Stranger, Seducer, Protector

by Joanna Wayne

  “Wasn’t Luther a lot older than you?” Nick asked.

  “He was in his fifties. I was forty. That’s not much difference these days.”

  “But Marie must have warmed up to you after she gave you the brooch.”

  “Not so much. She didn’t get real friendly until Luther disappeared while on that hunting trip in Alaska. Then Marie and I were both so scared, we clung to each other like we were all either of us had left in the world.”

  “Did the Alaskan police ever arrest a suspect?” Nick asked, though he knew from his own investigation that they hadn’t.

  “No. I’m not sure they tried very hard. All they ever found of Luther’s were his gun and his wallet. They didn’t find that until the spring thaw set in.”

  “Then what made them think he’d been murdered?” Jacinth asked.

  “All the money was gone from his wallet. His watch was gone, too. His father had given him that before he died. Luther didn’t go anywhere without that watch. It showed up later at a pawnshop in Juneau. And we would have heard from him had he still been alive.”

  “Marie must have been devastated,” Jacinth said. “To lose a son and a stepson and never recover the body of either of them.”

  “She was. I tried to be there for her as often as I could after that, but she didn’t want to do much but stay in that house and take care of her cat.”

  “I never knew,” Jacinth said. “I never called, not even after Mother died. There’s no excuse for that.”

  “Marie must have forgiven you,” Carrie said. “She left you and your sister the house since Luther wasn’t alive to inherit it. In the end, that house was the only thing she cared about, the only thing she had that was worth much.”

  “Except for the missing paintings,” Nick interjected.

  “What do you know about Luther’s real mother?” Jacinth asked. “I couldn’t find any record that Nathanial was ever married to anyone except Marie.”

  “That’s because Nat never married Luther’s mother. They met the year Nat studied in Italy. She worked in a tavern near the college. They were first loves. Luther was proud of that. Made him feel important even if he was illegitimate.”

  “What happened to break them up?”

  “His mother had some rare form of blood disorder. She died right after Luther was born, but his dad told him about it. Nat came home and married Marie, so she could take care of the baby.”

  “That couldn’t be right.” Jacinth uncrossed her legs and leaned in closer. “Marie was twelve years younger than her husband. If Nat was just out of college, Marie would have only been about ten years old when Luther was born.”

  Carrie squirmed. “Right. I—I didn’t mean he came home right then,” she stammered. “He stayed in Italy for like a long time. But then he came home and married Marie when she was older.”

  Give a liar enough rope and time, and they’d always hang themselves. Nick had gotten what he came for. Proof that the majority of the Villarés were as self-serving as he’d believed. And anything Carrie Marks said was suspect.

  “We should be going,” he said.

  “Yes,” Jacinth agreed. “We’ve taken up enough of your time, Carrie. But I really appreciate your talking to me. I feel I know my grandmother and my dad’s stepbrother a bit better now.”

  Carrie got out of the chair to see them out. “I hope I didn’t give you the wrong idea about Marie. She wasn’t always the loner she was in the end. Luther said she had a lover for years, a man fifteen years younger than she was. No one seemed to know why they broke up. It was several years before I started dating Luther.”

  Nick’s interest piqued. “Do you know the lover’s name?”

  “Sure. It was Eric Ladeaux.”

  “The name sounds familiar.”

  “He owns Swishers. You’ve probably never heard of it, Jacinth, but it’s a Gentleman’s Club in the Quarter.”

  Jacinth smiled. “So the Villaré queen had her wild side. Good for her.”

  Carrie opened the door. “Maybe we can have lunch together sometimes, Jacinth. I’d like for us to be friends. I think Luther and Marie would have liked that, too.”

  Nick wouldn’t. He didn’t trust Carrie Marks.

  Everybody had a motive. Only Jacinth’s was straightforward and out in the open.

  Which was why he couldn’t go through with the plans he’d had when he moved next door to her. He couldn’t use her, not even to free his father. He’d clear out of her life completely just as soon as he was certain she was safe from the killer who’d left body parts in the walls of her house.

  He’d walk away on his own, before she discovered the truth about him and kicked him out.

  JACINTH SWUNG HER BRIEFCASE and handbag straps over her shoulder, grabbed her laptop computer and did a final check of her hair and makeup in the mirror.

  Satisfied that she looked the role of serious academia professional, she walked into the hall and called goodbye to Sin. The feline was busy performing her daily grooming tasks and ignored Jacinth, as always.

  “Okay, Sin, you’ve made your point. I’m only important when I’m operating the can opener.”

  Jacinth hurried to the staircase. Her ride wasn’t due to arrive for another fifteen minutes, but Dr. Reginald Jefferies was frequently early. He was her favorite professor—brilliant, super helpful, nice-looking in a tweedy sort of way.

  His biggest drawback was that he tended to become so buried in the past he lost contact with the current century.

  The portrait of the elegant Victoria Villaré with her condescending stare and stern expression caught Jacinth’s attention as she reached the landing. She paused as last night’s conversation came back to haunt her.

  “So, lovely matriarch of the Villaré burial chamber, what happened to your relatives? And why did you get left behind, or were the marauders afraid to tear you from your place of honor?”

  Too bad the image in the portrait couldn’t talk. Imagine all the things she’d seen in this house since the 1860s. She’d know of flirtations and indiscretions and of how Marie decided that she’d marry her brother and raise his motherless child.

  Had she been coerced into it by her parents, or perhaps feared becoming a lonely spinster? Or had she just loved Nat so much that she ignored customs and taboos?

  The image staring back at her with the enchanting steel-gray eyes would also know who had buried a human head inside the bathroom’s walls.

  There was no way Victoria would talk, but Carrie Marks had certainly had plenty to say. Nick had cautioned Jacinth on the way home last night not to put a lot of faith in Carrie’s observations and opinions, but Jacinth could think of no reason for her to lie.

  Jacinth stepped onto the wide veranda and marveled at the beautiful, sunny calm that had followed yesterday’s violent storms. Brisk air, a slight breeze and not a cloud in the brilliant blue sky.

  The morning was only a few degrees short of perfection. Drop Nick into it and they’d be there.

  A car pulled up in her driveway, but not the one she was expecting. Detective Greene opened the door of his unmarked black sedan and slid from behind the wheel. She walked out to meet him.

  “Good to see you again but bad timing,” she said. “My ride should be here any minute and I’ll have to leave or cause us both to be late for work.”

  “This will only take a minute. Just stopped by to let you know we have an ID on the victim.”

  “Who was she?”

  Jacinth spun around at the sound of Nick’s voice. He was standing at the edge of her lawn, shirtless in spite of the slight chill in the air and wearing a pair of deep purple LSU running shorts that revealed lots of muscular thigh. Her knees went weak as desire hummed through her.

  She took a deep breath and struggled to get the untimely explosion of sensual craving under control.

  “Hi, Nick. Come over and I’ll introduce you to Detective Greene.”

  “We’ve met,” Ron said, “last year when Nick managed to destro
y my open-and-shut rape case.”

  “You had the wrong man,” Nick said. “But got to hand it to you. You ended up with the right thug behind bars. So who’s the victim?”

  “I guess I can tell you, too, since the local media already have the information.”

  “I trust you had the good sense not to make Jacinth’s name and address public?”

  “None of the pertinent details surrounding the case have been released—except the victim’s name and fact that she was murdered. We’d like it to remain that way, so if you two will keep this under your hats until we have a suspect in custody, the department would appreciate it. We don’t want some idiot copycat getting ideas.”

  “I haven’t told a soul,” Jacinth said. “And I won’t.”

  “Good.”

  “The woman’s name?” Nick asked again.

  “Joy Adams.”

  “The prostitute who went missing last October?”

  “You have a good memory,” Greene said. “Did you know the woman?”

  “Just know of her.”

  Professor Jefferies pulled up to the curb in a late-model Acura. “That’s my ride,” Jacinth said. She glanced at her watch. “I have to go, but if there’s anything else I should know, you can leave a message at my cell phone number.”

  “That works,” Greene said. “But one quick question. Does this house have any secret passageways?”

  “I don’t think so. I’ve never seen one or been told about one. Why?”

  “Just curious. I know secret walkways were built into some of the plantation-style houses built during that period.”

  The detective did not strike her as the kind of cop who asked idle questions. “Are you suggesting the house could have a passageway within the walls with more bodies or body parts entombed inside it?”

  “I’m not suggesting anything. I’m just considering all possible scenarios.”

  She got a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.

  Both men told her not to worry as she walked away. Fat chance she could follow that advice.

  She looked back at the house as Professor Jefferies pulled away from the curb. The Greek columns, the verandas, the wide, shuttered windows. It still looked the same as it had before this weekend, but it wasn’t the same in her mind. Now it was the backdrop for a gruesome decapitation.

  She wondered if it would ever feel like home again.

  NICK’S HEAD WAS REELING from the latest piece of information. Still he watched as the driver of the Acura leaned over and opened the door for Jacinth.

  Salt-and-pepper hair. Wearing a sports coat. Probably a smooth talker, too. A twinge of jealousy knotted in Nick’s gut, though he knew he had no right to the emotion.

  Greene rocked back on his heels. “You do realize that Jacinth Villaré is out of your league, don’t you?”

  Nick nodded. “So far out I can’t even see the stadium lights from here.”

  “Keep an eye on her, though. I’m not sure what we’re dealing with but it can’t be good.”

  “I plan to.”

  “Then I’ll see you around.”

  Nick did a few quick stretches and then started his jog through the French Quarter as his mind tangled with the facts he knew and those he didn’t.

  Three women between the ages of twenty-one and twenty-five had been reported as missing over a three-month period last fall. All of them had worked as exotic dancers in the French Quarter, each at a different club.

  There was no indication that they knew each other or were involved in any cults or criminal activity. In none of the instances had the police discovered evidence of foul play—until now.

  Joy Adams had been the oldest of the missing women. Cecelia Davis had been a year younger. Jewel Benet had been the youngest.

  Jewel’s father had hired Nick to investigate his daughter’s disappearance. Nick had spent hours on top of hours on the case, followed every hint of a lead. He’d gotten nowhere.

  There had been no substantiated sightings, no paper trail, no charges to her credit card, no stalkers, no reported threats or problems with abusive boyfriends or overzealous customers. It was as if Jewel just woke up one morning and vanished into thin air.

  Nick had become more convinced by the day that Jewel had been murdered. Eventually, her father came to that same conclusion and decided to give up his search.

  Nick had stayed on the case even after he no longer got paid. He hated that he’d failed Jewel and her family and it bugged the hell out of him that he’d never found the body or the murder weapon.

  As far as he knew the NOPD had never officially linked the cases of the missing women. They would have to now. There would be no justification for assuming the other two missing women had just moved on to the next town, the next club, the next man.

  Sordid images pushed their way into Nick’s brain. Jewel Benet, only twenty-one, rebellious, but beautiful and deeply loved by her parents. Abducted and brutally murdered by a cold-blooded killer and buried inside the wall of the Villaré mansion.

  It was only speculation for Jewel. It was now a sure thing for Joy Adams. He couldn’t help but wonder if she’d ever worked for Swishers, and if it was possible that Eric Ladeaux was connected to Joy’s murder.

  It was a definite that the monster who’d committed the horrific crime had been inside the house that Jacinth was living in now.

  He’d probably been confident the evidence of his crime was hidden away forever. But as soon as he read the morning paper or saw the news on TV, he’d know that at least one of his atrocities had been uncovered.

  Would he dare risk a return to the scene of the crime to destroy any remaining evidence?

  Nick’s lungs began to burn. He stopped for breath and realized that he’d run twice as far as he’d meant to and in far less time than it would have normally taken. He’d pushed his body to the limits. Now it was time to push his training and skills to the limit to find the killer before Jacinth wound up his next victim.

  He’d fight the devil himself if that’s what it took to keep her safe. Too bad no one had done that for Joy Adams.

  NICK FOLLOWED A GROUP of rowdy conventioneers into the dimly lit foyer of Swishers. A few still wore their bright red-and-white name tags. Most didn’t.

  Eighties music blared from a speaker and a scantily clad, bosomy employee greeted the men and promised them tables near the action. Nick worked his way around the group and went straight to the long bar to the right of the entrance.

  The bartender nodded to him but kept squirting gin into a row of martini glasses. Evidently the noontime crowd was thirsty.

  A waitress appeared for the drinks the second they were ready, and the bartender, who looked to be in his early thirties, walked over to Nick.

  “Not much action out here. Sure you don’t want Susie to find you a table in the main club area?”

  Nick checked out the man’s name tag. “Not here for action, Bruce. I’m here to see Eric Ladeaux. Let him know I’m here, will you?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t do that. Eric’s in New York for his granddaughter’s wedding. He won’t be back in the club until Friday.”

  “Then maybe you can help. How long have you been bartending here?”

  “Five years, but I’m not usually behind the bar. Bella, the goddess of bartender fun, called in sick today.”

  “Where are you usually?”

  “Wherever I’m needed. I’m the manager. So how can I help you?”

  “Did Joy Adams ever dance here?”

  “Ah, you’re a cop. Should have known when you settled at the bar instead of going for the action.”

  “Actually, I’m a private detective, but since you assumed I’m here officially, I take it you’ve heard about Joy’s murder.”

  “Yeah. Bad news. But I’m afraid I can’t help you. I didn’t know Joy Adams and she’s never worked here. And since you’re not a cop, I don’t want you bothering my dancers with this. They get shook up enough when one of their own has been murd
ered. Spooked dancers aren’t good for business.”

  “I have it on good authority that Ms. Adams did work here for a while,” Nick said. A white lie, unless you considered a hunch good authority.

  “Better look for new informants. I anticipated that question coming up today, so I looked up Joy’s name in the personnel files when I reached the club this morning. She’s never drawn a paycheck from Swishers.”

  “Is that the story you want to stick with?”

  “Look…”

  “Nick. Nick Bruno.”

  “Okay. Look, Nick. I have a business to run, but that doesn’t make me a badass. If I knew Joy Adams, I’d admit it. If I had any idea who’d murdered her, I’d have called the cops and turned the information over to them. Now I have to get back to work.”

  He motioned to the other end of the bar. “You can see I’ve got waitresses lining up for their orders.”

  Nick glanced at the two waitresses Bruce had pointed out. The shapely blonde looked familiar. She looked away when she saw him watching her.

  Nick slid off the bench and went down the hallway in search of the men’s room. When he came out, the blonde stepped from the recessed area that led to the ladies’ restroom.

  She cozied up next to him and slipped something in his front jeans pocket. Before he could tell her he wasn’t interested in a private rendezvous, she disappeared into the ladies’ room.

  Nick walked to the door, glad to escape the earsplitting volume of the music even if the visit to Swishers was a total washout.

  He turned onto Bourbon Street. A group of women poured out of a T-shirt shop, all of them sporting colorful Mardi Gras beads even though the official festival season wouldn’t start for months.

  A guy was crowding the sidewalk, blowing “When the Saints Go Marching In” on his horn, the instrument’s case opened and filled with tips from appreciative tourists.

  Nick reached into his pocket for a few coins to add to the musician’s booty. His fingertips brushed the note from the blonde. He pulled it out. The note was wrapped around a small metal key.