That Old Devil Moon

by Anne Logan

  “Poor little guy. How awful.”

  “Yeah, kids can be pretty cruel.”

  “What about the juvenile authorities? Couldn’t they do anything?”

  Maddie gave her friend a pitying look. “After they had determined that my brother had acted in selfdefense, their only concern was that he was missing school. But it didn’t matter how much they threatened him, Michael refused to go. Then about a month later, our mother died, and they finally got what they wanted,” she said bitterly, recalling all the times she and her brother had hidden when the authorities had come to the door.

  “’You see, for years before the attack, the cops and social workers constantly harassed us, threatening to take me and Michael away from my mother. My mother had to work all the time, and they claimed we were being neglected because we were left on our own so much. After our mother’s death, they placed us in a foster home. And once we were living in another part of the city, the juvenile authorities figured it wasn’t their problem anymore and the incident was forgotten.” She lifted her chin. “So, now do you see why I just can’t buy that stuff about my brother killing someone?”

  MUCH LATER that evening, after she had finally persuaded Tara to go home, Maddie headed straight for the bathroom, filled the oversize tub with water and climbed inside. With the warm water undulating around her, she leaned against the back of the tub then slid down until the water rose to her chin.

  What she hadn’t told Tara was that she’d been the one who had sat up with Michael throughout the night and the following day after the attack, that she’d been the one who had held her brother while he’d shivered and cried uncontrollably. Maddie had been the only one around to offer him the comfort and reassurance he’d needed.

  She closed her eyes and tried to concentrate on relaxing, on letting the warm bathwater soothe away the tension and stress that had left her body exhausted and aching.

  Maddie…hurry up, will you…Maddie squeezed her eyes tightly against the voice of the past, Michael’s voice, but it refused to be still. I need in there, and you’ve been in that tub for hours. Lounging in the bathtub was one of the few luxuries that she’d allowed herself. And Michael had always complained…and teased her, swearing that at the rate she was going, she would end up permanently wrinkled and look like an old lady before she was twenty.

  In an effort to stop the flood of memories, Maddie opened her eyes and stared at the tiled wall surrounding the bathtub. It hurt too much to remember.

  “One…two…three…four,” she counted. But even counting the tiny square tiles was futile. The whispers from the past only grew louder…

  Maddie, when’s Momma coming home?

  Soon, Michael…soon…Momma has to work.

  But Maddie, it’s dark outside and I’m scared…Can I sleep with you?

  Okay…but just this once…

  She could still hear his little-boy giggle, almost feel his warm, small body snuggling close…

  I love you, Maddie…

  I love you, too, Michael. Tomorrow’s your first day at school, and big boys need their rest. Now, go to sleep and Momma will be home when you wake up.

  Maddie’s breath caught. Her brother would never wake up again. “Oh, Michael,” she whispered. “Now there’s no one left but me. Not you, not Momma…no one…” For long moments, nothing but the sound of her quiet sobs echoed off the bathroom walls.

  Even when her sobs finally subsided, Maddie began to shiver. It was then that she realized the bathwater had grown cold. With supreme effort, she pushed herself upright in the tub. Her abrupt movement sloshed water over the edge and onto the plush bath mat. She stood, and with water cascading down her body, she reached for a towel.

  Grieving for her brother was one thing, she thought as she quickly dried off, but wallowing in self-pity would get her nowhere. It was a luxury she couldn’t afford, not until she found out the truth about what had happened to her brother.

  “Think about something else,” she whispered, dropping the damp towel onto the floor then slipping a nightgown over her head. Purposefully, she marched into the bedroom.

  Her empty suitcase still sat next to the closet where she had left it the day before. Tossing it onto the bed, she glanced at the bedside clock. It was already past midnight, and tomorrow would be a long, grueling day. What she really needed was sleep, she decided.

  Since she hadn’t heard from Alex Batiste, she assumed he had been successful in securing her a ticket on his flight. Maddie reached inside a bureau drawer then stood there for long seconds with her arm suspended and a frown on her face. She could still vividly recall every physical detail about the New Orleans detective—his dark hair and even darker eyes, the angular planes of his face, the slight dent in an otherwise perfect Roman nose…

  Maddie sighed, wondering what it was about him that had made such an indelible impression. She had met and dated her share of men, and had even had a couple of long-term relationships, but those faces were just a blur. None of them were as memorable as Alex Batiste. And not one of them had been a cop, either, a voice whispered.

  She grabbed a handful of underwear and dropped them inside the suitcase. Telling herself that it was highly likely that the man was happily married, and her reaction to him was probably caused by the powerful emotions she had felt at being told about her brother, she turned and headed for the closet.

  But an hour later, as she lay wide-eyed in her bed, praying for mind-numbing sleep, a thought suddenly occurred to her. Should she have mentioned her brother’s phone calls to Alex Batiste? And if she had, how would he have reacted?

  Like a cop, she decided. As any cop would have reacted, given the nature of the messages. Mentioning the calls would have only condemned her brother further.

  CHAPTER THREE

  MADDIE SETTLED into the narrow seat aboard the Boeing 727 and buckled her seat belt nervously. Even at the best of times, she didn’t like to fly, and the shock of her brother’s death along with the lack of sleep had left her feeling vulnerable and fragile this morning. Trying to ignore her queasy stomach, she stared out the window, and watched, without really seeing, an airplane taxi toward the runway.

  At some point just before dawn, she had finally fallen into a fitful sleep, one filled with disturbing dreams of Michael. It was the last dream she was unable to erase from her mind. Michael had been fighting with Judd Cameron on a stage before an audience of thousands of chanting fans. In the background, she was watching and singing, trying to keep time with the music. Judd shoved Michael to the stage floor and pointed at him. Suddenly, a gun materialized in his hand. And just before Judd squeezed the trigger, Michael looked over at her and screamed, “Oh, God, Maddie, I have to talk to you.” With the sound of the gun discharging, the music had stopped, but Maddie couldn’t seem to stop singing. Then she’d run to the middle of the stage where Judd was kneeling over her brother. When Judd raised his head, the face that stared back at her had been Alex Batiste’s.

  By the time her alarm clock sounded, Maddie had been grateful to be rescued from the nightmare. Even now, hours later, recalling the dream made her uneasy. And even though she had repeatedly told herself that it was nothing more than a quirk of her subconscious, she couldn’t shake the feeling that had she been home when Michael called, she might have been able to help him, and maybe he and Caroline would be alive today.

  Maddie sighed and turned away from the window. Alex Batiste was still standing in the aisle, his arms stretched above him as he shoved a duffel bag into the overhead bin.

  He seemed to be a nice enough man, she thought, for a cop. At least he appeared to be truly sympathetic to her situation. And unlike cops in her childhood, he had gone out of his way to help her.

  True to his word, he had arrived promptly at nine in a taxi. After a quick stop at her bank, they had made the relatively short trip to the airport without any delays and with very little conversation. By the time she had picked up her ticket and checked her bags, their flight number was bei
ng called for boarding.

  “Shouldn’t be long now.” The detective settled in the seat beside her and buckled the belt.

  All other thoughts instantly fled, and Maddie’s breath caught in her throat. The plane would be taking off within minutes. The familiar panic rose in her chest. Too close. The seats were too close, and now that Alex Batiste was jammed in next to her, his cologne that had smelted so good earlier suddenly seemed overpowering and all she could think about was that she couldn’t breathe. She needed air.

  Reaching up with a shaky hand, she switched on the air vent, twisted it to full capacity and tilted it so that the air was blowing directly in her face.

  Alex glanced at her and frowned. “Hey, Madeline, are you okay? You’re not one of those people who gets airsick, are you?”

  Careful not to make eye contact with him, Maddie shook her head. “I just don’t like takeoffs and landings. And please call me Maddie. I’ve always hated the name Madeline.”

  Within minutes, they were taxiing down the runway. When the engines revved and the 727 picked up speed, Maddie squeezed her eyes shut, gripped the armrest and held her breath.

  Alex looked at her, frozen in her seat, and tried to think of some way to take her mind off what was happening with the plane.

  “Were you and your brother close?”

  The second she turned to stare at him, the look in her eyes made Alex feel like kicking himself all the way down the aisle. Great choice, fool. “I mean…well— sorry,” he said gruffly. “If it’s too painful for you to talk about, Maddie, I apologize.”

  “No. No need to apologize.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “I—we—”

  The whine of the engines suddenly grew louder, and with a burst of power, the 727 was airborne.

  The higher the airplane climbed, the more she seemed to relax. Releasing her white-knuckled grip on the armrest and flexing her fingers, she took a deep breath then cleared her throat. “To answer your question, yes, we were close. As children, our circumstances weren’t the best. Our mother wasn’t around that much, and since I was the oldest…well, that’s why I know my brother, inside and out. He was always a little mischief maker, but never malicious. Just harmless pranks, mostly.”

  Her expression softened and a bittersweet smile pulled at her lips. Her eyes grew distant as she turned her gaze to the seat in front of her. “Once, in the middle of the night, I was awakened by a call from the police. They claimed that they had caught Michael and a friend of his—the little boy next door—sneaking around the neighborhood and peeping into windows. Thinking that my little brother was fast asleep in his bedroom, I was outraged at what the police had said. But sure enough, when I checked his bed, it was empty.”

  She paused then sighed. “When I confronted Michael at the police station later, he looked up at me with those big blue eyes and told me that they had only peeped into one window, and only because they had heard a woman screaming. When I asked him why on earth he had sneaked out to begin with, he just shrugged and matter-of-factly admitted that they wanted to be policemen when they grew up, but since they were both afraid of the dark, they thought they needed to practice.

  “Michael was a good boy.” Her voice grew hoarse with feeling. “A sweet little boy…The kind who with one look could melt your heart…” Several emotionally fraught moments passed and Alex could actually feel her anguish. Then suddenly, she stiffened. “And that’s why I can’t—” She glared at Alex and there was fire in her eyes. “Why I won’t believe he murdered Caroline then killed himself. Like I told you yesterday, he just bought into a partnership—an antique store on Royal Street, and the last few times I’ve talked to him, he was happier…” She paused, then looking a bit sheepish, she shook her head. “Sorry, I seem to keep repeating myself.”

  “Hey, that’s okay. No problem. Now, tell me something I don’t know.”

  Maddie frowned. “Excuse me?”

  “Why don’t we start with Caroline St. Pierre. How long had your brother known her?”

  “Does this mean that you believe me?”

  “Let’s just say I would like to have all the facts.” Alex knew what his answer implied. He knew that Maddie would assume he was investigating the case, and though he’d tried to put it out of his mind, he’d spent the better part of the night thinking about it. Jack had said he was getting pressure to wrap things up fast, and Alex had already figured out that the pressure was coming from the mayor who just happened to be a longtime friend of the St. Pierre family.

  Alex grimaced. Even the thought of such goings-on left a bad taste in his mouth. Besides, he had a gut feeling he should believe Maddie, and over the years, his gut feelings had been right more times than they had been wrong.

  Noticing that the seat-belt light had gone off, Alex released his belt and tried shifting to a more comfortable position. “Now, about Caroline St. Pierre.”

  Maddie’s hand strayed to her belt but she left it fastened. “The first time Michael mentioned her was last Christmas. He met her at a party given by his partner, Bernie Keller. It was some big shindig to raise money for a man who is running for mayor.”

  Alex narrowed his eyes. “Ross Shaw?”

  Maddie nodded. “I think that was the man’s name.”

  “That’s strange.”

  When Maddie frowned, he hastened to explain. “The St. Pierres are close friends and avid supporters of the present mayor.”

  She shrugged. “Probably not so strange. My brother always gave me the impression that Caroline and her family didn’t see eye to eye on too many things. Anyway, from that night on, all I heard from him was Caroline this and Caroline that. Then a couple of months ago, Michael told me he’d found the perfect engagement ring for her, an antique supposedly given to Madame de Maintenon by Louis the Fourteenth while she was still his mistress. Michael was terribly excited, and they had already agreed on the Saturday before Thanksgiving as their wedding date. I was going to drive down…” Her voice trailed away.

  At that moment, the stewardess approached them and asked for their drink orders. Alex ordered coffee and Maddie asked for hot tea.

  As soon as the stewardess moved on, Alex turned to Maddie. “Where are you and your brother from, originally?”

  “Chicago, but when Michael turned eighteen, I decided to move us to Nashville.”

  Alex made a mental note that she had said she moved them to Nashville, not her mother, not her father. So where were her parents at the time? he wondered. He wanted to ask, but the way she had said it— almost defiantly—made him think better of the idea. “Why Nashville?” he asked instead.

  “I was told I had a good voice and that there were lots of opportunities for backup singers in Nashville.”

  “You’re a singer?”

  Maddie nodded. “Up until a month ago, I was the lead backup singer for Judd Cameron.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  Maddie sniffed. “Don’t look so impressed. He’s a real creep.”

  Alex didn’t bother to explain that he wasn’t impressed in the least, just surprised. “I never would have guessed.”

  “Guessed what? That the great Judd Cameron is not the icon the public thinks?”

  “Not that. I just didn’t have you pegged as one of those show-biz types. And if the man is such a creep, why did you work for him?”

  “I didn’t know then what I know now.”

  Her tight-lipped, succinct answer didn’t invite further discussion, so he turned his head to watch the stewardess hand out drinks to the passengers in the seats ahead of him. Once they reached New Orleans, Maddie Johnson would go her way and he would go his. And going his way meant spending some muchneeded time with his daughter, not getting distracted by a murder case that wasn’t even assigned to him. And certainly not getting involved with a singer, a woman whose music career represented the very thing that was at the root of his daughter’s recent attitude problem.

  Madeline Johnson—like his daughter—seemed to have above-avera
ge intelligence, enough to know that their odds for really making it big in such a fickle industry were slim to nonexistent. It was beyond Alex’s comprehension why anyone would aspire to that kind of life-style when there were other, more stable and lucrative careers.

  The stewardess reached their row and served them their drinks, then told them they’d be landing soon.

  Madeline visibly stiffened in her seat. Remembering her reaction to the takeoff, Alex felt a surge of sympathy for her.

  Shifting uneasily in his seat, he suddenly realized sympathy was a very small part of what he was feeling. Despite his resolve, he was becoming more and more intrigued by Madeline Johnson and her brother’s case.

  ONE OF THOSE SHOW-BIZ TYPES. Alex Batiste’s words, as well as his unmistakably derisive tone of voice, left little doubt about his opinion of entertainers. And, she had to admit, it had stung. But it wasn’t the first time that she’d been prejudged because of her profession, and she was sure it wouldn’t be the last.

  Too bad, she thought. But not the end of the world, she reminded herself. Some day, a man would come along who understood her hopes and dreams, would understand what her career meant to her and the sacrifices she’d had to make, the sacrifices she and Michael had made…

  Michael. A sharp pain knifed through her, and once again she felt the sting of tears. Michael’s dead. It was still impossible to believe, and even harder to accept.

  Maddie turned her head to study Alex Batiste. Like it or not, he was her only link to finding out the truth about her brother. “I know I’m probably grabbing at straws, but—” He faced her, his expression guarded. “Is there any possibility that a mistake has been made?”

  “A mistake? About what?”

  Maddie took a deep breath for courage. “The identity of the man who shot Caroline then shot himself.”

  For an instant, she caught the pitying look that flashed in his eyes before he glanced away to stare ahead. “His body was identified by Bernie Keller,” he said evenly. “The papers found on the body belonged to your brother—his driver’s license with his picture, his social security card, credit cards…Look—” He abruptly swung his gaze back to her. “I know it’s hard to accept, but—”