A Marked Man Page 5

  When she turned away her dress swished. As she returned to the counter, she stopped to fill cups for other customers.

  Laughter came from deep in the shop, on the book side. Max couldn’t see anyone between the stacks.

  A man sitting alone rustled his paper loudly and felt around for part of a sandwich on his plate. He carried the food behind the paper.

  What had Wazoo meant, dammit? What did she know?

  He glanced toward Spike’s cruiser again. How much should he volunteer to the sheriff? Nothing? Everything? Mentioning the call would be pointless. Once his history spread through Toussaint, he would be second-guessing every look that came his way. And if Michele didn’t show up fast, he’d become the prime suspect in her disappearance.

  Spike got out of his car and Max studied the man: A tall, muscular guy, good-looking with blond hair and a Stetson tipped forward over his eyes. His khaki uniform fit him well. He flashed a smile at a woman leaving the shop and carried on to the door.

  This day continued to stink. More clouds piled over what was left of the sun and daylight faded fast. Max’s pulse beat off the seconds, double time, while he waited. He expected bad news to keep on coming.

  The shop bell rang and Spike stepped inside.

  Max turned to greet the man but Wazoo cried, “Be still, my heart. Here come that sexy lawman. You come on in, Spike, I been needin’ a gorgeous man to play with my mind. What you want? I got gumbo—best around. And…no, no, de gumbo best. I give you a bowl a gumbo.”

  Spike swept off his hat to reveal hair that stuck up in front, and bright blue eyes. His easy grin sent Wazoo twirling, her long black curls flying and the purple lace dress swirling about her feet. She held her hands over her heart and went into a mock swoon.

  Several customers laughed and so did Spike. “Guess I’ll be havin’ the gumbo, Wazoo. I’ll be with Max over there—” he nodded in Max’s direction “—and I’ll take black coffee with that.”

  The woman was odd, Max thought. She said whatever came into her head and everyone around knew she did. No one took her seriously and neither should he.

  Spike took the chair opposite Max and they shook hands over the blue-and-white check tablecloth. “You know Wazoo?” Spike asked.

  “I live at Rosebank, remember?” Max said. “So does she. I don’t think she’d allow me to ignore her.”

  “True.”

  “She seems to have a lot of jobs.” Max glanced back to the road. “I only found out about this one a few nights ago.”

  “Wazoo works for Jilly Gautreaux over at All Tarted Up, too. She helps with the early bakin’. Then she’s back at Rosebank makin’ sure the rooms are made up the way she likes ’em. And here in the late afternoon.” Spike leaned closer. “Don’t say anythin’, but I think Ellie Gable came up with this evenin’ openin’ thing ’cause Wazoo needs more money.”

  “Sounds like something Ellie would do,” Max said and almost followed up by saying he should be able to find something for Wazoo at the clinic. There were only so many hours in the woman’s day and she’d probably be a disaster around patients.

  Max hadn’t known about Wazoo’s job in the kitchens at the pastry shop where just about everyone in town passed through between early morning and midafternoon. He didn’t add to Spike that he’d been told Wazoo was an animal therapist—therapy for emotionally disturbed critters—and that she also dealt in a little hoodoo and gave foreboding predictions. And sang at funerals.

  Wazoo moved around rapidly behind the café counter, pausing frequently to snap her fingers in time to a country beat coming from an old radio. A glass jar filled with salt-water taffy kept the radio safely wedged on a small shelf. At a signal Max couldn’t hear, she opened the door to the back vestibule and stared down. A moment later she draped a tiny, mostly white cat around her neck. The animal stretched her small body to an impossible length and looked as if her dark markings were Egyptian, including the kohl-like lines around her eyes.

  No doubt the health department would have something to say about a cat in a café, but several of the patrons crooned, “Irene, baby, Irene, cher,” so he guessed the cat was a fixture.

  Irene baby curled her lip at every would-be friend, and she wasn’t smiling.

  “You called,” Spike said.

  Max looked at him quickly. “I called you back.”

  Spike gave a slow smile and nodded. “Is that the way it went? Why don’t you tell me what’s on your mind, then I’ll tell you what’s on mine.”

  Playing it cute wouldn’t earn him any points with the sheriff, Max decided. “Michele Riley is on my mind. I’m hoping you invited me here because there’s good news.”

  Wazoo brought Spike’s coffee, glanced from one man to the other and slipped away quickly, but not before the cat gave Max a narrow-eyed stare. “This isn’t what I wanted to tell you,” Spike said. “We don’t have any leads, Max. All we have is what you told us. She had dinner with you and your brothers and afterward you drove her back to the Majestic. You saw her inside. And she disappeared.”

  “We both know that didn’t happen,” Max said. He stared outside again. He hadn’t driven away from the hotel until the lights went off in the hall. What the hell could have happened to Michele? “She went into the hotel. If there was—I don’t know, an attack—why didn’t Gator and Doll and their boy hear? Why isn’t there evidence of a struggle?”

  “You tell me.”

  Max’s skin tightened. “Come again?”

  “I said, you tell me why there’s no evidence and no one heard anything. I’m fresh out of ideas and, unlike you, I never saw the woman at all.”

  Max frowned. He caught Wazoo’s eye and pointed to his cup, more because he needed whatever thinking time he could buy than because he wanted more coffee.

  Wazoo came with Spike’s bowl of gumbo in one hand and a carafe in the other. She set down the bowl and filled both coffee cups. “Be right back,” she said, her eyes making a swift study of their faces. “You got trouble,” she said, her voice little more than a whisper. “Big trouble. I keep smelling somethin’ real bad.” She sniffed the air and returned to the counter.

  Max didn’t meet Spike’s eyes. First Annie passed out in front of him and came around begging not to be burned, then Wazoo talked about smelling something bad—like burning, maybe? If he was the type to run, he’d already be on his way, but running wouldn’t stop the madness.

  Carrying corn bread and a dish of honey butter, Wazoo returned and this time she slid into a seat at the table.

  “You’re deserting your post,” Spike said.

  She snorted. “No such thing, lawman. I’m right here and I got real good eyes.”

  “I think I see someone back in the books waving for you.”

  Wazoo gave Max a pitying look. “They know where to find me, not that I’m any book expert. The reading group’s at the back—they answer anyone’s questions—makes ’em feel important and suits me. This Michele, they sayin’ she come lookin’ for a job at Green Veil. That place used to be called Serenity House, y’know.” She disentangled the cat and sat it on her lap where it rested its nose on the table and switched its green-gold gaze between the men.

  “We know what the house was called,” Spike said. “But thanks for the reminder.”

  “She’s dead, that one. I know what I see.”

  “Who’s dead?” Max shot back at her. “What do you see?” If she said something about fire, he might lose it.

  “It isn’t that easy,” Wazoo said. “I can’t turn it on like a picture show. Gotta wait for stuff to come clear, but that Michele ain’t with us here no more.”

  “You shouldn’t play around with things as important as this,” Max said. He prickled all over.

  Spike spooned up gumbo, chewed vegetables and managed to appear almost disinterested.

  “Vivian,” Wazoo said abruptly, pointing a long forefinger with a red-painted nail. “How is she? This baby is blessed, I feel it.” She closed her eyes, raised he
r chin and breathed hard through her mouth. “The last little one couldn’t stay, had other places to go. This one has things to do right where he is.”

  The expressions that flitted over Spike’s face intrigued Max. The even-tempered, almost flip facade was gone, replaced by a sharper and definitely worried frown. “We don’t know if we’re having a boy or a girl,” he said. “Thanks for the kind words, though. Only a few weeks to go now.”

  “Now you listen to me,” Wazoo said, settling a hand on top of one of his. “There’s nothin’ to be afraid of this time around. That little one is takin’ all the energy it needs from Vivian. It’s wearin’ her out but like you say, it’ll soon be over. She’s worried now because of losing the last baby, but she doesn’t need to give it a thought.”

  Max had seen that Vivian was very pregnant but knew nothing of her history. He would try to find an opportunity to reassure her. He and Spike needed to get rid of Wazoo. With one forefinger, he attempted to rub between the cat’s ears. That got him a view of a mouthful of tiny pointed teeth together with a hiss too big for the cat. He drew his hand back.

  “Don’t you take Irene’s hiss serious,” Wazoo said. “I gotta talk Annie into some therapy for this one. She’s sufferin’. She tol’ me she thinks she gonna be pushed out of her mama’s lap—and bed—by some man.”

  There were moments when cool disinterest was the best reaction.

  Max hooked an elbow over the back of his chair and raised his jaw. He looked detached, he was sure he did.

  “Wazoo,” Spike said after a slightly lengthy pause. “Thanks for the good words. Forgive us but this is a business meeting for Max and me.”

  Smiling, she popped up. “You know where to find me.”

  “You know Annie Duhon?” Spike asked when he and Max were alone, drumming his fingertips on the table. “Yeah, you do.”

  Shit. “I know who she is,” Max said. “She runs Pappy’s.”

  “Sure she does. How come you look so guilty?”

  “You’re off base,” Max told him evenly. Lying didn’t amuse him but he didn’t want Annie’s name linked to his.

  “If you say so,” Spike said quietly. “I wish we knew where to find Michele Riley. I’d settle for any clue, any idea. So far we’ve got a search for a missing person, and I kept it in this jurisdiction, used my people. But I can’t cover for this any longer.”

  Max looked at him sharply. “I didn’t ask you to cover for anything.”

  “No, you didn’t. By tomorrow we’ll be knee-deep in folks asking questions. Is there anythin’ you’d like to share with me? Any incidents from the past?”

  The man only asked the question to be polite. Max could tell he’d done some homework. It wasn’t so hard to get at the record of Max Savage’s career with the law. And innocent verdicts bore less weight if the same types of crimes followed you around.

  “Have you searched the Majestic for leads?”

  Spike took several spoonfuls of his gumbo before he responded. “There are prints on her own possessions—all the same. So what? They’re probably hers. She couldn’t use ’em without touching ’em. We didn’t find any sign of a struggle or that her things had been messed with.” He played with his coffee spoon, tapped it against his mug. “Same prints were on the front door and the handle. Both areas had been cleaned.”

  “When?” Max asked, shifting forward on his chair. “When did they clean the door?”

  “Last night. Doll said she likes to brighten up the entrance and the reception area right before she goes to bed, just in case there’s a real late arrival. The Hibbses turn in around eleven.”

  “Before I dropped Michele off,” Max said, almost under his breath. “So if someone who didn’t normally go there had got in that way before eleven and waited for her, those prints would be gone.” A defeated feeling came and went, almost quickly enough. He had felt a setup closing in on him, but he couldn’t allow himself to go there, not unless he eventually had to.

  “You’ve got that right. Gator’s were on the inside from openin’ up this mornin’. That’s all. He propped the door open.”

  A car approached, passed the triangular section of grass, trees and grimy plastic holiday statues in the center of broad Main Street. The car, a red Volvo, swung to a stop behind Spike’s cruiser. Max deliberately turned his face from the window.

  “Max?” Spike raised his eyebrows and pushed his fingers through his hair. “Want to share anythin’?”

  “Why didn’t we do this at the department?”

  “I told you, informal appeals to me, particularly when I have pretty much nothing to go on. I thought we’d be more relaxed here.”

  Max didn’t feel relaxed. Anything he said had a chance of being overheard. “You’ve been checking me out, haven’t you?” He heard a car door slam. Annie, her hands crammed with bag handles, came toward Hungry Eyes.

  “Yes.” Spike’s blue eyes stared steadily into Max’s. “You understand why I’m real worried here? Either you’re a serial killer, or you’ve made a serial killer real mad.”

  He wasn’t being funny.

  Max had never felt more serious.

  “We have to find Michele,” he said, the start of panic curling in his belly. He looked directly into Spike’s eyes. “This hell has been going on since I was in college. I don’t want the folks around here to find out about the accusations that were made against me. One of the reasons I decided to stay here was because after months, no one had ever mentioned my history. And they would have if they’d known about it. Michele comes first, of course, but I have to stick here, Spike. If I run again, I’m…Hell, I’m scared sick someone else will die. I’m scared Michele’s already dead.”

  “Uh-huh,” Spike said. “Can’t blame you for that.”

  “You think the same thing, don’t you?” Max said.

  Spike pursed his mouth a moment then said, “I’m not into guessing. Until we’ve got a body, dead or alive, I won’t be givin’ a definite opinion. The longer the woman’s missing, the worse our chances of finding her get.”

  Suddenly he was convinced of what he must do about Annie. He had to see her and make sure she was okay, then he would find a way to tell her both how he felt about her, and why he couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

  “Michele wasn’t on her plane today—not that I thought she would be,” Spike said.

  “Damn. I didn’t expect her to be either, but I hoped.” He felt as if he’d been kicked, again.

  “She had a purse with her when you picked her up?” Spike asked.

  Max pinched the bridge of his nose. “She must have. She did. Kelly and Roche were there. They’ll back me up.” He thought about the four of them sitting around a table in the glass-walled restaurant at Rosebank. Michele laughed a lot and looked pretty when she did.

  He didn’t see Annie come into the shop, but he knew she had.

  “You picked her up, spent the afternoon with her and your brothers and took her to dinner, where?”

  Max wanted to turn and look at Annie. He listened for her voice and heard her respond to Wazoo’s enthusiastic greeting. She sounded cheerful, too cheerful.

  “We had dinner in the restaurant at Rosebank,” Max told Spike. “They do a great job there.”

  Spike was too focused to acknowledge the weak joke. “When did you first know Michele was missing?”

  “At Pappy’s, yesterday lunchtime. Gator and Doll Hibbs came by and told me.”

  Spike stared at him for a long time. “From what was said by the people in New York, they knew she was coming here. I’ve waited as long as I can to call them and confirm she’s missing.”

  Max buried his face in his hands. “When you do, it’ll be all over,” he said. The people Michele knew, knew Max, had known him a long time. They were only human and they were bound to get scared for Michele.

  “I kinda thought you’d say that,” Spike said. He extended a hand, palm up. “My time has run out. Can you give me anythin’, Max? Anythin’ at all? My g
ut tells me an intelligent guy like you isn’t goin’ to risk everythin’ by…I don’t think you’re a killer but I don’t have a whole lot of choice but to proceed as if you might be.”

  “And do what?” Max pushed aside his coffee. “Arrest me?”

  “Keep it down,” Spike said. “I’m not goin’ to arrest you. I can’t. You’re an innocent man, remember. I can’t hold past criminal investigations against you. But give me a way to tie you to foul play here and you’re in the slammer.”

  Max felt sweat along his hairline. “What are you trying to get out of me? I didn’t do anything to Michele. And I want her found, dammit. D’you understand me?”

  “You’re not in a position to play it heavy with me,” Spike said.

  “Why not?” Max curled his lip in a sneer. “I’m an innocent man, remember.”

  “I came here for one reason,” Spike said, any trace of humor long gone. “You’re the only suspect I’ve got. Thought I ought to tell you that.”

  Max swallowed and it hurt. “You haven’t started to look.”

  “Sure, I have. And those telephone numbers are bein’ followed up on right now. Why don’t you cut the crap and save us both a lot of time. Where is she?”

  A steady drumming pain set up in Max’s temples. The horror had started all over again. “I don’t know. She’s a friend of mine and I like her. I wouldn’t do anything to hurt her. I want to help with the search. My brothers have already asked why we haven’t been called out.”

  “I don’t think it would be a good idea, that’s why. You wouldn’t be the first murderer to help look for the victim. You think we’re hicks here, don’t you? That’s why you never thought I’d get around to looking at you.”

  Max rubbed his palms together. “I’ve got enemies, I tell you. Enemies who want to ruin me. And they don’t care what they do to people along the way.”

  “So you say,” Spike said. “We’re takin’ the area apart. And we expect to find a dead body.”

  CHAPTER 8

  Spike stood up and threw down some bills. He nodded at Max, stepped away from the table and stopped. “Hey, Homer,” he said, but he frowned at his father. “Didn’t see you come in. What’s up?”