Mind Games (12 page)

“I should call my parents to make sure everything’s all right.” When she reached Galen, she skirted the incident at Francine Marigny’s and omitted any reference of imminent danger. When she mentioned Lucier’s presence, she detected Galen’s hesitation and gave her father credit for dropping the subject.

“Seems everyone has advice,” she said when she punched off her phone.

“You mean,
beware
?” He took her glass to refresh it.

“Just a little,” she called after him. “I’ve probably drunk too much already.” She walked over to the bookcase and studied the photos.

Lucier came from the kitchen with a beer and handed her the drink. “Your father has a problem with blacks, doesn’t he?”

She didn’t answer right away, surprised Lucier came right out and spoke his mind. “Galen grew up in a different time. It’s not easy for him to let go of the prejudices drummed into him.” She sipped from the glass. “Besides, he’s afraid of you.”

Lucier wrinkled his brow. “Afraid? Why?”

“I told you before, he thinks I’m interested in you.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it?”

“Of course, we’re working a case. That’s all.”

“Is that all it is?” She moved into him, parked her drink on the mantel. “Is it?” She got on her tippy-toes and gently drew his face toward hers. His skin was soft, and so were his lips. He returned the kiss, and then he didn’t.

He moved away. “That was a mistake. You’re so far out of my league this isn’t even open to discussion. I’m just a cop doing my job.”

“Tell me that kiss didn’t mean anything.”

“I’m a man, Diana. Men are weak, and I had a weak moment. It won’t happen again.”

“Tell me it didn’t mean anything.” She moved toward him and looked up into his eyes.

“It was nice, but it didn’t mean anything more than returning a kiss.”

“You’re lying.”

“You know, I’m not going there.” He slid away from her. “This is the kind of thing that causes problems.” He turned. “I don’t date white women. In fact, I haven’t been with any woman, white or black, in eight years. And for right now, that’s the way it’s going to stay.”

The words hit her like a punch in the gut. “I…I don’t understand. What was all that talk about showing me
your
New Orleans? Weren’t you proposing a date, or did I read that wrong too?”

“Taking someone out to a restaurant or jazz club when she’s going to be here for a few days is different from being interested. I can handle the first one, but the latter is more than I want to handle. That might lead to a relationship, and I saw firsthand what interracial relationships do to a family.

“I saw my mother on her deathbed waiting for her parents to visit, to say they loved her and forgave her, although I don’t know for what. She was paralyzed, almost blind and on a ventilator, and all she wanted was to know she existed in their eyes. And you know what? It didn’t happen.”

Diana could see the intervening years hadn’t erased the pain and disappointment of that moment long ago.

“I ached for her; so did my father. His guilt overwhelmed him. I think he would have given everything he owned if those two people had walked through that door to kiss her goodbye. I swore then I’d never put myself in the position of dividing a family.” Lucier focused on her, his jaw clenched and resolute. “So no matter what you think you’re reading in my mind, no matter what you feel is in my heart, don’t come on to me, Diana, because I won’t reciprocate. I can’t.”

She stood slapped-in-the-face speechless. “I’m…I’m sorry, Ernie. If I thought you didn’t feel like I did, I wouldn’t have pushed.” She turned away. “Wow. I feel like a fool. I read you all wrong.” She tried to smile, knew it was forced and crooked. “See, I told you I’m not always a hundred percent psychically on the money. I’d never intentionally put anyone in such an awkward position, especially you; I respect you too much.” She swallowed the rest of her drink, put the glass on the coffee table, and grabbed her purse. “I think I’d better get back to the hotel. I’ll call a cab.”

“Don’t b
e ridiculous. I’ll drive you.” He followed her to the door, turned to her. “Listen, Diana―”

“No problem, Ernie. I was way out of line. Really. Looks like I have my work cut out resurrecting everyone from my past.” She reached to touch his arm but drew back
. “Thanks for the drink.”

They drove to her hotel in silence. When he parked, he faced her. “It came out all wrong.”

“Hey, you said what you felt. That’s never wrong.” She got out of the car. “I’ll call you when I have my list. Preparing it will take some time. I’ll get in touch when I’m finished.”

“Harris will be over to watch out for you. Until then, there’s a man with your parents. Let him know you’re back.”

“Thanks for the ride.” She closed the door, flashed a brief smile, and hurried into the hotel.

* * * * *

L
ucier watched Diana disappear into the hotel. He clamped his hands on the steering wheel to keep them steady. It took the willpower of Hercules to keep from chasing after her and admitting what a fraud he was—how much he had wanted her when she kissed him. How much he still wanted her. It had been an eternity since he’d experienced a woman’s touch, her scent, the sheer bliss of having her near. Every logical thought told him he had done the right thing. But that emotional thread that runs through all but those poor passionless, bankrupt souls cried out that he had missed his chance. How could he forget his parents’ tragedy? Diana Racine would be gone before he even had a chance to lose his heart.

Well, he’d made himself clear, hadn’t he?
She won’t come on to me again
. Is that what he really wanted? Did he call himself a fraud? More like a fool.

Chapter Fourteen

Daddy Dearest

D
iana, still stung by Lucier’s rejection, forced herself to put the encounter out of her mind. He’d made himself clear, put her in her place, dammit. Still, she’d felt his vibes. The soft touch of his lips. The accelerated breathing. Was he lying to her or to himself that he wasn’t interested?

Well, she couldn’t dwell on it. She had things to do. She stopped by Jason’s hotel room and told him what happened.

“I need your special expertise to compile my own list of known psychics and clairvoyants. This goes back a long time, Jason, to when I was a kid.”

“I’m a little ticked, Diana. All this time you let me think you needed my information, and you didn’t need me at all.”

“Don’t be hard on yourself. I used your material or else I would have given myself away. Besides, you came up with gems. The early days were plain tap dancing—people wanted to hear what they wanted to hear. I was a kid, so it worked. Later, the act got serious. That’s when you came into the picture, and Donny Harwood before you, and a few before him.”

“Does Galen know?”

“He does now, but he still thinks you’re a genius.
S
o do I.” She patted his tangled mop of hair and watched his face brighten.

“Wish you’d told me. We could have worked together. I’d have kept the secret until the day I died.”

“I couldn’t take the chance. Besides, I wasn’t always on target. Some people fed me nothing. No sensations at all, but the show must go on. Your material was especially important then. Other times I flew by the seat of my pants.”

“Jeez,” he said. “That’s why some of your revelations threw me for a loop. You came up with an explanation and I believed you. And all this time I thought you needed me.”

“I did need you, Jason, and now I need you more than ever. How about it? Will you work on getting me that list?”

“You know I will, but do you have any idea how many of these people exist?”

“Twenty-five years’ worth. We can eliminate most of them—women, old men, short men, etc. My man is tall, American, and good-looking, or he couldn’t attract women so easily.”

“What if this guy’s working with someone else, someone who has the power and he’s the hook? He snags the girls, kills them aft
er he gets a little pu―um, I mean after he does his thing, but the other guy’s the one controlling the show.”

Diana smothered a chuckle. “No, I don’t think so. His touch electrified me; it has to be him. Make the list, then we’ll go through it to see who I
might have pissed off.”

“How could anyone have it in for you, Diana?”

Oh, Jace, if you only knew
.

Next she called home and asked the housekeeper to overnight the meticulous scrapbooks Blanche had kept since the beginning of her career. She’d comb through every page, make notes, and hope something jogged her memory.

She found Galen and Blanche in their suite playing poker with their police watchdog, a bulbous-nosed, pudgy cop named Mickey Halloran. The largest pile of money on the table was stacked in front of Galen. “You better watch out, officer,” Diana said. “He’ll clean you out.”

“I’m down but I’m making a comeback,” Halloran said. “Sly dog, but I’ve got his number now. You’ll see. I’ll win my losses back.”

Diana refrained from telling him that wasn’t going to happen. Galen would fleece him of whatever cash was in his pockets and then some.

“I wanted to let you know I’m back. And Blanche, I’ve asked Maddie to overnight the suitcase with all your scrapbooks. It’ll be here at 8:30 in the morning. There are some things I need to check on.”

“Finally, someone’s interested in my scrapbooks.” Addressing Mickey Halloran, Blanche said, “There’s even a picture of Diana with Phil Donahue and one with that guy who used to be on Sixty Minutes. Oh, what’s his name?”

“Mike Wallace,” Diana said.

“Yes, that’s him.”

“I promise I’ll take good care of the books, Blanche. Sorry for the interruption.” Diana started for the door.

“Can I speak to you for a minute, honey?” Galen asked. “In private.” He beckoned Diana to follow into the bedroom.

“Now don’t you go nowhere, Mickey. You ain’t broke yet. I’m comin’ right back.”

“I bet I can guess what this is about,” she said under her breath. Once inside the room, she crossed her arms over her chest, thrust out her leg, and shifted her weight onto the other hip. Her posture dared her father to initiate the conversation she knew was coming.

Undaunted, Galen began, answering her attitude with his own. “You know how I feel, Diana. It ain’t natural, a white with a colored. It just ain’t natural.”

Diana felt the heat rise inside to cover her face. Even after the country elected an African-American president, Galen was Galen, and he wasn’t going to change. “No more, Galen. I don’t want to hear another word, especially words I don’t like.” These conversations had been going on for years, with no change of view on either side. “Let’s cut to the chase. You’re afraid I’m going to hop in bed with a black man, excuse my euphemistic substitute for your favorite word. Isn’t that what this is all about?”

“That’s the gist. Life’s got too many problems without addin’ one more.”

“Well, don’t you worry your lily white head, because Lieutenant Lucier isn’t interested in having anything to do with a white woman. Lucky you, because I wouldn’t have given it a second thought. And to tell you the truth, I’m disappointed. He’s the first man in a while I’ve found remotely interesting. Not to mention attractive. Yes, Galen, I think he’s one damn good-looking man, no matter what color he is.”

Galen’s jaw dropped and he stood speechless, an unusual state for someone always in control of the conversation.

“Oh, and by the way,” Diana added, “if you’re in his company, I expect you to act respectful. Otherwise, I’ll be very angry. And you don’t want that, do you, Galen?” She followed her subtle threat with a stare, turned, and walked out of the bedroom and out of the suite.

Once Diana got back to her room, she reached for the scotch and poured a drink, a habit she’d better control before she couldn’t. It’d take a minute to unwind from the nasty confrontation with her father. It always did. She loved him and knew he loved her and Blanche more than anything in the world, but they had major differences. Diana often wanted to crawl into a hole when one of his incendiary remarks punctuated a conversation. This time he wouldn’t have the ammunition to go much further. Ernie Lucier told her point blank to keep her distance.

And she would.

* * * * *

T
he next morning, after the suitcase with the treasured scrapbooks arrived, Diana settled on the sofa, pad of paper and pen readied, and began the task of reliving her life from her mother’s carefully preserved mementos. She hadn’t looked at them in years. Tattered edges of yellowed newspaper inched from between the pages of the over-stuffed leather-bound albums; old photos curled from age resurrected her professional history—every performance, every story of success.

No one remembers life at age six, let alone the people involved. A wave of nostalgia came over her as she read the clippings, remembering the first episode that caught everyone’s attention, and how the local police were so astounded they actually considered her a suspect. Kidnappings, suspicious disappearances, murders. Crime comprised a major part of her childhood. She continued to amaze, to defy the odds over the years, but she was an after-the-fact element. Now she was an integral part of the crime—an unwilling participant.