A Cold Day in Hell (19 page)

“G
racie!” Emma shouted. “Get out of that tree. You’ll kill yourself.”

Matt walked toward the woman hanging strands of bells from branches high up in a sycamore tree, bracing himself to break her fall if necessary. That wouldn’t be an altogether unpleasant experience—as long as she didn’t kill him on her way down.

“Tell Gracie to get out of there,” Emma told him. “She climbs trees like a boy.”

“I do not,” Gracie said. “I climb like a woman who can climb trees. Don’t you go setting your own kind back that way, Emma Duhon.”

Emma spread her hands to Matt. “She’s fearless. The bells don’t need to go so high.”

“That bark’s gotta be like glass. Gracie,” Matt said, eyeing the late-morning drizzle, “slipping would be easy.”

“Go find someone who needs your help,” was all the thanks he got.

Tonight the fair started. The preview and Santa party as they called it. The original plan had called for a morning opening tomorrow, but Emma decided it would be prettier and more lucrative with an early evening kickoff. Fortunately the fire chief had okayed the barbecue, the boiler—and the brazier that promised to be roaring tonight. The fragrant scent of frying crabs, crawdads and shrimp would make every mouth water.

Buzz, who owned Buzzard’s Wet Bar just up the street, had actually applied for a license to sell beer. Matt was impressed. Buzz hadn’t been so careful on previous occasions. The Boardroom had a lock on frozen daiquiris in plastic cups. Couldn’t call a celebration a celebration till the gutters were clogged with those red and green cups.

Matt was expected to make this walk-through during the final preparations and show an interest, but his mind and heart weren’t into checking out safety compliance on Main Street, or dealing with Lobelia Forestier.

Lobelia had popped up front and center. “Did you think about what I told you to do?” she said. He hadn’t noticed before how the broad tip of her nose separated into two distinct bumps.

“What was that?” he said.

“Setting up that stuff for terrorists.”

He tried to concentrate on her. “Stuff for terrorists? Are we expectin’ a whole lot of those, Miz Forestier?”

She huffed. “We shouldn’t be finding bodies in the landfill or havin’ our citizens attacked on the way to their cars, but it all happens right here in Pointe Judah just the same as it does in New York. When that big old glass ball comes down—” she paused, frowning “—or goes up. One or the other. The one in Times Square on New Year’s. They put up barricades, they search bags, and they don’t allow any backpacks. All we need are checkpoints either end of the block. Your officers can check everyone comin’ in.”

Hammering sounded all around as stalls went up. The hundreds of bells Gracie Loder had already hung tinkled with every breeze. Hoover, the large, bearlike Bouvier belonging to Aurelie Board, a lawyer in town, snuffled back and forth, gathering mouthfuls of whatever got dropped on the street. Suky-Jo was in charge of setting up a stall for Poke Around and must have wound up each music box and snow globe as she unpacked them. “Jingle Bells” fought with the “Hallelujah Chorus” and a lot of other tunes that just made noise.

“Did you hear me, Matt Boudreaux?” Lobelia said.
“Terrorists.”

Lobelia was a terrorist, but Matt didn’t want to tell her so, not right now. “Relax,” he said. “This is a little holiday street fair in Pointe Judah, not Times Square on New Year’s Eve. But we’ll be on our toes, don’t you worry.”

She wasn’t moving. “We know about the man in the landfill, y’know.”

“So you already said.” Rusty, who owned the town newspaper, hadn’t even had a chance to put out the weekly issue, but Lobelia and her cronies could rival a champion team of homing pigeons for spreading news.

“We’ve got big trouble,” Lobelia persisted. “We can’t be too careful.”

“And we will be careful,” Matt said patiently, poised to act as Gracie’s foot found the top rung of her ladder. She ran to the ground and moved to the next tree. Gracie had a nice body, he thought, but she wasn’t his type.

Eileen was his type, but he’d managed to blow that.

Sarah and Delia Board huddled with the musicians who played at the Boardroom, most of whom looked as if they had hangovers. Matt wandered that way. In truth, these guys never slept much, so their eyelids were always at half-mast.

The Bouvier passed Matt and plodded over to sit at Sarah’s feet.

“Matt.” Delia waved. “Tell me we won’t blow anything out here when we plug in the amplifiers.” She gestured dramatically and her orange silk dress, which almost matched her hair, flipped around her calves.

“You won’t blow anything,” Matt said.

With Sarah in tow, Delia separated from the men and took Matt by the arm. She guided him to stand in front of Sadie and Sam’s. “What’s going on?” she asked him in a low, theatrical voice. “Lobelia’s twittering all over the place. Of course we all know about that poor man who got fried at Ona’s.” She shuddered. “Dreadful. But
who
was he?”

“Someone who worked for Duhon’s. We don’t know much more than that yet. If you put the amplifiers out here now, what will you use at the club tonight?” He didn’t care but wanted to change the subject.

“They won’t be out here if the band’s not out here,” Delia pointed out.

Matt realized Sarah was smirking at him, and that she knew he was just trying to make conversation. He saluted her, scratched Hoover’s head and turned around to look down the disaster that was Main Street. Vehicles picked their way cautiously between the stalls.

Angel DeAngelo’s silver GMC truck wasn’t a welcome site. He was the only person around to own one of the crewcab monsters, which he usually left behind in favor of the motorcycle.

With the truck parked at the curb, Angel got out and did a visual of the area. He quit searching as soon as he sighted Matt, who had figured the other man could be looking for him.

Matt separated from Delia and Sarah and walked slowly toward Angel. The man had one of those loose strides that covered a lot of ground fast. Did he, Matt wondered, know everyone looked at him when he passed? Coming right down the middle of the street, the gap narrowing between them, Matt recalled scenes of shootouts in western towns. All they needed was spurs.

Now, he wasn’t a fanciful man. The pressure around here must be getting to him.

“Chief, hold up!”

He paused to let Sabine Webb catch up with him. “Hey, Sabine.”

“Hey. I need your help.”

“You’ve got it.”

She grimaced. “With Lobelia.”

“Maybe you don’t have my help,” he said.

“I’m going to tell fortunes tonight and she’s having a fit. She says fortunes don’t have a thing to do with Christmas. But people like it and it’s fun, so where’s the harm? Lobelia isn’t complaining because someone’s coming over from Toussaint to read dogs’ minds, but she’s giving me a bad time about fortunes.”

Matt rotated his shoulders. “I’m thinking Delia might—”

“She said you’d tell Lobelia to butt out.”

He thought fast. “Emma’s in charge. She’ll fix it.”

Angel arrived and grinned at Sabine. “Good morning, gorgeous.”

She was gorgeous but she still blushed, turning her dark face even darker and making it glow. “Have you seen Emma yet?” she said, giving him a great big smile back.

He said he hadn’t and Sabine took in the situation fast. The two men weren’t going to be an answer to her problem right now.

“I’ve seen her,” Matt said. “She’s riding herd on Gracie. Over there. Gracie’s up that tree.”

Sabine looked doubtful but went in that direction.

“I think you should question Chuck Moggeridge,” Angel said as soon as they were alone.

“Why would I do that?”

“He’s saying some weird stuff.”

“Yeah?” Matt said. “He should fit in real well around here.”

“I don’t like the way he keeps bothering Eileen,” Angel said. “He needs to get lost.”

“So he’s saying the weird stuff to Eileen? I can’t arrest someone just because you don’t want him hanging around your girlfriend.” He wasn’t proud of the way that sounded.

Angel gave him one of his emotionless stares. “Chuck went with Leland when he identified Bucky.”

“So I heard.” Matt kicked at a stone and squinted heavenward. “If it rains on this lot it’s gonna be one miserable evenin’.”

“Santa will just have to wear rain gear,” Angel said, smiling a little. He sobered. “We could get a tent from Delia. She’s got them at Place Lafource. Uses them if she gives a big party. If we put one up down here, the kids could visit Santa in there.”

“That’d make it real easy on traffic,” Matt said.

“It’s going to have to be diverted anyway,” Angel pointed out.

“Yeah. I’ll talk to Delia.” Matt scrubbed at his face. “I’m short of personnel. Have been for more than a year. We’re spread too thin. What I need is a real qualified backup who can keep the place going if I’m off. Seven days a week gets old. Of course, with the right man, we could be more-or-less a team. The money could be better, but I’m hoping that’ll happen before long.”

Angel made a sympathetic noise. It wasn’t the first time Matt had made pretty pointed overtures for Angel to show interest in working as a small-town cop. Hell, there were days when Angel almost felt like taking him up on the offer, only chances were he’d be moving on one day. He’d never stayed in one place too long.

But he’d never before cared for a woman the way he cared for Eileen, either.

“Who would tell Chuck they thought Emma was supposed to be the one murdered and put in the Dumpster that night?” Angel asked. “Last night he was flapping his mouth about it.”

Matt hooked his thumbs into his gun belt. “That’s a pretty wild conclusion. Did he come up with it all on his own?”

“Partly, I think. He blamed Emma for causing the rift between him and Eileen. Something to do with a women’s club.”

“Secrets,” Matt said promptly. “Some of the women in town got together to gossip and share recipes or somethin’. Things happened. It wasn’t the club that was the problem though, not really. A personal agenda got in the way.”

“Sounds as if Chuck’s mad at Emma because she introduced Eileen to Secrets.”

“He’s lookin’ for something or someone to blame,” Matt said. “The guy’s an ass who can’t keep his zipper shut.”

“Look,” Angel said. “I’m wondering if Chuck was mad enough at Emma to try to frighten her.”

“Could be, if he’s spent the last couple of years working up a rage over her. But I don’t really think so. He’s back here trying to get back into Eileen’s pants is all.”

Angel gave Matt a hard look. “I wish you hadn’t said that.”

“I call it like I see it,” Matt said. “You know how to keep your mouth shut, don’t you?”

Muscles jerked in Angel’s cheeks. “Yes, I do.”

“Does yellow paper under Bucky Smith’s fingernails give you any ideas?” Matt said. “Yellow paper and a wiry, gray hair.”

Angel frowned at him.

“Start with the yellow paper,” Matt said. “I’m not playing party games. I’ve got my ideas, but backup always helps. I’m waiting for reports, but something’s obvious to me.”

Automatically, Angel looked around to be sure they weren’t overheard. “Could have been from the papers Emma lost?”

“Reckon so.”

“So unless Bucky had a reason to pick on Emma…He wasn’t around Pointe Judah when the little Secrets club was operating, was he?”

“Nope.” Matt shook his head slowly from side to side. “He’s only been here a few months. Came for the work.”

“Poor bastard,” Angel said. “Wrong place, wrong time, then.”

“Yeah,” Matt agreed. “But what was he doing in Ona’s kitchen?”

“Beats me. What would you bet he got in a tussle with someone who didn’t want to be seen or remembered there? Like whoever
did
go after Emma?

“Her purse ended up back in the restaurant—and her notebook. All the women agreed she took them with her when she left. What if the guy who attacked her grabbed her stuff and ran in through the side door of the kitchen to put it back and make it look like Emma’s losing it? Delia and the clan were in the parking lot by that time. He must have watched and known the restaurant was empty. So in he goes and Bucky sees him and gets the paper under his nails when they struggle. Then, dead Bucky.”

“Real helpful,” Matt said. “Too bad dead men don’t talk.”

Angel laughed. “It’d wipe murder off the map if they did. Put you out of work.”

“Nah,” Matt said, grinning. “They’d still need me to watch for terrorists at the Christmas fair each year.”

Angel scratched his forehead, but didn’t ask for an explanation. “If anyone’s going to find out if Chuck’s more than just a nuisance around here, it’s going to have to be you. Glad to help, but I can’t be up front about it.”

“No.” Matt looked thoughtful and Angel braced himself for another job offer. “Does Finn keep you busy?”

Angel almost laughed. “He sure does. Sometimes I feel like a Little League coach sorting out a bunch of kids, but I’m okay with the job. I figure you already know this, but we didn’t have any major trouble in town before Chuck showed up—not recently anyway.”