The Unmistakable Scent of Gardenias (Haunted Hearts Series Book 6)

by Denise Moncrief

  “Are you sure it will ever be safe?”

  “The framework is sound. I made sure of it before I accepted the job.”

  It seemed a pole had been rammed up her rigid back. “I’ll continue to do my preliminary research. I’ll also see if I can find any documents that might speak to the history of the property. The more we know, the better we’ll be able to deal with Les Wakefield.” Her piercing stare sliced his heart into shreds. “Find your friends somewhere else to stay. I’m not offering free room and board.”

  Yeah, he got it. She didn’t want to give him any excuse to hang around her.

  With those angry words wafting on the warm breeze, she yanked open the passenger door of his truck. “Take me home.”

  He slid into the driver’s seat. Neither of them spoke a word all the way to New Orleans.

  Chapter Seven

  Royce Robichaux spread several documents in front of Charlotte. She slid the nearest one toward her, picked it up, and scrutinized the raised seal. The paper looked legit. That didn’t mean it was.

  He tapped his finger on another document. “If those are forgeries, they’re good ones.”

  She sniffed. Royce was no expert. If the documents were real, Les Wakefield was the fourth in a line of men all named Leslie Wakefield. Why did these old southern families have to make keeping track of their descendants so difficult? The practice created so much name confusion through multiple generations.

  “Have you considered hiring a private investigator to look into this?”

  Royce sat up straighter in his rolling leather chair. “I talked to a guy in South Carolina just yesterday.”

  She lifted another birth certificate from the mahogany surface of Royce’s huge desk and studied it. “Have you met Dylan Hunter?” She didn’t expect that he had.

  “Dylan and I went to Tulane together. I’ve known him about five, almost six years. I recommended him for the Wakefield job. Why are you asking me about him?”

  Okay, that surprised her. “Because I saw him today out at the old plantation house, and I thought he acted odd. You know he’s a suspect—”

  “Yeah, I know. But I also knew Audrey. She up and left with some other guy. I guarantee. Her parents caused that ruckus for him. They have money, and you know money speaks volumes. The police could never prove she left New Orleans against her will, but her parents wouldn’t let it go. They were just as pissy as she was.”

  Royce kept surprising her.

  He leaned forward. “She stole Dylan away from his girlfriend, her best friend. Yeah, I wouldn’t put it past her to leave him for some other man.”

  Bells rang in Charlotte’s head. “I’m guessing his ex-girlfriend is Sophia Cannon.”

  Royce fell back in his chair. “Yeah, how did you know?”

  “She’s doing interior design on the Wakefield project.”

  Royce hooted. He had a large laugh that filled any room he was in. “Well now, my good friend Dylan didn’t mention that. I bet that’s a tense working relationship.”

  “Yeah, I got that.” She pushed the birth certificate back toward Royce. “Will you let me know what the investigator in South Carolina finds out?”

  He nodded. “Sure thing. I’ll certainly need your help if those documents turn out to be forgeries.”

  She rose to her feet just as a woman peeked her head through Royce’s door. “I’m sorry to interrupt you, Royce, but you have a visitor. He says his name is Jordan, and he’s a college buddy of yours.”

  Royce’s face lit up with surprise mixed with eager anticipation. “Charlotte, you might want to stay and meet Jordan. He was Dylan’s college dorm mate.”

  The surprises just kept flowing.

  When the woman ushered Jordan into Royce’s office, the two men acted as if they were long lost friends. Just how tight was the clique of friends that Dylan Hunter hung around with in college? Could Royce be in on whatever scheme Dylan had hatched? She hated thinking that about Royce. For as long as she’d known him, he’d been a stand up sort of guy.

  “Sheriff, this is Jordan Clark.”

  “I know Jordan.” She smiled at him all grown up. “I used to babysit this guy.”

  “Charlotte!” Jordan reached for her and wrapped her in a huge bear hug. He stepped back from her. “Last I heard you’d joined the NOPD.”

  He’d certainly grown into a fine looking man. Years ago, Jordan’s mother had moved them both to New Orleans. Charlotte hadn’t laid eyes on him since then. Sometimes Charlotte would call his mother and ask her about him. Sometimes his mother knew where he was and what he was doing.

  “I heard you’d gone up north to the Arkansas State Police.”

  His smile faded. “Yeah, I did, but I’ve quit the job. It’s a long story.” He nodded toward the woman who had arrived with him and squeezed her hand as he introduced her. “This is my girlfriend, Chelsea.”

  As soon as Royce had uttered the word sheriff, the woman had seemed to shrink into herself. That kind of behavior usually meant a background tangling with law enforcement.

  After the initial greetings, Royce called to the woman who had brought Jordan in. “Bring us some more chairs.” Then he focused his attention on Jordan. “You didn’t come here for old time’s sake, did you?”

  Jordan glanced toward Charlotte. He hesitated as if making up his mind about how much to say in front of her. “I’m curious about Les Wakefield’s claim to the Wakefield estate.”

  Another shock to Charlotte’s already over stimulated nervous system.

  The bank clerk brought two more chairs into the room, and they all settled into their seats.

  Charlotte pushed Jordan to return to the conversation he’d just started. “That’s interesting, because Royce and I were just talking about the very same thing.”

  Jordan locked eyes with her. His gaze gave her the impression of intelligence dampened by a streak of youthful inexperience. She’d seen his type come and go in law enforcement. If he’d quit, it was probably for the best.

  “Let’s just cut out the rehashing of what we already know.”

  His straightforward suggestion made her nerves jump and put her on her guard. Maybe some things needed to be revisited. She’d decide what needed to be rehashed and what didn’t. But she wasn’t going to argue with Jordan about that. Not yet. “Go ahead.”

  “I suspect the man claiming to be Les Wakefield is an imposter, might have even invented an heir where an heir didn’t exist.”

  Dylan Hunter had suggested the same thing. Obviously, Jordan, Dylan, and Royce—three college friends—had been discussing the possibility. Charlotte entertained the suspicion that the trio was hatching up a scheme of their own. She would have to be careful not to accept anything any of them said as the absolute truth.

  Charlotte nodded. “I was just examining the proof of his claim. The documents look legit, but I want Royce to send them off to have them authenticated.”

  Jordan glanced toward Royce. “Where would you send them?”

  Royce shrugged. “The FBI or maybe the state crime lab in South Carolina. They’d be more familiar with authentic birth certificates created in their state.”

  “That’s where he said he came from?”

  Anticipation heightened to a fever pitch in Royce’s oversized office. He’d had the bank renovated to a more modern look once the former bank president had retired. That included doubling the size of his office. Charlotte guessed Wakefield trust fund fees had paid for the renovation.

  Jordan centered his attention on her. “There have always been rumors about the Wakefield place. There are some folks around here who might remember things that happened years ago.”

  “You mean Bobby’s cousin Sephronia?”

  “That’s one of them.”

  There was more. She sensed it. She only needed to ask the right question. He provided her with the answer before she could ask.

  “I think you should check into the background of a man named Brandon Wakefield. I hired a private i
nvestigator to dig into his life. Here’s the file.” He slid a folder onto Royce’s desk. “I think he’s the man impersonating Les Wakefield.”

  Charlotte couldn’t have been more shocked if Jordan Clark had told her he’d discovered she was the rightful Queen of England.

  For the next few minutes, Jordan filled Royce and Charlotte in on what he’d learned about Brandon Wakefield. And he’d discussed it all with his college dorm mate, Dylan Hunter.

  “Now, why couldn’t Hunter tell me all this?” Her question rang with annoyance because she was royally pissed.

  If Hunter knew about Brandon Wakefield, it would have made her job easier if he had been gracious enough to share what he’d learned. If they were on the same side of things… If not, Hunter had some explaining to do.

  Royce and Jordan exchanged knowing glances. Jordan spoke for them. “Dylan and cops don’t get along too well. I suspect he will only tell you what little he thinks you need to know to keep him out of trouble.”

  She smiled. “Well, you can tell him it didn’t work. He looks like trouble with a capital T. I’m keeping an eye on him.” Her smile widened to a grin. “I told him so.”

  Royce grew even more agitated. “Charlotte—”

  “I know, I know. I hear what you’re saying about him. He’s a great guy. I get it. But I don’t like his cocky attitude. If you can get him to listen, you should tell him that it’s always wise to cooperate with law enforcement.”

  That seemed to strike the two men as funny. Their laughter ran on for a good two or three minutes. Every time one would stop the other would get them rolling again.

  Jordan’s girlfriend broke into their mirth. “Oh, please stop. I met the man, and the sheriff is absolutely right. He’s an arrogant jerk.”

  That elicited another burst of laughter. There was obviously a story behind their amusement, one they would never tell her.

  When their chuckling finally died, Jordan’s expression turned serious. “I’d like to find out if my sister Kristie came around asking questions about the Wakefields. If she did, I’d love to learn what she found out. I know now that Wakefield didn’t kill her, but I still want to know what he was up to. She was my half-sister, you know. My mother didn’t have any money to speak of, but her mother was very wealthy. I’m sure Wakefield was after her trust fund.”

  Royce grunted. “Going after trust funds seems to be a specialty of his.”

  Charlotte sighed. No one had proven anything yet. She hated unsubstantiated speculation. “I’ll get one of my deputies to ask around and find out if your sister was in town asking questions. You know how gossipy this town is. If she was here, someone will remember her.”

  ****

  Sophia had wanted to take another peek at Dylan before he drove away, but she didn’t dare. Her broken heart wouldn’t allow it. Or maybe it was her pride getting in the way. No matter. Dylan was her history. She needed to create a future without him. Until he had appeared at Wakefield Manor, she had believed that was what she was doing.

  She sighed. Forgetting him had taken longer than it should have. Now he was back to refresh her memory.

  She inserted the key, twisted the knob, and pushed her front door open with the toe of her shoe. The overwhelming scent of too many flowers gagged her. She pinched her nose with her thumb and pointer fingers. Scattered around the front room were at least a dozen vases filled with creamy-white gardenias. From a distance, the beautiful blooms could easily be mistaken for roses, but Sophia was familiar with the flower and its strong scent, the same scent that had attacked her sinuses at Wakefield Manor.

  Fear kept her from going into the apartment. She dug in her purse for her cell phone and backed away. When she spun around, she headed straight for the complex manager’s office. As usual, a cigarette dangled from Angelique’s long, thin fingers.

  “Did you see anyone go into my apartment this afternoon?”

  The front window of the office had a direct line of sight to Sophia’s front door.

  The woman puffed out a long curl of smoke. “I let him in.”

  Only maintenance and pest control were supposed to have access to her apartment. Angelique knew that.

  “You did what? I never gave you permission—”

  “He said it was your birthday.” Jealousy edged her tone. “When I said I’d hold them for you, he was going to take them back, so I let him in.” She sniffed as if she’d been injured.

  True, it was Sophia’s birthday, and normally receiving flowers would not have alarmed her, but this was different. This was an overwhelming display of gardenias. Not a typical floral selection. It was a scent associated with the feeling of foreboding at Wakefield Manor.

  Suspicions jumped up and down in the back of her mind. “Did you stay with him until he left?”

  Angelique’s eyes flared with contempt. “I couldn’t babysit him. I have things to do.”

  She never seemed to do anything in the tiny office except smoke and read People magazine.

  Sophia placed both hands on the woman’s desk and leaned toward her. “I’m calling the police. If anything is missing, I’m going to tell them they should take a good look at you for it.”

  Angelique jumped to her feet and narrowed her eyes.

  Sophia moved around the desk until she was only a foot or so away from Angelique. “Explain to me why you thought it was okay to let someone into my apartment. I’d like to know what kind of lame excuse you have for that.”

  A condescending expression crossed her face. “You don’t have to get pissy.”

  “Which florist was it?”

  Angelique shrugged. “He didn’t say.”

  “Did you see a delivery van?”

  She shook her head and studied her fingernails.

  Sophia roared with irritation. “How did you know the guy was legit? He could have been a thief?”

  “Is anything missing?”

  “I don’t know, but we are about to find out.” She reached out as if to grab the woman’s wrist. She wouldn’t have, but it didn’t hurt for Angelique to think she would.

  Angelique plopped her butt into her metal folding chair and leaned back. “Nope. I ain’t going in your apartment. What if he’s still there?”

  Sophia was out of words for Angelique. She lifted her cell and punched Dylan’s contact number. Tapped the keypad three times so Angelique would think she was dialing 9-1-1.

  “Police.” She paused.

  “Sophia, is something wrong?” Dylan’s question sounded like genuine concern.

  His tone startled her enough that it took her a second to remember the part she was playing. “I’d like to report a break-in—”

  Angelique’s eyes widened to twice their normal size. “Wait.”

  Dylan’s voice rang in her ear. “I’m turning around and coming back.”

  Good. He’d gotten the right message.

  “Yes, that’s my address. It’s an apartment complex. I’m in the manager’s office, so I’m okay for now, but you’d better hurry. She’s acting weird and won’t answer my questions, like she knows something.”

  The woman bolted out of her chair again. Her long talons dug into Sophia’s hand as she attempted to wrench the phone away from her. Sophia clung to her lifeline as if her existence depended on it, managing to punch off the call before the woman figured out she was lying about calling the police.

  A sneer formed on Angelique’s exotic features. “He gave me a hundred dollars if I’d let him in and keep my mouth shut. That kind of man doesn’t want the cops involved.”

  Angelique was probably right for all the wrong reasons.

  “Who did you let into my apartment?”

  “He said he was your boyfriend.” Angelique spat the word boyfriend.

  Sophia groaned. “He lied to you.” She snatched her hand out of the woman’s painful grip. “Describe him.”

  As if the police were in on her charade, a siren wailed from down the road.

  Angelique spewed out the descr
iption. “He was pale white like you. Tall with really dark hair. I thought you were crazy for dating him because he acted like a psycho.”

  And the woman allowed him into her apartment.

  She bit her tongue to keep from calling Angelique a multitude of unkind names. “Cocky with a smirky attitude? Eyes that seem to look straight into your soul?”

  Angelique nodded. “Do you know him?”

  “Yeah, I know him. He’s the man who’s been stalking me.” Sophia wasn’t sure which emotion had more control: her fear or her anger. “Now, he’s been in my apartment. He knows more about me than he did before. I can’t live here anymore.” She leaned even closer to the woman, invading her space. “I’m giving you notice. As soon as I can find another place, I’m moving out. You will make sure I get my last month’s rent prorated and my deposit back, or I’m telling the police about the hundred dollars you took. Do you understand?”

  Angelique’s backbone straightened. “And what if I don’t?”

  “Then you will need to do a lot of explaining to the cops when my stalker kills me because I’m going to make sure I leave really, really, really good notes about this whole incident.”

  The door opened to reveal Det. Nick Moreau, and close on his heels appeared Dylan.

  ****

  Moreau backed out the door of Sophia’s apartment with a bright pink rag covering his nose and mouth. He lowered the cloth and shook his head. His watery eyes fell on Sophia. Then he sneezed hard three times. When he recovered, he shoved the rag into his pocket. “The place is clear. You can go in now and see if anything is missing.”

  She glanced toward the partially opened door.

  The cop placed his free hand on her forearm, a surprisingly comforting gesture. “There are six more vases of flowers in your bedroom. They are everywhere and the scent is very strong. Almost toxic. You should cover your nose and mouth before you enter.” He offered her one of her own bath rags.

  She pushed open the door and moved into the center of the living area. From her position, she could view the kitchen through the service window. Moreau was right behind her. He stood a little too close, but at the moment, she was grateful for his protective stance.