by Paula Graves
But he gave no other indication of recognition, merely cocked his head and asked in a dismissive voice, “Could you find me a glass of champagne?”
J.D. tamped down his irritation and wandered off in search of Dennis and the tray of champagne flutes.
He found the other waiter across the room, perilously close to where his father-in-law was deep in discussion with one of the other guests. He started to take the champagne back to Hamilton Gray himself, but at that very moment, a small, pretty woman with short, dark hair flecked with silver turned around only a couple of feet from him. Her bright, dark eyes widened at the sight of him, and her face broke into a bright smile.
“J.D.!” Lois Teague held out her arms toward him. “What on earth are you doing here?”
With an inward sigh, J.D. put the champagne flute back on Dennis’s tray and whispered for him to take a glass to the pirate across the room talking to Natalie. Then J.D. turned back to face his mother-in-law, pasting on a big smile.
“Hi, Lois,” he said and stepped into her hug.
“I’VE NEVER SEEN THAT waiter before. Has Davina hired someone new?” Hamilton sipped the champagne Dennis had brought to him, glancing across the room just as J.D. bent to hug Lois Teague. Natalie rather wished she had a glass of champagne herself, but if she wanted to stay alert, she had to limit herself to tea or coffee tonight.
She decided the best way to keep Hamilton from asking questions she didn’t want to answer was to tell him as much of the truth as she could. “He’s just passing through. I met him the other day at Millie’s. He seems nice enough. His son is here in town, visiting his grandparents.”
“The Teagues, I presume?”
“Right. Anyway, I mentioned the fundraiser, and he volunteered to help out. I asked Davina if she could use more staffers, and she jumped on it. Especially if she didn’t have to pay him.” She tried to keep her gaze on Hamilton, but the sight of J.D. deep in conversation with Lois Teague was more of a distraction that she would have expected.
What were they saying? How much of the truth was he telling his mother-in-law?
“I’ve never known you to pick up strange men in bars, Natalie.” Hamilton’s eyes seemed to burrow into her brain, as if seeking the tidbits of truth she was hiding from him. She steeled herself against that probing gaze, even as a shudder rippled down her back at the sense of violation.
“You don’t know me, period,” she said coolly, moving away from him.
“I know you better than you realize,” he murmured behind her back, his voice barely audible.
Except for a hitch in her step she couldn’t hide, she ignored him and crossed the room to where her parents were talking to a small group of old friends.
J.D.’s gaze snagged hers on the way over. He was now talking to his father-in-law, George, as well as Lois. He seemed to be warning her away with his eyes, so she headed out of the ballroom and into the private family quarters in search of a quiet place to gather her wits after her unsettling encounter with Hamilton Gray.
He seemed to save his psychopathic moments just for her. Was it because she was the only person who saw him for what he was? Or was it something even creepier than that? Could he be targeting her for his next kill? Had he been wielding the gun last night at the Bay View Inn?
Her aimless wandering took her into the room her sister, Carrie, had occupied when they were both still kids living at home. Carrie’s tastes had always run toward bright, sunny colors and big, bold patterns, inclinations that took charge in her bedroom. The walls were painted buttercup yellow, with bright yellow drapes covering the two large windows on the eastern wall. The bedspread was white, patterned with enormous yellow sunflowers, Carrie’s favorite flower.
Fresh sunflowers sat in a bright green vase on the pale beech wood dresser across from the bed. A flutter of pain darted through Natalie’s chest as she crossed to the dresser and touched the hardy golden petals. They were still moist and firm, as if they’d been cut just this morning.
“Oh, Mother,” Natalie whispered, blinking back tears.
“Your mother cuts fresh sunflowers from the conservatory every day.”
Natalie turned to find her father watching her from the doorway. “I know she misses her terribly.” Jeanine had loved both of her daughters, but she and Carrie had been kindred spirits in a way she and Natalie never had been. Carrie’s death had been a body blow for her mother.
“I saw you speaking with Hamilton. I hope you gave him no further difficulty.”
“I behaved,” she answered shortly, trying not to take his veiled scolding too personally. She knew her father and Hamilton’s father did an enormous amount of business with each other. Even the slightest misstep on either side could be catastrophic to their companies.
And there was certainly no compelling evidence against Hamilton to point to and prove her theory.
“I wish you had decided to stay longer. Your mother enjoyed having you here last night.”
“I needed to feel safe in my own house.” She’d called a security company first thing that morning and ordered a rush installation of a security system. They’d installed it this afternoon while she waited, shortly before she had to return to her parents’ house for the party.
“Perhaps you weren’t the target at all.” Something in her father’s voice told her that he was speaking a wish more than a conviction.
“Do you know who it could be? Could it have to do with the kidnapping in Sanselmo?”
“Always a possibility. The cartels are getting mean and brave these days, and border security being what it is—”
She nodded, remembering J.D.’s tale of Eladio Cordero’s hit squad, who’d made it to Gossamer Ridge just last fall with the full intention of killing as many Coopers as they could. “Did you ever cross the Cordero cartel?”
“More than once,” Darden admitted. “Do you have reason to believe they could be behind the drive-by shooting?”
“Do you?”
Darden looked at her, his lips pressed to a thin line. But before he could speak, J.D. appeared in the doorway behind him.
Darden turned at the sound of J.D.’s footsteps. “Yes?”
J.D. glanced at Natalie. “I was looking for Ms. Becker.”
Darden gave J.D. a speculative look. “This is the private part of our home. It’s off-limits to guests or staff.”
“It’s all right, Dad. J.D. is a friend of mine.” She passed her father and took J.D.’s arm. “Just walk with me,” she said under her breath.
They drifted from Carrie’s room to the one she’d occupied herself growing up. Compared to Carrie’s bright little parrot of a room, hers was more like a quiet sparrow, with its dun-colored walls, rust-brown drapes and simple olive-green bedspread. Her mother hadn’t enshrined this room. She’d discovered that fact the night before, when she went to put some of her things in the chest of drawers and found them full of her mother’s files—Jeanine took her role as a socialite seriously, claiming membership in a mind-boggling number of boards, commissions and foundations. Her overflowing office had finally exploded into Natalie’s old room.
“You disappeared. I got worried.” J.D. looked around the room. “Was this your room as a kid?”
“Yeah.”
He nodded as if it didn’t surprise him. “It looks like you.”
She looked around, oddly self-conscious. Considering her earlier thoughts about the room’s drab appeal, she wasn’t sure J.D.’s assessment was a compliment.
“It’s classic,” he elaborated. “Simple and straightforward. Doesn’t bother pretending to be something it’s not.”
She quirked an eyebrow. “All that from a bedroom?”
“You’re not showy, Natalie. You don’t put on airs. Maybe you even try to hide a little bit.” He moved closer to her, reaching out to snag a lock of hair that had slipped free of her chignon. He tucked it behind her ear, leaving a trail of electric sparks where his fingers touched her temple. “But quality shows.”
He left his hand on the side of her face, his fingers lightly tracing the curve of her cheekbone. “You look lovely tonight. I hope every person you met told you that.”
No one had. No one but him. She hadn’t realized until now just how much she’d needed to hear it. “Thank you.”
“People are going to start looking for you. For me, too— I’ve got to be the worst waiter to ever work a party like this.” He dropped his hand away from her face, although he seemed reluctant to do so. “I guess we should go back.”
She didn’t want to leave. She wanted to stay right here in this room where she’d dreamed a thousand dreams and keep talking to J. D. Cooper. Maybe he’d tell her something else nice about herself and make the night even better. “I saw you speaking with your in-laws. How did you explain your presence?”
“I told them I met you the first day I came to town and ended up agreeing to help you look into your sister’s murder.”
“So you didn’t tell them your theory that her murder was connected to Brenda’s?”
“Not yet. They still think the murder was solved two months ago. I haven’t found the heart to tell them otherwise yet. It’ll be hard on them.”
Natalie nodded. She knew the Teagues only distantly, even though Lois was a cousin. George Teague was the only general practitioner in town, so most families had been to Dr. Teague from time to time, even if their primary care physicians were located elsewhere. Sometimes, simple scrapes and bruises weren’t worth the forty-minute drive into Mobile to see another doctor. Natalie had been patched up by Dr. Teague more than once in her childhood.
“Who’s watching your son?” she asked, remembering what he’d told her about the threats against his family.
“Brenda’s brother and his wife. Was that Carrie’s room—where you were before? Could you take me back to see it?” J.D. asked, catching Natalie by surprise.
She hesitated to answer, not sure what insights he expected to find there. It was just a room. A bright, pretty room that Carrie had once occupied. It was a piece of her, but only a tiny piece. Still, she could tell seeing the room meant something to him. So she nodded and led him next door to her sister’s room.
He looked around the bedroom slowly, taking in all the details. Like Natalie, he also noticed the fresh flowers, crossing to touch their petals as she had. He glanced at her. “Your mother?”
She nodded.
He dropped his hand to his side, his lips quirking in a faint smile. “Brenda kept koi in a pond out back. She loved those gaudy, little fish. We kept them thriving for a long time, even after she was gone.” His expression darkened. “But one night, a storm blew the protective screen off the pond. A pair of hawks in the woods nearby saw a chance for fresh fish.”
She winced. “I’m sorry.”
He touched the sunflower petals again. “Sometimes you just can’t keep everything safe. All it takes is bad luck, a little inattention and a predator looking for an easy target.”
He was talking about Brenda. And Carrie. And all those other women he believed died at the hands of the men who’d murdered his wife. All innocent victims who’d been temporarily vulnerable, in the wrong place at the wrong time.
J.D. turned to look at her. “You’re right about your brother-in-law. I don’t know if he killed your sister, but he’s creepy as hell.”
A flutter of relief darted through her. “Isn’t he? Nobody else seems to see it, but my skin crawls when he’s around.”
He crossed to her side, running his hands down her bare arms, where chill bumps had formed. “You need to be careful with him. I don’t know what his game is, but he apparently plans to play it with you.”
She could hardly believe what he was saying. So many people had told her she was lashing out because of her anger about Carrie’s death that even she’d begun to question her own motives. Validation from someone like J.D., who wasn’t the least bit invested in believing Hamilton Gray might be a suspect in Carrie’s murder, shored up her flagging confidence more than she’d thought was possible. “I get the same feeling,” she admitted.
J.D.’s hands settled on her shoulders, keeping her close to him. His right thumb brushed lightly over the curve of her collarbone, setting off lovely sparks. “Damn it,” he murmured.
She smiled nervously. “Damn it?”
He dropped his hands to his sides and stepped away from her. Cool air filled the gap between them, chilling her skin. “Let’s get back to the party,” he said gruffly, already turning to go.
A soft humming sound in her purse stopped Natalie from following. She opened the clutch bag and checked her buzzing cell phone. The number wasn’t familiar, but she took the call, glad for the distraction.
It was Doyle Massey. “There’s been another homicide.”
Her blood froze. He wouldn’t have called her if he wasn’t talking about a homicide that resembled her sister’s. “Where?”
“Moss Crossing,” he answered. “It’s pretty fresh. Someone called in an anonymous tip.”
She realized J.D. was standing in the doorway, watching her. She held up her finger to tell him to hold on a minute. “How long ago—an hour? Two?”
“More like thirty minutes,” Massey answered. His voice lowered. “This looks a hell of a lot like Carrie’s crime scene.”
Her first thought was that Hamilton had killed another woman to throw the cops off his track. He somehow snuck out, drove the twenty-minute trip to Moss Crossing and—
The realization hit her with a thud. There was no way Hamilton could have been in Moss Crossing thirty minutes ago, because he’d been standing in the ballroom, talking to her.
Natalie was his alibi.
Chapter Eight
“Why can’t we go to the crime scene?” J.D. had chafed through finishing up kitchen patrol after the party while waiting for Natalie to come through with more information. She’d finally come into the kitchen as he and Dennis were helping the other catering company employees pack up the dishes and cutlery for transport, pulling him aside to inform him that Massey had refused her request to get a look at the Moss Crossing scene.
“Because I’m on administrative leave and you’re a civilian,” she answered flatly, though he could see she was no happier about the situation than he was.
“There’s no way I can be sure the crime scene is really a match without seeing it,” J.D. growled. “I’m sure Massey’s a good deputy, but he doesn’t have access to the crime-scene files I do. Not to mention years of studying those files until they rampage through my dreams at night. All he has is what y’all found at Annabelle’s. Maybe that would be enough, but probably not.”
She looked at him in silence for a second, and he realized just how much he’d revealed about his life over the last twelve years. Even so, she had barely scratched the surface of how lonely and single-minded his existence had really been.
He’d become alienated from his children by the things he couldn’t share with them for fear that his own guilt and anger would end up tainting them. His family had joined him on a series of wild-goose chases with fading fervor each time a lead came to its inevitable dead end—they’d answer any call for help, no question, but with the same dread and resigned sadness an alcoholic’s family might feel after dragging a loved one out of the drunk tank one more time.
“Could you give me a ride home?” she asked.
The topic change caught him off guard. “You can’t go home.”
“I already have.” She lifted her chin. “I stayed here last night, but I can’t hide here forever.” She told him about the security system she’d had installed.
He supposed a security system was better than nothing. “Where’s your car?”
“I figured the parking would be crazy here already, so I left it at the house and caugh
t a ride with the Blackburns from down the road from my place. But I don’t want them to have to wait until I finish up here.”
“Okay,” he agreed, anticipation fluttering in his gut. He told himself it was the prospect of seeing her outdoor grill again, but he knew better. Sooner or later, he was going to have to face what he was starting to feel for Natalie Becker, and figure out why it was happening now, when the case he’d thought was finally solved had gone hot again.
But not tonight. Tonight, he would stay in the truck, make sure she got inside safely, and leave without lingering. At least, that was his plan.
But so far during his trip to Terrebonne, reality had a bad way of shooting his plans all to hell.
A BLACK-AND-WHITE sheriff’s department cruiser sat at the driveway gate outside Natalie’s house on the bay, its lights off. As J.D. slowed the truck into the turn, Natalie peered through the passenger window. “There’s someone inside.”
“Should we stop here or go on?” J.D. murmured.
“Stop here. Let’s see what’s up.” As J.D. put the truck in park and left the engine idling, Natalie opened the door and stepped out of the truck, stumbling a little as her high heels sank into the soft dirt at the edge of the cobblestone drive. By the time she righted herself, both J.D. and Doyle Massey, who’d emerged from the driver’s seat of the sheriff’s cruiser, were converging on her from either side.
“You didn’t turn an ankle, did you?” Massey asked.
“No, I’m fine. Damned heels.” She looked up at her fellow deputy, curiosity burning in her eyes. “Has something else happened?”
“No, nothing new,” Massey said quickly. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you or anything. I was just going to see if you had a minute to take a look at some photos. As a corroborating witness, since you were first on the scene of your sister’s murder”.
J.D. saw he carried a manila envelope tucked under his arm. “Are those crime scene photos from tonight’s homicide?”