by Jana DeLeon
Ida Belle frowned. “That is strange. You think he has a head injury?”
“Quite possible,” I said. “He had the lingering spots from bruises on his face, and his head was still bandaged. His short-term memory could be sketchy.”
“But you don’t think that’s it?” Ida Belle asked.
“I just don’t know.”
“You’ll figure it out,” Ida Belle said. “You always do.”
I nodded. That was true enough. I just hoped this time I figured it out before guns were blazing.
Ida Belle parked at the curb across the street from Bayou South Investments and we all stared at the entrance, not sure what to do next.
“We don’t even know if those guys are at work,” Gertie said. “A lot of people take off right before the holidays.”
“Even if they are, what are the options?” Ida Belle said.
I sighed. “Yeah. I’ve been thinking about that and we have a bit of a quandary. I know we talked about trying to get some dirt on the father, but shadowing someone that way is a 24-7 job. And we don’t even know who the father is.”
“Maybe you should just go talk to them,” Ida Belle said. “You could still do it under the guise of looking for Ashley because the family is worried. Since Cooke was murdered, the father isn’t likely to admit he even knows her, much less mention the baby. But you would be able to tell if he’s the one.”
I nodded. “That could work. And it’s definitely a more efficient option than following them around and hoping they do something in public that indicates they’re the one.”
Gertie pulled lip gloss and tissue out of her purse. “Put this on. Men respond better to a pretty woman. Just try not to appear so capable.”
I frowned but put on the lip gloss, then blotted with the tissue and handed it all back to Gertie, who sighed.
“The tissue was for your chest. You’re not wearing a push-up bra and that T-shirt isn’t doing anything to emphasize your assets.”
“It’s an investment firm,” Ida Belle said. “That’s not the kind of assets they’re interested in.”
“All men are interested in those assets,” Gertie said.
Chapter Twenty-One
They were still arguing when I hopped out of the SUV and headed into the building. A perky young woman with a big fake smile greeted me as I walked in.
“I’d like to speak to Cory Guillory and Drew McEntire,” I said.
“Mr. McEntire has already left for the holidays,” she said. “But Mr. Guillory is in. Do you have an appointment?”
I pulled out my PI license. “No. But I’m hoping I don’t need one. It will only take a minute.”
This was clearly not one of the things she’d been trained to handle. She stared at me for a moment, bit her lower lip, then picked up the phone.
“Mr. Guillory, there’s a lady in the lobby that would like to speak to you. She doesn’t have an appointment but she’s—”
I heard a curt voice cut her off, telling her to send me back. As she started to reply, he hung up.
“Second door on the left,” she said, her voice as apprehensive as her expression. She was probably already calculating the number of ways she was going to be in trouble once Cory found out I wasn’t a potential client.
I tapped on the partially open door and poked my head in. The man behind the desk stood up and smiled, motioning for me to enter.
Six foot even. One hundred eighty-five pounds. Nice muscle tone. Typical pretty boy in a suit. Probably hits the gym five nights a week but couldn’t win a fight with a ten-year-old. No threat unless I give him my money to invest.
He extended his hand and I shook it before taking a seat.
“How can I help you Ms.…?” he asked. “Are you looking to make some investments?”
“Not at this time,” I said, and handed him my business card. “I’m a private investigator. I was hoping you might be able to help me.”
He looked at the card and scowled. “PI? What could I possibly help you with?”
This was going about as well as I expected. “I’m looking for a missing woman and I have reason to believe you are acquainted. Her name is Ashley Breaux.”
He stared at me, unblinking. “I’ve never heard of that person.”
“She was a bartender at one of the hotels where your company holds events,” I said, and named the hotel. “Thirty years old, long brown hair, pretty.”
“Do I look like the sort of person who associates with barmaids?”
“All sorts of men associate with a pretty woman. Their profession isn’t often relevant.”
“Maybe not to some, but it is to me. I married Annabelle Leighton three months ago.”
He stared at me like that statement had weight.
“Sorry,” I said. “I just moved to Louisiana. I’m not familiar with Annabelle.”
“The daughter of state Senator John Leighton. You see, Ms. Redding, I believe family should benefit one’s status and future. They’re just another form of partnership, after all. A pretty face with nothing to offer is of no interest to me.”
Holy crap, this guy was cold. I wondered if his wife was aware of her role in the relationship or if he adopted a different personality when it was all about getting what he wanted.
“You have political aspirations then?” I asked.
“Of course. I have the best track record at this firm and I’m involved in my community. I’ll be an asset to the people.”
“I’m sure,” I said, struggling to keep the sarcasm out of my voice. “Well, one of the families in your future constituency would really like to find Ashley for the holidays. She recently had a baby, and they’re anxious to do the whole first-Christmas thing.”
He frowned. “Are they afraid something happened to her?”
“No. It appears that she left on her own accord, but they’d like to at least confirm she’s all right.”
He shook his head. “Sounds like an irresponsible person. Bartender. Apparently, unmarried but with a baby, skipping out on her family. I can’t imagine why they’d want her to be part of their lives. Seems like she’d be an embarrassment.”
“Well, none of them are running for office, so they’re in the clear.”
He smirked.
“It could be that I have the wrong guy,” I said. “There is another employee here that I wanted to speak to, but I understand he’s already left for the holidays. Drew McEntire?”
“That would make more sense. Drew shuffles women like a deck of cards and he has zero discrimination.”
“So I take it you guys aren’t friends.”
The smirk disappeared from Cory’s face. “We’re coworkers.”
“So not friends. Got it. Then I don’t suppose you’d know where I could find him.”
“Not even a guess. But you could ask the receptionist. He spends a lot of time regaling her with tales of his party life. She thinks he’s cool.”
The disgusted look was back in place and he reached for his phone, clearly signaling my dismissal. “If you don’t mind,” he said, “I have some calls to make before I close down for the holidays.”
I rose from my chair. “Thank you for your time.”
He didn’t even bother to look up as I left.
I walked back up front and stopped at the receptionist’s desk. She gave me a wary look.
“Is he always that pleasant?” I asked, hoping to win her over with our mutual dislike for Cory Guillory.
“Sometimes he’s worse,” she said. “Was he awful to you? I wouldn’t take it personally. He’s that way to everybody unless they have money or connections.”
“Yes. I got that loud and clear. I feel sorry for his wife, unless she’s as horrible as him. Then I don’t.”
The receptionist frowned. “Feeling sorry is the right call. Annabelle is actually nice. Painfully shy and sorta plain-looking. It’s obvious to everyone why Cory married her. And that stinks, especially after everything she’s been through.”
“Oh? What’s that?”
“Cancer. The female kind. But she was a trouper. Still showed up to her daddy’s reelection events although sometimes it looked like she was going to pass out. The senator used her to make a big push over women’s issues so he had to put her on display. I have a feeling being married to Cory isn’t going to be any different than being Senator Leighton’s daughter. She’s useful when they need to put on a show.”
She looked disgusted when she said it and I didn’t blame her. Life for Annabelle Leighton didn’t sound all that awesome. I hoped one day she gained the strength to break free of all the men using her to gain a political seat.
“That’s really crappy,” I said. “Fortunately, it turns out Cory probably isn’t the person I needed to speak to. I think Drew McEntire might be the one who can help me out with my case. I don’t suppose you know where I can find him?”
She gave me a pensive look. “Oh, I don’t think he’d want me to tell people where he is on his personal time.”
“I’m sure he wouldn’t, but this is sort of an emergency. I’m looking for a missing woman that I think Drew knew at one time. I’m talking to anyone who might be able to give me an idea where to find her. The family is really upset, especially with the holidays coming up.”
“That’s awful. Well, I guess he wouldn’t mind. I mean, since it’s important and all. He left for his camp. It’s this huge place on the bayou. They have these wild parties down there—at least, that’s what I hear. I’ve never been invited.”
Her disappointment was apparent.
“Do you know where the camp is?” I asked.
“Off the highway going toward Sinful is all I know,” she said. “Maybe you could look up the address online.”
“Probably so. Thank you for your help.”
She nodded. “I hope you find the lady you’re looking for. And Merry Christmas.”
I headed out to the SUV and recounted my chat with Cory Guillory.
“Sounds like a real a—”
“We get it,” Ida Belle said, cutting Gertie off. “But it doesn’t sound like he’s our guy.”
“There wasn’t even a twitch when I said Ashley’s name,” I said. “When I told him she was a bartender, he looked offended that I was even asking him about her.”
“Well, that figures,” Ida Belle said. “A future politician in the making is just the sort of person who would consort with a man like Cooke.”
“Totally,” I said. “I think Cory Guillory would stop at absolutely nothing to get what he wants and apparently money and power are on the agenda.”
“So I guess it’s good news that he’s not the father,” Gertie said. “He sounds like a sociopath.”
“A narcissist at least,” I said, and relayed my conversation with the receptionist.
“So Drew is one of those McEntires,” Ida Belle said. “Phillip McEntire built that camp, but he’s probably seventy if he’s a day.”
“So maybe a grandfather or great-uncle?” Gertie said.
“You know the family?” I asked.
“By reputation only,” Ida Belle said. “Old money. The girls are all about the social scene in New Orleans. The boys are all playboys, if the rumors are to be believed.”
“Sounds like party boy Drew is following family tradition,” I said.
Ida Belle frowned. “But why would a guy like that want to be saddled with a baby? He sounds like the definition of the kind that would claim it wasn’t his.”
I shook my head. “Maybe we’re on the wrong track altogether.”
“But the email came from that company server,” Gertie said. “I don’t think the Sorcerer made a mistake.”
“Neither do I,” I said. “But a family member or friend of an employee could have accessed the computers here. Heck, for all we know, it could be someone on the cleaning crew.”
Ida Belle pulled away. “Let’s track down Drew McEntire and see.”
The camp was a good bit off the highway and after a single glance, I decided it was more than pretentious to call it a ‘camp’ in the first place. I’d been to plenty of camps during my time in Sinful. None of them looked like this. At least ten thousand square feet of distressed wood and glass, overlooking the bayou. A hot tub was visible from the parking area, as were several bikini-clad women climbing into it. There were at least ten other cars parked in the drive and from the sound of the booming music, the party was in full swing.
“This must be the place,” Ida Belle said.
“I’m glad you remembered where it was,” I said.
“Not many mansions on the bayou,” Ida Belle said. “Hard to forget. You want to handle this one on your own?”
“I don’t see the point,” I said. “Let’s all head inside and spread out…try to locate Drew.”
It didn’t take long.
As soon as we stepped in the front door, we had a clear view of the huge back patio, which is where most of the activity was located. Drew was standing on a table, funneling beer, with a crowd of people standing around him, cheering him on.
Gertie snapped a picture. “In case he’s the father.”
I couldn’t wrap my mind around the guy on the table hiring a PI to track down a baby he fathered out of wedlock, but I’d learned that Louisiana held all kinds. For all I knew, Drew was just itching to trade in hot babes and hot tubs for binkies and diapers.
We headed outside and waited for the funnel to empty. When he was done, Drew sprayed a huge stream of beer in the air and all the people cheered, despite the fact that they were being showered with spit and beer that had swished around in another man’s mouth. Then he jumped off the table, grabbed the nearest bikini-clad woman, and planted a kiss on her mouth. When he let her go, he grabbed the next one and repeated the process.
I looked over at Gertie, who was filming, and shook my head. I had a feeling this was going to be a waste of time. Drew McEntire didn’t fit the profile of the man we were looking for on any level.
When he’d made it through two more women, he caught sight of us standing at the edge of the living room and squinted, probably trying to figure out if he knew us or not. I waved at him, hoping that would draw him over. I didn’t want to make introductions in front of his fan club. He ambled our way, grinning, and gave me the up-and-down when he stopped in front of us.
“I should remember a woman as hot as you,” he said. “But for the life of me, I’m drawing a blank.”
“That’s because we’ve never met,” I said.
“Thank God!” He did an exaggerated brow wipe. “I thought I was losing my touch.”
“You don’t appear to be,” I said. “My name is Fortune Redding. I’m a private investigator. I was hoping you could answer some questions for me.”
He frowned. “PI? What do you want with me?”
“Maybe nothing,” I said. “I’m looking for a missing woman and I think you might have known her. I’m talking to anyone who did in an effort to track her down. Her family is worried.”
“Missing? You think something bad happened?” he asked.
“There is no reason to suspect foul play at this time,” I said, easing his mind. “It’s more likely she simply took off, but her family would like to know for sure.”
He nodded. “Sure. Christmas and all. Need to know whether or not to hang the stocking, right? So what’s her name?”
“Ashley Breaux.”
Drew’s eyes widened and I forced myself to remain calm.
“Ashley? Seriously?” he asked. “She took off?”
“Looks like,” I said. “Skipped out on rent. Did a dip on her job.”
He shook his head. “I had no idea. Of course, I haven’t been by the bar in forever. Can’t even remember the last time.”
“So you and Ashley were involved?” I asked.
“‘Involved’ is a serious word, and there was nothing serious about me and Ashley,” he said. “Sometimes we hooked up. Ashley was a good time, but that was as far as it went.”
&
nbsp; “For her too?” I asked.
“Sure,” he said. “She was a party girl. Made me look like an amateur if the truth be told.”
I glanced around. “Seems like a pretty fancy place you’ve got here. How come you used to go to the bar to hit up Ashley for money?”
He gave me an indignant look. “Says who?”
“The other bartenders. They’ve seen her giving you money.”
He nodded. “And they probably have. Let’s just say Ashley had a penchant for certain items that I had access to.”
“Drugs?”
“I’m not saying. But you can bet that any exchange of money between Ashley and me was purely business.”
“I’m curious,” I said. “How come you speak of her in past tense?”
“Because once she got pregnant, the fun was over.”
“So you knew about the baby?” I asked.
“It would have been kinda hard to hide after a certain point, right? But the truth is she told me right after she found out. Said she had to get off the party train.”
“Are you the father?”
He laughed. “Do you think I’d be foolish enough to get a woman pregnant? Especially a woman like Ashley? My parents would disown me and that would be dire.”
“Do you know who the father is?” I asked.
“Never asked. Never cared. Like I said, Ashley and I just had some fun together.”
“You didn’t even ask if the baby was yours?”
He smiled. “I didn’t have to. Given the money I’ve got coming someday, I knew the gold diggers would be out in full force. I had a vasectomy when I was twenty. Get tested twice a year to make sure it’s good. No woman is going to make me a permanent paycheck.”
“I hope your future wife feels the same way about your choice.”
“There are other ways to get a baby. Ways that don’t ruin a woman’s body. My ego isn’t tied up in having my own DNA walking and talking.”
“I don’t know why not. There’s plenty of that ego to go around.”
I could tell he was aggravated by my statement but I didn’t care. Everything about Drew McEntire rubbed me the wrong way and if irritating him was the most I could do to him, then I was darn well going to do it well.