by Robin Caroll
“She’s dead.” Danielle’s words were too flat for the information. She had to be wrong. This was a mistake. Had to be.
“D–dead?” No, Anna Belle was too—well, she was just too alive to be dead.
“I’m sorry, bud. I hate to be the one to tell you, but it’s true.” Brandon leaned forward on the couch. Empathy did little to soften the severity of his expression.
Anna Belle—dead. She couldn’t be—he couldn’t— “What happened?” She was vibrant and always driven. She couldn’t be dead. Not Anna Belle.
“She died from anaphylactic shock.”
Grayson snapped his attention to Danielle. “That can’t be.” He shook his head. Sure, Anna Belle would take risks, but not with her allergy. She’d always been extremely careful about that and never went anywhere without her EpiPen.
“It’s true. The autopsy confirmed it. I’m sorry.” Brandon’s words registered with Grayson, but he still couldn’t fathom the finality.
Numbness spread out from his chest like icy fingers as images of Anna Belle sped across his mind like a movie.
In college, her hair flowing and eyes flashing against Death Valley stadium lights as the Tigers won the national championship. The warmth of her body against his as she hugged him in her excitement.
Her fingertips grazing his cheek as he cried at his father’s funeral. The surprising strength of her small stature as she held him up at the grave.
Her unmistakable beauty in her wedding dress as she said her vows to him in the cathedral.
The hardness of her eyes when she told him she was filing for divorce.
“Grayson?” Brandon’s voice cut through the memories.
He looked to his friend. “She’s always extremely careful about her allergy. She steered far away from anything that could remotely have cherries or cherry juice or even be cross-contaminated with them. She was almost paranoid about it.” Privately of course. Not many outside her tight circle of family and friends knew of the allergy.
Brandon nodded. “So we’ve been told.”
“But either way, she always carries her EpiPen. In her purse. In her car. In her office. Everywhere.” The woman nearly mortgaged their house with how many she bought and stowed everywhere.
Brandon nodded again. “We’ve opened an investigation into the circumstances surrounding her death.”
Wait, what? “Do you suspect foul play?” That would be the only thing that made sense. Anna Belle would never be so reckless with her allergy.
Then again, who would want to hurt her?
“Why don’t you tell us where you’ve been the past several days?” Danielle interrupted, crossing her arms.
Ahh. Yes. Reality crashed into his racing mind. An ex-husband would definitely be of interest when his wife died in such an unusual manner. Ex-wife. “I went out of town. To St. Francisville.”
“What were you doing there?” Danielle’s body stood as rigid as her tone.
“Playing golf.”
“Where?” She stared straight at him.
Grayson tightened his jaw. She might just be doing her job, but she didn’t have to have such an attitude.
“The Bluffs. And before you ask, I stayed at the lodge there on Thompson Creek.”
Brandon sat on the very edge of the couch, writing in a small notebook balanced on his knee. “When did you leave town?”
“Wednesday. About eleven that morning.”
“You’ve been gone, what, five days?” Danielle’s eyes were still narrowed. “That’s quite a long weekend golf trip.”
Grayson didn’t reply because there wasn’t a question. He knew how this played out. He’d consulted enough.
“Were you playing in a tournament or with a group?” Brandon’s pen hovered over the notebook.
“Not a tournament. I played Thursday with some friends of mine from medical school. We had an 8:00 a.m. tee time.”
Brandon scribbled. “Their names?”
“Skipper Bertrand, Tom Bridges, Robert Bertram, and Donny Olson.”
“What time did you finish up?” Brandon asked.
Grayson lifted a shoulder. “About noon or so.”
“And after you finished the round?” Brandon’s gaze held an unspoken apology.
“We grabbed lunch at the club.”
“All of you?” Danielle interrupted.
“Yes. All of us.”
“Then what?” Brandon asked.
Grayson shifted in his recliner. “I went back to my room at the lodge and fell asleep in front of the television.” He cut his stare to Danielle. “Tombstone, starring Val Kilmer and Kurt Russell, and I don’t remember what channel.”
Brandon tapped his pen against the notebook. “Do you remember what time you left the club?”
Grayson’s mind wouldn’t function right. “I’d guess about one or so.”
“And you went to your room and watched television? Fell asleep watching a movie, you say?” If Danielle tried to hide her disdain, she failed miserably.
“Yes. I woke up about six and took a shower.”
“Why? What did you do that night?” Danielle asked.
Grayson ran a hand down his face. “I met my friends at the Francis Southern Table. Our reservations were for seven.”
“How long were you there?” Her tone matched her facial expression.
“I’m not sure. When we finished eating, we left. I got back to the lodge about eight thirtyish.”
“Why didn’t you answer my calls?” Brandon asked. “I left you a voice mail.”
“I lost my cell phone in Thompson Creek.” For the first time in a really long time, he wished he’d had his phone.
“When did you lose it?” Brandon asked.
“Thursday morning. First hole.” Grayson shook his head “I figured that was a sign of how I’d be playing that day, but I actually shot two under.” Seemed lame now, considering Anna Belle was dead.
“So you were asleep from about one until six, alone in your hotel room?” Danielle took a step around the couch, still staring him down.
Grayson nodded. “I was dozing in front of the TV. I don’t know what else to tell you. That’s what I was doing.”
Brandon shot his partner a hard stare. “What about Friday? Did you play with your group again?”
Grayson shook his head. “Only Tom and I played.”
“All day?” Danielle pressed.
Grayson shrugged. “Basically a repeat of Thursday. I got up and ate breakfast in the club, then met Tom at eight for a round.”
“Did you have lunch at the club when you were done?” Brandon asked. “Or go to a restaurant?”
“The club.” Now even Brandon was pushing the envelope.
Grayson shook his head. Enough. He’d been a consultant for the police department, had worked with Brandon many times, for pity’s sake. “What happened with Anna Belle, Brandon? She’d always been so careful about her allergy. She saw it as a weakness in herself and hated it. She let very few people even know about it.”
“We can’t really comment on an open investigation—”
“We’re still working on gathering all the facts.” Brandon cut off his partner.
Grayson’s throat tightened as if concrete filled his mouth, and his memory raced through police procedure. Notification. That’s what they were doing here, but as an ex, he wasn’t legally considered her next of kin.
Anna Belle had alienated her mother, the only living relative she’d had, but Grayson had liked her the few times he met her. She still lived in a double-wide in Breaux Bridge, about two hours away. He looked at Brandon. “Have you called her mom? Do you want me to?”
“Her next of kin has been notified.” Danielle shifted her weight from one foot to the other.
“Her mother is staying at the Darkwater Inn,” Brandon offered.
Danielle took a couple of steps toward him. “Did anybody see you at all Thursday afternoon in St. Francisville?”
“I don’t know.”
&n
bsp; “What about the rest of the weekend? What did you do?” Danielle pressed.
He opened his mouth to answer that he’d slept in, then went and toured the USS Kidd, but clamped his mouth shut in that split second before he spoke. The clouds of shock in his mind cleared just enough. He cut his eyes to Brandon. “When did Anna Belle die?”
Brandon and Danielle looked at one another. A volume of unspoken words passed between them.
Finally, Brandon turned to him. “Thursday afternoon.”
Grayson shook his head. “That can’t be. She was scheduled to be involved with a corporate game with her company at a rented house all day Thursday, Friday, and Saturday. It was a controlled environment.”
Danielle nodded. “She died during the course of the game, Mr. Thibodeaux.” She paused, letting her words sink in. “The game you custom designed for her to participate in.”
Just when he thought it couldn’t get any worse.
“You need to come to the station with us and answer some questions.” Danielle put her hands on her hips. The leather of her holster creaked. “About that game.”
“Have you already spoken to my business partner? Colton York? He handled the contract with Deets PR.” Grayson tightened his jaw. He’d told Colton that they shouldn’t have taken the job. Even worse, Colton and the Deets PR contract didn’t allow for the players to fully know they were involved in a game, so they were playing in the dark.
Brandon gave a little nod. “He gave us some basic information and is going to speak with us again. But he said you were the actual creator of the game.”
Grayson paused. While he knew he didn’t have to go anywhere to answer any questions, he wanted to help Brandon in the investigation. But not tonight.
“I’m happy to assist you in your investigation, but I think it best I wait to answer any questions until I can adjust from the initial shock.” Right now, he needed to process.
Brandon nodded, even though Danielle looked ready to spit nails.
“How about I come in Tuesday morning about nine, and we can talk then?” Grayson stood and led the way to the front door. He needed time to process everything.
“Sure.” Brandon hesitated at the door. “I’m sorry, man. See you Tuesday.” He headed out, Danielle not saying a word as she followed.
Grayson moved his truck to let them out, then grabbed his duffel and clubs and brought them into the house. He made it as far as the dining room before he dropped them on the floor, the thud of his clubs against the hardwoods echoing in his head. He gripped the back of a chair, steadying himself against actuality.
Anna Belle—dead.
The room seemed to be spinning, but Grayson recognized his mind was trying to accept she was gone while his emotions spun off in varying directions. His psychologist’s mind attempted to categorize what he thought. To characterize his emotions. The shock and disbelief, then the uncertainty of what he even felt. All normal reactions but nonetheless destabilizing. He forced himself to head to his bedroom.
He could almost see her here, in the room once called theirs. Her long, blond hair splayed across the pillows as she slept, looking more like a porcelain doll than a young woman. Curled up in the chair in the corner with a book, her feet covered in fuzzy socks on the ottoman. Bouncing on the bed and yelling at the TV as LSU lost against Alabama—again. Running across the room in her fleece pajamas after turning off the light to jump on the bed and under the covers, unnerved from watching a scary movie.
Cherished memories assaulted him. The gentle love they shared early in their marriage. Laughter and midnight picnics in bed. The whispers of encouragement. The tenderness of her fingertips on his cheek. Sharing secrets. Making plans. Holding on to each other through the pounding of multiple hurricanes. The sweet kisses and passionate embraces. The loving until the sun rose over the crescent city.
But it all changed. Oh, did it change.
What was once passion mutated into heated exchanges. His trust lost in her betrayal. His honesty discarded with her lies. Lashes meant to cut. Words used as soul stealers. Accusations. Lies. Her deception challenging the boundaries of his forgiveness.
Now she was gone forever.
TWO
“He’s as guilty as Adam and Eve in the garden. I could tell by looking at him.” Danielle stomped on the brake at the end of Grayson’s subdivision.
Brandon had already heard his partner’s ranting about Grayson Thibodeaux and accepted this would be one of the few cases they wouldn’t see eye-to-eye on. “Because he didn’t break down in tears when we told him she was dead? It was a shock, and you know that’s what it was. People react differently to bad news.”
“Yeah, but he sure didn’t look upset over the information that Anna Belle had been killed.” She turned the unmarked cruiser toward the precinct.
“I think he did. He was shocked. That should tell you that he didn’t kill her.” No way would he believe his friend and former consultant would kill anyone, much less his wife. Okay, ex-wife. Same difference.
“Maybe he didn’t mean to kill her so that’s why he was shocked.”
“So he poisoned her for what reason?”
“You talked to the same witnesses yesterday and today that I did, right? Remember, many people heard him and Anna Belle argue and saw her slap him.” She eased up to a traffic light and brought the car to a stop. “She made it clear she intended to take him back to court for omitting a sizable asset from their divorce decree.”
“Newly divorced people argue. You know this as well as I do.”
The light turned green. Danielle took off a little faster than she’d planned, jerking them. “If he’s so innocent, why wouldn’t he come down and answer questions tonight?”
“Because he worked as our consultant and knows he doesn’t have to.” Brandon let out a slow breath. “He has to know that he’s the primary suspect because the ex always is. He’s a psychologist for pity’s sake—he probably knew what we were thinking before we thought it. He’s coming on Tuesday.”
“Mm hmm. I ain’t buying it. That dog don’t hunt.”
“Look, I know you don’t like Grayson because of your sister, but you can’t let that jade you against him in this investigation.”
“And you’re his friend, so you can’t let that bias you for him.”
“Fair enough. We’ll let the facts stand on their own.”
She pulled the car into a parking spot behind the precinct. “Deal.”
He followed her into the building, the bantering and boisterousness of the station a siren’s song of welcome to him.
Detective Brandon Gibbons loved few things, but one of them was being a cop. Proud to be a third-generation New Orleans police officer, Brandon had risen through the ranks as a beat cop, then in Property Crimes, working pawn shops and forgery before earning his shield and moving to homicide. He loved everything about law enforcement, even if that meant putting up with the derelicts and destroyers of his city.
He and Danielle made it to their desks but hadn’t yet sat when the commander called them into his office.
“What’d you do now?” Danielle whispered under her breath as they entered the commander’s office.
“Nothing. This is all yours,” he whispered back as they stood in front of their boss.
“Shut the door, please.” Commander Ellender didn’t stand, didn’t even look up from his notes laid out on the desk in front of him.
Brandon did as asked.
“Take a seat.”
Both he and Danielle dropped to the seats.
Commander Ellender tossed off his reading glasses and peered at them. “I understand you’re working the Anna Belle Thibodeaux case.”
“Yes, sir.” Brandon couldn’t recall the last time the Commander took an interest in a specific case.
“I also understand the prime suspect is Grayson Thibodeaux, yes?”
“Yes.”
“He’s one of the suspects.”
Commander Ellender tented his wea
thered hands over his desk. “Well, which is it?”
Brandon cocked his head. “He’s the victim’s ex-husband, so that automatically makes him a suspect.”
“But he also has motive for the murder and has no verifiable alibi,” Danielle interjected.
Brandon shot Danielle a hard stare. So much for their truce. “Correct. No immediately verifiable alibi.”
Commander Ellender lifted his glasses by the earpiece and spun them in slow circles. “Grayson Thibodeaux is a friend of yours, Detective Gibbons?” It was a question but came out more like an accusation.
Facts were facts. “Grayson and I are friends.”
“So you understand I’ll need to assign this case to another detective.”
No. This was important not to let Grayson get railroaded. “With all due respect, sir, Grayson is well acquainted with most every detective and officer in the precinct because he was a consultant for the NOPD for two years.”
“I’m well aware, Detective.”
“Then I respectfully request you leave me on the case. My record speaks for itself: I’ve never allowed my personal connections or prejudice to obscure my investigations.”
“So I see.” Commander Ellender tapped the files with the end of his glasses. “Your employee record is quite impressive, Detective. And we are shorthanded due to the increased populous from Mardi Gras.” He tossed the glasses back on his desk and let out a long breath. “What do you think, Detective Witz? Do you believe your partner can be fair and unbiased when it comes to the case of his friend?”
Brandon met Danielle’s stare and held it for what felt like minutes.
Finally, she looked back to their boss. “I do.”
“You don’t seem to share your partner’s opinion that Mr. Thibodeaux is only a suspect because he’s the ex-husband.”
“No, sir. I think there’s more.”
“Lay out the case for me.” Commander Ellender leaned back in his chair. “Just the basics.”
Danielle pulled her smartphone from her pocket, opened her notes app, and read. “At approximately 4:18 p.m. on Thursday, 911 answered a call that there was an unconscious woman at a rental property located on Esplanade Avenue. Ambulance arrived at the scene at 4:32 p.m. Unresponsive woman identified as Anna Belle Thibodeaux, age thirty-three, a senior account rep at Deets PR. Divorced from her husband, Grayson Thibodeaux, approximately six months ago. No children from their marriage. Owner and manager of Deets PR, Tim Dubois, was performing CPR on victim upon arrival. EMT took over CPR, and ambulance transported her to University Medical Center, arriving at approximately 4:49 p.m. Victim never regained consciousness despite attempts made in the ER. Victim was declared dead at 5:21 p.m. on Thursday.”