Read Sunrise in a Garden of Love & Evil Online
Authors: Barbara Monajem
"Wimp," Zelda said cruelly, feeding on her anger, knowing Joanna couldn't take it and not caring. She kept up with the other girl, stride for stride. "You are in big trouble. Do you know how many people told me this morning that Ophelia had sex with you? Sixteen!"
"Oh, no!" Joanna scurried around the end of the building. "Everyone will think I'm a lesbian slut!"
Zelda grabbed Joanna Wyler by the scruff of her preppy striped button-down shirt and yanked her against the dull cinderblock wall of the middle school. Joanna shrieked and dropped her books. Her homework danced away on the breeze. "I don't care what people think about you. Nobody lies about Ophelia and gets away with it. You hear me?"
"I never said Ophelia did it!" Joanna cried. "My homework! It's getting away."
"Your homework won't matter when you're dead," Zelda hissed in Joanna's face. "Which you will be if you don't fix this, right now!" She scowled at the small crowd that had gathered. "For God's sake, stop gawking. Somebody go pick up her homework!" She rounded on Joanna again.
"My parents just assumed it," Joanna squeaked. "I told them Ophelia didn't touch me. I told them she didn't take those pictures, but they didn't believe me. It's my mom's fault. All she ever does is sit on the phone and gossip."
"What pictures?" Zelda broke in.
Joanna's gaze shifted from side to side and a flush crawled up her cheeks. "Dirty pictures," she whispered.
"Ooh," said a boy. "I wanna see them. Will I get to see your tits, Joanna?" Some girls giggled. One solitary kindhearted boy was chasing around the parking lot after Joanna's homework. Zelda considered slugging the hoverers and decided against it. Joanna deserved humiliation, so humiliated she would be.
"Well then," Zelda said, easing her grip slightly, "this is easily solved."
"It is?" Joanna sucked in a deep, throbbing breath.
"You're going to tell your parents who
did
take the pictures. Better yet, you're going to tell me, right now. Tell all of us"--she glared at the semicircle of rubberneckers--"so we can spread the truth around instead."
"I can't!" Joanna howled. "I can't tell anyone, ever!"
"Is somebody threatening you?" Zelda demanded. "If they are, telling us is the best thing to do. There are six of us as witnesses. Seven," she amended, as Rick from art class showed up with Joanna's homework. He crammed it at Joanna, his eyes glued to Zelda's face.
Some do-gooder.
"They can't threaten us all. Who did it?"
"No!" Joanna's chest heaved. "I'll never tell! I'd rather die!" Her eyes flickered up and behind the crowd, and her voice rose. "Leave me alone, you bully! It's not my fault!"
Fury such as Zelda had never before known swelled inside her. Her jaw ached, her lips contorted in a snarl, and she drew back her fist to deck this girl good.
"Wow, Zelda," Rick said in an awed, worshipful voice. "You're so hot when you're mad!"
Zelda got in one solid punch at Rick before the administrator took her arm.
When the red Cadillac pulled up in front of the house, Gideon held his breath, waiting for the storm. It didn't come. Ophelia stiffened at the sight of the car and its buff blond driver, and then abruptly, immediately relaxed.
Huh,
thought Gideon.
Seen this before.
Her tone was disgusted but placid. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised."
"You need protection," Gideon said, "and I can't provide it. No bud get for attempted-murder victims, and I have work to do. What choice did I have but to call Lep?" He watched the bodyguard check himself out in the side mirror before heading gracefully toward the front steps. "That dude belongs on the cover of one of Jeanie's romance novels."
"That's what he thinks, too. Let's go. I have work to do, too."
"You're not going to freak out? Argue? Yell at me?"
"I might yell at you next time I see you," Ophelia said placidly. "Several hours of Reuben's tall, blond, and hypermasculine presence should get me good and pissed off."
Gideon's lips twitched. "You're not acting like the Ophelia I've gotten to know."
Ophelia hunched a lazy shoulder and yawned. "I got laid. It relaxes me. Takes the edge off my allure, too, so poor Reuben won't have to fight himself so hard not to come on to me. However, I refuse to get into his car without a little more clothing." She snatched a throw off an old rocking chair in the corner and wrapped the fabric around her bare hips.
"You don't seem any less alluring to me," Gideon said, closing his eyes to shut out the view. He had to work.
"Thanks." Ophelia yawned again. She knotted the ends of the throw, sarong-style.
"Sure you'll be okay with this dude?"
"He won't kill me."
And that was that. She parted from him amicably, even absentmindedly, and yet...and yet something warned him of tension hidden underneath that pleasant, distracted exterior.
Good old instinct,
thought Gideon.
I'll figure her out.
The blonde bitch was at the station when Gideon hared through a few hours later, between one set of fruitless interviews and the next. Her strident voice carried all the way to Gideon's office in the back. "I heard it on the news. There was a body in Ophelia Beliveau's truck. You knew it might be my Johnny, and you didn't call me!"
The chief regarded her blearily. "We had no reason to believe the victim was your husband. We now have a tentative ID, someone else entirely."
"Tentative? What good is that? You're deliberately hiding him from me. If it's Johnny, I have to know! How else can I collect on the insurance?" As Gideon came through the door from the back, Marissa eyed the chief. "Well, if it isn't Vibrator Man. He's protecting that Ophelia bitch because he's got the hots for her, just like Johnny."
The chief put three shingles and a utility knife on the bench by the wall and bent an annoyed eye on Marissa. "Do you have a reason for your visit, ma'am, other than to disrespect my detective?"
The blonde kept right on going. "He's wasting his time, because she's sleeping with Constantine Dufray. Otherwise, why would she be carting dead bodies around for him?"
"If you wish to view the body, I can arrange it," the chief said. "But since the height, weight, and coloring don't match those of your husband, and the face was beaten to a pulp and is unrecognizable, you might want to think twice."
Marissa's color faded under her makeup, ghastly against the tight purple spandex that enveloped her ripe curves. "My Johnny was beaten to death?" Her hands flapped to cover her mouth, her eyes wide and aghast. Jeanie made concerned sounds.
Gideon and the chief exchanged glances. "Not your Johnny," the chief said. "Someone else." He retrieved a tape measure from under the counter.
Marissa moaned. "Constantine killed my Johnny, and if you'd seen how he looked at me in that club last night, you'd know I'm in danger, too! Oh God, what am I going to do?"
In an ideal world
, thought Gideon,
you'd leave town and never come back
.
Jeanie got up and put a hand on Marissa's arm. "Hon, you're exaggerating this all out of proportion. If Constantine killed everybody who got on his nerves, we'd all be dead by now. His bark is way worse than his bite." The blonde snatched her arm away. Jeanie shrugged, her duty done. "His bite's pretty doggone fantastic." She ambled back to her desk and picked up her current romance.
The chief said, "Ma'am, there's no evidence Dufray killed your husband or anyone else. It's all hype. Publicity for his bad-boy image." He set a square against the shingle and cut it smoothly in two.
"What about his wife? He poisoned her!"
"No evidence whatsoever." He measured and cut another shingle. Yesterday's plywood was now a box shaped like a lean-to. The chief placed a strip of shingle on the slanted top of the box and nailed it squarely, then set another shingle in place. "Looks good, doesn't it? The little critters will love it."
Marissa made a face. "What critters?"
"Bats," the chief said. "They keep the insect population down, and they're delightful to watch in the evening sky. Not only that, but--"
Marissa inhaled deeply, clenched her fists hard against her thighs, and screamed.
"I've got to run," Gideon said disgustedly. "Thank God for genuine homicides." He tossed a credit card at Jeanie as he headed out. "Get me a new cell phone. Same number, pronto. Mine's at the bottom of the river."
"In the cause of true love, what's a cell phone?" Jeanie said.
"This
is
a genuine homicide!" Marissa was shrieking. "You know how I know? Because Johnny always came back to me. He always called me when he was away. Sure he was crazy, sure he was fixated on Ophelia Beliveau, but he needed me! He fixated on other girls, too, before Ophelia, but he came back then, too. That's how I know, in my heart and my soul, that he's dead. That woman is suckering you, Vibrator Man, you and your no-good chief and this town!"
An instinct nagged at him, but he shrugged. "Without a body, there's nothing I can do." Gideon left by the back door.
Marissa's voice pursued him. "It'll be my dead body next! Constantine Dufray's planning to kill me!"
So help me,
thought Gideon,
I almost wish he would.
Ophelia pulled to the curb in front of her sister's house, the red Cadillac close behind her, just as Artemisia parked her Toyota across the street.
Okay,
Ophelia told herself,
pretend to be normal. Calm, composed, living an ordinary life.
"What's that monster machine you're towing?" Art asked.
Help me out, why don't you?
"It's a chipper." Ophelia jumped down from the cab of the big macho truck, trying not to sound surly. Trying to sound...cheerful. Competent. A business owner pleased with a purchase. "I just bought it today."
"Eew," Art said. "The kind of thing that chops branches up into wood chips?"
Hopefully that's not all it chops.
"That's why it's called a chipper."
"It looks like it's falling apart," Art said. "Are you sure it's safe?"
"I got it cheap for one special job," Ophelia said. "It doesn't have to last long."
God, please let it last long enough.
"Did you see that movie
Fargo
?" Art shuddered. "Just looking at that thing freaks me out."
Like Gideon's sister had any concept of freaked out. Ophelia pasted on a serene face as Reuben came around the truck, sweaty, gorgeous, and pissed off. "Your brother decided I need protection, so poor Reuben's been stuck hanging with me all day."
"Whoa." Art blushed. At least she'd forgotten about the goddamned chipper.
A howl of fury came from behind the house.
"I will not be you!" Zelda screeched. They hurried toward the back, and Violet came into sight, dripping wet in a transparent red robe. She battled with the nozzle on the hose she held and sent a harsh spray across the garden at her daughter.
"You are my child!" shrilled Violet. "Have you forgotten everything I taught you about violence? Manage your anger, Zelda. Fight it and control it!"
Zelda sent an even stronger spray from her own hose, knocking Violet into the petunias, and Ophelia sprang forward before some plant that mattered was destroyed. She vaulted the gate and sprinted around the back of the house.
"Damn it, Zelda!" Violet shoved herself up, seething, groping for her hose, but Ophelia got there first and snatched it away.
"I am not a child! I will not be you!" cried Zelda again, her voice suffused with unaccustomed misery and rage. She sprayed the hose furiously across the garden, drenching Ophelia and spattering Reuben and Art as they rounded the corner of the house.
"Pax!" called Ophelia. She turned off the nozzle of Violet's hose.
"Okay, pax," Zelda said on a bitter little sob. She tossed her hose onto the flagstone and threw herself at Ophelia's chest and dug her fingernails into her arms. "I so totally screwed up," she wept into Ophelia's shirt. "Tell me what to do!"
Ophelia peeled Zelda's fingers away and closed her arms around her niece.
Violet flung up her hands in disgust. "I. Give. Up. From day one I've told her violence is never the answer, and the minute she hits puberty she starts beating people up."
"Like you don't lose your temper, Mom," Zelda burst out. "Like you've never slugged some guy who came on to you."
"Only when I had no choice," Violet said. She caught sight of Reuben and perked up.
Ophelia's bodyguard stared happily at Violet, dripping wet and nearly naked. "Need a hug?"
"No, I'm perfectly under control, you delicious, pheromone-rich hunk of meat. Ophelia put you to work, did she? Go take a shower, darling. I know you can't stand that sticky feeling."
Reuben grinned at Violet and raised his eyebrows.
"Sorry, darling, I'd love to join you, but right now Zelda's my priority. If she would only listen to me!" Violet's eyes flashed.
Zelda's flashed right back. "Maybe you should try listening to
me,
Mother!"
Art hovered uneasily at the corner of the house. "I'd better go home."
"Not at all," Violet said. "Come into the kitchen for tea. You're so much older and wiser and more cooperative than my adolescent child, of whom I expected much, much more." She saw Reuben hanging indecisively at the foot of the steps, his eyes on Ophelia. "Go! Girl-talk time. You're not wanted."
"For heaven's sake, Reuben, I'm not going anywhere," Ophelia said. "Have I tried to escape you even once today?"
"See?" Violet said, once the bodyguard was on his way up the stairs. "Even Ophelia's cooperating. And thank God for that, since her life is in danger. I'm glad to see at least one of my family acting sanely." Tears spilled onto Violet's cheeks. Ophelia sensed Zelda softening and grabbed her by the arm.
"Zelda and I will have a little talk." She hauled the teenager onto the back porch and settled beside her on the swing. "I am frigging well
not
cooperating," she said under her breath. "I am biding my time. And don't you dare tell Vi I said that. Now tell me what happened."
"Mom doesn't understand at all," Zelda said, when she had finished explaining the incident at school. "So what if I got suspended? So what if I was mean to Joanna? She deserved it. And please, please don't be mad at me for defending you. I couldn't
stand
what they were saying."
"I'm not mad, I'm grateful." Ophelia squeezed Zelda's shoulders. "But I think if we give Joanna a chance, if we make her feel safe with us, she'll tell the truth."
"She's already called twice. I refused to talk to her." She raised stubborn eyes. "It's not like Mom was an angel in school. She got into all kinds of trouble."
"Sure, but she never let it get past the administrator's office. I was more like you. But that's not the issue, is it? And neither is Joanna or the boy you slugged."
"No," Zelda agreed, and sniffed and bit her lip and finally released a couple of tears and then a couple more. Ophelia hugged her hard, and for a long time they sat together in silence.
Zelda sighed. "I didn't think it would be like this. I
swore
I wouldn't have a vamp's temper. I love Mom, but it drives me crazy when she throws things around and breaks dishes until some dumb guy holds her down. It's so childish! The water-therapy thing's sort of fun, but I don't want to be out of control when I'm thirty-five. I don't want to be out of control
now
, but I lost it, Ophelia! I don't even remember what happened. I was
blind
with it. What got into me?"
"Your mom's not out of control," Ophelia said. "The drama works for her, so she uses it. Has she ever hurt anyone when she throws things around?" Zelda shook her head. "When she breaks something, does she expect you to clean it up? No, she takes care of it herself. And you may have noticed that she gets a lot more irate when there's some guy around to grab her. Violet
likes
being squeezed into submission."
"Ick." Zelda drew in a throbbing breath. "What am I going to do?"
"Find your own way to control it, sweetie, and don't beat yourself up in the meantime. Have you sprouted your fangs yet?"
Zelda rubbed her gums. "No. Maybe I'm not a vamp. Maybe I'm just a violent bitch."
"Wishful thinking, I'm afraid," Ophelia said. "The main thing is to have control over your fangs once you do sprout them, and to use them only in the direst emergency. You could do a lot of damage."
God, yes.
"Not just to the person you attack, not just to yourself because you'd feel terrible, but to the safety of vamps in general. Maintaining our privacy without harming others is a huge challenge. In Bayou Gavotte, with any luck, you'll be all right, but there won't always be a Lep or a Constantine around to keep you out of jail.
God, no.
Slugging people isn't good, but it's a better option until you've learned some control."
"But why do we have such terrible tempers?"
"Because when some really bad guy comes along, and unfortunately there will be plenty, your temper will be exactly what you need. An enraged vampire with her fangs out terrifies ninety-nine bad ones out of a hundred, and with your wits and some self-defense training, you can hopefully handle the hundredth, too."
God, yes, please.
"Ta-da!" Violet flung open the back door and motioned Art forward. A new, elegant Art in a long, slinky electric blue dress and impossible heels.
Art tottered forward. "This is so not me!"
Ophelia laughed. "You look fabulous."
"And definitely not sweet sixteen," Violet said. "To night will be so much fun."
"I'm dressed too much like Marissa," Art said mutinously. "If this is what Dar wants, I'm not right for him at all!"
Violet twitched the flared hem into place. "This is just an
occasional
you, snaring your man being the occasion. Tonight, the aim is to show him you're all grown up. Once that's sunk in, we'll wallop him with something else."
Inside the house, the phone rang. Zelda jumped off the swing and stopped dead. She glowered at Ophelia. Ophelia shrugged.
"Oh, all right," Zelda said. "If it's Joanna, I won't hang up on her. But that's all I promise."
It wasn't Joanna, though. It was Gideon.
"He sounds serious," Zelda said. She handed Ophelia the phone.
"Thank God you're there," Gideon said. "You're not answering your phone."
"I left it in the truck. What's wrong?" She saw Violet's eyes on her and knew what her sister was thinking, knew what she had now realized and would have realized earlier if not for other overriding concerns, but Gideon's next words drove all other thoughts out of Ophelia's mind.
"There's been another murder," Gideon said. "Plato's dead."
"Why?" Two tears rolled down Ophelia's cheeks at the pathetic sight of Plato on the forest floor with a hole in his chest. Dead leaves and pine straw clung to his clothing, and an army of ants marched efficiently under his once-crisp white shirt. She felt Gideon's eyes on her, as they had been ever since she parked at the side of the old country road across the river from her property. Gideon had nodded his thanks to a relieved Reuben, and since the red Cadillac had driven away, his focus had been unnervingly upon her, and the attention had nothing to do with sex.
She shook off an uncomfortable feeling of being tested and tested again. "He must have seen something," she answered herself slowly. Her eyes traveled through the trees toward the river. "Whoever shot at me, maybe?"
"What's the likelihood he would have been down at the river at dawn?"
"Close to nil," Ophelia said.
"If he saw something at dawn, he had all day to report it, but he didn't try to call me till close to two." Gideon sounded horribly grim. "He called three times within a few minutes. The third time he left a message, saying he needed to talk to me and only me, that he thought he had something but wasn't sure. At two thirty-five he tried me again and was cut off before he finished identifying himself. Shot at close range with a small-caliber pistol is what it looks like. By then I guess he was sure, but it was too late."
"Why didn't you answer your phone?" Ophelia couldn't hide the anguish in her voice.
"My phone was at the bottom of the river. I picked up messages every chance I had until I got the new phone an hour ago. This killer has sheer dumb luck."
"Plato was ready for work," Ophelia said irrelevantly. "He always wears a starched white shirt to work. He always wore black to the club." She bit back a sob. "He was crazy, but he was
good
. There aren't enough good people around. What was he doing over here?"
For too long, Gideon said nothing. Ophelia looked at Plato again, at the mess of churned-up pine straw around him and the dearth of it to one side, at a drawn and trampled patch of poison ivy and a broken native azalea. "You think maybe he wasn't shot here," she said. "That he was dragged--or dragged himself--from over that way."
Gideon still said nothing but led her slowly through the trees, parallel to more signs of disturbance, toward an old brown farmhouse nestled in the woods.
"The people who live in this house are on vacation," Ophelia said.
He waited some more, and again she felt obliged to explain.
"They asked me to take care of their lawn while they're gone. The people next door commute to New Orleans every day." She nodded at a green Victorian similar to Gideon's in size and shape. "I did some perennial beds for them last year. It wouldn't be hard to get in and out of here unseen. He could have parked on the driveway, dragged Plato through the woods, covered him with dead leaves and pine straw...The body might not have been found for ages. And of course, whoever shot at us this morning might have been here, too." Now it was her turn to ask questions. "Who found him?"
"One of the construction workers came down here after his shift to scope out the river for fishing. If he'd been an hour earlier, I might have had a witness."