Ginette fiddled with the CD player. “What do you feel like listening to?”
“I don’t care. Something old-school maybe.”
“How about a little classic Southern rock for a couple of classic Southern broads?”
“Skynyrd?”
“Hell, yeah, Skynyrd.” Ginette put in the CD and they listened for a moment. “Never gets old, does it?”
“Reminds me of junior high,” Cat said. “They used to end every dance with ‘Freebird,’ remember? Then we’d go over to your house and play the 90210 drinking game. Take a drink every time Brandon asks someone out.”
Cat laughed. “Maybe we should do that right now.”
“What?”
“Take a drink every time someone says the F-word.”
“No f**king way,” Ginette said. “I’m driving, remember? If we get pulled over, I’m dead meat because I can barely walk a straight line even when I’m sober. You’re just going to have to put out.”
“Why me?”
“Because you’re used to sleeping with a cop.”
“Oh, like you’re not? Does the name Eddie Jarvis ring a bell?”
“Fuck, I was hoping you didn’t know about that.”
Cat passed her the bottle. “Here, take a drink.”
“Why?”
“Because you said f-u-c-k.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Yes, you did. Now take a drink.”
“Well, fuck, maybe I did.”
They sat with their heads resting against the cushioned seat backs, listening to “Simple Man” as they stared out the windshield, watching the rain.
“I still have to pee,” Ginette said. “How much longer do we have to wait?”
Cat sat up. “There he is. There’s Sean.”
Her heart was suddenly pounding as she watched him step out on the porch. He didn’t linger or look back like a man who hated to leave, but instead he strode out to his car like a man who was more than a little pissed. Cat knew that walk.
A moment later, he got in his car and drove off.
“Now what?” Ginette said.
Cat reached for the door handle. “I’m going in there and have a little talk with her.”
“What? Why?”
“Why do you think?”
“What if she calls the cops on you?”
“Just for talking?”
“Something tells me you’ve got a little more in mind than just talking. Whoa, wait a minute. Looky there.” Ginette nodded in the direction of the house. “Is that her?”
A woman had come out on the porch with a small suitcase. She set it down while she locked the door, then carried it out to the car in the driveway and loaded it into the trunk. The interior light came on as she opened the door and climbed behind the wheel.
“Girl’s in serious need of a stylist,” Ginette muttered.
The car backed out of the driveway and headed down the street in their direction. They both ducked until the headlights were by them, and then Cat opened her door.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Ginette asked suspiciously.
“Now’s my chance to have a look around, see if Sean’s moved back in with her. I have a right to know, don’t I?”
“Yeah, you have a right to know, but riddle me this, Cat Woman. Just how do you plan on getting in? You and me both saw her lock the front door.”
“Maybe she left a spare key under the mat or something.”
“And if she didn’t?”
Cat shrugged. “I’ll think of something.”
“You mean something like breaking and entering? That’s not just a night in jail, Kitty Cat, we’re talking the state pen.”
“I don’t care.”
“Well, I sure as hell do, because they’ll haul my ass off right along with you. Clovis will have a shit fit if he has to come bail me out.”
“Look, just call me on my cell phone if you see one of them coming back. Or if you see the cops. I’ll get out before anyone catches me.”
“Damn it, Cat—”
Cat turned. “Hey, remember what we always say? A friend is someone who will bail you out of jail, but—”
“A best friend is the one sitting next to you in the cell. Yeah, I remember.”
“I need you to be my best friend right now, Ginette.”
She sighed. “Why do I have such a bad feeling about this?”
“It’ll be okay,” Cat said as she climbed out. “I’ll be back before you know it.”
“Cat?”
She leaned down and peered through the window Ginette had lowered. “Yeah?”
“Are we having fun yet?”
* * *
Purse hooked over her shoulder, Cat hurried down the street, trying not to look too conspicuous in the wet dusk. The rain had let up, but a fine mist settled over the street and glistened like spun cotton from the treetops. Tires swished on the wet pavement as cars sped by, and a few of the drivers threw her an appreciative wave.
She pulled her trench coat tightly around herself as she glanced over her shoulder. Ginette was but a faint silhouette in the car, and Cat resisted the urge to motion for her. It was odd to be doing this alone; Ginette used to be the daredevil of the two. She was the one who always had to talk Cat into whatever harebrained scheme she cooked up. But Ginette had mellowed out on her. Probably from smoking all that damn pot.
No matter. Cat needed to go this one alone anyway, because this was her mess. Her mission. She didn’t even know what the hell she would do if she did find a way inside, so it was probably best not to drag Ginette along. If she found Sean’s clothes in that woman’s closet, Cat wasn’t sure how she’d react. She didn’t relish the thought of anyone, even her best friend, watching her lose it.
And she would lose it. No use kidding herself about that. Most of the time, she managed to appear cool and collected, but that was an act. That was the facade that Sean had expected from her. And so that’s what she gave him, because for as long as she could remember, her every waking thought had been geared toward hooking Sean Kelton.
Back in high school, he’d been hot for her, too. All those nights in the backseat of his car. On the sofa in her parents’ living room. He couldn’t get enough of her.
Then he’d gone off to college in Baton Rouge, and almost immediately Cat had sensed a change in him. They were only a two-hour drive apart, but Sean found more and more excuses to avoid her, until she’d finally forced the issue and he’d told her flat out that it was over.
And now it was déjà vu all over again, Cat thought angrily.
She slipped her hand inside her purse and fingered the .38.
But Sean didn’t know who he was dealing with. She wasn’t some lovesick fool who’d just roll over and play dead like she had the last time he did the fade. If he thought he could disrespect her and not live to regret it, he was sadly mistaken. She was Catherine Fucking Landry, goddamn it. That had once meant something. Still did, if she had anything to say about it.
As she neared the house, Cat gulped in cold air to steady her nerves. She didn’t bother looking for a key under the front mat, but instead slipped along the side of the house to the back. The homes here were so close together that she could hear the neighbor’s television. A soft breeze drifted through the trees, rousing a wind chime somewhere nearby.
There was something eerie and plaintive about that sound, and Cat found herself shivering as she opened the wrought-iron gate to Sarah’s courtyard. The hinges squeaked and the lock clanked shut behind her as she stood gazing around the shadows. She could hear the trickle of a fountain and the paperlike stirring of the dead banana leaves in the breeze. And still, the ghostlike music of the wind chimes.
As she stood there contemplating her next move, Cat had the sudden feeling that she was being watched. She studied the darkened windows of the house, saw no movement inside, no telltale gleam of hidden eyes.
Just her imagination. Sean was gone. Sarah was gone. The house was empty. Now was her chance.
Another deep breath and she was across the courtyard and in front of the French doors. She bent, picked up a rock from a flower bed and steeled herself to smash a windowpane, but at the last moment, she tried the door. It was unlocked. It opened quietly when she gave it a soft push.
That was strange. Sarah had left with a suitcase. Surely she would have checked the doors if she planned to be away for a day or two. Unless she’d been too distracted. Unless Sean was planning on coming back here.
In which case, he was in for a very unpleasant surprise.
Cat pushed open the door and stepped into the dark house. Her eyes took a moment to adjust, and then she glanced around, realizing that she was in the bedroom. The thought of Sean in that room, in that bed with that woman, sent Cat into the kind of fury that took even her by surprise. She’d become adept at hiding her temper, but now anger and indignation exploded from her every pore, unleashing a kind of rage she’d never known before.
Cat stormed through the room like a madwoman, ripping clothes from hangers, dumping drawers onto the floor, breaking everything she could get her hands on.
Her fury finally spent, she found herself struggling for breath as she stood in front of the dresser mirror. Even though she hadn’t turned on a light, she could see the outline of her reflection.
A movement in the mirror caught her attention. Her gaze lifted and she could just make out the silhouette of someone in the doorway behind her. Watching her.
Cat’s heart banged against her chest as she whirled. “Who are you?” she gasped.
* * *
Shit!
Phone pressed to her ear, Ginette shivered as she hurried down the street.
Damn it, Cat, pick up!
What the hell was taking her so long?
At least no one had called the cops. Yet.
Glancing warily over her shoulder, Ginette left the sidewalk and slipped into the shadows along the side of the house. It was still misting and she still had to pee. Cat was going to owe her big-time for this one.
She found the back gate and let herself into the courtyard, then crossed to the French doors and peered through one of the panes. It was dark inside the house. She couldn’t see a damn thing.
Ginette tried the knob, and when the door silently opened, she stuck her head inside.
“Cat?” she said in a loud whisper. “Where are you?”
No answer.
She took a tentative step inside. “Cat? You still here?”
She’d brought a flashlight with her, and now as she angled the beam around the bedroom, she gasped in horror.
Holy shit, Cat. What the hell did you do?
Everything was a mess, like a hurricane had blown through the place. The bedding ripped all to hell. Clothes tossed every which way. Broken glass underfoot. Furniture and lamps overturned.
And something slippery on the floor.
Ginette’s feet slid out from under her, and she fell with a hard crash. She dropped the light to catch herself with her hands and screamed when shards of glass bit into her palms.
“Fuck!”
The light hit the floor and blinked out. Ginette lunged and grabbed it just before it rolled under the bed.
She whacked it on her thigh and the light came back on. Aiming the beam onto the floor, she saw what she had slipped in. What was now all over her hands and clothes.
Blood.
It seemed to be everywhere.
Oh, sweet Jesus.
She tried to get up, but her panic made her clumsy and she fell back into the grisly mess. The blood was all over her now. She could even taste it on her tongue.
Sobbing, gasping for breath, she scrambled on hands and knees away from the gore. She sat huddled against the wall, playing the beam over the room. But always she brought the light back to the bloody floor.
Dear God, what had Cat done?
And then she heard something on the other side of the room.
Still clutching the flashlight, Ginette crawled around the bed.
“Cat?”
She was lying on her side, facing the wall.
“Oh, Jesus, Cat, what happened? What did you do to yourself?”
Ginette was beside her now, and when she rolled her over, Cat’s eyes were open and staring, gleaming in the light that Ginette shone down on her.
Dead. She was dead.
Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God.
For a moment, Ginette remained shocked and motionless. Then her mind clicked back into place.
Cell phone! Nine-one-one.
Where was her f**king purse?
She started to move away, but then she saw Cat’s eyelids flutter. Her lips moved.
She was alive!
Oh, thank you, God, thank you, Jesus.
“Cat, what happened? Where are you hurt? God, there’s so much blood on the floor...” Her words trailed off when she saw that Cat was looking, not at her, but at something behind her.
Ginette heard nothing more than a whisper of sound. Felt only a stinging sensation when the blade first dug into her throat.
She looked down and saw, in her last instant of life, the reflection of her killer in Cat’s eyes.
Chapter 18
Father Dominique Dagan patted his lips with a linen napkin and gave a contented sigh. “That was a wonderful meal, Michael. I’m sorry you didn’t enjoy yours. Too well done?”
Michael glanced down at the cold steak and limp asparagus on his plate. He shrugged with an apologetic smile. “The rib eye was fine. I guess I’m just not hungry tonight.”
Dominique studied him over the candle that flickered in the center of the table. “I think you forget how well I know you. I very much doubt your appetite is the problem. You seem to have the weight of the world on your shoulders tonight.”
“I never could fool you, could I? You know me better than anyone.”
In spite of the age difference—Dominique had just turned sixty, Michael had not yet hit forty—the two men had been close friends for years. Together they had weathered a lot of storms, spiritual and otherwise.
It was Dominique who had given Michael the benefit of the doubt when rumors had first started to circulate about the younger priest and a married parishioner. And then, when the painful truth had finally surfaced, when the affair had ended so tragically, Dominique had been the first to offer his unwavering support.