French Silk(50)

"No. I wouldn't."

Cassidy ruminated on that for a moment. "Because his father was well-to-do, Andre could attend the finest schools."

"Yes, but he was an outcast. The other children said unkind things about his maman and taunted him with ugly names. I was considered somewhat of an oddball too, because I didn't have a normal family life. It was natural that Andre and I develop a friendship.

"His mother was devoted to him and vice versa. Just as her mother had done for her, she coached Andre on food and wine, etiquette, how to dress, how to differentiate between quality and junk whether it be jewelry, linen, or antique furniture.

"Before Andre's father set her up in a house, she took Andre with her when she met her gentlemen. He waited for her in the lobbies of luxury hotels where people of color weren't even allowed until the early sixties.

"Perhaps because he was granted that privilege, he fell in love with the hotels. To him they were finer and more sacred than cathedrals, because not everybody could enjoy them. He had a place in them that was prohibited to other children. He dreamed of managing one." In a faraway voice, she added, "I'm glad his dreams came true."

"What about his mother?" Cassidy asked. "Does she still have a clientele?"

"No, Mr. Cassidy. She took her own life by slashing her wrists with a straight razor. Andre found her in the bathtub one afternoon when he came home from school."

"Jesus."

"If you aren't prepared for the stink, you shouldn't exhume the past."

He pulled an angry frown. "Do you think I'm enjoying this?"

"If you don't, then why do you persist in dredging up the ugliness in everyone's life?"

"It's one of the least pleasant aspects of my work, Claire. But it's still my work."

"Answer a question for me," she said suddenly.

"What?"

"Should you be calling me Claire?"

They stared at each other for a long moment, the tension thick. At last he turned away from her. "No, I shouldn't."

"Then why are you?"

He turned back around slowly. His eyes seemed to acquire tactile qualities; they touched her everywhere at once. "You may be a liar, Claire, but you're not stupid," he said huskily. "You know why."

She held his stare until the pressure in her chest became unbearable. The only thing worse would have been to stop looking at him, and she couldn't bring herself to do that. She felt drawn to him, linked by invisible tethers.

They had remained so still that when he finally moved, she jumped reflexively. But he only raised his hand to rub the back of his neck as though the muscles ached.

"Back to Andre. He called you that night and told you your mother was at the Fairmont."

She nodded. It was difficult to speak. Her heart was still racing.

"You went to pick her up?"

"Yes."

"Alone?"

"Yes. In my car."

"What time was that?"

"I'm not sure."

"Claire."

"I don't know," she cried, shaking her head impatiently.

"It was after the crusade, because, as you know, I attended that earlier."

He held his temper in check, but she could see it wasn't easy. "Give me an approximate time."

"Midnight, maybe. No later."

"How did Mary Catherine get out of here without your knowing?"

"I told you she can be very resourceful. She went downstairs, undid the locks, and disengaged the alarm before opening the door."

"Even during one of her 'spells,' she can be that lucid? That functional?"

Claire avoided looking at him. "Sometimes."

"Okay, so you drove to the Fairmont."

"I illegally parked across the street. I knew I wouldn't be but a minute, and I wasn't. I rushed to Andre's office, he handed Mother over to me, and we left. I probably wasn't there more than two minutes."

"Did anyone else see you? Other hotel personnel?"

"I don't know. I suppose you could ask."

"Count on it." He shoved his hands into his pockets and stared out the rain-streaked windows. In spite of the grilling he was subjecting her to, Claire noticed that he had a very masculine profile, a manly stance, from his damp hair to the toes of his shoes. "You saw Wilde that night at the Superdome. Then later you were in the hotel where he was found murdered. And you took pains to keep it a secret."

"How many times do I have to explain? I wanted to protect my mother from gossip and speculation. Is that so difficult for you to understand?"

"You stayed in the lobby area of the hotel?"

"Yes."

"You didn't go to any other floor, no other area of the hotel?"

"No."

"Did you use the elevator?"

"No."

He turned and braced his hands on the padded arm of the sofa, bracketing her hips. Leaning into her, he asked, "Then why in hell didn't you tell me this sooner? If it was so damned innocent, why did you lie to me?"

"Because you were trying to implicate me. My name was on Wilde's hit list, and you seemed to think that was important. You had that folder of clippings that I had stupidly tried to destroy. That was two strikes against me already. I was afraid that if you knew I was anywhere near the Fairmont that night, you'd do just as you've done and jump to the wrong conclusion."