A Twisted Ladder (63 page)

Jacob let the stump arm slide to her elbow, but pulled in closer with his hand. “Well, what is it then? How do you see me?”

Chloe watched him, dark eyes wide and solemn. His breath was labored, and a sprinkling of sweat had formed on his upper lip and brow.

“Tell me,” he said, his voice hoarse.

Still, she did not answer, not with words. She looked past his eyes to what watched and listened inside of him. The thing at the center of every human that she’d come to know by learning from Rémi’s time spent in the world beyond. She let that part of herself address that part of Jacob.

He looked confused. But he bent his head, hesitantly, leaning in to her. She tilted her face up to meet his. Their lips touched.

NEW ORLEANS, 2009

T
HE BRASS BAND PLAYED
a slow, mournful dirge. Madeleine decided to walk in the foot procession instead of driving behind the hearse. She marched with Samantha on her left and Ethan limping to her right, all the way from the church down the scarred, narrow street, following the Dixieland jazz band leading the mourners toward the cemetery. Severin was smiling and prancing as if she were in a Mardi Gras parade, clearly enjoying the funeral that was meant to honor Daddy Blank.

When the police questioned the neighbors in Iberville, no one admitted to having seen anything. No mention of Madeleine’s name or anyone else’s.

Madeleine looked over her shoulder and saw lots of other people moving solemnly in the funeral procession. Most she knew, but still plenty were unfamiliar. She wondered, were they all real, or were some phantoms like Severin?

They entered the cemetery and proceeded to the LeBlanc mausoleum that would be Daddy Blank’s final place of rest. Madeleine watched as Ethan, Vinny, and some of her cherished friends carried her father’s coffin to the platform.
Are you really at peace, Daddy?
She wondered whether he might continue to walk this earth in another form, like Severin.
God bless the poor bastard who is haunted by Daddy
.

Someone was talking, speaking fondly of her father. Severin crawled inside the mausoleum vaults, like a child playing hide-and-seek, and then crawled back out again. Madeleine glared at her. Finally, they relinquished Daddy’s body to the new resting place.

The band kicked up again, but this time the tempo was upbeat, almost jubilant. They played “When the Saints Go Marching In.” Madeleine looked around and smiled. It sounded nice. They formed a procession again and began marching toward the museum on Chartres Street where the wake would be held. She offered up a prayer of gratitude to whoever decreed that the latter part of a Dixieland funeral should be a celebration for the passing from one world to the next.

“Let me get you something to sip on,” Ethan said when they reached the museum.

“Thank you.”

He squeezed her wrist and then strode toward the refreshments. She watched him go. Wondered how much of this insanity he was willing to weather.

The crowd in the museum was swelling to capacity. Politicians, judges, waitresses, street people; hundreds of folks had turned out to honor Daddy Blank. She spotted Oran moving in her direction, pushing Chloe in her chair.

“Hello,” Madeleine said to them.

Chloe grunted and produced a small paper bag which she passed to her great-granddaughter. “Put it under your bed.”

Madeleine accepted the parcel and looked inside. She saw only muslin wrapped around something, with a single black ant crawling across the surface. Whatever it was, it smelled like swamp rot.

“What is this for?”

“The child. She is here now, yanh?”

Madeleine stared at her. She realized her jaw had gone slack. She licked her lips, lowering her voice. “When I first saw her I thought she lived with you and Oran. You humored me. You knew all along what was happening.”

Chloe said, “If I had told you, you would not have heard me.”

Madeleine watched her face, listening.

Chloe said, “If she misbehaves, try lulling her.”

“Lulling her?”

“A song. A rhyme. Not a gentle song. Something that reflects the place of the river devils where she came from. She won’t stay there now that she has you. But when she goes back, she’ll try to bring you there with her.”

“How much do you know? Can you tell me how to manage this?”

“I can help you. You have now a key to unlock the greatest secrets of the mind. And its darkest shadows.”

Chloe looked away, and Madeleine followed her gaze to where Ethan was heading toward them with two bottles of water.

Chloe muttered something in French that Madeleine couldn’t catch, and then said, “You distract yourself. A waste, yanh. You would have done better to join with Zenon instead of treating him as your enemy. He would be a better match for you.”

For a moment, Madeleine wasn’t sure she’d heard her right. But before she could reply, Chloe made a sound that erupted from within her throat. She waved toward Oran, and he wheeled her away toward the door. Just like that.

Madeleine regarded the little paper bag still in her hand and folded the top over, then tucked it inside her purse.

Ethan joined her. He stood by her side as the mourners approached. She shook hands, embraced, and kissed dozens of people.

“I’m sorry, Madeleine . . .”

“Your father was such a dear man . . .”

“He’ll always be remembered . . .”

A cross-dressing singer, Strawberry Chiffon, kissed Madeleine and offered condolences in French through tear-streaked makeup. The mayor and former mayor greeted her. All of her father’s friends were there, and even some who were not his friends.

Joe Whitney was there.

He was the closest thing to an enemy Daddy Blank had, but when Madeleine looked into Joe’s eyes she saw that he was genuinely stricken.

“Miss Madeleine,” he said, with both hands clasping hers. “I’m so very sorry for your loss. This city will miss one of its finest advocates. Your father . . .”

No sign of his usual persona. His eyes held nothing but sadness.

“He didn’t think much of me, I guess. But I truly did admire him. I’m sorry.”

He patted her hand, but did not release it. He had a strange look about him, like he wanted to tell her something.

“What is it, Joe?”

“Miss Maddy, this may not be the time or the place.” He coughed. “But I feel I should tell you that I have taken a new client.”

The poor man was ruffled. Madeleine had no idea what he was getting at, or why it would pain him so to tell her about his business affairs. But then she suddenly remembered seeing him at the police department the day Zenon was arrested, and her hand went cold inside his grasp.

“I have been quietly representing Zenon Lansky since his arrest. It’ll be in the papers tomorrow.”

Madeleine withdrew her hand. “I see.”

Ethan said, “You’ve got to be joking.”

Joe’s fists dropped awkwardly to his side. He hunched his shoulders in a helpless gesture. “I wanted to tell y’all myself before it came out in the papers. I—I’m loath to cause you any more distress, Miss Maddy, I’m truly sorry.”

She stared. So Joe Whitney would defend Zenon at trial. Weird, but OK. It seemed a plausible move for Joe’s career, and it might help dilute the press regarding the mega-center scandal. But what of it? When she looked at his face, Madeleine could see that the man was battling a guilty conscience, and for Joe Whitney, that took some doing.

“Is there something else, Joe?”

He looked at her and then averted his eyes. “No, my dear.” He patted her arm. “Just . . . you have my heartfelt condolences.”

He looked at Ethan and nodded. “Ethan.” He shuffled away.

NEW ORLEANS, 1927

J
ACOB FELT A TIDE
of elation. He would do anything for Chloe, anything. As he stood with his arms wrapped around her, he wanted to convey all that was in his heart through that one kiss. She intoxicated him. She had a core of intense, magnetic burning.

Despite the suffocating heat of the upper room, their bodies pressed together. He kissed her again, his mouth opening to drink her in. It stirred something within him, something that he’d only thought to enjoy with parlor maids and paid companionship. He never dared believe he might taste the purity of Chloe’s kiss, feel the taut curve of her back. He could feel sweat through her dress. He moved his lips down and tasted it at her neck. His own sweat soaked through his shirt.

She leaned into him as if they could interlink their very bones. Her hands at his face. At his neck. And then unbuttoning his shirt. A heat overwhelmed him so fast and with such intensity that it stole the very air from the room, causing him to gasp. One by one, they tore each garment free, discarding them. The afternoon sun filled the room with light and burning.

With nothing between them, they strained their slick bodies at each other, until Chloe was pressed against the wall as Jacob lifted himself in toward her. She threw her head to the side and bore down, groping for him while he searched with his hands on her thighs and along her downy center, stretching to enter her.

He grew frustrated, and scooped his arms under her thighs then and carried her, anchoring her with his mouth on hers, and kicked the door open to the adjoining bedroom. He laid her on the white lace bedspread, and paused, heaving and struggling over her.

A stillness spidered across his conscience. To take Rémi’s wife, Rémi who had helped him and his family, who had loved and cared for his sister Helen—to take his wife now while Rémi was incapacitated—it was the act of a scoundrel.

And yet, in the echoes of his mind, doubts hinted at absolution. Rémi was beyond reach. It had been too long. He was naught but a burden to his family now, especially to Chloe.

“Jacob, come to me,” Chloe breathed, and she clutched at him with her knees, arching her back to lift her hips and belly.

“Chloe.”

He sank to her, pressed his mouth to her ear and breathed her in, tasting her skin, gripping her hips, wearing her sweat. He slid his mouth down the curve of her neck, to her breasts, and then her abdomen. She rocked with him, twisting against the pressure of his tongue as it found its way to her center. Her hands gripped the bedspread and coiled into his hair. He tasted her, needed to taste her, and he held strong until she rocked and shuddered.