she dared if it meant getting out of Manville, Louisiana, and away from the hateful glances—not to mention voodoo hexes—of the Cantrell clan. Leaving their golden boy at the altar hadn’t exactly endeared Cassie to Danny’s family.
“I haven’t seen you in years,” Celeste said carefully. “You haven’t…put on a lot of weight or anything, have you?”
Cassie sent up a quick prayer of thanks for the fifteen pounds she’d lost since her breakup with Danny. “Uh, no. I’m still the same size I was in high school.” More or less.
“Are you sure? Because I happened to see your engagement picture in the Manville Gazette, and I thought—now don’t take this the wrong way—I thought you might be starting to take a little after Grandma Boudreaux.”
Cassie tried to control her outrage. She did not take after that evil old woman in any way, shape or form. Not only had their grandmother possessed a nasty disposition, she’d weighed well over three hundred pounds at the time of her death. The family had had to choose her pallbearers accordingly.
“That picture was shot from a bad angle,” Cassie insisted. “And besides, the camera adds ten pounds.”
“I took that into consideration,” Celeste blithely informed her. “Anyway, I was surprised by how much you still resemble me. In the face, I mean. You’ll need to lighten your hair, of course, but for God’s sake, don’t get it done down there.” Cassie could picture her cousin’s shudder. “I’ll make arrangements with a salon in Houston. They’ll do your nails, too, and show you how to wear your makeup. Oh, and start working out, okay? From what I could see in that picture, you could stand to firm up a little, and it’s never too late to start counting the old calories. We’ve still got a few days. If you watch your carbs, you could drop ten pounds before we meet in Houston.”
Drop ten pounds? In a matter of days? Maybe in Dreamworld, Cassie thought acerbically. But in the real world it had taken a major life crisis to finally pry off the freshman fifteen she’d been carrying around since college. And as for exercise, she’d had to give up her daily walks after Earl Cantrell, Danny’s uncle, had tried to run her over one morning.
“Don’t expect me to go on some starvation diet just so I can fit into your size zeros,” Cassie said resentfully. “I like the way I look.”
“And I’m sure you look just fine.” For you, Celeste’s tone implied. “Look, it’ll hardly matter. After everything that’s happened, who would be surprised if I’m not looking my best? And besides, no one will get more than a glimpse of you anyway. You won’t be leaving the hotel except when you take Mr. Bogart for his walks.”
“Mr. Bogart?”
“My Chihuahua. I hate leaving him behind, but it might look strange if you were spotted without him. He goes everywhere with me. Don’t you, sweetie?”
Cassie heard what sounded like a whimper on the other end, then her cousin said anxiously, “You’ll take good care of him, won’t you? He likes to go out first thing in the morning and right before he retires in the evening. And he has to eat three meals a day or his little system gets all out of whack.”
“Don’t worry,” Cassie said with a grimace. “I’ll treat him like he was my own.” Which wasn’t saying much considering she really wasn’t a dog person. “Look, Sissy—”
“Celeste.”
“Look, Celeste, are you saying the only time I can leave the hotel is when I take the dog for a walk? I mean, we’re talking a whole month here.”
“A whole month in a luxury hotel. You’ll have your own Jacuzzi and steam shower, not to mention twenty-four-hour room service.”
“I know, but a whole month?” Now it was Cassie who shuddered.
Celeste sighed. “I guess you’re right. I guess that is too much to ask, even of family.”
Even as a child, her cousin had been an expert travel agent when it came to guilt trips, but this time Cassie wasn’t booking.
When she said nothing, Celeste gave another dramatic sigh. “Okay, tell you what. I’ll plan a few outings for you in advance. I’ll even make all the arrangements. That way, if any of the paparazzi should somehow find out where you’re staying—I mean, where I’m staying—a glimpse of you—me—now and then might help convince them that I’m flying solo these days.”
In other words, no Owen Fleming.
“Where will you be?” Cassie couldn’t help asking, although she already had her suspicions. Why would Celeste go to so much trouble, not to mention expense, to set up such an elaborate ruse if she wasn’t planning an assignation with her married lover?
“Don’t you worry about that. You just concentrate on convincing everyone that Celeste Fortune is in seclusion nursing a broken heart.”
Her cousin’s evasive answer did little to assuage Cassie’s qualms. If Margo Fleming got wind of a tryst between her husband and Celeste, there’d be hell to pay. It could literally cost Owen a fortune and Celeste, what was left of her career.
From everything Cassie had read of the scandal—and she’d devoured every juicy morsel she could get her hands on—Margo Fleming was a powerful woman in the film industry. She’d bankrolled Owen’s first few productions, and she could make or break a budding starlet.
Her cousin was playing with fire. But then, that was the Boudreaux way, wasn’t it?
* * *
JACK HAD JUST finished going through the last Dumpster when a noise alerted him that he was no longer alone in the alley. It was a subtle sound, kind of like a whimper. He might have chalked it up to the rodents skulking about nearby except…he’d never known a rat to snivel.
Nor had he ever seen one dragging a leash, he thought, as he watched the tiny creature ease toward him through the shadows. When the Chihuahua was close enough, Jack knelt down and put out his hand. The dog hesitated, then came prancing over.
“Are you lost?” Jack reached for the collar, then jerked back when the Chihuahua snapped at his hand.
Slowly he stood. “Okay, okay, no touching. I get it.”
A woman’s voice called from the street, “Mr. Bogart? Where the he—where are you, sweetie? Come to Mother.”
Jack glanced down at the dog. “Sounds like you’re being paged. Be a good boy and run along.”
The Chihuahua stared at him unblinkingly and began to wag his tail.
“Oh, so now we’re friends, all of a sudden?”
“Mr. Bogart? Are you down there?” The woman was in the alley now, her voice getting more frantic by the moment. Any second now she would come around the corner, spot Jack, and then would undoubtedly alert the night manager of a prowler, who in turn would probably call the police. And since there was no good explanation for Jack’s presence behind the Mirabelle at that time of night, he decided it would be best all around to avoid such a confrontation.
He tried to quietly shoo the dog away by waving his hand. When that didn’t work, he whispered fiercely, “Go! Vamoose! Am-scray!” The tail
