Down & Dead In Dixie (Down & Dead, Inc. Series) Read online

  Rachel shut down the computer then powered it off. “Well, Lily. I don’t know what you’ve done to him, but I think our Mark is finally back.”

  “Back? He’s been gone?”

  “Oh, yeah. If we knew where, maybe we could have gotten him back sooner, but it didn’t work that way.” Seeing my perplexed look, Rachel clarified. “Mark’s been MIA since Katrina. We’ve all tried to reach him, and we thought after the incident at the Mardi Gras fountain, we had. He has stopped being self-destructive, but he still distances himself from everybody else.” That worried her; it showed in everything about her. “He can’t let himself care about anyone or anything—al least, he couldn’t. You somehow changed that.” She hugged me, then pulled back. Tears brimmed in her eyes. “Thank you, Lily.”

  I didn’t know what to say.

  Rachel sniffed, grabbed a tissue from the desk and dabbed at her nose. “Are you afraid Mark’s hooked in with the Marcello family?”

  “Is he?” I hadn’t even thought of it, but maybe I was wrong about why Victor had showed up here. Maybe it wasn’t Mark’s knowing Edward. Maybe …

  “No!” Rachel’s reaction proved beyond her words the idea was absurd.

  “Good.” Breathing again, I lowered the hand I’d unconsciously pressed against my stomach.

  “Okay, girlfriend.” Rachel closed the office door. “Sit down. It’s time for you and me to talk turkey.”

  My pulse raced. She had a look that filled me with dread and terror. “About what?”

  Rachel tensed all over and her eyes glittered. “Daisy Grant.”

  Chapter 7

  MY KNEES GAVE out and I slid onto the computer chair as if I had no bones.

  “The red hair threw me off,” Rachel said, leaning against the door. “But the second time I saw your license photo on the news, I knew you were Daisy Grant.”

  “You’re mistaken. I’m Lily--”

  “I’m not mistaken, and you’re a lousy liar, so don’t bother.” Rachel frowned. “You haven’t checked the news this afternoon, have you?”

  “No.” I hadn’t left the computer—and I’d totally enjoyed getting lost in the creativity of crafting the website and, frankly, of forgetting my problems.

  “Well, it seems the clothes you had on when you went missing from the police station were found stashed about a mile down the beach from the harbor where you rented the Lucky Lady. And your handbag was found in a trash drum near a store where you bought a swimsuit, a hat and a waterproof purse.”

  “But it’s been two weeks.” Surely they empty the trash drums more often than every two weeks. I should have been home free on that. “How can this be happening now?”

  “How?” Rachel shook her head, lifted her hands. “Who cares? What’s important is that you know what’s happening.”

  Fear beat through me, hard and fast. Rachel had put the pieces together which meant the police, FBI and both crime families had, too. “Oh, God, Rachel. I messed up my death!” How could I mess up my death? I’d tried so hard to do everything right.

  “Yeah, you did,” Rachel said. “Which, I fear, is why Victor Marcello is really here.”

  I jumped to my feet. “Mark!”

  “Is fine, and we’d like him to stay that way, so stay put.” She grabbed my arm and held me into place. “He doesn’t know a thing about Daisy Grant. Victor will know that as soon as they speak.”

  “How did he track me here?” I asked, seeing no sense in pretense now.

  “Marcello has an army of goons and a lot of friendlies in New Orleans. It was his stomping ground for decades. Apparently, a tour-bus guide got them to New Orleans—he was interviewed by some police detective, and that’s as effective as a bullhorn.”

  “Gray hair, rumpled looking?” When Rachel nodded, I said, “That’s Detective Keller from Biloxi.”

  She frowned again. “I’m not sure who got them from the Quarter to Jameson Court. But the point is, they know you’re here.”

  “And now I’ve brought all this down on Mark’s head.” Tears burned my eyes. I blinked hard and fast. “I never dreamed they’d find out I wasn’t dead, or that they’d find me here or I wouldn’t have come. I tried to be so careful . . .” I swiped at an errant tear. “What am I going to do?”

  Rachel pulled up a chair and sat down beside me. “I’m no expert at this stuff, okay? But your actions make it obvious you don’t think the authorities can protect you.”

  “Their witnesses are all dead.”

  “I figured.” Rachel sighed. “You’ve got to run again. Fast. Before Victor or Adriano gets the idea in their heads that Mark’s protecting you. Otherwise, they’ll go after him, too, for helping you. I take it you haven’t contacted Jackson.”

  She even knew about Jackson. “Has he been on the news, too?”

  Rachel nodded. “Afraid so. He looks really good all grown up—even grieving.”

  Mixed emotions slammed through me. Jackson wasn’t mourning anymore and that was good, but he had to be terrified about the mob and the authorities being after me. Now, in making a mess of my death, I’d put Jackson and Mark in jeopardy, and knowing Jackson, he’d be beating a path to New Orleans. I stood up, sniffed. “He’ll come here. He’s probably already on the way.” I swiped at my eyes. “I have to leave now. Lead them away from Jackson and Mark. It’s the best I can do to keep them safe.”

  “You can’t just leave now. You’ll be dead before you cross the street.” Rachel’s voice went shrill. “Victor will have people watching to see if you run while he’s here or after he leaves Jameson Court. If you want to get out of New Orleans alive, then we have to be more subtle and sly.” She rubbed at her temple. “It’s Halloween. We’ll use that. A costume will help.”

  “Mark got me one.” I hiked my chin to where it hung on a hook near the door.

  Rachel glanced over at the white diaphanous dress and transparent heels. “Okay, Cinderella. You put on the dress and glass slippers. I’ll work up a mask. That with the red hair should be enough. You’ll hide out here, stay for the ball, and then when the bulk of the guests leave, you’ll leave with them. There’s usually a hundred or more people at this thing, so it should be easy for you to blend in and fade away.”

  “Rachel, this all sounds clear-cut and simple. But I have no way to just leave.” Lester’s warning about public transportation replayed in my mind. “Buses, planes, trains—they’ll all be watched.”

  “Leave transportation to me.” She clasped Lily’s hand. “I hate it that this happened to you. You seem like a special woman and Mark’s totally crazy about you. Any other time . . . well. He’d have fallen in love with you. I just know it.”

  The truth sounded crazy so I kept it to myself. I think maybe we both already had fallen in love. At least, we’d fallen into something. I can’t explain it. What I know about love would fit in a thimble with lots of room left. But there was an instant connection between us. I’d sure never felt anything like it before, and gauging by his comments, I don’t believe Mark has either. Maybe it was our shared refugee status. Or the fact that we’re both alone. Or all the stories of him I’d heard from Jackson and Craig, though of course, Mark knew none of them. Honestly, the connection wasn’t that simple. It was more like spontaneous combustion without the external explosion. Somehow I recognized him, knew him. I can’t explain it even to myself, but it wasn’t as simple as love at first sight or a mere attraction. This was something beyond chemistry that happened at soul level I’d never before experienced—and I wanted it. More of it. All of it. But now . . . I had to walk away from it.

  That made me want to cry. “I can’t think about what might have been. It’s not going to happen.” The words tasted bitter. “I could get him hurt, which means I have no choice. I have to go.”

  Rachel slid me a knowing look. “That’s the reaction I thought I’d be getting. You’re already crazy about him, too.”

  “I am,” I admitted. “I’m not sure how it happened. Seriously, this sort of thing has
never happened to me. Naturally, it would finally happen at the worst possible time. My bum luck.” Some things never change. “Oh never mind that. The bottom line is I am crazy about him and that’s why I’m leaving him and never looking back. I’ll get as far away from him and Jackson as I can.” My hands shook, my heart felt squeezed. “But what do I tell him? He’ll feel abandoned again.” Her chest went tighter still, and memories of her holding Jackson’s hand outside the Piggly Wiggly swamped her.

  “You’ll come up with something—other than the truth. It’d just put him in danger and we both know he’d move heaven and earth to keep you from leaving.”

  The idea of lying to him about this made me sick, but he was protective and Rachel was right. He would jeopardize himself to protect me. I couldn’t let him do it.

  Rachel walked to the door. “Change into Cinderella, and don’t you dare leave this office until I come back with the mask.”

  “I won’t.” My throat constricted. “Rachel, thank you for not telling anyone.”

  She sobered. “You’re a victim, Lily. I won’t make you one again, and I don’t want your blood on my hands.”

  “Neither do I—want anyone’s blood on my hands, I mean.”

  “I know. You’re easy to read.”

  “What?”

  “Your character,” she explained, gripping the door’s edge. “It shines through in everything about you—which is why I’m helping you.”

  She was helping me for Mark. “You’re protecting him.”

  “He’s been good to me and to my husband, Chris. Of course, I’m protecting him. But I’m protecting you, too. Because you matter to him in a way I’ve never before seen a woman matter to him.”

  “Really?” My hungry ears loved hearing that, and it filled my hungry heart.

  She nodded. “True. I promise.”

  “Thank you for helping me.”

  “You’re welcome.” Rachel turned and walked out.

  I stepped into the office’s bath with the dress and heels and put them on, wishing they were like Dorothy’s and I could click my heels three times and be home. Problem was what it always had been: I have no home.

  It is what it is. You can let it define you, or you can define you. Which is it going to be?

  Squaring my shoulders, I answered my conscience. I choose what I’ve always chosen—to define myself. Rushing to the computer, I hacked through the simple lockdown and then put the finishing touches on Mark’s website. It didn’t have all the bells and whistles I wanted for it, but it was lovely. Elegant and warm and charming, just like Jameson Court. I left the home page up on the screen, wrote a note and then put it on the keyboard. Just as I put down the pen, Rachel returned.

  “I locked you out of the computer.” She frowned. “How’d you get back in?”

  “One of my foster parents had a knack for hacking,” I said with a shrug. “I watched and learned. I didn’t hurt anything, I just wanted to finish the website.”

  She scooted in and looked at it. “Lily, it’s gorgeous!”

  I smiled. “Thanks.”

  Rachel turned to look at me. “No, I mean it. It’s really gorgeous.” She glanced back to the computer, studied the photos of the staff. “How did you get all these?”

  “I observed you all doing what you do. It was simple, really.”

  “Not so simple. It’s not just the photos. You got the personalities of the people. Mark is going to be knocked out by this!”

  Music to my ears. An absolute symphony. “I hope he likes it.”

  “He won’t like it,” Rachel said. “He’ll love it.” She went silent, then softened her voice. “Oh, Lily, I get it. This is your something for him to remember you by, isn’t it?”

  I nodded, feeling the burning swell of tears start at the back of my nose and work up to my eyes. “And to repay his kindnesses.”

  She clasped my hand and gently squeezed. “I was right about you. You’re a good woman.” Gazing down, she focused on the bejeweled mask in her hand.

  I didn’t have to be a mind reader to know she regretted that Mark and I wouldn’t be together. It showed in her face and seemed about as bleak as I felt inside.

  “Here you go.” She passed the mask over.

  Its rhinestones winked in the light. I lifted it to my face. It covered the top half. “Well?” I asked, peering at her through the eye slits. “Will it get the job done?”

  “No one will have a clue.” She kept assessing me. “Seriously, I know and can’t tell who you are.”

  “Great.” Relief washed through me. If Rachel had doubts, she’d express them. The last thing I needed was to cause a blood bath at Mark’s ball. Jameson Court’s reputation would be destroyed and, through no fault of his own, Mark had lost way too much already. I just couldn’t—please, God—cost him more. How had this all gotten so complicated?

  Rachel softened her voice. “Do you need anything from the apartment?”

  “No. The mugger got everything but my Grant half-dollar. I’ve got it on me. The rest I’d be scared to take. Someone might recognize it from when I was here. There are some personal items to get rid of though. Would you bring them to Ruth at Basin Boutique? Maybe someone will come in who needs them.”

  “Sure. I can do that.” Rachel stood up. “Stay here,” she told me again. “I’ll come and get you when you’re to come up to the ballroom. Then just watch me. I’ll signal when it’s time for you to leave. There’ll be a black limo at the curb out front. Chris will be driving it. He’ll take you to a car, and you can take it from there.”

  Chris. Her husband. Good. She’d kept the circle of who knew about this tight. “Wait. He’ll take me to a car? Whose car?”

  “Don’t ask. It’s not stolen, and no one will connect it to you or to anyone else from here. That’s all you need to know. Now, what about money?”

  “I have most of the advance Mark gave me. I’m good.” I’d tucked it and the Grant in a little pouch and attached it to my bra. “I’ll send it back as soon as I can. No card or anything, just the money. You’ll tell him it’s from me, right?”

  “I will, though with the website, you’ve earned whatever he gave you.” More regret rippled across her face. “I’m so sorry this has happened to you, Lily.”

  “So am I.” Understated, but factual. “But it did happen. All I can do now is deal with it.”

  Rachel started for the door, then stopped, her hand on the knob. “I admire that about you. All my life, I’ve been told that what happens prepares us to cope with what’s coming. But I really didn’t believe it until now. In your situation, I wouldn’t have the first clue about what to do to stay alive. I’d probably find a corner, collapse and curl up in a tight ball and stay that way for the duration. But you’re a fighter, and even though you’re in deep trouble, you don’t use other people without a care about their safety.” The look in her eyes softened and admiration lit them from the bottoms. “Had you been able to stay, I think we would have been great friends.”

  I liked her. Admired her even, but I had to be honest and not leave her with false illusions. “I’m not that good. Seriously, Rachel. I have no idea what I’m doing. None. I’m just trying to stay alive and to not get anyone else killed. That’s all. But I think I would have loved being your friend.”

  Rachel smiled and left Mark’s office.

  A friend. A real friend. And Mark. I sat down and squeezed my eyes shut. The things I’ve always wanted most, next to taking good care of Jackson and us having a real home, and here they are. Finally. But all I get is a glimpse of them.

  I shook myself. At least I got a glimpse. At least I know those things aren’t pipe-dream fantasies, they exist. That’s more than a lot of people got in their whole lives.

  It was.

  But still, I wanted more. I wanted these people and my dreams in my life.

  Lester’s voice rang inside my mind. Forget it, Daisy girl. What ain’t meant to be, ain’t meant to be.

  I sighed. Long and deep.
Lester had survived most of his life alone. If he could do it, then I could, too. No sense whining about it. It changed nothing.

  I’d made do most of my life. And I hadn’t minded it really, except during the hungry times. I hated being hungry. I’d seen to it Jackson had been spared that, at least. But for the first time, I resented having to accept less than what I wanted most.

  I really, really resented it.

  Chapter 8

  THE THIRD-FLOOR ball room was packed.

  Mark Anthony and Cleopatra stood talking with the Statue of Liberty and Benjamin Franklin. A wide staircase leading down to the street was littered with more costumed people; mostly couples, but a fair number of singles stood in clusters on the rungs, leaning on the ornate handrails. Dinosaurs. A man in a diaper carrying a five-foot baby bottle that I mistook as a prop until it laughed. His wife, Sunny, he told a Dorothy and Tin Man standing nearby.

  A five-piece band with a female singer performed on a stage constructed at one end of the room. Soft music rippled through the crowd and flowed out multiple sets of open French doors. I kept an eye on Rachel. She seemed at ease and familiar with most of the guests. So long as she didn’t appear panicked, I supposed everything was okay.

  Mark made the rounds, greeting everyone from the mayor and council members to vendors I’d seen delivering fresh vegetables in the kitchen. That he treated all of them with the same respect impressed me. It was too natural to him to be done for show, and too deliberate to be disingenuous. My heart sank a little deeper. I’d never before met a man like him, and instinctively I knew I never would again.

  The lead singer in the band introduced Mark. He joined them on stage, grabbed a mike, then formally greeted the guests, welcoming them all to Jameson Court. “It’s become tradition that I kick-off the festivities with the first dance, but I seem to have lost my partner. Cinderella? Where are you?”

  The spotlight roved through the crowd, seeking me. I darted a frantic look at Rachel and saw her expression stiffen with the worry I felt. Oh, no. How was I supposed to fade away now? I evaded the searching light, ducking behind a couple dressed as New Orleans Saints football players.