The Mistletoe Murders

by A. C. Mason

  All papers regarding the creation of Magdalen House as a non-profit organization had been scanned to computer for easy access. She pulled up the documents and scrolled down to check the signatures. Joanna’s signature on these papers was authentic for sure.

  She reviewed the signature on the policy and compared the two. Her sister’s signature on the policy did not appear authentic. And who was this person named Martin Verbois signing as a witness? Even the insurance agency didn’t sound familiar.

  This agency definitely wasn’t in Oak Pointe. Of course it could be in Baton Rouge, or New Orleans, or even Lafayette. Why would Joanna go out of town to purchase an insurance policy on her life?

  Her cell phone rang before she could delve any further. The caller ID showed her brother’s number.

  “Hey, I’m just getting into town. Where are you?”

  “I’m at Magdalen House going over a few of Joanna’s files.”

  “I don’t know how long you’ve been at it, but you need a break. Doctor’s orders. I’ll meet you at your house in about fifteen minutes.”

  She laughed. “You sure enjoy giving orders.”

  “Damn right,” he said jokingly. “You know what they say about doctors believing they’re above the rest.”

  “You’re a perfect example of that.” Somehow she didn’t think he was joking. He actually believed it was true. Despite their semi-estrangement and his narcissistic attitude, she was still glad he was here. “Okay, you win. I need to get something to eat anyway. I’ll meet you at the house in a few.”

  Jamie eyed the insurance policy and folders on her desk. She wanted to dig deeper into the origin of this policy, but it was probably best to lock the files up until she had a chance to investigate further.

  After securing the files in a desk drawer, she grabbed her purse, slipped on her sweater, and headed out of the office.

  Outside, the gloomy weather matched her mood. TV weather forecasters on every channel had predicted rain for today in advance of another cold front. She hoped the weather wouldn’t be rainy and cold for Joanna’s funeral on Monday. Two or more days in a row of dreary weather depressed her and would be even worse on such an already sad day.

  Jamie pulled out of the parking lot and made a left onto Railroad Avenue. She followed the usual route back home, the way she’d done so many times.

  Her subdivision was located just outside the city limits of Oak Pointe along a narrow highway with deep drainage ditches on either side. Even during the day, few vehicles passed through the area. But that’s the way the residents liked it. No semis hauling goods and disturbing the peace in the area. However, with the growth spurt the city had recently experienced, the peaceful rural atmosphere might change sooner rather than later.

  All sorts of thoughts and images ran through her head. Who was Martin Verbois? Why would Joanna take out such a large policy on her life? Had someone planted the information where she would find it?

  If it were planted, the person had to know I or the police might be looking through Joanna’s files.

  The hair on the back of her neck bristled. She glanced in her rearview mirror. Why was this guy following so close? A black Acura was practically on her bumper. She couldn’t see the driver because of a dark-tinted windshield.

  A sudden jolt caused her body to strain against the seatbelt. He had hit her car. Her heart raced. You’re next. You’re next. The words reverberated in her head.

  She stepped on the accelerator. The Acura sped up. Another hit on her bumper sent her onto the tiny shoulder. In a panic she jerked the steering wheel hard to the left.

  Another over-correction sent her car onto the shoulder again, but she managed to get back into the lane. She checked her rear view mirror. Oh no, he’s going to pass me!

  The Acura pulled up even with her. She couldn’t see a face, only a dark form. He delivered a hard bump to the driver’s side, sending her car sailing onto the shoulder and into the ditch.

  The front end of her car hit the far side of the embankment with a bang. Her head snapped back as the air bag deployed. The explosive sound left her ears ringing. Her face and upper body stung from the impact of the airbag.

  A whiff of gasoline drifted inside the car. I’ve got to get out of here. Her purse lay on the floor, the contents spilled out on the passenger side.

  She spotted her cell phone and tried to reach it. Blood pulsed in her temples. Why can’t I move? No wonder, I’m still belted in. Calm down. She fumbled around with the seat belt until she heard a snap and the belt’s tension released.

  She gathered her phone and any other items she could reach and stuffed them into her purse.

  Her heart banged against her chest. The driver’s side door wouldn’t open. She pushed hard against the door, but it wouldn’t budge. Dummy, dial nine-one-one.

  “I need help. Someone ran me off the road into a ditch. I can’t get out of my car.”

  “Give me your location,” the operator said.

  “Highway Sixteen, right before the entrance to Oak Place subdivision.”

  “Are you injured?”

  “I’m not sure. My airbag deployed so I feel like I’ve been punched around.” She caught another much stronger whiff of gasoline. “I smell gas. Please hurry.”

  “Calm down. I’m sending police, fire, and EMS. Stay on the line.”

  Twenty-three

  A wave of nausea came over Jamie. Despite the chilly weather outside her car, she had to wipe perspiration from her face. Trapped in the closed space, she could hardly breathe. The sides of the car seemed to be closing in on her.

  Sirens wailed in the distance. She heard voices. A man peered in the driver’s side window.

  “Are you hurt?” he asked.

  “I don’t think so, but the door won’t open.”

  He pulled on the door, but it wouldn’t budge.

  “Can you get the window down?”

  She pressed the window operation button. No such luck. “I can’t start the engine. I smell gas.”

  “Yeah, so do I.” He glanced away from her for a moment. “Hang on. Looks like cops and fire are almost here.”

  Sirens grew louder and louder and finally groaned to a stop. Oh, thank God. Her emotional respite didn’t last long. Beyond the cracked glass of the windshield, smoke curled upward from the crumpled hood of her car. An orange flame shot up amid the smoke.

  Her breath caught in her throat.

  “Move back, sir,” she heard another male voice say.

  The man who had first arrived to help disappeared from view. Two firemen appeared in his place. One held a fire extinguisher in his hand and immediately began spraying foam on the flame. The other fireman, a tall, muscular guy, began pulling on the door. Screeching metal sounded as the door gave way.

  “Are you hurt?” he asked.

  “No broken bones, at least.”

  When she emerged outside the vehicle, she felt as if she’d aged at least ten years. Sore muscles and weak legs would hamper her climb up the slanted side of the ditch. She reached for the fireman’s arm to steady herself.

  Without comment, he grabbed her into his arms and lifted her to the waiting arms of another fireman who stood on the bank above.

  Even in daylight, this scene carried an air of the surreal. Marked cars from the sheriff’s office and emergency vehicles lined the highway, all with lights flashing. A lone pickup truck, with its engine idling, waited for an officer to allow him through the area.

  Another car pulled up behind the truck. The driver opened his door and partially exited, craning his neck to see what had happened.

  Two EMTs rolled a stretcher toward her along the edge of the street.

  The fireman placed her on top. “They’ll transport you to the hospital to make certain you’re good to go.”

  “I’m not hurt,” she insisted. “It isn’t necessary for me to go to the hospital”

  “You need to at least let the EMT check you out,” a familiar male voice said. “Just in ca
se.”

  She looked around to see Caleb Bourque standing next to her. “How did you get here so quickly?”

  He chuckled. “I just happen to have connections within law enforcement, even if this is in the sheriff’s jurisdiction.”

  “I always seem to ask you stupid questions.” She exhaled. “My mind is in a blur right now.”

  His expression turned serious. “All the more reason to get checked out. You could be unaware of an injury.”

  “Okay,” she relented. “I’ll let them check me here. But not in the middle of the road.”

  An EMT, whose name tag read C. Delaune, assented with a slight nod. “We’ll get you over inside our truck and out of the public eye.” He raised the back of the stretcher and began buckling a belt to strap her in.

  She frowned. “Is that really necessary?”

  “Sure is,” Delaune said. “Riding on this baby can be bumpy. We don’t want you to fall off on the way there.”

  Once inside the EMS vehicle, Delaune removed the strap and instructed Jamie to sit in the chair usually used by the attending EMT on the ride to the hospital.

  He took her blood pressure and other vitals. “All your signs look good, but I’d recommend you check with your regular doctor in a day or two, especially if you start having any symptoms. But you’re going to be stiff and sore tomorrow,” he added. “Detective, I guess you need to speak to her. Y’all can sit in here to talk, unless I get another call in the next few minutes.” He exited the truck and walked over to speak to a deputy.

  A sudden dizziness caught her by surprise. She swayed slightly in the chair. Good thing she was still sitting.

  Caleb reached over to steady her. “You really should get checked out at the hospital.”

  She wrested her arm away. “I’m fine.”

  Caleb’s stern-faced expression and those blue eyes were unnerving. “Tell me what happened. Nine-one-one said you told her someone ran you off the road.”

  “That’s exactly what happened. A car started following me real close. Then he hit my car from the rear, not hard at first. I sped up and so did he. He hit me again. I panicked and over-corrected.

  “Then he came alongside my car and hit the driver’s side. This time I lost control and went over on the shoulder and ended up in the ditch.”

  “Do you know what kind of car it was?”

  “A black Acura. I couldn’t tell what year.”

  Caleb frowned. “Are you sure it was an Acura?”

  “Yes, why?”

  “Just checking the facts.”

  His frown told her differently. He might be double checking the facts, but for a specific reason. Or maybe she was being paranoid. Who could blame her after everything that had happened over the last two days?

  “Could you tell anything about the driver?”

  She shook her head. “Not much. The windows had a dark tint. I couldn’t see who was driving until he drove up even with me. I couldn’t see a face. I’m assuming the driver was a male. ”

  Jamie suddenly remembered Jon. He would no doubt be pacing back and forth. She pulled her cell phone from her purse. “I’ve got to call my brother. I was supposed to meet him at my house.” She pressed in his number.

  “Hey,” he said. “Where are you?”

  “I’ve been in an accident. Well, it wasn’t really an accident. Someone ran me off the road.”

  She told him her location. “I’ll be home as soon as we get things cleared up.”

  “Do you know anyone who drives a black Acura?” Caleb asked when she ended her call.

  “No, not that I recall.”

  Her attention was drawn to a vehicle arriving at the scene. A Mercedes parked on the side of the road and the emergency flashers started blinking.

  I should have known Jon would show up. She hated this whole situation. Someone had run her off the road—possibly the person who wrote the note and made the phone calls. With all attention centered on her, she felt like she was standing on a stage in a spotlight without clothes—totally exposed.

  Her brother exited the car and started toward her. A deputy intercepted him.

  “I’m Jamie Chatelaine’s brother,” Jon said. “I’m also a doctor.”

  The deputy allowed him through and followed him to her location.

  “I wanted to make sure you were okay,” Jon said.

  “I told you I wasn’t hurt.”

  “Sometimes an injury isn’t detected until days later.”

  “That’s exactly what I told her,” Caleb said, extending his hand. “Caleb Bourque. I’m a detective with the Oak Pointe Police Department.”

  Jon shook his hand. “I’m Dr. Jonathan Chatelaine.”

  “My brother,” Jamie explained to Caleb. “Detective Bourque is investigating Joanna’s murder and the threats I’ve been receiving.”

  A deep frown furrowed Jon’s brow. “You’ve been receiving threats?”

  “Yes, ever since Joanna was killed.”

  “I wondered why a detective would be investigating an ordinary traffic incident.”

  Caleb narrowed his eyes. “It’s more serious than a simple traffic incident. Someone deliberately ran her off the road and left the scene. After the death threats your sister has received and messages sent to her, I feel certain this event is connected to Joanna’s murder and the killing of three other women.”

  Jamie sensed a tension between her brother and Caleb. Jon displayed his better-than-anyone-else attitude as usual. She could tell he rubbed Caleb the wrong way.

  Jon regarded EMT Delaune. “Her vitals didn’t show any abnormalities?”

  “No, everything looked fine. Her blood pressure was slightly high, but that’s normal after what she just went through.”

  “Let me see your findings. I’ll decide what’s normal.”

  Delaune looked taken aback, but glanced at Jamie for permission to comply.

  “It’s okay.” As usual, ordering people around. “Jon, please. Please stop harassing this guy. He’s quite capable of diagnosing vital signs. I want to go home and get cleaned up.”

  Jon scanned Delaune’s clipboard without making any comment about the info. “I gather you refused to be seen by an emergency room doctor,” he said with an irritated look on his face. His tone of voice matched.

  “That’s correct. I don’t need to go to the hospital.”

  “Then let’s go to your house.”

  Jamie looked over at Caleb. “Do you have any more questions?”

  He offered her a sympathetic look. “None for now, but if you think of anything else, you know where to reach me.”

  She smiled. “Thank you.”

  Jon started to help her up, but she waved him away even though her legs felt like wet noodles.

  A deputy approached the group. “Ms. Chatelaine, we’ve called a wrecker to pull your car out. Where do you want to have the vehicle repaired?”

  “Tell the driver to tow it to Ned’s Body Shop. I suspect it can’t be repaired, but I’ll deal with the situation when or if it arises. Right now I’ve got too many other problems to think about… like who’s trying to kill me.”

  Twenty-four

  Saturday, December 14

  Caleb never expected to be in the office at seven-thirty on a Saturday morning. Up until a few weeks ago when all the murders began, only patrol officers had shifts on weekends.

  He looked over the report for Jamie’s accident. Except the incident wasn’t an accident. It was a deliberate action. Her sister’s killer really wanted her dead. What had stopped him from getting out of his car and shooting her as she sat trapped in hers? Did someone interrupt him?

  He scanned down the page. The first man on the scene was witness to part of the event. This guy probably scared the suspect off. Caleb searched for his name. Bingo! Jim Dugas…lived across the road…came out when he heard a crash. He observed Jamie’s car go into the ditch and a black Acura leave the scene in a hurry. He stated license plate was obscured.

  Caleb’s
jaw muscles tightened. This guy has got to be stopped. The information Alisha had dug up was both interesting and puzzling. Office of Motors Vehicles did have a driver’s license for Verbois, but the man seemed an unlikely subject to be driving around that late at night picking up prostitutes.

  According to his date of birth, Martin Verbois would be ninety years old. An address listed on the license wasn’t the Celtic Estates listing. Alisha and Marino were headed there to check things out.

  He would bet his last paycheck that someone named Martin Verbois or his identity thief was their killer. Who the hell was this scumbag and why couldn’t they catch up with him? He could kick himself for not stopping the Acura when he had the car in his sights.

  No doubt this guy used Verbois’ name with fake addresses. It wasn’t all that difficult to get fake IDs if a criminal knew the right people. But how had he managed to stay off the radar before now?

  Caleb brushed his hand over his face. His mind told him he needed to canvas Old Town for any clue to help solve these murders. His body screamed, I need a good night’s sleep. But so did his detectives.

  There wouldn’t be a good night’s sleep for anyone until the killer or killers were caught. Guess the times of having weekends off are gone for good.

  He grabbed his cell phone, placed the report in his briefcase and left for home.

  ~ * ~

  Jamie groaned as she stepped out of bed. Every muscle in her body ached. Her neck felt strained. No doubt she had whiplash. Maybe she should have gone to the emergency room. Pain medication Jon had supplied last night had left her feeling groggy.

  She forced herself to get moving. Images of those insurance papers and files in her desk at Faith Chapel called to her.

  A nice hot shower should go a long way to easing her pain and relieving the bleariness. She grabbed clean underwear from the top drawer of an antique highboy chest, and a pair of jeans and tee shirt from the closet.