Sunrise in a Garden of Love & Evil (21 page)

Psyche let out a blood-curdling yowl of rage. "Motherfucking cat!" Gideon roared, and Psyche tore into the open and made for the woods. Gretchen barked and tossed herself into the spray.

"Get away, you idiotic dog!" Ophelia peered under the house and again took aim.

"Damn it, Ophelia!" Gideon sputtered. "What's gotten into you?"

"Do you have a search warrant?" she hollered. Gretchen got in the way again and Ophelia gave her a blast with the hose. The dog grinned and skittered away.

After a too-long pause, Gideon said, "Why would I want a search warrant?"

Stupid, stupid! Think fast!
"That's what I'm asking
you
, jerk!" She shot the spray full on him again. "You have no right to be on my property. Go the hell away." He crawled out the front, and she hared around the end after him, gripping the hose.

He still looked gorgeous, damn him, water dripping off his dark hair and the end of his nose. Except for the suspicion and anger, the disgust in his eyes. Misery welled up inside Ophelia. She switched the nozzle off and threw the hose to the ground, put her nose in the air, and swept past him in a blaze of allure. The net bag twirled and swung under her crinoline, crashing into one thigh and then the other. She'd have so many scrapes and bruises, she'd be unable to make love for weeks. But there'd be no one to make love to, would there? So everything was perfectly fine.

She climbed into Constantine's truck, turned on the ignition, and rammed it into gear. Tires spitting gravel behind her, she tore out of the driveway. Gideon opened his cell phone and slammed it shut again, calling down curses in her wet, dead garden.

Gideon felt the neighbor's eyes on him as he coiled the hose onto the hook at the end of Ophelia's house. He waited until Donnie had called little Connie Wyler over, installed her in his truck, and driven away, before crawling under the trailer again. Thirty seconds later--for the anonymous message had been detailed and accurate--he found the remains of the secret compartment. He strode, still dripping, down the driveway and across the road, thinking about the weeping garden, about his chronically disappointed father and his desperately lonely mother, about talking and listening, about patience and trust and love, deciding he would get it right no matter how many times he had to try.

Unless, of course, he was just a sucker, which he might so easily prove to be, but when it came to Ophelia, the grip of instinct was so strong he couldn't fight it even if he wanted to. And of course, he didn't want to.
Christ,
he thought,
I'm a fool for love. Or maybe just for spectacular sex. This is the pits. And I don't have time for it now.

How had Ophelia known about the gun?

Later,
he decided. He opened the cell phone again and dialed Leopard, who answered just as the chief's car parked behind his. "Lep," said Gideon, "I don't have time to explain, but when Ophelia gets there, keep her there until I get back to you. She's not safe anywhere outside club control."

Now to deal with the other side of the problem.

"Looks like we're close to cracking this case," the chief said, before he'd even turned the engine off. He got out of his Cadillac in a white button-down shirt and khaki pants.

Gideon shucked off his shirt and wrung out the water. "Hopefully so."

"What happened to you?" The chief gave Gretchen a perfunctory pat. She stuck her nose up at him and retreated to the cool grass near Gideon's car.

"An accident with a hose." Gideon kicked off his shoes and dropped his wet pants.

"Shit, Gideon, you can't make an arrest in your boxers." The chief nodded at the crime-scene people scurrying to get as much as possible done before dark.

"I can't make an arrest at all," Gideon said. "I don't have a suspect yet." He laid his clothes across the top of the Mercedes.

"Yes, you do," the chief said. "I got an anonymous phone call on my personal cell. The gun's in Ophelia Beliveau's house."

Shit, what a close call.
The murderer wanted to make damn sure Ophelia took the rap for his crimes. Did he know Jeanie was Ophelia's sister's friend? That Gideon was Ophelia's lover? "We already know someone has it in for Ophelia Beliveau. This is the same dude."

"You're making it too complicated," the chief said. "The guy in the photo shop--we have a positive ID now--was blackmailing Beliveau, so she offed him. She offed the girl in the shop while she was getting rid of the evidence, and then she shot Plato Lavoie when he tried to turn her in. The woman's a menace. Arrest her."

"That's nice and simple, Chief, but it's not true. Her alibis are solid. She didn't do it." Gideon peeled off his socks and slipped his shoes back on. He took the flashlight off his belt and skirted the path toward Plato's platform.

The chief followed. "They aren't solid enough. She spent today with one of Leopard's goons. What kind of alibi is that? She's key to this case. Everywhere you turn, there she is."

Far more than you know.
Gideon went up the rope ladder.
I must be out of my mind.

The chief climbed up behind him. "Even if she didn't actually do it, she's an accessory. You have to arrest her." He hung from the ladder, watching the sky. "Almost dusk. The bats should be out any second now."

"Sure she's key," Gideon said. "If she'd trust me long enough to talk it through, I could wrap it all up."

"You're thinking with your dick." The chief stepped onto the platform. "I can't have that."

"I'm not thinking with my dick," Gideon said, relieved that he sounded so much more certain than he felt. For the second time that day, he took in the telescope, the shears, the potato chips, the baskets, the yellow utility knife, the slowly shriveling vines...There had to be something useful here.

"I hear she's really something," the chief said.

"She is."
Enough said.
"What do we know about the photo-shop dude?"

"Not a lot. Moved here from out west over a year ago and bought the photo business from the previous owner, who was retiring, and added the print portion of the shop. He's already paid off half his business loan, way ahead of schedule. Single, came to Bayou Gavotte for the nightlife. Couple of on-and-off girlfriends who are also on-and-off with various other men. A few drinking buddies. Parents dead, sister in California. Nothing in his personal life leads to a crime of passion, so you won't clear Beliveau that way. It has to be the blackmail. What are you looking so pleased about?"

"Sure it's the blackmail," Gideon said. "Listen. The blackmailer knew way too much about people for a newcomer. It's one thing to happen upon someone who took pictures of his baby in the bath or even his wife in a naughty pose. He's got a name and number on the envelope and goes from there. But the guy I caught in the photo shop last night--have you seen my report?--was being blackmailed because he'd had a bunch of high-school pictures restored, including one of an old girlfriend who still lives here in town. He's desperate not to let his wife find out, because she's dying of cancer and he doesn't want her to think he's already moving on. Nobody would know about that girlfriend if they hadn't lived here forever." And the same went for recognizing his sister in a film brought in by someone else and knowing exactly where she was vulnerable. And knowing the chief's personal cell number--but he wouldn't use that card if he didn't have to.

He continued, "Lavoie was blackmailed for years by someone who used a New Orleans address, but several months ago switched it to our photo shop. The way I see it, Lavoie's blackmailer and the photo-shop guy were in this together. How they found out about each other, I don't know. They had a falling-out, and there you go."

"It's a nice theory, Gideon, but it doesn't mean Beliveau's not involved. Either way, it won't hurt her to sit in jail for a day or two."

Jesus,
thought Gideon, thrusting away a chill. "Lavoie was up here making his phone call when the killer came right up to him, stuck a gun to his chest, and shot him." Gideon shone his flashlight into the underbrush. "You can see where he fell, where he was dragged, where he bled and died." He showed the chief the darkening view across the road. "Willy Wyler's, Donnie Donaldson's, Ms. Beliveau's, a little of the woods. Two days ago, all you could see was Ms. Beliveau's place. Plato pruned this to get a wider view."

Not that there was much to see. Lisa Wyler was sitting on her porch, nursing a drink. No one was at Donnie's, because he'd just driven off with Connie.

"Donnie Donaldson," the chief said. "He's done well for himself lately. Used to be a handyman, but now he builds several new houses a year."

Zing.
"Unlike Willy Wyler, who I hear is bankrupt."
Another zing
. Gideon opened his phone and dialed Jeanie at home. "Babe, I need you to tap into your gossip tree and find out who just bought Willy Wyler's house. Get into the city records and find out who owns the land for a mile on either side of Ophelia and across the road for the same distance. See if property values in that area are going up, what with the golf course and all." Her groan was loud enough for the chief to hear. "If you want to become a detective, Jeanie..." Pause. "Yeah, Darby found me. Thanks." He hung up.

"What do Willy Wyler and property values have to do with anything?" the chief complained. "Three people are dead. I'll lose my job if you don't close this case in a hurry."

The vines, the baskets..."Plato Lavoie was up here making baskets while he watched Ms. Beliveau's place. He made baskets to stay calm, to stay sane. He'd seen something that worried him, something he eventually called me about. He went back to the house to dress for work, then came back up here one last time. What was he watching?"

"Damn it, Gideon," began the chief.

"I don't think he usually left the place a mess like this. When I came up the other day, it was spotless." He shone his light across the platform. "Look at those two basket bottoms by the wall. He almost always did round baskets. He was probably the world's foremost expert at making round baskets. He must have been totally rattled to flatten one side..."
Zing.
Or rather, duh. Double duh.

"Beliveau knew Lavoie had found her out," the chief said impatiently. "She caught him by surprise. He tried to call you, but it was too late." He watched the flickering forms swooping and diving across the darkening sky. "I knew we'd see bats here. If I lose my job, I'll have to get some real work, and I won't have time to make bat houses. You have to arrest that woman."

"Plato worshipped Ophelia Beliveau," Gideon said. "If he'd found out she'd killed someone, he'd never have betrayed her, not to me or to anyone else." Zings of instinct flew every which way, too much to sort out.
Later.
Gideon clicked off his light.

"So she's just an accessory," the chief said cheerfully. "Bats are a good omen. Is Beliveau at home?" He craned his neck to see across the road, but darkness was swiftly taking over.

"No, she's not." And by now she should be safe.

"We'll wait till she shows up," decided the chief. "You're slick with the ladies. You charm her into letting you look around, you find the gun, and we haul her in. She confesses who did it, we arrest him, the case is closed, and my job's good for at least the next year."

"If there's a gun over there, it's a plant," Gideon said. "If we arrest Ophelia Beliveau, you might not be alive to enjoy next year. I certainly won't be, and rightly so."

"Gideon, we can't let the clubs run this town! If they want to take care of their own problems, fine, but I can't and won't sit back while club people murder innocent citizens!"

"Bullshit. You want me to arrest an innocent person for your personal gain. I won't do it."

"You'll do what I tell you! And that's goddamned unfair," he added. "You know I care about innocent citizens. I even backed you up about Dufray last year!"

"Ordinarily, sir, I believe in you and I'm proud to go along with you, but not this time. I will not arrest Ophelia Beliveau."

"Goddamn it, then, Gideon, I will!"

"Over my dead body. Sir."

The chief's eyes bulged. "Don't you threaten me, by God!"

Gideon kept his voice level and low. "I'm not threatening you, sir. I'm telling you the truth. My life is on the line in more ways than one, and if the choice is between dying defending Ophelia or dying because I didn't, I'll choose the first option. Somebody's framing her, and I intend to find out who." But if he was framing her, why would he try to kill her?
Bingo.

The chief paced the platform. "We have to check out this lead. You know that."

"I'll go over there now," Gideon said. "Unless you want to wait for a warrant. But why rush it and risk upsetting Leopard, not to mention Constantine Dufray? If someone planted a gun in her trailer, they want it to be found. They won't take it away again."

The chief stalked to the edge of the platform and watched his beloved bats flash across the sky. After a long silence, during which Gideon shone the light all round the platform and ended with the basket bottoms again, the chief said, "You have until tomorrow morning."