by Jana DeLeon
He shrugged. “I think the risk is low, but I’m not willing to say it doesn’t exist. Someone has been murdered. That’s about as serious as it gets.”
Marisa looked back at Shaye. “Wouldn’t that mean you’re in danger as well?”
“Perhaps,” Shaye said, “but that’s part of my job. It’s not part of yours as a friend.”
Marisa looked at Rick again, who didn’t say another word, clearly putting the entire thing in Marisa’s lap. Finally she looked at Shaye and nodded. “Keep going,” she said. “We’ll be careful, and I’ll make sure Jenny is. If anything looks odd, I’ll rethink it.”
“Okay,” Shaye said. “There’s something else you should know. Something Jenny told me.”
“What is it?” Marisa asked.
“She’s starting to remember,” Shaye said.
Marisa sucked in a breath. “Really? I mean, I knew she was having dreams, but they didn’t seem to correspond with anything from the past.”
“I think they started out as something else,” Shaye said, “but she told me today that she’d dreamed about the bar. She remembers going outside and you taking her back inside, then talking to Rick, although she can’t remember what was said. But what happened in between is still a blank. I have to tell you that what she’s going through is very similar to what happened to me.”
“And did you remember everything?” Marisa asked.
“I remembered a lot,” Shaye said. “And pieces are still coming. Usually a new one every week or so.”
Marisa looked over at Rick. “If she remembers…I mean, we always thought she was just in a panic because Caitlyn was missing, but maybe she saw something.”
“It’s possible,” Shaye said, “and it’s also possible that her panic was simply because she couldn’t find Caitlyn. My understanding is that her coping skills never have been as good as the average person’s.”
“That’s true,” Marisa said. “She’s always gotten upset rather easily. But still…”
“Anyway,” Shaye said, “I thought you should know because Jenny will need someone to lean on if her memory ever returns full force, especially if she did see something horrible in that alley. And I get the impression that her mother isn’t going to be the shoulder she needs.”
“That’s sort of an understatement,” Marisa said.
Shaye rose. “I’m going to let you get back to your dinner. I’ll be working on the investigation tomorrow. But if you change your mind about it, just give me a call and I’ll halt everything. I’m afraid, given the situation, the New Orleans police will likely want to talk to you.”
Rick nodded. “That’s to be expected. Again, we appreciate your delivering this news personally.”
“Be careful,” Shaye said. “And let me know if there’s anything else I can do.”
She headed out of the house and climbed into her SUV, then pulled away, reflecting on the conversation. Rick and Marisa had backed up Sam’s thoughts on Garrett Trahan and his potential for abuse, so that was three people with the same impression of Trahan. Four if she counted herself. She wondered what Trahan would say when Grayson and Jackson talked to him tomorrow. Unfortunately, Jackson wouldn’t be able to tell her and she wasn’t about to ask. That wasn’t fair to either of them.
She shook her head. As much as she could picture Garrett Trahan as an abuser and potential murderer, the one thing she couldn’t find a reason for was his associating with Cody Reynolds. If anything, Trahan would have hated Reynolds if he’d known about his involvement with Caitlyn. Or maybe it was something even more sinister.
Maybe she’d been playing both men.
Maybe they’d found out.
MARISA LOOKED out the blinds and watched as Shaye Archer drove away, then walked back into the kitchen where Rick was on his second beer. “Oh my God,” she said and sat next to him. “Someone was murdered.”
“I told you this entire thing was a bad idea.”
“You told me to stop indulging Jenny’s fantasies of Caitlyn being alive somewhere, and that’s what I was trying to do. When Shaye Archer didn’t come up with anything more than the police did, I figured she’d have to face facts. I never expected anyone to die. I just don’t understand. Why would someone kill that bartender?”
“Who knows? It’s New Orleans and he wasn’t exactly an accountant. Lots of bartenders are involved with all sorts of shady side business—drugs, prostitution.”
“But Shaye said the police don’t think the timing was a coincidence and neither did she.”
“Cops hate coincidence and private detectives are no different, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.”
“Is that what you think? That it’s just some horrible chance of timing?”
“Maybe.”
“But what about the picture? Caitlyn was involved with him and none of us even knew.”
“I think there were probably a lot of things we didn’t know about Caitlyn. It wasn’t unheard of for her to duck out, and you said yourself that a couple of times she claimed she was spending the weekend with Garrett you saw him out with his friends.”
Marisa nodded. “You think she was seeing the bartender then?”
“That makes the most sense. Remember, it was Caitlyn who suggested that bar.”
Marisa’s eyes widened. “That’s right. I bet it was to see him. But I never saw them talking, did you?”
“I don’t remember him at all, but it was wall-to-wall people, and we’d been drinking for hours. The whole night sorta ran together. Besides, Caitlyn talked to everyone she met. No way I could remember them.”
“What about her phone, though? If she was taking calls from him then wouldn’t his number have shown up on her phone records? I know she had a prepaid phone because of not having credit and all, but would that matter?”
Rick shook his head. “The police can still get a log of the calls and texts from the service provider as long as they know the number and have a subpoena. But if she had one phone, what makes you think she didn’t have another? Especially if she was hiding something from us. I know you were friends and you were brought up with that whole ‘not speaking ill of the dead’ thing, but you and I both know that the only time Caitlyn wasn’t scheming was when she was asleep.”
Marisa sighed. “I know. You’re right. This whole thing has been a nightmare from the beginning. I swear I was just trying to make it stop by suggesting Jenny hire Shaye. I figured she’d cover all the same ground the police did and come to the same conclusions, then I could convince Jenny to let it go. Instead, I’ve probably made it worse.”
“It’s not your fault. You were just trying to help, like you’ve always done. Don’t worry about it. The cops will probably come up with something he was involved in that got him killed.”
“You really think so?”
He took another drink of his beer and stared at the wall, not answering.
She started to talk again but bit her lip instead. Once Rick got broody, as he looked now, he wouldn’t participate in a discussion. But she couldn’t help but worry about all the implications. Sure, the timing could be a coincidence, but was it? There were a million chores Marisa needed to complete before she could pick up Maya and eventually climb into bed, but the thought of trying to finish up dinner or fold socks made her stomach clench. It was so trivial when someone had been murdered.
She’d hoped hiring Shaye would end their long nightmare. Instead, it might have just fired it up even more.
12
CAITLYN AWAKENED TO DARKNESS. From the tiny window, she could see the tip of the sun as it disappeared over the trees. The last thing she remembered was the morning sun streaming in and then…she strained to recall what had happened since the sunlight but it was all a blank. How could she lose an entire day? She checked the room and saw a paper plate on the nightstand that hadn’t been there before. A few bread crumbs were all that was left.
Clearly, she’d eaten at some point, but why couldn’t she remember?
&nbs
p; Her captor was poisoning her. She was sure of it. Something that ate away at her memory.
But why not just kill her? Why was she being punished this way?
So maybe she hadn’t always been the nicest person. Maybe she’d treated people badly.
But this? What was the endgame?
She walked to the door and tried to turn the knob, as she always did, but this time she was shocked when it spun around. She heard a click and the old door creaked open. Her heart leaped into her throat. This was her chance.
She inched out the door, pausing every time the floorboards creaked. She took the steps one at a time, stopping on each one, her pulse shooting up every time the old wood groaned. Every few steps, she had to remind herself to breathe. She listened for noise downstairs, but all she heard was the wind outside. At the bottom of the stairs, she peered around the wall and scanned the dark room. A tiny bit of light filtered in from a light outside a door.
That must be the front of the house!
She took three steps toward the door, her hand shaking as she reached for the dead bolt and slid it back. Praying that the hinges didn’t squeak, she inched the door open and peered outside. The lone light bulb didn’t illuminate much, but she knew from her view out the window that somewhere ahead of her was a dirt road. She stepped outside and walked down the cement steps.
Thunder rumbled around her, and lightning flashed off to her right. The smell of rain was in the air. She had to hurry because of the storm, but to where? She had no idea where she was or how far away help might be, and the weather would make it even harder to see lights from other houses.
She set off in the direction she thought the road would be. It didn’t matter. Being lost would be better than being captive. She only needed to survive one night in the dark. If she didn’t find anyone who could help her, she’d do it when daylight came. There had to be a town nearby. The food and bathroom supplies came from somewhere. If she could just get to a phone, she could call the police.
She’d gone maybe twenty yards when lightning flashed right above her, causing her to duck. Thunder boomed so loudly her ears vibrated, and she felt a flash of pain in her temples. She pressed her hands to her head as the rain began to pelt her face. Had she been struck by lightning? The pain in her head was so bad her vision blurred.
No!
She staggered forward, determined to get far enough away from the house that no one could find her. If she could just find a place to hide. She could get help tomorrow. Surely they wouldn’t come looking for her in the storm.
One hand pressed to her head, she forced herself forward, but three steps later she stumbled and fell to the ground, her head feeling as if it would split in two. Desperate, she started to crawl, but before she’d even moved forward one foot, she collapsed on the ground, eyes clenched and praying for all of it to be over.
13
VIRGINIA TAYLOR STEPPED out onto the back porch. It was close to 11:00 p.m. and the rain was really coming down now. The thunder raged so hard it shook the walls of the tiny house. It had been a bad year for storms. So many of them sweeping through the area. Lots of flooding. Lots of damage from lightning. Sometimes, Virginia thought it was the apocalypse. That God had grown so dissatisfied with his creation that he was going to send it all back to dust. Maybe start over. Maybe abandon it altogether as a lost cause.
Jenny had finally come out of her room at some point and was sitting on a footstool on the far end of the porch, watching the storm. She’d always been fascinated with them, ever since she was a little girl. In a fancy way, it mirrored her childhood. Jenny was always the one watching the storm. Caitlyn was the storm.
“You’re going to get wet,” Virginia called out.
Jenny turned to look at her. “Already have. I got caught in it checking the mail after my walk. And the wind is blowing the rain in sheets. It’s come under the porch a couple times.”
Virginia nodded. The only real activity Jenny committed to was walking. Some days she’d walk for hours, returning with blisters on her feet. On really good days, she’d ride her bicycle into town and visit Marisa. Those days had gotten more and more scarce, but the walking had been a constant.
Virginia started down the porch and stood beside her daughter. “That detective you hired talked to me today.”
Jenny looked up at her. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about it, Momma. But I knew you wouldn’t approve.”
“You need to let it go,” Virginia said.
“Is that what you did?”
“Yes. You have to. Either you let it go or it eats you alive, like it did your daddy.”
“Don’t you want to know what happened?”
Virginia stared out into the darkness for a bit, considering the question. Finally, she spoke. “I don’t think I do. Nothing the Archer woman can find will change what happened. Nothing can bring back the past. Thinking something will is how you lose the present and the future. I’m going to bed. Remember to lock the door when you come in.”
Virginia turned and headed back into the house, glancing back at her daughter before she closed the door behind her. Whatever had happened hadn’t just cost her family one life. It had cost all four.
As she walked into her bedroom, the letter she’d received in the mail that day crinkled in her pocket. She sat on the bed and pulled it out, staring at the words her doctor had told her earlier that week. He’d said a lot of other things, but only two words had mattered.
Six months.
She reached for her Bible and turned around, using the bed to help her lower herself down on her knees.
Lord, I ain’t asked for something in a long time but I got to now. You know I ain’t got much longer here and you know the situation I got with my daughter. I think I know what I need to do, but I have to be sure. Give me a sign. Let me know it’s your will.
She looked up at the ceiling and waited. Then a flash of lightning bolted through the sky, striking the weather vane on the top of the old barn. Immediately, all the lights went out and Virginia rose.
“Your will, Lord.”
WEDNESDAY, February 17, 2016
French Quarter, New Orleans
SHAYE AWAKENED after a night of fitful sleep. The storm had raged for hours, which had contributed to her general unease, but mostly thoughts of the case kept her mind too active to allow her to drift off into restful slumber. And if she was being honest, she was still reeling a bit from Cody Reynolds’s murder.
When she’d taken this case, she’d expected to cover the same ground the police had, verifying the interviews and seeing if she could formulate a theory, even if she couldn’t provide enough proof for an arrest. Given the circumstances surrounding Caitlyn’s disappearance, she hadn’t really expected to find much. Her biggest hope had been that her investigation would allow Jenny to put the past behind her and work on a healthy future. For herself and for the others she’d locked in the past with her.
Then Cody Reynolds was killed. And that had come as a total shock.
Shaye believed in coincidences but she didn’t believe this was one. She could be wrong, of course. Reynolds could have been involved in something else entirely. Maybe he simply got nervous because her poking around might uncover something else he was involved in. Maybe whomever he met in the cemetery thought he wouldn’t be able to play it cool and decided to eliminate the possibility of exposure to whatever they were involved in.
In a way, that made more sense. Because if Reynolds had been involved in Caitlyn’s disappearance, there had been ample opportunity to kill him before now when it wouldn’t have drawn scrutiny directly related to Caitlyn’s disappearance. First thing this morning, she was going to review her notes from yesterday, then she was going to be at the French Revival when it opened and have a chat with the employees.
One of them had to know something about Reynolds’s life, even if it was just suspicion. There was no way he’d worked with people for years and they’d never observed something they thought was odd.
Or something about his life outside the bar. Jackson had said his apartment was nicely decorated. Had he had help? His mother maybe? What were his parents like? Jackson and Grayson had gone to speak with them yesterday, but they wouldn’t be able to share information concerning an open investigation. And she wouldn’t intrude on the parents’ grief unless she had no other option. But perhaps she could find someone who grew up with Reynolds who was willing to talk.
She headed into the kitchen and fired up the coffeepot, then sat down at the counter with her laptop. It should be easy enough to locate Reynolds’s high school classmates. Baton Rouge was a bit of a drive, but maybe she’d get lucky and find one locally. Worst case, she could call, although she hated to do anything but cursory information-gathering over the phone.
She found a couple yearbooks online and cruised through the group photos, looking for Reynolds and making a note of the other students he was pictured with. Three stood out because they were in more than one photo. Two women and one guy. She did a quick search on those names, and located the two women on Facebook, both married and both still in Baton Rouge. She scanned the feed on their profiles to get a feel for them and discovered that one had recently passed away from a long bout with breast cancer. She deleted that name from her notes and did a broader search for the guy, Eric Pellerin, and found him on LinkedIn, his profession listed as loan officer.
“Yes,” she said when she saw his current employer was a company in New Orleans. With any luck, the profile was up to date. It was just past 8:00 a.m. so she looked up the company, a mortgage lender, then called the main number.
“Hello,” she said when the receptionist answered. “I’m interested in a home mortgage and a friend recommended Eric Pellerin to me. Can I make an appointment with him?”
“I’d be happy to make an appointment,” the woman said. “When would you like to come in?”
“As soon as possible. I don’t suppose he has anything this morning?”