Killer Cousins (8 page)

I chuckled with others at his self-deprecating humor. I liked this young man.

He continued, “We wish the owner could be here.”

Yes, we do wish that.

“But he’s out of town. Come back again, and you’ll be sure to meet him,” Jake said.

The fluttering in my chest signaled my wanting to see the owner, yet I knew I shouldn’t.

Stevie spread butter on crackers we’d been served. She ate them, seemingly unaware of my anxiety.

I glanced toward the side to try to break up my thoughts. Father Paul Edward was laughing. So were the women at his table. Did that man of the cloth—apparently also a man of the world—know much about the man who died in Stevie’s yard?

“Right now we’ll have our joke contest,” Jake Bryant said. He flung out his hands. He didn’t wear a wedding band. “Please come up and share a favorite joke with us. They have to be clean. Cajun jokes are especially encouraged, if anyone knows any.”

Now, during the grand opening, joke contests would be held every evening. Later they’d take place at a variety of times. Contest winners would be chosen by customers and receive their meals on the house.

“I wish I knew some jokes to tell,” Stevie said.

I did. I’d heard many at Gil’s restaurants but could never imagine, as Gil sometimes suggested, that I’d ever get onstage to tell one.

The waiter served our appetizers. Stevie attacked her fried onion rings, and I dug into my corn soup. The shrimp were chewy, the creamy base well seasoned.

One brave soul took to the stage. The small middle-aged man began his joke.

Almost as loud as his voice through the mike, a woman’s angry tone could be heard.

The complaints came from Babs Jacobs. She stood near Jake Bryant, pointing her finger at him. This was her left hand. I noted her fingers also without rings.

“What is her problem?” I asked.

Babs must have realized how loudly she spoke. She lowered her voice.

Stevie swallowed an onion, her gaze aimed at Babs. “She can’t see well enough to drive in the dark. Jake came in late to take Babs’s place.”

I set my spoon down. “How do you know that?”

My cousin’s eyes did their mystic-thing—gazing as though not seeing, at least not through their pupils. “I read her vibes.”

Okay, this psychic seeing of hers spooked me.

Customers clapped as the jokester left the stage. Another man took his place. My interest held on the two managers, farther aside from the stage now and still talking. Babs continued to look annoyed. She held up her wrist and appeared to show Jake her watch. And then she stomped off.

“I think you’re right about her. I have problems driving at night, too,” I told Stevie. “So can you tell anything about
his
problem?”

“He likes her, but doesn’t think he stands a chance with her.”

“Amazing. How do you know that?”

She rolled her eyes toward Jake. “I saw the way he looked at her.”

“Oh.” So much for her intuitive knowledge. I checked Jake out and could see the way he peered soulfully at Babs’s trim departing figure. If he really did want to date her, I hoped he would give himself a chance and ask her.

If I stayed around town long enough, maybe I could make sure they got together.

People applauded for the joke-teller. No one else went on stage. Jake looked first resigned and then happy as he hopped up to the mike. “We’d like for all of you to decide on the winner,” he said.

Audience applause chose the first contestant. I watched Jake leaving the spotlight. His smiling face became serious. Of course Stevie could read signs such as a man wanting interest from a woman. I could also read that body language.

The trio resumed their music, and our entrées arrived. Stevie praised her fried oysters, fish, and shrimp, and the stuffed crabs and gumbo. Her meal looked appetizing, and mine tasted scrumptious. I tore into the stew. People everywhere smiled and ate. Father Paul Edward came toward our table, but didn’t glance at us. Cheerily following the pretty ladies, he leaned slightly on his cane, his foot drooping.

I’d seen a movie in which a killer faked a clubfoot. When Father reached my side, I had to squash an instinct to yank his cane away, then watch to see if he’d keep going without a foot problem.

Stop it, Cealie
.

He walked off with the women, and I gave myself a mental head slap for my wicked thoughts.

“Well, he’s not smoking,” Stevie said. “At least not on a cigarette.”

“Ooh, you wicked person,” I said and gave her a good-girl hand slap.

“Of course, people can’t smoke in restaurants anymore,” she said, “but I looked for a cigarette-pack bulge in his pocket. None. No cigarette in his hand, either, ready to light up when he got outside.”

“What would he be doing with those ladies?” I asked, watching them sashay on spiked heels, their hips rolling.

“They look like ladies of the evening. Maybe he wants to take them both into the evening at home and see what happens.”

“Stevie, you really are wicked. I like that.” I felt comforted by seeing this playful part of her I’d enjoyed when we were kids.

“They sure ate fast. I guess they were in a hurry,” she said.

I finished my meal, sorry I’d have to leave Gil’s place, sorry he wasn’t here. Cajun Delights was a terrific restaurant, but without him lacked the spark I’d come to love.

“That was good.” Stevie wiped her mouth with her napkin. “Mmm, and that looks even better.” She stared at the entrance. The old Stevie was back, it seemed, since now she sounded like that young teen girl who, along with me, ogled older teen boys.

I looked where she did, ready to make a smart comment.

And faced Gil Thurman.

Chapter 7

Gil stood six foot three, with a well-muscled chest and broad shoulders beneath a white shirt and navy sports coat. A pinch of dark chest hair was visible where his shirt opened at the collar. His jeans were pale blue, hiding soft briefs probably the same shade.

Intimate parts of my body reacted.

I struggled to close my mouth.

My peripheral vision let me spy Stevie staring at my face. Maybe wondering why I didn’t speak. Or possibly I was drooling.

I ignored her, focusing completely on Gil.

His thick, steel-gray hair had grown a little near the temples, where a sprinkling of hair had turned silver. His eyes were deep gray. It took only a moment for them to survey his restaurant. His gaze met mine. A smile lit Gil’s face. He strode toward me.

I met him halfway across the room. We hugged. He was also glad to see me. Very glad, I could tell as we hugged tighter.

“What a surprise,” Jake Bryant announced in the mike. “Here he is, everyone. The man who gives us Cajun Delights, Mr. Gil Thurman.”

I pulled away from Gil.

He grabbed my waist and drew me partway in front of him. I smiled at everyone staring at us and clapping. I gave them a wave. I wasn’t sure what Gil was doing behind me. I was pretty sure he wasn’t waving. He probably awarded them his great smile. I liked the feel of him clinging to my waist.

“Would you like to come up here and speak to your guests?” Jake asked him.

I shifted aside so Gil could pass to the bandstand while people clapped.

“Stay here,” he said in a deep-throated whisper. He gripped me tighter and kept me in front of him.

I didn’t mind. Mmm, warm and comfy snug against him.

“We’re happy you’re all here,” Gil said in a loud tone, and I kept smiling at all the people. “We hope you enjoy your experience. Please let anyone on our staff know if there’s anything at all we can do for you.”

I raised my hand like I was telling them ’bye. And then Gil’s large hand tightened on my waist, nudging. We moved to a recessed area, away from everyone.

“Hello. How are you?” he said to me, his head leaning down. His lips that I knew to remain warm moved toward mine.

Heat flooded my body.

“So you know each other,” my cousin said.

I jerked away from Gil. “Stevie,” I said in a high-pitched tone. “Oh, this is the restaurant’s owner, Gil. Mr. Gil Thurman.”

Her eyebrows drew toward each other. “From what I just saw, I don’t think you ordinarily call him
Mister.
But I’m happy to meet you, Mr. Thurman.” She accepted his handshake.

“Don’t you call me
Mister,
either,” he said. “I’m Gil. And your name, lovely lady, is…?”

Color flooded Stevie’s cheeks. She giggled. “Stevie Midnight.”

“She’s my first cousin,” I said.

“I’m sure Cealie’s told me about you. But with the years creeping up, I forget. Please excuse me,” Gil told her.

“No way are years creeping up on you,” Stevie replied. She kept grinning at him like a flirtatious thing was going on at her end. Then she addressed me, “But I doubt if cousin Cealie mentioned me. I sometimes think she’d like to forget I exist.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” I gave her hand a friendly squeeze and smiled at Gil. “She’s one of my favorite relatives.”

I let go of Stevie’s hand and discreetly pinched my right palm. Hoped my lie wasn’t a big one.

“Come join us at our table,” Stevie told him, still wearing that silly expression. Her eyes actually sparkled. Her cheeks stayed rosy.

No, don’t join us. What would Gil and I say in front of you?

“Thank you. I will.” Gil swung an arm out, letting us lead the way.

“But we were almost through eating,” I said.

Gil saw my smile vanish. He looked amused. He widened his smile at me, probably looking forward to seeing me squirm while I tried to explain our relationship to my cousin.

She stepped out ahead of him. I walked behind Stevie toward the table where we’d sat. Gil touched my lower back. His hand remained, its heat shooting pleasant chills to significant parts of my body.

“Here we are,” Stevie said, reaching our table. “Oh, everything’s gone.”

Gil no longer touched me. He looked unhappy. “I’m sorry that happened.” He stepped toward our waiter.

“But we were finished with everything,” I said.

He spoke to the waiter for only a second.

Jake Bryant came rushing to Gil. “We need to talk.”

Gil nodded. He smiled at our waiter, who hurried away. Then Gil came to us. “I’m sorry I won’t be able to join you.” He glanced at Stevie. His gaze held on mine. “I’ll look forward to seeing you another time. Soon.”

“So nice to meet you,” Stevie said, accepting his handshake. “You certainly will see us again real soon.”

Gil gave my shoulder a light squeeze. And then he was gone.

Then I breathed.

“Oh. My. God.” Stevie leaned toward me. “That man is gorgeous.”

My throat stayed tight. I nodded.

“So tell me how you know him. Oh, Cealie, you have a real hunk there.”

I shook my head, finally loosening my throat so words could seep out. “No, he’s not mine. Not my hunk.” I shook my head.

“Then tell me how he can be mine.”

Okay, I didn’t really want to renew my relationship with Gil. But I sure didn’t think my cousin should try to hop in where I left off with him.

“He’s a grown man. He can be with whoever he chooses,” I snapped.

“Whomever,” she said, correcting me.

“Yes.”

“You own a copyediting agency and don’t know that?”

“Of course I know it, but the word sounds pretentious. I don’t say
whomever
unless I need proper grammar. I don’t try to sound proper with you.”

“Whatever.”

“Whomever,” I said.

Soon I could hear Gil’s voice. I quit talking and listened. He stood a few feet away from us, past tables filled with customers, and I could hear his annoyed tone with Jake. So unlike Gil to raise his voice.

A distance beyond them, I was surprised to see Father Paul Edward and his female escorts still here. They sat on stools at the bar, all laughing. And was that orangey drink in the priest’s tall glass liquor?

“She’s not!” Jake Bryant told Gil. His angry voice made customers at nearby tables stare at them. So did we.

Gil touched Jake’s arm and tilted his head toward the rear of the building. They walked off, toward what would be the main office. There, Gil would let Jake share all of his complaints without other people listening.

“At least we know what that’s about.” Stevie made her fingernails tap dance on a black square of our tablecloth.

“I don’t even know who he’s talking about, so how could I know the problem?”

“I’ll guarantee you, he’s talking about Babs.”

“How would you know that?”

“Uhhh.” Stevie touched her temple.

I had no idea whether this meant she had figured out their problem or she was psychic and guiding spirits told her. Or maybe she had a headache.

“We should go,” I said, catching the eye of our waiter. He headed in our direction, his cart filled with meals. “Can I have our check please?” I asked.

“It’s taken care of.” He set shrimp and corn soup in front of me and added a plate of shrimp stew and lima beans.

“I’m sorry, you’ve made a mistake.” I set the soup back on his tray.

He returned the bowl in front of me. “I did, ma’am, and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have taken your dishes away without finding out if you were finished eating.”

“That’s no problem. We were done. Thanks, but we don’t want this.”

“Speak for yourself.” Stevie grinned at the seafood platter placed in front of her.

Our waiter gave us fresh iced tea. He set a strawberry daiquiri next to my glass. “Can I get you something from the bar, ma’am?” he asked Stevie.

“I hardly ever drink,” she said, which surprised me. She’d yanked whiskey out of her kitchen cabinet to dump in our coffee after I’d tripped over her visitor. Now she eyed my glass holding the red drink. “But I’ll have one of those.”

“Right away.” He walked off, and Stevie seemed to be eyeing his butt.

“Did you lose something back there?” I asked.

“He probably goes to college, and he used
can
instead of
may
to ask me about a drink. I’m a teacher. Maybe I should correct him,” she said and grinned. “I could give him lessons. Private ones. Free.”

I forced a grin to meet hers. I’d never known Stevie to come on to a guy. I hoped going after real young ones wasn’t a new thing for her now that she’d aged. Of course, she’d never had a guy of any age that I’d known of. I’d never thought she was really interested.