got a bug somewhere he didn’t ought to be?” Nat asked. “Looks like you got pain.”
Guy’s response was to call Ozaire, who was so enthusiastic about returning to work he made Guy suspicious.
“Go on ahead to my house, I’ll join you as soon as he gets here,” Guy told Nat. Then he had a thought that started him punching numbers on his phone again. “What the hell am I thinking of?” he muttered. “How’s she supposed to know if I don’t tell her? She needs to know now, not later.” He could not wait to tell Jilly to forget she had seen Nat.
“Aw, you know those aren’t things you tell a woman on the phone. You had your chance to say the sweet nothings in person. You blew it.”
Guy ignored Nat and looked at the sky while he listened to Jilly’s phone ring. She wouldn’t even be back to town by now and she always kept her cell on.
He hung up and stuck his hands in the pockets of his jeans.
“What’s up?” Nat asked.
“You,” Guy said without preamble. “I told you I didn’t want us seen together around here. If Spike, that’s the sheriff and he’s Homer’s son, if he gets wind that I’m holed up with my old partner, he’ll be sure I’m getting ready to leave. He’ll tell Homer. Homer will get mad and fire me because he’ll want to tell me to go before I can quit.”
Nat shook his head. “Why would you care?”
“Jilly needs me here.” He needed her. “And I owe Homer.”
“She already knows about me, man,” Nat pointed out.
“Jilly might not make the connection if… Let it go. I don’t want people speculating about you, okay?”
“O-kay.”
His partner’s attitude galled him. “Look, Nat. You come sashayin’ in, driving a car people around here will talk about. There isn’t always a lot of excitement, see, and they can get pretty imaginative with very little encouragement.”
“Whoa.” Nat held up both hands. “I asked you if you were on your own and you said you were, or would be in a few minutes.”
“I didn’t expect Jilly to stay.”
“Is it my fault she did?”
“This had better be important,” Guy said. “I’ll join you as soon as I can.”
His phone rang and he looked at the readout. “Hi, Jilly,” he said, trying not to sound as relieved as he felt.
“Sorry I didn’t pick up just now,” she said.
“You had a right,” he told her. “I need to ask you a favor. Nat, the guy you just met?”
“Yes.”
The sound of zydeco from her car radio made him smile. She loved the music, and she loved to dance. So did he, with her.
“There’s a real good reason why he wasn’t here.”
“Huh?” She turned off the radio. “What did you say?”
“He wasn’t here.”
“Nat Archer, the knockout guy I just met at Homer’s, he wasn’t there? The one with a voice like warm, tumbled gravel? For goodness’ sake, why don’t you just put things so they aren’t so confusing? You don’t want me to mention Mr. Archer to anyone. Right?”
He blew out a breath in a whistle. “I just don’t have your smooth way with words, cher.”
“You can say that again,” Nat muttered.
Guy reached out and snatched the fedora, jumped on the closest bench, then on the picnic table, and held the hat high.
All Nat did was shake his head slowly.
“You’ve got my word, Guy, you know that,” Jilly said. “But I hope you’ll explain the reason to me.”
Just what he didn’t want to do. “Sure. How about that dinner?”
“Maybe I can fit you in. I…get back! Stop!”
Jilly screamed and, at the same time, Guy heard the gut-churning sound of a collision, breaking glass, buckling metal—and a cacophony of shouting voices.
“Jilly,” he yelled. “Jilly!”
She didn’t answer him.
There was only one road into Toussaint from Homer Devol’s place, so that simplified Guy’s rubber-laying drive. You also couldn’t get lost in the town and you for sure couldn’t miss a car crash, any car crash there.
He saw flashing lights behind him, then heard a siren. “Not now,” he said through his teeth, and floored the accelerator. Almost at once he saw his folly, slowed and pulled over. The cruiser screeched to a stop, slewed behind the Pontiac.
One big “ain’t I cool?” officer took his time getting to Guy’s window. The man’s hand hovered over his weapon and he spread his feet. “Out,” he said, “hands behind your head, down on your face.”
Guy did something he tried to avoid. He smiled at an asshole and said, ever so sweetly, “Afternoon, Officer. I’m Detective Gautreaux, NOPD. Should have put my light on top, but you know how it is with these pricks, think they’re smarter than we are. I prefer to sneak up on ’em when I can.”
He was on thin ice. “Inactive duty” wasn’t a designation that carried weight, and if he told the guy the truth he’d have to run a check. Guy couldn’t afford the delay.
The officer looked uncertain. “Yeah, I know what you mean. You got a badge, sir?”
“In the pocket of my jeans. Left front.” He put his hands behind his head. Because they expected him back at NOPD he’d never been asked for his badge. Carrying the thing was a habit. “I’ll get out.”
The man made up his mind. “You’d best get going. Sorry I slowed you down.”
Guy nodded and took off fast enough to reach Bi-geaux’s hardware store on the outskirts of town and disappear around a corner without ever seeing the cop again. But he had lost at least eight or nine minutes and it was his own fault.
He dialed Jilly’s number again. No answer.
There it was. Toussaint’s very own talking points for the next few weeks. In the intersection of St. Mary’s Street and Main, the only four-way stop in town. A big old burgundy Impala station wagon stood at an angle, one side shoved in, empty holes where the window had been. And a few feet distant where it had come to a stop after bouncing off the Impala, was Jilly’s Beetle. The front had crumpled and popped open, and the damage was what you would expect when the engine was in the rear: the front wheels had moved a whole lot closer to the rear ones. In every direction, sun bounced off broken glass. Gas ran all over the road.
With her head in her hands, Jilly sat on a curb. Guy could see the scrapes from yards
