Cypress Nights (18 page)

How did he know the way Sam was with women? Roche detested himself for thinking like a man who hadn't spent years learning to listen and not make judgments.

Sam's only sin was that he liked to look at a lovely woman. That didn't make him a monster.

Sam approached him now, and they moved a few feet away from the others. “Have you given any thought to what they're saying about Kate Harper?” Sam said.

“Not a lot,” Roche said honestly. “She seems like a nice woman to me.”

“She is,” Sam said. He had very serious gray eyes and right now they were concerned. “And no way could she have killed Jim Zachary.”

“I wouldn't know, but I doubt it,” Roche said. “People want a name and a face to pin the blame on.”

“That's because they're scared,” Sam said. “I'm uneasy. Not for me—I can take care of myself. But for people like Madge and Bleu and the other women in town. And any men who are vulnerable, obviously.” He
inclined his head toward the townhouse. “We heard they think this fire was set.”

“I think that's what we'll find out,” Roche said.

“It could be an accident,” Cyrus put in, but without conviction.

“He's killed once,” Sam said, as much to himself as to Roche. “If we don't get him, he'll do it again.”

Roche swallowed and glanced back at Bleu. There was little point arguing that Jim's killer and whoever came here this morning weren't the same person. What if the fire had really taken hold? What if she'd been killed? He couldn't make himself think about it too deeply.

“Cyrus.” Spike beckoned for the priest, and they talked quietly together.

Glancing around, Cyrus indicated he wanted Sam to join them and they went into a huddle. Probably Spike was bringing them up to date. Roche wandered back to the women.

“Are they talking about me?” Bleu said, sounding worried. “They don't have to follow me around all the time. I couldn't stand that.”

“No,” Roche said. “Not necessarily them, and not all the time, but someone has to look out for you. We'll take it in turns.” As many turns as possible would be his. He contemplated how he could keep Bleu somewhere close at all times. He couldn't. His patient load had picked up and he couldn't neglect people.

“It's too much trouble,” Bleu said. “I'll be careful, but other people can't be worrying about me. I don't want them to. Whoever was here wanted to scare me. So I
am
scared. That should give him his jollies.”

Standing beside her cousin, Madge took hold of her hand and leaned against her. “You are a walkin' stick of
dynamite. Move into the rectory. That way we can make sure you're never on your own. Cyrus won't let anything happen to you.”

“Thanks,” Bleu said. “I could also quit and let myself get run out of town, but I'm not going to. I'm calling an alarm company. I'm going to have sensors, not just in the house, but in the yard. I can put it on a credit card.”

Roche heard what she said, but didn't comment.

“As soon as I can, I'll get my dog. Lil's Ozaire can help with that—everyone says he's an expert. And I'll get a gun. I know how to shoot.”

Madge met Roche's eyes. He could tell she was worried, but didn't know what to say.

“First the alarms,” Roche said. “We'll get someone over to replace the door.”

“It just needs fixing,” Bleu said, frowning.

Roche figured she was adding up the expenses. “I broke it, I'll get it fixed. I want something heavy-duty.”

Madge gave him a serious nod. “Of course,” she said. “What's Mary Pinney doin' here?” She finished in a whisper.

“She came with Wazoo,” Bleu told her, glancing toward Wazoo and Mary.

“Mary usually keeps to herself. We don't see much of her, or we didn't until she got wind of the school. She's a teacher. She wants—”

“To teach at St. Cecil's,” Roche said at once. “I've been told. Who called you about the fire?”

Madge frowned. “We'll have to ask Cyrus. We were getting ready for an early meeting when the phone rang.”

Sam Bush ambled up to join them. “Spike told us what they know about the fire so far,” he said. “Not so much, except they think it was set.”

“At least we know we're looking for a man,” Roche said. “That's something. No woman could have killed the way Jim Zachary was killed.” He couldn't explain the woman's footprints outside the rectory, but still didn't connect the crime to a female.

Wazoo walked up in time to hear, and give him a pitying look. “You, dreamer man, haven't seen a real angry woman.”

Arguing wasn't Roche's way. “Perhaps not.” He had dealt with more anger, male and female, than most people could even imagine.

“Roche and I were talking about this,” Sam said. “Jim Zachary had a lady friend and there are some in town who would like to pin it all on her because she inherits his money. We don't believe it.”

“I know all about Kate Harper,” Wazoo said.

Roche waited for her to continue, but she didn't.

Firemen retracted their hoses, but he could see deputies continuing to comb the hillside behind the townhouses.

“No one goes in the carport,” one of the firemen shouted. “The chief's held up. He won't want it trashed by civilians.”

“Gotcha,” Spike shouted back.

An officer had taken the emergency brake off Bleu's car. With the driver's door open, he used a foot on the steep driveway to start moving the vehicle downhill and away from the carport. He trod on the brake and yelled, “Let me get this down the bottom, then we can turn a hose on it. Get the soot off and it'll look fine.” He turned the key in the ignition and the engine turned over normally.

“She'll be grateful to have her car,” Roche said. “Bleu doesn't like relying on other people for anything, including rides.”

Black smoke poured out around the engine compartment.

An explosion splintered glass and sent pieces of the car flying.

“Bleu got lucky,” Wazoo said.

After lunch the same day

B
leu stood on the path beside Bayou Teche, with St. Cecil's behind her and the thick, chrome-green waters running glossy and slow, in front.

Spikes of pale purple flowers bobbed atop floating blankets of dark, waxy water hyacinth leaves. Beside her, an old willow trailed branches that jiggled with the current.

And the sun had grown as hot as promised. Her damp skin cooled with each tiny current of air.

If she closed her eyes, she saw pieces of her car shooting through flames, and the fireman, Kevin Rains, sprawled on the ground, covered with soot and not moving.

Running away was too easy. She loved life and wanted to love people. Even Michael hadn't killed the best parts of her. Roche was her passion. He was also her pain, but she would not allow herself to withdraw, so that she would
never know what might have been with the two of them. The two of them had already had too much, and she had come too far.

Her cheeks burned. Her body flushed.

Kevin Rains had suffered for trying to do a good deed. He had been about to wash her car. A kindness that sent him to the hospital. Roche had driven there with Bleu, where they'd been able to talk to Kevin almost immediately. Once his broken wrist mended and the burns on his neck healed, he would be fine. Still, guilt tormented Bleu.

“Don't jump,” a male voice shouted.

Bleu turned to see Sam Bush pushing open the little gate at the bottom of the rectory garden. “Hi.” She shaded her eyes to watch him. He had been kind today, and concerned.

“You've been down here a long time,” he said. The white shirt and conservative gray slacks he almost always wore were evidently his nod to his profession.

“It's calm here,” she said. “And beautiful.”

He grunted.

Alive,
that was the first word that came to Bleu about Sam. Intelligent, interested, fit, vibrant and stubborn also came to mind. She smiled at him. “Say you aren't on duty.”

“On duty?”

“Guarding me.”

He laughed, and she noticed for the first time that laughter didn't erase the seriousness from his eyes.

“Well?” she pressed him.

“Give us all a break,” he said, pulling his shoulders up. “You can't expect anyone to relax until this joker's caught.”

“I guess not.” A twist in her stomach chased away a
light moment. Once more she looked across the bayou. “Have you ever been in a pirogue?” The long, narrow wooden boats—their captain and crew, a single man or woman balanced on their feet and plying a long paddle to and fro—plied back and forth from swamp dwellings.

“Sure I have,” Sam said. “Lots of times. They look as if they belong in another century.”

“Mmm-hmm. Another world, really. You don't need to babysit me.”

He stood beside her, his hands in his pockets. “Maybe it feels good to be needed.”

Bleu looked at him sharply. She didn't know what to say.

Sam flashed her a smile. “Must be all this quiet, and the company of a lovely lady—I'm turning wistful. That, or I'm a lonely man.”

“Are you?” she said. She had never really thought much about him, other than that he was good at his job.

He shook his head. “Not really. But this isn't about me. You and Roche are getting close, aren't you?”

As if he hadn't already witnessed the answer to that question today. “I like him very much.”

“Decent guy. Accomplished, too.”

“Yes. I know about your wife—how she left.”

The corner of his mouth turned down. “I wish that was history.”

“It will be in time.” With luck, all bad memories became history. “We get used to things and move on.”

“I intend to do that.” He focused too hard on a heaving bed of hyacinth.

Bleu swallowed. “Is something wrong?”

“No!”

Now he'd think she was prying. “I didn't really think so.”

“How well do you know Madge?” he asked.

The question caught her off guard. She hadn't missed his interest in her cousin. “She's my favorite cousin.”

Sam slapped the heel of a hand into his brow. “What a dumb question. For a moment I forgot you were related. Forget I asked.”

“We spent a lot of time together when we were kids. I used to stay with her family on school vacations. She's really special.”

“Yes.”

Bleu stuck her thumbs into the pockets of her tan pants. Saying nothing could make him awkward. On the other hand, anything she said could be wrong.

“I like Madge,” Sam said. “Looks as if I've waited too long to let her know how much.”

She waited for him to continue.

“She's getting involved with Sig Smith, isn't she?”

“I don't know,” she told him honestly. “We haven't talked about it.” All Bleu knew was that Madge and Sig had gone out.

“I've already said too much. Roche called Cyrus to make sure you were in someone's sights.”

She stared at her pink toenails, visible in strappy brown sandals. For some reason, Roche really did care about her. Who knew how much, but it was time to learn to take good things in both hands without second-guessing what would come next. She'd try.

“Your front door's being repaired,” Sam said. “But don't be surprised if Madge and Cyrus keep pushing you to stay here. Don't you think you should?”

“No. I'm grateful about the door, but it's my job to learn to live alone.”

She felt his eyes on her.

“I mean, I've usually had people around me, but now I don't and I like that.”

“If you say so.” He looked at his watch. “Madge said she and Cyrus are leaving for Kate Harper's place shortly. I think they hope you'll go with them.”

“I want to.” She put a hand on his arm. “Thanks for coming down, Sam. Are you coming out to Pappy's for the fund drive?”

He raised an eyebrow.

Bleu laughed. “Did I call it a fund drive? I'm slipping. I meant for the information and commitment potluck.”

“I wouldn't miss it.” He got that distant air about him again. “We used to go out there and dance to the Swamp Doggies. Betty was some two-stepper.”

“I bet you're good at it yourself,” she said quickly.

“Promise me a dance and I'll show you,” he said.

“You've got it.” Movement caught her attention. “Madge is waving up there.”

Sam spun to look uphill, but he smoothed his expression rapidly and waved Bleu ahead of him.

“Hey,” Bleu shouted. “I'm coming.” She broke into a run and pounded through the garden until she arrived, panting, at the kitchen door.

“Cyrus and I are leaving for Kate Harper's,” Madge said. “Do you still want to come?”

“Yes,” Bleu said. She turned as Sam arrived behind her. “Thanks for keeping me company.”

He shrugged, looking at Madge. “That woman's had a hard time,” he said. “Kate, I mean. She and Jim were close for a long time. I hope Spike isn't taking any notice of the kind of stuff Ozaire's been spreading.”

Reading Madge's expression wasn't easy, not when she looked at Sam. “Spike's a kind man,” she said. “And
I guess his dad told Ozaire off. Said he'd lose his part-time job out at the station if he didn't keep his mouth shut.”

Spike's dad, Homer Devol, ran the gas station, convenience store and boat launch on the outskirts of Toussaint. Ozaire helped out part-time. Homer didn't mince words or get shy about his opinions.

“That should help,” Sam said. “I'd better get back to my office.”

“Sure,” Madge said. “Come on, Bleu. Lil packed some cookies for us to take to Kate.”

Bleu heard Sam walking behind her. He left without another word. “Madge,” she whispered. “Say goodbye to Sam. He's a good guy.”

“I know,” Madge said. She raised her voice. “Bye, Sam. Take it easy.”

He looked back at her, and she waved. Sam hesitated, raised a hand and walked on.

“I feel sorry for him,” Bleu said.

“He hasn't had it easy,” Madge said. “But I…I hope he meets someone who can be what he needs.”

“And that isn't you?”

“It isn't,” Madge said. “I don't think I can be what anyone needs.”

Before Bleu could respond, Madge had hurried into the kitchen. She picked up a basket lined and covered with blue-spotted white cloths. “Goodies for Kate,” she said. “We'll let Cyrus know we're ready to go. Roche called to check on you—again—and I told him we'd be gone for a couple of hours at the most.”

He should be concentrating on his patients, Bleu thought, but still she smiled.

In Madge's comfortably worn office, where piano
blues played loudly enough on the old sound system to be heard, but softly enough to allow conversation, Bleu went to the desk and checked to see if there was any mail for her.

“Five envelopes,” Madge said behind her. “Let me check on Cyrus while you open them. He's writing his homily. You know how much he struggles not to let them get too long.”

Everyone knew.

Everyone knew Cyrus failed most of the time and rarely kept one of his passionate talks shorter than forty minutes.

While she waited, Bleu opened her mail. Five checks, four of them nice, and accompanied by friendly notes, and one large enough to make her eyes bug. That one was signed by Reb Girard, the town doctor. Reb's family had lived in Toussaint just about forever. Her father had been the local doctor before her. Now she was married to childhood friend, Marc Girard, an architect, and they had two children. Money couldn't be a problem, but the check still made Bleu want to sing and dance.

Instead, she flopped into Madge's red-and-white-striped overstuffed chair and stretched out her legs. A horrible day was showing promise. Kevin Rains, despite taking the fall for her, would be at home by now—if he wasn't back at the firehouse. Apparently the fire had caused damage no one saw until it was too late. Bleu doubted she'd ever get into another car with quite as much confidence again.

Her cell phone rang in her pocket and she pulled it out. “Hello.”

“It's Roche.”

She hadn't thought to check the readout. “Yes,” she said. Darn it anyway, why did she get tongue-tied around him? “I just got in some nice donation checks.”

“That's great,” he said. “Bleu, you haven't forgotten about tonight, have you?”

Tonight.
“I might have to beg off and do some cleanup,” she said. She heard the wobble in her voice. “There's a lot to be done. I'd be wrong if I didn't look into making the place as safe as I can. Not that I think this person will strike in the same place twice.”

“Cleanup is a great idea,” he said. “I'll bring my rubber gloves.”

It took her an instant to register what he'd said and laugh. “You've already done too much for me. Driving me around and everything.” She had yet to decide what to do about a car.

His voice lowered. “I couldn't do too much for you. Don't fight me on this. A promise is a promise and you said we had a date tonight. If we spend it washing walls, that's good with me.”

She thought about it. Wanting to see him didn't make it easier to be objective. “Okay. Thanks. I hope you've got an apron, too.”

“You'd be surprised what I've got,” he said.

Bleu didn't pursue that. “I'll see you later, then?”

“Later.” He was still on the line, listening, when she hung up softly.

Millie whipped from beneath the desk, for all the world as if she'd only just noticed Bleu's presence, and leaped onto her lap. Two turnarounds and the sleek black-and-white fur ball settled in.

“You've got a real case on Roche.”

At the sound of Madge entering the room, Bleu craned to see over her shoulder. She was not comforted by the serious expression on her cousin's face.

“He's easy on the eyes,” Madge continued. She closed
the door softly and went to lean against her desk. “Both of the Savage brothers are.”

“True,” Bleu said, as lightly as she could. “Is it just me or is it stuffy in here?”

Madge skirted the desk and opened a window. Nasturtiums bobbled their gold-and-copper heads, some slipping through the open crack as if trying to get inside.

For a moment, Madge stood there, gazing out and absentmindedly gripping the edge of the window frame.

“What's the matter?” Tension got thicker by the second, and Bleu felt a little sick.

The lazy piano filled the silences between them. The dog lifted her head and looked from Bleu to Madge. Her nose twitched, but she sighed and closed her eyes.