April Fools

by A. C. Mason

  Katy squirmed in my arms and leaped to the floor. She immediately raced up the stairs to the bedroom and most likely—right under the bed.

  Just then Jim noticed the three of us standing in the doorway and walked over. “Hey, what’s up?”

  “Chuck may have seen the mystery woman right before she entered the house,” I explained.

  His face brightened. “Fantastic!” He motioned for the two detectives to join us in the living room.

  “Sorry about the mess.” I turned to Jim with a questioning look. “Is it okay to move some of this wreckage?”

  “Sure, everything has been checked out.”

  “What’s going on?” Berthelot asked.

  “Our neighbors may have seen our mystery woman,” Jim explained.

  I continued to fuss around, trying to move broken china out of the way on the floor, and retrieve Lisa’s slashed canvas off the sofa.

  Linda put her hand on my arm and smiled. “Don’t worry about the mess. You’re not entertaining us.”

  I nodded. “You’re right. These last two days have been simply awful. Actually, every day since April First has been terrible.”

  “So April Fool’s Day started a downhill trend,” Chuck said. “Must have been some kind of bad joke.”

  “You might say that.” I cringed at the thought. The O’Neals didn’t know anything about Anne’s murder and my connection to the case. At least, I hoped they didn’t.

  Jim introduced the couple to Berthelot and Falcon, who shook hands with them.

  “Tell me what you saw, Chuck,” Berthelot said.

  “I saw a very attractive blond woman at the front door here,” Chuck began. He took a quick glance at his wife. “She rang the bell a couple of times. I started to go over and tell her y’all weren’t at home, but Linda called me inside for something. Minutes later when I went back outside, she had disappeared.”

  “So you didn’t see her enter the house,” Berthelot said.

  “No, but just about that time the alarm started going off and the front door was open a little.”

  A disappointed look crossed Jim’s face and I felt the same. Without an eyewitness it would be difficult to prove the woman actually entered the house. Any suspect who might be identified and a savvy defense attorney could always say she left the scene when no one answered the door.

  “Can you describe her?” Berthelot asked.

  “She had long blond hair and a great shape,” Chuck said, again glancing at Linda. He grinned, and she rolled her eyes.

  Berthelot smiled. “What about her clothes?”

  “She wore dark pants and a green shirt. That’s all I remember.”

  “Linda, did you see the woman?” Jim asked.

  “While the alarm continued to sound, I looked out the window two or three times. The last time I noticed some movement around your side door. But it was only a dark flash.”

  “Did either of you see a vehicle?” Berthelot asked.

  “Come to think of it, I don’t remember seeing a vehicle parked anywhere in the vicinity,” Chuck said.

  “There wasn’t a car parked in front or in your driveway,” Linda agreed.

  “So she parked her car on another street or else someone dropped her off,” I said, injecting my opinion into the conversation.

  “We’ll canvas the rest of the neighbors and see if we come up with anything,” Berthelot said. “Thanks for your help.”

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you more.” Chuck looked unusually solemn.

  “Me too,” Linda echoed.

  “Don’t worry about it. You both helped a lot. And I meant what I said.” Even though the mystery woman couldn’t be identified, the sighting along with the information from the alarm company and other information I’d collected provided credence to the theory of this woman’s involvement in Anne’s murder. At least in my mind it did.

  I walked with the neighbors to the door and watched them stroll back across the street and disappear from view inside their restored 1920’s bungalow, a house similar to ours. This normally peaceful neighborhood now brimmed with negative energy emanating from the vandalism committed here, and the presence of police and guns. When would this all end?

  Twelve

  Berthelot and Falcon both rose as I returned to the living room and eyed me with looks I couldn’t quite discern. Suspicion? Pity?

  “She parked her car on the next street over,” I said.

  Jim and the two detectives all shot me a questioning look.

  “Is that your opinion, or did your neighbors remember something else?” Berthelot asked.

  “My opinion.”

  “What makes you think someone didn’t drop her off?” Jim asked.

  “She’s already killed her accomplice.” My words came out with a bitter overtone. I felt betrayed by people I had trusted. Recalling the conversation overheard on the funeral home grounds between Michael Benoit and John Durand, I realized one of those could possibly be a family member, my cousin Melanie.

  “By accomplice, are you referring to Greg St. Martin?” Falcon asked.

  “Yes, I am. She’s the same woman who accompanied him to my brother’s house. What they expected to find in there is certainly a mystery.”

  “Maybe she has a new partner,” Berthelot suggested. “Or she might use vulnerable people without their knowledge when she needs someone to help her out.”

  “I suppose that’s possible.” Reluctantly I agreed. The idea of Greg being used never crossed my mind. It should have. He was a nice guy, and probably would have lent a hand to a friend who needed him.

  “At any rate,” Berthelot continued. “We’ll check with residents in a three-square-block area to see if they spotted any vehicles that didn’t belong here.” He paused. “If you feel up to it, maybe you could give us a statement now about what happened to you at your brother’s house.”

  I dreaded the prospect of rehashing memories of the physical and emotional wounds inflicted on me that day, but the possibility of my statement helping to solve Anne’s murder and prove Steven’s innocence pushed me to relive the ordeal.

  “I drove by Steven’s house after Greg’s funeral and decided to go inside.” I studied the faces of both detectives and decided to disclose the story of my own investigation. They most likely knew anyway. “You probably know about my own search for evidence.” I threw a quick look in my husband’s direction. His expression remained irritatingly neutral.

  Berthelot and Falcon nodded in unison, resembling a couple of bobble-heads. The picture injected a little bit of humor into an otherwise somber situation.

  “After I arrived, Henry Dupre and his grandson drove up there to do yard work. Henry told me about the couple who recently paid a visit to the house. Neither of these people actually identified themselves, but later Henry recognized Greg from his picture in the paper after his murder.”

  “About what time was that?” Falcon asked.

  “Somewhere around twelve-thirty. I didn’t think to check the time.” I gave them an apologetic look.

  “That’s alright. What happened after you went inside?”

  “I discovered the windmill charm on the floor under a table. Jim turned the piece over to you, I believe.”

  “Right,” Berthelot acknowledged.

  “After finding the charm, I left and came back home.”

  “You went back later?” Falcon asked.

  “After I did some research on windmills and really studied the little charm, I went back to Steven’s house.” A thought came to me. “My camera! I forgot all about it.”

  “What about your camera?” Jim asked, looking concerned.

  “I took it with me on my return trip and snapped some pictures inside the house. It never occurred to me to check through my purse. That’s where I put it before I started searching on the floor.”

  “Could you have set the camera down in the house somewhere?” Jim asked.

  “No, I distinctly remember placing it in my purse.”r />
  “Where’s your purse?”

  “I left it in the car. Maybe the camera’s still in there,” I said.

  “Besides the shots you took inside the house, what other pictures were on your memory card?” Falcon asked. “I assume the camera is a digital.”

  “There were a few pictures of the windmill charm, but other than those, they were just New Orleans scenes.”

  “I’ll go get the purse,” Jim said, standing. He left me alone with the two detectives.

  Apparently my face showed the anxiety I felt about the photos. Falcon and Berthelot exchanged a glance.

  “Since the charm is now in police possession, you shouldn’t be concerned about the photos being missing,” Berthelot said. “Is there something you’re not telling us?”

  I frowned. “No, I simply wanted to have the pictures. Anyway, the camera might still be in my purse.”

  “True, but what were you planning to do with the photos?” he asked, leaning forward in his seat.

  I knew this was his attempt to get me to admit I still intended to pursue my own investigation. My silence told him everything he wanted to know.

  “You were real lucky you didn’t end up with a more serious head injury,” Berthelot said, his voice filled with fatherly concern. “We get paid to do this job, and we’ve had a lot of experience dealing with the bad guys. Amateurs can get killed.”

  “Is my brother considered one of those bad guys?”

  “If the evidence points his way, yes he is,” Falcon said. Berthelot shot his partner an annoyed look.

  Irritation bubbled up inside me, but I forced an even tone into my voice. “Listen, I know the police believe Steven is guilty. They always have. Even Jim believes it, but I don’t.”

  “Do you have any evidence we don’t know about to support your claim he didn’t murder his wife?” Berthelot asked.

  “No, call it woman’s intuition or ESP between twins.”

  “Can you really be certain your brother wasn’t the person who struck you?” Falcon asked.

  I took a deep breath. “Steven wouldn’t do any such thing. He wouldn’t hurt me. He’s being set up for the murder.” I glared at him, but he didn’t flinch.

  This type of interrogation should have been expected, but I wasn’t prepared for it. Why, in heaven’s name, couldn’t they see the facts staring them in the face?

  Jim returned with my purse and a solemn expression on his face. “The camera’s still here, but the memory card is gone.”

  “The intruder who broke in here believed you still had the piece,” Falcon said.

  Hello. I could’ve told him that. “Yes, the stolen memory card lends a lot of credence to such a theory.”

  Truthfully, I didn’t know what I intended to do with those photos. Oh well, they’re gone now. Maybe I should pay more attention to all the obstacles placed in my path lately, designed to delay finding the real killer. I could end up dead myself.

  I sat motionless for a while with my eyes closed. Would it help the case to tell them about the conversation I overheard at the funeral home? Probably not, there was no proof this dialogue actually occurred. Fatigue set in and my head throbbed. Jim’s hand on my shoulder startled me.

  “Are you okay?” Worry showed in his voice.

  “I’m really tired and my head hurts.” I turned to the two detectives. “Could we end this discussion?”

  Berthelot nodded, but Falcon wasn’t ready to let me go. This must be their version of good cop, bad cop.

  “Is there anything else you remember about the incident?” he asked, locking his steely grey eyes on my face.

  I stared right back. “No, there’s nothing more I can tell you.” My answer came out rather curt, but at this point I really didn’t care.

  Berthelot rose from his seat and after a bit of semi discreet prodding by him, Falcon stood up.

  “Thanks, Susan,” Berthelot said, patting my arm. “Take care, you hear.”

  I smiled at him. “I’ll do my best.”

  Falcon smiled, apologetic. “I didn’t mean to give you a hard time.”

  “You were just doing your job, right?”

  “Just trying to get the facts, m’am,” he said with a straight face. The twinkle in his eyes gave him away.

  His imitation made me laugh. All three men joined in. Falcon’s love of retro detective and police movies and television shows was well known within the police community. He even had a poster of Jack Webb as Dragnet’s Joe Friday taped to the wall by his desk. His obsession with those films became an office joke and Falcon played along.

  “Seriously,” he said. “If you think of anything else, you can reach either me or Phil at any time. Jim knows how to get a hold of us.”

  “Okay, I promise to call you right away if something comes to mind.”

  After the two men left, I walked into the den and collapsed on the sofa. “I’m too tired to move from here.”

  “You want a pillow and blanket from the bedroom?” Jim asked.

  “That would be nice.” How lucky was I to have him for my husband? I admired his wide shoulders and the rest of his well-formed physique as he left the room.

  Jim returned shortly and fussed about, placing the pillow behind me and covering me with a blue fleece throw I usually kept on the foot of our bed. I started to wonder why he was buttering me up with all this pampering. Maybe the discovery of the stolen memory card combined with my attack and our burglary presented him with a lot more to worry about now.

  “Will you be okay here alone?” he asked. “I should go pick up your meds from Walgreen’s.”

  “Sure, I’ll be alright,” I replied. “We’re not likely to have any more unwanted guests.”

  “You never can tell,” he said. “I’ll set the alarm on the way out.”

  “That’s a good idea.”

  “Now don’t open the door for anyone,” he warned. “Is that clear?”

  “Even if it’s someone I know?” Jim began to scare me now. My husband wasn’t normally so overly protective.

  “Especially if it’s someone you know.” He set the alarm and slipped out the front door. I relaxed when I heard the beep indicating the system had been armed.

  I realized that our front entrance had gotten a lot more use than normal lately; the side door was usually our door of choice. By using the front, anyone watching the house might be more aware of our comings and goings. I shook off all thoughts of surveillance by anyone with murder on their mind and picked up the television remote. Surfing the channels I came across a forensics show so I decided to watch. These true crime programs were chocked full of good info about forensics evidence. This one proved to be an eye opener for me.

  The perpetrator in this case, a woman, made threatening calls to scare her intended victim. In order to hide her identity, she used a voice altering device which made her sound like a male caller. Could this be why I believed the person calling me was a man? Intuition told me the idea needed to be explored further. Jim would most likely know about the availability of such a device.

  The ringing doorbell startled me. Who in the world could this be? Remembering Jim’s warning, I started to ignore the bell. Curiosity got the better of me. I walked cautiously toward the door. My visitor rang again. Through the peephole in the door, I spotted Melanie standing on the stoop. Although my nerves vibrated with warning bells, I decided to let her in.

  “Hey,” I said with some uneasiness.

  “Can I come in?” she asked. “I know you just got home from the hospital, but...”

  “Sure come on in,” I said, waving her inside. I reset the alarm after her. “How did you know about my hospital stay?”

  Melanie smiled sheepishly. “Your mother told mine and she told me. I called up there but they said you’d been released.”

  “Yeah, Dr. Ed wanted to keep me another day—you know how he is. But I talked him out of it.”

  “Indeed I do know about it,” she replied, nodding her head. “He thinks he shou
ld be a father to all of us since he’s treated all our ailments since childhood.”

  “He does like to play the role.” The conversation seemed awkward, but with the current condition of our relationship, some discomfort was predictable. On my part, suspicion also played a big role in this little scene.

  She finally noticed…or acknowledged…the wreckage in the living room and the den. “Oh my goodness! What happened in here?”

  “This morning before I was released from the hospital, someone broke in the house,” I told her, studying her face for a reaction.

  Her blue eyes widened. “Oh no,” she exclaimed, moving her hand up to her throat. “Was anything stolen?”

  The reaction seemed genuine, but lately with Melanie, I couldn’t tell for certain. “No, but the intruder seemed to be searching for something in particular.”

  “How horrible,” she said. “Like you needed this after what happened to you.”

  “You said it. Come on in and have a seat.” I motioned for her to sit on the sofa, while I sat down next to her. The blood pulsing in my temples made my head ache. I wondered if I had made a big mistake by allowing her inside my home. Straight from the mouth of her own husband, she had a connection to Anne’s murder. Even if she didn’t take part in the crime, Michael’s words indicated she knew about at least part of their plans. Or could I be barking up the wrong tree? I hoped so.

  “After everything that’s happened between us lately, what made you decide to visit me?” I expected her to get up and leave in a huff, but she didn’t.

  “I’m not happy with our situation,” she said. “We are family and it’s not good for us to be at odds with each other.”

  “You’re so right. I haven’t been very nice to you. I apologize.” My words were sincere in that I didn’t enjoy the split between me and a cousin I’d been so close to growing up. Although, I admit to having an ulterior motive for the apology. Melanie had first-hand knowledge of evidence that could clear Steven.

  “I’m sorry for the way I’ve acted toward you too.” She smiled. “I’m glad we got things straight.”

  My return smile felt plastered on my face and much to my dismay, exactly like the fake ones exuded by the clique. “So am I.” Well, we really didn’t get anything straight. She probably still wanted to shift the blame for Anne’s murder away from the clique and onto my brother, while I sought the true killers. But I’d let that go for now.