The Undoing of Saint Silvanus Page 19

  “I felt the legs on my tongue! I really did! Like they were wiggling!”

  The laughter could have stopped traffic. As soon as people quit hugging her and slapping her on the back like she’d won a contest, Jillian scooted away from the table and tried as inconspicuously as possible to search for a bathroom. The back door opened to a well-lived-in den of warm colors, worn rugs, and copious couch pillows. Decorative lamps of various shapes and sizes lit the room. That morning’s newspaper was folded on an end table. The built-in bookshelves displayed family pictures spanning what appeared to be four generations, from preschoolers who might have been Bully’s nieces and nephews all the way to his grandparents.

  The house had the same feeling to it that Adella’s house had. Love lived in it. Love and laughter. In fact, it seemed that the more these people got to laugh at you, the more they loved you. They were an odd bunch that way.

  Hearing voices just outside the door, Jillian resumed her search for a bathroom. She found a powder room just down the hall from the den and resolved to stay in it until she’d formulated an exit plan from the party. A few stragglers tapped at the bathroom door but all it took was an extra-long spray of Mrs. La Bauve’s Toodaloo Shoo air freshener and off they went.

  CHAPTER 32

  “MISS SLATER, YOU OKAY?”

  Startled, Jillian jumped up from the rocking chair. She’d snuck out here to the front porch after nearly choking to death on bathroom spray. She had hoped no one would notice her.

  “No, don’t get up.” It was Sergeant DaCosta, standing at the edge of the yard near the driveway. “I had to get my phone out of the car. I just saw you here all by yourself. Did you lose your way?”

  “No.” She sat down, scrambling for words. “I was just . . . taking a break for a minute. That’s a lot of party going on back there.”

  “Yeah, it is,” the sergeant chuckled. “Bully is about as well-loved as a man can be. Good family.” He paused for a moment. “I was surprised to see you here.”

  Jillian felt defensive. “Officer La Bauve came over to Saint Sans and invited all of us last week.”

  “No, no. I mean I was glad to see y’all. Just surprised. I wouldn’t have thought you’d want to come.”

  “Caryn insisted. That’s who I’m waiting for. The car’s locked and she has the keys or I’d be sitting in it.”

  “Well, you might be waiting a little while. Last I saw her, she was out on the dance floor with Bully and they were drawing a crowd.”

  “Oh, great. We’ll be here till midnight.” Jillian set her head back on the rocking chair and blew out a deep breath. “Who knew Caryn was such a partyer? I would have assumed she was too serious for all this.”

  “Serious people are allowed a little dancing on occasion. Don’t you think?”

  Jillian shrugged. “And I wouldn’t have taken Officer La Bauve for being exactly light on his feet.”

  He laughed. “Did you happen to notice the big man in his midfifties—almost bald—playing the accordion? That is Bear La Bauve, Bully’s dad.”

  “You have got to be kidding. His name is Bear?”

  “I’m sure it’s not his real name, but it’s all I’ve ever heard him called.”

  “But why?”

  He drew back his head and grinned at her. “Are you serious? He’s at least six-four. And that one you hear singing right now? That’s Bully’s big brother.”

  Jillian shook her head. “This is the strangest place on the planet.”

  “You mean this particular house or New Orleans in general?”

  “No, not just this house. I haven’t exactly lost sight of the fact that I’m staying in a dead man’s room in a repurposed church down the hall from a woman who looks like Morticia on The Addams Family.”

  “Some of the greatest people on earth live in this town, Jillian. I forget that myself sometimes.”

  She looked up at him with surprise. She couldn’t remember him calling her by her first name before.

  “You’ve had an unfortunate introduction to New Orleans. I’m sorry for that.” As he spoke, he took several steps toward the front porch. “The two of you must not have been close.”

  “Who, me and Mrs. Fontaine? Uh, no. Not close.”

  “Actually, I meant you and your . . . Well, you refer to him as ‘the dead man.’”

  “Rafe?” The edge in her voice was razor sharp.

  “It wasn’t my intention to cross a line. It just seemed odd not to acknowledge anything about the ongoing case or how we know each other.”

  “We don’t know each other, Officer.” When Jillian saw she’d embarrassed him, she half wished she hadn’t said it.

  He stood still and silent, staring off in the distance, for what seemed like a solid minute. When he flinched, she expected him to head up the driveway to the party. Instead, he walked toward her, extending his right hand. “Hi. My name is Cal.”

  Taken aback, she reached out and shook his hand.

  Sergeant DaCosta—Cal—stuck both hands in his pockets and started rattling off a bio. “I was born and raised in these parts. I went to elementary school about fifteen minutes from this front door and junior high two blocks from there, where I harbored the deep, dark secret that my mother was making me take piano lessons. I played football and basketball in high school, decent at both, a star at neither. I went to Northwestern State University in Natchitoches and straight into law enforcement. I’ve never lived outside Louisiana. My dad died of cancer when I was a senior in college, so I felt like I needed to come home and live with my mom for a while after graduation. I lived there until she got back on her feet. I’d saved some money, and a couple of years ago I bought a small house. A fixer-upper. I’m fairly decent with a hammer. I was engaged once. She later married my best friend. I like dogs, but I’m not home enough to have one. I shoot baskets sometimes at a park close to my house. Every couple of years I fish off the coast of Mississippi with some old friends, including the one that married my old girlfriend.” He squinted his eyes like he was performing a mental inventory. “And I like books.”

  “You like books?”

  “I like books.”

  “You don’t strike me as the book type.”

  “Bully didn’t strike you as light on his feet, yet I’d lay a ten-dollar bill on the arm of that chair that he’s spinning somebody around on the dance floor as we speak. Your turn.”

  “What kind of books?”

  “History, mostly. And biographies. I said it’s your turn.”

  “Fiction or nonfiction?”

  “What’s with the book fixation? You’re stalling.”

  “I can’t really think of anything to say.”

  “What do you mean you can’t think of anything? You were born where?”

  Jillian hesitated, wishing she could name any other state. “Louisiana.”

  Cal’s eyebrows shot up.

  “My mom moved us to California because she wanted to get away from—” she glanced at Cal and continued—“from Rafe. I grew up in San Francisco.”

  “And?”

  “And that’s it.”

  “That’s it?”

  “I don’t think Caryn’s ever going to come looking for me.”

  “Apparently not as long as the band is playing.”

  “Well, they’re pathetic.”

  “Bear and his band? To hear Bully tell it, they’ve played at wedding receptions as far away as Breaux Bridge.”

  “Oh, well, that changes everything. Like anybody’s got a clue what the singer’s saying.” Jillian leaned forward and glanced at the driveway. She pulled out her phone to check the time. “I don’t get what’s taking Caryn so long. She can’t be having that much fun.”

  “Bowlegged woman.”

  “No, she’s not! She’s just skinny.”

  “The song. That’s what the singer’s saying. ‘Hey, bowlegged woman.’ It’s a classic.” Cal leaned down her direction. “Come on. You can’t crack one small smile over that?”


  Jillian touched her upper lip with her index finger to keep from grinning.

  Cal didn’t let up. “Anyway, you can’t say it’s no fun if you’ve never tried it. That’s the rule around here. I’ll tell you what, Miss San Francisco. Succumb to one lesson, and if you hate it, you hate it. And you win.” He held his right hand out to her, palm up.

  “What? Are you serious? No. Absolutely not.”

  “Why not? You got two left feet or something? Or just bowlegs?”

  “What I’ve got is at least a shred of self-respect. The neighbors would see us. I’d feel like a fool.”

  “Is that all?” Cal walked over to a small bench on the porch with a large fern on it. He placed the plant on the ground, dragged the bench under the porch light, and stood on top of it.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Gimme a second, will ya?”

  Jillian’s jaw dropped as Cal unscrewed the two lightbulbs in the fixture.

  “There. No one will see you. On your feet, Miss Slater.” He took her right hand and pulled her to her feet.

  “You’re kidding me.”

  “Nope. Not kidding. But dancing’s no fun if somebody’s making you do it. How about we make a deal that you get to say when we’re done? That work? We’ll take it really slow.”

  “I don’t know. I guess.” Her heart started beating double-time. “You don’t see anybody coming this way, do you? If Caryn sees me, I’ll never hear the end of this.”

  “Driveway’s clear.” Cal extended his left hand out to the side and opened his palm. “Put your right hand here.” She hesitated for a few seconds, took a deep breath, and placed her hand in his. “Now take your left hand and cup it around my shoulder.”

  “I’m not going to be good at this.”

  “Fun’s the only mission. Remember? This isn’t the Nutcracker Suite. The pressure’s off. Are we still good to go?”

  Jillian nodded.

  Cal placed his right arm gently around her. “I’m going to teach you a basic little two-step. It’s mostly about shifting weight back and forth. The first lesson may be the hardest for you,” he said with a grin.

  “Ugh. What is it?”

  “Let me lead. One of us has to, and since this is your first time, the job rightly defaults to me. Unless you’d like to improvise and make it up as you go.”

  Jillian bit her bottom lip and fought a laugh. “Okay. You lead.”

  “It’s going to go like this, starting with your right foot and my left: slow, quick-quick, slow, quick-quick. We’re going to add a rock in it in a minute, but let’s get the hang of this first. Ignore the music because it’s going too fast for a first shot at it. Let that fade out and you listen to me count to eight. Remember: slow, quick-quick, slow, quick-quick. The slow steps will be two beats and each of the quick steps, one.”

  “I’m already getting confused!”

  “It’s easier to do than to explain. Drop your hands a second and watch my feet.” When Cal checked the driveway again, Jillian realized he wasn’t exactly uninhibited himself. He shook out his legs to loosen up and then proceeded to demonstrate the steps with a fair enough agility to catch Jillian by surprise.

  Rather than admit she was impressed, she limited her comments to “Nice cowboy boots.”

  “Thank you. Try to concentrate.” They both laughed, relieving some of their nervousness. “Now mirror what I’m doing, and then we’ll put the arms into it.”

  To the sparing of her dignity, Jillian got the hang of it after a few tries.

  “You’re doing great. Give me your hands and let’s go at it again and we’ll add a rock to it. We’ll still do slow, quick-quick, slow, but on that last slow step we’re going to both rock backward in opposite directions, you on your right foot and me on my left. I’ll count to eight and we rock back on seven. Make sense?”

  “No!”

  “It will when we do it.” He walked her through the steps at a snail’s pace until she started to pick them up. “See? You’re getting it.”

  “Don’t talk or I won’t be able to concentrate!” With every step Jillian counted aloud.

  “Do you think you can look up from the ground now?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Try.”

  Jillian looked up from her feet to his face. He was grinning. The light of the lamps streaming through the shutters in the den brought the blue in his eyes to life. She looked away quickly and lost count, stubbing her toe on the point of his boot.

  “Ow! What size are those things?” Jillian dropped her hands and grabbed her foot.

  “Thirteens. You got something against thirteens?” Cal cocked his head to the side, listening to the music emanating from the backyard. “Come here! This is our song! It’s slow enough for us to catch up with it.”

  Jillian never stopped counting her eights or looking down at their feet, but halfway through the song she was rocking back right on the dot of seven.

  “Look at you go, girl! Feet like greased lightning.”

  They both got tickled. “Shut up or I’ll lose count!”

  Two minutes later they were still in step. “The music’s over,” Jillian said.

  “Is it?” Cal asked, continuing his lead.

  “Yes.” Jillian stopped and lowered her hands, her face flushed.

  They stood facing each other for a moment in the awkwardness of the silence until it was broken by the sound of Cal’s phone. He drew it out of his pocket. “DaCosta.” He listened for a few seconds. “Where?” Then, “On my way.”

  He stuck the phone back in his pocket, glanced down the street toward his car, and looked at Jillian. He took her right hand one more time, raised it over her head, and slowly turned her in a circle.

  “Thank you for the dance.”

  Jillian couldn’t get a single word to come from her mouth. Cal opened the front door and motioned her inside so she could go through the house to get back to the party. She stepped into the entryway and he closed the door behind her.

  Jillian was about to enter the backyard when she turned around and hurried back to the front door. She swung it open, took several steps down the walkway from the porch, and peered down the street. He was gone.

  “You’re welcome,” she whispered.

  CHAPTER 33

  ON THURSDAY AFTERNOON, Adella opened the door before the two officers could knock. She’d seen them turn into Saint Sans from the window in the utility room.

  “Sarge parked in the back. He reminded me that’s where you like us to park when we drop by.” Bully was his usual polite, cheerful self. “I’d rather be coming over here for a donut drop like last time, but my favorite shop closes at two o’clock. I don’t know why, though. Lots of people like donuts at night, particularly if they’re hot. Of course, the cake ones I like aren’t usually served hot. Maybe I should have picked up some fried clams.” Bully caught a glimpse of his supervisor’s expression and redirected. “But anyhow, we’ve got some business we need to tend to.”

  “How are you, Mrs. Atwater? It’s been a while. You weren’t here the night of the fiasco,” Sergeant DaCosta said, stepping through the door.

  “No, I was not. Contrary to what it seems, I do not live at Saint Sans, Officer, but I’d be lying to say I’m glad I missed it. I’d have had a handful of that man’s hide or else. The very idea, terrifying Mrs. Winsee that way. And it’s a wonder David’s head didn’t come clean off and land in the middle of the pond in the park. Do you think he meant to use that knife to break in?”

  “Maybe, but I don’t think so,” the sergeant responded. “I think he meant to leave it on the porch like everything else. But he’s gone way past trespassing at this point. I do want all of you to know what we’re thinking. Mrs. Fontaine is here, isn’t she? We spoke on the phone. She’s expecting us.”

  “I’m here, Sergeant.” It was Olivia, emerging from her wing of the house. “I asked Adella to stay for whatever you’re here to say. She knows as much about the goings-on around here as anybod
y. As you well know, she oversees this place, and I want her up on everything.”

  Compliments were hard to come by with Olivia. For a split second, Adella was flattered.

  “Furthermore, I never seem to retell events and conversations to the satisfaction of her interminable curiosity. This will save me considerable energy. I won’t have to tell her where everybody was standing and what everybody was wearing.”

  Bully brightened. “Well, I guess we make your job easier, since every time we show up we’re wearing the same thing.”

  Sergeant DaCosta took a deep breath. “Anybody else who could join us might be helpful.”

  Adella was the one who kept tabs on everyone, so she spoke up. “Caryn was going to the library after class. David’s here, though. I’ll knock on his door.”

  As Adella started down the hall, Olivia called out to her. “Leave Vida be. I hear her television going. If we don’t make a big commotion, she’ll stay preoccupied. She doesn’t need to have all of this stirred back up.”

  David entered the great room behind Adella and shook hands with both officers.

  “You look like you’re healing up there,” Sergeant DaCosta commented.

  David rubbed his cheek and smiled. “Yep, but I think I preferred purple to this odd shade of green I’ve got left. At this rate, I could be wearing this lovely shade with my tux at our school Christmas performance.”

  “It’s a wonder you got out of that with only a black eye to show for it.”

  “Well, the bright side of it is that my students were impressed. That first week, all they could do was gawk.”

  The officer smiled rather uncharacteristically. “Well, I’d say they should be impressed. It took a fair amount of guts to take on a man the size you described. Looking back on it, would you say he was as tall as Bully?”