Secrets, Lies & Homicide

by Patricia Dusenbury

  "Geneviève died, and you took Magic," Claire said. In a way, she didn't blame him.

  "She gave him to me. I called Saturday night, like every night, to let her know how things were going. She offered me Magic in exchange for fetching an old trunk from a storage shed behind her house in New Orleans."

  With Kyle's words, the pieces fell into place, and the picture was ugly. Claire looked away. She didn't want Kyle to see the sick look on her face. There was no honoring Geneviève by tracking down Fast Eddie, because he'd never been stolen. She'd traded him for help in covering up a far worse crime.

  "Surprised?" Kyle said.

  "I knew about the trunk, but I didn't know she'd asked you to get it."

  "I could tell there was something fishy, but I said okay. Minute I hung up, I called Hal and told him to get down here and pick up the horse. I wasn't giving Geneviève a chance to back out of this deal. Then I drove down to New Orleans, but I couldn't find the chest. I found a pay phone and tried to call Geneviève. She wasn't answering. So I turned around and drove back up here."

  "You need to tell the police."

  "Already have. I talked to Captain Robinson yesterday and signed a statement today. Seems it wasn't her house. One of the neighbors wondered what I was up to and took down my license plate."

  Claire said a silent thank you to Mike for his discretion.

  "Also seems there'd been a body in that trunk. Bones were out and lying in the yard, but I missed them in the dark. Good thing," He chuckled. "I'd of left the truck and run back up here."

  "I know about the bones. My company is working on that house. It belongs to Geneviève's son."

  "When I heard she'd been murdered, I didn't know what to do," he admitted. "Then you made a fuss about Magic. The police wanted to talk to me." A smile flickered. "It felt good to get it off my chest."

  "What happens to Magic now?"

  "Long as you don't go after him, he stays at Hal's. My lawyer says I have a claim even if I don't have it in writing. He'll help me sort it out."

  "I'm not going to Tennessee." She put her hand on his arm. "Thanks for saving me the trip." Tony would let Kyle keep the horse. This part of the story would have a happy ending.

  "Now that we've got this out of the way, you're welcome to stay for supper. I made plenty."

  "No, thank you. I have to go." She stood up. "But I'd like a rain check."

  "It's yours. I'll be here a bit longer. The lawyer asked me to stay on until the horses are all sold, and he's paying me well." Another grin split his face. "If I'm not careful, I'm going to have enough money to get married."

  Kyle walked her to her car. The clouds had thickened and the moon was gone. An owl called from the woods. Its mournful question, who whoo who whooo, made Claire feel worse about her suspicions. Whoever killed Geneviève, it wasn't Kyle. He was a nice guy and not a horse thief. She owed him an apology.

  "If I caused you trouble, I'm sorry."

  "No problem. Elaine called Hal who called me. I promised to straighten things out with you, and I have. It wasn't trouble. I enjoyed the company." He cocked his head. "Listen."

  "The owl? I heard him."

  "No, traffic on the highway. It sounds like the surf. You only hear it at night when the wind comes from the east. Doesn't happen often, but when it does, it reminds me of Florida. Our farm is near the gulf and when the wind blows right you can hear the water. I miss it."

  Beneath the night sounds of frogs and insects, there was a soft murmur that did indeed sound like distant surf. "Time for me to be part of that traffic," Claire said. She and Felicia Miata had a long hour ride back to New Orleans.

  CHAPTER 24

  Ten days had passed, and two women had been murdered, but everything at Sunny Gardens looked just as it had when Claire first visited. The same woman sat at the concierge desk, once again talking to a group of women. The same card players sat at the same tables, and the same woman was reading a magazine, Amanda something.

  The concierge was free now. Claire walked up and introduced herself. "I'm here to clear out Mrs. Burke's apartment." She spoke softly so no one else could hear.

  "We've been expecting you. Please sign in at the register by the door." Her expression and tone were cool, barely polite. She pressed a button. "Wait by the door. Security will be with you momentarily."

  Claire did as directed, and a few minutes later a stocky, middle-aged man wearing a navy blue uniform and a sour expression walked toward her. The nametag on his chest said Calvin.

  "I'm here to escort you," he announced and led the way down the hall, keys jingling.

  What had been Geneviève's apartment reminded Claire of a suite motel, impersonal, functional and nowhere you'd want to spend more than one or two nights. The air smelled stale. She asked Calvin to leave the door ajar and open a window.

  "The windows don't open. Security." He flipped on the overhead light. "The furniture belongs to the apartment."

  Claire took in the big TV, the sofa covered in the same overblown floral pastel as those in the parlor, and the matching chairs too small to offer comfortable seating. She believed him. Fine particles covered the horizontal surfaces, white on the wood end and coffee tables and dark on the light countertop separating a little kitchen from the front room.

  Calvin followed her glance. "The police dusted the apartment for fingerprints." He puffed up his chest as if imparting that information increased his importance. "Housekeeping will clean the apartment after you remove the personal belongings of the deceased."

  "Fine."

  She was opening the package of heavy-duty plastic garbage bags she'd brought with her, when Detective Beatrice Washington walked in.

  "Hey Claire, I heard you were here. It's nice of you to help Tony out."

  "Hi, Bea." She had a terrible thought. "Has something else happened?"

  "No, no, not that. I'm still interviewing witnesses."

  "On a Sunday afternoon?" Claire rolled her eyes. "Doesn't Mike give you any time off?"

  "Actually, Mike's a great boss, but we're both swamped. He's back at the office, working as we speak. You know he followed up with that horse trainer."

  "And he did it without mentioning my name. Please thank him for me."

  "I will. You've heard the story?"

  "Uh huh."

  "Tony's suspicions look right on target."

  Claire nodded. It was the second time Bea had mentioned Tony, but she wasn't going to discuss him with the dour Calvin listening.

  "I have thirty minutes until my next interview," Bea said. "Let me give you a hand. Is all the food headed for the trash can?"

  "Yes, but I was going to leave that for housekeeping. I'm just after Geneviève's personal belongings."

  "We should do the kitchen and carefully. You won't believe where old ladies hide their valuables. The job will go quickly with two people." She looked at Calvin who was leaning against the wall. "Three people. You can help carry out the trash."

  They cleaned out the kitchen without finding any hidden treasures, although Bea insisted on checking every box, even the ice cube trays. A sullen Calvin, obviously disgruntled but not prepared to disobey a direct order from a policewoman, carried the full trash bags out to the dumpsters.

  They moved on to the bedroom. There weren't many clothes. Geneviève hadn't planned on staying long and without being told, Claire knew that Tony's mother had believed in quality over quantity.

  She picked up a cashmere cardigan and caught a waft of perfume. She had witnessed Geneviève's cruelty, been told that she was a bad employer, a terrible mother, and possibly responsible for her husband's death; but the scent evoked the same sadness she'd felt in Jim Burke's studio, the same sense of life cut short and emptiness where a person had been.

  "Are you okay?" Bea said. "You're looking a little pale."

  "I'm fine. I'll put things for Goodwill on the bed."

  "I'll fold and bag."

  Claire threw the underwear in a garbage bag and put everyt
hing else on the bed. Goodwill would be happy to get these nice clothes.

  A chamois bag in the bedside table held a heavy gold necklace, a gold and pearl brooch, and two pairs of earrings. She put the bag in her purse. "I'll give these to Tony."

  "When are you going to see him?"

  Claire turned, her hands on her hips. "Not you, too," she said, exasperated.

  "No, not me, too." Bea laughed. "Don't be mad at Mike. He put his foot in his mouth, all the way up to the knee, but he's worried about you. And with good cause. There's a murderer at large."

  "It's not Tony."

  "I don't think so either, but until we've solved this case." Bea raised her hands in a gesture of supplication. "If you know anything that might help us, telling me would be helping Tony."

  Claire glanced at the security guard, and Bea got the message.

  "Hey Calvin," she said. "How about you going to the kitchen and bringing us back two glasses of milk and some cookies or a couple pieces of cake, something to keep body and soul together. We're working hard here."

  Once Calvin was safely out of hearing range, Claire said, "I think the killer lives here."

  "Any particular reason you think so?"

  "He recognized Iris and reacted so quickly."

  "Anything else?" Bea persisted.

  Claire thought before answering. Telling Bea about the photos, looking for the people in them, and learning about the land sale would only add credence to Tony's theory about his mother's death; he couldn't object. She relayed what Judy Boaz had told Tony about Geneviève's sugar daddy and the shady land deal.

  "Do you have any idea who this man is or any idea what highway was involved?"

  "All we have is the time frame, the summer of 1969. We're trying to learn more."

  "I hope that's not the real reason you're here." Claire frowned and Bea put up her hand. "Don't get ticked off. But please don't put yourself in danger. Look at what happened to Iris."

  "The paper said she was only nineteen." Claire shivered. "She wasn't much more than a child."

  "Her mother said the same thing."

  They worked in silence until Calvin returned with milk and cookies. "Thanks," Bea helped herself to a cookie and passed the plate. "Have one, they're good."

  "No thank you, I'm not hungry."

  Bea told Calvin to stand outside the door and make sure no one came in. Then she said, "I have to run, Claire, but before I go, there are two things. First, you have my promise that we'll follow up on what you told me. Sometimes a money trail is just what you need."

  "Good."

  "Second, we'd like to see those pictures."

  "Tony took the ones that included his father; I have the others and a list of the names. I'll make you copies, but let me run it by him first, okay?"

  "I understand," Bea said. "And I appreciate your confiding in me. We really are on the same side."

  "I know that, and I know you're just doing your job."

  "I am and so is my boss. Please give him another chance. He likes you. A lot."

  "Mike is a nice guy, but he has no right to tell me what to do or who to see." This declaration of independence reminded her of Tony's objections to yesterday's visit with Kyle. He'd been out of line, too. "Men." She rolled her eyes.

  "Exactly," Bea said, and they both laughed.

  "Thank you for your help. Four hands really did speed things along. And I'm glad we had a chance to talk."

  "Call me if you think of anything else." Bea waved a goodbye.

  Claire balanced the bags for Goodwill on the walker and followed her out. "I'm finished, here," she told Calvin. "There's another bag for the trash inside. Thank you."

  Half a dozen people were standing in the hall, eyeing the open apartment door with a mix of curiosity and hostility. She ignored them, and they watched in silence as she walked past. As she approached the front door, a familiar couple entered, Geneviève's ex-husband and his niece, Laura somebody. Déjà vu completed. Their eyes met, and Laura's expression changed from puzzled recognition to hostility.

  Yes, Claire wanted to say, I was with Geneviève, but we weren't friends. I'm sorry for whatever harm she did your uncle, but I had no part in it. I'm here trying to help Tony. That's all. She opened her mouth to say hello, something inane about the weather, but the concierge spoke before she could.

  "Miss Marshall," she called, "don't forget to sign out when you leave."

  "Please do it for me. My hands are full." She kept going.

  Laura shielded Roger with her body when Claire walked past, as if she knew the bags held Geneviève's belongs and wanted to protect her uncle from possible contamination.

  As she walked to the parking lot, Claire felt eyes boring holes in her back, but she didn't turn around. She never wanted to see Sunny Gardens again. Clearing out Geneviève's apartment had been harder than she'd expected. It would have been worse for Tony. Plus, he didn't like Bea. Thank heaven she'd talked him out of coming with her.

  Too restless to go home, she found a parking space on the edge of the French Quarter and started walking toward the river. Outside Café le Monde what could be the world's fattest pigeons waddled from one bit of litter to another, checking for discarded bits of beignet, occasionally squabbling over a choice morsel. Each pigeon looked more self-satisfied than the next. She tried to imagine being that pleased with herself.

  She climbed the steps to the little park atop the levee and the bench that was like an old friend. She couldn't count the times she'd sat up here and sorted through her thoughts, looking for solutions, or if that was too much to ask, a way to cope. The park was an oasis of peace largely ignored by the tourists who kept the Quarter humming all hours of the day and night.

  This afternoon a soft gray sky added to the serenity. Beneath it, the Mississippi flowed a darker gray. Heavy-laden barges floated downstream with ponderous dignity, moving toward the Gulf where they would offload their cargo onto enormous ships bound for who knew where. Claire looked past them at things not there.

  She thought about Tony, trying to recapture something long gone by fixing up his childhood home. Instead, he'd found his father's skeleton and become a murder suspect. Kyle's story supported Tony's suspicions. The police should leave him alone now, but he still had to deal with his father's murder—and his mother's. She wished she could help him.

  She thought about Kyle, drawn into a bad situation because he tried to help his brother-in-law, marking time until he could return to Florida, his fiancée and the horse farm they were building. She hoped an east wind was bringing him the distant surf sound of the highway.

  After Tom died, real surf had helped her find peace. She'd spent hours walking along the beach, counting the waves on Lake Michigan. Their sound and motion soothed her; their persistence brought solace. Waves had been hitting the shore for thousands of years and would continue for thousands more. She and her sorrows were insignificant in the larger universe.

  The sound of cars and trucks might sound like waves to Kyle, but it wasn't the same. The highway was transitory, ephemeral compared to waves. Someday a newer and bigger road would replace it.

  "The highway." She spoke aloud, starting a sparrow that had been scouting the sidewalk by her feet. A highway ran alongside Geneviève's farm, not an Interstate but not an old country two-lane either. She used her mobile phone to call Tony.

  "I've been thinking about you," he said. "How did it go?"

  "It's done. There's some jewelry I want to give you, but that's not why I'm calling. When did your mother buy the horse farm?"

  Silence.

  "Tony, are you there?"

  "I'm thinking. I don't remember her not owning it."

  "Was the highway always there?"

  "No, we used to have go through Greensburg. The new road went in a year or two after Dad died." A long pause. "Right in front of my nose. How'd you figure it out?"

  "It was right in front of my nose, too. I've driven up there twice."

  "If the mystery la
nd was part of the farm, we're back to square one, aren't we?" Tony sounded glum. "Judy made it sound like Geneviève bought and sold the land bang-bang, but she'd owned that farm forever."

  "There'll be deed records at the parish seat."

  "Greensburg is the parish seat, and I'm driving up there tomorrow morning to meet with Geneviève's lawyer. She left me the farm, but with stipulations that he wants to discuss."

  "You could check the deeds when you're there. Once you know the piece of property, finding the records is a piece of cake."

  "Why don't you come on over, give me the jewelry, and I'll give you a much-deserved glass of wine. Then you can teach me how to find land records."

  "The lawyer will know where to look. Tell him that you want to check for land sales involving the farm and contiguous acreage. It's a perfectly reasonable thing to do if you're considering selling the property." She couldn't imagine him keeping it. She was surprised that Geneviève had left the farm to him. But if not Tony, who else? They'd been the sum total of each other's family.

  "We can talk about it when you get here. I'm putting a bottle on ice right now."

  Why not? She had nothing else to do, and she wanted to get rid of the jewelry. "Okay, but it will be a good half an hour. I have to walk back to my car."

  Almost forty-five minutes passed before she found a parking space near Tony's apartment.

  "Welcome," He greeted her at the door. "It's not much and it's not home, and there's no plaster dust anywhere." He put his arm around her shoulders and led her into a spacious living room. Floor to ceiling windows provided a spectacular view of the French Quarter and beyond it, the river. She walked over to the window.

  "See that little green spot?" She pointed. "That's where I was, watching the boats, when I thought about the highway."

  "I like to watch the boats, especially at night when their lights reflect off the water."