The Bourbon Thief(78)
“More than ready.”
Levi clicked his tongue and Rex raised his head. As Levi led the horse, Tamara glanced down and saw the outline of a word carved deep into the stone she’d been lying on. One word—Louisa. Dirt and moss obscured the rest, but Tamara knew she’d found Louisa St. Croix’s tombstone. And this place was her tomb. And there, the line of black bricks, burned to cinders, was the foundation of St. Croix’s house.
“Levi?”
“What is it, Rotten?”
Tamara started to tell him what she’d seen, what she’d found. But when she looked up, for a split second she saw a girl, a pretty girl with black lace eyelashes peeking at her from behind a tree. She smiled like she’d played a trick on someone and gotten away with it. Tamara smiled back, the same smile for the same reason.
“Thanks for coming to find me, Levi.”
“What else is a stupid lovesick husband for?”
“I knew you loved me.”
“Somebody has to, Rotten. Might as well be me.”
25
Paris
Somewhere between the witching hour and dawn, Paris unfurled her long legs from where she’d tucked them under her on the sofa, stood up and took a bottle of Four Roses off the bar. McQueen put his hand over the top of his shot glass when she brought the bottle to it.
“I don’t need any more,” he said.
“For what I’m about to tell you next you do.” Paris looked down at him and he looked up at her, and if this had been a game of tug-of-war, she’d have all the rope in her hands and he’d have nothing but rope burn.
“But they were so happy,” he said. Paris looked at him with sympathy. He knew that look. It was the look he’d given his daughter the day she discovered there was no Santa Claus.
McQueen moved his hand off the mouth of the glass so she could pour.
“Make it a double.”
26
Veritas
Tamara looked out the bedroom window and saw her husband lounging on the back deck, nose stuck in a book.
Unacceptable.
She could have forgiven him reading if it hadn’t been a Saturday afternoon and a beautiful one at that, and she could have forgiven him reading if he had his shirt on, but no. He wore nothing but his rattiest pair of jeans, sunglasses and that serious look on his face he got when he contemplated the mysteries of the universe. He ought to be contemplating the mysteries of her universe. Tamara pushed up the window and leaned out to tell him that.
“Stop reading and come to bed,” she hollered down at him.
“Be gone, wench,” Levi said, casually turning a page in his book. “Go and ply your harlot’s trade elsewhere. I’m trying to learn something down here. You had your rampant feminine lusts serviced twice last night, and until you muck out Rex’s stall like I told you to, you’re not getting them serviced again.”
“Are you reading Shakespeare?”
“I am, forsooth. How didst thou knowst?”
“Lucky guess.”
“I’m reading Antony and Cleopatra,” Levi said as he pushed his sunglasses up on his head and waved his book in her direction. “A man falls in love with a woman. It is, of course, a tragedy.”
“Shakespeare is boring. Read something better, like Jackie Collins.”
“I am learning from Shakespeare. And I’m learning more than how to marry money.”
“What do you learn from Shakespeare other than how to talk like a fancy idiot?”
“I’m learning a lot from Antony and Cleopatra. I learned I shouldn’t marry the emperor’s niece while I’m still sleeping with the Queen of Egypt. Also, I should avoid naval battles when I’m outgunned. Land battles, Tamara. Remember that. Listen to your oracles and stick to land battles.”
“Sounds sexy. Why don’t you come to bed and tell me more about it?”
“Did you clean Rex’s stall out in the past thirty seconds?”
“Well...no.”
“Then excuse me. I have a date with the Nile.”
“You’re the meanest man alive, Levi Shelby. You make my life difficult.”
“There’re American citizens still being held hostage in Iran, Tamara Shelby. Go tell them how difficult your life is. I don’t want to hear it.”
Tamara screamed.
Levi swiveled his head and looked up at her, eyebrow cocked to high heaven.
“Are you done?” he asked.
“I think so.”
“I tell you what, you clean Rex’s stall today, and tonight...tonight I will take you upstairs to our bedroom and...”
“Yes?” Tamara asked with unabashed eagerness to hear what her reward would be.
“And I’ll play Connect Four with you. I get to be black, obviously.”
Levi shoved his sunglasses back down on his face, opened his book and returned to ignoring her and her rampant feminine lusts. If Shakespeare had been alive and in her house, she might have hit him over the head with a shovel. She blamed him for being more interesting than her body was. And she blamed Levi for being Levi, who would rather read than do what Tamara wanted him to do, which was “do Tamara.”
Once more she stuck her head out of the pink bedroom window.
“I have to tell you a secret,” Tamara called down.