“We’re going down,” Vivian shouted. “We’ll drown.”
“Not without a fight.”
Second after agonizing second passed, filled with a roaring, sucking sound. Drops of water fell on Vivian’s face. The van wasn’t watertight. “It’s coming in,” she told Spike. “We’ve got to get out.”
“Just hang on,” he told her. “If we were alone we’d be out of here by now. Okay, that’s what I hoped, we’re righting a bit. Wait, then do exactly what I tell you.”
With that, he hacked at the passenger window with the butt of his gun.
“It’s not working.” She sobbed and shook, struggled to keep a hold on his naked torso.
“Cool it,” he told her, swinging a leg over her. He put all of his weight into kicking at the window. The glass parted company with the frame, but only enough to allow water to gush in. No way could they get out through the gap.
Vivian tried to stay calm. Hard things clattered across the floor of the van. Water poured in fast.
Spike twisted around and reached behind the seats. He scrabbled among objects that clanked. “There’s gotta be something heavy enough,” he said. “Maybe this.”
She couldn’t see what “this” was but it was long and curved and when Spike used it on the window like a battering ram, the glass shattered.
He didn’t speak again. Grabbing Vivian, he pushed her through the empty window frame, pushed her against the blasting weight of water until she slithered out.
Almost instantly her head was above the water and on a level with the top of the van. Attempting to smother her coughs, expecting gunshots to explode around her, she fended off the floating water hyacinth that glided around her neck and shoulders.
She searched around, looking for Spike. Her shin cracked against a submerged tree trunk. Tears stung her eyes.
Spike should be right behind her.
Hands, closing on her ankles, punched her heart into her throat. She couldn’t breathe. Something had happened to Spike. A brief vision of him, submerged and dead inside the car, froze her blood. Trying to hold on to the roof of the van was useless. Slowly her splayed fingers slipped. Slimy flotsam caressed her chin, then the lower part of her face. The man beneath the water, and she knew it was a man, felt for her arms and pulled them to her sides.
Help me, Spike.
She cried out to him inside her head before she sank beneath the surface.
Water rushed into her nose, then into her mouth and down her throat when she tried to scream.
I
f she didn’t drown or die of a heart attack, he might save them both.
The odds weren’t great.
She’d think he was the enemy intent on killing her but there was no way to let her know otherwise.
Spike’s lungs burned. He couldn’t hold his breath much longer. Grabbing a handful of Vivian’s hair, he pushed her back inside the Ford and up to the roof where an air pocket would keep them both safe, at least for a little longer. Clamping her there with his feet, he arched backward until his face broke the surface and he sucked in air. He wasted no time before slipping beneath the water again and lifting Vivian all the way into the vehicle before following her.
Water hyacinth decorated her streaming head. She pushed the trailing stuff aside and looked into his face. He was sure she’d instinctively realized it was him by now.
“Spike.” She coughed and spat out water. “I thought
you were dead. God help us. Is he up there waiting—seeing if we get out?”
“He may be up there watching but by now he’s pretty sure he’s done what he set out to do. Don’t talk. There isn’t much air.”
Spike found the back pocket in his pants and fumbled with the button that closed it. In the end he tore the button off. He didn’t expect it to work, but his cell phone was in there.
When he held it up, water ran from the seams.
“That won’t do anything,” Vivian said.
As if he didn’t already know. He punched a button anyway and knew he was in luck, at least for now, when the light came on. He dialed 911 and gave praises when the woman who answered proved quick to understand the wild story he told. “On their way,” he told Vivian, dialing again. “Cyrus? Where are you? Get here. Move it. We’re breathing our last in Bayou Lafourche. Someone tried to murder us. We don’t have much air—up against the roof.”
The absolute silence that followed enraged Spike, before he thought about what he’d just told Cyrus.
“By the time you get this far, we’ll be dead or with the local law.”
Cyrus muttered something about making sure he knew how to find the local morgue.
“Very funny.” Or it might be at some other time. “It’ll probably be the Lafourche folks from Raceland who come. Find us there, or call and they’ll tell you where we are.” He switched off and wrestled the phone into his back pocket again before realizing that wasn’t smart.
Spike thought he could hear sirens. Even if he wasn’t imagining the sound, it was probably too early for them to be coming for Vivian and him, but he squeezed her arm as if he thought they were. She had guts but she wasn’t made for this.
The sirens grew distinct and, finally, Spike could see reflections of rotating lights on the water. “They’ve come,” he said, making to put her through the window again.
“Not this time,” she told him. “You first, then hold my hand. Don’t you dare let go of me.”
“Giving orders again,” he said. “Already.”
Spike, trailing Vivian behind him, bobbed into a searchlight trained on the bayou and struggled through the miniwaves created by heavy rain, to the bank where more than one cop hauled them to muddy ground.
“We’ve got better things to do than rescue dummies who make out too close to the bayou,” an officer drawled. “You might want to tone down the action in future—if you’re anywhere near water. Must have been some wild stuff going on to rock the vehicle over.”
Coughing, wringing water from the bottom of her blouse, Vivian said, “What’s the matter? Are you jealous?” completely stealing anything Spike might have said. “Someone just tried to kill us. Get that van out of the water and you’ll see what I mean. First he slashed a tire. Then he rocked us till we…You can see what happened.”
“It went the way the lady says,” Spike said, trying not to grin at the way the cops had turned to throat clearing and toe bouncing. “We’re cold and damned wet. If you could get us somewhere we can dry off, we’d appreciate it.”
The wardrobe available at the sheriff’s department in Raceland would never make it at a New York fashion week, but Spike and Vivian were warm and dry.
“I can’t let you two out of my sight,” Cyrus said, floating his shockless Impala down U.S. 90 toward home. “Look at this weather. What would make you drive off the freeway and go down by the bayou like that?”
Spike hitched at jeans bunched around his waist with a belt and grunted. If Cyrus couldn’t work that out…Well, of course he couldn’t work it out but it was a dumb question anyway. The pants had to be a forty-inch waist and he’d had to roll them up at the bottom. He didn’t want to think about the check shirt that billowed around him.
“Cyrus.” Vivian sat between them on the front bench seat. She’d insisted this togetherness would keep them warm. “You know perfectly well what we were doin’ by the bayou. You just want to hear us say it so you can count it as a confession of some sort.”
Spike tried to sink lower. He’d swear a lot of what she said just came straight out of her mouth unchecked.
Vivian felt him scrunch down beside her and smiled tightly. Served him right for patronizing Cyrus with silence. Nothing shocked him and it was time Spike worked that out.
“We were, um, um, spoonin’,” she said.
Cyrus chuckled. “I don’t think I ever heard anyone but an old-timer say that. It’s about time we brought you into the new century. Making out. Lip-locking—whatever. There’s a bunch of terms they use now, I just tend to forget ’em. But they don’t
spoon
and neither do you.”
“We certainly could,” Vivian said, sounding ferocious. “All we’d have to do is lie on our sides, one behind the other, real close and with our knees bent. Spike’s knees up behind mine so I sort of sat in his lap. Or the other way around. That’s not so popular. A man prefers a woman to sit in his lap. Makes him feel big.”
Spike turned his face to the dark window and tried to count the lights they passed.
Cyrus struggled against grinning. “I’m not sure I knew that, Vivian. Thank you for explaining it to me. I expect that started way back when people needed combined body heat to stay warm when they were sleeping.”
“Or not sleeping,” Spike said. He couldn’t help it. “A man who feels big may not be so interested in sleep. And people sure as hay-ell do still spoon. They just call it other things. Anyway, doin’ that in the front seat of a van might present difficulties.”
He’d managed to silence them and he sighed with satisfaction. Trouble lay ahead and it was time they concentrated on what they were going to do about it. Surreptitiously, he ran the knuckles of one hand up and down Vivian’s arm. They could concentrate on the serious stuff, and on each other at the same time. He had only just begun to enjoy this woman.
Another pressing concern was where and how they could be together, alone—frequently.
“I like my new dress,” she said. “It’s soft. Makes it easier not to have any underwear when there’s nothing rough on your skin—and no hard seams.”
“Thank you for sharing that,” Spike said. “I expect Cyrus appreciates it, too.”
“I always appreciate knowing people are comfortable,” the wily priest said. He kept his eyes on the road and repeatedly corrected for the bouncing, swaying motion of the station wagon. “Anything you two would like to discuss? Or announce?”
Vivian clamped her lips together. It was Spike’s job to act like a man and wiggle out of this one.
“We’ve got a long list of things to think about,” Spike said. If he didn’t fear she’d deny it, he’d say they might be falling in love. Whatever that was. “We learned things in New Orleans that could have a lot to do with what happened to Louis, if we could only figure it all out.”
“We will,” Vivian said calmly.
“Sure,” Spike said. “Then we have a missing gardener, the murdered lawyer I already mentioned, questions about why there’s criminal activity centered on Rose-bank. And what could be the biggie and the root of all
evil—what did Louis intend to reveal that would be valuable enough to snatch Charlotte and Vivian from the claws of financial disaster?”
“Almost forgot,” Cyrus said. “Madge sent a flask along. Brandy. In the glove compartment, Spike.”
“
Madge
sent it.” Vivian shook her head. “That woman works too hard and too long. And she has to drive too far to get home. I still think she should either have a room at the rectory or…I just thought of it. We could do a room for her at Rosebank. She could have an apartment. It’s time she abandoned Rayne, frog capital of the world, for something convenient. She could help choose the way the place is decorated and pick out the furniture she wants from around the house. There’s plenty of it.”
Spike found the brandy, opened the flask and poured some into the lid.
Cyrus didn’t answer Vivian’s suggestions and she felt funny for being so enthusiastic. “It was just an idea,” she said.
“A good idea,” Cyrus told her. “Generous. You might want to mention it to Madge.” He was quiet for a moment before saying, “It’s time she was married and starting a family in a home of her own.”
Only a fool would miss the wistfulness in his voice. Spike found Vivian’s hand and squeezed. She was sure he felt what she did in Cyrus: his longing.
She accepted several sips of brandy from Spike. It felt warm and good going down.
“Will there be a full-scale investigation into what happened tonight?” Cyrus said. “That man wanted you dead. They must track him down.”
“There are long fingers in this pie,” Spike said. “I’d stake a lot on it. And it’s all about money. I’ve got a feeling Charlotte and Vivian are right in the middle and that’s where you’ll find me. I have…I’m their bodyguard, so to speak.”
“I feel better hearing you say that,” Cyrus said. “Don’t you need a license or something for that kind of work?”
Spike smirked, thinking of the things few people knew about him. “I’ve got a P.I. license. Got it after Bonine had me drummed out of Iberia and I needed an income. Kept it up. I can do anything I need to do and I’ve got anything I need to have, I make sure of that.”
Vivian looked at him with fresh respect. “You used to seem so quiet.”
“I am quiet,” he said. “You bring out the extrovert in me.”
“Are you Catholic, Spike?” Cyrus said. “Vivian is, I know. Be easier if you were, too.”
This time Vivian felt embarrassed. “There’s nothing to make easier, Cyrus,” she told him.
“Maybe not yet,” he said, undaunted. “Best to be prepared, though.”
“Bet you were a Boy Scout,” Spike commented. “Darn good one, too. I guess you’d say I used to be a Catholic.”
“I was never a Boy Scout,” Cyrus told him. “You and I need another talk. This time I don’t intend to let you put me off.”
Great
, Spike thought. He glanced sideways at Vivian and his heart turned. She looked so sad he longed to hug her.
“We’re there,” Cyrus said, bumping and bobbing down the road leading to Rosebank. “Charlotte knows there was an accident but you’re both fine. I wanted to make sure she wasn’t too shocked when she found out. She’s stronger than I thought. All she said was that Spike would take care of you, Vivian.”
At the entrance to Rosebank, the white stone, pineapple-topped posts shone in Cyrus’s headlights.
“The law seems to have given up searching for Gil,” Vivian said. “That amazes me.”
“They’re still looking,” Spike said. “Other things come
up and they have to spread themselves around. Gil will walk in one day, see if I’m not right.”
“I surely hope you are,” Vivian told him.
“What about his relatives?” Spike said. “They must be beside themselves.”
“I thought his brother would come to the house, but he didn’t. Mom and I have been over there but all he talks about is how long it takes to declare someone dead. He wants to move into Gil’s duplex because it’s bigger, then have his son move into the one he’s using now.”
“There’s another brother, too,” Cyrus told them. “If something has happened to Gil, there’ll be a war there because brother three won’t stand for being cut out of the property.”
“Shit,” Spike said with feeling. “Why do some people get ugly over stuff they never had a right to.”
“If you ever figure that one out,” Cyrus said, “I’d appreciate knowin’. Death brings out the worst in some. They see it as an opportunity.”
Vivian pressed her hands to her face. “Don’t,” she said. “Gil’s probably alive. With a family like that I might run off just to get some attention.”
Spike ducked his head to see the sky beyond the roof of the west wing. “Whooee, mama,” Spike said. “Good thing it’s rainin’. Looks like there’s a bonfire goin’ out back.” He didn’t feel as unconcerned as he’d made sure he sounded.
“New gardening crew,” Cyrus told them. “Mrs. Hurst recommended them to Charlotte.”
“And they already started?” Vivian gripped the dashboard with both hands. “We can’t afford them. Anyway, they wouldn’t be working now.”
“The bonfire was goin’ late this afternoon,” Cyrus said. “Rain and all. I think they may have been encouraged by your neighbors to go the extra mile, Vivian. And
from your mother’s reaction I got the impression the men had been sent as a sort of gift from Susan Hurst. Charlotte didn’t seem too sure what she should do about it.”
Cyrus parked near the front steps.
If Spike hadn’t got out quickly, he thought Vivian might have climbed right over him. “That fire’s too big,” she said, running the instant she hit the ground.
Passing her would have been easy but Spike loped along beside her and Cyrus quickly caught up.
The scene they burst onto stopped their flight. A bonfire roared and in the jagged ring of light it cast, Charlotte and Wazoo yelled at three men in oilskins who were training hoses on the blaze. Garden hoses.
“It’s gonna be okay,” Spike said. “It’s not goin’ anywhere. I’m glad I’m not on the other end of your mama’s tongue, Vivian. She’s givin’ them hell.”
Shaking her head, Vivian marched on. “I’d say Wazoo’s doing her bit.”
Charlotte, her short, gray hair bright in the firelight, noticed the trio and threw her hands in the air. “Can you believe this?” she said when they got close enough. “There’s plenty to burn and they asked beforehand, but I never thought of them pilin’ everythin’ on Gil’s compost heap. He’s going to be so mad.”