Fat Tuesday(98)

"Like his orchids."

"Orchids?"

"He spends hours in his greenhouse cultivating orchids."

"You're kidding."

"No. But that's irrelevant. Please, finish your thought."

"My thought? I guess it doesn't bother you to be no more than a possession when you think of all you get in return. Fancy clothes Jewelry. A limousine and driver. Like mother, like daughter. You just charge more than Angel."

If he had slapped her, it couldn't have stung more. Throwing down the dish towel, she turned away, but one of his wet hands shot out and caught her by the wrist."Let go of me."

"You sold yourself body and soul to Pinkie Duvall, and you feel that because your mother was a drug-addicted whore your decision was justified. Well, it doesn't wash, Mrs. Duvall. Kids can't choose their parents or the circumstances of their upbringing, but as adults, we have choices."

"Do we?"

"You disagree?"

"Maybe your choices were more clear-cut than mine, Mr. Basile."

"Oh, I think your choice was very easy. If I was a beautiful and desirable young woman, I might peddle myself to the highest bidder, too.

"

"Do you think so?"

"I might."

"No, I mean do you think I'm beautiful and desirable?"

Looking like he'd taken a clip on the chin, he released her wrist. But even though they were no longer touching, he held her with his stare.

After a time, he said, "Yeah, I do. Furthermore, you know I do. You use your sexuality like currency, and every man you meet wants to cash in, from a crusty old curmudgeon like Dredd to that stammering guy in the French Market who sold you the oranges."

Her lips parted in wordless surprise.

"That was me in the baseball cap, running after you with a goddamn sack of oranges," he said, sounding angry."I was spying on you then, and I was spying the night you had your little tryst with Bardo in the gazebo."

"I did not have a tryst with Bardo. Not that night or any other time.

He makes my skin crawl."

"That's not what it looked like to me."

"You're so self-righteous and quick to judge, which I find surprising since you of all people should know that things aren't always what they appear. You should know how extenuating circumstances can shade a situation."

He advanced on her a step."The hell you talking about?"

"You killed your partner. You fired the gun that caused his death.

Technically that's what happened. But judgments based on that fact alone would be unfair to you. Because there were contributing factors.

When taken into account, those factors exonerate you."

"Okay. So?"

"So, until you know all the circumstances of my life, how dare you preach to me about choices."

"Mrs. Duvall?" he said calmly.

"What?"

"Have you ever yelled at your husband like this?" The unexpected question, and the calm manner in which he posed it, took her off guard.

His eyebrows went up."No? Well, maybe you should. Maybe he'd stop burning down buildings if you ever said How dare you' to him and threatened to leave."

"Leave?" she exclaimed on a bitter laugh."What a brilliant idea, Mr. Basile! Why didn't I think of that? Why didn't I "

"Shh!" He stepped up to her, placed one arm around her waist and the other hand over her mouth. She tried to wiggle free, but he increased the pressure of his arm, squeezing her waist tighter."Shh!"

Then she heard the noise that he had picked up seconds earlier. It sounded like a trolling motor.

"Since you don't know who it is," he said in a low voice, "I advise you to keep quiet."

Remembering the men who had chased them from the Crossroads, she nodded in understanding. He released her."Get the candle." She blew it out as he reached for the lantern, turning it down to barely a glow."Stay out of sight."

Placing his hand on the top of her head, as he had done in the boat when the helicopter flew over, he pushed her down and motioned her under the table. She crawled beneath it.

As nimble as a shadow, he moved to the cabinet and she watched him take the pistol from behind the top shelf. That was about the only place she hadn't searched for the gun today while he was busy with the boat.

He tucked the pistol into the waistband of his jeans at the small of his back, then went to stand on the pier just outside the door.

The sound of the motor grew louder. Soon a light appeared, flickering through the moss-draped branches and casting a faint apron of light on the rippling surface of the water in advance of the approaching boat.

She could see enough to discern that it was approximately the size of the craft Basile had repaired that day.

A man called out to him in Cajun French. He responded with a laconic "Evening, y'all."

Remy felt the vibration when the boat pulled up alongside the pier and bumped into one of the rubber-tire buffers on the piles. On hands and knees she crawled from beneath the table and across the room to the window that afforded her a better view. She raised her head only far enough for her eyes to clear the windowsill. There were three men huddled in the boat.

She didn't know whether to reveal herself and alert them that she was a captive, or to remain hidden. She desperately needed to return to New Orleans, but would these men provide her safe passage? Or was she safer with Basile?