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“How about a drink afterward?”
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea, Pierre.”
“Give me a chance to prove myself.”
She began fitting on the harness of the Steadicam, avoiding his eyes and the way he seemed to deliberately block out the light from the building, like a dark cloak trying to wrap itself around her. She realized he was not looking at her anymore. “There’s your employer,” he said.
“Pardon?”
“Mr. Purcel. There in the crowd, going into the building. He’s with Julie Ardoin.” He sucked his teeth.
“Why do you make that sound?”
He tried to smile like a gentleman who doesn’t want to be unkind.
“Sorry, I’m not good at facial sign language,” Gretchen said.
He blew out his breath. “I don’t think Mr. Purcel is a very good judge of character.”
“I don’t know what you’re trying to say.”
“Julie Ardoin is a pilot. She used to do some work for my ex and her father, Jesse Leboeuf. The expression ‘under the radar’ comes to mind.”
“She’s dirty?”
“Because of the mistakes I’ve made in my life, I don’t have the moral authority to speculate about others. That said, I knew Julie’s husband for twenty years. He was a good man and would put his hand in a fire for a friend. His brains ended up on Julie’s ceiling. The coroner put his death down as a suicide. I don’t think that’s what happened. I think your employer is walking into a spiderweb.”
“What kind of work did this woman do for Varina Leboeuf? Don’t jerk me around, Pierre.”
“They were running coke out of Panama. Guns were involved in the deal. I don’t know the details. I don’t want to talk about this anymore. I’ve changed my life, and the misdeeds of other people aren’t my business. But I think your friend is about to get hurt. I’ll be inside. Let me know if you want to have a drink later.”
He walked away, his cowboy boots clicking on the concrete dance pad, his coat flapping open in the breeze, his handsome face turned into the barbecue smoke blowing from the picnic shelters. The back of his neck looked as graceful as a swan’s, shiny with aftershave. Gretchen felt as though someone had dropped a handful of thumbtacks inside her head.
GRETCHEN WAS STARING at Pierre Dupree’s back when I walked up behind her. “How are you tonight?” I said.
“How am I?” she replied. “I was doing fine. Until two seconds ago.”
“Yeah, I think I picked up on that. I want you to understand something, Miss Gretchen. Outside of Clete Purcel, there’s probably no one in your life who supports you more than my daughter. She believes you have a great talent, and she thinks you’re a decent and good person. If she’s not helping you out tonight, it’s not because she didn’t want to. She planned to work on her novel, but my wife and I insisted she come with us.”
“Why do you think you have to explain this to me? You think I’m going to hurt her?”
“No, I don’t believe that at all.”
“You make a poor liar.”
“I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t talk to me like that.”
“Bugger off.”
I looked at the crowd. I could no longer see Alafair and Molly. “Do you know martial arts?” I asked.
“Why do you want to know?”
“I was just curious. It’s part of a mystique these days. A female killer leaving body parts scattered across entire continents, that sort of thing. You never can tell.”
“Why should I kick somebody in the crotch when I can shoot him between the eyes?”
“That’s pretty clever.”
