With a Southern Touch: AdamA Night in ParadiseGarden Cop Read online

  The good thing was that he didn’t seem to realize the potential of his mental processes as a weapon, didn’t recognize that he had a telepathic element in his makeup, at least for her more audacious impulses.

  Heaven forbid that he should ever find out.

  Two

  Lara’s first thought was to get rid of Adam Benedict, to see him off her property and out of her life before it was too late. “It’s the middle of the night,” she said abruptly. “You’d better come back another time, maybe tomorrow or the next day.”

  “I’ll be glad to go when you tell me what I need to know.”

  “I can’t help you.”

  He watched her without moving, his blue gaze steady. “I think you can. If your aunt isn’t here, maybe you could tell me where else she may have gone or who she might turn to for help?”

  It was unlikely that she’d be able to eject him physically, Lara thought, and trying might make it appear that she had something to hide. What was she going to do? Even as she considered it, she said, “I told you, I’ve been living in New Mexico. Aunt Kim used to visit us out there now and then, and I’ve seen her once or twice here, but I’ve never even been in her house in New Orleans. I know next to nothing about her life there or the people she may call her friends.”

  “That may be true, but if you’ve talked to her recently, you’re ahead of me. Besides, you may know more than you realize, things that could come out if you’d answer a few questions.”

  “I doubt it. Really, I’d like you to leave.”

  “There’s always a subpoena,” he said, a harder note in his voice. “It would probably lead to a full-scale search of the premises, a messy operation you really want to avoid. Especially if you have nothing to hide.”

  It was a warning, probably the only one she was likely to get. Which would be better, to try to convince Adam Benedict that she had no useful information, or to risk him discovering that she knew everything? And did she really have an option when he stood as immovable as an oak tree there in the middle of her foyer? Added to that was the growing feeling she must know more about this man, get closer to him. She had no idea whether it was personal or connected to her aunt, but she had learned that ignoring such instincts led to trouble.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, forcing a smile as she came to a decision. “If I’ve seemed uncooperative, it’s just that…that I’m concerned about Aunt Kim.”

  “Understandable. She’s in a lot of trouble.”

  “You seem to know more about it than I do. Maybe you’d like to tell me exactly what’s going on over a cup of coffee or a drink?” She waited with a tight feeling in her chest for his answer.

  “Coffee is fine,” he said, though something like wariness lay in the blue depths of his eyes.

  “Good. That’s good then.” She gestured toward the sitting room on the opposite side of the foyer from her small quilt shop. “If you’d like to be seated, I’ll make it.”

  “We aren’t that formal around here, you know,” he answered, his voice dry. “We can talk in the kitchen.”

  What he meant, she thought, was that he preferred not to let her out of his sight. That was fine, since she felt the same way about him. Flipping off the foyer light then turning to lead the way, she spoke over her shoulder. “Whatever. I’m not very good at this Southern hospitality stuff, as you’ve noticed.”

  “You’ll get used to it. So you moved back alone?”

  He was closer than she expected as they moved through the dim sitting room, near enough that the deep timbre of his words seemed to vibrate along her spine. Self-consciousness gripped her, so she became much too aware of the sway of her hips and the swing of her heavy braid down her back. She was also reminded of how isolated they were, and how little she knew of Adam Benedict. “If you’re asking whether I have a significant other around somewhere,” she said, “the answer is, not at the moment. So tell me again just how it is that you’re interested in Aunt Kim? Are you some kind of private detective?”

  “Not exactly. I run a high-tech information retrieval operation.”

  “Some job.”

  “More a hobby. I’m retired, work out of the condo.”

  She gave him a quick glance over her shoulder as she pushed through the swinging door into the big back kitchen with its tall windows draped with vigorous ivy, granite countertops, and vintage woodstove in one corner. “You can’t be more than thirty-two or three, thirty-five at the most. Isn’t that a little early for retirement?”

  “Not if you hold the patent on an innovation in fiber optics.”

  “I see. High-tech, indeed. So information retrieval means computer snooping, I suppose?”

  “You could put it that way,” he agreed.

  “Strictly legitimate? Or are you one of those hackers who slip in and out of secure databases?”

  He didn’t answer. When she glanced in his direction, he only lifted a brow as if daring her to comment.

  “You must be good,” she said with irony.

  “I also create methods to keep others from doing it.”

  “Very good,” she amplified. “Even so, I’m not sure how you found me.”

  “You showed up as Kim Belzoni’s next of kin on her medical records. After that, it was easy.”

  She gave him a narrow glance as she took down the white ceramic coffee jar, then turned to measure grounds into the filter. “How convenient for you.”

  “Wasn’t it though?”

  “Especially since I never knew I was listed.”

  “She needed a name to put on the form. Maybe she chose you because you were closer than your mother.”

  Closer in affection as well as in distance, Lara thought. For all the infrequency with which she saw Aunt Kim, she was one of her favorite people. As the much younger sister of Lara’s mother, Kim was only twelve years or so older than Lara, and had lived with the two of them for a time as a teenager. Lara’s mother, divorced and bitter about it, had been a bit too domineering and openly critical for there to be much affection between the sisters, but Kim and Lara had been co-conspirators against the adult head of the household.

  “If you checked Aunt Kim’s medical records, then you probably saw that she was hospitalized recently,” Lara said.

  He nodded. “I’m aware that the husband put her there if that’s what you’re getting at. But if you know it, the two of you must have had a long conversation.”

  “You could say that.” Lara paused a second before she went on. “She was terrified of him, you know.”

  “I don’t doubt it, but that doesn’t give her the right to whack him preemptively.” His gaze was level, and exacting in its certainty.

  “What about in self-defense?”

  “Is that what she’s claiming?”

  He was still hoping she’d slip up and reveal when and where they had spoken, Lara thought, even as she answered, “I can’t imagine Aunt Kim pulling a trigger for any other reason.”

  “Why would you say that?”

  She gave the coffeemaker a thoughtful frown as she added water, then started it. “You have to know Aunt Kim. She isn’t what you might call a forceful personality. Avoiding trouble is a lot more her style.”

  “Running away from it, you mean?”

  “Don’t put words in my mouth,” she snapped, even as she realized that part of her instant irritation was because he was right. Her aunt was a past mistress of the art of leaving unhappy situations, especially unhappy marriages, behind her. The wonder was that she’d stayed so long this time.

  “So where does she usually run to?”

  “The question isn’t where, but how. Aunt Kim is an extremely attractive woman.” It was better to throw him that bone than to admit that she often turned up on the doorsteps of her sister or her niece.

  “Meaning she usually finds a man to take her away?”

  “If she wants one.”

  “And does she, as a rule?”

  “I believe so.” In fact, her aunt turned up
with the men in tow, older men with flashy habits, younger guys with attitudes, and now and then a cowboy with more in his jeans than under his hat. Lara suspected that their admiration and the security they represented were more important than the sex angle.

  “This lover may have decided to make her a widow. Is that it?”

  Adam’s gaze was narrow as he waited for her answer. She turned away from it to pick up a cake plate set with small rolled pastries. “It seems possible.”

  “Convenient, you mean. Unless, of course, he was persuaded to have that notion?”

  “Oh, please.”

  He watched as she set the cake plate in front of him. “This wasn’t her first marriage, was it?”

  Lara shook her head. “Her fifth or sixth, something like that. Didn’t your database give you an exact count?”

  Ignoring the last, he commented, “A hard woman to satisfy.”

  Lara glanced at him, but saw no sign that he was hinting at anything salacious. “Maybe,” she agreed. “Or maybe she just dreams too big, expects too much.”

  “Could be she just likes variety.”

  “Or keeps hoping that someone, someday, will match her high standards.” Lara stepped back to lean against the cabinet and cross her arms over her chest.

  Adam Benedict watched her with sardonic consideration in his eyes. “You think she found somebody this time to make her dreams come true?”

  “Nothing she said to me suggested it. The situation could be totally different.”

  “True,” he agreed with a twist to one corner of his smooth lips. “But if Belzoni was bad enough that she had to kill him, what took her so long to decide she wanted out?”

  “Wanting out is one thing, actually leaving is another. She was afraid he’d come after her, I think. He’d threatened to kill her and she believed him.”

  “She said that?”

  “Not in so many words. But isn’t it the usual scenario with an abusive husband?” Lara hoped the question would avoid further speculation about her aunt’s motives.

  “Or desperate ones who want to hold on to the women they love at any cost.”

  “That’s all very fine from the male point of view, but what sane man would want a woman to stay with him out of fear?”

  Adam’s gaze was straight. “Maybe one who can’t stand the thought of living without her.”

  “You mean one who would rather see her dead than let her slip out of his control. Yes, and one who cares a lot more about his precious pride than he does her. If he really loved her, he’d want her to be happy. But then, if he cared about her happiness, she probably wouldn’t want to leave.”

  “People aren’t that rational—or that altruistic.”

  “If they aren’t, they should be,” she said defensively.

  He watched her with unnerving appraisal. “Idealistic, but true. Is that why you aren’t married, you dream too big and are afraid of being disappointed?”

  “Who says I’ve never married.”

  “My database. Is it wrong?”

  She’d known his mental ability and insight could be a problem. Not that she intended to admit that he was right, but it had in fact been her aunt’s aimless bouncing from one man to another that had made her determined to wait until she found the right one. If real and lasting love was supposed to be a big dream, then she was guilty and unrepentant about it.

  “What about you?” she asked with a direct look. “Don’t tell me no woman is willing to settle for your narrow version of reality?”

  His gaze widened a fraction as if in surprise or, just possibly, the unwelcome knowledge that he had his own expectations. Silence stretched between them. Finally, he shrugged. “All right, the personal question was out of line and I withdraw it. But I’ll tell you what I’m looking for in a woman anyway. I want someone who will laugh with me and let me hold her when she cries, someone who values love and desire, tolerance and compassion, who doesn’t mind work and can take pleasure in its rewards. I want a woman who can look at life, and at our lives together, as the greatest adventure in the world.”

  She gave a short laugh as she gripped her arms tighter around her to ease the odd pain around her heart. “And you call me an idealist!”

  “Oh, she’s out there and I’ll find her,” he said, the blue-and-red aura around him almost glowing with the intensity of his conviction. “The only question is whether such a paragon will have anything to do with me.”

  He’d said nothing about the appearance or background of this perfect mate. No doubt he’d expect a patrician beauty of good family, with conservative beliefs, commitment to church and civic service responsibility and a history of discriminating, even virginal, sexual conduct. He would have no use for the daughter of a New Age mystic with a distaff family record of weird habits and odd practices. Not that Lara had any particular interest, of course. It was just that a man’s choice of friends and lovers said much about him.

  The coffee bubbled its way to completion behind her. Glad of the distraction, she turned to pour it up. “So what is this life work that you need a helpmate to accomplish? I mean, if information retrieval is only a hobby?”

  “You can’t tell from your crystal ball?” Sardonic humor shaded his voice.

  “Sometimes it’s easier to just ask.” She avoided his gaze as she put his cup in front of him and offered cream and sugar with a gesture.

  He shook his head at any adulteration of his coffee. “It’s nothing in particular, no special plans or projects, since I don’t have to work for a living anymore. I don’t even care if this dream woman has plans and a career of her own, so long as she’s not fanatic about it. What’s important here is the attitude of partnership and cooperation.”

  “Ah.”

  “Meaning?” He was still, his coffee cup halfway to his lips, as he waited for her answer.

  “Nothing.”

  “You don’t believe me, right? Or else you think I should be gainfully employed, even if it takes a job away from someone who needs it worse than I do.”

  “Not my business. It just seems strange that someone who lives such a privileged life with exemplary expectations should be hunting down my aunt.”

  “I’m not hunting her down,” he said evenly, “only doing a favor for a friend. But if I were after her, it wouldn’t be for kicks. Kim Belzoni is wanted for questioning in the death of her husband. Maybe she killed him, maybe she didn’t, but it would be to her advantage to talk with my pal Jack Whitaker of the NOPD. He’d like a few answers about her husband’s business dealings and Cosa Nostra family connections. If she cooperates, the murder charge may be reduced to manslaughter or even the self-defense that you claim. Either way, she’ll be better off in jail than running around where the Belzoni family can get to her.”

  “You really think they’re after her?”

  He gave a slow nod. “So does she, apparently. If she didn’t, she wouldn’t be hiding out.”

  It was a reasonable conclusion. It was also one that had been haunting Lara for twenty-four hours, ever since her aunt had appeared on her doorstep.

  Ernesto Belzoni had been the nephew of Don Belzoni, current head of the New Orleans Cosa Nostra. That connection had made Ernesto almost paranoid in the tabs he kept on Aunt Kim, where she went, who she talked to, how she used her credit cards and where. He’d insisted that she drop almost all contact with her own friends and family, had vetted her acquaintances and required that she call in frequently any time she left the house. If she returned home even five minutes later than expected, there had been endless questions about where she’d gone, who she saw, and what they’d discussed. The penalty if he didn’t like the answers had been swift and painful.

  Aunt Kim hadn’t been used to that kind of treatment. She was a free spirit, like all the Kincaid women. As a lounge hostess, sometime singer and blackjack dealer between marriages, she’d worked the casinos of Louisiana and Mississippi for years. Sometimes she struck out for Vegas or Atlantic City or worked a cruise ship fo
r a season, but she always returned to the homier atmosphere of the Southern states.

  Lara had fervently admired her mother’s younger sister as a teenager, been incredibly impressed by her vagabond existence, her fancy cocktail rings and evening wear cut down to there, the sophisticated styling of her long auburn hair and her laissez-faire attitude. That had lasted until she watched her aunt have a baby with her perfectly nice second husband, then abandon both while that beautiful little girl was still in diapers. Lara had developed a different philosophy then.

  She had changed, but Aunt Kim hadn’t. She still went her own way, still refused to be tied down or take any responsibility for her actions. She’d gone through another couple of marriages, then wound up with Belzoni after meeting him at a Shreveport casino. His strict surveillance had come as a shock, though her reaction to it had been silent rebellion in the form of secret escapes and casual affairs rather than outright confrontation. Suspicion of her clandestine activities had only made Belzoni worse, of course, and more determined to dominate her with force. He had put her in the hospital one time too often, however. Aunt Kim had bought a gun and kept it in her purse. It hadn’t been long before she was forced to use it.

  Lara wondered if her aunt had thought about the consequences before she pointed the gun at Belzoni. Listening to her rant the night before about the unfairness of being blamed for her husband’s death, and how unreasonable it was that Don Belzoni might persecute her for it, it was hard to say whether she even realized the trouble she was in. She seemed to have little idea what to do next, few plans for the future. She’d simply thrown herself on Lara’s mercy, then trailed upstairs in her half-destroyed evening gown, dropping sequins all the way. Shedding the dress like a skin she no longer needed, she’d crawled into the guest room bed and gone instantly to sleep.