by Nancy Bush
“You coming?” Celek asked, slightly uneasy.
“You go ahead,” Danner said. “I’ve got a few phone calls to make.”
When Celek, after a moment’s hesitation, headed for the front entrance, Danner exited the elevator car and stood in the hospital foyer, standing by a spiky rhapis plant and placing a call to Jarrod’s cell. When he failed to pick up, Danner called the Knapp/Lockwood house phone because he didn’t have Genevieve’s cell, readying to leave a message when Gen herself picked up.
“Jarrod’s with the band,” she said with a sniff and in a tone that suggested Danner should know that, too. “They’re playing at the Cellar in Laurelton this weekend.”
“I’m going to see them tomorrow night. Why aren’t you there?”
“’Cause I hate the band,” she stated bluntly. “Why’re you so all-fired eager to talk to Jarrod?”
“Who said I was?”
“You just sound like it. What’s wrong? What did he do?”
“Nothing, that I know of,” Danner said.
“So this is about Annette, then? Come on over. I’ve got a few things to say about her. I just need somebody to really listen to me, okay?”
Danner checked the time. Nine thirty. All week he’d wanted back on the Deneuve case but hadn’t found the time. And now Genevieve was offering him a one-on-one without Jarrod even around, an opportunity that might, or might not, bear some kind of informational fruit.
Either way, it was a chance he wasn’t going to squander. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
Chapter 19
“What do you mean you got it wrong?” Ellen asked, frowning.
Coby shook her head. She needed to talk to Danner and she needed to do it tonight. “I’ve got to go. Could I get your cell numbers, so that we can talk some more later?”
Ellen, Theo, and McKenna all exchanged cell phone numbers with Coby, who tried to make a quick exit. They wanted to keep discussing Yvette, and Benedict’s paternity, but for all intents and purposes the subject had been exhausted.
As Coby headed out the side door and toward her car, she punched in Danner’s cell number, but the call went straight to voice mail.
“I could get a complex,” she said aloud, though she knew he was on a job. When the beep sounded, she said, “Hey, there. I’ve left the Joker. McKenna was good. I was hoping I could see you tonight. Or talk to you? Give me a call.”
She hung up and checked the time. Nearly ten.
She wondered exactly what his job entailed tonight.
The suburban house where Jarrod and Genevieve lived was a tan ranch with used brick running beneath Cinderella windowpanes, their diamond pattern sending out a retro message as clear as shag carpet, pet rocks, and disco music, though Danner tagged the actual age of the house somewhere in the early sixties.
As he pulled his Wrangler into the driveway, he realized the brown Toyota station wagon parked beside him was just pulling out. A woman with short, frosted hair gave him a wave and he waved back at Kathy Knapp who, though Gen and Jarrod had been married for years, was pretty much still a stranger to Danner. Not exactly the warm and fuzzy family, he and Jarrod. He loved his brother but they’d never been all that close in a friendship way. Jarrod was a musician and Danner was, well, not. There was a huge gap between their two worlds, and there was also Coby. Somehow Jarrod felt like she’d been his and Danner had taken her from him. He’d said as much, long ago, though it was a tacit thing between them now: understood, nearly forgotten . . . nearly.
Danner climbed out of the vehicle, pulled his cell phone from his pocket, and switched it off. He was long off duty and he didn’t want any interruptions; he needed a night off from Jarvis Lloyd.
Someone had left a light on and he knocked on the door and looked around, glad the rain had stopped, feeling a cold breeze tuck its chilly fingers inside his jacket collar. Leaves blanketed the yard in an orange, yellow, and brown carpet. The lonely maple in the center of the yard was lopsided, and he could see the scar where a major branch had fallen from the other side. There was something forlorn about that, but Danner shook off the sensation as the door opened and Genevieve appeared, holding open the screen door.
“Mom’s visiting a friend,” she said by way of greeting. “A male friend. Ten o’clock at night. You have to wonder.”
“Well, she’s single,” Danner said.
“Whatever.” She waved him inside, as if it were the most natural thing and she didn’t give a rat’s ass about it anyway.
Danner stepped into the living room. The carpet had been replaced at some point and looked like someone took great care with it. A row of lighted vanilla candles sat atop a dark wood mantel, their tiny flames flickering, sending out an aroma that Danner inhaled deep into his lungs.
“They say vanilla is a woman’s fragrance,” Genevieve said. “Men like musk or something citrus or woodsy, I guess. Women like vanilla. I like vanilla.”
She was standing in the center of the room, her arms crossed over her chest. She meant business. “Jarrod really has a hard-on for that band of his,” she said, as if they were in the middle of a conversation. “Nothing stops him from being with them. Kinda like having a third partner in this marriage. And fourth and fifth, if you count the other two idiots besides Kirk: Spence and Ryan. But then there’s Kirk.” She rolled her eyes. “I’ve threatened to leave Jarrod more than once but he just smiles and kisses me and tells me I’m a liar, which I am. I would never leave him.”
This was said with an underlying edge of steel that made Danner glad it was his brother, not himself, wrapped into this strange marriage. Danner had his own worries about Jarrod and his band, and he made a mental note about Spence and Ryan. When he went to see Jarrod’s band tomorrow night, he would see what he thought of them as well.
“You wanted to talk about Annette,” Genevieve reminded Danner, though he had mostly just agreed that was his purpose. Genevieve had been the one to really orchestrate this meeting.
“You thought Annette’s death was a homicide before anyone else,” Danner said.
“That’s right.” She was gratified that he remembered. “Annette was my friend,” she began, then for a moment he thought she was going to actually break down. But Genevieve’s emotional armor was fairly awesome; he’d seen that in her over the years, and she pulled herself together. “I was there, too, you know.”
“I know.”
“So, fire away, Mr. Detective. What do you want to know? Who I think killed her? Yvette, of course. Come into the kitchen and I’ll see if I can dig out some wine and cheese. I’m starving. How about you?”
“I could eat,” he admitted, thinking back regretfully to his aborted meal and evening with Coby.
He followed Genevieve into a galley kitchen with cherry-wood cabinets that had been lovingly taken care of over the years, though a few scars were still visible, and took a seat at the nearby pedestal table, which had a white Formica top nestled into a wood frame. The chairs were wood with spoked backs. They looked uncomfortable but weren’t.
“I really liked Annette,” Gen began as if she were about to launch into full narrative, which would be fine with Danner. He was a listener by nature. “I don’t like that many women, but I liked her. She was . . . brutally honest. She wanted a baby, did you know that?” she asked as she dug into the cupboards, coming up with a green marble cheese board and matching knife.
“With Dave Rendell,” Danner said.
“Yup.” She pulled a block of cheddar and another one of something whiter, Monterey jack, maybe, and quickly sliced them and fanned them onto the marble board. Then she dug out several boxes of crackers and put them in a bowl, placing everything on the table beside Danner’s elbow. Lastly, she opened the refrigerator again and discovered a bottle of white wine, already opened. Pouring two glasses, she slid one to Danner. “You’re not on duty, right?”
“I can have a drink,” he said, munching on some cheddar and crackers.
“Good.” She tipped her glass back, and som
ething about the way she gulped her drink and then stopped, deliberately, as if she were forcing herself to take a break before another swallow, made him think she might be on the verge of a problem.
“Someone killed Annette while we were all there,” Danner said. “A fairly bold move, considering any of us could have caught them in the act.”
She shook her head. “Annette didn’t have enemies. She was liked.”
“I don’t get the feeling that it was a premeditated act.”
She thought that over. “Okay. I’d agree to that.”
“So, it seems like it might have been a crime of opportunity. It doesn’t feel like a crime of passion, either.”
“Yvette would kill for passion.” Danner waited. He’d mentally catalogued Yvette as the main suspect among Coby’s friends, but he wanted to hear whatever else they had to say. When he didn’t react, Genevieve went on, “But apart from her . . . well, maybe not. Annette was happy in her life. She probably would’ve had a baby, if someone hadn’t killed her first. It would’ve happened for her. She was kind of blessed that way, you know? She got what she wanted.” She took another long swallow from her glass, nearly finishing it. “So, if you cancel out Yvette, then yeah, it probably was a crime of opportunity.”
“Our killer’s an opportunist,” Danner said. “He or she took advantage of the hot tub.”
“Think he or she killed Lucas, too?”
“I don’t know,” Danner admitted. “Moore’s death was ruled an accident.”
“But you think the deaths are linked,” she pressed. “I mean, come on. There’s that lock of hair somebody’s been hanging on to. Annette told her dad it was Lucas’s.”
“I know.”
“You don’t believe it?” She gazed at him in surprise.
“I don’t know. But let’s go with your theory: that Yvette killed her. Out of passion and opportunity? Why? Over this lock of hair? Something else? Annette was her sister.”
“Yvette’s impulsive,” Gen responded, eyeing her now-empty drink. “And unstable. She really resented the fact that Annette had everything: a loving husband, a comfortable lifestyle, a baby planned for the future. Or maybe Annette was already pregnant.”
“She wasn’t. Per the autopsy.”
“Okay, but that was only because Dave was dragging his feet. Annette would’ve talked him into it eventually. She really had the most perfect life of all her sisters. I know Suzette’s engaged to Galen, but seriously? Galen acts like he’s a landscaper, but he’s basically menial labor for his dad’s company along with his millions of other brothers. Nicholette’s got a good job but she’s divorced and has a sketchy boyfriend. That Ekhardt guy looks at you like he wants to undress you, especially if you’re, like, really young and pretty. Juliet’s just a wannabe . . . who’s slept with every guy she’s dated. She’s sure cut a path through our guy group, and now she’s pinned her hopes on Kirk, and that’s like the kiss of death for a guy like him. And, well, Yvette, we all know what she’s like.” She turned back to the refrigerator and rummaged around for another bottle of wine.
How much wine had she consumed before he’d arrived? he wondered as she gave a hoot of discovery and pulled out a second bottle. She seemed okay. She was certainly tracking, at least for the moment. But at this rate the alcohol was bound to get her.
“My mom tried to hide it in the vegetable bin behind the romaine. She knows I want to get pregnant and she thinks she’s helping me.”
“You and Jarrod are planning to have kids?” Danner asked, wondering if Jarrod was on board with that. His brother didn’t seem to have any serious interest in anything beyond the band these days.
“Well . . . yeah.” Her lips trembled and she pressed them together, hard. A moment later she shook her head as if physically throwing off whatever she’d been thinking about. “All this conjecture . . . who cares. Yvette probably killed Annette. She’s your likely suspect. They were fighting. Maybe Yvette pushed her into the hot tub and then Annette banged her head and drowned. Yvette’s just so . . . angry all the time. No moment of opportunity for her. Flat-out rage. If Annette was going to tell something about Yvette, something she didn’t want told, well, hey, Yvette would just take care of it.”
“Someone held her head underwater,” Danner reminded her. He thought about eating another cracker but had already consumed a third of the tray. He wondered if Coby had gotten her bar food.
“Yvette. She would jump in and hold her forcibly under. I could see that. That’s just her style.”
“No one was in wet clothes,” he said.
“Then she didn’t jump in. She did it from outside the tub. What do you want me to say? That’s it’s not Yvette? Who do you want it to be, then? Jesus.” She was working a corkscrew with an effort. Danner was about to offer help when it finally released with a soft pop. “Kirk was in wet clothes,” she reminded him. “Once he put them back on, anyway.”
“Timing-wise, he wasn’t by the hot tub at the time of Annette’s death. He was getting dressed.”
“How do you know?”
“I was there, too. I remember where certain people were, right before Annette was found. Kirk’s one of them.”
“Your own personal litmus test, huh? Too bad. If it’s not Yvette, he’d be my second choice,” she admitted. “No more band. Maybe we could concentrate on some other things then, like our own family. You want kids, Danner?”
“Someday.”
“I want ’em. But I’m not like Annette. I’m not blessed. The more I want something, the harder it is to get. Do you feel that way?”
“I’ve had it happen.” He’d made a mistake in coming here tonight. Genevieve wasn’t really interested in offering any information or insights into Annette’s death, she was too wrapped up in her own problems. She was offering up the people she wanted the killer to be, that was all.
“Jarrod and I have fertility problems,” she said now, apparently finally getting onto the subject that absorbed her most. “It’s the problem du jour for anybody who’s anybody these days, right? Hurray for us.” She’d refilled her glass and now lifted it high in a mock toast. “All the really important people are doing it, don’t you know.” Bringing the glass to her lips, she looked across the rim at Danner. “You know how much it costs? For each implant attempt? Fifteen, twenty thousand. Just to get started. We don’t even have enough for one try. Goddamn economy. And then my husband wants to quit his day job and just be with the band.”
“Jarrod wants to quit?” Danner hadn’t heard that.
“He hates his job. Always has. But hey, who doesn’t? I just wish I had one . . . sort of. Got my teaching degree but never went back for my master’s. Didn’t want to. But then my dad died and everything went to shit, so here we are.” She glanced at his glass and asked, “Want a refill?” before she even noticed his was still full.
“No, thanks.”
“Okay, okay.” She waved a languid hand. “You wanted to talk about Annette. Or, no, actually you wanted to talk to Jarrod. You think he knows something?”
“I just want to talk to him. Not about Annette.”
“Yeah, well, good. ’Cause he doesn’t know or care really about what happened to her anyway. It’s like sort of interesting to him, but not really. He’s, like, living on the moon or something.” She looked momentarily forlorn, then shook that off. “So, who else do you know it’s not, besides Kirk?” she questioned.
“Pretty sure it’s not Jean-Paul and it’s not Benedict. And it’s not Coby Rendell.”
Genevieve’s ears pricked up. “Oh?”
“I was watching Coby,” Danner said neutrally. “I was with her the half hour before Suzette found Annette. Before that, Annette was alive.”
“What about me?” she asked. “You think I could’ve done it?”
“Last time I saw you, you were with Jarrod.”
She snorted. “Well, sure. He was playing at being attentive that night. Guess we’re each other’s alibi.” She sighed and sank into
the chair next to Danner’s. Her blue eyes were beginning to haze over a bit. “I would have never hurt Annette,” she said. Then, “Yvette . . . that’s another story. I don’t like her. She didn’t like Annette. Well, she doesn’t like anybody, really. She got in a fight with Annette, and she’s the one with the secret, isn’t she? I mean, who is Benedict’s daddy, right? Did Annette know? Did anyone? I bet Jean-Claude knows, and I know it’s not Lucas.”
“What was Yvette and Annette’s fight about?”
“They were snipping at each other all night. It was always that way with Annette and Yvette. Snip, snip, snip.”
“How do you know Lucas isn’t Benedict’s father?”
“Because Yvette started saying so. The night of the campout, Yvette wanted us all to believe she and Lucas were lovers. She insisted they were, but they weren’t. It was all a lie to cover up something else. So, where was Yvette that night? Was she with someone else? She wasn’t with Lucas.”
“You know this for a fact?” Danner asked.
“I can’t account for every minute of Lucas’s time, but most of it.” She ran her tongue around her lips, frowning, deep in concentration. “We all kind of had a thing for Lucas, you know. He was like this major make-out king, but not with Yvette.”
“But there are a lot of hours unaccounted for after everyone fell asleep.”
“Not so many . . . I snuck away with Lucas for a while,” she admitted with a faint smile. “So did Coby, first, though it was just a warmup. Some making out. But later, when he and I were alone . . .”
Danner was aware she was needling him a bit and kept his face expressionless. “Maybe Yvette snuck away with him, too.”
“Nope. I think she met someone else,” Genevieve stated clearly. “Someone she doesn’t want us to know about. Bet it was Benedict’s father.”
Her words were slurring just a tiny bit. As if hearing herself, she got to her feet, then had to grab for the counter for support, hanging on to the edge.
“Maybe they were fighting over something else entirely,” Danner said. “She had the envelope with the lock of hair in her hands.”