Sunrise in a Garden of Love & Evil (8 page)

Zelda planted her hands on her hips. "I mean it, Mom."

Her mother rolled her eyes and complied.

"Okay," Zelda said. "He thinks Ophelia's...into kids."

Violet surged forward, stopped, returned to the stove, tossed the steaks onto plates, then stalked out the back door onto the porch. She slammed the door, screamed, then stormed back inside to grab the phone off the wall. Her voice was low and furious. "I'll have Lep beat him up. Then I'll have Constantine kill him. No, I'll kill him myself." She mashed numbers with a trembling hand.

"No!" Ophelia made a grab for the phone, tripped over the shopping bag, and landed on her knees. Vi grabbed the whip and kept moving, running it through her free hand. "First I'll make him beg for mercy. Lep? Constantine! Perfect. I need you over here right now. That disgusting, low-down, no-good Willy Wyler's been calling Ophelia a child abuser!"

Ophelia grabbed the phone and dodged around the kitchen table with an enraged Violet just behind. "It's no big deal!" she hissed into the receiver, and "Don't you dare!" and "We don't need any help!" Then, as the screen door opened and shut, "Tony's here. He'll calm her down. No, don't come over. Stop laughing, damn it! Good-bye!"

Tony Karaplis walked across the threshold and took Violet in his arms. Burly and in his fifties, built like a bruiser, with hairy muscular arms and a luxuriant mustache, he invariably radiated calm control. Violet beat her fists against his chest and screamed while Ophelia put the phone back on the wall, Zelda stood resigned, and Art stared aghast, the yellow icing cone dangling from her hand.

Tony waited like a rock until Violet was done. "Better now, baby?"

"No." Violet scowled. "But thank you."

"Who have we here?" Tony gave Art a long, appraising look and an irresistible smile. The icing cone dropped to the floor. Art flushed and stared and finally smiled slowly in return.

Zelda picked up the icing. "Tony, much as we love you, you're mesmerizing my best cookie decorator. I have to get these done for school!"

"This woman needs it bad," Tony said simply.

"Not now, and not from you." Ophelia pushed Art back into her chair. "He's a vampire, Art, and a playboy as well. Is that what you're looking for, or do you just want a normal guy with some skills?"

Art sighed, as if at some blinding revelation.

"Now she knows how her brother feels." Violet put the steaks on the table and tossed the salad. "Are you hungry, Tony?"

"Not for steak and salad," Tony twinkled. He took the basket Zelda had filled with warm rolls, pulled out a chair, and turned to Ophelia. "What was all that about?"

"Promise you won't go out and kill anyone?" Ophelia said bitterly.

"Hey," Tony said, "I've been respectable for years now. I'm practically a senior citizen."

"Well, I'm not." Violet viciously attacked her steak. "I am seriously enjoying imagining this is Willy Wyler I'm chopping up."

Tony grimaced, and Ophelia explained. To which he remarked, "Hurting Willy won't help."

"Thank you," Ophelia agreed. "None of this makes any sense. I've known the Wylers for two or three years--I even babysat their kids once or twice--and I've never done anything to make them think I was a child abuser. There's something weird going on. I have to find out what." She served salad onto Art's plate. "Eat, or I'll make Tony leave. We have work to do."

Art pulled herself together. "Let me finish the icing first." She took the cone and did the last three daffodils. "Poor Gideon. He must be feeling totally whacked."

"Exactly. His judgment is skewed because of who I am."

"Maybe not." Art put the yellow cone down and picked up the one Zelda had just filled with purple. "I mean, Tony is amazing..." She glanced at him and blushed again. "But I know he's not the man for me. He's more like a promise--a promise that something I never believed was possible." She bent her head to the icing again. "Gideon's the level-headed one in the family. He's not likely to do anything dumb."

Tony chuckled. "I've gotta meet this guy."

Violet, soothed by a couple of bites of bloody steak, said to her sister, "If you won't let me kill Willy, you'd better sleep with Gideon."

"For cripes, sake, Vi! That makes no sense at all!"

"Purely as a preventive measure, angel, to avoid calling Leopard in if you're accused of child abuse or something else. Since this particular cop is yours for the asking..."

"I can't think of a worse reason to sleep with him," Ophelia said. "Anyway, what else would I be accused of?"

Violet gave her a strange, uneasy look, and Ophelia thought,
Oh God, what now?
Then Art spoke, and Ophelia vowed to confront her sister later.

"I agree with Violet," said Art. "That you should sleep with my brother, I mean. But for a purely selfish reason."

Ophelia frowned.

"You like him, he likes you...and maybe I'll get to have you for a sister-in-law." Then Art whipped off irises, one after the other. "You all are totally weird, and I love it."

"Thank you," Violet said. Tony and Zelda just laughed.

Art finished the last iris with a flourish. "Anyway, why not?"

C
HAPTER
S
EVEN

Gideon glowered at the ridiculous pink vibrator in his hand.

"You want a sack for that?" Joe smirked across the gift shop counter. He flipped open a small silver shopping bag with pink handles. "You wouldn't want anyone thinking you're gay or anything."

"Nobody ever thinks Gideon's gay," a warm voice said from across the room. A tall, bright-eyed black man strode forward. "For sure not the bimbos he hangs with."

"Darby Sims!" Gideon clasped his friend's hand. "Jesus, Dar, what do you know about who I hang with? You've been gone for years. Long enough to be married with a passel of kids."

Darby chuckled. "No, I'm still free as a bird--and stand by the fact that all the chicks I ever saw you with were brainless ninnies. Not good for anything but sex."

"They weren't that bad," Gideon said uncertainly. He put the vibrator on the counter. "How about you gift wrap it for me, Joe?"

"Who's the lucky lady?" Darby asked.

"Ophelia Beliveau, the lady who just gave it to me."

Burton Tate dragged himself up off the floor, clutching his testicles, and shot a sick, angry look at Gideon before stumbling down the hall toward the stage. Gideon didn't react.

Behind the counter, Joe shook his head. "Don't get hung up on Ophelia. Big mistake." He pulled out silver tissue paper with glitter and magenta stars.

"So, that was the famous Ophelia," Darby said. "From what I hear, she's no bimbo."

"Famous in what way?" Gideon asked.

Darby staved him off with a hand. "Not saying a word against her, bro, but have you seen the statue in her sister's garden? She's dressed as a vampire, fangs and all. She's plenty dangerous in real life, even without the fangs. Look what she did to poor old Burton."

"He shouldn't have touched her," Gideon said. "She doesn't scare me."

Joe nestled the vibrator in the tissue paper, leaving a few feathers peeking out. "Gideon the cop, you are in for one nasty surprise. She won't let you down so easy next time."

She wouldn't let him down at all, Gideon decided. Not if he played things right.

Joe shook his head again. He unraveled a length of silver ribbon from a spool under the counter. "She has her choice of any stud she likes. Major studs, like Constantine Dufray. You're cute, but"--he took his time appraising Gideon--"a cop for Ophelia? No."

Yes,
Gideon decided, knowing he had gone insane, and not caring. "We'll see about that."

"Your funeral," Joe replied, snickering. "At least Ophelia will get a top-quality vibrator for her collection. But she'll think about Constantine when she uses it, not you."

"I'll wean her off Dufray." Gideon shrugged.

Darby rolled his eyes. "You always were a crazy man. Stick to the bimbos. From what I've heard, Ophelia's hot, but she's also bad news."

"Ophelia's a sweetie!" Joe said fiercely. "Watch your mouth, if you want to hang out here. Everybody in the clubs loves that girl."

"Except the poor bastards she drives crazy." Darby frowned down at his watch. "I'm here for an interview. Tattoo artist." Then he paused, visibly tense. "How's your sister these days? Still with old Steve? Two-point-something kids?"

"Didn't you know? She divorced him a while back."

"Say what?" Darby stood straight.

"She's been going through some rough times," Gideon admitted.

Darby glowered. "What, did the bastard cheat on her?"

"Not that I know of. She won't talk about it. She up and filed for divorce one day, citing irreconcilable differences, and he went along with it. Got hitched to another chick not long ago."

"Good riddance. I never did like Steve." Darby took a longer look at his watch. "I hope she finds someone better."

"She might like to see you, Dar," Gideon suggested.

"I don't think so." The man's face hardened. "Gotta go." He headed into the tattoo parlor. "See you around."

One mystery at a time. Gideon turned back and eyed his gaudily wrapped package. "Ophelia drives men crazy, huh? Tell me about it, Joe. Forewarned is forearmed."

Joe shifted a shoulder. "Nothing to tell. Guys get obsessed. They go nuts and stalk her." He whirled a spool of magenta ribbon.

"Do you know of anyone who's obsessed with her right now?"

"Apart from you?" Gideon received a smarmy smile. "There's Burton, but he's just a dumbass. I hear Willy Wyler dumped a dead cat on her doorstep, but he knows he won't get to first base. There are guys who hang at Blood and Velvet hoping she'll turn up. And Plato Lavoie, who lives across the road from her. He's been loopy about her for years."

Plato,
noted Gideon. Finally, something seemed to be going his way.

"There are always new ones," Joe went on, "but if they don't learn to back off, she has friends to take care of her. She doesn't want you, so be one of the smart ones and stay away."

"Nope," Gideon said. "By the way, Willy Wyler didn't do the cat thing. If you get any inkling of who might have done it, let me know." He held out a card, which Joe took with the tips of his fingers and a pained grimace. "If you can't stomach tattling to a cop, get word to Leopard. Either way, whoever did it has to be stopped."

A blonde in a black sequin-spattered dress minced up on a pair of four-inch heels. Gideon looked her up and down. Good figure. Discontented face.

"Who are you looking at?" she asked in a shrill voice, then noticed Gideon properly and changed gears. "Hey, you're cute." She shifted again. "Did you see a tall black man wearing"--she shuddered--"jeans and a purple T-shirt?"

"In the tattoo parlor," Gideon said.

"Oh God," the woman replied. "Still? I need him now!" She eyed Gideon. "The club's just opened. Wanna have a drink? You look like good company."

She didn't. And if this was what Darby called free as a bird, Gideon wondered what caged would be like. "Thanks, but I have an appointment with another lady." He took the silver gift bag and handed Joe a five.

The blonde wiggled her claws at the package. "What's in there?"

"A top quality feather-duster vibrator." Joe smirked. "Let me show you my other wares."

Back in the car, Gretchen was waiting patiently. Gideon gave her a good scratch behind the ears.

On the way to the Impractical Cat, his cell phone rang. It was Jeanie. "I've got some gossip for you," the dispatcher said.

"Hold on." Gideon circled the block, realized from the crowd gathering outside that this was likely one of Leopard's famous poetry nights, and parked in the tow zone across the street. "Shoot."

"I'm so brilliant. I thought of my memaw! She knows everything about Bayou Gavotte for the past seventy-five years." Jeanie paused for a deep, dramatic breath.

Gideon sank low in his seat and got comfortable. Gretchen put her head on her paws. "Go on, babe. You've got me where you want me."

"Ooh, I wish," crooned the dispatcher. "Memaw says Violet and Ophelia were both born here in Bayou Gavotte. Their mama was a beautiful girl from New Orleans. Violet's daddy was the gangster who started Blood and Velvet. He and their mama split up when Violet was a kid, because their mama wanted a normal life, no clubs and weirdos and all that. She married Ophelia's daddy, a college professor, and Ophelia was born. Which would have been fine, except Mr. Beliveau turned out to be totally paranoid. Memaw says he thought everyone at the college and then everyone in town was sleeping with his wife." She paused again. "Gideon?"

"Go on, babe, I'm all ears."

"Not quite, I hope. You have other useful organs." She giggled. "They up and moved to Atlanta, but he got even worse there, 'cause there were so many more people to be sleeping with her, and one day he went off his rocker and shot himself."

Gideon let out a long breath. "Sounds like a blessed release for his wife."

"Memaw says she married again soon after, so who knows?--maybe she really was messing around. Violet came back here right out of high school to learn to run the club, and her daddy left it to her in his will. Ophelia didn't move back till after college, maybe three years ago."

He thanked her for the info and turned off the Mercedes, leaving Gretchen silently protesting another stretch of boredom, and went through the patio entrance of the Impractical Cat. He cursed at the chaos inside. Poetry night or not, Leopard would have to spare him a minute or two. He slipped onto a barstool and ordered a beer. "Leopard around?"

"Who wants to know?" asked the pimply recruit behind the bar. Twerp.

"Gideon O'Toole. Tell him I need to talk to him."

"Next you'll be saying you want to see Constantine Dufray." The kid picked up a joint from an ashtray and took a long drag.

"That would work, too." Gideon grabbed the joint and dropped it sizzling into a dirty shot glass. "You know the rules about toking up on the job. Give Leopard my message, and maybe I won't turn you in."

The kid behind the counter glared, just as Leopard's bellow blasted through the bar. "What the fucking hell is Ophelia's number doing in the fucking men's room again?" Leopard slammed through the doors to the kitchen, bellowed some more, and swung out again, whacking Gideon on the shoulder on his way past. "Come the fuck on over here."

Gideon followed, Leopard elbowing the crowd out of his way and nodding to the bodyguard at the restroom door. After one glance at the restroom wall, Gideon came out possessed by such rage that he could barely speak. A busboy with a can of spray paint scurried past, and Gideon shoved his way down the hall to Leopard's office. Inside with the door closed, he recovered his power of speech in a stream of curses. Finally, he took a deep breath and sank onto the couch.

"Second time today," a rough voice said from the far corner.

Gideon stiffened, appalled at his lapse of awareness. Women. They really screwed with your head. Small comfort, that he hadn't reacted further. Most men were downright terrified by Constantine Dufray's air of carefully suppressed violence, not to mention his even worse reputation. But the rocker was Leopard's friend, which counted for a lot--even if, God forbid, Ophelia was in love with him. Yet if she loved Dufray, a man who it was said dealt summary justice on whomever he saw fit, sent tormenting dreams to his enemies (not that Gideon believed a word of it), and was thought to have murdered his wife, why was she so unnerved by Gideon? He was relatively harmless.

He pulled himself together. "How often does this happen?"

"From time to time," Constantine said. He laid down his guitar and ambled to the espresso machine. "Espresso? Cappuccino?" Eyes hard, the man's voice was mocking. "No sense getting all bent out of shape." He motioned to the coffee machine again, an amused question in his glance.

"Espresso. Single shot. Thanks." Gideon fixed his eyes on the one-way glass to the hall, automatically noticing the patrons entering from the patio, the waitresses scurrying by. But watching wouldn't do much good now.

"I wonder if it was the same dude both times." Constantine scooped coffee into the filter and tamped it down. "Murder has been done for less."

For the second or third time in their acquaintance, Gideon found himself in complete agreement with the vigilante rocker. "Lep needs to put a camera in there."

"Illegal. Am I lucky you weren't so lax when it came to evidence against me?"

"You're lucky you were two hundred miles away when your wife was killed," Gideon said. "And so am I."

Leopard came in cursing and slammed the door. "We need to get a goddamn camera in there, and fast."

"To night after close," Constantine said wearily. "But it's only a Band-Aid. So we catch this creep and waste him. There'll be others soon enough. She'd attract a lot less attention if she got herself laid." He grinned offensively at Gideon. "You up for it, sport?"

Leopard chuckled. "Constantine's right. You'd be doing a public service. Makes me look bad, assholes getting away with scribbling on my restroom walls. Still, only if she wants you."

"She wants me." Gideon accepted an espresso from Constantine. "But any time she catches herself warming up to me, she backs off like she's been burned."

"Not used to rejection, sport?" Constantine's voice held more amusement than insult.

"She's not rejecting me." Gideon sipped his drink. "She kissed me." Into the loaded silence that followed, he added, "But she's scared of something."

"Not so dumb after all." Constantine retired into the corner and picked up his guitar. "We should have found her a detective years ago."

Gideon let out a long, slow breath. "What was it? Rape?"

Leopard snorted. "God help the asshole that tries to rape Ophelia." He shrugged. "Guys see her, they fall hard and fast and out of control. Scares her."

"So...that means no one can fall for her? Her first reaction is panic, so she runs?"

Leopard sighed and shook his head. "What'd you do? Tell her you love her, that shit?"

"Not quite. It's a long story...She's setting a trap for a blackmailer."