by A. C. Mason
“That call was about Megan, wasn’t it?” My heart thumped. “How…is she?”
I prayed Megan was still alive. Jim’s expression didn’t give any indication.
He looked from me to Danny then back again. “They rushed her into surgery as soon as she arrived. Her condition is listed as critical.” He addressed his next statement to Danny. “The call was from Wallace. I sent him up to Memorial to wait for the doctor to turn over the bullet. So, all those additions to the Sheriff’s Office Lab should help us out, big time.”
“The lab better do more than help us out after all the money that equipment cost the parish.” He placed his hand on the door. “I’ve got a detail to handle in my office right now.”
Jim held up a finger indicating he wanted Danny to wait. He lowered his voice when he spoke to me. “Can Danny hear what you overheard? I mean, is it relevant to our murders?”
“Yes to both questions.”
He looked at Danny. “Come by my office after you finish up.”
“See you in a few minutes.” He left us and entered the building.
Jim continued to keep his arm around my shoulder as we walked down the hall to the police headquarters and into his private office.
“Have a seat.” He indicated a chair in front of his desk. “You want something to drink? There are soft drinks in the machine in the break room.”
Exhaling, I sank into the chair. “You don’t happen to have any margaritas hiding in that machine, do you?” I said in a forced light tone. “Or maybe a nice shot of tequila would do the trick.”
“I could use one of those myself, but the delivery guy was fresh out of tequila the last time he came around.” He gave me a gentle smile and squeezed my shoulder.
“Oh well, one of those caffeine-free drinks would be great.”
“That’ll work. I’ll be right back.”
I sat quietly with my eyes closed. Why was this happening? The old wounds from my sister-in-law’s murder had barely started to heal, only to be reopened with a vengeance. My sole consolation—the murder victims were not related to me or even close friends.
But witnessing Teddy Berthelot die connected him to me in some way. Although Megan Whitehall and I couldn’t be considered close friends, she came out of my past and she was a nice person. An irrational feeling of guilt haunted me. I tried to shake off the unwarranted self-reproach, but my attempt failed.
Another time when I met with a friend and talked about a case, the friend died the same night, shot by the killer. This seemed like déjà vu. Stay positive, I told myself. Megan didn’t die. She would survive.
The voices of Jim and Danny outside the office door caught my attention. I opened my eyes to see them entering the room.
“Were you able to get any witness statements about the shooting?” Jim asked.
“Naturally no one saw much of anything. The few people on the street at the time didn’t hear the shot and were too busy looking at the victim collapsing to the ground.”
Jim frowned. “Same here. Seems like someone would have at least seen a suspicious person running away.”
“I’m expecting the FBI to show up any time now with an offer to assist us,” Danny said.
“Yeah, I am too. They’re always consulted for serial killer cases, but they don’t usually show up without being invited.” Jim’s expression clouded. “We got two murders that are most likely linked to the old New Orleans case and then the wounding of an attorney who is also connected. What else can we expect?”
“Has there been any more word about Megan?” I asked.
“I spoke to the hospital a few minutes ago,” Danny said. “No change, really. She’ll be out of surgery shortly and into recovery. Her condition is still listed as critical, but the next twenty-four hours will tell.”
Jim popped the tab on the Sprite can and handed it to me. “Here you go.”
I took a long drink of the bubbly soft drink and savored the cold wet relief to my dry throat, despite the burning fizz of carbonation. No doubt the seemingly parched throat was due to nerves.
“This conversation you overheard…” Jim said. “Do you want to talk about it now?”
I regarded him with confidence I felt about my information. “What I tell you could help solve the murders.”
Jim rolled the chair from behind his desk closer to me. Danny sat in another office chair.
Placing the soft drink on the desk, I began. “I went to Lakeside Formals to purchase a dress for the Mardi Gras Ball. While I was in the fitting room trying on the dress, a woman in the next cubicle started talking to someone on her cell phone. She said, ‘Paula, don’t give me that I-should-be-in-mourning bit. Teddy brought it on himself’.”
I checked out the expressions of the two men. They both seemed more interested in my story at the mention of the victim’s name. So I continued.
“Then she said something to the effect that Teddy should have known the family wouldn’t let things go.” I lifted my hands palms up. “I don’t know whose family she referred to. The woman went on to say Teddy had told ‘David’ not to worry because the ‘low-life was just blowing smoke’.”
“Do you know the identity of this woman?” Jim asked.
“Denise Berthelot.”
Jim arched his brows. “You’re certain about this?”
“I got a look at her when she came out of the cubicle. I don’t know who she spoke to on her cell except the first name Paula. I remembered later David Edwards’ wife was named Paula.”
“Is that all you heard her say?” Danny asked.
“No,” I said. “There’s more.” I related the part about attending the ball and Denise’s mention of the king. In the back of my mind, I wondered how Jim would react to my mention of Malcolm Whitehall to Dolly Babineaux.
“Looks like we need to bring Denise in for an interview,” Danny said. “And Paula Edwards as well.”
“Better to catch them at home when they’re not expecting us.” Jim regarded me with suspicion. “Is that everything you want to tell us about?”
I lowered my eyes for a moment. How does he do it? He knows me too well. “There’s something else that happened before I went to Lakeside Formals.”
Jim leaned forward. “What?”
“I stopped in at Dolly’s Dresses first. Everything in the store had been picked over, but we talked for a little bit. Dolly mentioned she was surprised the ball hadn’t been postponed because of the two murders.” I recounted the shop owner’s statement about the two murder victims. “She quickly retracted the part about them getting away with murder by saying she didn’t mean literally.” I took an anxious look at Jim.
“And?” he said.
“I asked her if she’d ever heard the name Malcolm Whitehall.”
Danny looked vaguely amused, but didn’t comment. I didn’t find this amusing at all.
Jim frowned, indicating his displeasure at my indiscretion. “What did she say?”
“Naturally, she denied knowing him, but the look on her face told me different. Dolly became extremely flustered afterwards and referred me to Lakeside Formals. If another customer hadn’t come in the store at that moment, I think she would have come unglued. She practically shoved me out of the store.”
“Do you know Dolly?” Jim asked Danny.
“I do. She was originally from New Orleans, but moved here maybe twenty-five years ago. I’ll drop over to her shop about closing time and see if I can dig up anything interesting.”
“Good, I’m going to see if I can track down Denise Berthelot and the Widow Edwards.” Jim turned to me. “Will you be all right?”
“Sure, I need to get back home before the kids come in from school.” I raised my hand. “Oh, I almost forgot.”
An oh-hell-what-else look crossed Jim’s face.
“When you and Danny got back from serving the warrant, Megan left the café and went to meet y’all.” I paused, trying to remember every detail. “Denise came walking by and stopped. She watched Megan with a lot o
f interest, and immediately got on her cell phone, then continued walking after y’all went inside. She had disappeared by the time I left.”
“Very interesting,” Jim said. “Be careful on the way home. I’ll call you later.”
I left Jim’s office and walked down the hall. Two men clad in suits and ties entered the building. The FBI agents they were expecting?
One man appeared to be in his early to mid-thirties and stood at least six feet tall. His blond hair was cut close to his head, military style. The other fellow, an African-American, looked middle-aged; his polished bald head caught the light from outside for a split second. They certainly looked the part of federal agents, at least in my imagination.
The blond man held the door open for me to exit. I smiled and thanked him. I can tell right now, Jim won’t be home until late tonight.
I watched them walk down the hall. A woman met them near the door leading to the Police Department’s offices. Craning my neck to see her, I recognized her as Assistant DA Kayla Theriot.
On the drive home, thoughts raced through my head. I prayed Megan would survive and not suffer permanent effects—physical effects. The mental and emotional toll would definitely have long-term ones.
Twenty
Freakin’ Feds. I knew those two suits who went in right before Susan Foret came out of City Hall were FBI agents. Just what I need. The last kill might have to be moved up without all the pomp. Then none of the others me and my old lady had decided to spare would get the message—being rich doesn’t let them get away with murder. They’d have to pay the price just like their underlings.
~ * ~
My heart rate hadn’t slowed much by the time I turned into the driveway. I drove under the carport, turned off the ignition, and sat quietly for a while. Glancing at my watch, I noted there would be about a half hour before the kids returned from school.
Boy, did I ever need those thirty minutes to at least attempt to collect myself before dealing with the twin dynamos. Taking a deep breath, I exited the car. Home, safe home.
That last thought didn’t ring true at all when I stepped into the house. A lump formed in my throat. I’d forgotten to set the alarm when I left the house this morning.
Oh my God, how could I have not set the alarm? Especially with all these murders and shootings taking place. Panicked, I looked around the room.
The sliding glass door to the patio was open. A weathered-looking board had been wedged into the opening. I zeroed in on the object hanging from the old board. The sight of a gris-gris bag sent my stomach plunging.
I stepped closer to inspect the bag. Paranoia hit me like a punch in the stomach. Was this a message for me? Or for Jim? My hand felt drawn to the bag as if under the spell of a powerful force. I wanted to see the contents. No, no, I can’t touch this before Jim sees it. I pulled my hand back.
A wave of nausea swept over me. I felt violated. Someone must have scoped out the house to see if there was an alarm or else he took the chance there wasn’t one in order to leave his message.
Glancing back at the wall unit, I realized anyone peering inside through the patio door had a clear view and could tell right away the alarm hadn’t been set. The wooded area behind our property made a great area to hide until the time was right to break inside and excellent cover to make an escape. My negligence and the environment gave him the perfect opportunity to do his dirty work.
But what if I had set the alarm? Would he have come inside anyway?
With my head pounding, I kept questioning the situation. Why hadn’t we installed a more advanced alarm system when we moved into this house? I knew the answer—I’d thrown the statement in Jim’s face at the first crime scene. This wasn’t supposed to happen in Cypress Lake.
Better security was a moot point. A more advanced system wouldn’t have worked either unless the alarm was turned on. Nothing could be done about the present situation. Lamenting what should have been done was futile.
Gratefully, the intruder didn’t smash a window or ransack the house like the other time we had a break-in. He only broke the lock on the patio door, an easy fix. Recalling the previous incident in New Orleans and its aftermath, I thought about the cat.
Oh dear, I hope she didn’t run out the door this time. I didn’t want to think about any other possibility. I turned and moved with haste toward the bedrooms, calling for the cat. She’s probably hiding somewhere and is afraid to come out. “Katy?” No response. Dread prickled the hair on the back of my neck. “Katy?”
A rustling sound came from under the bed in the master bedroom. I knelt beside the bed and peered underneath. The cat, a ball of ginger-colored fur, arched her back, touching the top of the under-bed space and stretched her front legs forward. After giving me a look of feline disdain, she curled up again facing in the opposite direction.
“Okay, so you’re angry about somebody breaking into the house and scaring you. I get it. I’m not exactly thrilled about the situation either.”
No response except a few twitches of the tabby’s tail.
“I’m sorry, girl. Everything will be all right soon.” Not soon enough for me. “But you have to stay in the bedroom so you won’t get stepped on or get into mischief.” I left the room and closed the door behind me.
Back in the family room, I stared at the intruder’s handiwork. The cool breeze drifting in through the open door moved the gris-gris bag to and fro like an old movie version of a hypnotist swinging his pocket watch in front of his subject.
Was the killer taunting the police? Or did he believe I started investigating like I did for my brother? Maybe he had seen me with Megan and assumed I intended to assist my husband in solving the murders. This could be a message for me to stop meddling in the investigation.
What a ridiculous idea. Why would I be a threat to the killer? The only real live killer whose identity I’d ever uncovered was the one who murdered my sister-in-law. This little scene is most likely a diversion to throw the police off. This time whatever message he’s trying to deliver to us with his gris-gris is nothing but a big bluff. Keep telling yourself that.
The murders of Teddy Berthelot and David Edwards didn’t provide me with the same incentive to investigate as the case involving my brother. I was curious, but not enough to put my life on the line to find their killer. Or was I simply kidding myself? Solving a murder certainly brought on an adrenaline rush.
But I couldn’t get involved this time. There were the twins to consider. Jim would be furious with me for not setting the alarm. He had every right to be. Oh no! A terrifying thought occurred to me.
I should never have gone through the house once I realized there had been a break-in. What if the intruder had still been inside?
Jim was probably tied up with those FBI agents, but I didn’t care. He needed to be informed of this new development. I retrieved my cell phone from my purse.
The call went to voice mail as I figured it would. I pressed redial. He picked up this time.
“Is something wrong?” His voice reflected annoyance and a hint of concern.
“Someone broke into the house and left us a message.”
“What?” Shock replaced any trace of vexation in his voice. “What kind of message?”
“A gris-gris bag,” I said, mentally holding my breath. “I haven’t touched anything yet so I don’t know what’s in the bag.”
“I’ll be right there. Leave everything exactly like you found it.” He disconnected.
A vehicle pulling up in the Marchands’ driveway drew my attention away from the gris-gris bag. I cautiously walked outside under the carport and peered around the side of my car.
Rachel and a younger woman exited the car. I recognized the latter as Rachel’s daughter Jessica, whom I’d met on a previous visit a few years ago.
I moved from my hiding place beside the car and walked across the lawn toward the two women.
“Hey,” Rachel called out. “Just picked Jessica up from Moisant.” She used the old
name for what was now known as Louis Armstrong International Airport—the New Orleans airport.
Jessica rolled her eyes at her mother and laughed. “Does she even know what Moisant is?”
“Of course, Susan is a native New Orleanian.” Rachel’s smile faded when I came closer. “What’s wrong?”
“Someone broke in to the house and left us a message.” I explained what happened.
“Oh good heavens, a gris-gris bag?”
“I don’t suppose you noticed anyone hanging around.” The creep had probably waited for her to leave before doing his dirty work.
Rachel shook her head. “I left here about two hours ago, but before that I didn’t see or hear anything out of the ordinary.” She looked alarmed. “The kids aren’t home yet, are they?”
“No, thank goodness.” My voice quaked at the thought. “They should be back from school shortly. Jim’s on his way. There’s going to be a whole lot of confusion around here.” Stinging tears welled in my eyes. “It’s all my fault. I forgot to set the alarm when I left the house this morning.”
“He would’ve found another way to leave his message.” Rachel put her arm around my shoulder. “Don’t blame yourself. We all forget something every once in a while.”
“I’m not sure Jim will see things exactly like that.” The wail of sirens sounded in the distance. “Sounds like the whole department is headed this way. The twins will be so upset and confused about what’s happening.”
“When they get off the bus, I’ll bring them over here to my house,” Rachel said. “You’ll be dealing with Jim and most likely others. There’ll be too much hoorah going on.”
I hesitated. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure. Don’t argue.” Rachel looked at her daughter. “She’ll help me entertain them.”
Jessica smiled. “I’d love to. This should be fun.”
“I’ll remind you of that statement when I come back to pick them up.” I managed a small smile. “Thanks, I really appreciate this, especially since you just stepped off a plane.”
“No problem, really,” Jessica assured me.
I wiped an escaping tear away with my hand. Get a grip. No one was hurt and I doubt anything was stolen.