Cypress Nights (27 page)

That evening

“C
ould be the Knights of Columbus weren't our best choice for the decorating committee,” Madge said. “This is—different.”

She stood with Bleu, Roche and his twin, Max Savage, at the edge of the dance floor at Pappy's Dance Hall and Eats. Few guests had arrived yet, but the Swamp Doggies, with Vince Fox curled over his fiddle and stomping a foot, got the toes tapping.

“It's eclectic,” Bleu said. “It's got a kind of disorganized charm.” She glanced at Roche.

Felt banners hung from the ceiling, each trailing lengths of tasseled gold rope. Backed by Pappy's stuffed, nine-foot-long lacquered alligator and dressed in their tuxedos, some wearing their feathered cocked hats, the Knights hovered in a line at the front of the restaurant. They welcomed each arrival.

The place vibrated with activity. Max's wife, Annie,
who managed Pappy's, ordered people in different directions with quiet authority.

It felt to Roche as if he and Bleu had been together for hours. She had gone to work at the rectory during the afternoon, and he had been at Green Veil, working with clinic patients. But she hadn't been out of his mind.

Bleu wasn't smiling, but she was staying close and watching his face.

Looking for his reactions, trying to read what he was thinking—he didn't need help figuring that out.

Anyone with a little perception would only have to look at them to see how they couldn't keep their eyes off each other.

Annie, small, blond and confident, came over and propped her hands on her hips. “Me, I'm grateful Pappy said no way to any potluck,” she said. She looked only at Max. “The parish ladies still keep making excuses to get into the kitchens.”

Max laughed and put an arm around her shoulders.

“They've decided they're going to have lunch in the parish hall after noon mass on Sunday,” Bleu said. “They say they've got the food and they're going to use it.”

“I'm not plannin' to stay very long,” Madge said abruptly.

“But I need you,” Bleu said, frowning at her cousin. “You can't duck out on me.”

Madge said, “Excuse me,” and walked away so fast she banged into the closest table, knocking over a candle in a knobby red glass chimney.

“Something's up,” Bleu said, watching Madge right the candle before rushing on. “Tonight of all nights.”

“Shit happens every night,” Roche said.

When Bleu chuckled, he was glad he hadn't put it more elegantly.

Max said, “Madge isn't herself. She looks as if she's expecting a disaster.” He looked so much like Roche that Bleu couldn't help searching for differences. They were small, but there nevertheless. Roche's eyes were an even brighter blue and he had a thin, white scar above his left eyebrow. Max laughed more than Roche and didn't examine things around him with such care, or appear to withdraw into himself as Roche did.

“Hey, you three. How's it going?”

Roche turned to see Cyrus. “Good, I think. I didn't see you come in. You just get here?” The priest looked windswept.

“Uh-huh.” Distracted, Cyrus checked around. “We're missing a lot of the usual suspects.”

“They'll be here,” Roche said. He had already caught Bleu doing an anxious head count.

“I hope so,” she said. “But I won't be surprised if they stay away. Most people have been questioned more than once. I can't blame folks for thinking we should take some steps backward on any church building projects after what's happened.”

“Excuse me,” Cyrus said. Bleu doubted if he had heard a word anyone said before he left the group.

“I'd better get back.” Annie bobbed to kiss Max's cheek and took off.

“The mystery's getting solved, bro,” Max said to Roche, nodding across the room.

“What mystery? Ah.”

Bleu followed the brothers' glances to where Madge stood looking out into almost total darkness with Cyrus at her shoulder. Her arms were crossed. His hands were in his pockets.

“Are they talking?” Bleu said. She blew out a breath. “None of my business.”

“Those two deserve some peace,” Roche said.

Max swung up onto the balls of his feet. “Yeah. And to answer you, Bleu, no, I don't think they're saying a word to each other.”

“We can't help them,” Roche said. “Cyrus loves two mistresses. Or…That wasn't put very well, but you know what I mean.”

He was, Bleu thought, a deep man. He regarded Cyrus and Madge with a hint of sadness.

Tables draped with red-and-white check cloths surrounded the dance floor and extended into an area dedicated to dining at one side of the building. There, windows covered walls that edged the downhill-sloping forest. A skylight, surrounded by so many business cards tacked to the ceiling that they must add a useful layer of insulation, was mirror-black tonight. Not a hint of a moon showed.

“Girards and the Gautreauxs,” Max said. “It'll fill in fast now.”

Reb and Marc, Jilly and Guy arrived together and immediately got into conversation with the people in the lobby.

Spike's dark-haired wife, Vivian, arrived next with her mother, Charlotte, and Spike's dad, Homer. Charlotte, a smart, youthful woman, and crusty Homer had been engaged for years, and there were running bets on when or if they'd ever marry.

Bleu felt ungrateful about being negative, but said, “I want to see some of the ones I didn't know would come for sure.”

“I know,” Roche said. He smoothed her back from neck to waist and played his fingertips over her ribs. “Give 'em time.”

A steady trickle of people started to come through the door. Roche wished some of them didn't look as if they were making perp walks.

He kept glancing at Cyrus and Madge, who didn't appear to have moved a muscle.

“Have you got a knock-'em-dead speech prepared?” Max asked Bleu.

“You sure that's what she needs?” Roche said, grinning.

“He's got an evil sense of humor,” Max said, pointing at his brother. “You know what I mean.”

Bleu liked watching the brothers banter. “Let's get serious,” she said. “I want to convince them this school is good for the kids and good for the town. The kids will get a balanced education and a good grounding in basic principles. Any town benefits from young people growing up on a solid footing.”

“Our kids will be there,” Max said. “I bet Roche's will, too. Once he has some.”

Roche met his brother's eye. Max wasn't being funny. That had been a challenge.

Fortunately, Bleu's attention wasn't leaving the new arrivals as they came.

She said, “Most of all, I want them to donate,” in a low voice.

He couldn't see the future, Roche knew, but he had only just begun with this woman and he was prepared to see just how far they could make a great thing go. She learned fast. Already, the cracks in her reserve were widening. He stopped himself from smiling. Bleu Laveau was all dichotomies: scared and determined, shy and wild, serious and funny. She kept showing more sides of herself, and he wasn't getting bored watching. Earlier today had been pure, wonderful madness.

“I've got a surprise,” Bleu said.

Roche moved to where he could look directly at her face, and Max leaned closer.

“It's a secret, though.”

“You can't lead us on like that,” Max said.

She smiled.

“C'mon,” Roche said. “Is it a good thing?”

Bleu nodded. “It's great.”

“Congratulations,” Max said. “Bro, is she ticklish?”

“How would I know?”

“You might. If she is, you could make her talk.”

“It may not happen,” Bleu said. She felt troubled at the thought, but so far she didn't see the man who had promised to give St. Cecil's campaign a boost. “I shouldn't have mentioned it.”

She shouldn't. And she only had because she was trying to reassure herself the whole evening wouldn't be a bust.

Gator and Doll Hibbs walked in with Ozaire and Lil. Doll had her usual pinched mouth on, and Gator wore denim overalls—he always wore denim overalls—but he'd left his baseball cap behind and his gray hair lay greased across his scalp.

Lil had given her hair a fresh dye job and managed to turn it almost black. Bleu saw how the woman craned her neck to look around the filling rooms before she saw whatever she was looking for and shot away from Ozaire's side.

Bleu braced herself. Lil made a beeline in their direction. She halted in front of Roche and said, “I need to talk to you. Private.”

He came close to refusing, but figured that would make more of a show than if he walked with her somewhere and
heard what she had to say. She turned on her heel and threaded her way toward a corner where the jukebox lights flashed.

“I'll be back,” he said to Bleu and Max, then followed Lil.

The Swamp Doggies struck up with even more fervor. Couples danced now.

“Me, I shoulda said this a long time back,” Lil said the instant Roche joined her. She motioned him deeper into the corner shadows. “Sometimes you say things because you're excited, and the story gets bigger. I was upset. I could've died after that crash I had.”

She was talking about an accident she'd had in her car a couple of years previous. “You came through fine,” Roche said. “We were all glad.”

“I shouldn't have said what I did about you. Or not the way I said it.”

Wariness prickled in the hairs on the back of his neck. He decided to let her talk her way through whatever she had in mind. The incident she supposedly witnessed between him and Lee at the clinic was on that same night.

“What would a nice woman like me know about rape?”

He closed his eyes and bowed his head.

“I've decided it could be I wasn't fair.” Lil plowed on. “Just because a body has a certain way of doing things, doesn't have to mean everyone else does 'em the same way.”

“Mmm.”

“Some people are more energetic than others. Isn't that right? You being a psychiatrist, you'd know about things like that. Who knows—” she patted fat black curls “—it could be we would all have enjoyed more
physical
things if we were worldly like you. That Lee certainly looked like she was having a good time.”

This wasn't a subject Roche wanted to revisit. “Is that what you wanted to say to me?” he asked.

“Well, yes, but Ozaire's got something to say to you, too.”

He managed not to groan.

“He had to go outside,” Lil said. “But when he gets back, I'll tell him you're lookin' forward to a chat.”

Roche stared at her, then remembered to say, “Yeah. Do that.”

“He'll be pleased,” Lil said.

“Good.”

“He's wanted me to set things straight about the rape. Doesn't think it's fair for a man to be blamed for gettin' a bit frisky now and then.”

“Thanks,” Roche said. “Good of you to let me know. Now, if you'll excuse me.”

“Bleu's a quiet one,” Lil said, walking back beside him. “Still waters run deep, isn't that what they say?”

“Is it?”

“Oh, it surely is.” She gripped his forearm. “It's the quiet ones who turn out the wildest. The teacher's pet gets lots of petting from the teacher. When I was in school, there was a gym teacher who tried to get me behind the javelin rack with him. I wouldn't go, I can tell you that. But…well, there were others quick enough to line up for a bit of slap and tickle, I can tell you.”

“People will be people,” Roche said. This woman was a real case.

“So if you and Bleu enjoy the rough stuff—” Lil let the words hang, but gave him a broad wink.

“W
ouldn't you like to be a fly on the wall over there?” Max Savage said, indicating the far side of the restaurant where Roche and Lil had started to move slowly back toward the group.

“I'm curious,” Bleu admitted cautiously. She didn't know Max well enough to be at ease with him.

He pushed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “My brother is a good man. Some people don't know just
how
good.”

Bleu wondered if she should be flattered that Max wanted to sell Roche to her. “I'm sure he is,” she said.

“I don't remember hearing where it is you call home,” Max said. “Madge grew up in Rayne, didn't she?”

“Yes. I got to visit some summers. We were a horrible influence on each other.” Bleu had loved those summers in Rayne when she had been free to be a little girl as she never was at home with her single father.

Max continued to look expectant.

“I lived in Wyoming. Cullen. My dad taught math and coached the high-school football team.”

He raised a brow, just as Roche often did. “That wasn't what I expected. I guess I don't know what I did expect.”

“I hate football,” she said, surprising herself. She shrugged and crossed her arms. “Not hate it, really. At our house we lived the game all the time—there wasn't a choice. My dad's a good man, just a bit narrow in his interests.” She smiled.

“You taught, too?” Max said. “Isn't that what I heard? Before you got into fund-raising.”

“Yes.” She usually avoided thinking about her few teaching years too deeply. Michael had dealt her a bad hand there, too. The thought caused some guilt—but if he hadn't died, she doubted she would ever have had another chance to do what she was trained for. While he lived his jealousy, the scenes he made got between Bleu and anyone she worked for.

Tables laden with food spanned the length of the restaurant and heaping plates appeared, emptied and were replaced constantly.

Gator Hibbs and Doll sat with several of the men from the ice plant and their wives, demolishing boiled crawfish, oysters and shrimp remoulade. They clutched napkins in their palms and swiped at grease-shiny mouths every few bites. The aromas would make an anorexic drool.

Bleu glanced toward Roche again. Ozaire Dupre had taken his wife's place and leaned so close to speak that Roche bowed his head and listed to one side to avoid having Ozaire's face in his own.

“This is a big crowd,” Max said. “I'm feeling positive, aren't you?”

She smiled at him. “Yes. At least, I'm cheering up fast.” The stream of people into Pappy's brought a rush of warmth. “They can't all be against the building program.”

“Some will be, but most won't.”

Max was a nice man. If you didn't know he had an international reputation as a reconstructive plastic surgeon, he could fit in just fine as the guy next door.

“Ozaire looks like a man with something to sell,” Max said. “If I didn't think Roche ought to suffer sometimes, I'd rescue him.”

Bleu laughed.

A tap on her shoulder turned her around. Madge stood there and her smile didn't fool Bleu. Her cousin was unhappy.

“Looks like a full house,” Madge said. “I'm feelin' better all the time.”

Without knowing what was making Madge unhappy, Bleu longed to hug her, to reassure her. “Good,” was the best she could do.

“There's Wazoo. You've got to wonder why she cares about a Catholic school or a senior center.”

Max chuckled. “She'll have an angle. Give her time.”

“I don't believe my eyes,” Madge said and sucked in air through her teeth.

Bleu said, “What?” but it was Roche who held her attention. Ozaire had moved on, and Lil, but people stopped him repeatedly. She watched him talk and smile, and the way others touched him, lightly, usually on the arm, but they wanted to connect with him.

He was charismatic.

She was ordinary.

He'll get bored with you.

Bleu felt cold inside. Removed from the noise and movement. A psychiatrist could find someone like her interesting. At least for a while, he could study her, interact with her, even try to help her.

She didn't want his help.

Her teeth snapped together and her back stiffened. Michael Laveau had messed her up, but she'd found her way a lot of the way back. She would do the rest of the healing on her own.

A lump in her throat belied the flash of anger and the brave thoughts. Roche was an exciting, virile, powerful man who had caused her to feel and want things that made her burn. She wanted him. He made it seem as if she had him, and it was up to her to make sure that didn't change.

If it was in her power to keep him in her life, she'd do it. She would not give him up without a fight.

“Bleu,” Madge whispered urgently. “Did you hear what I said?”

Bleu shook her head, continuing to watch Roche.

“It's Kate Harper,” Madge said, elbowing Bleu. “She doesn't come to anything like this, but she's over there.”

Sure enough, dressed in black from her shiny, wide-brimmed straw hat to the shoes that just showed beneath a long-skirted dress, Kate Harper moved through the reception area, apparently accepting sympathy on all sides.

“Funny,” Bleu said. “She was in white the last time we saw her. Now she's the wife in mourning.”

“Kate and Jim weren't married,” Madge reminded her.

“Why would she come to this?”

“I don't know.” Madge stood on tiptoe for an instant, then just as quickly, dropped back to stand flat again. “Sam Bush is with her. That seems strange.”

Bleu moved until she could see Sam. “He doesn't think it's right—the way there's been talk about Kate having something to do with Jim's death. He's one of those people who roots for the underdog.” And she admired him for his in-your-face attitude.

“This group will always jump on an opportunity to talk,” Madge said. “I don't think she drives, so she'd need someone to bring her. It was nice of Sam to do it—if she really felt she had to come.”

“Exactly,” Bleu agreed. “I'll have to get started with announcements shortly. I'm keeping things as informal as possible, although there are pledge cards.”

Madge had stopped listening. She had half turned away and exchanged steady looks with Cyrus. He stood a few feet away, glass in hand.

There had been many occasions when Bleu had felt tension between Madge and Cyrus, but not like this.

“Can you tell me what's wrong?” Bleu said. “It's bad, isn't it?”

“Yes,” Madge said simply. “Really bad and all my fault.”

“Don't. Don't take on all the blame for anything. There's always more than one side.”

“I'm glad you're here,” Madge said. “I need you. But I made a sickening mistake and I don't think there's a way out. Not for Cyrus or me. And we're both going to be sad about it for the rest of our lives.”

Nothing Bleu considered seemed the right thing to say.

Sig Smith wandered up to Cyrus and they fell into conversation. Bleu was grateful, until she looked at Madge who had lost all color.

“What is it?” Bleu asked.

Madge moved in close. “I think I'm going away from Toussaint. I don't know how long I'll be gone, but I'll keep in touch with you so you can say I'm okay. If anyone wants to know.”

“Don't,”
Bleu said. “Let me help you. Nothing can be so bad it can't be worked through.”

“The way you and Michael could work it through?” Madge said. She bowed her head. “I'm sorry. It wasn't the same.”

“It's okay. But you aren't dealing with a Michael Laveau. Are you interested in Sig?”

“He's a nice man.”

Bleu didn't need an interpretation of what that meant. “Okay. He likes you a lot, doesn't he?”

“I don't know.”

“Madge?” Bleu said.

“Okay. Yes, he does, but he deserves someone much better than me. I could never be any good for him.”

“Because you're in love with Cyrus?” Bleu watched her cousin's face.

“Yes,” Madge whispered.

“Do you want him to leave the Church?”

“No.” Madge was adamant.

“Is he thinking about it?”

Dark eyes filled with tears, and Bleu wished she hadn't pushed so far.

“I don't know,” Madge said. “Please drop it. I know I can talk to you if I have to.”

“Promise me you won't leave Toussaint without letting me know first.”

Madge wouldn't look at her. “I can't promise that.”