by Jana DeLeon
Unseen
A Shaye Archer Novel
Jana DeLeon
Copyright © 2017 by Jana DeLeon
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Created with Vellum
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
1
Friday, December 18, 2015
The French Quarter, New Orleans
* * *
Madison Avery looked out the glass wall of her unlit penthouse apartment and across the city. It was an impressive view and an expensive one, but it had been worth every penny as far as Madison was concerned. The view from the floor below her was also excellent, and the unit had been listed for 20 percent less than what she’d paid for her penthouse, but being on the top floor meant no one was above her banging and knocking around. She could disappear in her retreat in the sky and be alone with her work and her thoughts.
Just the way she liked it.
The sun had set hours ago, and the night lights of the French Quarter created a glow of color over the city. Below, people bustled back and forth across streets and down sidewalks. Some were visiting and taking in all the culture and fun the city had to offer. Others lived in the city or one of the nearby suburbs and were shopping for gifts for the upcoming Christmas holiday. Many came into the city for the food alone. The incredible dining offerings were the one thing that consistently drew Madison out of her apartment.
Sure, she appreciated art as much as anyone, but she could see and order it online and look at it in her own apartment. Same with music. But not every restaurant delivered and even if they did, some things simply weren’t good unless experienced in person. Great food was one of them. Styrofoam containers and the time it took to deliver minimized the chefs’ efforts with loss of heat and flavor. Sauces didn’t pack the same punch. Meat wasn’t as tender.
So she forced herself out at least one night a week to a different restaurant and kept a list with ratings of them all. Seventy-eight weeks she’d lived in New Orleans. Tonight, she’d eaten at her seventy-eighth restaurant without a single repeat. And she was still nowhere near repeating herself. From tiny cafes to five-star restaurants, New Orleans was a mecca of eating pleasure.
A light flickered on in the building across the street and she looked down at the open windows of the empty apartment. Realtors had been showing it with regularity, and Madison figured that before long, she’d see furniture moving in and the blinds would be closed at night to allow for privacy. The tinted windows allowed people to see only shadows during the day, but at night, with the interior lights on, you were your own stage play.
Madison had expensive electric blinds installed before she’d moved in, but she didn’t use them often. Instead, she preferred to keep the lights off and sit in her favorite chair to watch the city unfold beneath her. Even better were the nights when electrical storms moved through the French Quarter, putting on a show better than any fireworks display she’d seen. Tonight, the weather was calm but the night lights of the city were bright and festive, especially with the addition of the Christmas decor. She’d changed into her comfortable pajamas as soon as she arrived home from dinner. Now all she needed was a glass of wine and she could curl up in her favorite chair and watch the live show in front of her before she dozed off to sleep.
She started to back away from the window when movement in the apartment across from her caught her eye. A man was opening the door for a woman, who stepped inside, then hesitated, glancing around. The apartment wasn’t nearly as nice as Madison’s, but the flooring had been updated and a fresh coat of paint had been applied.
She frowned, suddenly realizing that the only item in the apartment was a large blue square in the middle of the dining room floor. Why would someone put a rug in an otherwise empty apartment? Staging for sale required a lot more effort than that, and a better color selection. The bright blue clashed completely with the cherrywood cabinets in the kitchen behind it.
The man put his hand on the woman’s back and guided her from the entry, through the empty living room and into the dining area. As the woman stepped on the rug, the man raised his hand to the back of her neck and jabbed at her. The woman crumpled and fell onto the rug, then lay there motionless.
Madison sucked in a breath. It looked as if the man had stabbed the woman in the neck with something, causing her to collapse. Surely she was wrong. Maybe the woman had passed out and the man had attempted to help her steady her balance before she went down. The man bent over the woman and placed his hand on her neck.
Good. He’s checking for a pulse and will call for help.
He reached into his jacket and pulled something out, but it wasn’t a cell phone. It was a big, long knife. Even this far away, the glint from the blade was visible. Madison reached for her cell phone on the table next to her chair but grabbed the lighting remote instead. The overhead lights popped on, momentarily blinding her. She dropped the remote, grabbed her phone, and dialed 911. She looked up from her phone in time to see the man pull the knife across the woman’s throat. Blood spurted from the woman’s neck and Madison screamed in horror.
“911, what is your emergency?”
The operator’s voice seemed to boom from the cell phone, but Madison couldn’t speak. Her heart pounded in her chest as blood rushed to her head. She grabbed her chair to keep herself from falling, and the last thing she saw before she lost consciousness was the man in the other apartment, staring across the street directly at her.
2
Monday, December 21, 2015
Patterson Law Office, New Orleans
* * *
Shaye Archer picked the pen up off the table and lifted her hand to the document in front of her, but before she could put the pen to the paper, Corrine grabbed her hand.
“Are you sure about this?” Corrine asked. “I mean, really, really sure.”
Shaye smiled. “As I’ve assured you at least twenty times today alone, I am sure.”
“But it’s your inheritance, too. And if I thought you felt pressured to give it up because of what I want, then I’d never forgive myself.”
Shaye locked her gaze on her mother, praying that this time she’d finally believe what Shaye said and let her sign the documents that Corrine was so worked up over.
“I have a trust fund that ten families could live comfortably on,” Shaye said. “If I didn’t want to, or for some reason became unable to, I would never have to work a single day. As it is, I have plenty of paid insurance work and more importantly, the luxury of taking cases that help the people who can’t afford my service. Some of the same people you’re trying to help as well. I have more money than I’ll ever need. I have you and Eleonore and Jackson. What more could I possibly want?”
“A metabolism that allowed you to eat all the Danish you’d like and never have to get on the treadm
ill to pay for it?”
“And if I could buy that metabolism with my inheritance, I might reconsider, but since it’s not available on the open market, I’m going to go ahead and sign away my fortune to you so that you can spend it on helping kids who don’t have anyone else. Now, can I please do this?”
Corrine blew out a breath and withdrew her hand. “You know I love you more than anyone in the world, right?”
Shaye signed her name on the document. “Of course you do. What’s not to love?”
Corrine waited until Shaye put the pen down before throwing her arms around her and clutching her tightly. “This is going to be so awesome. I haven’t slept in days, just thinking about all the things I’ll be able to do.”
Shaye hugged her mother, trying to hold back the tears that were forming. “Well, go home and get some rest. Those kids need you at a hundred percent. It’s time for game face.”
Corrine released her and wiped the tears from her cheeks. “I’m having dinner with Eleonore. Would you like to join us?”
“I can’t. Jackson is cooking for me tonight and he’s being rather secretive about the whole thing, telling me not to bring anything, don’t be late. I’m concerned that he’s going to make my offer of pizza and beer while helping me put together my bookcases this weekend look a little weak.”
Corrine’s expression softened and she teared up again, the way she always did when Shaye mentioned her budding romance with Detective Jackson Lamotte.
“I’m so happy for you,” Corrine said. “And I love seeing you so happy.”
“And if he does anything to mess it up, you’ll kill him.” Shaye finished her mother’s sentiment.
“I’m glad you’ve been listening.” Corrine rose from the table and gathered up the stack of documents. “I’m going to turn all these over to Bill and head out. Drive safe and let me know when you’re available to look at those buildings with me.”
“Any day this week is fine,” Shaye said. “I wrapped up my last insurance case yesterday, and I’m not working on anything else at the moment.”
“Good. You should take off until January. Maybe we can work in some last-minute holiday shopping as well.”
“I might feel the sudden onset of the flu.”
Corrine waved a hand in dismissal. “Why did I get stuck with the only daughter in the Garden District who hates shopping? Don’t answer that. I’ll call you with a schedule after I talk to the Realtor.”
Shaye grabbed her purse and headed out of the law office and into the parking garage. Traffic was heavier now that it was closer to 5:00 p.m., and the drive to her apartment in the French Quarter took longer than the fifteen minutes it had taken on her way to the law firm. Lampposts were wrapped with red-and-green lights and garland, and big red bows were tied at the tops. Shops had Christmas scenes painted on their storefront windows and pretty wreaths hanging on the front door.
The sidewalks were crowded with people carrying shopping bags, smiling with the joy of the season or looking harried for the same reason. Shaye watched as children stopped in front of a picture window with a Christmas train scene in the display and smiled. Corrine was doing an amazing thing. Selling her father’s many lucrative businesses and real estate holdings had resulted in hundreds of millions in profit. Profit that legally belonged to Corrine and Shaye, except for the big chunk that went to the IRS.
Shaye had just signed over rights to all of her share to Corrine for use in her new business venture. It was a massive undertaking—a group home for children who needed a place to live while their lives were being sorted through the government red tape, trucks and vans that would deliver much-needed food, coats, and blankets to the street kids who were afraid to do things through the proper channels, and an advocacy firm, complete with attorneys who would fight for the rights of children in the system.
Shaye couldn’t even fathom the amount of work it would take to get it all organized and running, but she knew without a doubt that Corrine was the best person for the job. Despite her own enormous trust fund and being the sole heir to her father’s fortune, Corrine had never settled for the life of a socialite. She fulfilled her obligations to charity events and appearances in the city, but her passion had been for her job as a social worker.
Unfortunately, recent events, including her father’s suicide, had led to her taking a leave of absence and had forced her to consider how she could make the biggest difference. Ultimately, she’d elected to sell everything and cut all ties with her past, hoping to bury the bad memories of her father’s sins and ultimate sacrifice. In doing so, she’d created the financial opportunity to do something incredible. Something that Shaye was thrilled to support in any way she could. Some of her recent cases had brought her face-to-face with street kids and their plight. It was heartbreaking, and yet she understood why they didn’t trust the system to provide the help they needed. An alternative would help them survive until they were legal adults.
As Shaye pulled up to the curb in front of her apartment, she saw a woman she didn’t recognize standing at her front door, just staring at it. The woman was young, midtwenties, with long blond hair pulled back in a ponytail, no makeup, and wearing sweats, hoodie, and tennis shoes. She looked like a thousand other average people whom most would pass on the street without even taking notice. Shaye, on the other hand, couldn’t stop taking notice.
When Shaye exited her SUV, the woman whirled around, and Shaye could practically feel the woman’s anxiety it was so apparent in her expression.
“Can I help you?” Shaye asked.
“I…I’m looking for Shaye Archer.”
Shaye’s curiosity was piqued. Given her appearance in the news headlines for the last several months, it was rare for Shaye to go unrecognized, but apparently not impossible.
“I’m Shaye. What can I do for you?”
“I want to hire you to investigate a crime.”
The woman had her full attention. Investigating crime was a job for the police, not a private investigator. Shaye was certain the woman already knew that, which made the situation even more interesting.
“Why don’t you come inside and we can talk,” Shaye said as she unlocked the front door.
She stood back from the entry and motioned the woman inside. The woman looked at her again, as if sizing her up, then took one hesitant step inside.
“You can have a seat there,” Shaye said, pointing to two comfortable leather chairs in front of her desk. “Can I get you anything to drink? Water? Soda?”
“Water would be nice,” the woman said, and perched on the edge of one of the chairs, her back ramrod straight.
Shaye retrieved two bottled waters and then sat in the other chair, hoping the more casual seating arrangement would relax her a bit. The woman opened the bottle and took a drink, and Shaye waited for several seconds to see if she would initiate a conversation. But when none was forthcoming, Shaye took charge.
“What’s your name?” Shaye asked.
“Madison Avery.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Madison. You said you wanted to hire me to investigate a crime,” Shaye said. “Have you already spoken to the police?”
Madison nodded. “They said they can’t do anything. Maybe you can’t, either. Maybe no one can. This was probably a mistake.”
“Please tell me what happened and let me decide if I can help you.”
Madison took a deep breath and blew it out. “I live in a penthouse unit of a high-rise apartment complex in the French Quarter. Three nights ago, I came home from dinner, turned out the lights, and went to look out the glass wall in my living room. The view is why I bought that unit. When my apartment is dark, the city is so bright and colorful.”
“I can imagine.”
“Lights came on in an empty apartment in the building across the street. It’s for sale, so Realtors have been showing it, but it was almost ten thirty, which seemed strange.”
“That is a little later than usual,” Shaye agreed.
&nb
sp; “A man came in with a woman. He guided her through the living room to the dining area, where there was a blue rug on the floor. I remember thinking it was really strange because the apartment was completely empty except for that blue rug that completely clashed with the kitchen cabinets. Now it seems like a stupid thing to be thinking about, but I didn’t know what was going to happen.”
Madison’s voice hitched and went up several octaves with her last words.
“Your observation was completely normal. Can you tell me what happened next?”
“He…the man, made this motion like he was stabbing her in the neck. I couldn’t see if he had anything in his hand—it was too far away—but the woman immediately crumpled onto the rug.”
Madison paused for a moment, clutching the armrest of the chair, her gaze dropped to the floor. Her breathing was more rapid than before and Shaye started to worry that she would hyperventilate.
“He bent over her and touched her neck,” Madison continued.
“Like he was checking her pulse?”
Madison looked back up at her. “That’s what it looked like, but then he pulled a knife out of his jacket. A really long knife. He grabbed her head with one hand and twisted it to the side, then he slit her throat.”
Madison’s hands flew up over her mouth as she finished the sentence in an attempt to cover her choked cry. Shaye leaned over and put her hand on Madison’s arm.
“That must have been horrible to see,” Shaye said.
Madison nodded as she started to cry. “I dialed 911, but before they answered, I passed out.”