“You’re making it too complicated,” the chief said. “The guy in the photo shop—we have a positive ID now—was blackmailing Beliveau, so she offed him. She offed the girl in the shop while she was getting rid of the evidence, and then she shot Plato Lavoie when he tried to turn her in. The woman’s a menace. Arrest her.”

  “That’s nice and simple, Chief, but it’s not true. Her alibis are solid. She didn’t do it.” Gideon peeled off his socks and slipped his shoes back on. He took the flashlight off his belt and skirted the path toward Plato’s platform.

  The chief followed. “They aren’t solid enough. She spent today with one of Leopard’s goons. What kind of alibi is that? She’s key to this case. Everywhere you turn, there she is.”

  Far more than you know. Gideon went up the rope ladder. I must be out of my mind.

  The chief climbed up behind him. “Even if she didn’t actually do it, she’s an accessory. You have to arrest her.” He hung from the ladder, watching the sky. “Almost dusk. The bats should be out any second now.”

  “Sure she’s key,” Gideon said. “If she’d trust me long enough to talk it through, I could wrap it all up.”

  “You’re thinking with your dick.” The chief stepped onto the platform. “I can’t have that.”

  “I’m not thinking with my dick,” Gideon said, relieved that he sounded so much more certain than he felt. For the second time that day, he took in the telescope, the shears, the potato chips, the baskets, the yellow utility knife, the slowly shriveling vines…There had to be something useful here.

  “I hear she’s really something,” the chief said.

  “She is.” Enough said. “What do we know about the photo-shop dude?”

  “Not a lot. Moved here from out west over a year ago and bought the photo business from the previous owner, who was retiring, and added the print portion of the shop. He’s already paid off half his business loan, way ahead of schedule. Single, came to Bayou Gavotte for the nightlife. Couple of on-and-off girlfriends who are also on-and-off with various other men. A few drinking buddies. Parents dead, sister in California. Nothing in his personal life leads to a crime of passion, so you won’t clear Beliveau that way. It has to be the blackmail. What are you looking so pleased about?”

  “Sure it’s the blackmail,” Gideon said. “Listen. The blackmailer knew way too much about people for a newcomer. It’s one thing to happen upon someone who took pictures of his baby in the bath or even his wife in a naughty pose. He’s got a name and number on the envelope and goes from there. But the guy I caught in the photo shop last night—have you seen my report?—was being blackmailed because he’d had a bunch of high-school pictures restored, including one of an old girlfriend who still lives here in town. He’s desperate not to let his wife find out, because she’s dying of cancer and he doesn’t want her to think he’s already moving on. Nobody would know about that girlfriend if they hadn’t lived here forever.” And the same went for recognizing his sister in a film brought in by someone else and knowing exactly where she was vulnerable. And knowing the chief’s personal cell number—but he wouldn’t use that card if he didn’t have to.

  He continued, “Lavoie was blackmailed for years by someone who used a New Orleans address, but several months ago switched it to our photo shop. The way I see it, Lavoie’s blackmailer and the photo-shop guy were in this together. How they found out about each other, I don’t know. They had a falling-out, and there you go.”

  “It’s a nice theory, Gideon, but it doesn’t mean Beliveau’s not involved. Either way, it won’t hurt her to sit in jail for a day or two.”

  Jesus, thought Gideon, thrusting away a chill. “Lavoie was up here making his phone call when the killer came right up to him, stuck a gun to his chest, and shot him.” Gideon shone his flashlight into the underbrush. “You can see where he fell, where he was dragged, where he bled and died.” He showed the chief the darkening view across the road. “Willy Wyler’s, Donnie Donaldson’s, Ms. Beliveau’s, a little of the woods. Two days ago, all you could see was Ms. Beliveau’s place. Plato pruned this to get a wider view.”

  Not that there was much to see. Lisa Wyler was sitting on her porch, nursing a drink. No one was at Donnie’s, because he’d just driven off with Connie.

  “Donnie Donaldson,” the chief said. “He’s done well for himself lately. Used to be a handyman, but now he builds several new houses a year.”

  Zing. “Unlike Willy Wyler, who I hear is bankrupt.” Another zing. Gideon opened his phone and dialed Jeanie at home. “Babe, I need you to tap into your gossip tree and find out who just bought Willy Wyler’s house. Get into the city records and find out who owns the land for a mile on either side of Ophelia and across the road for the same distance. See if property values in that area are going up, what with the golf course and all.” Her groan was loud enough for the chief to hear. “If you want to become a detective, Jeanie…” Pause. “Yeah, Darby found me. Thanks.” He hung up.

  “What do Willy Wyler and property values have to do with anything?” the chief complained. “Three people are dead. I’ll lose my job if you don’t close this case in a hurry.”

  The vines, the baskets…“Plato Lavoie was up here making baskets while he watched Ms. Beliveau’s place. He made baskets to stay calm, to stay sane. He’d seen something that worried him, something he eventually called me about. He went back to the house to dress for work, then came back up here one last time. What was he watching?”

  “Damn it, Gideon,” began the chief.

  “I don’t think he usually left the place a mess like this. When I came up the other day, it was spotless.” He shone his light across the platform. “Look at those two basket bottoms by the wall. He almost always did round baskets. He was probably the world’s foremost expert at making round baskets. He must have been totally rattled to flatten one side…” Zing. Or rather, duh. Double duh.

  “Beliveau knew Lavoie had found her out,” the chief said impatiently. “She caught him by surprise. He tried to call you, but it was too late.” He watched the flickering forms swooping and diving across the darkening sky. “I knew we’d see bats here. If I lose my job, I’ll have to get some real work, and I won’t have time to make bat houses. You have to arrest that woman.”

  “Plato worshipped Ophelia Beliveau,” Gideon said. “If he’d found out she’d killed someone, he’d never have betrayed her, not to me or to anyone else.” Zings of instinct flew every which way, too much to sort out. Later. Gideon clicked off his light.

  “So she’s just an accessory,” the chief said cheerfully. “Bats are a good omen. Is Beliveau at home?” He craned his neck to see across the road, but darkness was swiftly taking over.

  “No, she’s not.” And by now she should be safe.

  “We’ll wait till she shows up,” decided the chief. “You’re slick with the ladies. You charm her into letting you look around, you find the gun, and we haul her in. She confesses who did it, we arrest him, the case is closed, and my job’s good for at least the next year.”

  “If there’s a gun over there, it’s a plant,” Gideon said. “If we arrest Ophelia Beliveau, you might not be alive to enjoy next year. I certainly won’t be, and rightly so.”

  “Gideon, we can’t let the clubs run this town! If they want to take care of their own problems, fine, but I can’t and won’t sit back while club people murder innocent citizens!”

  “Bullshit. You want me to arrest an innocent person for your personal gain. I won’t do it.”

  “You’ll do what I tell you! And that’s goddamned unfair,” he added. “You know I care about innocent citizens. I even backed you up about Dufray last year!”

  “Ordinarily, sir, I believe in you and I’m proud to go along with you, but not this time. I will not arrest Ophelia Beliveau.”

  “Goddamn it, then, Gideon, I will!”

  “Over my dead body. Sir.”

  The chief’s eyes bulged. “Don’t you threaten me, by God!”

  Gideon kept his voice level and low. “I’m not threatening you, sir. I’m telling you the truth. My life is on the line in more ways than one, and if the choice is between dying defending Ophelia or dying because I didn’t, I’ll choose the first option. Somebody’s framing her, and I intend to find out who.” But if he was framing her, why would he try to kill her? Bingo.

  The chief paced the platform. “We have to check out this lead. You know that.”

  “I’ll go over there now,” Gideon said. “Unless you want to wait for a warrant. But why rush it and risk upsetting Leopard, not to mention Constantine Dufray? If someone planted a gun in her trailer, they want it to be found. They won’t take it away again.”

  The chief stalked to the edge of the platform and watched his beloved bats flash across the sky. After a long silence, during which Gideon shone the light all round the platform and ended with the basket bottoms again, the chief said, “You have until tomorrow morning.”

  “That’s all I need,” Gideon said.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  As she opened the door of Leopard’s office, it occurred to Ophelia that although she might not have jumped into the fire, she had probably replaced one frying pan with another. And Gideon would be the one who got burned, which was his own damn fault.

  I’m a fool, she thought, but I can’t let that happen.

  Nothing but mild interest showed on Leopard’s face when she closed the door and slumped against it, knees wobbling. Constantine, in the far corner with his guitar, didn’t even raise his head.

  “Here you are,” Leopard said from the recliner. “Just like Gideon said. You have five minutes to clue me in to what’s going down, and then I gotta go.”

  “Gideon what?” She thought she’d drained herself of adrenaline on the way over. Apparently not.

  “He told me to expect you. What’s up?”

  Gideon had guessed where she was headed. He figured he could come and get her anytime he liked. “He wouldn’t pursue me here! He couldn’t possibly do anything so crazy!” She was shaking now.

  Leopard heaved himself off the chair with a long-suffering eye roll, put his hands on Ophelia’s shoulders, and steered her toward the couch. “Vi said you slept with him. Why would he need to do any pursuing?”

  “To arrest me,” Ophelia said miserably. She stuck her chin out at Leopard with what wimpy oomph she had left. “Don’t you dare hurt him, Lep. Or you either,” she told Constantine. “If he comes, just kick him out. If you sic your thugs on him—”

  Leopard rolled his eyes again. “He didn’t say anything about coming here, just that you needed to stay someplace under club control for a while. Now, sit down.”

  “Not till I get rid of this gun.” Ophelia fumbled under the bustier to unbutton the silk skirt. “I don’t know why he suspects me of killing all these people, but he does. I can tell by how he looks at me. Then this gun showed up in my house, and his boss must be putting pressure on him.” With an exasperated cry she raised her skirt, tugged at the crinoline, and kicked it away.

  “You’re talking crap,” said Leopard. “Gideon doesn’t give a fuck about what his boss wants.” The phone rang and Leopard read the display. Ophelia’s silk skirt slithered into a pool on the floor. “This gorgeous vampire chick is doing a strip for us,” he said into the phone. Ophelia gritted her teeth and fumbled with the double knot in the drawstrings of the net bag. “No problem,” Leopard added. “See you.” He hung up, flicked open a switchblade, and knelt to cut the drawstring and take the bag.

  “He’s coming over?” Ophelia didn’t even try to hide the quaver in her voice. She pulled her skirt back up and fastened it.

  “Jesus, girl! He just wanted to make sure you got here okay.” Leopard tossed the string into the trash and opened the bag. “You’ve got three minutes. Explain.”

  She slumped on the couch and did, while he sniffed inside the Ziploc with the gun and replaced it in the net bag.

  “More likely he wanted to get the gun out of there so you wouldn’t be arrested.” He shot a glance across at Constantine.

  “It should be easy to find out,” the rocker replied in his sinister voice, which ordinarily amused Ophelia and occasionally pissed her off, but this time struck fear into her soul.

  “Constantine!” she cried, “If you hurt him—”

  “By asking him,” Constantine finished, laying down the guitar. “Cappuccino? No. Irish coffee.” He opened the liquor cabinet under the counter.

  Leopard unlocked the safe in his bookshelf and slipped the net bag inside. “Gideon says he’s got the chief under control for now. Let me know if he wants the gun back. I’m out of here.”

  Ophelia sprang up. “You’ll give him the gun?”

  “If he convinces me it’s the best move. Maybe he’ll be able to trace it. Maybe he’ll decide to plant it himself, once he knows who really shot Plato. Come on, girl, this isn’t like you. I can’t believe the dude’s got you so freaked out you can’t think straight. He’s not turning into another obsessive, is he? Dud in bed, won’t take no for an answer?”

  “Of course he isn’t a dud in bed!” Ophelia swallowed hard, but it didn’t help, and a tear rolled down one cheek, and then another. “I really like him, Lep, but he’s turned out to be a jerk. Worse than a jerk, and I feel like such a fool, because it was so comfortable.”

  Leopard gaped. “Sex with Gideon was just comfortable? I’ve never heard anything so boring in my life!”

  “It wasn’t just comfortable,” said Ophelia indignantly. “And if you had any concept of what it’s like when everyone you’ve slept with has been possessive or obsessed or all-out insane…” More tears escaped. “He was relaxed. It was so good, it was so comfortable, and I felt safe.” She almost sobbed. “For once I felt safe!”

  “Ah,” Constantine said. “And now you don’t.”

  “How can I, after that dirty trick?” There, a little less wimpy now. She sniffled and carefully wiped the tears away. “The sneaky, slimy”—sexy, Goddamn it—“bastard smiled at me and tried to get me to say it was okay for him to check out my house. ‘Go have fun with Vi,’ he said. Right—while he got all the evidence he needed to put me in jail for life. Not that I’d last more than a day in jail anyway without killing someone, and I can’t believe he doesn’t realize that. Or maybe he just doesn’t care.” She caught herself on a sob and paced furiously around the room.

  “He would have discredited my alibis,” she continued. “Reuben works for you, and one of the customers I saw the other day is mega into bondage. The sweetest guy, but who’ll take his word for anything?” She clenched her fists and smothered a scream. “I thought Gideon was…was really nice. I thought he was on my side. I could kill him!” Her fangs slotted down. “But don’t you dare touch him!”

  Leopard rolled his eyes for a third time. “I’m gone. Talk some sense into her, will you?”

  The door closed behind him. Ophelia let out a long, slow breath. “Sorry. I needed to get it out. I’ll stop being hysterical now.” Pushing her fangs wearily back into their slots, she retreated into the corner of the couch and accepted the brew Constantine held out. “I know you don’t mete out undeserved punishment. But I have to be sure, and even then, I can’t bear the idea that you would. Hurt him, I mean.”

  Constantine sipped his own heady coffee. “Do you want an alternative viewpoint?”

  Ophelia sighed. “Of course I do. It’s just…I don’t want to hope and then find out he’s scum. I’m so tired of fighting myself, of fighting off all those men.”

  Constantine lowered himself next to her. His dark eyes were unusually kind. “Maybe he was trying to spare you any more worry. He can’t stay with you while he’s working on this case, but he figured you’d be safe with your sister, and if his boss was harassing him to arrest you, he wanted you on safe ground until he could talk the old man into seeing things his way, which it sounds like he’s done. Sure Gideon’s under pressure, but he also has a conscience. Whatever Lep says, I doubt Gideon would plant evidence, even if he knew someone was guilty. Do you have any idea of the bribes he refused because of me?”

  Ophelia bristled. “You mean he thought you were guilty?”

  “I have no idea what he thought, but I do know he refused enough money to set him up for life.”

  “Then why does he look at me like he suspects me?” She wasn’t sure what she saw in Constantine’s eyes, so she hurried on. “He looks at me so intently, and he listens, and he watches, and it has nothing to do with sex, and he waits and waits until I just have to say something.”

  Constantine answered a knock on the door and returned with a heaping plate of crispy oysters and fries. “Contrary to popular opinion, men don’t think about sex all the time. He has to spare some thought for the murder investigation.” He set ketchup and Tabasco on the table. “Help yourself.”

  “The last thing I need is an aphrodisiac.” She ate an oyster anyway. “I can’t believe someone wants me dead.”

  “Maybe they don’t.” Constantine unscrewed the cap of the Tabasco sauce and poised it over the oysters. “May I?”

  Ophelia nodded. “What do you mean?” She squeezed ketchup onto the plate.

  “The rhythm’s wrong,” Constantine said. “Starts with a dead cat, then we have a little vandalism by someone else, which may or may not be relevant, then there’s the body in the truck. Then someone fails to kill you but succeeds in killing your garden—”

  Ophelia raised a hand. “Except—!” She dipped a fry in the ketchup and ate it. “Except that the poisoning of my garden must have happened before the body in the truck and probably before the vandalism. It takes a while for the weed killer to work.”

  “Even better. Ignoring the vandalism for now, first there’s a threat, then another threat, which also strikes at your livelihood, then another strike at your livelihood, which might also conveniently get you in trouble with the cops. Then someone shoots at you, and then deescalates back into framing you for murder. If he wanted you permanently out of the way, why not shoot at you again?” He ate a fry. “Maybe he wanted to remove the protective cop.”