her legs beside his. “And what were you exposed to growing up? What happened to close your mind so completely?”
Life, he wanted to say. Deception and lies and bone-deep betrayal. Instead, he tossed back the top of the sleeping bag. He wanted to see if she would move away without the barrier between her legs and his.
But she stayed where she was, waiting, and he ended up giving her some of what she wanted to know, leaving out what he knew about cruelty. “I was exposed to baseball, hot dogs, apple pie, and the United States Marine Corps. And my mind, as far as I can tell, is wide open. Not sure I’d still be here, otherwise.”
Her bracelets jingled softly as she toyed with the fabric of her skirt. “I thought you were here because of the door.”
“I thought you were here to do dishes.”
“They’ll still be there in the morning.”
“So will the door.” And since they were on an honesty roll…“What’s the relationship between your aunt and Dayton Eckhardt?”
That brought her head up. “Why do you think there is one?”
“She’s seeing him.” He shrugged. “Or at least things related to him.”
Perry’s snort told him what she thought of that. “She saw things related to last summer’s killings. That didn’t mean she had a relationship with the psycho.”
Jack still wasn’t buying it. “The headline was designed to put her in the limelight. Why?”
“Unwanted limelight, and how should I know?” She raised her voice. “I had nothing to do with it.”
He pushed harder. “The brick, then. Why would anyone feel the need to warn her off?”
“Maybe because they don’t like her being in the limelight, either.”
More like they didn’t want the kidnapping in the limelight, and the headline gave them the connection to Della. That connection was the key. The big fat who, where, when, how and why. “We’re dealing with two separate elements here.”
“How so?”
“The brick is an obvious warning. What I want to know is, why the headline? Who would benefit from Della’s exposure?”
“A reporter looking for a scoop?”
“But there’s been no hard evidence of Eckhardt crossing into Louisiana. The authorities in Texas are still operating under the assumption that they’ll find him on their side of the state line. Unless…”
“Unless what?” she prodded.
“Unless the reporter knows better.” Jack grabbed for his duffel bag, pulled out a flashlight and the newspaper.
He scanned the story that was nothing but the facts of the case gleaned from the ongoing investigation in Texas, coupled with a larger profile of Eckton Computing’s roots in New Orleans, and the industry buzz about a new software system that would blow competitors away.
“Do you want me to turn on the light?” Perry asked.
He shook his head. “No, this is fine. This reporter, Dawn Taylor. The name ring a bell?”
“Not at all, but I’ll ask Della in the morning.”
Morning. Crap. It was the middle of the night. He’d been about to head to the Times-Picayune offices. He stored the paper, waited to switch off the flashlight. “I’ll go talk to Ms. Taylor before I pick up your paint.”
“Paint?”
“For the door. I’m assuming you’ll want blue?”
She gave him another soft laugh in response. “I’ll have to ask Della about that, too. I don’t live here anymore, remember?”
But she had lived here once with the woman who’d raised her. No wonder she seemed perfectly at home. “Do you stay here often?”
“Not really, though I still have a room upstairs. Lately I’ve been here a lot, but that’s because of Della not feeling well.”
“Guess that puts a strain on the business.”
She laughed at that. “Only because we have to scramble to reschedule her appointments. Trust me. Della’s clients are that loyal. They’ll wait. In the meantime, the shop does a great business, and Kachina has her own fanatical following.”
She paused, and when he didn’t respond, she went on, chuckling beneath her breath. “Welcome to N’Awlins, Jack Montgomery. You’re sleeping on the kitchen floor of a woman who’s a local legend.”
A state of things he would never understand.
“Though you know,” Perry continued, scrambling to her feet, her bracelets tinkling, her skirt sweeping over him and the floor. “There is a single bed you could use. It’s around the corner and down the hall from the bathroom. In the utility room.” She held out her hand. “C’mon. I’ll show you.”
He took her hand, not needing the help, just wanting to touch her, and stood. “It’s better that I stay here. The door lacking a lock and all.”
She waved off the offer. “Book has a patrol car making extra rounds, you know.”
“And you know it wouldn’t take a lot of brains to watch and time a break-in,” he said, still holding on to her hand.
She seemed to realize it at the same time, and her fingers stiffened. She pulled free, though with a hint of reluctance, and walked through the dark room to the sink where she washed the dishes she’d left there.
Jack watched her, the unhurried movements of her hands in the running water, the light from the moon spilling through the sink’s window and giving him a better look at the tank top she wore.
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