I know—”
“No, thank you.” Cyrus looked at the fistful of money pressed against his middle as if it were maggots. “I’m sure things aren’t as bad as they look. We’ll fix any little problems.”
“Father,” Lee said, her blond ponytail flipping as she looked from one person to another. “You don’t have any little problems with that car of yours. How does that make you feel?”
They said she was sharp, Guy thought. You could have fooled him.
Cyrus smiled at the woman and said, “I’ll be glad to talk to you about this, and I’m sure Jilly will, too. But we ought to deal with the formalities, first.”
The way very pretty Lee O’Brien gazed at Cyrus reminded Guy how hard it might be for a priest who looked the way this one did. Women invariably sent longing glances in his direction.
“I don’t think I heard your name,” the bodyguard said to Guy.
“No reason you should. Excuse me.” He turned back to Jilly.
The bodyguard didn’t figure out that he was supposed to get lost. “I have my orders. This is yours.” He gave the bills another push against Cyrus, and when he wouldn’t touch the money, let it slide and flutter to the ground at their feet. “I’ll drive you to your mother, Miss Gable.”
“Thank you for the offer, but I’m going to my shop now,” Jilly said, her face white. “Please tell my mother I’m fine.”
Rathburn only hesitated a moment before walking away, leaving the four of them standing in a heap of money.
“Cyrus,” Jilly said. “We can do this between us. It was all my fault.”
“You don’t say that when you have an accident, Jilly,” Cyrus said.
“You would.”
She didn’t get an argument from Cyrus. When she glanced at Guy he was smiling. Darn it all, anyway, he had the clumsiest mouth in the South, but he also had the best heart—if he’d ever stop burying it in a hole and piling body armor on top.
Wally Hibbs, fifteen-year-old only child of Gator and Doll Hibbs, who ran the Majestic Hotel, arrived on his bicycle, which he stopped by slamming his sneakers on the street. He’d outgrown the bike a long time ago.
“Everything’s okay here,” Cyrus said at once, and Jilly felt good just knowing Wally had the priest and the folks who worked at St. Cécil’s to give him the warmth and welcome he didn’t get at home. Wally hung around with Cyrus whenever he could, and the man had become almost a surrogate father to the boy.
“Who is that man?” Lee asked, her eyes on Rathburn’s back. “He’s got a nasty attitude. He said he worked for your stepfather, Jilly?”
“Yes,” she said, pretending not to see the faces Guy made at her.
Wally’s bike crashed to the ground and he stooped to gather the money. “Can’t just leave this here, Father,” he said. “I saw that man give it to you. Is it true your dad’s the richest man in all Louisiana, Jilly?”
What were folks saying to make him come up with a question like that? “I’m not sure where my father is,” she told him. “I haven’t seen him for years.”
“Your new dad,” Wally said, sitting on his heels to carefully face all the bills the same way. “This is a lot of money,” he said, his eyes round. He started counting, licking the tip of a grubby forefinger now and again.
“I don’t like to ask you,” Cyrus said. “But would you get that money back to Edwards Place?”
“No way,” Wally told Cyrus. “I told you, I saw that man push the money on you.”
“I don’t need or want a stranger’s money.”
Wally looked smug. He wiggled his nose and sniffed. “Is there anything says a stranger can’t give money to the church?” His smile grew wider, showing the space between his two front teeth. “I don’t think the Lord would be pleased with you discriminatin’ like that, not when the church needs new bingo boards and there ain’t—isn’t enough money.”
A frosted beige Jaguar convertible slid to a stop, and a woman wearing large sunglasses and a pink baseball cap over curly red hair trailed her left arm and hand over the top of the driver’s door. Dazzling prisms shot from whatever jewelry she wore on her fingers.
“Jilly?” Laura Preston said, amazement dripping from the single word. “What are you doing here with these people?”
“For those of you who don’t know,” Jilly said, “this is Laura Preston, my mother’s daughter-in-law. Laura and Edith live together at Edwards Place.”
Silence met the announcement. “Laura, please let Edith know I’ll be over to see her later. I’m not hurt at all.”
“Where do you think you’re going with that?” Cyrus said, laughing at Wally, who remounted his bike with a determined expression. He took the money from the boy and walked toward the deputy.
Wally shrugged. “I knew he would do that, but I had to give it a try. Wait till I tell Madge how Father turned down good money when there’s never enough to pay the bills at St. Cécil’s.”
Guy made a grab for the rear of the bike, but Wally shot out of range, heading for Bonanza Alley and the rectory. “Don’t you go mixin’ it up,” Guy yelled. Madge Pollard worked for Cyrus. She kept the parish running and watched over Cyrus, although not like a mother hen. Jilly tried not to think about the complicated friendship Cyrus and Madge had, not often, anyway. Some people just didn’t have much luck when it came to falling in love, and Jilly guessed she and Madge had great men in their lives, only they were the wrong men.
Without another word, Guy walked away. He approached the rucked-up Beetle and looked down through the broken passenger window, at the seat, Jilly assumed.
He dragged open the door and stooped to pick something up from the floor.
Lee said, “Guy’s a nice man but he’s too difficult to read. Too quiet. He’s real easy on the eyes, though.” She cleared her throat and turned a little pink. “You already noticed that, Jilly?”
“Uh-huh.”
On the way back he only broke his stride for a few moments when he passed them. He gave Jilly her cell phone and said, “I’m relieved you’re okay. Take care, y’hear. I’d better get back to it.” His down-turned mouth and narrowed eyes turned him into the stranger she’d seen before and she didn’t like him.
Well, she’d taken all she intended to take from Mr. Gautreaux and she wasn’t taking any more.
3
“What d’you think you’re doin’, Jilly?”
She had run to catch up with Guy and get into the passenger side of the Pontiac. Let him stew over her silence for once.
He dropped down beside her, slammed his door shut and rested his head back. “You
