Andrei (Gypsy Magic Book 3) Read online

  Suspecting he did, Elizabeth fumed.

  For years, she’d fantasized about Andrei returning—worse, she’d longed to hear a declaration of love when he did. But fantasies were for teenagers, she thought, glancing at the girls on the ride, who shrieked with glee as their car seemed to jerk and spin harder and faster than the others.

  Puzzled, Elizabeth wondered whether Andrei had done something to make the ride more thrilling for them alone.

  Watching more closely, she suddenly became aware that she, in turn, was being watched. Meeting Andrei’s bold gaze, she felt as young and inexperienced as one of the screaming girls. He looked away first and ended the ride, and Elizabeth forced herself to remain where she was.

  While the teenagers scrambled out of the cars, Andrei signaled to a young worker, who jogged up and took over the controls.

  Then Andrei strolled straight for her and indicated they should move away from the ride. She followed him until the delighted screams grew faint. He stopped at the rear of the fun house. Now aware that this is where Garner Rousseau had been attacked, she grew a bit nervous. Such an odd choice, as if Andrei wanted to keep her on edge.

  “So why are you here, Lizzie?” he asked in that slow, syrupy way of his that made her flush all over.

  She stared into his eyes, dark as ever, but now shadowed with something she hadn’t seen before. Secrets? She shifted and blinked.

  “I want Mama’s murderer to pay for his crime.”

  “As do we all.”

  “But that wouldn’t be Daddy. I believe with all my heart that he is innocent. Can you say the same about Carlo?”

  “The facts speak for themselves. Everyone who has tried to clear Carlo’s name has either ended up dead or been targeted for murder. Plus, there’s a photograph of your mother’s brooch with a bloody fingerprint on it.”

  “I don’t remember anything about a fingerprint.”

  “Exactly.”

  A chill shot through her. “Indeed, that’s all troubling. But it doesn’t make Daddy guilty.”

  “Your mother was cheating on him—that gives him motive.”

  She winced. “We don’t even know that he was aware of Mama’s affair before…”

  Before she’d been murdered, Elizabeth didn’t have to say. Though it was likely, she admitted silently. The echoes of heated words between her parents haunted her. They’d argued, in fact, on the very evening Mama had been murdered, before Daddy had taken off for Baton Rouge.

  “Actually he did know.” Andrei slipped a folded piece of paper from his pocket. “I think you’d better read this.”

  She backed away. “What is it?”

  “A letter from your mother to Carlo. It’s a copy. We found the real thing when we found Valonia’s body—she was holding it in her hand.”

  Elizabeth licked her lips and took the copy from him. She scanned the missive—yes, it was Mama’s handwriting. She’d seen it often enough, every time she went through her scrapbook, which she did often so she wouldn’t forget her mother.

  …my husband Richard has found out about us. He’s very angry and I fear he’s going to do something terrible…

  Feeling faint, Elizabeth took a deep breath and gathered every ounce of Granville starch she could muster.

  Shoving the offending letter back at him, she said, “This doesn’t prove anything.”

  Andrei’s expression was disbelieving. “What is it going to take to convince you, Lizzie?”

  “That my father is a murderer? Proof positive.”

  “There’s definite proof of evidence tampering.”

  “Anything that points to Daddy?”

  “No, not exactly.”

  Elizabeth closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Well, then.”

  Andrei’s “Though he was a friend of the D.A. at the time” shook her relief a tad.

  “Claude Rousseau had a lot of friends,” she insisted. “He was a politician. That didn’t mean he would overlook a murder.”

  Andrei shrugged. “Okay, then other than Carlo or your father, who else might have had a motive to kill your mother?”

  “Everyone loved Mama.” She shook her head. She would not believe her father had anything to do with her mother’s murder. She wouldn’t! “No one.”

  “Someone did.”

  “Then we need to find out who.”

  “Did your mother ever have a problem with anyone in Les Baux?” Andrei asked. “Or more to the point, did one of the upstanding citizens have a problem with her for some reason?”

  “Not that I remember.” At least he was willing to consider there could be another suspect, Elizabeth thought.

  “You need to learn for certain. Talk to her friends, find out if they were aware of any disagreements, no matter how petty.”

  Elizabeth thought about it for a moment. “If anyone would know, Miss Ina would. She’s the town’s social maven. Or was. She’s getting on in years now, and she doesn’t get out unless someone accompanies her, but her mind is still sharp, and she has always had her finger on the pulse of the town. If someone from Les Baux has something to hide, I would bet Miss Ina knows about it.”

  “She sounds like a good place to start.”

  “I can probably catch her this afternoon. And you’ll quiz your colleagues here at the carnival?” Elizabeth asked, growing warm when Andrei arched an eyebrow, no doubt at her formal wording. Trying not to appear flustered, she went on, “It could be one of them, as well, even if it isn’t Carlo. Or do the same people work here who did ten years ago?”

  “A few.”

  Andrei’s visage darkened, no doubt at her intimation that another Gypsy might still be responsible. “Hopefully someone here has a long memory, as well.”

  “Your mother, to start,” Elizabeth said. “She was the prosecutor’s chief witness, after all.”

  “My mother is no longer with the carnival. After my father died several years ago, she had no reason to stay.”

  “Oh.”

  “But of course I will call her, though I doubt that her story will have changed.”

  “Which you should carefully consider,” Elizabeth murmured.

  “You’re calling my mother a liar?”

  Elizabeth’s brows shot up. After all, he’d called her father a murderer and a snake. “Just the opposite.”

  “Then you’re saying my mother couldn’t be a liar because she’s a gadji like you.”

  “I don’t make those distinctions.”

  “You made one about me yesterday.”

  Having accused him of being a liar and equating that with Gypsy, Elizabeth was ashamed of herself. She stared down at a spot on the ground. “I was angry, and I apologize. Now, about your mother—”

  “You know she didn’t see anything, right?”

  “I know she overheard an argument between Mama and Carlo,” Elizabeth said.

  It seemed Mama had been arguing with everyone in her life that day, even her, Elizabeth remembered. That argument had been about the man standing before her. He’d been just a boy then, of course, and it hadn’t made sense to Elizabeth that Mama had wanted her to stay away from him. And in light of the ensuing circumstances, it made even less sense—unless Mama had suspected they were both in danger.

  Elizabeth went on, “Maybe she’ll remember more than Mama trying to break it off with Carlo.”

  “Such as?”

  “A name. Someone who knew about them. Perhaps the person who went to Daddy? That person might have had an ulterior motive.”

  “You’re taking this seriously.”

  “Of course I am.” That letter was damning—she would do anything to clear her father’s name.

  “I didn’t expect it of you.”

  “Maybe there’s more to me than you think.” She held out her hand to shake. “It’s a deal, then, right? We work together to find the real murderer. Even if it still turns out to be Carlo?”

  “Even if it turns out to be your father?”

  “It won’t.”
>
  Only after he took her hand, after he traced the lines of her palm with his thumb, which made her begin to shake deep inside, did he ask, “Are you willing to take a blood oath?”

  The tension building in her multiplied. “Blood oath?”

  “That what we learn we share? No protecting anyone.”

  “I’m willing to share information. The blood part…not so much.”

  His expression intent, Andrei said, “We don’t actually do the blood ceremony anymore. It’s merely an expression.”

  Pretty certain he was placating her, she figured dropping the subject was in her best interests. “Oh, all right, then.”

  She tried to pull away, but Andrei hung on to her hand and drew her closer.

  “Instead of the blood, we can use a kiss to seal the bargain.”

  Her bones threatened to melt at the suggestion, and she realized that part of her—the young, silly part that hadn’t quite grown up—wanted him to kiss her. His eyes had narrowed to slits and his nostrils flared as he stared at her from beneath long, thick lashes. He drew so close, she could feel his breath on her face, and yet he hesitated. How ridiculous—he was merely baiting her for his own amusement.

  “One more thing, Lizzie.”

  Elizabeth licked her lips in preparation to protest. But all she could eek out was “What?”

  “The killer is still out there. Be very careful. I don’t want you to end up like your mother.”

  She started. “My mother? You mean…dead?” A terrible thrill shot through her as she protested, “But I have no enemies.”

  “Alas, Lizzie, by aligning yourself with me on this, you do.”

  Without warning, he tugged her against him and claimed her lips in a hard, fast kiss that nevertheless sent her reeling. Thrown back ten years, she remembered another such kiss—and the frantic lovemaking that had followed.

  But not now. This time he released her and she had to catch herself from falling.

  “Tonight,” he said, “after the carnival closes we’ll compare notes.”

  Then she stood there, senses on hold, as Andrei stalked away from her and onto the midway, where he was swallowed by the crowd.

  “Oh,” she murmured, fingers touching lips that tingled and demanded more.

  Well, there wouldn’t be more. She would make certain of that. The carnival would be gone in a few days, and until then she needed a clear head to deal with Andrei Sobatka. A clear head to learn the truth.

  The truth…could they really find it after ten years? They had to, or possibly an innocent man would die and a guilty one would go free.

  Her mind whirled with the responsibility she was taking on.

  If neither Carlo nor her father had killed her mother—and she was certain her father hadn’t—then who had?

  CHAPTER THREE

  ON HER WAY OUT OF the house that afternoon to carry through with her end of the bargain, Elizabeth hesitated when the telephone rang.

  She could let the answering machine pick up…but she didn’t.

  “Elizabeth,” came her father’s stern voice from the other end. “I’ve heard a disturbing rumor.”

  “Daddy.” Her mouth went dry, but she forced out the words. “Rumor? Which would be?”

  “That you’re seeing that Andrei Sobatka again. I thought we settled that.”

  “There’s nothing romantic about my seeing him, Daddy,” she said, hedging.

  “Then what’s going on?”

  Elizabeth hated this. Her father was still in Baton Rouge and would be there until the following afternoon. She’d hoped to have some answers before she’d had to tell him anything.

  “It’s about Mama,” she said. “Rather, Mama’s killer.”

  “Mustov’s appeals are up, sweetheart. Nothing to worry about there. The execution will go on as scheduled next week.”

  “That’s the problem. I’m not sure he did it.”

  “Of course he did it!”

  Elizabeth didn’t answer immediately. She couldn’t not ask him…yet how could she?

  “Daddy,” she began breathlessly, trying to phrase her question carefully, “why didn’t you ever tell anyone that you knew that Mama was having an affair with Carlo Mustov?”

  “How can you ask me such a thing?”

  He sounded indignant, but she noted he didn’t deny it.

  “Because I saw a copy of a letter that Mama wrote to him. She said you knew about Carlo and that you were very angry about it. I remember the two of you fighting, Daddy. I tried shutting myself off from it, because you’d been fighting so much, but I know that you were angry with her.”

  “Not angry enough to kill her,” he said, a chill in his stiff tone.

  I hope not.

  She thought the words, but she didn’t voice them. She didn’t know what to say, in fact. Her father was being evasive about this even now.

  “That damn Sobatka’s got you all worked up for nothing, sweetheart,” he said, his voice suddenly so silky it shot a warning note up her spine. “Promise me you’ll let it alone, that you won’t see him again.”

  “I can’t do that, Daddy. I need to make sure you’re not implicated in Mama’s death.”

  That was true. She only prayed he believed her.

  ______

  Andrei knew he’d been right to warn Lizzie—it assuaged his unease about involving her. Not that he had any reason to feel guilty. She had come to him, after all. Remembering how stubborn she could be, he knew she was determined to prove her father innocent, no matter the danger to herself.

  That was the way with gadje, he thought. They would never believe one of their own was guilty. Better to blame a Rom.

  As someone caught between both worlds, he could see both sides of the equation. And if the carnival wasn’t here in Les Baux, he would investigate both sides, as well, and keep Lizzie out of this. But the people here in this town knew only one side of him. To them, to Lizzie, he was Romany, Gypsy, no matter that his mother was gadji and had sent him to his Creole grandmother in New Orleans to be tamed and educated every winter after he’d reached puberty. None of that was known to the townspeople here. None of that mattered. Not to them.

  Not to Miss Elizabeth Granville, who still saw him as the Gypsy boy she’d once had under her spell.

  She might have him again, Andrei thought ruefully as a familiar itch grew. Thinking about Lizzie did that to him—tortured him, because there was nothing he could do to relieve himself.

  Damn Valonia! he thought, then instantly regretted cursing the dead woman. She’d had valid reason to want revenge for what had happened to her son.

  But he hadn’t been involved, so why had she cursed him? He couldn’t think of anything worse than wanting a woman only to fail at the crucial moment.

  Andrei set out to keep his end of the bargain, while wondering how well Lizzie would keep hers. It was to her advantage to conclude that Carlo was indeed the murderer, though to be fair, he didn’t think she would want an innocent man to die for her mother’s death. And surely she would want the guilty one punished.

  As long as it wasn’t her father of course.

  Twice now, he’d sensed some kind of guilt in her, but for once, he hadn’t been able to interpret the confusing emotion. No doubt it had to do with the senator and her defense of him—she didn’t know who else had a motive for the murder any more than he did.

  Making the rounds of the carnival, he questioned a few of the old-timers—Gregor, who ran the Ferris wheel and acted as consulting mechanic on all the rides, and Dorina, in charge of food and whose recipe for funnel cake had been in use ever since he was a boy. Both had been good friends with Valonia and Carlo. Neither had anything to say about Carlo’s gadji, however, except that it was a shame one so young had to lose her life.

  Next, Andrei set out to find Tony, who’d been good friends with Carlo—the men had hung out together. But before he got far, Andrei heard the tinkling of bracelets and turned around to find Florica following him. When she realized
he’d spotted her, she smiled and tossed her hair back from her shoulders.

  “How is the prettiest Rom at the carnival today?” Andrei asked.

  Florica giggled as she danced around him. “Do you like my hair? The old style made me look too young.”

  Andrei stared. Her hair was long and loose, the same as always. “So you’ve changed it,” he said, not letting doubt creep into his tone.

  “So much more grown-up than braids, don’t you think?”

  Braids? She hadn’t worn braids for years and years, not since she was a little girl. But all he said was “Lovely.”

  He knew Florica’s mind fluttered back and forth through time, which could be a fortunate thing for him, considering his mission had to do with the past.

  “Real men like messy hair,” Florica said, raising her eyebrows and twirling for him.

  That was what he’d told the customer to get her on the Tilt-a-Whirl earlier. Andrei didn’t remember seeing Florica around at the time, but Lizzie had distracted him. Besides, Florica often flitted here and there like a will-o’-the-wisp. She must have overheard him, and no doubt she would use that line for years to come. Though the woman was childlike, she had a better grasp of what was going on than most believed. And when she concentrated, her memory went deep.

  “Florica, I need to talk to you. Do you have a few minutes?”

  “Papa did want me to come right back.” She seemed torn, her features drawing into a scowl. “He’ll be very angry with me again.” Then they softened. “But for you, Andrei…”

  “Let’s sit.”

  He led her toward a picnic table under the trees and away from the food trailers. Because it was early, the area was nearly empty but for a couple and a family of six. While Andrei sat on a bench, Florica stayed in motion. A fallen log lay to one side of the picnic area, and she seemed fascinated with circling it. She took precise little steps, all the while holding her long skirts up several inches from her sandaled feet.

  “Florica, you remember Carlo, don’t you?”

  “Carlo?” She continued circling. “I’m mad at him. He was supposed to take me to a movie last week, but he forgot.”

  “He didn’t forget,” Andrei said gently, realizing her last week had come and gone ten years before. “He’s in jail, remember? For killing Theresa Granville.”