Sunrise in a Garden of Love & Evil (10 page)

C
HAPTER
N
INE

Gideon took in the situation and the room, which was twenty by thirty or so. A small cloth-covered table by the door held a silver tray of bottled water, a box of tissues, and a white ceramic lamp. A large folding screen enclosed the room's far-left corner, and curtains on the far wall covered the doors to a balcony at the back, if he recalled the building exterior correctly. Violet was enraged and squirming in the grip of a burly man wearing only boxers and socks. Artemisia stood beside them, blushing and clutching a camera to her chest. A scrawny balding man who must be Plato crouched against the far wall, and Darby Sims had his back to the door. At center stage, staring each other down, were the blonde from the Chamber and Gideon's very own Ophelia, gripping that ridiculous whip.

"Marissa, you are way out of line," Darby said, his voice rife with embarrassment. "Cool it or they'll call the cops."

"Already here," Gideon said in his ear. "Whatever happened to your taste in women?"

Darby snorted. "Man, I'm glad you showed up. What do we do?"

"Nothing for the moment. Wait. Watch."

"Watching's no problem at all." Darby sucked in a tight, appreciative breath, murmuring, "And I thought Violet was impressive."

"For fuck's sake, Vi," Constantine spoke up. "Let Tony get dressed. Ophelia can fight her own battles." In a smooth, practiced move, he wrapped an arm around Violet as Tony let her go.

"Bitch!" Marissa screamed, oblivious to everyone but Ophelia. "Say something, goddamn it! Bitch!"

"Many people would agree with you," Ophelia answered, rocking on her stockinged heels, feet spread in an aggressive stance.

"It's no surprise that men flock after you, the way you dress," Marissa sneered. "Slut."

Ophelia ran eyes over the blonde's own attire. "They flock after me no matter how I dress. I send them all away. Then their women come crying." She yanked on the bullwhip, snapping it, and Marissa yelped and backed away. "Whose poor, helpless, neglected woman might you be?"

"You don't know, do you?" Spittle flecked Marissa's mouth. "You stole my husband and didn't even think about what it would do to me, you home wrecker, you thief, you witch, you--"

Ophelia cut into the abuse. "I don't steal. If your husband, whoever he is, was jerk enough to come on to me, I told him to fuck off. Some men don't listen." She paced the room and back, toying with her whip, hot as hell but playing it cool. It took all Gideon's concentration to notice anything but her.

" 'Whoever he is'!" The blonde threw up her arms. "Did you all hear that? Whoever he is! As if anyone could forget Johnny!"

Ophelia stiffened but let go of the tension so quickly that Gideon almost missed it. She went on walking, turning, the whip coiling through her hand and lashing behind her like a tail. "I've known a lot of Johnnys."

"Johnny Parkerson," Marissa said. "Well? Where is he?"

Ophelia stopped, a tight smile on her lips, her fingers clenched around the handle of her whip, but then recommenced pacing. "Crazy Johnny. Blond like you, lady, and I don't usually go for blonds, but incredibly good-looking. I haven't seen him for ages. Maybe you should try one of the clubs he worked at." She threw her sister a furious scowl.

Violet stopped struggling in Constantine's arm and glared back.

Constantine deposited her on the chaise next to a bewildered Artemisia. "I remember him," he said coolly. "You know, Vi, the exotic dancer. Called himself the Blond Bomb."

Violet made a face. "Oh dear, yes. Anything would set him off." Beside her, Art let out a nervous little titter. "Darby mentioned him just the other day, but Johnny left Bayou Gavotte years ago, and Ophelia's right. He never worked in my club."

"I kicked him halfway to Atlanta," Ophelia said with satisfaction. "I did you a favor, lady. I could have turned him into something like Plato here if I'd wanted." She motioned toward the loony crouched against the wall. "Instead, I sent him home."

"You did a rotten job of it, bitch, because he left me again and came right back here to dance with you in your club."

"True, he did come back again, more than once, but I sent him away every time. As for dancing, it must have been with someone else. It's been years." Ophelia appeared to have lost interest. She began coiling her whip.

Violet stood, saying crisply to the blonde, "I really must get back to work. I have no idea why you've come to harass Ophelia, but I can't have this kind of disruption in my club."

Marissa planted her hands on her hips and shrilled, "I'm here to find my scum-sucking husband! Darby's tried in every club in town, but I know you've got him hidden someplace!"

"Why would we hide Johnny? Ophelia told him to go away--and when she says go away, she means it." Violet glanced at Gideon. "Usually. In Johnny's case, definitely. He's a very unstable man. We were relieved when he left."

"But he never came home!"

Ophelia looked up from the whip, that tight smile back, her voice tense and clear. "What do you bet he found someone new?"

"Ophelia!" Violet said. "Don't be catty!"

A muscle quivered at the corner of Ophelia's mouth. "Her current escort doesn't look too thrilled."

"Hard to believe the poor bastard could find anyone to equal you, baby," Tony said unexpectedly. "It's been entertaining, but I've gotta go." He slid his feet into his loafers and left.

Violet gathered the clamps and chains from the photography session and stowed them in the silver shopping bag from the Chamber. To Marissa, she said, "Girl, it's obvious you did a rotten job of holding on to him, but look on the bright side: He's crazy. He got on everyone's nerves. He must have been impossible to live with." She turned away. "Constantine, please walk Artemisia to her car. You've made your arrangements with Ophelia, haven't you, Art?"

Art dragged her eyes from Dufray. "Um, yeah." She glared at Gideon, daring him to object.

Violet smirked. "Don't worry about your sister, Mr. O'Toole. Constantine can be a perfect gentleman when he chooses."

Gideon was doing his damnedest to keep a blank expression, but the struggle must have shown. Or not. Nobody in his right mind would cheerfully watch his sister waltz away with Dufray.

"Hey!" Marissa howled. "You can't brush me off. My husband has disappeared, and I don't know if he's alive or dead, and--" She gaped. "My God, that's Constantine Dufray!"

"I'm sure he'd be happy to give you an autograph," Violet said.

"An autograph!" Marissa screeched. "From a murderer?"

"Tsk." Violet shook her head, and Constantine grinned.

Marissa's face was suffused with rage. "I've looked for Johnny all over, and I haven't been able to find hide nor hair of him, and now I know why. He got on your nerves and you had a nice convenient murderer right here in town. You had Constantine Dufray kill him!"

An astonished silence fell. The coils of the whip slithered out of Ophelia's hands. Gideon stared at her, Darby hissed with chagrin, and Violet wound herself up to speak. Constantine started to laugh. Plato against the wall pitched in, a high hysterical sound, and Ophelia gathered the whip and stalked toward him.

"Shut up!"

He clamped his hand over his mouth and rolled onto his back like a dog. One leg wagged out of control.

Still laughing, Constantine laid a hand on Art's shoulder. She jumped, her eyes flying to his. "Don't worry, babe." He pushed her gently toward the door. "You couldn't have a safer escort. I'll kill anyone who gets in the way." He tapped her on the rear and they went out.

"I'll go to the cops," Marissa spat. "He won't get away with this. None of you will."

"Cops?" said Ophelia coolly. "There's one right here in the room."

Oh, no she didn't. "I'm off duty," Gideon said. "Go to the station in the morning and file a missing-persons report."

"Bullshit. That's all I hear in this town." Marissa sneered. "Did your girlfriend like her vibrator? Obviously that matters more than whether my husband's alive or dead."

"When I'm off duty and it's not my case? Of course it matters more."

"They say the cops in Bayou Gavotte are in bed with the clubs, and you're the proof. You'll all be sorry!" Her heels clacked across the floor as she stormed away. "Come on, Darby."

Gideon's friend blew out a breath. "Later, man," he said. "I'm really sorry, Violet."

Violet folded her arms and tapped an irritated foot.

"Come
on
." Marissa stomped out the door. Darby threw up his hands and followed.

Ophelia stood over Plato, fingering her whip, and for a brief appalling moment Gideon envisioned himself in Plato's position as a love slave. Then he returned to sanity.

"You'll have to do without your smile this time, Plato," Ophelia said, her voice tight but not unkind. "Now get out." The man whimpered and shambled backward toward the door, eyes still fixed on her every move. Ophelia threw down the whip and scowled at Gideon, as if to order him the same, but her lip trembled treacherously.

"Gideon, I expect you to see that Ophelia gets home safely," Violet said. "Turn off the lights when you leave. Plato,
move
." She pushed the man out and softly closed the doors behind them.

Ophelia ran across the room, parted the curtains, and lunged onto the balcony. Gideon didn't want to talk to her, hurt and angry as she was, but Violet had left him little choice. At the very least, he should...what? Apologize for being such an insensitive brute? If he'd known about Johnny...No, the magnitude of the problem hadn't sunk in. Factor in the Platos of the world, and no wonder she was running scared. Sure, he'd been a jerk, but this evening's crap wasn't his fault. No apologies, then. And he couldn't promise never to touch her again, either...

He turned off the spotlights, leaving only the small lamp burning on the table by the door. Slipping between the drapes, he pushed out onto the balcony. It extended the length of the room. A row of window boxes massed with petunias adorned the wrought-iron railing, flanked by a row of potted ficus trees. Some sort of fern dangled overhead. Music from the club dance floor drifted up through the heavy darkness. For a cold second he couldn't find Ophelia, but then he heard small, distressed sounds from the far right. She slumped between a ficus and the railing, head and half her torso over the edge, retching.

"Oh, hell," Gideon whispered, but this he could handle. He went for tissues and a bottle of water. Returning, he hovered while she heaved, spat, and shuddered. Then he laid one hand on hers that clutched the railing and said, "Here, take these."

She accepted the tissues and wiped her face, took the water he held out, spat some more, and finally sagged back, shivering all over. Gideon removed his shirt and laid it over her shoulders. Tentatively, he put an arm around her. She didn't lean into him but didn't pull away either, just shivered and then shivered less, and finally took a long, deep breath.

"Better?" Gideon asked.

Ophelia shrugged under his shirt. "I'm all right, thanks. You can go now." But she didn't sound all right, and she made no effort to escape.

I can't just back off, honey,
he thought.
That won't solve anything. Not for me, not for you, either.
He gazed across the roof of Violet's house and the rooftops beyond, into the deep purple sky of Bayou Gavotte, and prayed for inspiration.

From three stories below came a mournful howl. "Poor Gretchen," Gideon said. "She's wondering why she's stuck down there with your statue while I'm up here with the real thing."

"I suppose Constantine took you to see it," Ophelia said bitterly. "How dare Vi order you to take me home!"

"She's concerned for your safety," Gideon said. "So am I."

Ophelia shifted out of the circle of his arm. "She's trying to force me into bed with you. It's not going to work."

"Of course not," Gideon said. "I can woo you without any help from Violet or Constantine."

"Oh
God
," Ophelia replied, "Please don't be one of those." She pushed shakily from the railing, and the shirt slipped off her shoulders.

He caught it and put out a hand to steady her. "One of what?"

"A romantic. Wooing me. Everything smelling of roses."

"Right now you smell of vomit, honey. No worries."

Ophelia gave a small sound, almost like a laugh, and tripped slowly toward the doors. Gretchen bayed miserably below. "Go get that poor dog. You don't have to take me home. I must have eaten something bad, but I feel fine now."

"Gretchen can wait," Gideon said.

"Do I have to spell everything out? I don't
want
you to take me home." With obvious effort she added, "You've been very kind. Now, please go away."

Gideon followed her inside, shutting the balcony doors and pulling the curtains. "Screw kind. We need to talk."

"You don't give up, do you?"

"No," Gideon agreed.