A Cold Day in Hell (3 page)

She felt her face heat up. “Yes, I have.”

“I didn’t know you owned one.”

“You’re the one who’s always saying that even people in quiet places like Pointe Judah should take precautions.”

His fingers tightened on her arms. “Do you carry all the time?”

This was the problem when you hung around with a man who had interrogated people for a living. “No.”

“You keep a gun in the shop?”

She tried to wrench away but he didn’t let her go. “Yes. Are we done now?”

“And tonight you decided you needed to be armed when you went out to do this business in your van you talk about?”

Eileen looked him in the eye. She felt the prickle of tears and blinked several times. “This conversation is over.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Leave it, okay? Just leave it.” Chuck had driven away. What if he’d come back and was skulking around outside, hoping she’d leave on her own?

“I’m sorry I’m so snappy,” she said.

“Me, too.” He looked at her mouth. “Do you want me to leave?”

She shook her head. He was sending her messages he’d kept under wraps before. Or perhaps she subconsciously wanted that to be true.

“You sure you don’t want to tell me what’s on your mind?” he said.

She wasn’t sure, but she’d wait anyway.

“Eileen, would this be a bad time to talk about us, too?”

He’d done a great job of behaving like Aaron’s strong, benevolent uncle and her friend. And he’d done the things a woman wished for when she wanted to know a man.

He dropped his hands.

“No it’s not a bad time,” she told him, lying. She laughed a little. “We are so grown-up about things. I’m proud of us. We should get a prize for being reasonable.” And if she concentrated on something else, she wouldn’t keep trying to figure out what Chuck might or might not plan to do.

“As soon as we’re sure the boys are at your place, why don’t we go to the Boardroom for a drink?” Angel said. “And something to eat. The music’s good. We might even dance.”

“Dance? You told me you can’t dance.” Going to a club didn’t appeal to her much, but she said, “Yes. Looks like Delia and Sarah Board have a success on their hands with that place.” He was asking her out on a date. They’d had meals together before, in places like Ona’s, but there had never been any planned dates.

Located in the middle of Pointe Judah, the Boardroom had been open just a few months. It revved up when the town revved down and there was nothing else like it around.

Delia owned a cosmetics firm with offices and labs around the country but liked living in Pointe Judah. Her daughter, Sarah, was a chemist at the local lab and the club had been her idea.

Eileen hitched her bag over her shoulder and turned out the lights in the stockroom. “I’ve got extra help coming in tomorrow and I need it. It’s easy enough to get part-time people but I need someone full-time.”

“You’re working too hard,” Angel said. “Why don’t you put the gun in your purse if you’re going to keep on carrying the thing? It could fall out of your pocket.”

She did as he suggested without comment.

“Give me a couple more minutes,” Angel said. “If you don’t want to say anything, at least listen.”

In the darkness, piles of boxes loomed all around and unpacked merchandise was piled high on tables. Much of the stuff on the tables sparkled, even in the gloom. Eileen glanced at the high windows but all she saw was rain speckles heavy enough to make the glass look pebbled in the glow of the icicle lights at the roofline.

“Eileen?”

“Okay. Sorry I got distracted.”

“Something’s wrong—something you’re not telling me.”

When he nailed her like this she felt trapped. “And I told you I’ll talk about it when I can.”

“What’s changed?” he said, ever persistent. “If there’s something to be worried about I need to know what it is or I can’t help.”

“There’s nothing to worry about.” Yet. And there probably wouldn’t be. “Angel, has Sonny done jail time?”

A silence followed and went on so long she wished she’d kept her mouth shut.

“No, he hasn’t,” Angel said, opening the door again. “What made you think he had?”

“Oh, forget I said anything. He’s a lot more mature than Aaron and sometimes I worry there could be things Aaron doesn’t need to know yet, that’s all.”

Angel propped himself in the doorway. Behind him, colored lights blinked on and off on display trees. “How did you make the leap from Sonny being mature to his having done jail time?” Angel asked.

She felt ashamed, and judgmental. “He was sent to you for some reason. You told me he needed extra discipline.”

“I said he needed a man’s hand, a man’s guidance. He doesn’t have a father.”

Like Aaron didn’t have a father. Or hadn’t. And Eileen wanted Chuck out of town again. Now.

“Look,” Angel said. “I don’t want to say this but I’ve got to. You give me the impression you think Sonny’s no good for Aaron. You’ve pegged Sonny as a bad boy.”

“No!” Was she that transparent? “Aaron got in his own trouble. He’s not perfect.” She hadn’t told him how silently belligerent Sonny often was with her.

“But Aaron was just acting out and he did it quietly. You told me that and I believe you. He got muddled up after his father left. Finn told me all about it. He tried to fill in but Aaron got the idea it was his fault his dad ducked out.”

Finn Duhon was Eileen’s brother. His wife, Emma, used to own Poke Around but sold it to Eileen when she came into money from the sale of the Duhon family home. Finn had insisted she take all the proceeds because he didn’t need them. That money had changed Eileen’s life.

“Say something,” Angel said.

She thought she saw movement outside the front windows of the shop. Her heart missed a beat, then another, then pounded rapidly. She was getting too jumpy. “Leave it, I said,” she told him, hearing her voice rise. “I can’t do this now. You’re pulling me apart like you’re suspicious of everything I say. Let me be.”

“Eileen, please—”

“No. I’d better go home on my own. I’m not good company.”

“I’m coming with you.” He reached for her but she tried to evade him. Angel caught her as she backed into a file cabinet. “Hold it,” he said quietly.

She began to shake and she had to stop it. Some things had to be dealt with on her own. “I’m fine,” she told him. “I’m just overworked.”

“You’re not fine,” he said. He pulled her against him. For an instant she resisted, but then she softened and leaned into him. “You’re making too many excuses and you’re trembling. If I’m not scaring you to death, something else is. Now tell me because I won’t quit asking until you do.”

She wanted to close her eyes, breathe him in, hold on tight. How many times had she dreamed about this moment? Now she couldn’t relax and enjoy it.

The phone in his pocket rang and he switched it off.

“That could be Sonny,” she said.

“We’re going back to your place now. I’ll deal with him when I get there. Hold my hand. You’re important to me. Let me be here for you.” He held her hand and led her into the shop.

Nobody had ever told her such things, and he said them without pushing for anything more intimate.

Hammering on the front door made her jump so hard her teeth ground together.

“It’s okay,” Angel said, but he shoved her behind him and opened the door. “Hell, will you look at this!”

Sonny just about fell inside. Drenched, covered with mud and, unmistakably, smeared with blood, he staggered and Angel stopped him from tripping.

“What’s the matter?” Angel said.

Eileen rushed to him. “Where’s Aaron?”

“I gotta get back,” Sonny said, dragging in breaths, not looking at Eileen. “You gotta come with me, Angel.” He looked into Angel’s face, a hard stare as if he was sending a silent message.

“Where’s Aaron?” Eileen felt herself losing it. “Sonny—”

“Hush,” Angel said, but his face wasn’t expressionless now.

“It’s all my fault,” Sonny said. “I shouldn’t have been…I went where I shouldn’t have and talked to the wrong people. They kind of dared me. I got Aaron and me into trouble. It’s bad.” His big, dark eyes stretched wide and she could feel his fear. “Angel, do you think someone—”

“Let’s go,” Angel said.

“Tell me where Aaron is,” Eileen begged.

“Oh, God,” Sonny moaned, hanging his head. “He’s in the swamp. North of town. I know how to get back. Chuzah made sure. I hope he made sure. He sent me in his, er, car.”

“Stop it,” Angel said. “Calm down, both of you. Chuzah is?”

Sonny looked as if he could cry. “Um, a doctor.”

“Oh, thank God,” Eileen said.

“In the swamp?” Angel said. “This doctor just happened by, huh?”

“He lives there.”

“Aaron hurt himself?” Eileen said.

“No, someone else…” Sonny swallowed. “He got hurt.”

“But there’s a doctor there? A general practitioner?”

Angel pushed them both through the door and locked it behind him. “Eileen, we’ll have to take your van. My truck’s at home.”

“I’ve got to drive Chuzah’s vehicle back,” Sonny said. “I’m afraid he’d do something awful to me if I didn’t get his car back. I know the way. Follow me.”

Angel grabbed Sonny’s arm and spun him around. “What do you mean, something awful?”

“Oh,” Sonny said. “He’s a root doctor.”

Eileen felt faint. She held Angel’s sleeve. “We need a real doctor. I’ll get on to Mitch Halpern. And let’s call Matt—”

“No,” Sonny said. “Chuzah knows about other medical stuff. If we show up with some new guy he doesn’t expect, he won’t let us find him.”

“You said you knew the way,” Angel said.

Sonny scrubbed at his oiled scalp. “Do what I’m tellin’ you. Please. I know how to get to where there’ll be someone waiting to guide us in.”

To the right, at the curb, was a dark green vintage Morgan sports car. Again, all Eileen could do was stare.

“This root doctor threatened you,” Angel said.

“Well…he was nice about it.”

“I’m calling Matt now,” Eileen said. “Some voodoo practitioner has kidnapped my son.”

“Anything could happen if you call the law,” Sonny said, with his familiar hard stare. The streetwise kid from Brooklyn was back. “I know Aaron’s okay with Chuzah. He helped us.”

“That isn’t his Morgan, is it?” Angel said.

“Uh-huh. He’s really weird.”

“And you left Aaron alone with him?” Eileen said.

Sonny broke away and hurried toward the driver’s door on the Morgan. “He saved Aaron’s life,” he said and climbed in, then slammed and locked the door.

“I’
m worried about complaints,” Emma Duhon said. “The merchants like the pedestrian traffic that comes to the fair, but they don’t like competing with the stall owners for business.”

She looked around the circle of women gathered at Ona’s Out Back—Ona referred to it as a tea shop—to discuss the finer details of the Pointe Judah Christmas fair. The event was only days away and lasted over a weekend. They sat in a motley collection of armchairs pulled up to a big low table intended for magazines. The magazines were stacked on the floor to make way for coffee, wine and empty dishes formerly piled high with fried shrimp.

Emma doodled on a looseleaf notebook. “It’s really late to be haggling over this. Why not suggest the shopkeepers have tables at the fair, too?” She’d been in a good mood when she agreed to help with the fair, but wished she’d thought it over for much longer before saying she would. How she got to be in charge, she couldn’t remember.

“They’d have to pay rent for their tables, just like all the others,” Lobelia Forestier said. She had been president of the Pointe Judah Chamber of Commerce for five years. “They should want to do their share for a good cause.”

The truth was that nobody else would take over Lobelia’s unpaid job which, apart from guaranteeing prime gossip rights, had no function other than to sit in on other people’s meetings.

Delia Board, Sabine Webb and Gracie Loder made up the rest of the committee. Delia was Pointe Judah’s most celebrated inhabitant and ran a world-famous cosmetics firm. Sabine, Delia’s housekeeper, also moonlighted at the Board-room, and Gracie worked at Buzzard’s Wet Bar during the day and the Boardroom at night.

“How do we insult these shopkeepers without insulting them?” Delia said, running her fingers through her hair and drawing a laugh. She crossed her elegant gray boots at the ankle. “No fair, no extra traffic. End of problem. The fair benefits everyone.”

Emma clamped her hands behind her neck and grinned at Delia. “Sometimes I think a really small town is more difficult to run than a major company. You would know, Delia.”

“You’re right, but we have to suffer for all the village charm we get around here.”

Lobelia grunted and Emma shared a private smile with Delia and Sabine.

“You got a lot done tonight,” Gracie said. “Sorry I was late but I’d better get on to Sarah’s place. There’s not much more to do except for deciding about the shopkeepers. And we’ve got to make sure everyone turns up to finish the decorations. We want this to knock everyone’s eyes out. More flash, that’s what we need, so folks will come from all over to see it.”

“And buy,” Lobelia said.

“That, too,” Gracie said. She shook out her damp jacket and swung it around her shoulders. “’Night, all.”

Lobelia shook her head. She coated her entire face with loose powder, including her eyebrows, and flecks clung to strands of dyed brown hair. “Barhopping the way you do isn’t good for your reputation, Gracie,” she said. “You go on. We’ll finish up without you.”

“Barhoppin’?” Sabine said and laughed. The red and green beads in her many braids clicked together. “Gracie works at Buzzard’s, then she works at the Boardroom. She’s busy makin’ her way is all. You never had to rush around trying to keep your head above water. Gracie’s either going to work or coming from work, so give her a break.” Her deep bronze skin shone, especially where a dusting of gold sparkles curved over her high cheekbones.

Lobelia gathered herself up and pursed her lips.

“I’m already parked at Sarah’s. I’ll take a shortcut through Ona’s kitchen and walk over.” On her feet, Gracie made for the kitchen that separated Out Back from Out Front, Ona’s licensed diner that faced the street. Rounded in the nicest way, with short black hair and large, smiling brown eyes, Gracie pretended to stagger into the kitchen.

Everyone but Lobelia laughed. “That girl’s trouble,” she said. “She knows Ona doesn’t like people in her kitchen.”

Emma was tired. In her seventh month of pregnancy, she ran out of steam much more easily than she was used to. “Can I leave you three to talk about the best way to make everyone happy?” she said. “If we’re going to charge the business owners, it shouldn’t be as much as the stall people just in for the fair.”

“I’ll give you a call tomorrow,” Delia Board said. Her red hair expertly cut to sweep up, and her makeup flawless, Delia managed perfect posture even in a sagging armchair. “You’re doing too much, Emma.”

That wasn’t true, but Emma enjoyed the concern. She had parked in the lot behind the building and set off, glad she’d remembered to bring an umbrella.

Finn would be waiting for her and fussing that she was late. Whenever she went out these days she was automatically late. She smiled, concentrating on her white leather sneakers as she walked the gradual incline toward her car. Out Front was busy tonight and an overflow of vehicles from the diner filled many of the slots on this side of the lot, too.

The baby did a slow somersault and Emma stood still, a hand on her belly. This was the longed-for child she and Finn had come to doubt they would ever have.

She walked on, warm with happiness.

“Mrs. Duhon?”

At the sound of a man’s voice, she paused again and looked around. She couldn’t see anyone. No moving shadows. Maybe she’d imagined the voice.

The lights inside Out Back seemed a long way away. The wind plucked at Emma’s curly hair, tossed it across her face and back again. She fought with the umbrella. Branches shook on a row of trees between the parked cars.

The wind died.

Emma’s skin crawled but she carried on.

“Wait, Mrs. Duhon! I want to talk to you.”

“Who are you? What do you want?” Emma made sure she was in the middle of the open space between the rows of cars. She calculated how far she’d have to run back to the restaurant.

“You don’t think about Denise anymore, do you, Mrs. Duhon?”

Emma’s heart seemed to fill her throat.

“You’re too important to waste your time on the past.”

Denise. Poor, dear Denise.
Dead two years now, murdered at the hands of a sick pervert. Emma and Finn had literally run into one another after a whole lot of years. They had stood talking and catching up on their lives, when Denise’s body had tumbled from a nearby garbage container. The killer had been caught, but the horror never quite went away.

“Of course I think about Denise. She was my friend. I loved her.”

“Did you? Doesn’t stop you from carrying on like she never lived. Do you think that’s fair? I don’t think it is. Do you remember how Denise died?”

Emma considered running. She was fit, she always had been. Of course she couldn’t move the way she did when she wasn’t pregnant, but what choice did she have?

“I always said pregnant women were sexy.”

Emma didn’t know the voice. A shadow separated itself between two trees.

She was a little closer to Out Back than he was and he wasn’t likely to draw attention to himself by causing her to fight him…she
would
fight him if she had to.

Since she was a bit nearer to the building, she had a chance of catching him off guard by running. She sidestepped back the way she’d come.

“Aw, you don’t want to do that. All I want is to talk. You start trying something fancy and you could do damage to that baby of yours. You wouldn’t want that.”

Emma opened her mouth but only a rasping sound came out. She needed to scream and yell and draw attention to herself.

“You want your baby, don’t you?” he said, his voice difficult to hear now. “They say you didn’t think you could have one. What a shame if you killed it now.”

She backed away from the place where the shadow hovered, skidded on one heel and dropped her purse. She left it where it fell and turned to run. Clumsy, she was so clumsy.

“No, no, no,” he shouted. “You stop that right now or you’ll hurt yourself. You’re overreacting.”

She kept running, the weight of the baby pulling her forward.

“You want to murder your kid? Is that what you want? You want to kill that baby you don’t deserve?”

His voice kept up with her.

Emma’s knees shook. She felt tears on her face.

He had followed, and he intended to catch her. The notebook flew from her hand and she saw a sheet of yellow paper dip and sail. She managed to hold on to the umbrella. It had a point at one end. She might need that.

“Why are you runnin’? What d’you have to be afraid of? Your conscience? Stop, right now.”

No, no, no.

She heard the singing sound of something lashing through the air. A cord or rope coiled around one of her shoes. Emma couldn’t run anymore.

The toe of her other sneaker jammed against a crack. Her umbrella slid through her fingers and tangled with her legs. Stumbling toward a parked pickup, she grabbed for the truck’s tailgate.

Emma missed; she hit her shoulder and hip on cold metal. Sound hammered, louder and louder, in her ears. She was going down.

Her hands slammed into the gritty ground, then her belly. Tearing pressure under her diaphragm winded her so hard she couldn’t breathe. Then her knees gave out.

She skidded under the back of the pickup.

“You stay where you are, and keep still,” the man said. He kicked the sole of her shoe and acid rushed to her throat. “You move before I say and you and that kid are finished—if the kid isn’t done in already.”