Night Moves : Dream Man/After the Night

  As the morning wore on, she was grateful for her new status. Because she was totally without identification, the insurance agent had to step in and verify everything before she could get replacement credit cards, credit card companies not being inclined to blithely send out cards to everyone who called. New cards were being expressed to her in care of the insurance agent, and would be there the next day. The insurance company also took care of a rental car for her, and one would be there that afternoon.

  Next was shopping, and Faith needed so much that her mind boggled at the enormity of it. Even when she’d been run out of the parish, she hadn’t lost all her possessions, meager as they’d been. This time she was starting from scratch, but this time she also had resources.

  Efficient Halley suggested they make a list, and that helped Faith get her thoughts organized. Suitcase, purse, wallet; shampoo, soap, deodorant, toothpaste, tampons; makeup and perfume; razor, brush, comb, hair dryer, travel iron; underwear, hosiery, shoes, clothing. “My God,” Faith said, staring at the list, which kept getting longer and longer. “This will cost a fortune.”

  “Only because you’re buying it all at one time. Everything on there is something you would have bought anyway, eventually. What would you leave off, anyway? The makeup?”

  “Get real,” Faith said, and they laughed. It was her first laugh of the day, and it felt good.

  They descended on the local Wal-Mart, and filled two carts. Even keeping her purchases to a minimum of the necessities, she was accumulating major stuff. None of the shoes fit, however, which meant another stop. Halley was so cheerful about the entire process, though, that Faith found herself enjoying the expedition. She had never participated in that rite of American girlhood, shopping with friends, and this was a new experience for her.

  Halley unwittingly echoed her thoughts. “Wow, this is fun! I haven’t done this in a coon’s age. We need to do it again—under different circumstances, of course.”

  The total tally put a sizeable dent in her cash fund. That accomplished, Faith realized she was exhausted, and an observant Halley drove her back to the motel.

  Gray called her that night, and he sounded as exhausted as she still felt. “How are you, baby?” he asked. “Did you get everything done today?”

  “I’m fine,” she said. “Functional, at least.” She had taken a two-hour nap, but it hadn’t helped much. “The insurance company is handling the details with the rental car and credit card companies, so everything is working out. Halley took me shopping, so I have clothes now.”

  “Damn.”

  She ignored that comment, but a smile flirted with her mouth. “How do you feel?”

  “As if I’m three days older than dirt.”

  She hesitated, not certain if she wanted to hear the answer to her next question. “Have you found anything yet?”

  “Not yet.” His voice was strained.

  “How’s Monica?”

  He sighed. “I don’t know. She just sits with her head down. She and Mike will have to work this out themselves; I can’t run interference for her on this.”

  “Take care of yourself,” she said, tenderness vibrant in her tone.

  “You, too,” he said softly.

  As soon as he hung up, Faith called Renee. She felt guilty for not having thought of it sooner, knowing how upset Renee had been.

  Her grandmother answered the phone. When Faith asked for Renee, the old woman said in a fretful voice, “Guess she’s gone. Took her clothes and lit out, night before last. I ain’t heard from her.”

  Faith’s heart sank. Renee had probably panicked after confessing what had happened at the summerhouse, and now she was running again, for no reason.

  “If you hear from her, Granny, there’s something I want you to tell her. It’s important. The man who killed Guy Rouillard is dead. She doesn’t have to be afraid anymore.”

  Her grandmother was silent a moment. “So that’s why she was so jumpy,” she finally said. “Well, maybe she’ll call. She left some stuff, so she might come back for it. I’ll tell her, if she does.”

  • • •

  Mr. Pleasant’s car was pulled from the lake the next afternoon. Mr. Pleasant was in it.

  Probably on Gray’s orders, a deputy came to the motel to tell Faith. The young man was uncomfortable and respectful, twisting his hat in his hands. He couldn’t say how Mr. Pleasant had died, but the body was being taken to the parish morgue, where he would lie in the same room with his killer. Faith had to bite back an instinctive protest, knowing it would be useless.

  After the deputy left, she sat down on the bed and had a good cry, then called Detective Ambrose. Poor Mr. Pleasant didn’t have any remaining family, but the detective promised to find out what he could about any arrangements Mr. Pleasant might have made for his own funeral, given the state of his health. There was red tape to go through, of course, since his death was a homicide, but with his killer already dead, gathering forensic evidence for a trial wasn’t an issue.

  Guy Rouillard’s Cadillac was found the next morning, not far from where Mr. Pleasant’s car had been found. The long skeleton in the backseat was the only earthly remains of Gray’s father. Alex Chelette’s method of disposal had been simple: put them in their cars, prop a brick on the accelerator, and put the car in gear. Sheriff McFane was the one who had thought about finding the cars, and there were only three places on the lake where the water was deep enough to hide a car, and it was possible to get a car there. With their search locations narrowed down, it hadn’t taken them long to find the bodies.

  Faith didn’t get to talk to Gray, but information flew around the town, and she knew he was ruthlessly using his influence to get Guy’s remains released as soon as possible, for a funeral twelve years delayed. Noelle Rouillard appeared in town for the first time since her husband’s disappearance, looking tragic and unbelievably beautiful in a black dress. Gray’s cynical assessment of his mother’s reaction had been on target; being a widow was far preferable to being abandoned. Now that everyone knew her husband had not left her for the town whore, she could hold her head up again.

  The funeral was held four days after Guy’s remains were found. Though she knew people would whisper about her presence, Faith bought a black dress and attended the service, sitting on a back pew beside Halley and her family. Gray didn’t see her there at the church, but later, after the funeral procession had transported Guy’s body to the burial site, his dark gaze was drawn by the sunlight on her flaming hair.

  He was standing with a supporting arm around Monica. Sheriff McFane was on her other side, so Faith supposed the engagement was still on. Noelle was bearing up with the sympathetic support of all her old friends, the ones she had refused to see for a dozen years. Faith was some ten yards away, separated from him by a group of people, but their eyes met and she knew he was thinking about what she had said. Guy was sincerely mourned by his children; what Noelle felt didn’t matter.

  She stared at him, drinking him in with her eyes. He looked tired, but composed. His mane of hair was pulled back and secured at the back of his neck, and he wore a beautifully fitted, double-breasted black Italian suit. Sweat gleamed on his forehead in the noonday heat.

  She made no move to go to him, and he didn’t gesture her closer. What was between them was private, not for public display at his father’s funeral. He knew he had her support, for he had cried out his grief in her arms. It was enough that she was there.

  It was as they were leaving the grave site that Faith saw Yolanda Foster, standing by herself; Lowell was nowhere in evidence. Yolanda had been crying, but now her eyes were dry as she stared at the grave, an open look of heartbreak on her face. Then she gathered herself and turned away, and Faith felt all the pieces of the puzzle click into place.

  It had never made sense that Guy would leave everything for Renee, not after all the years they’d been having an affair. Alex had said that Guy had been planning to divorce Noelle, and that had made more sense, but abruptly
Faith knew that it wasn’t Renee Guy had been planning to marry. After all his years of tomcatting around, Guy Rouillard had fallen in love that summer, with the mayor’s wife. He had protected Yolanda’s reputation, not even telling his best friend about her. Gossip about them had leaked out, or Ed Morgan wouldn’t have known, but their affair hadn’t been common knowledge. It was even possible Renee had told Ed that Guy was seeing the mayor’s wife.

  Yolanda and Guy had made secret plans. And now, after all these years, she knew that her lover hadn’t deserted her. Guy was sincerely mourned by someone other than his children, after all.

  • • •

  It was late that night before all of the sympathizers ran out of excuses to stay any longer, and Gray had a private moment with his family. He sipped his Scotch as he studied Noelle, who was infinitely more cheerful now after burying her husband than she had been during the twelve years he’d been missing. He needed Faith, he thought. He wanted to be with her. Seeing her at the cemetery had made the hunger even sharper. Sexual hunger, emotional hunger, mental hunger. He simply wanted her, in all the ways possible. He remembered the way his heart had swelled in his chest when she’d told him she loved him, remembered the moment of blinding joy. Like a fool, he hadn’t yet told her that he loved her, too, but that was an oversight he intended to rectify as soon as they could be alone.

  Right now, he had something to say to his mother and sister.

  “I’m getting married,” he said calmly.

  Two startled pairs of eyes looked back at him. He saw Monica’s dismay, saw it quickly change to acceptance, and she gave him a tiny nod.

  “Really, dear?” Noelle murmured. “I’m sorry, I haven’t been keeping current with your social life. Is it someone from New Orleans?”

  “No, it’s Faith Devlin.”

  Calmly Noelle set her glass of wine aside. “Your joke is in extremely bad taste, Grayson.”

  “It isn’t a joke. I’m marrying her as soon as it can be arranged.”

  “I forbid it!” she snapped.

  “You can’t forbid anything, Mother.”

  Though he said it calmly, Noelle reacted as if he’d slapped her. She rose to her feet, holding herself as erect as a queen. “We’ll see about that. Your father may have associated with trash, but at least he never brought it home and expected me to associate with it!”

  “That’s enough,” he said, his tone soft and dangerous.

  “On the contrary, if you lower yourself to marry that slut, you’ll find it’s just beginning. I’ll make her life here so miserable—”

  “No, you won’t,” he interrupted, slamming his glass down so that the Scotch sloshed over the rim. “Let me make your position plain, Mother. I know what’s in Dad’s will. He left you enough money to keep you in style, but he left everything else to Monica and me. If you behave yourself, and treat my wife with every courtesy, you may continue to live here. But make no mistake, the first time you upset her, I’ll escort you out the door myself. Is that clear?”

  Noelle shrank back, her face pale, her eyes livid as she stared at her son. “Monica,” she said, her voice abruptly frail. “Help me to my room, darling. Men are so uncivilized . . .”

  “Put a sock in it, Mother,” Monica said tiredly.

  “I beg your pardon.” The words were freezing.

  Monica visibly braced herself. She was as pale as Noelle, but she didn’t back down. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. But Gray deserves to be happy. If you don’t want to come to his wedding, fine, but I’ll be there with bells on. And while we’re on the subject, I’m getting married, too. To Michael McFane.”

  “Who?” Noelle asked, her face blank.

  “The sheriff.”

  Disdain curled Noelle’s lip. “The sheriff! Really, dear, he’s—”

  “Perfect for me,” Monica finished firmly. She looked both scared and exhilarated at finally having stood up to Noelle. “If you want to come to my wedding, I’ll be pleased, but you can’t stop me from marrying him. And, Mother—I think you’ll be happier if you move to New Orleans.”

  “Good idea,” Gray said, and winked at his sister.

  • • •

  The next morning, Faith drove down to New Orleans for Mr. Pleasant’s funeral. She had hoped Gray would call her, but understood why he hadn’t. She had pestered Sheriff McFane mercilessly about doing what he could to get Mr. Pleasant’s body released, and he had told her that Gray was embroiled in the process of having Guy’s will probated, using his influence to hurry the process. The legal difficulties of a forged letter of proxy, under which he had been governing their financial holdings all these years, were mostly negated since Guy’s will had left everything to Gray and Monica anyway, but there were still problems to handle.

  Margot flew down to New Orleans to be with Faith, somehow discerning over the telephone that she was more upset about Mr. Pleasant than she had let on. The brief funeral service was attended by only a handful of people: some neighbors, herself and Margot, the little blue-haired lady from Houston H. Manges’s law office. To her surprise, Detective Ambrose came by, wearing what looked like the same fatigued suit. He patted Faith’s hand, as if she were Mr. Pleasant’s family, and all the while his cynical cop’s eyes never left Margot’s face.

  Too tired to drive home, Faith got a hotel room for the night. Margot decided to stay overnight too—no surprise there—and went out with Detective Ambrose.

  “I don’t sleep with men on the first date,” Margot said the next morning, chattering nervously. “I mean, I just don’t. It’s too dangerous, and tacky besides.” She couldn’t sit still as they ate their breakfast at the room service cart in Faith’s room; she fidgeted with her napkin, her silverware, her clothes. Her gaze flitted around the hotel room; hers was connecting, and virtually identical, but she seemed to find everything of immense interest. “I may be old-fashioned, but I think sex should wait at least until there’s a commitment, and waiting until marriage would be even better. Women risk too much by sleeping with men who aren’t their husbands—”

  “So was he any good?” Faith interrupted, sipping her coffee.

  Margot clapped her hand to her chest and rolled her eyes dramatically. “Oh my Gawd, was he!” She jumped up and began to pace the room. “I couldn’t believe what was happening, I just don’t do that, but that man had made up his mind and it was like being on a roller coaster, there was just no way to get off. Well, that’s not exactly what I mean. About getting off, that is, because I did—” She stopped and turned dark red. Faith almost choked on her coffee, she was laughing so hard.

  “He wants to see me tonight, but I told him I have a flight back to Dallas, and he should call me at home if he wants to see me again.” Margot looked anxious. “Do you think there’s any way I can slow this down and get back on the right track?”

  “Maybe,” Faith said, but she had seen Margot in love before, and doubted anything could slow her down.

  They spent the morning shopping, replenishing Faith’s wardrobe from the chic New Orleans boutiques. She left the city about two o’clock, giving Margot both the privacy and time for another meeting with Detective Ambrose.

  She arrived back at the motel, her temporary home, at four. Reuben waved to her, and came out to help her carry in her purchases. Then, hungry from the exertion, she drove downtown to Halley’s café.

  She chatted with Halley for a while, then ordered the chicken salad sandwich that had become her usual supper. She was sitting in a booth with her back to the door, and her sandwich had just been placed in front of her, when she heard the door crash open behind her, and an abrupt silence fell over the café.

  Startled, she looked up and found an enraged Gray Rouillard towering over her. Reuben must have called him, she thought absently. His black hair was loose, tangled around his shoulders. “Where the hell,” he barked, “have you been?”

  “New Orleans,” she replied in a mild tone, though she was acutely aware of the breathless interest of
everyone in the café.

  “Would it be asking too much of you to let me know where you’re going to be?” he snapped.

  “I went to Mr. Pleasant’s funeral,” she said.

  He slid into the booth opposite her, some of the fury fading from his face. Beneath the table, his long legs clasped hers, and he reached across to take both her hands in his. “I was scared sh—spitless,” he confessed, quickly adjusting his first word choice to something more socially acceptable. “You hadn’t checked out, but Reuben saw you put a suitcase in the car. I even had him open your room to see if any of your things were still there.”

  “I wouldn’t have left town without telling you,” she said, secretly amused that he thought she might have left town at all.

  “You’d better not,” he muttered. His hands tightened on hers. “Look,” he began, and stopped. “Ah, hell, I know this isn’t the best place to do it, but I’ve still got tons of paperwork to wade through and I don’t know how long it’ll be before I see daylight. Will you marry me?”

  He had succeeded in surprising her. He had gone beyond surprising her. She sat back, stunned into speechlessness. Gray wanted to marry her? She hadn’t dared let herself even think of it. With their tangled pasts . . . the thorny situation with his mother and sister . . . well, it just hadn’t seemed to be an option.

  Evidently he took her reaction as rejection, and his dark brows drew together. Being Gray, he immediately took ruthless measures to get what he wanted. “You have to marry me,” he said, loudly enough that everyone in the café could hear him. “That’s my baby girl you’re carrying. She’ll need a daddy, and you need a husband.”