He was jealous. Look how relaxed and playful Charmaine was when talking with her brother. She shoved his arm when he said something teasing to her. She giggled at something else he said. On the other hand, whenever Raoul was in Charmaine’s presence, she tensed up like a tightened coil. She was wary and distrustful of him, even when he carried on a casual conversation. There was some message in that, he thought. Something to be examined more closely when he had the time.
Remy was the first to notice him. “Hey, Rusty, how’s it going?”
He stepped forward, and Charmaine bristled. What, does she expect me to say or do something to offend her, right off the bat? What the hell is her problem?
“Gettin’ by,” he answered. And that was the truth in a nutshell. Not doing great. Not getting buried. Just surviving, day to day.
“Sometimes that’s good enough,” Remy remarked. And that was the truth, too.
“Well, I think it stinks. Who wants to just get by?” Of course, Charmaine would take the contrary position. He chucked her playfully under the chin, and she bristled some more. For chrissake, she acted like some uptight virgin threatened by anything on two feet with an ounce of testosterone. And he was packing about fifty pounds under his belt. “Oh, don’t look at me like that, like I’m some rosy-eyed bimbo who doesn’t know sand from granola.
Everyone needs to have a positive attitude. If you don’t, it just eats away at you, and you become a bitter old man.”
Remy laughed. “I guess she told us.”
“Oh, yeah! Looks like I got me a regular Charmaine Vincent Peale here.”
She set aside her basket of eggs and poked a forefinger into his chest. “I’m not your anything yet, mister.”
Raoul homed in on one word. He was probably grinning like an idiot. “Yet?”
“A slip of the tongue,” she said as a becoming blush pinkened her cheeks. And her bare neck. And her bare shoulders. And her bare arms. Hell, probably some places he had no business imagining as pink or bare. Yet. He wondered idly, or perhaps not so idly, if said skin still smelled like peaches.
“You smell like peaches,” Charmaine said, as if reading his mind.
“Tante Lulu plied me with Peachy Praline Cobbler Cake.” He waggled his eyebrows at her.
“Well, that’s just peachy.” She crossed her eyes at him.
Remy looked from him to her, then back again, and let out a hoot of laughter. “Tante Lulu is going to have such a good time with you two.” Once he settled down, wiping tears from his eyes, he asked, “Did you contact Frank Zerby, that detective Luc recommended?”
“I did, and he seemed to think he could help me. He offered to take on my case on a contingency basis, letting me pay him off once I’m on my feet again.”
“You didn’t tell me that you called a detective,” Charmaine complained.
“You didn’t ask. And besides, it’s none of your business. Yet.”
She made a tsk-ing sound while he turned to address Remy again. “Zerby homed in right away on the undercover detective who claimed to be buying drugs from me. Doug Gaudet.”
“I know. Luc contacted Ambrose Mouton, a Houma cop who’s a longtime friend of his. Rosie’s going to do some investigating of Gaudet behind the scenes. Nothing official.”
“I’ve met Rosie. He’s a good man.”
“There’s something else, Rusty. You may not be aware of this, but I work with the DEA. Mostly big drug busts that require the use of my copter and knowledge of the bayous. Your arrest had nothing to do with the DEA, but maybe I can do some behind-the-scenes investigating of my own. The people involved in drug enforcement have a quiet network of their own. It wouldn’t hurt to try, I reckon. What do you think?”
“I appreciate your help, but why would you do that for me? You and Luc… all of you?”
“Because you’re family, you thickheaded fool,” Charmaine answered for her brother. She was shaking her head at him as if he were a… thickheaded fool.
“Only till the divorce is final,” he pointed out.