him with a hard stare. “This isn’t easy for either of us. You’ve just dropped a whole new concept on me. I’m used to being pretty much autonomous. I don’t want to... no, that would sound like some sort of ultimatum. I hate ultimatums. Do you honestly think we could work together?”

“I think we’re going to try.”

“Why?”

“Why are we going to try to work together? You already said—”

“No. Why are you going to do this at all? You’ve got your fingers in a lot of pies. And this isn’t exactly your kind of thing, is it?”

Jack began to wish he did keep some hard liquor around. “First of all, you don’t have any idea how many pies I’ve got my fingers in—as you put it. Secondly, how the…how do you know what is or isn’t my kind of thing?”

She had the grace to color. “Tell me how it’s going to work. You can’t blame me for wondering.”

“I don’t blame you. You’re going to do exactly what you’re already doing. Solicitin’ donations, layin’ on functions. Plus, you’re going to help me orchestrate the other end of things—with the recipients. By the way, I have no objection to continuing the arrangement you have with your parents.”

“Errol had the arrangements.” She looked at the floor again. “I’m not going to lie to you. He did it for me. But it does work very well, so, thank you.”

“Do you think we can work along the lines I’ve set out?”

“This is going to sound wild, but I don’t think it’s the business I’m most worried about.”

This ought to be good.

She played with the wineglass a little longer, then set it down. “I can’t imagine working with you, Jack. I’d be lying if I said anything else, but I owe it to Errol to keep what he started afloat, and I think you want that too. So we’ll work it out.”

“Good. There isn’t a security system in the house, is there?”

She blanched again. “No. Errol didn’t believe in things like that.”

“I’ll deal with it tomorrow. You might want to go to your parents’ place at night until it’s installed.”

“Going home to Mama isn’t something I do. I’ll stay where I am.”

“Suit yourself.” But he didn’t like the idea of her being alone over there. Antoine didn’t live on the premises. “The police are goin’ to be all over the place in the daytime.”

“I know. I don’t care.”

He knew when to quit. “Okay, but if you find you aren’t comfortable, don’t stay just to be hardheaded.”

That earned him a ladylike snort. “Doesn’t gambling draw some unpleasant types?” she said.

He laughed and sat on the edge of his desk. “Where did that come from?”

She crossed her legs and jiggled the free toe. “I don’t know. I’m so muddled up by what’s happened. I wish the police would get back to us. What do you suppose they meant by ‘what actually killed him’?”

“I think our trusty NOPD likes to dramatize itself. Beyond that, I don’t know. It makes perfect sense to me that Errol died of a heart attack. He wasn’t up to the kind of—”

“Don’t. I can’t imagine...I don’t want to think about it.”

“No.” But she had known that Errol had supposedly beaten addiction problems. “What did Errol do with his spare time? Any idea?”

“Not a lot except go to church.”

Jack almost dropped his wineglass. “What did you say?”

“Church. He was very devout. He went several evenings a week. And on weekends too. He didn’t say a whole lot because he realized I’m private about that sort of thing, but he’d occasionally say he hoped I was taking care of my spiritual life, things like that.”

If she’d told him Errol had taken up mud wrestling, Jack couldn’t have been more bewildered.

“He must have mentioned it to you,” she said.

Jack shook his head slowly. “Not a word. Where did he go? A church here in the Quarter?”

“I don’t think so. I didn’t ask and he never said. He was always gone a long time, though, I think. Or he was when I noticed.”

“Well, different strokes, as they say. If it brought him some peace, I’m glad. There were a lot of years when he didn’t have any.”

Celina smoothed her dress over her thighs.

At first Jack watched with detached interest, then he dropped the detached bit. She really had gorgeous legs, and they went on and on. He wondered if she deliberately let her simple little pump fall free of her heel when she pointed her jiggling toe. Somehow he doubted it. She was just naturally sexy.

She fiddled with a seam in her dress, glanced at him, fiddled some more.

“Is there anything else on your mind?” he asked, and wished she’d say something she wasn’t likely to say, such as how much she wished he could stay in Royal Street until the alarm system was in. What a dreamer he was.

Celina continued to pluck at the seam.

“You’re going to make a hole in that,” he said when he couldn’t stand the wait any longer.

“Did Errol make his payments to you in cash? For the house?”

Jack felt blank. “Payments? Oh, no. They were an automatic bank payment.”

“Probably from his personal account?”

“Of course.”

“I see.”

Jack crossed and recrossed his feet—and waited.

“I had to pay some bills today.” she said. “I went through Errol’s in basket and just picked out what was due.”

“You can sign checks?”

She shook her head. “I was going to pay them myself, then get the money back.”

“That won’t be necessary. I’ll pay them until I can get your name on an account. Okay?”

“Mmm. Yes, thank you.” She picked up her big purse and produced a business-sized book of checks. “I thought I ought to take a look at this—just to see where we are. Here.” She handed it to him. “It’s the business account.”

Jack stopped himself from saying that was obvious. He turned pages but didn’t see anything that struck him as unusual.

“Oh,” she said, delving into the bag again, “you need this. The last statement.”

He took it from her and scanned the several sheets of check numbers and amounts, then looked at the balances and said, “Wow”

“Uh-huh. What do you think it means?”

“It means a great deal of money has been coming in, but in the last three weeks, even more money went out. This is overdrawn.”

She got up and stood beside him, and leaned around him to look at the. checkbook. “See this? And this? And this? Those wouldn’t equal house payment amounts, would they?”

“No. I’ve already told you that money didn’t come out of this account.”

“They’re for cash.” She pointed to a deposit entered in the checkbook register. “I made all the deposits. This one never happened.”

“Maybe Errol thought it did.”

“I guess. But why? He never made deposits to this account himself, and I’m the one who balances the statement. I think he hoped to make it right before I saw it.”

Jack felt queasy. “I see your point.”

“I’ve tried everything I can think of, and there’s nothing that would have called for that kind of expense. And if there had been, it wouldn’t have been paid out in cash.”

Jack looked into her face, at her eyes, then at her mouth, then he returned his attention to the checkbook. “Would you know if this had ever happened before?”

“I would now. I’ve checked back through several years of canceled checks. Nothing bigger than a few hundred for petty cash.”

“In other words, Errol needed cash and didn’t have enough in his personal account.”

“I don’t see how he could have,” Celina said. “He took only bare living expenses out of the foundation. I had to beg him to buy socks or a new shirt. He didn’t care about those things.”

He used to care about those things—and a lot more. “Any ideas?” he asked her. “Hunches? Anything? We’re desperate here, aren’t we?”

“I can only think he hoped he could pay it back before he ever had to explain it to anyone. Although he didn’t actually deal with incoming funds or deposits, he was in charge of the money. He was the only one who could write checks—except you, of course, and you didn’t play an active part in this. Jack, you know Errol was an honest man.”

“Yes, I do know.”

The phone rang in the hall, and the slap of Tilly’s shoes brought a startled expression to Celina’s blue eyes.

“That’s Tilly,” Jack explained. “She looks after us—keeps us on the straight and narrow. There isn’t a phone in here.”

Tilly’s tightly curled gray hair and florid face appeared around the edge of the door. “This is not good for an impressionable child, Mr. Charbonnet. All this upheaval when she should be quiet.”

“Thank you, Tilly. I take it the call’s for me?”

“Who else would it be for? Certainly no one would call me in the middle of the night.”

“It isn’t the middle of the night.”

Jack excused himself to Celina and went to the phone, leaving his study door open. “This is Jack Charbonnet.”

Detective O’Leary identified himself and kept his remarks short, so short that Jack found himself staring at the receiver after the other man had hung up.

He remembered Celina in his study and walked slowly back.

She said, “What is it?” and made an involuntary move toward him.

Jack took hold of her outstretched hands and held them tightly. He closed his eyes but couldn’t shut out the picture of Errol on his bathroom floor.

Celina’s hands trembled. He pulled her into his arms, rested his chin on top of her head, and held her tightly. She held him right back.

“Tell me what they said,” she whispered.

“Somebody set it up,” he told her quietly. “The whole scene. Dead men don’t climb out of bathtubs. The autopsy showed Errol drowned.”