Ask a Shadow to Dance (7 page)

She looked away. Tears collected in her eyes. “I shouldn’t bother you with it, Doctor Stewart. It isn’t your concern.”

“Not my concern! Someone struck you hard enough to—” He had to remind himself to be professional. He took a deep breath. “Have you put ice on it?”

“Ice?
No. Would that help?”

“Yes. I’ll also give you a shot for the inflammation and pain.”

Fear appeared in her eyes.

“Don’t worry. It won’t hurt much—just a prick, actually—and it will make the bruising less painful.” He used the intercom and called Darlene to bring the injection.

Lisette calmed somewhat. She appeared curious.

“What is it?”

“I’m wondering where you went after I saw you on the deck of the
Star
.”

He had to think for a moment.
“The
Star
? You mean the
Queen
, don’t you?”

“I’ve never heard it called the
Queen
. I’ve ridden twice now, on the
Cajun Star
both times. I saw you on the deck, after the boat docked and asked you to take me home—a thoroughly brazen thing to do, I admit—then you disappeared again. Were you serious about wanting to call on me?”

“Of course.”
He paused to think. “You saw me on the deck of the riverboat?” That had been in his dream. How could she know about that?

“Yes.”

“All right. Let me tell you what happened and you tell me if you remember it that way.”

“Certainly.”

“I was standing on the third deck by the railing. I started to go back downstairs—”

“That’s when I called to you the second time. You didn’t hear me the first time.”

His heart pounded. “I went to where you were standing.”

“You said you didn’t know who my father was—”

“I needed to know where you lived—”

“My stepson came onto the deck—”

“And called your name. A man with a beard. With another man right behind him.” Incredible!

“The Captain, yes.
I apologize for Andrew’s rudeness.”

“He told you it was time to go.”

“But I didn’t want to go with him.”

“Who is Andrew?”

“My stepson.” Her expression hardened. She fingered her cheek. “Andrew Westmoreland.”

Rage tore through David like a flash fire. “He did this to you? Or was it your father?”

“Oh, no! Not my father.” The tears came back to her eyes. “My father never raised his hand to me, not once in my life. Now, he hardly knows who I am.” Her eyes flashed with sudden anger. “Andrew followed me home. I shall report to the authorities what he did to me.”

David had to control his rage. It colored his judgment, jeopardizing professionalism. He would deal with Andrew Westmoreland later. “You asked me to take you home.”

“Yes. But when I turned around, you were gone. The Captain agreed to accompany me.”

“You said Andrew followed you home. He did this to you in your own home?”

Lisette hesitated. “It isn’t anything you should concern yourself with. I intend to handle the situation myself, with Aunt Portia’s help.” She looked squarely at me. “Where did you go? Didn’t you want to drive me home?”

“Of course I did. I was about to tell you I’d take you wherever you wanted to go—anywhere in the world—when the phone rang.”

“The phone?”

“The telephone.
It . . . woke me up.”

Lisette shook her head. “I don’t understand. You were asleep on the riverboat and a telephone woke you? Isn’t that the new contraption allowing people to speak to each other, even when they aren’t in the same room together? You must be terribly rich or important to have one this soon. It will probably be years before we’re able to have one. My husband thought they were ridiculous, but to me such an invention seemed a miracle.” She paused. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

How could he explain being dumbfounded at the idea that anyone in this country would think the telephone years away from availability to the general public? He decided to explore this quaint point of view later.

“I didn’t mean to stare. You don’t understand. I was asleep, dreaming about the dance, about meeting you. I wasn’t on the riverboat. I only—” This
sounded more ridiculous by the minute. Darlene knocked, then came in with the injection. “You’ve had injections before, haven’t you?”

She shivered.
“Once or twice. It isn’t pleasant.” She appeared really nervous.

“Don’t worry. Darlene is an expert. I’ll wait outside while she gives it to you, then I’ll be back.”

He went into the hall. Lana was waiting. “What’s going on in there? That woman must have come in the back door. Do you know her?”

“Her name is Lisette Morgan . . . Westmoreland.” A bell went off in his brain, but he didn’t have time to analyze why. “Start a file. Her stepson, Andrew Westmoreland, hit her in the face—several times, from the look of it. Bruised cheek, split lips—possibly bitten from the look of it. I’d love to get my hands on this guy and—” He saw the look in Lana’s eyes and stopped. “Sorry. It infuriates me to see a woman battered.”

“I know. I’ll get a form for basic info and let her fill it out.” Lana went back toward the front office.

Darlene came out, shaking her head.

“What’s wrong?”

“I had to give it to her in the arm. She got mad when I suggested it would be better in her hip. She called me a deviant.”

He swallowed laughter. “I’ll take it from here. Thanks, Darlene.”

“Whoever hit her must have been really mad.”

“Not as mad as I am.”

David went back into the examination room. Lisette stood by the far wall, rubbing her arm.

“I don’t know why you have such a woman working for you, Doctor Stewart. She actually suggested—well, being a lady, I can’t say.”

“Don’t let it worry you. That’s the way we usually do it around here. It’s easier on the patient. Your arm will be sore for a few hours, until the medicine has a chance to dissipate.”

“Thank you. Just send the bill to me in care of Jacob Morgan, Adams Avenue, here in Memphis.”

“Your father!
I’ve looked everywhere, called everyone I can think to call. No one knows him—or Morgan Enterprises.”

Lisette seemed piqued by that statement. “I don’t know who you’ve been speaking to. Anyone who doesn’t know Morgan Enterprises must not have lived in Memphis very long. The company was established in 1850 and became one of the foremost producers of arms and ammunition in the South—until the Yankees captured Memphis during the War, of course. Since then—”

“Arms and ammunition?” That would at least give him a lead to follow. “Lisette, I want to see you again. I have patients waiting now, but I could meet you somewhere, or I’ll come to your home. Could you give me your address?”

“Address?”

“The exact location of your house on Adams Avenue.”

“We live past the
Neely home. It might be best if you didn’t come to the house. My father isn’t well. I wouldn’t want to burden Aunt Portia with preparations for visitors.”

“Aunt Portia must be a real stickler for southern tradition. Just name a place where I can meet you.
Later today?”

“Not today.
How about tomorrow?” She thought a moment. “Do you know the Peabody Hotel?”

“Of course.
I’ll meet you there at noon, by the fountain.”

Lisette glanced around the room. “Did you hear that?” She went toward the door, listening.

“What? I didn’t hear anything.”

“Aunt Portia.
Calling me. Is she outside?” Lisette hurried past, the hem of her gown swishing on the carpet. “Aunt Portia? I’m here.”

“Lisette, wait.” David followed her into the hall, but she was gone.
Damn, not again!
He ran to the back door and outside. No sign of her. Back inside, he searched every room, found Charlie Malone and his mother waiting in Room One, apologized for the delay, and went to the waiting room, full of people.

Lana leaned over the reception desk. “Doctor Stewart? Is there something wrong?”

“Did Lisette come out this way?”

“No, I thought—”

He rushed to the back door for another look. Darlene followed.

“Where did she go? I need more information from her.”

“You and me both.”

* * * * *

David met Joe downtown for lunch at Sleep Out Louie’s. The place was packed. Every one of the tall tables, surrounded by bar stools with long legs, was full, so they sat at the bar and ordered fried catfish po’boys, the special for the day, and two beers. The music was loud, the people were loud—exactly what Joe loved.

“Barbecue.
My house. Tonight at seven. Shawna’s already talked to Candy. You’re to pick her up at six-thirty.”

“I thought we’d settled this.”

“Shawna jumped on me when I told her you couldn’t come. What else do you have planned?”

David sighed.

“Uh oh. Trouble in Candyland?”

“We’ve been coming to this for a couple of months now. Candy wants to get married. I’m not ready yet. I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready. It isn’t fair to string her along. She’s a great girl. She’ll make someone a wonderful wife.”

“Just not you, huh?”

“Not me.”

“Don’t you think you ought to tell her that?”

“I have. She labels it male PMS and ignores me. I’m not in the mood to hash it out again.”

The po’boys arrived. There was enough food on David’s plate for both of them, but he decided to give it his best shot. The catfish was delicious and the fries cooked just the way David liked them. Joe didn’t waste any time getting started on his.

“Listen, Bro,” he said between bites, “come to the barbecue tonight. Afterward, you can tell Candy you’ve given it a lot of thought, and you’re not ready for a commitment. Break it off once and for all. I’ll help if I can.”

“I’ve already told her. There’s no way you can help. Thanks anyway.”

“If you tell her you both need a breather, she may interpret that to mean you’re getting ready to pop the question and need a little time to work up your nerve.”

“Get serious, Joe. Does that actually happen with men and women these days?”

“Probably not as much as it used to, but sure. You’ve been sleeping with Candy, haven’t you?”

He shook his head.

“You’re kidding!
Why not?”

“Even thinking about it makes me feel guilty as hell.”

“You shouldn’t feel guilty. It’s been five years. Fran wouldn’t have wanted you to become a monk.”

“Yeah, I know.”

He gave David a look which he recognized as his “Haven’t I ever told you?” look.

“David.”

Something serious coming. He called him David only when he was serious.

“It’s time for you to find somebody else. Fran is gone. If you’d been the one to die, you’d want her to find someone, wouldn’t you?”

“We’ve had this conversation before, remember? Of course I would. As soon as it felt right to her and she didn’t feel guilty for sleeping with the guy.” The idea of Fran in bed with anyone but him still made David furious. And the thought of sleeping with Candy always made him feel lousy.

He could tell Joe wasn’t going to give in on this. David knew him too well. “All right, I’ll bring Candy to the barbecue, but tell Shawna this will be the last time, all right? No more calling Candy and arranging dates for me behind my back. I’m going to break it off. As for finding someone else …”

Joe nodded, finishing off the po’boy. David had a third left but couldn’t eat another bite.

“I’ll tell Shawna. But you know what she’ll do.”

“I know. More blind dates. Can’t she give up and let me live my own life?”

“Shawna?”

“All right. I give up. I’ll move to Tahiti, where she can’t set me up every weekend with her girlfriends who have wonderful personalities and who sew their own clothes.”

“Pick Candy up at six-thirty. Greg and Lana will be there, so you’ll have someone else to talk to. Marilu has invited Phillip. Nice kid. How long have you known him?”

“I can’t remember. Good kid. Polite.” He’d have to have a talk with Marilu. Tonight.

David got home about five-thirty that afternoon. His emotions had been in
turmoil all day, thinking about the upcoming confrontation with Candy and about bruises inflicted on Lisette by a barbarian named Andrew Westmoreland. David had wracked his brain, trying to figure out how she could disappear from the office. His efforts to locate Westmoreland had proven to be as fruitless as finding Jacob Morgan—or his munitions plant. Nothing made sense.

Why did Lisette come to the office wearing a flannel nightgown?
Barefooted? If Andrew Westmoreland was Lisette’s stepson, her husband must be Andrew’s father. She’d been wearing black on the boat. Did that mean her husband was dead? She’d said she was living with her father and aunt now. And what about the name she’d used, referring to the riverboat? The
Cajun Star
. He’d have to call the Riverboat Line and ask if their boat had ever been known by that name. Jim would know. Or Captain Dale.