Robert Asprin's Dragons Run (14 page)

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah.” He pulled a cell phone out of his pocket and pushed the green button. “Okay,” he said into the mouthpiece.

A few moments went by before the door opened. Gris-gris shouldered in. Griffen was shocked. The gambler was always thin, but he had lost more weight since Griffen had seen him last. His gleaming dark skin had a gray pallor. The whites of his eyes were streaked with red.

“Hi, Gris-gris,” Griffen said. He offered a hand. Gris-gris looked at it in disgust.

“I don’t touch the hands of traitors,” he said.

Griffen blinked. “Come again?”

Gris-gris’s intense dark gaze grabbed his. “You been stealin’ my customers while I was dyin’. And to think I felt you was my brother.”

Griffen realized that the men had surrounded him while he was speaking to Gris-gris. At the bar, the other regulars were watching. Very subtly, men and women alike reached into pockets or handbags for the personal weapons they carried, and armed themselves. Not as subtly, Fred the bartender reached underneath the counter and came up with a battered Louisville Slugger. Griffen was family. If he needed to be defended, they had his back.

Griffen looked deep into Gris-gris’s eyes. Something was wrong there. The other man kept blinking, as if his thoughts troubled him. There was an odd smell on his clothes and hair, like a musty spice. It made Griffen cough.

“I haven’t seen any of your customers,” Griffen assured him, trying to remain calm. “Your guys have been running your games. If anyone came from your tables and didn’t tell me he normally plays with you, I apologize.”

Gris-gris almost spat. “Not good enough,” he said.

“What’s not?”

“You sayin’ it. I know it’s true. And you swept my lady away. I looked everywhere, and no one seen her.”

“Gris-gris, I swear I haven’t seen Val since Mardi Gras. I’m as worried as you are.” He peered closely at the other man. Gris-gris kept clenching his fists and jaw. He really wasn’t listening to what Griffen was saying. “If she wanted to break up with you, she’d do it herself. She’s not shy. You know she’s been happy with you. I wouldn’t interfere with that.”

“Hold it,” Ann Marie said. She pushed her way into the circle and took Gris-gris by the jaw. He batted at her hand, but she had a healthy grip. She stared into his eyes. “He’s not right, Griffen. He the one you wanted help with?”

“No,” Griffen said, grimly. “This is new. But I think it goes back to the same place.”

Ann Marie looked up at Gris-gris’s escort. “This man shouldn’t be out of bed. You take him home. I have to call someone.” She turned to Griffen. “Did you touch him?”

“Uh, no,” Griffen said, alarmed.

“Then you go home. I’ll take care of him. I’ll call you later.”

“. . .
So
there are no concerns from any department for you to address at the moment,” Marcella finished, flipping her notebook closed. Her mouth sealed into a firm line.

She and Val stood alone in the front foyer at the base of the grand staircase. For the previous few days, Henry had stood at Val’s shoulder as she took the daily report. Today, in her hand, she held a note in Henry’s flowery but immaculate handwriting that she was ready to take the report alone and would be expected in place at 10:00
A.M.
When Val had come downstairs, Marcella had been waiting for her. Alone. Val had hesitated a while, expecting the rest of the staff. As the minutes had ticked by, Val realized no one else was coming. Reluctantly, she had asked Marcella for her report. It was short and not at all sweet.

“May I go now?” the housekeeper asked with some asperity. “I have many duties waiting for me.”

Val desperately wanted to regain the appearance of authority. She cleared her throat.

“Can I ask how Agnes is doing? And the baby?”

“They are well,” Marcella said.

“Just well?”

“Well enough. That is all you need to know.”

Val frowned at her.

“You don’t really like me, do you?” Val said. “I don’t know why. I’m a stranger here. You people don’t have to be so unfriendly.”

Marcella was unmoved.

“Mrs. Wurmley wants you to learn from us. My job does not require friendship.”

“Do you think I’m trying to take something that doesn’t belong to me?” Val asked. “I’m only here for a while. I’ll be going home soon. I don’t want anything from Melinda, except . . .” She let her thoughts drift. Marcella smiled thinly, as if her suspicions were being confirmed. Val finished her sentence very firmly. “Except for some baby clothes. And the crib. I really need a nice crib.”

“I see,” Marcella replied, her voice even. “Can you honestly say you don’t want a portion of Wurmley Enterprises?”

“I can’t run a business,” Val said. “All I do is pour drinks. I still have to finish college. I’m struggling here. Cut me a little slack. All I did was conceive a baby. If you think that makes me some kind of criminal mastermind, I have news for you, honey. As far as I’m concerned, I got swept up in some kind of whirlwind and whisked away to Oz. I don’t even have ruby slippers.”

Marcella didn’t laugh, but her stony face seemed to relax a tiny bit.

“Would you like a pair?”

Val did laugh. “Only if they will take me back to New Orleans. I’m just trying to fit in, okay?”

“All right,” Marcella said. She hesitated. “I really need to get back to work.”

“Okay,” Val said. “Report accepted. Thanks.”

Marcella left but not with the same resentful stride as she had in days past. In fact, if Val had to put a name to her attitude, it would have been “thoughtful.”

From that day onward, it did seem to Val as if the staff eased off the pressure it had been exerting on her in subtle ways. Her breakfast juice was never again sour. The towels waiting for her as she climbed out of the pool were not only perfectly dry instead of damp, but warmed. All of the estate’s employees greeted her with a little more friendliness and patience. Once she had reassured them that she knew her place, they treated her as a guest instead of an imposition. Privately, Val thought it was hilarious that they felt they needed to defend Melinda against her.

The only one who didn’t give her any room was Henry. The blond secretary never ceased to try to incorporate her further into the household. He lost patience when she didn’t remember business facts that he had thrown at her in passing. Val wanted to strangle him even though she was learning more every day under his tutelage than she had in college. He seemed unaware of the minor conspiracy to make life easier for her. Marcella made sure that Val got breaks when she needed them, gave her the household report succinctly and coherently in the mornings so she didn’t have trouble remembering the facts, and never brought her a problem for which she couldn’t supply an answer. Val doubted Henry suspected someone was helping her crib for her debriefings with him in the afternoon.

Marcella had eased up so much that she began dropping by in the morning when Val had her breakfast and sharing the pot of coffee. Fraternizing with Val was probably strictly against the rules, so neither ever mentioned the second cup on her tray. Val learned Marcella had worked for the Wurmleys since she got out of college with a degree in hotel management. Her dream was to run a boutique hotel someday. She thought she was getting good experience here. Val realized that the dour woman was probably only about ten years older than she was. She just seemed so much older.

The staff was clearly intrigued and tickled by the growing relationship between her and Mike Burns. Val found new clothes in her closet that fit her changing body but were undeniably sexy at the same time. Magazines were left in her room turned to articles that he invariably found interesting if she brought them up. They were trying to facilitate the romance. Val thought it was cute of them. It was like having Cinderella’s little dressmakers working for her. It was hard not to enjoy herself. And Mike.

If she had invented him, she would have found it difficult to devise a more perfect man. Mike always looked gorgeous but not fussy. His blue eyes just melted her. He complimented her on her clothes and laughed at her jokes and stories. When they went out, he took her to small, quiet restaurants and clubs where they could talk. He never pushed. Val found that intriguing. Most of the guys she had gone out with had tried to get her into bed on the first night. She liked being with him. Every time the phone rang in the mansion, she hoped it would be Mike, asking for an evening out.

After a few dates, they found themselves gravitating back to the jazz club where they had had their first date.

•   •   •

“My
life? My life’s dull,” Mike said, pitching his voice over the sound of the blender. The slim male bartender had recognized the lovely blond woman immediately and threw pieces of cut fruit into his food processor and squeezed a lime over the top. He poured out the orangy mixture, popped a maraschino cherry onto the top, and placed it before her. Val sipped it. The silky mixture was tart, sweet, and tangy. Her salivary glands puckered for a moment, then relaxed.

“That’s delicious,” she said. “I could get some great tips if I served that at my bar. What’s in it?”

The bartender grinned.

“Mango, peaches, fresh lime juice, a half spoonful of bar sugar, cantaloupe, and a handful of peeled grapes.”

“God. That’s fantastic!” She attacked the straw again, draining a quarter of the glass in two or three sips. The two men chuckled. Mike slipped a five over the polished wood counter. The bartender accepted it and moved away to serve another customer. Val made a face at Mike. “Don’t laugh at me. Taste this. It’s great.”

“I’m not laughing at you,” he said. “I like to see you enjoying things. I’m pleased that I can bring you new experiences. It’s hard to compete with New Orleans.”

The name brought a surge of memories of the city back to Val all at once, especially faces. She thought of Gris-gris and felt guilty.

“You know, I have a boyfriend at home.”

Mike’s eyebrows went up. “Serious?”

“Pretty serious.”

“Are the two of you exclusive?”

Val had to think for a moment. “Well, we have been up until now. We never really discussed it.”

Mike looked reluctant, but he was always the total gentleman.

“Should I take you home?”

“No, you don’t have to,” Val said after a moment. She really hated to have the evening end. “I’ve been gone so long, he might have found someone else by now. He’s a pretty amazing guy.”

Mike’s shoulders relaxed. He hadn’t wanted to go, either. Val was glad.

“What does he do?”

“He runs a gambling organization,” Val said. “Like my brother.”

“Really?

Val stared at him and clapped a hand over her mouth. She had a momentary vision of horror: Gris-gris and Griffen being taken away in handcuffs. The guilt surged again, overwhelming her. She found a tiny voice.

“I don’t know if I should have admitted that to you.”

Mike grinned at her and drained his glass.

“Well, don’t worry about it. I’m not an officer of the court. I’m just a businessman.”

Val pantomimed wiping sweat off her face. “Whew! Sometimes I forget I’m not back home.”

Mike smiled and signaled for more iced tea. “It’s fine. I don’t like to judge other people . . . Could you see yourself marrying this boyfriend one day?”

“I don’t know. We’re having fun together.” That statement sounded lame even to her. It wasn’t fair to Gris-gris, either. It didn’t say anything about how gallant he had been, how protective, and how incredibly good in bed he was. Mike didn’t comment. She guessed part of being a politician was diplomacy.

“Do you ever want to get married?” he asked.

Val smiled sheepishly.

“I suppose so. I’ve had the fantasy every girl does, with the big day, the big dress, the big cake. Then I have to laugh because I live in blue jeans most of my life.”

“So do I,” Mike confessed. “I have to wear suits in public, but what I really love is my old college sweatshirt, broken-in jeans, and a pair of Birkenstocks.”

“I would never have picked you for a sandals guy,” Val laughed.

“Well, I’ve got tough skin.”

“Me, too,” Val said, then stopped. She wasn’t about to discuss her newfound dragon heritage with a total stranger. “I used to go barefoot most of the summer.”

“I always did. I love the feel of grass between my toes.”

Val laughed.

“You’re not like any of the other politicians I’ve met,” she said.

“I am so glad you noticed,” he said. “I hope I can convince you I am a very different kind of man. So, what are your plans after the baby is born?”

“I don’t really know yet,” Val said. “I tend to wing things, but I know I have to make a plan of some kind. I know that my brother and I are going to raise it. Griffen is a good guy. We haven’t been that close in past years, but I really love him. He’s turning out to be Mr. Overprotective.” Val looked around the big room. It was late enough in the evening that he would be out and about. She ought to be able to catch him, maybe in the Irish pub. If he had seen Gris-gris, he could tell her.

“What are you looking for?” Mike asked.

“A phone,” Val admitted. “I haven’t talked to Griffen in a month. I have a lot I need to ask him.”

He smiled a little sadly. “Can’t you wait until after you get home?”

Val was immediately contrite. It had to be pretty insulting of her to be sitting with him and want to speak with someone else.

“I’m sorry. I’m being rude.” She changed the subject immediately. “So, when did you first know you wanted to run for office?”

“Student council,” Mike said. Val looked at him in mock despair.

“Not really!”

“Really,” he admitted with a sheepish smile. A dimple formed in his right cheek. “If anyone was going to be in charge, I wanted it to be me.”

Val laughed. It was really nice to go out with this man. He was so different from Gris-gris—just as driven but less intense. Instead of being in your face demanding respect, he brought you around to believing that he should get what he wanted. He was thoughtful, always noticing what she wanted. She wondered what he would be like in bed. The fact that he held her at arm’s length drove her crazy in a way, but she kind of liked it. He was waiting for her to ask him. She wondered how long she would make him wait. It added a tantalizing spice to what was becoming a comfortable relationship.

“Your glass is empty,” Mike said. He signaled to the bartender. “Hey, Mel, make us both a couple of those fruit shakes.”

Val smiled.