“We have samples and pictures, Ophelia, but we’re short of manpower and haven’t been able to process that scene yet. I’m under a lot of pressure to catch this guy, and I’ll do it better without your interference. Believe it or not, I know what I’m doing.”

  “Perfect,” Ophelia said. “Next time tell me what you’re doing.” She slapped the phone shut, retrieved the gun from the now-docile cop, and marched herself and Gretchen back home.

  Several minutes later, she got out of the shower. With a towel wrapped around her, she pattered into the bedroom at the far end of the trailer. Stopped. Sniffed. Then she kicked aside the area rug that covered the secret compartment in the bedroom floor and yanked open the ten-inch-long door.

  The odors of blood and gunpowder leaped out at her. In the plywood compartment lay a small-caliber pistol. The same kind used to kill Plato Lavoie.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  As if Gideon didn’t already have enough going on, Darby showed up at the crime scene in the woods and conned the young cop putting up yellow tape into believing he carried an urgent message.

  “I’ve been looking for you the whole damn day,” Darby said.

  “I don’t have time right now. Art is a grown woman. She can do what she likes.”

  “Not when she’s sleeping with a murderer,” Darby growled.

  Gideon suppressed a grin. His friend sure had it bad. “Constantine won’t hurt her. Which reminds me, you need to send Marissa back to Atlanta before she does get hurt.”

  “Jesus, Gideon, if that’s what you think, how can you let your sister go out with Dufray?”

  “Why shouldn’t she have some fun? I don’t think she got much satisfaction with Steve.”

  “She can have all the fun she wants, but not with him.” Darby paused then blurted, “Your dispatcher says Art had a crush on me way back when.”

  It was then that Gideon noticed the paper in his friend’s hand. “You really do have a message.”

  “I went looking for you at the cop shop, and the dispatcher gave it to me. Said she tried calling, but you didn’t answer and it couldn’t wait.”

  Gideon scanned Jeanie’s scribbled note. Thirty seconds later, after a flurry of curses followed by remarkably composed instructions to the others at the site, he hightailed it to his Mercedes. “You’re a lifesaver, man,” he told Darby. “And, yeah, she had a whopper of a crush on you. By all means take care of her, but if you value your life, forget the sweet and innocent crap.” The engine chugged alive and Gideon peeled out.

  Think. Ophelia’s fangs shifted at the smell of coagulated blood on the muzzle of the gun. She sucked them back where they belonged. Thought one: somebody sure has it in for me. But that was old news. Thought two: there’s no point planting something if it won’t be found.

  She hurried to the kitchen for a gallon Ziploc bag. With a paper towel, she picked up the gun, dropped it in the bag, and zipped it shut. A tiny stain, which might be blood, showed on the plywood floor of the compartment. There would be traces from the recently used gun as well. But the cops wouldn’t know if no one told them.

  But of course someone had told them by now, the same someone who had pried the thin bottom off the compartment from under the house, stuck the pistol inside, and nailed it hurriedly shut so the tip of a nail peeked through the previously unbroken wood.

  How quickly could the cops react to an anonymous tip? Knowing Gideon, way too quickly. He was in a hurry, under heavy pressure to close the case. Ophelia got a hammer from the porch and with a few sure strokes knocked the thin plywood out of the bottom, wrenched it off the last nail, and placed it next to the gun. The pressure wasn’t only because of the three recent murders. His failure to solve the mystery surrounding Constantine’s wife’s death must weigh heavily against him. A high-profile case like Constantine’s could make or break a cop’s career. And if the murder weapon was found in her place? He’d have to arrest her. Maybe he even wanted to arrest her. They’d had sex, and he wasn’t interested anymore.

  Why am I so surprised? Ophelia asked herself. He was following a pattern he’d established in the past. My father went nuts, my stepdad has guilt trips, and Gideon goes through bimbos. Women might come and go, but his career was what mattered in the long run. Except, there wouldn’t be a long run. Not for him, not for her.

  If she survived in jail, if any man who touched her survived…Oh God. Regardless of whether she lived or died, all hell would break loose. Leopard and Constantine wouldn’t tolerate either her imprisonment or her death. Gideon would be summarily executed. The uneasy alliance between the cops and the clubs would be shot to pieces. The peace, the hard-won tolerance in Bayou Gavotte, all would be gone. She had to get herself and the gun out of there. Now.

  Thought three: who knows about the secret compartment and hates me as well? The old man who’d occupied the trailer before her was dead. She couldn’t recall showing it to anyone but Zelda and Vi.

  A low bark sounded in the kitchen. Panic crowded Ophelia, but footsteps on the stairs outside propelled her into action. She closed the little compartment, covered it with the rug, and dumped the Ziploc and the plywood into a big pink shopping bag. Someone knocked on the door.

  Ophelia took a deep breath and paced herself down the hall. No quavering. No fear. “Who is it?”

  “It’s me, Donnie. I need to talk to you.” Barely suppressed excitement underscored her neighbor’s words.

  Ophelia slumped against the wall and let her breath out with a rush. Gretchen snorted and placed her head on her paws.

  An excuse, any excuse. “It’ll have to wait. I’m getting ready to go meet Vi.” With a stop on the way. She hurried back to the bedroom.

  “Ophelia,” Donnie called. “Why are all those cops over at Plato’s? They’re putting up yellow tape.”

  Ophelia returned with a comb in one hand and her jewelry box in the other. She glanced out the tiny kitchen window and took another huge breath. Across the road, a crime-scene van blocked the drive. “Plato was murdered this afternoon.”

  “You gotta be kidding!” The front door rattled as Donnie propped himself against it.

  “Of course I’m not kidding.” She raked the comb through her damp curls and twisted them into a knot on top of her head, then dumped the contents of her jewelry box onto the table. Earrings. Any pair. Any two even remotely alike.

  “Who killed him?” Now Donnie was trying to peer through the curtain on the front door.

  “How should I know?” Ophelia rammed in a garnet earring. “I don’t have time to talk now.” She found a red glass flower, good enough for the other ear, and shoved it into place. A string of the same red flowers went around her neck.

  “The cops know who did it?”

  “Why don’t you ask them?”

  Ophelia’s heart lurched as Gideon’s car came into view. It turned in behind the crime-scene van. She gulped in more air; there was still time to make a run for it. Back in the bedroom she armed herself in a deep-red bustier from the club days, a black silk evening skirt, excruciatingly uncomfortable red heels, and all the allure she could muster. She unpacked the shopping bag, crumpled tissue paper in the bottom, placed the gun and plywood back in the bag, and added more paper, then dropped a red evening bag on top. She grabbed her pocketbook and clattered down the hall to the kitchen.

  Across the road, Gideon was talking on his cell phone, staring at her house. He already knew. She ran onto the screened porch for the duct tape and remembered she had finished it the other day on the damaged flowerpots. Damn. She couldn’t even tape the gun to her leg. What else could possibly go wrong?

  In the bedroom again, she unearthed a net bag with a long drawstring from the depths of the closet, dropped the Ziploc into the bag, broke the thin plywood into jagged strips, and jammed it in as well. She tied the net bag around her waist under the skirt, where it hung awkwardly against her thighs. The soft skirt would never hide the movement of the bag as she walked, so she dug in the closet again for a crinoline she had worn to a Mardi Gras ball and crammed it underneath. No time for more. She opened the front door and Donnie almost toppled into her. Gretchen shot out and down the drive.

  Even Donnie, who was usually impervious to everyone but Violet, reeled under the allure. “Ophelia, you sure clean up good!”

  “Thanks.” Ophelia elbowed him away and slammed the door shut behind her.

  “You left the kitchen light on,” Donnie said helpfully.

  “Didn’t I tell you to go home?” She hitched up her skirts with one hand, carrying the shopping bag and her pocketbook in the other, and picked slowly down the stairs. The gun in its net bag thudded against her thighs.

  “Going clubbing with Vi? Seems sort of heartless with Plato dead and all.”

  “Fuck off,” Ophelia said. She flung open the door of Constantine’s truck.

  “Here comes the cop again,” Donnie said unnecessarily.

  “The cop can go to hell.” Ophelia tossed the shopping bag and pocketbook onto the passenger seat.

  “Been quite a day for bad news,” Donnie said behind her. “You hear about Willy and Lisa? Bankrupt. It was that or selling the house quick, so that’s what they did. They’re moving out next week.”

  What? In spite of herself, Ophelia turned to Donnie. “How can their situation be that bad? The house was totally paid for. They could get a mortgage. Willy has regular gigs and still does session work.”

  “Session work’s been slow. Then there’s the blackmail.”

  Gideon came across the road, still on the phone. Donnie went on, “Lisa about killed him for telling me, but someone took every red cent of their savings because of those dirty pictures of Joanna. Burton Tate got beat up so bad he’s in the hospital, and his little brother got caught bringing minors into the Chamber, so that gig’s dead in the water. They don’t even have money for food.” He glanced at his watch. “Or gas. Lisa wants me to pick Joanna up at school after band practice and bring Connie to gymnastics. I better run.”

  “Poor Lisa,” Ophelia said. “She loves that house.”

  Gideon shut his phone and continued up the drive, Gretchen dancing beside him.

  “Thought you’d be glad,” Donnie said, “the way she’s been bad-mouthing you.”

  “How could I be glad about something so awful?” Ophelia cried. “Where are they moving to? Why doesn’t Lisa get a job? Maybe Vi could give her temporary work at Blood and Velvet until they get back on their feet.”

  Donnie’s eyes bugged out of his head. “You want to help them? After they vandalized your place and said all that nasty stuff about you? That’s way more than neighborly, Ophelia. That’s crazy!”

  “Come to think of it, why don’t you give Willy some construction work?” Ophelia said.

  Donnie grimaced. “Jeez, Ophelia, I don’t know about that. He’s stoned or drunk most of the time.”

  “I know, but he’s not totally useless. Not only that, it’ll move you higher in Vi’s estimation. She has a soft spot for people who help others.”

  “Well,” Donnie said, squaring his shoulders, “I suppose I—”

  “Wow,” Gideon said from right beside her. “You look spectacular.” He smiled, sexy and calculating as hell. “Going somewhere?”

  Anywhere he wasn’t. “Clubbing with Vi.” Ophelia climbed into the truck and turned the key.

  “We need to talk first.”

  “No, we don’t,” Ophelia said, desperately trying to ignore the crashing of her heart against her chest. “I’m late.”

  “We’ll talk later, then,” Gideon said amiably. “Mind if I take a look around while you’re gone?”

  Ophelia turned the key back to the off position. She glared at Gideon, strong and sweaty and so gorgeous that tears came to her eyes, and went berserk. “Goddamn right I mind!” She shot anger and allure in equal parts at the treacherous bastard. “When I told you to stay off my property, I meant it.” She whipped her head around to Donnie, gaping a few yards away. “That goes for you, too. Go home!”

  “Well, so-rry!” Donnie rolled his eyes at Gideon and dawdled toward the property line.

  “I thought things had changed,” Gideon said, so calmly she wanted to spit. “Honey, I have to do my job.” He sounded so confident, so right.

  Not right, Ophelia thought. Self-righteous. Terror clawed up from her belly and into her throat. That he would trick her, try to trap her…“I don’t believe this. I trusted you. I slept with you, for God’s sake!”

  Gideon’s brows twitched together. “What does that have to do with anything? You go have fun with Violet. I’ll check your place out.” Complacently, the dog prancing beside him, he continued up the drive.

  Ophelia jumped down from the truck, flinching when the gun slammed against her thigh. She picked up her skirts and stormed after him. A spike of fractured wood scraped her through the net bag, enraging her even more. “Get off my property!”

  Gideon went around the back of the house. “When you’re finished with your tantrum, we’ll talk.”

  “I don’t want to talk to you,” Ophelia snarled, searching for an insult. “You are a coward. A sellout, just like everybody says.”

  Gideon stiffened to ice. “If all you can do is call me names, I will do what I damn well please.” He pulled a penlight off his belt, got down on his hands and knees, and crawled under the house.

  So he did know about the compartment and the gun. If she’d had the slightest doubt before, she sure didn’t have any now. Ignoring the wood jabbing at her thigh, Ophelia uncoiled the hose from the hook at the end of the trailer and turned the water on full. She got down on her knees, adjusted the nozzle to the most punishing spray, and aimed it under the house.

  Psyche let out a blood-curdling yowl of rage. “Motherfucking cat!” Gideon roared, and Psyche tore into the open and made for the woods. Gretchen barked and tossed herself into the spray.

  “Get away, you idiotic dog!” Ophelia peered under the house and again took aim.

  “Damn it, Ophelia!” Gideon sputtered. “What’s gotten into you?”

  “Do you have a search warrant?” she hollered. Gretchen got in the way again and Ophelia gave her a blast with the hose. The dog grinned and skittered away.

  After a too-long pause, Gideon said, “Why would I want a search warrant?”

  Stupid, stupid! Think fast! “That’s what I’m asking you, jerk!” She shot the spray full on him again. “You have no right to be on my property. Go the hell away.” He crawled out the front, and she hared around the end after him, gripping the hose.

  He still looked gorgeous, damn him, water dripping off his dark hair and the end of his nose. Except for the suspicion and anger, the disgust in his eyes. Misery welled up inside Ophelia. She switched the nozzle off and threw the hose to the ground, put her nose in the air, and swept past him in a blaze of allure. The net bag twirled and swung under her crinoline, crashing into one thigh and then the other. She’d have so many scrapes and bruises, she’d be unable to make love for weeks. But there’d be no one to make love to, would there? So everything was perfectly fine.

  She climbed into Constantine’s truck, turned on the ignition, and rammed it into gear. Tires spitting gravel behind her, she tore out of the driveway. Gideon opened his cell phone and slammed it shut again, calling down curses in her wet, dead garden.

  Gideon felt the neighbor’s eyes on him as he coiled the hose onto the hook at the end of Ophelia’s house. He waited until Donnie had called little Connie Wyler over, installed her in his truck, and driven away, before crawling under the trailer again. Thirty seconds later—for the anonymous message had been detailed and accurate—he found the remains of the secret compartment. He strode, still dripping, down the driveway and across the road, thinking about the weeping garden, about his chronically disappointed father and his desperately lonely mother, about talking and listening, about patience and trust and love, deciding he would get it right no matter how many times he had to try.

  Unless, of course, he was just a sucker, which he might so easily prove to be, but when it came to Ophelia, the grip of instinct was so strong he couldn’t fight it even if he wanted to. And of course, he didn’t want to. Christ, he thought, I’m a fool for love. Or maybe just for spectacular sex. This is the pits. And I don’t have time for it now.

  How had Ophelia known about the gun?

  Later, he decided. He opened the cell phone again and dialed Leopard, who answered just as the chief’s car parked behind his. “Lep,” said Gideon, “I don’t have time to explain, but when Ophelia gets there, keep her there until I get back to you. She’s not safe anywhere outside club control.”

  Now to deal with the other side of the problem.

  “Looks like we’re close to cracking this case,” the chief said, before he’d even turned the engine off. He got out of his Cadillac in a white button-down shirt and khaki pants.

  Gideon shucked off his shirt and wrung out the water. “Hopefully so.”

  “What happened to you?” The chief gave Gretchen a perfunctory pat. She stuck her nose up at him and retreated to the cool grass near Gideon’s car.

  “An accident with a hose.” Gideon kicked off his shoes and dropped his wet pants.

  “Shit, Gideon, you can’t make an arrest in your boxers.” The chief nodded at the crime-scene people scurrying to get as much as possible done before dark.

  “I can’t make an arrest at all,” Gideon said. “I don’t have a suspect yet.” He laid his clothes across the top of the Mercedes.

  “Yes, you do,” the chief said. “I got an anonymous phone call on my personal cell. The gun’s in Ophelia Beliveau’s house.”

  Shit, what a close call. The murderer wanted to make damn sure Ophelia took the rap for his crimes. Did he know Jeanie was Ophelia’s sister’s friend? That Gideon was Ophelia’s lover? “We already know someone has it in for Ophelia Beliveau. This is the same dude.”