Free A Twisted Ladder by Rhodi Hawk Page B

missing
.
    His voice was robust, accented in a combination of southern Louisiana and a hint of New Orleans. He looked youthful beyond his years.
    As if he hadn’t left her in Washington, D.C., standing in front of those politicians like a peeled housefly
.
    “And so I ask you to join me in a toast.” Daddy raised his glass.
    Madeleine became aware of Joe Whitney’s gaze upon her. She turned sharply. Whitney’s eyes were trained on her face, but she suspected they’d been lingering somewhere below her neck. Just once she wanted to catch him in the act.
    Whitney smiled and whispered, “Why Miss Madeleine, or should I say Dr. LeBlanc, so nice to see you here this evening.”
    She nodded and returned her focus to the toast.
    Daddy’s glass was still raised, and she realized he was looking her way. “But I do not ask that we toast those members of the board, or even your hardworking selves.” He paused and scanned the room. “For there are those among us, pretending to be our allies, who are in fact our enemies.”
    Whitney’s gaze snapped to attention. Daddy was now staring directly at him.
    “Devils who have come to sabotage the very cause they profess to defend. It is to them, our enemies, I would like to propose this toast. Because without them we would become complacent, and would not be motivated in our duties. They are the fuel to our fire.”
    Eyes began to flicker toward Whitney. Some guests pursed their lips to repress smiles; others openly chuckled.
    And Daddy said, “Ladies and gentleman, please join me in a toast: To our enemies!”
    The crowd chorused in return, “To our enemies!”
    Almost everyone in the entire room nodded at Joe Whitney as they raised their flutes to him.
    Almost everyone.
    Whitney turned from white to scarlet, and then purple. His back stood rigid, and he did
not
raise his glass.
    Nor did Madeleine.
     

     
    ZENON COULD TELL THAT Jasmine caught his scent before she even saw him.
    He was standing in the alley outside the bedroom. Samantha’s dogs had been silent, probably dozing among the remnants of what had once been miniblinds. A breeze curled around Zenon and drifted through swelling curtains at the rear of the house.
    With it, he heard the distant rumble of Jasmine’s growl.
    The sound of paws clicking across the wood floor, coming to a stop just opposite the wall near where he stood. The curtains swelled again.
    From the alley, Zenon could see the tiny dog’s illuminated form reflected in the mirror opposite the window. She sniffed the air, rising on hind legs with her front paws pressed against the dresser. She gave a low woof. Zenon remained still.
    After a few minutes, he creaked atop the chain link fence and pulled himself up into a tree so that he could peer down inside. Jasmine worried by the dresser several feet below.
    He revealed himself, curling his fingers under the window frame, and lifted.
    Jasmine flew into a rage of wild barking.
     

     
    MADELEINE DIDN’T KNOW WHETHER to throw her arms around her father in relief that he seemed clearheaded and safe, or march up there and throttle him.
    Beside her, Whitney slumped. He grit his teeth under the scrutiny of the crowd and raised his flute with resignation, then drained the champagne in a single swallow.
    “Miss Madeleine,” he laughed with forced humor. “I am sorry to see that your father is having another one of his episodes.”
    Sam couldn’t resist getting in her own dig as Whitney turned away. “I don’t know, Joe, Daddy Blank seemed pretty lucid to me!”
    Joe stalked off. Sam was grinning so hard it looked like the corners of her mouth might get hooked behind her ears.
    She turned to Maddy. “Well! Guess that shows where you get your wit. Your father is an absolute hero. Called ol’ Whitney out in front of everyone.”
    “Our exalted champion,” Madeleine said in a flat voice as Sam started toward the crowd haloing Daddy Blank.
    Madeleine watched Sam lean forward and kiss him on the cheek while