Kiss Them Goodbye. Stella Cameron

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СКАЧАТЬ dome on top of a tower at one side made for a lot of visual interest.

      “You’ve got a prisoner in your car, Daddy,” Wendy whispered in Spike’s ear, her sunny smile giving way to a frown. “Is she dangerous?”

      “Oh, yeah—what am I sayin’, of course she’s not dangerous, and she’s not a prisoner. That’s Miz Vivian Patin. Remember that big house where we went to pick roses one time? Rosebank? Vivian and her mother live there now.”

      “Why is she in your car?”

      Five-year-olds could have one-track minds. “I’m going to drive her to her vehicle. This is her dog, Boa.”

      The frown grew ferocious. “Why are you carrying the dog, Daddy? Is the lady hurt? Can’t she carry her dog? He’s very small.”

      “She,” Spike said automatically. He needed a smooth retreat from the brink of disaster. The worst thing he could do would be to make too much out of this. “Vivian’s a nice lady. I know she’ll let you pet her dog if you ask nicely.”

      “Why are you carrying the dog, Daddy?” Now the tone was stubborn and behind the owlish lenses, Wendy’s hazel eyes were worried.

      “Just bein’ polite and helpful,” he said, feeling foolish. He did the only thing he could think of to do and approached the passenger window on the Ford. Vivian rolled it down. “Vivian, this is my daughter, Wendy. Wendy, say hello to Miz Patin.”

      “Vivian. Call me Vivian, Wendy. You have the cutest pigtails.”

      Wendy reverted to her hair-tugging, pouty act and didn’t answer.

      “Did you meet my dog, Boa?” Vivian got out of the car. “She’s a Chihuahua but she thinks she’s a lion. D’you know what I mean?”

      Wendy regarded Boa, reached to stroke the dog and received a lick on the mouth with a giggle. “Lions don’t kiss people,” Wendy said. “I don’t think she wants to be a lion.”

      Spike met Vivian’s eyes over his daughter’s head. “My father’s here,” he said, indicating the Majestic. “Come on in and meet him—and Gator Hibbs.”

      He could see how much she wanted to refuse, and how she argued herself into giving a nod and going up the hotel steps past the colored whirligigs Doll stuck in planters on either side of the door. It would be easy enough to let her off the hook, but she might as well see how different their lives were.

      Inside the vestibule they were confronted with rose-covered stained glass in the interior door. Spike reached around Vivian to turn the handle and let them in. Immediately, Wendy wriggled from his arms and ran across the shabby lobby to the room where hotel guests were invited to sit and watch television in the evenings.

      Vivian saw there were people in the room Wendy had disappeared into and turned away blindly, walking straight into Spike’s chest. Boa whined.

      “Hey, hey,” Spike said quietly. “Nothing fearsome here. Just inconvenient. We’ll have that talk soon, just as soon as we deal with my dad. I warn you, he’s unconventional.”

      “Give Boa to me. They’ll have one less thing to wonder about.”

      He handed over the dog. Little, showy dogs weren’t his thing, or they never had been.

      Wendy dashed back and took her father’s hand to drag him with her into a room papered with more roses, these climbing brown lattices. Cabbage rose chintz covered sagging chairs and two couches. Wendy didn’t smile at Vivian and Spike decided he’d be chatting with his girl later. She knew better than to be rude.

      His father and Gator Hibbs had got to their feet when they saw Vivian. Gator wore his customary T-shirt, baggy overalls and ingenuous grin. He wiped his palms on his pants. Good old Homer did what only he could do so well, he got rid of any expression at all.

      Vivian stood up tall and met Gator Hibbs’s eyes. He pushed a sweat-stained Achafalaya Gold Casino baseball cap far back on his head. He nodded and hovered, probably waiting for someone to say he could put his round rear back in the chair.

      A tall man who could be in his seventies eased forward from the windowsill where he’d been sitting. His hair was still thick and peppered the way blond hair did when it was time to turn gray. A thin face, clean-shaven, and eyes a darker shade of blue than Spike’s gave the impression that Homer Devol was sharp. Vivian could see the lines of the son’s face in the father’s—but no trace of the optimism she saw in Spike’s expression from time to time, or any hint of his knock-’em-dead smile.

      “You must be Spike’s dad,” she said, extending a hand. “You’ve got your hands full with the business and a little girl to care for—but Wendy sure is cute.”

      “Wendy’s no trouble. Never was. Never will be to me.” He took his time to shake her hand.

       Strike one.

      “I’m Vivian Patin, Guy Patin’s niece. My mother and I moved into Rosebank.”

      “I know who you are,” Homer said. “Reckon just about everyone for miles around does.”

      She was proud of her smile and her nonchalance. “And to think some people go looking for fame,” she said. “I like a quiet life myself, not that Mama and I have a choice until this horrible thing is finished with.”

      “Who’s keepin’ shop, Pops?” Spike asked. The cold tone of his voice startled Vivian.

      Homer’s still sharp chin came up. “Ozaire. Said he was glad to do it, just like he usually does. I’m gonna give him a reel he’s had his eye on.”

      Spike’s hands dropped to his sides and he made fists. “You left Ozaire Dupre at our place? The opposition?”

      “You never used to mind.” Homer shrugged. “You gotta trust people. Ozaire’s honest.”

      “Sure he’s honest. He’s probably making an honest effort to sabotage my crawfish boiler. And while we’re talking about dumb-ass things to do—Wendy alone on the stoop qualifies, damn it all.”

      Homer colored and looked away and Vivian felt terrible for both men.

      “Hey Pops,” Spike said, raising his palms. “Sorry for sounding off. I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

      “I can see that,” Homer said, looking at Vivian. “Better concentrate, boy. I hear that Errol Bonine’s on your case again. I don’t want to be visitin’ your beat-up body in the hospital again.”

      Spike set his jaw. “Did Claude’s order get picked up?”

      “Sure,” Homer said. “The woman came from the houseboat in her pirogue. Never could figure why a man like Claude would live in the swamps the way he does, him bein’ clever and all.”

      “He pays promptly,” Spike said, still grim. “Most of those bayou folks are good business.”

      Mumbling incoherently, Gator slid from the room and his feet could be heard clumping up the stairs.

      From the corner of his eye, Spike saw Wendy start chewing the skin around her fingernails, СКАЧАТЬ