by Joanna Wayne
His mind understood and accepted that. His body was the traitor.
Nick spent the rest of the morning following the paper trail and gathering information on Carrie, real name Corinthia Louella Marks. She currently resided in Westwego, across the Crescent City Connection and then about a thirty-minute drive out the Westbank Expressway. Nick knew the area well.
Carrie was thirty-eight years old, never been married, and was renting the house she lived in.
She had two credit cards with a total debt of under five thousand dollars and she drove a six-year-old Chrysler minivan. She worked in an elementary school cafeteria. He’d gotten all the facts, but he knew nothing of who she really was or what she was about.
Nick didn’t have to do a search on Luther Villaré. Though he hadn’t admitted it to Jacinth when Luther’s name came up, he knew all about the illegitimate son of Marie’s husband Nathanial.
Luther was a low-down, sorry excuse for humanity. He’d have been the first one Nick suspected of burying the head inside the walls of the Villaré home if the guy hadn’t been dead for years.
Nick scrambled a couple of eggs, fried a few slices of bacon and toasted some wheat bread that had grown stale. He took that and a fresh cup of coffee to the most comfortable chair in the small living area so that he could catch the NFL pregame show on ESPN while he ate.
His mind sidetracked the game predictions and reverted to Jacinth. His gut feeling was that he should make an executive decision to ignore her wishes and go talk to Carrie on his own. Then he could dig for facts his way without the rules of engagement he’d have to follow with Jacinth along.
He debated that while he showered, shaved and dressed. Then, despite feeling guilty as hell, he decided to follow his instincts and go alone to see Carrie.
The mist had turned into a steady downpour by the time he made a run for his truck. Halfway out the driveway, he spotted Jacinth backing out of her garage. She saw him, waved and kept going.
Wherever she was off to, she seemed in a hurry to get there—and in a pouring rain. His detective instincts kicked in. Timing was everything.
JACINTH TURNED ON THE HEAT in the car though she wasn’t sure the chill she felt had anything to do with the temperature. Nor was she certain why she felt this sudden compelling need to visit the cemetery where her ancestors and their bizarre and incestuous secrets were buried.
Locals called New Orleans graveyards the Cities of the Dead and from the little Jacinth had seen of them, the rows of sun-bleached crypts did resemble a city bereft of life.
Jacinth had only been inside the cemetery that housed the crumbling Villaré tomb once. She hadn’t expected the visit to disturb her, but the second she’d stepped inside the rusty iron gate, the presence of death had become frigid, bony fingers clutching at her soul.
Ghostly shadows had stalked her, and every crypt she’d passed had seemed to be calling to her, luring her into the depths of darkness. She’d claimed a sudden migraine and left before reaching the famed Villaré crypt with its life-size chipped Madonna and jagged winged angels.
Today, she wouldn’t run from shadows or cower in fear of invisible ghosts. Not even the rain could stop her from visiting the graves of all the people whose names had been printed on the family tree.
Her father’s family. Her link to the past. A link that would hopefully reveal why her mother had been so traumatized that she’d fled this city that Jacinth had already learned to love.
Jacinth needed answers, and she planned to get them. Starting today.
Not that she was foolish enough to traipse through the spooky cemetery alone. Muggers loved the narrow paths flanked by crypts, some taller than a giant, where they could lie in wait for unsuspecting tourists and their wallets.
Jacinth had called ahead and arranged for Caitlyn’s newly hired tour guide to accompany her. Jacinth had never met Harvey Burgess, but Caitlyn was pleased with him. She claimed that even the most aggressive of the muggers had learned not to mess with Harvey.
The rain was falling in sheets by the time Jacinth reached the cemetery. She waited in her car as she kept an eye out for the guide. When he hadn’t shown in fifteen minutes, she called him.
“I’m here,” she said, once they’d moved past the greetings. “Parked just across the street from the front gate.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“No. When we talked, you said you’d meet me here at one.”
“When we talked, there was only a light mist falling. Now there’s a monsoon. I assumed you’d cancel your plans.”
“I figure the rain will let up any minute now.”
“Not according to the radar. We’re in the middle of a cluster of thunderstorms. How about postponing this until Wednesday? Or you can tag along on one of my regular tours on Monday or Tuesday.”
“I’ll be teaching or in class every afternoon and evening this week. This really is my only opportunity.”
“I’m sorry, Jacinth, but even if the rain stops now, you could trip just maneuvering down those rocky, uneven paths. Believe me, even the muggers won’t be out there today. Call me next weekend. We’ll see if we can set something up.”
“Thanks.” To say she was disappointed would be a major understatement.
“Have you heard from Caitlyn?” Harvey asked.
“She called this weekend. The honeymoon is going well.”
“Glad to hear that. Tell her not to have too much fun. We had so many tourists show up last night, I had to a turn down a few paying customers.”
“I’ll pass that on.”
“Good. That will get her back on the job.”
Reluctant to drive in the blinding rain, Jacinth decided to just stay put until there was a break in the storm. Her thoughts returned to the new information she’d discovered within the Villaré family Bible.
Marie had given birth to two children. Tabatha had choked to death at the age of three months, four years before Micah was conceived. There was no mention at all of a stepson or of anyone named Luther.
Marie’s parents were Elizabeth and Jonathan. They had four sons in rapid succession. Ten years later, Marie came along.
And then there was the real shocker, the fact that had seared itself into Jacinth’s brain.
Marie and Nathanial Villaré were siblings, though Nat was twelve years her senior.
Jacinth’s father must have known his parents were brother and sister, but had he shared that with his wife or had it been kept a dark, family secret? Had Sophie found out and become enraged that she hadn’t been told before she married Micah and gave birth to Jacinth and Caitlyn? Was that why she’d left and never again acknowledged Marie’s existence?
If that’s how it went down, Jacinth could understand her mother’s anger. Jacinth and her sister were perfectly healthy, but when they were younger, their mother must have lived in fear that they’d suffer from a genetic disorder caused by Marie’s incestuous conception.
And what effect if any would that have on Jacinth’s children? Or Caitlyn’s? She’d definitely have to consult a geneticist for advice.
Eventually, the worst of the thunderstorm blew over and the rain slowed to a drizzle, though clouds still hovered threateningly and thunder rolled in the distance. The break in the storm was what she’d counted on when she’d driven to the cemetery in the rain.
The paths through the cemetery were no doubt as slick and treacherous as Harvey had said, but Jacinth had come prepared. She’d worn the rubber-sole tennis shoes with slip-resistant traction that she’d bought last summer for hiking in the Appalachian foothills.
All she needed now was Harvey.
But not to protect her from thugs. The cemetery was mugger-free, guaranteed. Plus, she’d already psyched herself up to walk through this particular City of the Dead and view the burial crypts of the famed and infamous Villarés.
It was the only way she could ascertain that the names of the buried matched the names in the Bible. A test to make sure the disturbing writ
ten record wasn’t some kind of twisted family prank.
If she hurried she could do that and be back to the car before the next showers started. If not, getting wet wouldn’t kill her. She had everything to gain and nothing to lose.
Leaving her purse in the trunk and out of sight where she’d tossed it for safekeeping before leaving home, Jacinth got out of the car, locked it and strode toward the intimidating gate. The ghostly squeak as she pushed it open brought gooseflesh to her arms and sent chills up the back of her neck.
But this wouldn’t take long, she assured herself. Caitlyn had explained the exact location of the elaborate tomb on the first day she’d visited it and then again on the day Jacinth had faked the migraine.
Take the first sharp left, the first sharp right, and then follow a short meandering path toward the largest tree in the lot. The path literally dead-ended at the cross-shaped crypt.
If she walked really fast, she could get there, check it out and be back at her car in under fifteen minutes.
She started walking, head down to avoid stamping through the deepest of the puddles. “I’m not afraid,” she said. “Do you hear me?” She was almost shouting now, the echo of her own voice somehow reassuring. “I’m not the least bit nervous about walking among the dead.”
Something fell from a top branch, landing on the walk just in front of her. Spooked, she jumped off the path and her right foot sank into the muddy earth.
Just a harmless pinecone, Jacinth. Stop reacting like a kid in a Halloween haunted house.
She took deep breaths as she made the first sharp turn and tried to focus on the intricately carved symbols, angels and spires stretching into the foggy mist.
She made the left turn and then stopped, holding her breath as a new sound played havoc with her resolve. There it went again and this time there was no mistaking the squish of footsteps on soggy ground somewhere off to her left. But all she could see were the carved angels and trumpets and ornate crosses reaching toward the sky.
Panic hit fast and hard. Muggers or ghosts, she didn’t know or care. She was getting out of here. Now!
She took off running. Water splashed onto her legs. The wind tore off her only rain hat and sent it sailing to the top of an angel’s harp. Jagged rocks reached out to try and trip her. Still, she kept running. The gate had to be close.
Only it wasn’t.
Lungs burning and legs aching, Jacinth slowed to try to get her bearings.
“Wait!”
The call was almost swallowed by a violent clap of thunder. Jacinth glanced over her shoulder. Big mistake. A jagged piece of rock from the uneven stone walkway caught her toe and sent her sprawling facedown into the mud.
Before she could get up, two strong hands reached out to her and pulled her to her feet.
“Didn’t anyone ever tell you to stay out of the rain?”
“NICK. WHAT ARE YOU doing here?”
“Performing my daily rescue. But you could make this a lot easier on me by staying inside in weather like this.”
He pulled some clean dry tissues from his jacket pocket and started wiping splatters of mud from her chin and mouth.
“Ouch.”
“You’ve got a nasty scratch on your chin. I’ve got a first-aid kit in my truck.”
“Forget the scratch. Back to my original question, what are you doing here?”
“Does that mean you’re not glad to see me?”
“I’m thrilled that you’re not a mugger—or worse. You didn’t answer my question. Did you follow me?”
“Yeah,” he admitted. “When I saw you drive off in the rain, I had a hunch you were up to something that could be dangerous.”
“I would have been fine if you hadn’t frightened me.”
“Unless I’d actually been a mugger.” Or worse. Like the man who’d decapitated their unidentified victim. He didn’t even want to go there.
“I had it on good authority that muggers stay inside in this kind of weather.”
“Because they don’t expect to find anyone to mug. So why did you pick today to visit a cemetery?”
“I found an old Bible this morning, complete with a family tree that dates back to pre–Civil War days.”
“And the Bible told you to visit a cemetery?”
“Of course not. I discovered some disconcerting things and I just wanted some backup endorsement of their validity.”
So she’d come here alone without even a phone call to him. She didn’t owe him explanations for what she did or where she went, but he felt strangely betrayed all the same. Odd coming from him when the whole reason they’d met had been due to his ulterior motives.
“Want to share what you learned?”
She nodded and shoved her windblown hair behind her ears.
Even with wet hair, she was gorgeous. He reached into his pocket, pulled out her scrunched-up rain hat and handed it to her. “You might need this before the tour is over.”
“Thanks.” She plopped it on her head and pushed her long hair inside it. She looked around. “Do you know where we are in relation to the Villaré family crypt?”
“It’s right in front of you.”
She bit her bottom lip as she stared at the impressive structure. “I was running in the wrong direction all the time.”
“It’s easy to get turned around in here.” Fortunately, she didn’t question how he knew exactly where to find the elaborately decorated tomb with its six-feet-tall angels looking over the ornately carved praying Madonna.
“It’s magnificent,” she murmured. “The artwork is exquisite.” She walked over and rested her hands on the four-foot-tall black iron fence that surrounded the family tomb. “Is the fence to keep people out?”
“It isn’t tall enough for that. It’s mostly decorative but I suppose it keeps gawking tourists from trampling the grass growing around the tomb.”
“What a remarkable tribute to the dead.”
“New Orleans is known for its respect for the dead, but the tombs aren’t just for show.”
“I know. Caitlyn explained the problems caused by the high water table in this area. She said coffins buried in the ground can literally float away.”
“And they sometimes do, especially after a big rain.”
“I’d love to look inside the crypt.”
“I doubt it’s locked.”
Nick lifted the latch and held the gate open while she entered. He did the same with the arched wooden door that opened into the tomb itself.
This time he entered first, clearing cobwebs with a brush of his hand. The air inside was musty and rank, not from the bodies but from the climate and lack of fresh air.
Jacinth hesitated at the door. Nick reached behind him and took her hand. It was icy-cold. “You’re not afraid of being in a crypt, are you?”
“It’s just so dark.”
“C’mon in. Your pupils will adjust. Hang on to me until they do and you’ll be fine.”
She stepped inside cautiously. He reached into his jacket pocket with his free hand, the one Jacinth wasn’t clutching so tightly he could barely wiggle his fingers. Fortunately the flashlight he’d dropped into it hadn’t bounced out when he’d had to run to keep up with Jacinth.
He sprayed light over the vaults in the wall where the coffins were stored and then on an impressive plaque and a list of names inscribed on a large tombstone near the back of the tomb.
Jacinth let go of his hand and advanced for a better look. “‘Victoria Villaré, 1845 to 1906,’” she read aloud from the plaque. “‘Her brave actions saved the lives of countless Confederate soldiers. Admired by all. Loved by her family. Welcomed home by God.’”
“Quite a woman,” Nick said. “No wonder her life-size portrait commands the spot on the landing.”
“And it helps explain my grandmother’s leaving the Villaré house to Caitlyn and me, when she’d been shut out of our lives for so long. I think it was her way of insuring that the Villaré legacy stayed in the family.”
Jacinth grew quiet as she studied the list of the dead. When she found Micah’s name, she traced the letters with her fingertips. Then one fingertip went to her eye to trap an escaping tear.
“Micah Villaré,” she said. “Rest in peace. I know I would have loved you, Dad, had I been given the chance. Mom loved you so very, very much.”
Nick tensed at the last part of the statement. Jacinth had her reality. He had his. The differences were a gap that couldn’t be bridged. In case Nick needed a reminder, this was it.
“It’s so sad that my father’s life was stolen before Caitlyn and I could even get to know him. I’m glad the man who murdered him was sentenced to life in prison.”
Nick’s muscles tensed and he killed the beam from the flashlight, plunging them into the gray gloom of the crypt’s interior. “Conviction doesn’t necessarily mean guilt.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He fought to tamp down his sudden anger and keep his words from coming out as husky growls. “Exactly what I said. Juries aren’t some unfailing entity sent from God. They’re human. They make mistakes, just like the rest of us. There are plenty of innocent people in prison.”
Jacinth stared at him as if he’d sprouted an extra eye in the middle of his forehead. Sweat trickled down the back of his neck. The musty air clogged his lungs.
He moved toward the open door. “Are you ready to go?”
Jacinth’s hands flew to her hips. “No. I haven’t even finished reading the names. But you can go,” she said. “I can find my way back to my car.”
Now he’d set her off. Definitely not his intention. He turned on the flashlight and handed it to her. “Take all the time you need.”
“Thanks. If I hit an exposed nerve, I’m sorry, Nick.”
“Don’t give it another thought.” He did enough of that for both of them.
Nick stepped to the door and assumed the post of sentinel. Just in case there was a mugger out and about today, this crypt would be a bad place to get cornered. He’d hate to have to shoot some lout looking for money to buy his next fix.