Fat Tuesday(45)

Father Gregory smiled at the butler."I'd love some. Decaf, please."

"Same for me," Burke said.

He withdrew, leaving the priests alone with Mrs. Duvall. And her bodyguard.

The man's wide shoulders extended beyond the back of his chair and the wicker seemed to be straining to support him. His dark suit was incongruous with the sunny garden room. He looked as out of place as a monkey wrench in a floral arrangement.

Burke had experienced a heart flurry when he entered the solarium and saw the familiar bodyguard. Mrs. Duvall hadn't recognized him, but the man was supposedly trained to be on the alert. Burke had given him a pleasant smile and a slight nod. He'd grunted a greeting, his eyes registering no recognition. Whatever Duvall was paying the dullard, it was too much.

Mrs. Duvall addressed him as Errol."You don't have to stay. I'm sure you'll be bored with this discussion."

He thought it over, gave each of the priests a look that could have passed for a stern warning, then stood."Okay. But I'll be right outside if you need me."

When he left, Father Gregory turned to their hostess."Is he always like that? Or is he sometimes dour?"

She laughed spontaneously. Burke silently thanked Gregory for putting her at ease. So far the young man was doing an exceptional acting job.

They chitchatted easily until the butler, whom she referred to as Roman, returned with a large silver tray and set it on a wheeled cart, from which Mrs. Duvall herself served them coffee and small cakes frosted with pastel icing. Her motions were fluid, effortless, natural. She handled the heavy silver coffeepot as gracefully as she handled her spoon, with which she stirred a single dollop of cream into her coffee.

"I'm anxious to hear all about Jenny's House."

Father Gregory cleared his throat and inched forward on his seat "The concept came to me ..."

Burke tuned out as Gregory launched into a flowery speech about a homeless children's refuge that didn't exist. While pretending to hinge on every word coming from Father Gregory's mouth, he watched Remy Duvall's face. She listened intently, responding as anticipated to the buzz words Burke had told Gregory to incorporate. Her questions were insightful and intelligent. When Gregory retold the fictitious story of little Jenny, tears came to her eyes "It's so tragic."

Because her sadness seemed sincere, it would be easy to start feeling badly about this gross manipulation of her emotions. But then Burke reminded himself of how cozy she'd been with Bardo in the gazebo.

Any woman who would willingly consort with Bardo didn't deserve compassion.

He set his cup and saucer on the table at his elbow and abruptly stood up."Pardon me for interrupting, Father Gregory, but I need to be excused."

Gregory swiveled his head around so fast his neck popped. He looked at Burke with bald panic. They hadn't rehearsed this part.

It wasn't in the script. Burke had omitted it intentionally because he hadn't wanted to increase Gregory's anxiety. Since he seemed to be comfortable in his role-playing, Burke felt he could safely leave Gregory alone with Mrs. Duvall for a few minutes, which was all he needed "There's a powder room behind the stairs in the entry," she told him.

"Thank you."

"Would you like Errol to show you?"

"No, thanks. I'll find it."

He strolled out of the solarium, but once he'd cleared the doorway, he pulled up short and looked for the bodyguard. He wasn't just outside the room as he'd said he would be. Instead, Burke found him in an adjacent den, watching television. His back was to the door.

Apparently he didn't consider Father Gregory and Father Kevin much of a threat.

Burke went into the powder room and closed the door, but only for a moment. Coming out, he took the stairs two at a time, wincing whenever one of the treads creaked.

The first door past the landing opened into another small bathroom.

Three seconds max, and he was out.

How many servants were in the house? He had no way of knowing, but a safe guess was several. At any moment, he might bump into a militant housekeeper demanding to know what the holy hell the holy father was doing snooping around Mr. Duvall's house. She would raise a ruckus, which would summon Errol, who would restrain him until Pinkie arrived.

By this time tomorrow, his body would be a buffet for carnivorous fish grazing on the bottom of the Gulf.

He opened the second door along the hallway and found what he was looking for a grand bedroom with separate baths on either side and a wide balcony overlooking the front lawn.

Burke knew nothing about antiques, but each piece of furniture in the room looked like the genuine article. Drug money would go a long way at highbrow auctions. One of the pieces, a cheval glass in the corner that stood at least twelve feet tall, reflected a man wearing unnecessary eyeglasses and the trappings of a priest."You're way over the edge on this one, Basile," he muttered.

He peered into what was obviously Pinkie's dressing room, but the maid had been there since the master of the house left that morning Everything was in order. Nothing was lying out.

In the bedroom, the nightstands were easily distinguishable.

Pinkie slept on her left side. On his nightstand were a pair of reading glasses a copy of Newsweek, and a cordless telephone. Burke checked it for a number, but the plastic sleeve that held the label provided by the telephone company was empty. Probably an ultraprivate, unlisted number.