Flash Point

by Metsy Hingle

  “Do you know where we can find this Ms. Tompkins?” Jack asked.

  “Last I heard, she tried to kill herself when Martin took up with some other woman. I was told she’d spent some time in a mental hospital, the Good Shepherd. If you ask me, she never was right in the head to begin with.”

  “Thank you again,” Jack said, and he and Leon exited the house. As they walked over to his car, Jack commented, “Sounds like the not-so-good doctor’s ex wouldn’t have minded killing him herself.”

  “Yeah, but the lady and her saintly new husband were on a cruise at the time, and unless she hopped off the ship in Miami, swam here and back, she’s in the clear,” Leon pointed out.

  “I suppose this Eve character could be a possibility. She had motive. But seeing how she’d have to be in her sixties now, I don’t see her offing the guy,” Jack said. “So that leaves us with the woman whose family brought Gilbert to trial.”

  “Except that she took the settlement money from him just like the others did.”

  “Her parents took the money. Not her,” Jack pointed out. “And let’s not forget that Gilbert’s the reason she can’t have kids now. To some women that’s a really big thing.”

  “So you think she might be our shooter?”

  Jack fastened his seat belt, then started the car. “No,” he admitted. “I think our killer is the blonde whose hair we found in Gilbert’s car. The woman he was blackmailing.”

  “You still think that this is about blackmail?”

  “Yeah, I do. Gilbert had to get the money to pay off all those people from somewhere. And it certainly wasn’t coming from his medical practice.”

  “But who? If your theory’s right, he’s been blackmailing someone a long time, and according to the DNA on that hair sample, the mystery blonde is in her late twenties or early thirties. She’d have to have been a baby when the blackmail started.”

  “Maybe she was acting on behalf of the blackmailer,” Jack suggested as he pulled his car away from the curb.

  “And maybe this has nothing to do with blackmail.”

  Jack cut a glance over at his partner. “How can you say that? You heard what Kelly said. She saw a woman giving Gilbert a bag of money in exchange for a document before she killed him. Are you telling me you still don’t believe her?”

  “I don’t know what to believe, Jackson. This psychic shit is all new to me. I mean, I’m still trying to wrap my brain around the fact that she knew my Tessa was pregnant. How in the hell could she have known that? Even Tessa wasn’t sure until I brought home that pregnancy test kit. I don’t understand it.”

  Jack braked at the stop sign before continuing across the intersection. “I don’t understand it, either, but I know it’s real. She’s the real thing.”

  “You don’t find it suspicious that the DNA tests show her and this mystery woman are related?”

  “No,” Jack told him, irritated that Leon still harbored doubts about Kelly’s innocence. “In case you’ve forgotten, she’s an orphan. She doesn’t know anything about her family.”

  “So you’re saying it’s just a coincidence that our only witness to Gilbert’s murder is a psychic with no history of her biological family, but whose DNA links her as a blood relative to our killer?”

  “I’m saying that I believe Kelly,” he told him.

  “You speaking as a cop or as a man who’s sleeping with her?”

  Jack tightened his grip on the steering wheel. “You got something to say, pal, say it.”

  “I’m saying that I think you might be too close to this one.”

  “Why? Because I happen to believe she’s innocent?”

  “No. Because the Jackson Callaghan I know always told me there’s no such thing as a coincidence. Yet these coincidences keep piling up and they all lead back to Kelly Santos.”

  And it was those coincidences leading back to Kelly that had been troubling him. Because while Kelly may not know who Gilbert’s killer was, the killer might know about Kelly. If she did, Kelly could be in danger. Somehow, he had to find the connection, and every instinct told him he had better do it soon.

  Fourteen

  “Thank you so much for your help, Sister Mary Clarence,” Kelly said to the nun who led her into the convent’s library and directed her to a table stacked neatly with the phone message pads she’d asked to review.

  “I was happy to be of service,” the cherub-faced nun told her. “I’m just sorry it took me so long to go through those phone records. With the Advent season approaching, we’ve just been so busy here at the convent and the chapel that I didn’t have time to get to them before now.”

  “I understand, Sister, and I really do appreciate you getting these for me,” Kelly assured her.

  The nun’s dark blue veil moved as she bowed her head. “As the Reverend Mother explained, the original messages taken were given to the appropriate individuals. But we do keep the pads with the carbon copies for a time. She said you only asked for the past few months, but I went ahead and pulled out the ones for the first part of the year, too, since that’s how I had them stored.”

  “That’s fine.”

  “I also highlighted all the calls that came in to Sister Grace for you.”

  “Sister Mary Clarence, you didn’t have to do that. I would have gone through them myself,” Kelly told her, hating that the nun had gone to the extra work on her behalf.

  “I know, dear, but my handwriting is not what it used to be and sometimes if I’m rushed, I use my own form of shorthand, which makes no sense to anyone but me. So I thought it would be easier if I just went through the messages myself and marked them. As you’ll see, Sister Grace had lots of friends. And your name showed up many times. It was good of you to keep in touch with her as you did.”

  “She was very special to me,” Kelly told the nun. And she owed it to Sister Grace to find out who was responsible for her death. “And, I appreciate you going to all this trouble for me.”

  “It was really no trouble.” She paused. “The Reverend Mother says that you have some concerns about Sister Grace’s death, that you think it may have been caused by something besides her bad heart.”

  Kelly wasn’t sure what to say. “It was just very sudden,” she finally told her. “I’d like to assure myself that there wasn’t…” She hesitated, and instead of saying “someone,” she said, “something else that contributed to her death.”

  “Accepting the loss of someone we cared deeply for is never easy,” Sister Mary Clarence replied, her voice sympathetic.

  But accepting the murder of someone she cared for was impossible, Kelly thought. “Sister, those last few weeks before Sister Grace died, did you happen to notice if she seemed…I don’t know…different, like something was bothering her?”

  Sister Mary Clarence tapped her finger against her chin. A frown creased the brow just below the wimple of her veil. “Actually, she was quite distracted that last month or so. She forgot to light the candles in the chapel twice and she was late for vespers several times—which wasn’t at all like her. Sister was a stickler for punctuality.”

  “Yes, I know,” Kelly replied. “But she didn’t seem worried or nervous to you?”

  “Well, no, not nervous. Maybe a little anxious.”

  “Anxious? Do you know why?”

  The nun shook her head. “Her health wasn’t good. And illness can be very stressful. Perhaps Sister knew her time here on earth was nearing its end.”

  Or perhaps someone was threatening to make it come to an end, Kelly answered silently and was all the more determined to find out who that someone was. She just hoped she could find some answers among the people who’d called the nun during those last months of her life. “Thank you, Sister. I’ll go through these and get out of your way as quickly as I can.”

  “Take your time, dear,” Sister Mary Clarence told her. “If you have any problem reading my writing or need anything else, just let me know. I’ll be right down the hall in the Reverend Mother’s o
ffice.”

  “I will. And thank you again, Sister.”

  Even before the nun had closed the door, leaving her alone in the library with the stack of books, Kelly began poring over the yellow-colored pages. Deciding to go through the incoming calls in chronological order, Kelly began with the message book marked January of that year. Each page contained three messages. Some pages were merely recopied messages that had been written in what Sister Mary Clarence had called her shorthand.

  There were quite a number of good wishes for the New Year, including her own, among those in early January. She went through month after month, skimming the messages highlighted. She saw a number of calls that came from her, several from Mrs. Callaghan. Three from Mildred St. Amant, referring to the St. Ann Guild’s benefit that winter. More calls from her physician’s and dentist’s offices, reminding her of appointments. She wrote down the names and numbers of several people that she didn’t recognize, making a note of the date they’d called and any message they’d left. At the end of the calls for June, she spied the name Dr. Gilbert.

  A chill went through Kelly at the sight of the man’s name. What possible connection could he have had to Sister Grace? She wrote down the number listed, noting the Mississippi area code. Her heart beating fast now, she attacked the next group of books and found three more calls from the doctor during July and August. She was halfway through the list of September’s calls when she saw a message from Margee Jardine. She recognized the Jardine name, recalling that their prominence in New Orleans rivaled that of the Callaghans’. She also recalled being introduced to the pretty young woman at Mrs. Callaghan’s party and being told she was a lawyer. She copied Margee’s phone number and the message saying she needed to discuss something personal with Sister Grace.

  She flipped through the next two pages and saw another message highlighted that had been for Sister Grace. This one read, “Lianne called. Says she’s an old student and wants to see you. She’ll call back.”

  Two similar messages from Lianne came the following week, and a third message said she’d meet Sister Grace at the shrine of Our Lady of Perpetual Help the following day and gave the time. In October there was another message from Margee Jardine, saying she needed to speak with Sister Grace and the word important was underlined. There were also several more calls from Lianne, one coming the day before Sister Grace’s death.

  Who was Lianne? And what was it that was important for Margee Jardine to discuss with Sister Grace? And how did Sister Grace know Dr. Gilbert? From what little Jack had told her, the man had practiced in Mississippi and had lost his medical license years ago.

  Questions. Pieces of a larger puzzle, Kelly mused, and all those pieces somehow linking back to Sister Grace. Sitting at the table in the library, she attempted to make sense of what she’d discovered. Was she wrong in thinking that there was some connection to Sister Grace’s death and the murder of Dr. Gilbert? And what about the calls from Margee Jardine and this Lianne person? She was still mulling over the questions when Sister Mary Clarence returned.

  “I’m going to run some errands for the Reverend Mother and I thought I’d check to see how you were doing before I left,” the nun told her.

  “Fine, Sister. Actually, I was just finishing up.” She stuffed the notes she’d made about the messages and phone numbers into her camera bag. Then she stacked the last message book atop the others and stood.

  “Did you find what you were looking for?” Sister Mary Clarence asked.

  “Maybe. I’m not sure,” Kelly answered honestly. “Sister, do you remember a Dr. Gilbert calling for Sister Grace a couple of times during the summer?”

  The nun creased her dark brown brows together. “Not really. A great many of our sisters are getting up in age now, so we have a lot of doctors’ offices calling here usually to remind them about an appointment or a test, or just to check on them if one of them’s been ill. And unfortunately, after she turned seventy, Sister Grace had an increasing number of health problems, so she was under the care of several physicians. As I’m sure you saw, she had doctors’ offices calling nearly every other week.”

  She had noticed the number of reminder calls from the internist, the cardiologist and the diabetes specialist. But why would an OB-GYN from Mississippi be calling a seventy-one-year-old nun? “This wasn’t someone from Dr. Gilbert’s office, but the doctor himself who called.”

  The nun shook her head. “I’m sorry, but I don’t remember him.”

  “What about someone named Lianne?”

  “Lianne,” the nun repeated.

  “She didn’t give a last name or phone number, but she called for Sister Grace several times during September and October and left messages. One of them said she was a former student.” Kelly had sensed the moment she’d seen that last message that it was important, that this Lianne person was important. This Lianne could be the link she’d been looking for.

  “Oh, yes. I remember her now. Very polite, lovely voice. She said she was one of Sister Grace’s girls when she was at St. Ann’s. She was visiting New Orleans and wanted to see Sister. I believe Sister Grace met with her several times during her visit.”

  “Sister Mary Clarence,” Kelly began calmly while adrenaline flashed through her system. “Did Sister Grace say anything or act differently after you gave her that message?”

  The nun frowned again. “Well now that you mention it, she wasn’t all smiles like she usually was when one of her girls called. In fact, when I first relayed the message, she went white as a ghost and asked me to repeat it.”

  “Did you see this Lianne?” Kelly asked.

  “No. They didn’t meet here at the convent. But I do remember asking how her former charge was doing, and Sister Grace said she was not doing well. She said the woman was troubled, that she had some serious problems. Grace said that she needed to pray to Our Lady for guidance so that she would know how to help her. I told her that I’d keep them both in my prayers.” She shook her head as though shaking off the memory. “Was this Lianne at St. Ann’s when you were there?”

  “Not that I recall.” But she intended to find out. And to do that, she might have to ask Jack for his help.

  Jack sat across the table from Kelly in the restaurant that evening, pleased it hadn’t taken him much convincing to get her to join him. For a Monday night, the place was packed, and while he would have preferred a lesscrowded place to talk, he’d hoped the homey atmosphere would put her at ease. There were no candles on the tables, no frilly linens, just your basic restaurant with good food and good service.

  “So let me get this straight,” Jack began once they’d ordered. “You’re saying that Sister Grace didn’t die of a heart attack, but that someone came into the chapel where she was praying and murdered her?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you’re just now telling me? Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

  “Because you would have wanted me to go to the police.”

  “You’re right, I would have. Because catching murderers is police business. Hell, it’s what I do. You have no business playing detective, Kelly.” And if she was right, she damned well could have put herself in serious danger. Furious that she had taken such a chance, he spoke sharply, “You should have told me. I’d have gone to the police with you.”

  “What was I supposed to say, ‘Oh, by the way, Sister Grace didn’t really die of a heart attack. She was murdered.’ And when your police sergeant asked me how I knew that and I told him that when I held her rosary, I saw a woman sitting behind her in the chapel stab her in the neck with a needle and kill her, what do you think he would have said? Do you honestly think anyone would have believed me? I have no proof. And you saw what I’ve had to go through since I told them about seeing that Dr. Gilbert murdered.” She shook her head. “I’m not putting myself through that again.”

  She had a point, Jack conceded. But it didn’t erase the fact that she’d kept this from him. “You could have come to me, Kelly. You know that
I would have believed you.” Jack reached across the table for the hand she had bundled into a fist. He covered it with his own. “So why didn’t you?”

  “Because I knew if I asked for your help, we would end up getting involved.”

  “And, of course, you didn’t want that, did you?” he fired back, and wished he could have five minutes alone with that jerk Scott who had scarred her so badly.

  “I’ve made you angry.”

  “No,” Jack said, shaking off the temper, because he knew she would sense it whether he wanted her to or not. “I’m not angry—at least not with you. I just wish you would trust me, Kelly.”

  “I trust you more than I’ve ever trusted anyone in my life.”

  “But…?” he prompted, because he knew there was a but.

  “But you want more from me than I have in me to give.” She pulled her fingers free.

  “I don’t believe that for a minute. And I won’t accept it, either. There is so much more to you than your being able to see what’s going on inside other people’s heads. But I think you don’t want anyone to know that. That’s why you push everyone away. It’s why you keep pushing me away. Because you’re afraid if you let anyone get too close to you that they’ll hurt you again. That they’ll leave you again—the same way your parents left you.”

  “Thanks for the psychoanalysis, Dr. Callaghan. But I’m afraid that you’re off base. I came to terms with who and what I am a long time ago.”

  But she hadn’t, not really, Jack thought as he watched her trying to erect those barriers between them again. “It’s not going to work this time, Kelly.”

  She eyed him warily. “What isn’t going to work?”

  “You trying to shut me out. You see, you messed up last night. You messed up big time. You let your guard down and I saw the real Kelly Santos. I made love with her, ate pizza with her in the middle of the night and I slept with her in my arms. And now that I’ve seen the real you, I have no intention of letting you hide her from me again.”