Part 12 (1/2)

For the next hour they discussed the names of the hospital committee members. Bailey said he had eliminated seven of the fifteen people, two women and two nuns, a priest, old Rudy Conroy, and Reggie Hersch. Barbara would have pointed out that the nuns were women, but Bailey had not stopped talking long enough.

”So, I have eight guys to follow up on,” he said. ”I have their public stuff in here.” He patted a folder he had put on the table. ”How deep do I go for the other stuff?”

”Hilde was fifty-three,” Frank said, scanning the list of names. ”I'd say start with those who are between fifty and sixty-five, see what surfaces.”

Bailey nodded. ”Okay. We lifted quite a few fingerprints from the Franz house, and someday we'll want to get some prints of anyone we begin to circle in on. But for now the question still is, how deep?”

”As deep as it takes,” Barbara said. ”We want him.”

Herbert was a magician, Barbara decided that night. Mystified, she had watched him carry the grill off the porch into the yard, but when billows of smoke rose later, she understood; Frank grumbled that a fire engine would arrive any second. Herbert had bought a whole red snapper, which he said would have to do. He smeared a thick spicy paste on it and set it aside while he grilled zucchini, after marinating it in olive oil and garlic; he stuffed little red peppers with cheese, wrapped each one with a strip of bacon, and grilled them. Peas in a b.u.t.tery tarragon mint sauce, grilled little new potatoes...

They ate on the back porch while the two cats prowled from the table to the grill. And Herbert talked about New Orleans.

”Six, eight feet below sea level, some places more than that. One day a levee will breach, then another, and so long, Big Easy. Most of those old houses are being held together by termite dung; they won't take much wave action.”

Frank's att.i.tude changed during the meal from nearly open hostility to at least neutral interest. ”You from New Orleans?” he asked.

”Nope. Texas. I just pa.s.sed by that way a few years back, got a job in a restaurant and hung out watching what they did for a few days, then started cooking. Not much to it if you pay attention and know what you like. My motto: Never cook anything you don't like to eat.” He patted his ample belly and grinned.

Barbara was too content to argue with him. It certainly was not that simple. She knew what she liked (nearly everything), had watched, read cookbooks, made every effort, and she could not do it. It was magic, nothing less.

Then, with coffee in place, the cats savaging what was left of the fish, they discussed the coming days.

”Bailey said he wanted someone for general security. He says the guy might try it at night, here probably. He thinks you're safe enough in the daytime with people around if you stay out of deadend alleys and abandoned warehouses. And while I'm here, I can paint the house. But you'll have to pay for the paint and hours I'm painting. Bailey's paying my going rate per day.” He grinned again, a big toothy smile. ”I don't mind cooking,” he said. ”On the road like I usually am, I don't do much real cooking.”

”We'll take turns,” Frank said. ”This was a d.a.m.n fine dinner, and I can't compete as far as quality goes. But I'll give it a shot.”

Barbara bit her cheek to keep a straight face. Alpha males fighting over who got to cook. ”If you'll excuse me now, I'll walk over to my place, check mail, check in with Sh.e.l.ley, like that. I'll ask her for a ride home if it gets dark.”

Then, walking, with cyclists whizzing by, children running, dogs on leashes pulling their slaves this way and that, couples with arms entwined, she thought of the twists and turns her case had taken. A bodyguard for her father! A newly discovered cousin. An old would-be date surfacing. A woman who died when she shouldn't have. A world-famous, yet anonymous, cartoonist. A client who would suicide rather than go to prison, whose privacy meant more to him than a possible murder trial. What it all added up to, she decided, was a mess.

The river was beautiful at this time of day, silver with a haze softening the banks, the trees on the other side, the occasional rock that made the water ripple and foam around it. The air was warm and still, fragrant down here; blackberries were still blooming, luminous in the shadows of the brambles. Two picture-book herons glided by, following the river.

Sometimes the victim really is to blame, she thought then. Gus Marchand should have home-schooled his children if he wanted to keep them insulated from the world. It had been cruel to send them out among the tempters and then deny them the opportunity to say yes or no, to grow with every decision, or dwindle. His children had not had the experience of choosing in order to make wise choices now; they had both become liars and cheats, sneaking behind their father's back to sample the forbidden fruits. Now he was dead, two women were dead, and someone who probably had never dreamed of such a thing had become a murderer.

A young couple had stopped on the side of the bike path and were locked in what appeared to be a to-the-death embrace. Two little boys stopped to watch, and a man, probably their father, was trying to herd them away soundlessly. Smiling, Barbara walked around them, and soon after that left the broad path for the narrow stone steps that led up to the Rose Garden.

The air in the garden was so heavy with perfume, it was almost overwhelming. Roses glowed on all sides, mammoth shrub roses, dainty tea roses, ramblers on trellises.... She walked through slowly; she could almost feel the perfume molecules settling in her hair, on her clothes. Many others were enjoying the display that evening, no one in a hurry. Then, across the street on the other side, her own apartment complex came into view, and Bill Spa.s.sero's convertible tore down the street, heading away from the complex. She waved, but he kept going, driving much too fast for a residential neighborhood.

As soon as she entered her second-floor apartment and turned on a light, her phone rang. Sh.e.l.ley was ready to report.

”I'm p.o.o.ped,” she said as she came in a minute later. ”I was afraid you'd come and gone again, that I'd missed you. I got the car, a Mazda, black, with tinted windows this short of being illegal.” She held her finger and thumb almost together. ”He loves it.”

Barbara laughed and motioned toward the sofa. ”Sit and take a breath. I saw Bill driving away. I suspected you hadn't been home long, and I just got here. Good timing all around.”

”Oh, Bill,” Sh.e.l.ley said with a frown. ”He just takes everything for granted. He called, he said, and left a message on my machine that he'd come by and maybe we could have an eightish dinner. But I never heard the message. He simply a.s.sumed that I'd salute, and off we'd go. He waited for me and then he got p.i.s.sed because I hadn't heard his message and already had dinner, and I told him I had to work.”

”I'm the bad guy again,” Barbara said. ”Okay. Now tell me about the car and Alex.”

”Right. I called him, and then I made some calls and found what we were looking for, and I went to the dealer and d.i.c.kered. They really didn't want to lease it and let me drive away just like that. But I said I had to leave my Porsche on the lot and would it be okay, and I showed them papers and stuff, and they got as sweet as pie. So I drove out to Will Thaxton's place and picked up Alex. I made him stay outside and try to see me at the wheel, and of course he couldn't, so he was pretty pleased.”

Breathlessly she described the rest of the day. Alex had driven to the coast and back; they had gone to West Brothers, where he had waited in the car while she went in for barbecued ribs, pesto-mashed potatoes, and salads, and then they had gone up the Mackenzie River and found a picnic spot.

”And then,” she finished, ”he drove me back to the dealer and I got my car and came home, and he headed back to Opal Creek. He's so funny, Barbara, and so smart! He's read everything and remembers it all. I kept feeling like a moron, but it was all right because he's so funny. And he doesn't know he's that smart.”

Watching her, listening to her, Barbara thought, Oh, G.o.d, what have I done?

17.

That week Barbara put in many hours at the law library, and by Friday she felt overstuffed with gourmet food and overloaded with facts. When she checked in at the office Friday afternoon, there was a message from Will Thaxton. ”Jazz and steaks on the patio around six?”

She walked out and across the street to use a pay phone to call him.

”I believe we need a conference with all the parties concerned,” Will said.

”Right,” she said. ''I'll shop for food. Can you give me a ride? I'll explain when I see you.”

He said that would be fine. She gave him Frank's address.

Sh.e.l.ley met her when she returned. ”Today I got a DUI, and he's guilty. I explained his options, and he's not happy. I don't care if they throw the book at him.” She slumped down on the sofa.

”They probably will.” Barbara looked at her watch. ”G.o.d, after four already! Bailey's due any minute at the house. And I have to dinner shop.”

”You? I thought they were feeding you royal jelly day after day.”

”I'm going out to Will's place. Conference, and I don't know what about. Alex will be through with his computer stuff around six. We'll eat and talk.”

”Can I come?” Sh.e.l.ley asked, straightening up. ”I'll get the dinner makings.”

”There will be five of us if you come,” Barbara said hesitantly. Then she thought, Sh.e.l.ley was her colleague, Alex her client, and they would have to see each other often, one way or another. Besides, it was none of her business.

”That's okay,” Sh.e.l.ley said. ”I'll take care of dinner. Don't worry about it.”

Barbara shrugged. ”Deal.” She knew she would not be able to bear it if it turned out that Sh.e.l.ley could cook.

Herbert was on a ladder at the side of the house when she drove up. He waved and called howdy; she waved back and went inside. Frank and Bailey were at the dinette table talking about the people on the committee list.

”Anything?” she asked, taking a chair.

Bailey shook his head. ”Eliminating them one by one.”

”While you're here, Bailey, let's get one thing straight,” Barbara said then. ”I have a date tonight with Will Thaxton. He's coming to pick me up around six, and I don't want a chaperone all evening.” She looked at Frank. ”Call off the dogs, Dad.”

He shrugged, an innocent expression on his face, but then he grinned. ”Okay. He's picking you up here, bringing you home again?”

”That's how dates work,” she said.