Part 3 (2/2)

Maggie lifted her hands, still smiling. ”Fine. He gets no excuses. You've made your point. Still ...”

”Still what?”

”Two people decapitated in a week.”

”You think it's the same murderer? One of the victims was a man, one was a woman.

One was ripped to shreds and one merely lost his head.”

Maggie hesitated. ”Decapitation is not all that common,” she said quietly. ”And it's scary. New Orleans is going to be going insane. Tourists will start staying away if the police can't make an arrest quickly.”

”Tourists are filling the shop downstairs right now despite the police. Or maybe because of them,” Angie said with a crisp, businesslike warning. ”If Allie and Gema need help, they'll phone up,” Maggie a.s.sured her, leaving the window behind and returning to her desk, sinking somewhat wearily into the swivel chair behind it.

Allie and Gema were the saleswomen who manned the downstairs boutique section of Magdalena's. The business had been in Maggie's family for years. Since before the Civil War, Montgomery women had been designing fine fas.h.i.+on wear. It had been elegant ball gowns at first, and a great deal of the one-of-a-kind garments Maggie designed remained evening wear. But over the last few years, she had found herself working on resort wear and lingerie as well, going along with the times, she a.s.sumed. But along with her unique made-to-order designs, she kept a boutique where those without the pocketbooks for one- of-a-kind wear could also find unusual, special pieces. Along with Gema and Allie, she had a staff of twenty seamstresses, two supervisors with two a.s.sistants each, a receptionist and an accountant to deal with the goings-on of the business. She created the designs- lingerie, day wear, even jewelry- and she and Allie usually created the displays that showed through the windows in the downstairs store. Offices were on the second floor, production was on the third. The building was over one hundred and fifty years old, charming in its architecture, modernized just enough to make it comfortable and convenient, but retaining its character.

Cissy Spillane, the receptionist, a tall quadroon girl with a slim figure and stunning face, tapped lightly on Maggie's open door. ”Maggie, there are two cops in the reception area. They want to speak with you.”

”Me?” Maggie said, startled.

Cissy shrugged. ”They asked me a few questions as well, and they want to talk with Angie. But they seem mostly interested in you.”

”Why?”

”Because you own the building,” Cissy said. ”At least that's the way it appears to me.”

Maggie glanced at her watch, disturbed that she felt such uneasiness. ”I have an appointment at ten-” she murmured.

”It's Mrs. Rochfort. I'll hold the old battle-axe at bay!” Angie promised.

There was no way she could refuse to see cops. They'd just come back with deep suspicions and search warrants if she did so.

”Fine. Show them in, please, Cissy,” Maggie told her.

Angie slipped out the door to Maggie's office behind Cissy. Less than thirty seconds later, Cissy stepped back in, followed by two men. Neither was in uniform.

Maggie rose from her swivel chair and came around her large oak desk, swiftly inspecting the two. They were an impressive pair. The younger man was a tall, well-built redhead with a quick smile and warm brown eyes that seemed to deepen as he watched her approach. He was handsome, in the prime of life, Maggie thought, and wondered if his wife or girlfriend feared for him at his job.

The second man appeared to be more of a veteran, definitely older, yet incredibly attractive. For some strange reason, he caused a little flutter to stir within her heart. He'd been around, she thought, studying the sharp, intriguing blue eyes that studied her so openly in return. He was a tall man, at least six two, quite broad-shouldered, with very dark hair just beginning to acquire a few silver streaks at the temples. His brows were very dark, handsomely arched. His skin was bronzed from exposure to the sun and there were fine lines about his mouth and eyes. They added character to a face that was arresting, more rugged than handsome, but cleanly, strongly sculpted. There was a fluidity in his movements, something about his eyes, and even the curve of his mouth that was elementally sensual. There was a power about him, a strength of will, that was completely compelling.

”Miss Montgomery?” he asked. He had a deep voice. It was resonant. She felt another little quiver deep inside her.

”Yes, how can I help you?”

”I'm Jack Delaney, Miss Montgomery,” the younger man began, quickly offering her a handshake. ”This is my partner, Sean Canady. We've-”

”Canady?” she repeated, her eyes falling back upon the older man. Sean.

He nodded, watching her in turn. He smiled. It was a nice smile, rueful, slashed across his bronzed face. It added charm and an even greater sensuality to his ruggedly hewn features. ”Old-time name, I know. So is yours.”

She nodded as well, and asked him, ”Isn't there a statue of one of your ancestors on a corner not far from here?”

”A great-great-grandfather, I believe. Another Sean. He formed a cavalry company for Dixie and led many a gallant charge against the Yanks, so says the plaque beneath the statue.”

”Ah, yes! I remember the stories about him. He could travel like lightning, so they say.”

Canady smiled. ”And I admit, I'm entranced to meet you. Magdalena's was here when Sean was defending his city.”

Maggie nodded. ”We've changed throughout the years, but yes, it all began back then.”

”We're sorry to bother you,” Jack said, ”but unfortunately, we've a few questions we must ask you.”

”Fine,” Maggie told them. ”Will you have a seat? Can I get you some coffee?”

”No-” Sean began.

”Yes-” Jack said. He looked at Sean. Maggie decided it was evident, though they hadn't introduced themselves with any rank, that Sean was the senior man here.

But Sean seemed completely at ease with his authority and needed to prove nothing. He grinned at Jack. ”Sure. Coffee would be nice.”

Maggie went back behind her desk and pressed the intercom, asking Cissy to bring coffee for the gentlemen. She sat then, sweeping a hand out to the richly upholstered Victorian armchairs that faced her handsomely carved desk. The men took the chairs, Sean in front of her to the left, Jack in front of her to her right.

”This is a business call, gentlemen?” she asked. She tried to look at them both. She found herself staring in Sean Canady's eyes.

He nodded grimly, watching her. She had a feeling in the few minutes they'd been together that he had done a total a.s.sessment of her-the way she looked, the way she moved, the way she spoke, the things she said. He would notice details. All the little details.

”You're aware there was another murder?” Jack said.

She managed to draw her gaze from Sean and look at Jack Delaney. ”Another murder?

Not to insult the efforts of the force, gentlemen, but I'm afraid there are many murders each year in New Orleans.”

”Unfortunately, that's true,” Sean said. He glanced at his partner, perhaps just a little irritated. ”Let's rephrase the question. You're aware that a body was found on the street just about two blocks from here?”

She nodded. ”A young man. A pimp-at least that's the word in the cafe next door.”

There was a tapping, and Cissy stuck her head in. ”Coffee. May I bring it in?”

Maggie nodded. ”Thank you, Cissy, the desk will be fine.”

Cissy set the tray on the table, swiftly showing the officers the sugar, cream, and artificial sweetener. Jack added cream. Sean took his black. Somehow, she knew that he would. He had the look of a dedicated man. One who would run out of his house (apartment?) with a m.u.f.fin in one hand and mug of coffee-black-in the other. He wouldn't waste time eating when time was crucial, and though he'd need the caffeine often enough to keep going, he wouldn't spend the time to use cream or sugar. Jack might be like that one day-he just hadn't been around the block as many times as Sean.

She realized that Canady was returning her stare. She wondered if he was imagining her lifestyle, just as she was imagining his. Those dark-blue eyes of his were studying her.

They were unsettling. She wondered with a shade of unease just what he saw. And strangely enough, she felt that little surge of a flutter within her breast again. He was the kind of man who could do that to a woman. She wondered if he was aware of his appeal. He was an attractive man. Hardened, no-nonsense, all grown up. And it was annoying to realize just how deeply she was attracted to him. Almost painfully so.

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