The Mistletoe Murders

by A. C. Mason

  Baker’s shoulders slumped. “I’ll be in touch.”

  Caleb recalled Bergeron’s phone call. The chief seemed awfully quick to mention the other detective. Bergeron really could be trying to distance himself from Marino. Why? Maybe Marino was also holding something over his head.

  Damn, all this blackmail is getting old.

  ~ * ~

  At eight in the evening, Caleb found himself back at Robert Blanchard’s luxurious office building. Only a few lights shone from windows on two upper floors. A lone security officer sat at a desk in a dimly lit area inside the front entrance.

  Caleb presented his ID to the guard who immediately made a call on the radio.

  “Your last visitor has arrived,” he said.

  A few minutes later, Eva St. Cyr met Caleb in the lobby and escorted him past an atrium with tropical greenery and a koi pond to a small, but nicely outfitted, conference room. Chief Baker and Detective Kyle Bergeron sat in upholstered chairs around a rectangular table.

  Caleb felt as if he needed to remove his shoes before stepping on the plush white carpet.

  “There’s coffee on the buffet. Help yourself,” Eva said. “I’ll leave you gentlemen to your conference.” She turned and walked out the door.

  He didn’t really need any more caffeine, but since the brew was on Blanchard’s dime, he indulged in a cup. He carried his coffee to the table and took a seat in the empty chair.

  Caleb eyed Baker for a short moment, before turning his attention to Bergeron. “Okay, what kind of info do you have in regard to Marino’s activities?”

  Bergeron appeared nervous. “What’s going to happen to me?”

  Caleb frowned. “Are you involved in Branson’s murder?”

  “No, not directly. I figured it out and confronted Marino about his part. He never would come right out and admit he killed Branson. In fact he tried to make it appear you killed him because of the article in the paper.”

  “That’s what I thought.” Caleb clenched his jaw muscle. “How did you figure out he killed Branson?”

  “I saw him talking to the reporter the day before the article came out. After I read it, I figured he was behind the story. Just seeing him with that guy didn’t prove anything. The second time I pressed him about the shooting, I recorded the conversation.” Bergeron moved his gaze from Caleb to Baker and back to Caleb. “He admitted he paid Branson to slip the story into the paper.”

  Baker leaned forward and glared at Bergeron. “But you didn’t report your suspicions to me. That’s withholding evidence.”

  Bergeron lowered his eyes. “I should have, but I didn’t know if anything would come of it.”

  Caleb wanted to shake some sense into him. “Cut the crap. You just didn’t want to turn in your pal. Or else you were scared of Marino for some reason. What else did he say about his deal with Branson?”

  “You can hear it for yourself.” Bergeron pulled a small recording device from his coat pocket and placed it on the table. “This is the last thing he said.” He pressed a button on the recorder.

  Marino’s words were clear. “Branson didn’t deserve the rest of the money I promised him. His story didn’t get Bourque off the case. I had to get rid of him. If you repeat any of this, you and your wife and kid will be as dead as him.”

  Caleb’s heart raced. “That’s pretty damn low…threatening your family too.”

  Baker reached over and picked up the tiny recorder. “This is evidence and the chain of custody has got to be properly documented if we want to have a case that isn’t thrown out of court on technicalities.”

  “This ought to be enough to get an arrest warrant,” Caleb said. “He admitted to getting rid of Branson and threatening Bergeron and his family.”

  “It should be, but that remains to be seen. You need to turn in what you found at Branson’s murder scene. ”

  “It’s Marino’s ring. The chain of custody on that won’t hold up in court,” Caleb said. “The evidence may be disallowed, but even if it is…” He left his statement unfinished.

  “However, you just can’t tell about judges. Just get it to me ASAP.” Baker glanced at his watch. “I’ll get in touch with the DA and see if I can meet up with him.” He rose from his seat, pulled his phone out, and left the room.

  A few minutes later Baker returned. “I’m heading over to meet with him now. He’ll let me know if we have a strong enough case.”

  Caleb grunted. “What else could he want? DNA? The recording speaks volumes.”

  Baker raised both hands in the air palms up. “You know what a stickler he is. I’ll let you both know what he says.” He started to walk out, but stopped. “For the next few days, everything will be just like as it was before this meeting. Caleb, you’re still officially off duty until we have something concrete from the DA. Bergeron, stick to your regular schedule.”

  “Why can’t we move on him tomorrow?” Caleb wondered how Baker would spin the story to the DA about his denial of that video.

  “I can’t honestly answer your question right now, but I feel like it’ll all work out in your favor. There’s a lot of shit I have to deal with to get my affairs in order.” He left the room in a hurry.

  Bergeron looked at him with curiosity. “That was a weird statement. He must be talking about retiring. Are you bucking for the chief’s job?”

  “Hell no,” Caleb said. “I wouldn’t have that job for all the money in the world. It’s obvious Marino would.”

  “Yeah, that’s for damn sure.”

  ~ * ~

  Adrien Blanchard arrested, charged with the murder of his fiancée, the headline on the front page of Oak Pointe Review’s special edition announced. All of Oak Pointe was abuzz. Jamie could imagine the reactions of townspeople. A few would be horrified, but more would think it was about time the Blanchards got their comeuppance.

  She put the newspaper on the kitchen table, unable to deal with the matter any longer. Caleb hadn’t been the one to arrest him. He had been suspended from the serial killer cases. She knew better than to ask herself this question, especially to say the words out loud, but the query automatically popped out of her mouth. “Could anything worse happen?”

  Fifty-one

  Friday, December 20

  Jamie closed her eyes and rubbed her temples in an attempt to ease her splitting headache. She didn’t want to be here in the office, but there was important legal information to compile for her attorney since she was now the sole owner of Magdalen House. Also business had to be taken care of regarding Joanna’s portion of the inheritance from their parents.

  Besides the pain in her head, her heart also ached. She had withheld information—information that might have stopped the killing. Caleb wouldn’t be able to trust her after that lie of omission.

  Fate must be against her having a relationship with him. After all, everyone she loved seemed destined to be killed. Caleb, like Sean, worked in a hostile environment. He could end up being shot to death by some criminal.

  After viewing the video of him being harassed by the reporter about possibly being a suspect in that reporter’s death, she was horrified. She couldn’t begin to imagine how he must feel.

  That insurance policy and the consequences of her reluctance to hand it over, the realization that Adrien murdered her sister and might have killed the other women, sat like a pile of bricks on her chest. When would this nightmare be over? Or would it ever end?

  A knock at her office door forced her to open her eyes. “Oh, Father Greg, come in please.”

  “Are you all right?” the priest asked with concern. “You look like you might be in pain.”

  “A bad headache,” she said. “I took something for the pain about ten minutes ago, so it should start working soon.”

  “I can tell you’re also upset for another reason besides the headache. Care to talk about what’s bothering you?” He sat across from her desk.

  She forced a smile. “Now how can you tell that?”

  “Years
of experience, plus all the years I’ve known you and your family.”

  “There is so much going on in my life that’s bothering me. I don’t simply feel physical pain… there’s a great deal of emotional pain. I feel overwhelmed by all the events of the past week. My mission here is to help women who are in trouble, but it seems like all I’ve done is cause them to be killed, along with Joanna. What I need is a miracle to help me get through this ordeal.”

  “I can understand why you feel besieged by all these events. You and Joanna performed a valuable service to women who needed help. Don’t ever feel as though you’re to blame for those deaths. The only person responsible is the one who killed them.

  “Not only those deaths have affected you, but you lost your sister,” he continued. “Losing someone you love can be devastating. Healing will take time. Pray to God to give you strength to overcome your pain and help you heal. Prayer can bring about miracles.”

  “Will you pray with me?”

  “Of course.” Father Greg stood and walked over to her. He made the sign of the cross as did she and together they prayed.

  “Thank you, Father.” She smiled. “My headache is easing. You must be a miracle worker.”

  “No, I’m not. The easing of your pain is to let you know God heard your prayers.” He chuckled and said in a teasing voice. “And the result of your medication starting to work.” He paused for a beat. “I wanted to relay my good news. The remodeling on the rectory has been completed. I’m on my way to pack up all my belongings and move from Michael’s house.”

  “Have you seen the remodel yet?”

  “Yes, and it’s quite a change from those nineteen thirties’ appliances and plumbing fixtures. It’s still modest, but now everything works as it should.”

  “I know you felt like you were an imposition on Michael, but I don’t believe he minded your rooming with him. You’re his only living relative, aren’t you?”

  A brief frown wrinkled his brow. “I am. His mother was my sister, Elaine. Has he told you any details about his past?”

  “Not really,” she said. “Nothing except you were his only family. He never spoke to me about his parents or any siblings.”

  “I’m sure he will in time.”

  Father Greg bid her goodbye, leaving her with a hefty dose of curiosity. She had always dismissed Michael’s secrecy about his past and his family as simply a privacy matter. Some people didn’t want to discuss their past because it was too painful.

  Jamie spent the remainder of the day puttering around the office and back in the dining room where she spoke to a couple of women who had eaten lunch there. Concentrating on someone else’s problems diverted her attention from her own for a short time.

  Too many other subjects invaded her mind and interfered with the ability to calculate budget amounts. She couldn’t concentrate on a work-related agenda.

  Father Greg’s last remarks about Michael stayed on her mind. Michael was about three years older than she, but she knew nothing about his life before meeting him several years ago. Had he grown up in Oak Pointe? He could have lived elsewhere, even in another state.

  All the evidence seemed to point to Adrien as her sister’s killer, but there could be another explanation for his behavior since Joanna’s death.

  She recalled her last encounter with Michael right before she went to coffee with Caleb. Michael seemed upset about their coffee date. At the time she blew off his reaction as jealousy, but she wondered whether his response could be for another reason.

  Why hadn’t he confided in her about his past? She certainly had told him about hers, even about Sean. Why not him? She shook off her crazy questions. His past might be too painful.

  Still, her curiosity soon got the best of her. She keyed his mother’s name onto a search engine. Numerous Elaine Phillips’ names came up, but she eliminated them. Then she spotted a reference to the name in an Oak Pointe Review article dated December 5, 1981 regarding a prostitution sting.

  “Oh my goodness,” she mumbled as she read the article.

  Oak Pointe police partnered with Sheriff Roy Marino and his deputies to raid The Bayou Club. Four women were arrested in the sting.

  The article went on to list the names and ages

  Unlike her and Joanna’s recognition of their sister, Michael never mentioned his mother. Was it because she was a prostitute?

  Jamie surveyed her desk with paperwork piling up. She didn’t feel like being there. Not getting anything accomplished, she left her office.

  Earlier in the afternoon, the sun won its battle with the clouds for the second day in a row, but at five in the evening, night started to claim victory. In the west a few pink streaks blended into orange, the only colors in the sky.

  Pulling out of the parking lot, she took a different route, one that would bring her past Michael’s house. Strangely, in all the years she’d known him, she’d never been inside his house or even passed by the place.

  Father Greg might be there packing up his belongings. If he were alone or even if Michael happened to be at home helping his uncle with moving, her excuse would be she stopped by to help.

  No one seemed to be at home. She parked her car and surveyed the area. The house needed a paint job, but otherwise looked well kept. Most homes in this neighborhood were built shortly after World War II ended. Many were purchased by GIs returning from service and had been handed down through several generations as starter homes for children or grandchildren.

  Behind the main house was a detached garage with a small apartment above it. A double carport on the left side of the home must have been added sometime after the house had been built. Were tenants living above the garage?

  Something about the apartment fascinated Jamie. Maybe there was a lot of junk stored in both apartment and garage. She might have an overactive imagination, but she doubted the place was occupied by renters. It seemed deserted.

  There were no decorations, not even a wreath on the door. Of course, not everyone celebrated Christmas. Perhaps they didn’t have money to spare for decorations.

  Against her better judgment, she exited her car and walked toward the apartment. Black paint covered the garage’s only window.

  As she neared stairs leading to the apartment, she noticed the garage door was not completely closed. She moved closer, but stopped short.

  What am I doing? I’m trespassing and could really get in trouble. Yet she seemed to be drawn by an invisible force to take a look inside.

  Lifting the door part way, she peered into the dark garage. Too bad she didn’t have a flashlight. She didn’t dare open the garage door wider. In the dim light, she made out the back end of a vehicle.

  Her stomach plunged. A black Acura sat parked inside, its license plate covered with mud.

  The sound of a vehicle driving up sent her heart racing.

  Fifty-two

  Thank God! It wasn’t Michael who had driven up.

  Father Greg stepped out of his car, his arms loaded with cardboard boxes. He eyed Jamie’s car parked in front with a curious expression.

  She did a quick walk back to the house and greeted him. “Here, let me help you with those boxes.”

  He handed her two. “I’m surprised to see you here.” He paused as if he expected an answer.

  “I thought maybe Michael might be here,” she said, averting her gaze.

  Father Greg started walking toward the front door. “He should be home anytime now. He promised to help me pack.” He looked up at the sky. “Since it’s almost dark I might have to wait until tomorrow to box up all my things.”

  She followed him into the house carrying the boxes.

  “You can set those down anywhere. I’m starting in my bedroom.”

  “Can I ask you something, Father?”

  He placed the boxes he carried on the floor. “Of course. Is something wrong?”

  Jamie shook her head. “I’m just wondering about that garage apartment. Is there a renter living there?”

/>   The priest seemed surprised at her question. “Michael has his photography studio up there.”

  “Michael does photography?”

  His shoulders dropped slightly. “He really hasn’t told you anything about his life, has he?”

  “No, I guess not. I had no idea. He appears to have a secret life.” She met the priest’s gaze. “Do you know whose car that is in the garage?”

  “Michael told me the car belonged to a friend of his who was serving in the military overseas. He drives it once in a while to keep the battery charged.” His brow furrowed. “I suspect there’s more than curiosity in your interest about that car.”

  “There is, but I can’t explain at the moment,” she said. “One more question, Father. Are you or Michael related to a man named Martin Verbois?”

  “Not that I know of. Michael might know this man, but…” He stopped in mid-sentence. “I’m sorry. As you know, there is certain information that I don’t know or can’t reveal. Michael will have to tell you himself.”

  Jamie fought to keep her expression neutral. “I understand. There’s something I need to take care of. Tell Michael I was here and I’ll contact him later.”

  She needed to get out of there before she blurted out her suspicions. Her heart raced in time with her gait as she headed out the door. Inside the car, she fumbled with her key. Finally her shaking hand managed to get the key into the ignition and she drove away.

  Michael might be telling the truth about the ownership of the car. Could he be the driver who ran her off the road? She didn’t want to believe he was the one, but it seemed too much of a coincidence that the car matched the description of the one whose driver intended to kill her.

  I’ve got to tell Caleb about this. She keyed in his phone number. He didn’t answer. She left a message on his voice mail. Whether he would return her call was questionable. She needed to speak to him in person.

  Jamie drove directly to the police headquarters. After failing to report to him about the insurance policy, she didn’t intend to keep this from him. If Michael were innocent, she would deal with his hurt feelings later.