[Bayou Gavotte 00.0] Back to Bite You (8 page)

Now, all those secrets he’d been happy to ignore fell suddenly and horribly into place.

* * *

“What?” Mirabel asked. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

His stony expression told her otherwise. “Gerry, if you could see your face . . .” She put her hands on her hips. “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost. Or like maybe you’re about to puke. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I’m fine.” His voice was harsh, his eyes hard. He’d seemed angry yesterday, but nothing like this. “I have some . . . family responsibilities to take care of. Shouldn’t you be baking pies?”

Something had upset him, so now she was being relegated to the kitchen. Men were impossible, but she knew pestering Gerry wouldn’t get her anywhere.

“Not today.” She swung out of the kitchen, nose in the air, and went upstairs to the bedroom. A minute later, she heard him make a call and leave a message.

“Aunt April, I need to talk to you right away. Call me on my cell as soon as you get home.”

She didn’t like the sound of that. He banged out into the backyard with a can of beer and prowled around the property like a caged tiger. She watched as he took out his cell phone, punched in a number, and walked through the gate and down the alley. Even with vampire hearing, she couldn’t eavesdrop on someone that far away. Not that he didn’t have every right to talk to his aunts.

A chill inched its way into her heart. Sure, he didn’t get on well with April and June, but they had brought him up. They were his family—the ones he’d spent years trying to keep happy. Maybe he felt obliged to tell them about the items she had found. Maybe he believed the dress and parure should have gone to Arthur’s family, not to her. Even if he didn’t think so, April and June probably would.

To hell with that. She had known Arthur for only a short time, but he had trusted that she would find the dress and parure and donate them to the museum—never, ever give them to April and June.

She had a responsibility to discharge, too, and she would damn well do it
now
. She looked longingly at Dorinda’s jewelry and gown. Duty could wait ten minutes.

* * *

Nosy old Mrs. Dodge was watching Gerry from her upstairs window. He’d waved at her and she’d moved out of view, but even though he couldn’t see her, he still felt her eyes on him, just like when he was a kid. She had never run out of ways to get Gerry in trouble, even when he hadn’t done anything wrong.

By the time he’d made his second phone call and finished his beer, he was more or less composed. Slowly, he returned to the house. Mirabel’s guess hadn’t been far off—the whole business made him feel a bit sick. He would explain it all to her later, once he knew for sure. Once he had his still-raw emotions under control. Tonight, with her arms around him and her warmth enveloping him . . .

As he reached the back steps, the doorbell rang. Before he got indoors, it rang again. And again.

“Don’t answer that!” Mirabel cried from upstairs. “It might be Sergio!”

“It’s not Sergio.” He recognized that persistent ring as if it were a voice. Mrs. Dodge had been tattling again; there was no way April and June could have arrived in Bayou Gavotte so soon after his phone call unless they’d already been most of the way here. “Stay upstairs.”
Please
. He didn’t want his aunts anywhere near Mirabel. “I’ll handle it.”

He opened the front door, but before he could get a word out, his aunts charged into the house. First came April. “Where is the gold-digging little bitch?”

Then came June, trembling all over. “Gerry, darling, are you all right?” June’s soft, moist hand patted his arm, while her bleary blue eyes peered at his neck.

As if he needed any more proof.

“Mrs. Dodge saw you sneaking in the back door last night,” June lamented. “Then she saw you kissing Mirabel this morning. Did you stay here? With that . . . that . . . ?”

“Vampire?” He nodded. “Sure I did. What red-blooded man wouldn’t?”

June whimpered. “Gerry, how could you?”

“Stop staring at me, Auntie June. There’s nothing to see. Vampire bites heal right away.” With monumental restraint, he didn’t add,
That’s not the only place she bit me
.

June shrieked, swaying perilously, but he ignored her.

“Stop fussing, June!” rapped April. “I thought better of him, but he’s a tomfool man like any other, so of course he succumbed. But he loved Daddy, and he’ll do his duty.” Ominous pause. “Won’t you, Gerry?”

“No doubt about that,” Gerry said grimly.

“Well? Did you find any proof?”

The fury he’d been so firmly tamping down welled up again. “As a matter of fact, I did.”

“Of
murder
?” April gloated. June clasped her hands together beseechingly.

“I believe so,” he said, and then Mirabel came downstairs.

* * *

If she hadn’t felt so betrayed, Mirabel would have enjoyed making her entrance in that marvelous jewelry and gown. If not for the hurt and chagrin at what she’d just
overheard, she might have reveled in the way her roiling allure made Gerry stagger, the way it frightened April and June.

Usually she kept her vampire temper in check, but this time rage was called for—although she wasn’t sure who made her more furious: Gerry for making a fool of her or herself for believing she had fallen in love.

She glided into the front hall, parting the aunts with a flick of the scepter and a tornado of allure. Gerry clutched the sofa as he had last night, but she knew he fought the allure for an entirely different reason this time. She dragged her eyes away from him. She wouldn’t give him or his aunts the satisfaction of seeing her burst into tears.

“The gown!” The short, rotund aunt shrieked, hands upraised to ward off some imagined evil. “It
was
here! I knew it!”

“The parure!” The taller aunt’s talons clenched and unclenched. “That belongs to us! Take it off, you murdering bitch!”

“Why ever would I do that?” Mirabel simpered. “Don’t you think it becomes me?” She poked a foot out from under the flowing skirt of the gown. “Well, except for the flip-flops. I’ll have shoes custom made to match.” She didn’t need to look at Gerry to know he couldn’t keep his eyes off her.

Good. Let him suffer, the traitor
. How could he put the wishes of his aunts ahead of darling old Arthur?

“You’ll never get away with this,” the taller aunt hissed.

“Oh, yes, I will.” Mirabel might think sultry was boring, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t do it just fine. She lowered her voice to a purr and put a provocative sway in her stride. “Nothing you do will make any difference. Everyone is on my side. The lawyer,
the accountant, the club manager, the police . . .” She laughed—not easy, the way she felt—and waved the scepter like a wand. She might have enjoyed that, too, except that Gerry stood utterly still to the side, doing nothing.

He gives in to those bitches too often
, Arthur had said.
That’s his one great character flaw
.

“Get off my property, or I’ll call the cops.” Mirabel sashayed past them through the front door and down the steps. “In fact, I’ll call them right now to make sure you leave.” She hitched the long train of the gown over her arm, flipped open her cell phone, and kept walking.

“Thief!” the taller aunt cried. “Go after her!”

“She’s getting away!” lamented the shorter one. “Stop her, Gerry!”

Gerry’s voice was calm. “Ms. Lane inherited the house and its contents. They’re legally hers.”

“Not for long!” hollered the taller aunt, clattering down the stairs.

“Maybe so, but I’m not letting you chase after her in your car,” Gerry said in that same even voice. “This is a matter for the lawyers, Aunt April. We’ll go there now.”

How
could
he? Mirabel whirled, still moving, shaking the dust of her association with Gerry Kingsley from her feet with every step. He wasn’t even looking her way, merely prying the car keys from his protesting aunt’s claw, saying, “You won’t win your case by attacking Ms. Lane now.”

Mirabel shouted, “You won’t win anything by suing me. I’ll burn the place down before I let you have one single thing that belonged to Arthur.”

Her voice gave way. She fought back tears as she called the police and then strode away down the street, head high, brandishing the scepter like a sword.

* * *

Gerry watched until Mirabel went around the corner and out of sight. She hadn’t even looked at him while she’d marched through the house and out the door. Hopefully she didn’t think he was siding with his aunts.

Yeah, he was pretty sure she did. He should have explained the situation to her when he’d had the chance. Now she believed the worst of him.

Judging by the following she was attracting with that incredible outfit, coupled with her allure, Mirabel would make it where she was going—hopefully to the university museum―unscathed. Nobody could kidnap, rob, or murder someone so damned noticeable without attracting a lot of attention.

But he’d better make sure. He pulled out his phone and called the police. He identified himself and said, “Did Mirabel Lane just call you?”

“Yep,” the dispatcher said. “She wants me to send someone to throw you and your nasty aunts out of her house.”

“You don’t need to send anyone,” Gerry said. “We’re leaving now. More important, Mirabel is walking toward Hellebore University wearing a valuable costume and jewels. Can you spare someone to make sure she gets there safely?”

“Anything for Mirabel,” the dispatcher said. “But I’m still sending someone to check on you. If you don’t leave her house right now, you’ll be sorry.”

He might be sorry anyway, if Mirabel refused to listen to his explanation. He tried not to think about that.

“I knew you’d do your duty, Gerry,” April said. “Now the cops won’t bother us, but they’ll keep track of that thief.” She hurried up the steps of the house with June in tow. “Let’s see what else he left behind.”

“Oh, no, you don’t.” Gerry stopped her in the doorway and blocked June with a hand. “If I remember correctly, Grandpa told you never to darken his doorstep again.”

“He’s dead,” April huffed. “What he wanted doesn’t matter anymore.”

“I’m afraid it does,” Gerry said. “It’s my duty to uphold his wishes.”

April tried to push past him. “Do as I
say
.”

“No.” Gerry took her by the arm and moved her gently but insistently away from the door. “Never again.”

He locked the house, drove the bitterly scolding April and the querulous June to the lawyer’s office, and parked them in the waiting room under the watchful eye of Stan’s receptionist.

Stan laid out the documents he had prepared for Gerry to sign. “You’re sure about all this?”

“Absolutely,” Gerry said.

“Crazy bastard. Or maybe I should say ‘lucky duck.’ Not many guys get to have a vampire.”

Gerry hoped like hell he hadn’t already lost her. “How did you know Mirabel was one?”

“My assistant’s cousin is a vampire. He recognized the signs.” Stan sighed. “I’ve done the best I could in no time at all, but I’d like to redraft it later so as to better protect your interests.”

“This should give me what I need for now,” Gerry said. “But I’d also like you to record our conversation with my aunts. And since your assistant knows everything, you might ask him to take notes, too.”

Stan goggled. “You’re going to tell those old biddies Mirabel’s a vampire?”

“They already know.” Gerry hauled his aunts into Stan’s office and told them, “Before you decide whether to proceed with your lawsuit, I need to tell you all a story.”

“About what?” June whined. “We
have
to sue her. Gerry, how
could
you just let her take our stuff?”

April crossed her scrawny arms. “Be quick about it, and if you think I’m paying Stan while you jaw on about nothing, you can think again.”

Gerry told them about the Mardi Gras ball of 1941 and Dorinda and Arthur’s ill-fated romance. “He was shipped off to the South Seas,” Gerry said. “Perhaps through the influence of her wealthy future husband, or perhaps the family of a woman who was jealous of Dorinda. A family who wanted their daughter to be the belle of the ball and win over the most eligible bachelor in town. Would you have any idea which?”

June’s eyes widened. April shot her a look and sniffed. “Of course not. We weren’t even born yet.”

“Your mother might have told you something,” Gerry said, and the pink spots on June’s cheeks told him he’d guessed correctly. “She attended that same Mardi Gras ball.” He paused, but neither of them denied that, perhaps because it would be easy enough to prove.

“Wow. What a story.” Stan glanced at the haughty April and the quivering June. “So that really is a fang in the famous photo of Dorinda.”

“Of course it is,” April snarled.

“As my grandfather wished, Mirabel intends to give the dress and parure to the university museum,” Gerry said. “In fact, I think she has gone there now.”

April made a rude noise. “If you believe that, you’re a complete fool.”

Hopefully not; he’d been a fool for too many years already. The assistant, who had been typing madly, stopped to open his cell phone and send a text message.

On to the next step. “Stan, my aunts want to sue Ms. Lane for the house and its contents. You need to know a little more family history first.”

Auntie June whimpered. Aunt April shushed her and snapped at Gerry, “What does the past have to do with it?”

“Everything,” Gerry said. “Over twenty years ago, Dorinda Darblay divorced her husband and returned to New Orleans. She and Arthur got in touch again and rekindled their old romance. Shortly afterward, my grandfather was almost beaten to death.”

April glared. “He was mugged. So what?”

“He was set upon by hired thugs. Among Arthur’s effects we found a letter from Dorinda. She used her connections in the underbelly of New Orleans to make inquiries about who hired them.”

“Oh, dear,” June warbled. “Gerry, please try to understand. We meant it for the best.”

“Shut up, June,” said April. “Gerry’s bluffing. He has no proof.”

True, but fortunately, June was simply dying to let it out. “We couldn’t let him marry that monster.”