At Risk (16 page)

“Why do you ask?” the guy demanded, his voice sharp.

“Sometimes people read death notices, and if they think a house is empty, they may try to break in.”

“Well, I’m on the job here.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

He hung up.
At least he had a name he could check out.

He did a search on Carl Fortuna and discovered that he had a rap sheet. Misdemeanors like drunken driving and public brawling.
And one two-year stint for breaking and entering.

Why had Villars hired someone like that to watch over his property?
Was he hiding something out there? Maybe Villars had been the one dabbling in voodoo, and he didn’t want anyone to know about it.

He probably couldn’t solve that mystery without going back.
And now Fortuna would be on the lookout for intruders. Which left the question of why he’d lied to the lawyer about the recent incident out at the property. Maybe he’d thought he’d hit Rafe or Eugenia—and he didn’t want to be associated with the death if a body turned up.

Rafe left those speculations on the back burner because there was one more piece of business he had to take care of.

The ME had released Martin Villars’ body, and he wanted to stop in at the funeral home and see who else showed up and how they were behaving.

He dressed in the one dark suit he’d bought, along with a white shirt and subdued tie, a far cry from the outfit he’d worn on the trip to bayou country.

Villars was at the Medford Funeral Home, outside the central city. Rafe drove over and found about twenty-five cars in the lot. The building had once been an antebellum mansion. It had been renovated and beautifully landscaped. The private reception room was adorned with rich antiques, polished parquet floors and an enormous rug that looked like it had come from a Middle Eastern palace.

This being New Orleans, four black jazz musicians in dark suits were over in one corner playing somber funeral music.
A nice touch, Rafe thought.

He looked across the crowd and saw the open casket.
It looked like top-of-the-line oak.

When he walked over, he saw Villars cradled in gray velvet,
dressed in a white suit with a white shirt and red tie. With a little subtle color in his cheeks, he was looking a lot better than the last time Rafe had seen him.

Holly Villars was nearby, dressed in a more sedate black dress, accented with a long string of pearls.
She was talking in low tones to guests who had lined up to pay their respects. Instead of joining the line immediately, Rafe turned to survey the crowd. It appeared that many of Villars’ associates from the business community had turned out. Although Calista was absent, most of the people who had been at the voodoo ceremony had come.

Gertie and Martha were standing by the refreshment table.
He saw they were talking to Jillian Hargrave, dressed in the same unattractive suit she’d worn at work. It seemed designed to make her fade into the woodwork.

Rafe drifted over, wondering if they were three conspirators discussing a successful murder, but he couldn’t get close enough to hear their conversation without being obvious.

Nearby was an open bar, and many guests had drinks in their hands. Others had plates of food. Rafe got himself a glass of club soda so he wouldn’t look out of place.

Quite a send-off, he thought.
First class and very expensive.

The atmosphere was sedate for a wake, respectful of the dead man, and Rafe couldn’t help thinking how different the atmosphere was here than at the voodoo ceremony where Villars had died.

He felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. Glancing up, he spotted Cumberland watching him. He gave the cop a casual nod before turning away to greet Holly.

“You’re that detective friend of Eugenia’s,” she said.

“Yes.”

“You tried to save Martin’s life, and you were kind to me after the EMT’s wouldn’t let me go with him to the hospital.”

“I know it had to be awful for you. How are you doing now?”

“It’s hard, but I’m coping.”
He saw her face harden. “If it wasn’t for that slut of a voodoo priestess, he’d still be alive.”

Rafe wasn’t sure what to say.
He hadn’t seen Holly’s animosity to Calista at the restaurant, but he supposed it might be the result of Villars’ death now.

“Sorry,” she murmured as she caught his reaction.
“I shouldn’t blame her.”

“It’s understandable,” he answered.

Because others were waiting to speak to the widow, he stepped aside, making way for an older woman in a dark blue dress.

To his right, he saw Jillian bypass Holly and go to the other side of the coffin where she paused to stare down at Villars with an expression that could have been a mixture of relief and satisfaction before walking to the door and leaving.

She crossed paths with someone else coming in. Rafe went very still when he saw it was Eugenia, looking lovely in a simple navy dress, high heels and an upswept hairdo.

When she found him in the crowd, their gazes locked.

His heart turned over. He wanted to go to her and ask if she was all right, No, he wanted to take her away to some private place where they could try to resolve the conflict between them. She’d hurt him, and he’d been afraid to let her do it again. Now he was willing to risk it—risk anything if he could have her back.

That realization slammed into him as though he’d been hit in the chest with a baseball thrown by a major-league pitcher.
For a moment, he couldn’t breathe.

Then he regained his equilibrium.
Eugenia was in danger. He was going to find out why and make sure nothing happened to her. Then they could resolve the very personal conflict hanging over them.

She didn’t move for long seconds, and he wondered how she was reacting to him.
Then she headed for the two older women who had been at the voodoo ceremony.

Chapter Fifteen

Because Eugenia had a busy week ahead, she was able to focus on getting her restaurant back in shape to open again.

Still, she couldn’t help thinking about Rafe Gascon.
After her conversation with Larissa, she’d been all fired up to speak to him about what had really happened eight years ago. Each of them had thought the other was at fault, and if they could have a rational discussion about it now, maybe they could get at the truth. Then he’d sidetracked her, and she’d put the personal discussion on hold.

Still, she kept thinking about how they’d gotten messed up when he’d gone into the army.
And the more she thought about it, the more she was starting to form a theory about what had happened, a theory she didn’t much like. What if her mother had deliberately broken their lines of communication. The idea made her sick. But if it were true, Mom would never admit it.

Knowing she had to let that go for the moment, she took a serious tour of the restaurant interior, making mental notes of what had to be done.
Unfortunately, there was more than she’d thought from her first cursory inspection when she’d gone in to get the knife.

While she was emptying the trash out back, Jake Conrad, a reporter from Channel Six showed up.

“So you’re back in business.”

“Almost.”

“I’d like to talk to you about the incident here the other night,” he said.

“You mean on camera?”

“Yes.”

She looked down at her grimy tee shirt and jeans. “Um, probably not this minute.”

He grinned. “I’m not here to embarrass you in front of your fans.”

“Fans?”

“You have a lot. The station’s gotten a lot of calls about when you’re going to reopen.”

She had, too, and she’d put an announcement on her Facebook page.

“I’d like people to understand what happened here, and to find out your future plans.”

She glanced at her watch.
“I’m not open for business today, but if you could come back this evening, we could talk in the dining room.”

“That would be perfect.”

“Will it be live or taped?”

“Why don’t we tape at ten, and I can get you on the eleven o’clock evening news?”

When he left, she wondered what she’d been thinking by agreeing to talk on the record. But the advantages to her were obvious. She could show that she was back in control of her business and that she was looking forward to welcoming customers again.

Quickly she called some of her most reliable staffers and told them she’d pay them double their salaries if they could come over right away and help her get the restaurant in shape for business.

While she worked, she thought about questions the reporter would probably ask and tried to come up with the right answers. Practicing made her feel more confident.

Miraculously, by ten, the restaurant looked like the disaster had never happened.
And her sous-chef had even managed to make a selection of hors d'oeuvres for the reporter and his crew.

She didn’t even look too bad in her blue silk blouse and long black skirt. You’d never even know her heart was racing.

She gave herself one more glance in the mirror, patted her hair, and stepped aside to let Conrad in.

“I don’t suppose you’re going to share your questions with me ahead of time,” she blurted.

He grinned. “Oh, it will just be the usual stuff. It will be fun.”

She laughed.
“I think your idea of fun and mine may differ somewhat.”

Conrad and his crew conferred, and they decided she should stand at the side of the room, next to the antique sideboard she’d liberated from her mom’s attic.

The reporter started with a recap of what had happened a few nights earlier, and she couldn’t dispute the facts. But they certainly didn’t make her look like she’d been making good decisions.

“So why did you allow a voodoo priestess to hold a ceremony in your restaurant?” he asked.

“As you noted, there was a lot of interest in coming to her ceremonies—in what my customers considered a safe environment.”

“But one of them ended up dead.”

“Yes, that’s very unfortunate. And I’m so sorry it happened. But as far as I can see, it had nothing to do with the voodoo ceremony.”

“Would you host a voodoo ceremony again?”

“Perhaps, but really, I think the main attraction of my restaurant is the food. I hope I’m upholding the long New Orleans tradition of excellent cuisine.”

She went on to mention some of the dishes she featured.
And Conrad even tried one of her boudin balls on camera and told everyone how delicious it was. By the time the interview ended, she was sure she’d done herself some good.

Apparently she was right. The next night, she had more customers than on any Saturday in memory.
And she was up early in the morning the next day so she could go down to the wholesale markets to buy produce, meat and fish for Sunday.

The crush continued.
Every table was filled, and she was taking reservations way into the next month.

But the biggest gratification came from the comments diners were making when she stopped by their tables to see if they were enjoying her cuisine.
Everyone she talked to raved about her combination of Cajun specialties and down-home Southern cooking. Several even suggested that she publish a cookbook.

The praise didn’t turn her head.
She was smart enough to know that it would take more than a few weeks of notoriety to firmly establish Chez Eugenia again in a town full of great restaurants.

But it looked like success was in her grasp.
And so far there were no more muggings, probably because Rafe was still on duty.

That made her glance across the street to the courtyard she knew he was using.
He hadn’t spoken to her since they’d parted after their bayou swim, but she knew he was there. She could have told him she didn’t need the services of Decorah Security any longer, but she thought it would be better to wait until the Villars case was resolved.

With a little pang, she walked back inside the restaurant kitchen, trying to put Rafe out of her mind. He’d come back to New Orleans and turned her world upside down.
Now she silently admitted that she wanted him back in her life, and she wondered how that was going to happen. What if she tried to tell him her theory about her mother? Would he listen or walk away from her? That possibility made her throat constrict, but she told herself she could go on without him. She’d created a place for herself in the New Orleans restaurant scene, and she’d have the satisfaction of knowing she could make it in a highly competitive field—ignoring the aching gap in her personal life.

oOo

Over the next few days, nothing changed. Rafe was still across the street, and she was working hard at her chosen profession. Thankful that Wednesday was her day off, she took a nap in the afternoon. Refreshed, she decided she might as well use the time to bake some of her special sweet potato pies.

Before going into the restaurant, she stopped in the courtyard and looked across the street.
Someone was over there. Either Rafe or that friend of his, Pete Grady, who had apparently agreed to take over some of the bodyguard duties.

Her chest tightened as she thought about going over there.
And what? Taking some food like she’d done when she and Rafe had been teenagers?

Instead she went into the restaurant kitchen and started getting out what she needed to make the pies.

Just after it had gotten dark outside, she heard a trash can rattle in the alley.

Her gaze shot to the window.
It was too dark for her to see anything. But she was clearly visible in the lighted kitchen.

There were no blinds back here.
To cut down on her vulnerability, she crossed to the light switch and dimmed the overheads.

Was it Rafe out here?
He wouldn’t come over here without knocking on the door, would he?

If she went out the front, she could cross the street to where he was watching the restaurant.
But what if someone was out front, too? Feeling trapped, she got out a butcher knife and laid it on the stainless steel counter beside her workstation. She’d been scrubbing sweet potatoes, but she went very still as she listened intently for more sounds outside. And now she was kicking herself for not bringing her cell phone into the kitchen.

When it sounded like somebody was trying to turn the lock, she grabbed the knife and prepared to defend herself.
In the next second, the door burst open, and she gasped as her cousin, Bennett, came flying into the room and landed with a thud on the kitchen floor. Rafe was right behind him. He hauled him to his feet and whacked him with the side of his hand, drawing a gasp from him.

It must have been some kind of martial arts move that had Bennett howling in pain.

“Stop doing that to me.”

“Yeah, I’d better stop before I do some real damage.”

“What’s going on?” Eugenia gasped out. As she turned on the light, she almost choked on the overpowering odor that had followed the men into the room.

“So you think your cousin is your friend?” Rafe made an angry sound.
“I thought at least the bastard would be smart enough to stay away from you after our little chat. But apparently he couldn’t deal with your surge of success. He was out back dousing your trash with charcoal lighter fluid. I saved him from getting arrested for arson.”

Bennett gave him a defiant look. “It’s your word against mine.”

“Oh yeah?” Rafe gave the man another karate-type chop, then slammed him against the commercial refrigerator.

Her cousin must have seen the fire in Rafe’s eyes because he abruptly stopped protesting his innocence.

“I’d like you to explain exactly what you were thinking,” Rafe said.

Bennett folded his arms across his chest.
“I thought the voodoo murder had finished her. Then she did that big whoop of a TV interview, and suddenly everybody was coming here again.”

“And that was too much for you?” Rafe asked, his voice deceptively even.

“Listen, I’ve been working my butt off getting restaurant reviews. Pulling in customers. And she comes to town and starts taking everything away from me.”

“It has nothing to do with you.
I went to L’Academie de Cuisine in Bethesda, Maryland—one of the top chef schools in the country. Then I came home and opened a restaurant. I wasn’t trying to compete with you. I was working hard to make a success of myself.”

He made a snorting sound.
“You’ve got your fifteen minutes of fame.”

“If that’s all you think it is, what are you worried about?”

Bennett didn’t answer.

Rafe gave him a dark look. “When her success threatened you, you arranged to have a couple of people mugged outside her restaurant.”

“Nobody got hurt bad. Just roughed up a little.”

“That’s just great.
So kind of you.” Rafe put his thumb and finger on her cousin’s neck, and he screamed.

“Don’t. Please.”

“You’re lower than a worm. Why are you here when I warned you to stay away from her?”

“I thought you’d gone.”

“You bastard. So you waited until you thought she was unprotected.” Rafe snorted. “Did you slip something into Martin Villars’ drink?”

“Of course not!
I wouldn’t kill anybody. I wasn’t even here that night.”

“Except that you came over later and left that voodoo charm.”

The man made a strangled sound. “You can’t prove that.”

“Maybe not.
But I know it.”

“But I wouldn’t kill anyone,” he repeated.

“You could have killed Eugenia tonight.”

“No.
She would have seen the smoke and flames and gotten out the front.”

“Sure.
Unless she’d passed out from smoke inhalation.” Rafe regarded him with a murderous expression on his face.

“I want a lawyer,” Bennett said. “You can’t prove anything.”

Rafe answered with a bark of a laugh. “As it turns out, I can. I installed cameras outside Eugenia’s restaurant. You’re the star of the current show. Maybe we should send
that
to Channel Six.”

“No,” Bennett shrieked.

Rafe glanced at Eugenia. “Do you want to put him on TV?”

“It’s tempting, but I don’t need any more questionable publicity.”

“What about prosecuting him?”

She took her lower lip between her teeth.
“What alternative do we have?”

Bennett gave a pleading look. “If you let me off, I’ll promise not to do it again.
Or anything else that would hurt you.”

Eugenia thought about it, and looked at Rafe. “He’s my cousin.”

“you trust him?”

“Not anymore.
But you have the video you can use if we need to.”