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“I will. Sometimes these things require some delicacy. This is one of those times.”
He laughed humorlessly. “You’re telling me to be patient?”
“Basically. There aren’t many houses here, but I don’t want a neighbor calling the cops.”
“Then after sundown.”
“That’s my plan.”
“I want it done,” he said, leaving no room for argument.
“I know. Have I ever let you down before?”
“No.” Which was why Stockman was still alive. He was a useful fucker. “No, you have not. Don’t make this the first time.”
Stockman was quiet for a very long moment. Seething, no doubt. Good. He needed some shaking up. “I said that I will get it done,” he said, sounding like his teeth were clenched.
“See that you do. I have to go now. My dinner companions have arrived.”
Ending the call, he navigated through the crowd, pasting a smile on his face. “Nelson!” He shook the man’s hand. “Good to see you. And Lorraine. You look lovely tonight.”
Lorraine Nelson was a pleasantly round woman who was somewhere in her late sixties. Nelson was around seventy. And richer than God.
“I’ve heard good things about this place,” Lorraine said, sounding genuine. “I’ve been wanting to try it for a long time.”
Joelle’s facial expression said the exact opposite. Le Petit Choux was a cozy, homey kind of place, where families went to celebrate. But it wasn’t elegant. There were no white tablecloths. No sommeliers. No tuxedos. It wasn’t her style.
“Lamont is planning to buy into a similar place,” Joelle gushed, linking her arm through Lorraine’s. “He’s checking out the competition. I have heard wonderful things about their desserts. I may have to cheat on my diet tonight.”
It was a dig at Lorraine’s weight, albeit a classy one. Joelle was good at that. She put the bless into “bless your heart.” Her quick wit had been among the qualities that had initially drawn him. Now, seven years later, he wanted to kill her for it. Daily.
“If it’s not to your liking, we can go somewhere else,” Lamont said, knowing that Nelson would say no.
“No, that’s not necessary,” Nelson said. “This will be fine, I’m sure.”
They approached the hostess station, manned by a young beauty in a sleek, black, formfitting dress. Lamont eyed the woman appreciatively. The hostesses here all wore the same style dress and were always a visual feast. He’d been here before, but only for lunch. This was the first time he’d come for dinner.
“Welcome to Le Petit Choux,” the young beauty said with a flirtatious smile. “Do you have a reservation?”
“Yes,” Joelle said, giving the woman a dark stare that was both envious and warning. “Table for four at seven o’clock, under Joelle.”
They were seated quickly, given menus, and promised that a server would be by soon. Lamont looked around the place, searching for Rocky Hebert’s son. He popped in occasionally for lunch to check the man out. To see if he was anxious or seemed distracted—more so than would be expected from simply losing a parent. Anything that would indicate that he suspected that his father hadn’t died by suicide.
Which it seemed like Gabe Hebert now suspected, since he’d hired a PI. If Rocky’s son started sniffing in Lamont’s direction, he’d have to reevaluate the risk in killing him. If it became necessary, he’d tell Stockman to make it look like a robbery. After suicide and accidents, robberies were his next favorite method.
Observing Hebert here was kind of a long shot, but the food was good and the desserts really were sublime, so it was worth the small effort it took to do reconnaissance. He immediately saw Rocky’s niece through the wall-width window into the kitchen. She was smiling as she spoke to one of the cooks. She and Rocky’s son co-owned the place, so he wasn’t surprised to see her. But there was no sign of Gabriel Hebert, and he couldn’t just come out and ask where the man was.
He’d be subtle. Poke a little. Enjoy the étouffée and the crème brûlée. And if he was lucky, Joelle would be so drunk by the time they got home, she’d fall asleep without asking him any questions about the restaurant he planned to buy into. Because of course there was none.
He opened his menu with a snap. “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. I haven’t had a bite since lunch with the mayor. What looks good?”
He’d barely perused the night’s offerings when his phone buzzed with a text message from Jackass. Keeping his expression neutral on the outside, he was more than irritated on the inside. The man needed to stop contacting him.
Both of them knew that frequent contact would lead to suspicions.
I will kill him. I swear to God.
He peeked at his phone, ignoring Joelle’s scowl.
