Tall, Dark And Deadly

What had Millicent said about Alex? As Dana tried to remember, his face drifted in and out of her mind’s eye again. She tried to hold onto Millicent’s words, but his face kept smiling down at her suggestively.

Then she remembered. Millicent’s accusations involved smuggling. Diamonds? Gold? She wasn’t sure. But there was no doubt that Alex Jourdan had a reputation for walking a little outside the law.

And what about Betty? Dana thought of her bizarre encounter with the journalist. Never had she seen a woman so bitter over a failed affair, and everyone on the boat seemed to be sure there’d been one between Alex and Betty. More gossip, which Dana had tried unsuccessfully to avoid.

Now she put it out of her mind but couldn’t dismiss him so easily. Even as she felt herself drifting away on a soft wave of sleep, his face was still there. Then through the haze of drowsiness, she heard his voice again, but this time he was talking to someone. It sounded like Louis. They were arguing. Outside? On the veranda? In the hallway?

The voices seemed real, not imaginary, not dreamlike. They were raised in anger. She tried to concentrate on their words. She caught one. Pygmy. Something about the Pygmies... Everything went fuzzy in her mind, but Dana hung on, listening. They were arguing about—what? An elephant or elephants? Then she heard her name. Or thought she did.

Dana tried to hold onto consciousness, but she kept falling, falling. And then she slept.

* * *

SHE MADE IT to dinner that night with the conversation still ringing in her ears. And when she observed the two men seated at opposite ends of a long table, not speaking, their eyes rarely meeting, Dana decided the conversation hadn’t been a dream. But she chose to sit at their table anyway, rather than join Betty and Yassif or Mr. Longongo, who dined alone, or the captain and his crew, who shared another table.

Dana sat down beside Father Theroux. Apparently, he often dined at the hotel. Tonight he joined Millicent in trying to keep up a lively conversation while Alex and Louis silently glowered. As for Dana, she had her own agenda. Pygmies. And elephants. That’s what Alex and Louis had been arguing about, and she was determined to get it out in the open. Curiosity guiding her, Dana directed her questions to the priest, a willing participant.

Louis seemed disinterested, more concerned about his bottle of wine than conversation, while Alex lounged back in his chair and observed the room. He’d obviously just bathed. His skin gleamed, and drops of water still sparkled in his hair. He’d changed into a clean, crisp white shirt of gauzy material that draped across the muscles of his shoulders and chest. His rolled-up sleeves revealed the strength of his lower arms, and the white shirt set off his tan and green eyes. Dana had to force her attention away from Alex’s physical attributes and back to the priest.

“Yes, it is true that I have lived all my life in the Congo,” Theroux said in answer to a question, “but I have seen the Pygmy only a few times. And never has one member of the Mgembe tribe been converted to Catholicism.” His dark eyes glowed sadly. “It would gladden my heart if such would happen, but—” He shrugged his thin shoulders.

“Maybe someday,” Dana said.

Millicent spoke up. “I’m appalled that the Mgembe still hunt elephant, which is an endangered species. Everyone knows that.”

Conveniently, Millicent had switched from Pygmies to elephants, almost as if she’d been guided by Dana. “Is that true?” Dana asked. “Do they still hunt?”

“Elephants are protected,” the priest said, “but the Pygmies obey no rules except their own. Who knows what they do, hidden away in the rain forest.”

Alex suddenly leaned forward, his gaze on Dana. For an instant she thought there was suspicion in his eyes. Or was it just curiosity, like her own? “Why are you so interested in the Pygmies?” he asked. “Most of the world has never heard of the Mgembe.”

“I inherited my interest from my father, Phillip Baldwin. He was in the Congo years ago and began a study that I would like to complete. If only I could get to the Pygmies...”

“Not much chance of that,” Alex said dismissively. But if he paid little attention to her goals, he paid plenty to her, surveying her with his potent gaze.

“It’s true that not many people know about the Mgembe,” Dana agreed. “Except for Monsieur Bertrand.” She smiled at Louis, who was pouring himself another glass of wine.

“Louis is a wonder, isn’t he?” Alex commented. “So eager to share his knowledge, especially if the questioner is young and pretty.”

Dana felt herself flush, and to cover, she turned on Alex. “Louis was only being polite by answering my questions.”

Millicent, who’d watched the byplay speculatively, directed her remark to Alex. “You and Louis used to be such good friends, I hate to see you on the outs.”

Louis rose from his chair. “Alex is not an easy man for one to remain friends with, madame. If you will excuse me...” Wineglass in hand, he headed for the veranda.

“I’ll see after him,” Father Theroux offered.

“Coffee?” Alex asked the women without skipping a beat, as if nothing had happened. “Perhaps in the garden...”

Millicent spoke for both of them. “That would be delightful. And a little cognac, too, Alex, dear.”

But Millicent didn’t make it to the garden. Mr. Longongo cornered her, and as Dana passed by his table, she heard a snatch of his long, involved questions about a partial refund of his tour fee since the boat had broken down. He reminded Dana of a ferret with sharp little features and darting black eyes. There was something creepy about the man, she decided as she drifted into the garden alone.

The air was sweet with the fragrance of jungle flowers and, as always, the dark mysterious scent of the mighty Congo. Dana wrapped her arms around herself and took a deep breath, throwing back her head, breathing the rich, heady scent of the jungle air. The moon rode low in the sky, huge, round, so close she felt she could touch it. Despite the delays and problems, the petty arguments of the others, she felt wonderful.

She was in Africa! A stone’s throw from the Congo, and even if she never saw her first Pygmy, this was already the adventure of her life. She closed her eyes and inhaled pure excitement.

She didn’t hear the footsteps approaching on the sandy path, and when a hand touched her shoulder, Dana jumped, startled. “Don’t be afraid,” a voice told her, in a tone so soft and low that it heightened her fear rather than dispelling it. She started to move away, toward the hotel, and then she recognized him.

The vague shadowy figure in the moonlight was Alex. “I decided to skip the coffee,” he told her. “My cognac is excellent. French. A hundred years old and saved for special guests.” He handed her a glass.

“Thanks.” For an instant his long fingers curled around hers. He was so near that she could smell the scent of his tangy after-shave and hear the even flow of his breathing. There was something dark and compelling about him that made her nervous even as it attracted her. She didn’t know how to behave around him, and she certainly had no idea what he would do next.

She took a step away from him and raised the glass to her lips. A warm glow began in the pit of her stomach and spread upward, but she couldn’t relax. Not when Alex was still too damn close to her, not when her heart refused to slow down.

She wanted him to move away. The blatant sexuality that emanated from him made her uncomfortable. He seemed so damned sure of himself, as if she was his for the asking, as if she’d arranged a romantic rendezvous in the garden especially for him. To cover her nervousness, she took another sip from her glass.

“Like it?” His voice was as smooth and rich as the cognac, and she was afraid that it could have the same power over her.

“Yes, it’s wonderful. But now—” She handed Alex the glass and attempted to step around him.

Holding her with his his eyes, he let both glasses slip from his grasp and drop onto the sandy path. She looked down at them, startled. Then he encircled her waist with his hands and pulled her close. “You’re not running away from me, are you, Dana?” The strength that she’d feared in his voice had become a power of intimacy—and danger.

“No, of course not,” she lied. “I just want to get away from, I mean get out of, the night air. It’s...” Her voice trailed off and she realized she didn’t want to get away at all, not when she saw Alex so clearly in the moonlight, his lips parted in a smile to reveal even white teeth that gleamed against his tanned skin. Hungry light glowed deep in his green eyes. Dana shivered, and she didn’t know why. Was it excitement—or fear?

He still held her, easily now, with one hand lingering on her waist, the other at the small of her back. The warmth from his body reached out and caressed her. She felt an urge to touch his face, run her fingers across his cheek and chin. But she willed her hands to stay at her sides. Alex Jourdan was trouble.

He looked at her with a knowing, intimate smile as if he’d read her thoughts. “I’ve been waiting for you, Dana.” His breath was warm against her face.

“What do you mean by waiting?” Her voice sounded breathy, surprised, not like her at all. And her heart—why couldn’t she control its erratic pounding?

“Waiting for a long-legged blonde to come into my life. Now you’re here, and I’m glad.”

He slid his hand from her waist upward along her back, beneath the fabric of her blouse. His touch was sensual, practiced, erotic. And her skin tingled wherever he touched her.

Alarm bells went off inside Dana’s head even while her body responded. Alex Jourdan was handsome and exciting, and there was a part of her that wanted to know him, that desired to be swept away by his dark, romantic power.

But the other side of her was more careful, even wary. He was a man with a disreputable past, a womanizer and, according to the gossip, a probable cheat if not a possible crook. He was certainly a stranger, not someone to be alone with in the dark night.

Dana struggled to get her voice under control. “I didn’t come here for a romantic fling.” Even as she made the statement, she realized how uptight and foolish she sounded.

To make her seem even more ridiculous, he repeated the words. “A romantic fling?” His voice was amused. “I never suggested that, Professor. But since you mention it, just why did you come to Porte Ivoire?”

To find you. The thought blazed across her mind even while she fought to keep from saying it aloud. The intensity of it frightened her. And when his eyes met hers in a long look, she was held by what she saw there. Recognition. Acceptance. Desire. For an instant in the moonlight his face was serious, almost brooding, and she was overcome again by an irresistible urge to touch his face, draw his mouth down on hers.

Instead, she took a deep breath and shoved against his chest with both hands. “Let me go, Alex. If you don’t I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” he teased. “You don’t seem like a violent woman.”

“I’m not,” she snapped. “But I might become one. Now let me go.”

He took one step backward, shoved his hands into his pockets and gazed at her, a sardonic smile playing around his lips. He appeared more amused than perturbed by her reaction. “You have even more fire than I imagined, Dana Baldwin. I like that. Cool on the outside, hot and—”

Dana turned and walked away with his words echoing in her head. Her legs were shaky, and her hands were damp with perspiration. Dammit, she was doing just what he’d said. She was running. Fleeing from him and herself. She was confused by her reaction to Alex and the emotions he unleashed. She hadn’t handled the situation well at all, and she vowed to be more in charge next time they met. Or to stay away from him. That was the best way, she decided as she hurried up the steps, across the veranda—and straight into Louis Bertrand.

Chapter Two

“Chérie, slow down. You will hurt yourself.”

“Sorry,” she mumbled, drawing in the night air in huge gulps. “I’m a little...” She struggled for words.

“Agitée?” He looked over her shoulder toward the shadowy form in the garden. “Alex. I should have known. You must forgive him. He does not stop to think. For Alex, to make love is as natural as to breathe.”

“Make love? No, he just made a pass, he didn’t—”

Louis chuckled softly. “In French ‘make love’ can be no more than to touch or even suggest. It is all lovemaking in our language. And when a beautiful woman appears...”

“I think there’s a compliment there somewhere,” she managed, “but he’s so damned arrogant—”

“On this we agree.” Louis took her arm. “Shall we walk by the river and cool off? There’s a delightful breeze, and I assure you I’m quite sober now. And unlike my rude friend, I shall make no passes.”

Dana hesitated, but Louis held her firmly by the elbow and kept the conversation going. “You see, the problem with Alex is that he is only one half French. His mother was American, and he spent many years in the States. This is not to say anything negative about your country,” he added graciously, “but over there he lost something of the French savoir faire women so much admire.”

“He’s lacking something. You’re right about that,” Dana muttered. “Manners, to begin with.”

“Indeed,” Louis replied. “He does not have an abundance of manners. Also, he can be quite ruthless when he has to be. But enough talk of Alex. He is only an innkeeper in an outpost far from civilization. Instead, let us speak of the Pygmies, which we both find so fascinating.”

“I thought perhaps you had lost interest in the subject.”

“And why is that, my dear?”

“Well, at dinner—”

“Oh, yes. I avoided conversation,” he admitted.

“So did Alex.”

“Hmm.” Louis stopped. “May I smoke?”

“Of course.”

He lit a narrow black cigarillo and inhaled deeply. “We both avoided conversation at the table tonight, Alex and I,” Louis said. “The reasons for this are very complicated.”

Dana waited, wondering if he would mention the other conversation, the one she’d heard—or thought she’d heard—as she dozed off in her room.

“But I will not bother you with this,” he said.

“Please, it’s all right.”

“No, no,” he insisted. “There are more important subjects for us to talk about.”

Before she could respond, they were interrupted by the approach of another couple coming toward them along the path. Betty and Yassif.

They stepped aside. “Lovely evening, is it not?” Louis asked pleasantly.

Betty nodded, but Yassif only scowled.

“Pleasant fellow,” Louis joked when they were out of earshot.

“I wonder what she sees in him,” Dana began before realizing the naïveté of the question.

They stopped at a crumbling wall near the riverbank. Thick green vegetation crept toward them, seemingly overwhelming everything in its path. A hazy mist enveloped the night and magnified the great silence that surrounded them. It was both fascinating and eerie.

“About the Pygmies. You wish to travel even farther into the mysterious jungle in search of them,” Louis said.

“Yes, I do. Now I have the perfect opportunity, since we’re going to be stuck here for a while. I realize you’re reluctant to take me to them, but maybe there’s someone you could recommend.”

“There are no guides in this village, but perhaps some miles upstream.” Louis puffed silently and stared out into the blackness. “A man named McQuire once took me deep into the rain forest.”

“McQuire,” Dana repeated. “An Englishman?”

“Irishman, I believe. He has been a guide for over thirty years. Of course, I don’t know if he is still alive.” Louis shrugged elegantly. “As I have told you, the jungle is a dangerous place.”

“I understand that,” Dana said impatiently, “but maybe I could see the fringes, at least. What’s the point of being in the Congo if I can’t have an adventure or two?”

Louis looked amused “Indeed, what is the point of life...without an adventure or two? And nowhere is there more possibility for excitement than here on the banks of the Congo. A thousand miles of brown ribbon cutting through a carpet of green, and on the river time means nothing. We live for the day.”

“How romantic,” Dana said.

“When a Frenchman speaks of the Congo, it is always romantic,” Louis replied with a smile.

“There’s just one problem.”

“And what is that, dear Dana?”

“The mosquitoes!” They were buzzing around her head. She slapped at them ineffectually. “They’re driving me crazy. I’m afraid I’ll have to go inside.”

“I understand, although they seem to avoid me,” Louis said with a soft laugh. “Perhaps it is the smoke from my cigarillo. Meanwhile, remember your antimalaria pills, a must here in Africa.”

“I will, but for now—”

“Yes, go to your mosquito netting,” Louis said, “and as for me, I shall stay here a while longer and smoke.”

“Then good night,” Dana said. “I’ll see you in the morning. Maybe we can find that McQuire fellow.”

“Maybe,” Louis said softly. “Au revoir, chérie.”

He watched her walk away, enjoying the soft flow of her dress as it caressed her hips and the bounce of her hair on her shoulders. He’d found Dana lovely from the first moment, and it was no wonder that Alex felt the same. Alex, Louis thought, so precipitative and aggressive. Not the kind of man to let well enough alone.

Louis took a last drag on his cigarillo and drew the thick, pungent smoke deep into his lungs. Was there anything more pleasant, he wondered, than standing near the world’s most magnificent river, replete with good food and wine, as he watched the delicate movement of a beautiful woman walking through the night?

If there was, Louis couldn’t imagine.

He sighed deeply, turned toward the river and never noticed the barely perceptible movement of the high grass on the hillside. Nor did he hear the soft, deadly sound that followed. He only felt the sting, like that of a night insect, in the soft tissue of his neck. The pain came an instant later, causing him to grasp his throat with both hands, as he choked for breath.

Suddenly he knew—he understood! But it was too late. Louis sank to his knees, fell forward, hitting his head on the stone wall, and then crumpled to the ground and lay still.

* * *

“THIS IS NOT a good way to begin a day. Not good at all,” Police Sergeant Jean Luc Kantana confided dourly to Alex. “To be awakened at three in the morning to the news that crew members returning to the Congo Queen stumbled over a dead body. And then to discover it is the body of Louis Bertrand—”

Alex stared straight ahead, his face set like granite. His thoughts were dark, as they had been since the moment news had come to him that Louis’s body had been found. But he wasn’t about to console Kantana. The policeman wasn’t his problem.

“I’m not pleased myself to learn that my old friend is dead and the Stanley has been taken over by gendarmes.”

“All proper protocol will be observed, my friend,” Kantana assured. “We will, of course, question Porte Ivoire locals, but my instincts tell me...” The sergeant’s words faded as he looked around the hotel lobby where Alex had gathered the guests.

“You think the killer is in this group?” Alex regarded Kantana curiously. “Why would you suspect that?” He’d known Kantana for five years and hoped he could use that friendship to find out what was on the policeman’s mind.

Kantana answered obliquely. “Most murders in Porte Ivoire are easily solved. Two men fight in a bar over a woman. A woman knifes her philandering husband. This, I believe, is different from the usual local crime.”

“Louis was killed with a dart from a blowgun, Jean Luc. I would suggest that’s a local weapon.”

“Such paraphernalia can be purchased up and down the Congo by any of your guests. Or by you.” His smile was cool. “Everyone is a suspect, Alex. The death of a foreigner must be carefully investigated. And now, I must get to work.”

He stepped away from Alex and addressed the room. “Mesdames and messieurs. It is time to begin. Mademoiselle Baldwin, shall we start with you?”

Dana had struggled to control her shock, but her hands shook noticeably as she raised her coffee cup to her lips. “I was with him by the river,” she said softly, almost to herself. “We were talking, making plans—”

She broke off, aware of everyone’s eyes on her. Kantana’s were alert and probing, but his dark, handsome face revealed nothing.

“Plans?” His voice was deceptively soft and gentle.

Dana attempted to explain. “Tentative plans to find a guide to take me into Pygmy territory. We talked about going together. Maybe...” Her voice trailed off.

“I see.” Kantana nodded solemnly. “You have knowledge of the Mgembe?”

The room was still, the only sound a gentle whirring of the overhead fan. Alex leaned against the arched doorway of the lobby, his lanky body perfectly relaxed, one hand in his pocket. He’d passed up coffee and was sipping a cognac and watching Kantana, not Dana. Everyone else’s eyes seemed to be focused on her.

On a rattan love seat beside the door, Betty and Yassif sat side by side, staring at her, Betty’s face sharp and unfriendly, Yassif’s sleepy-eyed and sullen. Huddled quietly in a corner, Maurice Longongo watched her with his ferret eyes. Dana felt herself shiver involuntarily. Even Millicent, who had stopped her bustle to refill coffee cups, watched and waited.

“The Mgembe?” Kantana repeated.

“I was interested in them. Everyone knew that.” Her gaze took in the whole room. “But Louis seemed to be the most knowledgeable, and certainly he was the most helpful.”

Kantana scribbled on a pad. “Now Mademoiselle Baldwin, tell me please, at what time did you walk with Monsieur Bertrand by the river?”

“After dinner. I’m not sure.”

“Immediately after dinner?” Kantana pressed.

“No, I—” Dana hesitated, wondering whether or not to mention her encounter with Alex in the garden. She glanced quickly at him, but his eyes were still on the policeman.

“About ten o’clock,” Betty said with authority. “Yassif and I were returning to the hotel and saw them heading toward the river. I guess we’re witnesses.”

Dana shot her a surprised look. Witnesses?

Kantana made a careful note. “And how long did you remain with him?”

“Not long. The mosquitoes drove me away.” Dana remembered her farewell to Louis, the sound of his soft au revoir floating on the hot night air, and her eyes filled with tears. “Maybe if I’d stayed with him, this wouldn’t have happened.”

Millicent crossed to Dana’s chair and patted her on the shoulder. “There, there, dear. No one blames you for what happened to poor Louis.”

Maybe not, but Dana felt as if all of them, even Millicent, were skeptical. “He was your friend, too, Millicent.”

“Yes, he was, for many years,” she replied.

“I’m so sorry,” Dana offered.

“It’s not your fault.”

There it was again, the release from blame that was somehow damning.

“Why would anyone want to kill Louis?” Dana asked. “He was so sweet and gentle.”

“That’s not exactly true,” Betty snapped. “He was also involved in all sorts of sordid little deals. Louis was no angel despite the fact that he stuck like a leech to Father Theroux on the trip.”

That was true, Dana remembered. He’d seemed devoted to the elderly man. The wine merchant and the village priest—an unlikely pairing.

“Dear Lord, one of us needs to tell Father Theroux about Louis,” Millicent said.

“I’m sure he knows,” Alex replied laconically. “News travels fast in Porte Ivoire. Especially bad news.”

“The priest will be told—and questioned,” Kantana said coolly, dismissing the subject and moving on to continue his interrogation of Dana. “Did anyone notice you returning to the hotel?”