Fat Tuesday Read online

  Burke noted that his olive-complexioned forehead wasn't even damp. The

  son of a bitch had known he had this rap licked, just as he'd beaten all

  the others.

  Pat, acting as spokesman for the N.O.P.D since the incident involved his

  division, was busy fending off reporters and their questions.

  Burke kept Bardo and Duvall in his sights as they triumphantly worked

  their way through the crowd of reporters toward the exit. They dodged no

  microphones or cameras. Indeed, Duvall cultivated and relished

  publicity, so he basked in the spotlight. Unlike the prosecutor, they

  were in no hurry to leave and in fact loitered to receive the accolades

  of supporters.

  Nor did they avoid making eye contact with Burke Basile.

  On the contrary, each slowed down when he reached the end of the row

  where Burke stood, right hand flexing and releasing at his side.

  Each made a point of looking Burke straight in the eye.

  Wayne Bardo even went so far as to lean forward and whisper a hateful,

  but indefensible fact."I didn't shoot that cop, Basile. You did."

  "Me?"

  She turned and pushed a strand of hair from her forehead with the back

  of her gloved hand."Hi. I wasn't expecting you."

  Pinkie Duvall strode down the aisle of the greenhouse and took her in

  his arms, kissing her hard."I won."

  She returned his smile."So I gathered." '"Another acquittal."

  "Congratulations."

  "Thank you, but this one was hardly a challenge." His expansive grin

  belied his humility.

  "A less brilliant lawyer would have been challenged."

  Pleased by her praise, his grin widened."I'm going to the office to make

  a few calls, but when I come back I'll be bringing the party with me.

  Roman had everyone on standby. In fact, I noticed the catering vans

  arriving when I came in."

  Their butler, Roman, and the entire household staff had been on alert

  since the trial began. The parties Pinkie hosted to celebrate his legal

  victories contributed to his notoriety as much as the flashy diamond

  ring he wore on the small finger of his right hand, from which he'd

  derived his nickname.

  His post-trial bashes were as much anticipated as the trials themselves

  and were well documented in the media. Sometimes Remy suspected jurors

  of voting for an acquittal just so they could experience firsthand one

  of Pinkie Duvall's famous fetes.

  "Is there anything I can do?" Of course there wasn't, and she knew that

  before asking.

  "Just show up looking as gorgeous as always," he told her, sliding his

  hands down her back and giving her another kiss. After releasing her, he

  wiped at the smear of dirt on her forehead."What are you doing out here,

  anyway? You know I don't like a lot of traffic in here."

  "There hasn't been a lot of traffic. Only me. I brought a fern from the

  house because it didn't look healthy and I thought it could use some

  TLC. Don't worry, I didn't touch anything I shouldn't."

  The greenhouse was Pinkie's domain. Horticulture was his hobby, but he

  took it seriously and was as much a stickler for neatness and precision

  in the greenhouse as in his law practice and in every other area of his

  life.

  He took a moment now to survey proudly the rows of plants he had

  cultivated. Few of his friends, and even fewer of his enemies, knew that

  among Pinkie Duvall's other passions were his orchids, in which he

  specialized.

  Extreme measures were taken to maintain the delicate balance of the

  environment inside the greenhouse. There was even a special enclosure

  within the greenhouse to house the equipment that monitored and

  controlled the climate. He'd done an exhaustive study of the topic and

  attended the World Orchid Congress every three years. He knew the

  precise light, humidity, and temperature conditions in which each

  particular group flourished. Cattleyas, laelias, cymbidiums, oncidiums

  Pinkie nurtured them with the attention of a neonatal I.C.U nurse,

  providing each with proper potting, drainage, and aeration.

  In return, he expected his plants to be exemplary and extraordinary.

  As though they didn't want to disappoint their master, they were.

  Ordinarily. But now he frowned as he moved toward a grouping of plants

  labeled Oncidium varicosum. The stalks were heavy with blossoms,

  although they weren't as profuse as some of their neighbors'."I've been

  pampering these nonas for weeks. What's the matter with them?

  This is a very poor showing."

  "Maybe they haven't had time to " "They've had plenty of time."

  "Sometimes when " "They're inferior plants. That's all there is to it."

  Pinkie calmly picked up one of the pots and dropped it to the floor. It

  broke upon impact with the stone tiles, creating a mess of fern root,

  shattered crockery, and bent pedicels. Another soon joined the first.

  "Pinkie, don't!" ' Remy crouched down and cradled one of the tender

  plants in her hand.

  "Leave it alone," he said with detachment, even as he sent another of

  the plants to its doom. He didn't spare a single one. Soon the entire

  group lay in shambles on the tiles. He stepped on one of the stalks and

  ground the blossoms beneath his heel."They were ruining the appearance

  of the greenhouse."

  Remy, upset over the waste, began scooping up the plants. Pinkie said,

  "Don't bother with that. I'll send one of the gardeners in to clean up."

  He left with her promise that she would leave soon and start getting

  dressed for the party, but she didn't leave immediately. Instead, she

  stayed to sweep up the debris herself, being careful to put away

  everything she had used and leaving the greenhouse in pristine

  condition.

  The pavestone path leading to the house meandered through the lawn.

  Carefully tended flower beds were sheltered by a canopy of moss-draped

  live oaks. The trees had been there for centuries before the house was

  built, the original building dated back to the early nineteenth century.

  Remy entered through one of the back doors and took the rear stairs,

  avoiding the kitchen, butler's pantry, and dining room, where she could

  hear the caterer issuing terse orders to her corps of assistants.

  By the time Pinkie and his guests began arriving, everything would be

  ready, and the food and beverage service would be seam less.

  Remy barely had allowed herself enough time to dress, but preparations

  had been made to speed up the process. A maid had already drawn her bath

  and was there awaiting further instructions. Together they discussed

  what Remy would wear and, after having laid everything out, the maid

  left her alone to bathe, which she did quickly, knowing that she would

  need extra time with her hair and makeup. Pinkie expected her to look

  her best for his parties.

  Fifty minutes later, she was putting on the finishing touches at her

  vanity table when she heard him enter the master suite."Is that you?"

  "It sure as hell better not be anyone else."

  Leaving her dressing room, she joined him in the bedroom and thanked him

  when he whistled appreciatively."Can I fix you a
"Please." He began

  removing his clothes.

  By the time she'd poured him a scotch, he was down to his skin. At

  fifty-five, Pinkie was impressively fit. He kept his body hard and

  compact with rigorous daily workouts and deep muscle massages by a

  masseur he kept on retainer. He was proud of the physique he'd

  maintained despite his fondness for exceptional wines and New Orleans'

  notable cuisine, including its famous desserts like bread pudding with

  whiskey sauce and creamy pralines chock-full of pecans.

  Kissing Remy's cheek, he took the highball glass she offered and sipped

  the expensive scotch."I brought you a present, and you've exercised

  enormous restraint by not mentioning it, although I know you saw it."

  "I thought you should choose the time to give it to me," she said

  demurely."Besides, how was I to know it was for me?"

  Chuckling, he handed her the gift-wrapped box.

  "What's the occasion?"

  "I don't need an occasion to give my beautiful wife a gift."

  She untied the black satin bow and carefully removed the gold foil

  paper. Again Pinkie laughed softly."What?" she asked.

  "Most women tear into packages with unbridled greed."

  "I like to savor a gift."

  He stroked her cheek."Because you didn't receive many when you were a

  little girl."

  "Not until you came along."

  Inside the gift wrap was a black velvet jewelry box, and inside that,

  lying on white satin, was a platinum chain on which was suspended an

  emerald-cut aquamarine, surrounded by baguette diamonds.

  "It's beautiful," Remy whispered.

  "It caught my fancy because the stone is the same color as your eyes."

  Setting his drink on the nightstand, he lifted the pendant from the box

  and turned her around."I think you can dispense with this for one

  night," he said as he unfastened the cross she always wore. He replaced

  it with the new pendant, then propelled her toward the

  eighteenth-century cheval glass that had once dominated the Parisian

  boudoir of a doomed French noblewoman.

  Critically, he assessed her reflection from over her shoulder.

  "Nice, but not yet perfect. This dress looks wrong now. Black would be

  much better. Something low-cut, so the stone lies directly against your

  skin."

  He unzipped her dress and pushed it off her shoulders. Then he unhooked

  her brassiere, and pulled it away. With the stone now nestling in her

  cleavage, Remy averted her eyes from the mirror and crossed her arms

  over her chest. Pinkie turned her to face him and pushed her arms aside.

  As he gazed at her, his eyes turned dark. His breath rushed over her

  skin.

  "I knew it," he said in a rough voice."That's the perfect setting for

  that stone."

  He pulled her toward the bed, ignoring her mild protests."Pinkie, I'm

  already dressed."

  "That's what bidets are for." He pushed her back onto the pillows, then

  followed her down.

  Always potent, Pinkie's sex drive was never as strong as following a

  successful trial. This evening he was particularly urgent. It was over

  in a matter of minutes. Remy still had on her shoes and stockings but

  her hair and makeup had suffered his aggressive lovemaking. He rolled

  off her and reached for his drink, finishing it as he left the bed.

  Whistling softly, he crossed the bedroom and went into his separate

  dressing area.

  Remy turned onto her side and stacked her hands beneath her cheek.

  She dreaded beginning the dressing procedure all over again. In fact,

  given a choice, she would go to sleep where she lay and skip the party

  altogether. She had started out the day feeling tired, and the lethargy

  was still weighing her down. However, the last thing she wanted was for

  Pinkie to notice her lack of energy, which she'd been hiding from him

  for weeks.

  She forced herself to get up. She was filling her tub with another bath

  when he emerged from his dressing room, freshly showered and shaved,

  dressed in an impeccably tailored black suit. He looked at her with

  surprise."I thought you'd be ready."

  She raised her hands helplessly."It's easier to start over than try and

  repair. Besides, I don't like using a bidet."

  He pulled her close and gave her a teasing kiss."Maybe I left you in

  that convent school a semester too long. You developed some awfully

  prissy habits."

  "You don't mind if I'm a little late making an appearance, do you?"

  He gave her fanny a pat, then released her."You'll be ravishing and well

  worth the wait." At the door, he added, "Remember to wear something

  sexy, black, and low-cut."

  Remy lingered in her second bath. Downstairs, she could hear the

  musicians tuning their instruments. Before long, the guests would start

  to arrive. Until the wee hours, they would gorge themselves on rich food

  and strong drink. There would be music, laughter, dancing, flirtation,

  and talk, talk, talk.

  Just the thought of it made her sigh wearily. Would anyone notice if the

  mistress of the house decided to stay in her room and skip the party?

  Pinkie would.

  To commemorate his courtroom victory, he'd bought her another beautiful

  piece of jewelry to add to a collection that was embarrassingly

  considerable. He would be offended to know how much she dreaded

  attending his celebration or how little value she placed on his gift.

  But deriving any real joy from his generosity was impossible, because

  his lovely and expensive gifts were poor substitutes for all that he

  denied her.

  With her head still resting on the rim of her tub, she turned to look

  toward the dressing table, where the new treasure lay in its satin-lined

  box. The beauty of this particular stone escaped her. It radiated no

  warmth and, indeed, looked cold to the touch. Rather than shooting off

  sparks of fire, the facets glittered with an icy light.

  It called to mind winter, not summer. It didn't make her feel happy and

  fulfilled, but hollow and empty.

  Silently, Pinkie Duvall's wife began to cry.

  Pinkie made much ado over Remy when she came downstairs.

  Possessively taking her arm, he announced that the party could

  officially begin now that she had joined it. He guided her through the

  crowd, introducing her to the guests she didn't know, including the

  bedazzled Bardo trial jurors.

  Many of the guests were infamous for their association with scandal,

  crime, or combinations thereof. Some were rumored to belong to the

  Metropolitan Crime Commission, but since the membership of that

  by-invitation-only group of blue bloods was secret, no one could be

  sure. The group's unlimited funds were exceeded only by their unlimited

  power.

  Some of the guests were politicos who wielded self-serving influence

  over voters. There were movers and shakers among the nouveaux riches,

  while others hailed from established, old-monied families who exercised

  despotic control over local society. A few had connections with

  organized crime. All were Pinkie's friends, associates, and former

  clients. All had come to pay
him homage Remy endured the fawning of her

  husband's guests for the same reason they fawned over her to remain in

  his good graces. The new pendant was admired and envied, and, to Remy's

  embarrassment, so was the chest on which it reposed. She was reluctant

  to be the center of so much attention, and hated being ogled by sly men

  whose sly wives scrutinized her with barely concealed disdain and

  jealousy.

  Seemingly unaware of their insincerity, Pinkie put her on display like a

  living trophy. Remy sensed that behind their phony smiles, his friends

  were inspecting her for the first signs of tarnishing and asking

  themselves, Who would have thought such an unlikely pairing would have

  lasted this long?

  Eventually the conversation turned to the trial and she was asked her

  opinion of the verdict."Pinkie gives one hundred percent to every

  trial," she replied."I wasn't in the least surprised that his client was

  acquitted."

  "But you must admit, my dear, that this one was easy to predict."

  The remark was tinged with condescension and came from a society maven

  whose turkey-wattle neck dripped diamonds.

  Pinkie spoke for Remy, countering the woman's comment."The outcome of a

  trial is never predictable. This one could just as easily have gone the