“Um,” Art said during a break in the show. “I have a problem.”

  “You’ve sobered up and you’re thinking straight?”

  Art plowed on. “I haven’t had sex for a long time. And when I did, it was terrible. What if I go to bed with Dar and it doesn’t work out?”

  “Tell him you need to take it slowly,” Ophelia said. “Be thankful you’re not a vamp. Guys are incapable of taking it slowly with vamps. You at least have the option of easing into it.”

  “But what if he wants something different from what I want?”

  “Negotiate a relationship,” Ophelia said. Negotiate your life. “Find ways to compromise.” Her brain scurried around looking for a compromise with Gideon, but couldn’t find one.

  “If you start talking about sex you’ll end up in bed, so make your birth-control plans now,” Violet spoke up.

  “There’s a condom machine in the restroom,” Ophelia said.

  “Don’t buy the bubble-gum-flavored kind,” Violet said.

  “Don’t buy any flavored kind,” Ophelia replied. “You’re not going to eat the goddamned thing.”

  “Not the condom, anyway,” Art whispered, blushing again. “I’m such a slut.” She took a big gulp of coffee and slunk down in her chair. “And I’m so frigging scared.”

  Me too, sighed Ophelia to herself.

  Later, Art dragged her to the restroom to check out the condom machine. She dithered for more than fifteen minutes before deciding on one ribbed, one lubricated, zero flavored, and one plain. Then she opened the restroom door and blundered right into Darby Sims, dressed now in an old T-shirt and jeans.

  The condoms dropped to the floor. “Hey,” Art gasped. Ophelia let the restroom door close all but a crack and hovered shamelessly inside.

  “Hey,” said Darby. “They don’t need me anymore tonight.” He picked up the condoms. “What, no chocolate?”

  “You’re the chocolate,” Art blurted. “Oh, Dar, I’m so scared.”

  Darby stuffed the condoms into his pocket. “I’m mighty nervous myself.” He smiled and took her hand. “How about we go someplace and talk?”

  Back at the table Ophelia whispered, “Why doesn’t Gideon call? What if he’s already dead? If he is, I’ll kill Donnie myself!”

  “That’s the spirit,” Constantine said. “I’ll be your accomplice. On the other hand, maybe he’s just busy.”

  “Maybe he doesn’t want to talk to me,” Ophelia said.

  “Maybe he can’t afford the distraction.” Constantine laughed.

  Ophelia thought and thought and got nowhere, but a cappuccino and another slice of cake later, she knew she was safe to drive. If she was driving into catastrophe…so be it.

  The music ended. Constantine said softly, “Time to wrap things up. Hold on to yourself, babe. This won’t be pretty.” He stood and closed his eyes.

  Marissa shrieked and clawed out of her chair. “He’s killing me!” Her head jerked back. She flailed and fought against Reuben’s attempts to hold her, gasping and sobbing. Two bouncers appeared out of the shadows by the wall and lifted her off the floor.

  “That should do it,” Constantine said. The bouncers carted her through the exit with Reuben behind them.

  “Poor darling,” Violet said. “Such a lousy date. Tell him to come see me the minute he’s free. I’ll go take a nap and muster my strength. A taste of Reuben is just what I need.” She pressed a warm kiss on Donnie’s cheek. “Donnie, sweetie, let’s do this again sometime soon.” She drifted away, Donnie floating behind her.

  “That’s one true love and one shameless lust,” Constantine said, counting on his fingers. “So, Ophelia, how about you?”

  True love or death, thought Ophelia, terrified at how much she was counting on. If not true love, at least not being dragged off to jail. Lust, for once, had abandoned her.

  She drove Constantine’s truck slowly through Bayou Gavotte and along the country road past her forlorn little house. She doused the lights and went up Gideon’s driveway in the dark, parking beside the Mercedes. At least he was here. At least he was alive. At least he can arrest me if he wants. She stepped barefoot out of the car, expecting the dogs to raise a ruckus, but heard only insects strumming their nocturnal songs.

  Since he was alive, that meant she had to talk to him. Or she could just leave again.

  She sucked in a deep breath, hurried up the steps, and rapped on the door. Nothing. Low lights burned in the living room and kitchen, but no footsteps and no dogs.

  She didn’t have to do this. She could turn around and drive away. She could call him with her information, stay at Vi’s till everything blew over, and then get on with her life.

  What life? No way.

  Ophelia skirted the house, but the deck was deserted. The tangled garden beckoned. On midnight walks down the river the previous summer, she’d caught the aromas of gardenia, night-blooming jasmine, and sweet olive. A refuge, Gideon had said. If she restored this garden, it would be a refuge for both of them, but it had better not be from each other.

  She heard Gideon’s voice and a splash down by the river. A couple more yards along the path, a cold nose nudged her hand.

  “Oh, Gretchen,” she whispered, “I’m so scared.”

  Gretchen grinned evilly and danced down the path ahead.

  He didn’t look busy, ankle-deep in the water, skipping stones while Daisy and Belle milled around him. Weary, maybe even dejected, judging by the set of his shoulders. He hadn’t been able to solve the murder. He hadn’t been able to arrest her or anyone else. How should she approach him? He’d say the theory about the sniper shooting at him was a lot of bull, and he wouldn’t believe her about Donnie.

  “Thank God you’re alive,” she blurted the instant he turned. “I was afraid Donnie had killed you.”

  Coolly, he asked, “How could he kill me when he’s clubbing with Vi?” Which was definitely better than “Trying to pin it on your neighbor, bitch? You have the right to remain silent…”

  “Before that. You didn’t answer your phone, you didn’t call when Constantine left a message…”

  “To say what?” Gideon faced the water again. “I was busy. His message confirmed what I already believed, but unfortunately, I have to have proof.” He crouched and fingered through the pebbles by the shore.

  “You already knew?” Ophelia clenched her fists. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “It didn’t hit me till shortly after you left,” Gideon said in a tone of patient fatigue. “I was on Plato’s platform talking it through with my boss, and everything fell into place. That’s why I wanted to have dinner with you earlier. Talking it through is what works for me.” He stood and shrugged dismissively. “I spent the evening going after proof. I knew you were in good hands.”

  “Uh, well, great then. I guess I should go.”

  Gideon stood and zinged a pebble across the water. “Wait.”

  “What?” She cringed at the hostility in her voice.

  “I need to tell you something.” He wasn’t looking her way, but she could hardly blame him; she didn’t much want to meet his eyes, either. “I have a confession to make.”

  You?

  “Since you’re already pissed off at me, I may as well get it over with.” Zing, skip, skip.

  “It sounds like you’re pissed off at me.” Ophelia crossed her arms in front of her bustier.

  “I’m pissed off in general,” Gideon allowed. Zing, plop. “It doesn’t matter. I searched your house…” After a silence, he added, “If you’re going to go ballistic, could you get it over with?” The next stone zinged across the river and skipped once near the opposite bank.

  Ophelia squelched the urge to stomp away. “Why would I care? I don’t have anything to hide.” Not in my house, that is.

  “Don’t you want to know why?”

  “That’s obvious. Because you still suspect me.”

  “No, damn it, not because I suspect you!” Gideon slapped the last stone across the water and turned, his eyes burning through the darkness. “Why the hell would I suspect you? I know you didn’t do it. I’ve always known you didn’t. Now I know Donnie did, which gives me even less reason to suspect you than before.”

  Ophelia let her arms fall and slowed her breathing. Okay. For now.

  “I can’t believe you thought I would arrest you,” Gideon said. “Even if I thought you’d done it, I’d never put you in a cell. I’d find some way, some better way…” He scooped up a handful of pebbles and strode toward the water.

  Ophelia followed. Moonlight glanced off the stones and splashed into the meandering river. “What better way?”

  “I don’t know! Does it matter?”

  Unfortunately, it does. “Why did you search my house, then?”

  “To encourage him to think I suspect you. To make sure he hadn’t planted anything else, and to know what was there already, in case he does plant something.”

  “Ah. He might kill someone with a vibrator and stick it in my underwear drawer.”

  “You are upset,” Gideon said.

  “Not really. Now that you’ve inventoried my sex toys, you know the feather duster will fit right in.” I’m actually fishing, she realized. I’ve never done anything so humiliating. She met his eyes, but for the life of her she couldn’t read what went on behind them. Still nothing to do with sex. Hoping her utter dejection didn’t show, she said again, “I guess I’ll go.”

  “Stay a while,” Gideon said. “Please.”

  “Why? What do you want from me?”

  “I want your presence. I want your listening ears and your lively mind and your generous heart. I want you with me at the kitchen table or on the couch—”

  She crossed her arms again and tried to sound cynical. “Not in bed?” I’m so pathetic.

  “Of course I want you in bed, but how much talking would we get done? I can’t catch a murderer if I’m thinking with my dick.”

  By the time he had outlined the theory that Donnie and the print and photo guy were in cahoots, Gideon’s libido, if not yet controlling his thoughts, had given notice of its intention to do so. As Ophelia curled on the couch drinking coffee, mulling things over, and cussing Donnie out, and then cussing him out even more when she heard how Plato had been victimized for years, Gideon tried to keep his eyes off the bustier and progressed from strained detachment to bemused admiration to downright lust. Which was despicable of him, since Ophelia was shedding tears over Plato and his two D-shaped basket bottoms.

  “Plato knew he was in danger,” Gideon said. “Maybe he watched Donnie too obviously and got caught. Maybe he got so upset he confronted Donnie. The basket bottoms were a long-shot backup plan, in case he didn’t reach me. He’d told me about all his baskets being O-shaped because of you, so he hoped I’d figure it out.”

  Ophelia didn’t look lustful as she wiped the tears away, but she looked desirable as all hell. Luminous, Gideon mused, eyeing her in the low light from the stairwell, trying halfheartedly to keep his mind on the case. Does she give off allure even when she’s not in the mood? Ophelia’s mind was definitely where it belonged, and fortunately, she didn’t need prompting from him to stay on track. Heaven, he decided, not sure whether he meant her ability to take the ball and run with it or to take him by the balls and reduce him to a gibbering fool. He’d mentioned that a search of Donnie’s house had yielded nothing to do with the photo shop, and she’d nailed it.

  “The trash bags,” she said. “He half-filled them with film or prints or CDs, then cushioned them with pine straw and dead leaves. But how will you pick out his bags from among the zillions of other ones in the dump?”

  “The orange one,” Gideon said. “There was one orange bag in his truck.”

  “Jack-o’-lantern leaf bag. It must have been left over from fall. You’re right, not many people have them at this time of year. There was a beat-up roll of carpet cushion on his truck, too.”

  Now she sat straight, her eyes wide and delighted. “That’s how he carried the body out of the apartment. Remember? There were bits of foam rubber sticking to it.” Her luscious lips curved into an unrestrained, blinding smile.

  “Oh God,” he said thickly. He gripped her by the shoulder and kissed her hard. “Amazing woman.” He kissed her again, and she laughed in her throat and tongued him back.

  She drew away. “Let’s get back to the detective thing. I can’t have sex with you tonight.”

  “You started your period?”

  Ophelia shook her head. “I just can’t.”

  Gideon tangled his fingers into her curls and licked at her lips again. “If it’s a birth-control issue, I have condoms upstairs. But we already fucked that one up this morning.”

  “I’ve been trying the pill for a month or two,” Ophelia said, drawing away again. “Apparently it reduces sex drive in some women.” She grinned ruefully. “Not me, so far.”

  Gideon groaned. “Don’t smile like that if you want me to back off. If it’s not birth control and it’s not lack of libido, what is it?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Ophelia said. “Tell you what. I’ll get you off, and then you’ll be able to think straight again, or at least be temporarily incapable, so we can keep on talking this through.” She slid off the couch and went straight for his fly.

  “Are you offering me a hand job, or…”

  She smiled at him again, flashing those glow-in-the-dark razor-sharp fangs. “Scared?”

  Holy shit. “Hell, yes,” Gideon said. “Go for it.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Afterward, Gideon mumbled, “Can’t do detective work when I’m comatose, either.” A few seconds after that, his low, steady breathing told Ophelia he was asleep.

  She stood and went slowly upstairs. What had Constantine said? Don’t burden him with your past. She peeled off the red bustier and let the silk skirt fall to the floor. Leave it be. In the hexagonal shower, Ophelia stood for a long time under a cool spray, eyes closed, imagining a life with Gideon, free of the past. It felt damned good.

  It also felt like a fantasy.

  She toweled dry and rooted in Gideon’s dresser for something to wear. Now, that felt right—comfortable, as if going through his stuff was fine. She found a well-worn green T-shirt, pulled the silk skirt back on, and went onto the back deck to indulge her fantasy, just for a while, and plan her twisted garden.

  When Gideon came out an hour later she was long past fantasy and into the reality of clearing the honeysuckle and Virginia creeper from what had once been a bed of roses. “I’m partial to vines,” she told him as he came up beside her, “but they require firm control. It’s a miracle a few of your mother’s roses survived. She chose varieties that do okay in this climate, but still, under this sort of onslaught…” She shook her head. “I don’t mess with rose gardens in south Louisiana. Too much work. Black spot, mildew…You need to get rid of the wisteria next to the house, too.”

  “It’s impossible. I’ve tried everything short of digging it up.”

  “That’s what you have to do,” Ophelia said. “Dig it up.”

  “Maintaining a rose garden is too much work, but digging up wisteria isn’t?”

  “It’s a matter of choice,” Ophelia said. “If you don’t want a rose garden, you just don’t have one. If you don’t want wisteria, you have to prove it. Even then, it might come back.”

  “I don’t not want it that badly,” Gideon said.

  There was an uneasy silence. After a while, Ophelia said, “The honeysuckle and Virginia creeper will have to be dug up, too, and the soil sifted. Then you need to plant something besides roses.” More silence. She babbled on. “A pergola would be a nice feature. Some of your mom’s plantings will recover with a little care and pruning—the camellias, gardenias, azaleas…I’d suggest periwinkle or Asian jasmine on the slope toward the river, English ivy in some shady areas beside a meandering flagstone path, maybe trumpet vines against the deck. And some potted plants on the deck itself, of course. It’s awfully barren as is.”

  “Art gives me potted plants for my birthday,” Gideon said. “But they always die.”

  Another awkward pause. Ophelia stripped off her gardening gloves. “We need to finish our talk so I can go home. I still don’t know why Donnie has it in for me. He’s crazy about my sister. He should want to stay on my good side.” She gathered her secateurs and shears and headed up the stairs to the deck.

  “He does want to stay on your good side.” Gideon followed Ophelia indoors. “He also wants you to move back to town and sell your property—to him. I’ve been through the city and parish databases. Donnie’s been buying up property along this side of the river, almost to my place, and for a ways on the other side of yours, for the past several years. You and Willy were the only holdouts, and now, with the new golf course and the upscale subdivisions across the river, land prices are likely to go up.” He opened the fridge and proffered Ophelia a beer.

  “No, thanks. I already drank too much tonight, and I have to drive home.” She scrubbed her hands at the kitchen sink and dried them on her shirt.

  “Coke, then.” Gideon popped one and handed it to her, then led the way to the futon couch. He patted the cushion beside him.

  Ophelia sat at the other end of the couch, out of reach. She took a swig of Coke. “The real-estate agent told me my property value was increasing, but I didn’t care because I wasn’t planning on selling. Donnie’s offered to buy my place a couple of times, but I can’t afford property in town unless the value goes up a lot more. Also, I’ve wondered about starting a small nursery, and for that I’d need my land even if I did move back to town.”

  “Did you tell him that, too?” Gideon moved closer and swallowed some beer. Couldn’t he take the hint and keep his pheromones at a distance?

  “I might have. Yeah. A couple or three weeks ago.”

  “That was the last straw for Donnie’s ambitions. It’s one thing to buy and build a single lot at a time; he’s been doing that for years. It’s another entirely to develop a whole subdivision. What with the classy subs going up across the river, he figured the time was right, but he couldn’t have a couple of holdouts right in the middle of his development.” Gideon grinned, but behind the smile he was giving her that suspicious look again. No wonder he didn’t want her to move in. No wonder he wasn’t asking her to take care of his garden. He still suspected her—but of what?