“Hey,” Ben said, “when you’re paying someone to help a convicted murderer escape, you don’t have the cream of society to choose from.”
“Yeah, well…”
“Don’t worry about it. You’re busy,” he added, hearing the background noise from the Crescent.
“Yeah, the joint’s jumping, so I’d better go. It’s tough managing a bar when the owner’s never around.”
“Very funny.” Saying goodbye, Ben sat down on the couch beside Monique and put his arm around her. “It’s exactly what we figured. Dezi gave Felicia the money earlier that evening. So she obviously went off to celebrate and ended up at the Twinkle.”
Monique slowly shook her head. “It’s ironic, isn’t it. If Dezi had chosen someone else, someone who hadn’t gone to Danny Dupray’s club and ended up getting killed, you and I wouldn’t be together now.”
“Are you glad we are?”
“Do you have to ask?” she said, giving him a little smile. “I wish Felicia wasn’t dead, but I wouldn’t want to wish any of the rest away.”
He drew her close and kissed her, wondering how he could have gotten so lucky—and trying to ignore the fact that what they’d found together could be snatched away at any second.
“It must be bedtime,” he finally murmured. The way her body was pressed against his made it impossible to think about anything but making love with her.
She smiled again, then said, “Almost. I just want to talk about Danny for a minute, about exactly what his game was. Do you think it was simply what the waitress guessed? That he let someone know Felicia was a prime candidate for a mugging? And when she resisted the mugger killed her?”
“No, my money’s on the other possibility. When Danny saw that envelope from the Crescent, I’ll bet he put two and two together. I mean, everyone assumed the jury would arrive at its verdict right away. So Danny concluded that I was the guy Felicia was supposed to help the next day. And if he called someone who didn’t want her to, we’d have a far more likely explanation for why she ended up dead.”
“But if he called this someone… You really think Danny knows who set you up? Who had your parents killed?”
Ben wearily shook his head. “I’m sure not ruling it out He’s a police snitch, but he works the other side too, so he knows an awful lot about what goes on in this city.”
“Then we’ve got to find out exactly what he does know. If he—”
“The question is how,” Ben said, that familiar feeling of frustration back in his chest. “If anyone started asking him questions about me, he’d tell this someone. Plus, he’d let the cops know, too, and get paid off twice. So I just don’t see how we can—”
The phone began to ring and Ben gestured to Monique to pick up. They’d given the number to enough people that he could no longer assume it was either Dezi or Maria.
Monique answered it, then handed it over, whispering, “Cheryl Tremont.”
“Ms. Tremont,” he said, “thank you for calling back.”
“I hope it’s not too late.”
“No, I’m glad to hear from you. I have a problem, and I’ve been told you’re the woman I should talk to about it.”
“Aah. And your message said it was urgent.”
“Yes, it is.”
“Well, I don’t take appointments on Sundays, but I can see you on Monday morning if that—”
“Ms. Tremont, it’s extremely urgent And I’d be happy to pay double your normal rate if we could get together tomorrow.”
“I see. In that case, shall we say ten in the morning?”
“Ten would be great. And I really appreciate it.”
“Do you know where I am?”
“I know it’s St Philip Street but I don’t have the exact address.”
When she gave it to him, he jotted it down, thanked her again, then hung up. “And you,” he said, smiling at Monique, “told me I wouldn’t hear back from her tonight”.
“As I recall, I merely said it wasn’t probable. How did she sound?”
“Businesslike. Although, I’m surprised she didn’t ask who I was. Who Dick Rogers was, to be accurate. Or who’d referred me. It can’t be entirely safe to just let strangers into her apartment.”
“How many times do I have to point out that she’s psychic,” Monique teased. “She could tell over the phone that you’re perfectly safe.”
“I am, am I?”
He graced her with his best leer, which started her laughing. It made him reflect that they hadn’t had many chances to laugh together. If they could just succeed at what they were trying to do, though, that would change.
“What are you thinking?” she asked.
Before he could tell her, the phone began ringing once more.
She answered it, then handed it to him again, this time saying, “Dezi.”
“What’s up?” Ben asked.
“I’m not quite sure, but it isn’t good. I just had a call from Danny Dupray, and he was asking questions about Monique.”
“What!”
“Calm down. I didn’t mean he knows who she is.”
“What?” Monique whispered. “What’s wrong?”
Ben waved her off as Dezi continued. “He just said he thought I’d be interested to know a woman had been at his place asking about Felicia.”
“And you said?”
“I said, Felicia who? But with seeing that damn envelope he’s known about the connection all along. At any rate, he was just taking a shot in the dark that I might know something about Monique, because he realized she wasn’t Felicia’s sister. He said the woman who came to the Twinkle was a class broad who never in a million years grew up in the same family as Felicia.”
“Dammit”
“Ben, it’s not that bad. He was only sounding me out And when I said I didn’t know a thing, that was the end of the conversation. I just thought I’d better let you know.”
“Yeah, thanks. But I sure don’t like the thought of that sleazoid asking around about Monique.”
“What?” she demanded again as he hung up.
“Danny Dupray thinks you’re a class broad,” he muttered.
“Oh, great, that certainly thrills me.”
“Yeah, me, too.”
After he filled her in on the rest of what Dezi had said, she shook her head. “I don’t like the thought of him asking around about me, either. Why is he doing it?”
“Because his game is selling information—to the highest bidder. And he knows you were up to something, pretending you were Felicia’s sister, so he was trying to find out what.”
“So he could tell…?”
“Whoever would pay him the most.”
“Ben, should I go and see him again?”
“No, the farther away you stay from him, the better.”
“But if he—”
“Shh.” Ben rested his fingers against her lips. “I don’t even want to waste time talking about him, because all we’ll do is go around in circles wondering what he’s up to. And,” he added, drawing her close, “I can think of something far more enjoyable than going around in circles.”
Sunday, February 9 9:59 a.m.
CHERYL TREMONT WAS an attractive blond woman in her late thirties, and the moment Ben and Monique arrived at her apartment they discovered why she didn’t worry about letting strangers in. She had a rottweiler the size of a small pony, and he appeared to be glued to her side.
“This is Rex,” she told them. “Named for the Mardi Gras king, not in the traditional Rex-as-adog’s-name sense.”
“Hello, Rex,” Monique offered.
The dog curled his lip, revealing king-sized teeth, so Ben passed on trying to make friends.
“Please sit down,” Cheryl said, gesturing them to chairs at the table in the living-dining room.
She sat across from them, Rex still at her side, and eyed Ben for a long moment.
It made him anxious as hell. When he looked in the mirror these days, he barely recognized the bearded,
dark-haired man staring back—so nobody who didn’t know him would ever match him to any of the photographs the media had been using. Still, every time he was out of the apartment he felt uneasy.
“Your name isn’t Dick Rogers,” Cheryl said at last
His mouth went dry, and the frightened glance Monique shot him didn’t help any. What if Cheryl somehow realized who he was? Would she keep it to herself or not?
“It’s okay,” she went on. “I know some people are uncomfortable about consulting a psychic. But it would be better if you told me your real name.”
“I’m afraid I can’t,” he said, desperately trying to figure out how to play this. “It might put you in a compromising position.”
Cheryl slowly pushed her hair back from her face, her gaze still fixed on him.
He half expected her to tell him to leave, but she finally said, “All right, I can make do without a name, but I may not be able to sense much with that block between us.”
“Well, it’s not really me I need you to sense something about I…one of your clients, Felicia Williams, was murdered the night before she was supposed to meet with me. And I suspect someone killed her to prevent her from doing that. So I thought if she’d said anything to you, or if you’d sensed anything the last time she consulted you…”
“Are you aware the police came to question me about Felicia?”
“Yes.”
“And do you know I didn’t tell them anything?”
Ben nodded.
“Then why would I tell you?”
He racked his brain for an answer that might convince her to, but nothing came.
“Because,” Monique said slowly, “whoever killed Felicia has probably killed before. And he’ll undoubtedly kill again. If we learn who he is we can prevent that”
“I see. But when the police haven’t learned who he is, what makes you two think you can?”
“We were hoping that if you’d talk to us about Felicia, something you say might help us.”
Cheryl considered that, then said, “Normally I wouldn’t do this, but I sense how important it is to you.”
Ben reached for Monique’s hand, thanking his lucky stars she was with him.
“Felicia was here the day she was murdered. And there was an ugly aura around her that made me certain she was in danger”.
“You told her that?” Ben asked.
“Of course, and she said she already knew. But that she was being very well paid to do a job that involved only a little work, and she’d decided to take her chances.”
“But you didn’t sense who she was in danger from?” Monique said.
“It was a man, that’s all I knew. You see, I can sense things about a person sitting right here with me, but very little about some stranger. All I knew was that Felicia was at risk, not who might harm her.
“You, though, are a different story,” Cheryl continued, focusing on Ben. “Your life has been in turmoil for a long time, hasn’t it?”
Taken aback, he simply nodded
“Yes, and with you I can sense the source of your trouble. It comes from relatives. Members of your family have caused this turmoil.”
“Aah…yes, that’s right” His parents hadn’t intended to be murdered, of course, but that was what had landed him in Angola.
“And you are still in danger. Both of you are,” she added, glancing at Monique. “People are looking for you. And if they find you…”
“What?” Monique whispered. “What will happen? Do you know?”
Cheryl hesitated, then shook her head. “I’m not sure they will find you—only that there will be trouble if they do. But I know you’re searching for someone. A man. And that you’re going to locate him. But then…”
“Yes?” Ben pressed, his heart hammering.
“I…I’m sorry, but I can’t be sure what will happen then. My strength doesn’t lie in foretelling the future. I’ve never been able to see very far into it.”
“Can you sense anything more?” Monique said.
“No. Only that when you do find him… I sense much danger then. So be very careful.”
Chapter Ten
Sunday, February 9
11:09 a.m.
All Monique could think about as she and Ben walked back from Cheryl Tremont’s apartment was how much she wished the woman had been able to see a little further into the future. They were going to find the man they were looking for, but then…
“I sense much danger then.” The words refused to stop echoing in Monique’s mind How much was much? Enough to get them killed?
Clutching Ben’s hand more tightly, she quickened her pace. She wanted to talk to him about everything the psychic had said, but the streets of the Quarter were full of people—some straight out of church, others who looked as if they hadn’t been to bed in days—and she couldn’t take the risk that the wrong person might overhear.
They finally reached their own building and hurried up to the apartment When Ben closed the door behind them, she wrapped her arms around him and gave him a good, hard hug.
“What?” he whispered, stroking her hair. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m afraid,” she admitted.
“You’ve only decided to be afraid now? After all you’ve been through lately?”
“Don’t tease,” she murmured, gazing up into his eyes. “I didn’t mean I haven’t been afraid before. But I’ve been so focused on trying to find our mystery man that I wasn’t thinking about what would happen if we actually did. And now that Cheryl’s said we will…
“Ben, what’s going to happen when we do? I mean, he certainly won’t say, Oh, you figured things out, so now I’ll have to go to the police and turn myself in.”
“Hey, take it easy. In the first place, just because Cheryl Tremont says something’s going to happen doesn’t mean it will. I wanted to see what she could tell us about Felicia, but I don’t really believe in psychics. So I think we should be taking her predictions with a grain of salt”
Monique slowly stepped backward, out of his arms. “Ben, don’t try to tell me you thought the woman was a hoax. She’s psychic enough that she knew right away you’d given her a phoney name. And I saw how you reacted to what she was saying. You believed she knew what she was talking about”
“Well, okay, I’ll admit she was pretty convincing. But people in her line have to be. Otherwise they’d never get any clients. But look, the important thing is that she gave me a wake-up call as far as you’re concerned.”
“What do you mean?” Ben’s expression told Monique he was about to say something she wouldn’t like.
“I mean that I’ve been insane to let you get more and more involved in this. You’ve got to back off before things do get too dangerous. So I want you to go home to Hartford or to your parents’ or wherever. Then, when this is over, I’ll—”
“Ben, do you love me?”
“Of course I do. I love you so much it scares me. But—”
“Stop, that’s all I wanted to hear, because I love you just as much. Which means that if you think I’m leaving now, you are insane.”
“But—”
“No! We are so close. Cheryl said her strength doesn’t lie in foretelling the future, remember? That she’s never been able to see very far into it. But she could see far enough to tell us we were definitely going to find the man we’re looking for, so we can’t be talking more than another day or two. And I’m certainly not leaving ten minutes before the final act.”
“Monique, I—”
A knock stopped him mid-sentence. He turned and looked through the peephole, then quickly unlocked the door.
His sister hurried inside, looking as if she’d seen a ghost
“What’s wrong?” he demanded.
“I was waiting for you to get home—sitting in that café across the street, watching for you, because something’s happened that I have to tell you about in person.”
“Maria, what’s happened?”
“Sit down,�
� she said.
He reached for Monique’s hand and headed over to the couch. “All right, we’re sitting. Now, what’s going on?”
Maria dropped into one of the chairs across from them. “Ben, I’ve been spending a lot of time in the attic over the past few days. I thought trying to clean it out would help keep my mind off things.”
“Maria’s back living in our parents’ house,” he explained, glancing at Monique. “We didn’t want to sell it Go on,” he added, looking at his sister once more.
Wearily shaking her head, she said, “I don’t know if I should even tell you this in the middle of everything else, but it came as such a shock to me that I—”
“Maria, for Pete’s sake! Will you just spit it out?”
She gazed at him for a moment, then opened her purse and took out a large envelope. The edges were yellowed with age, and when she handed it to him it made the dry, crinkling noise of old paper.
There was no writing on it, Monique saw, nothing but an embossed name and address in the corner.
“Grenoble and Lancaster,” Ben read the name aloud. “Attorneys-at-law. With a Las Vegas address. What the hell is this about?”
“Those are adoption papers. Mom and dad adopted you. In Las Vegas, right after you were born.”
Ben stared at the envelope, feeling as if someone had punched him in the throat.
Monique silently rested her hand on his thigh.
“I’m sorry,” Maria murmured. “Ben, I shouldn’t have told you, should I. I just couldn’t decide what was best. But I thought…”
“What?” he demanded.
“You’re probably going to figure this is crazy, but all along we’ve assumed the killer was someone made up to look like you. And I started thinking, what if he actually did look like you—without even being made up. I mean, for all we know you have a brother.”
“A brother who killed our parents? Is that what you’re suggesting?” he said, trying to think straight. That couldn’t be possible…and yet it was. Maybe a one-in-a million possibility, but a real one.
“Oh, Lord,” Monique said.
He looked at her.
“The man outside the courthouse.”
“What?” Maria asked.
The Valentine Hostage Page 12