April Fools

by A. C. Mason

  “What makes you think so?” I asked, amazed.

  “The vibrations you’re sending me. You aren’t with the police, but you have a strong connection to the department.”

  “Yes, I do. The crime is…”

  She raised her hand up. “Don’t give me any information except the victim’s name.”

  “Anne LaGrange, the woman standing to the right of the man…that is, on your left,” I stammered.

  She nodded and placed her hand on the photograph. Closing her eyes, she ran her fingers over the figures of the people in the shot. After what seemed like forever she finally spoke. “Anne didn’t get a good look at her killer. The person hid in a dark room…or hallway and was waiting for her to come home.”

  What a disappointment. This is silly. I’m putting too much stock in this so called psychic’s answers. “How do you know she didn’t see the murderer?”

  Ms. Evans put her hands on both temples and closed her eyes. Her face twisted as if in pain. “I’m seeing only a silhouette. This is what she saw before she was shot.”

  “You’re seeing what Anne saw?” I asked, skeptical. “Can you tell if the killer is male or female?”

  Taylor Evans shook her head. “No, I can’t get a reading on that.”

  “I figured as much.” She’ll probably get defensive now. I really didn’t intend the comment to indicate my suspicion of her craft. Or did I? Did my subconscious profile come to the surface? “Is that all you can tell me?”

  She gently touched the image of each person in the snapshot. “I don’t believe the murderer is shown in this picture.”

  “Not even the man?”

  “I’m picking up a lot of guilt on his part, and he feels responsible for her death, but I don’t see him as the killer. He’s related to you, isn’t he?”

  “Yes, he’s my brother.” This is crazy. She must have seen Anne’s picture on television or in the newspaper and knew about Steven. She’s simply telling me what I want to hear.

  “In case you’re wondering, I don’t watch the news on television because the police might want to consult me about a particular crime. I do read about political issues and international relations in the newspaper or magazines but no crime news.”

  My goodness, she can also read minds.

  She touched Melanie in the picture. “This woman has some knowledge involving the others shown here. What she knows is indirectly connected to the murder, but I get the sense this was false information. There’s a lot of conflicting feelings there. It’s hard to get a grip on exactly why.” Fingering Mary Catherine’s image, she shook her head. “I’m also picking up confusing vibrations from her.” She studied my face for a moment and her gaze settled on my bandage. “You’ve been injured in connection with your search for the murderer.”

  Surprised, all I could do was barely nod my head.

  Ms. Evans closed her eyes again. “You found an item belonging to the person responsible for your friend’s murder in a house. A piece of jewelry, I believe.”

  How spooky is this? “Can you tell me anything else?” What she said next stunned me.

  “I see a woman inside the same house with a man. They’re searching for something. The house doesn’t belong to them so they’re nervous. This man is no longer alive. I’m getting the sensation he was killed not too long after their visit to this house—maybe a week or two.” Abruptly, she opened her eyes. “I can’t see anything else.”

  Totally shaken by her words, I couldn’t move for a while.

  She appeared sympathetic. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help. If you bring me an item belonging to Anne or any of the others in the photo I’ll give you another reading free of charge.”

  “Thank you,” I mumbled. After finally regaining my wits, I paid her fee and left the house as quickly as possible.

  I walked to my car in a trance. Even though I already knew about Greg’s visit to the house with the mystery blond, and his death, the fact she had knowledge of this defied all logic. Of course, she could have read about his murder in the paper, or seen the report on television, but there was no way she could have known about him and the woman. I couldn’t help wondering. Could Taylor Evans have told me the name of the woman if she had been able to hold the windmill charm in her hand? Once again, the identity of this elusive blond escaped me.

  Fifteen

  My stomach did a little flip. Trey Williamson casually leaned against the fender of my car. He shot me that obnoxious grin of his. Every time I saw him lately I wanted to slap it right off his face.

  Furious, I marched right up to him. “Are you stalking me?”

  “Now why would I do anything so stupid?”

  “I don’t know, I’m asking you. You seem to show up every place I go. This time makes it three occasions.”

  “Simply coincidence,” he said.

  “I don’t believe in coincidence. What are you doing in this neighborhood?”

  “Checking out a couple of properties that might bring in good rental income. I spotted your car and decided I’d hang around and say hello.”

  “Well, now you’ve said it, so good-bye.” I pulled my keys out of my purse and pressed the remote to unlock the driver side door, and didn’t bother commenting on his excuse for being in the area.

  He pointed to my bandage and laughed. “What happened to you? Police brutality?”

  “My injury wasn’t inflicted by the police.” I got into my car without giving him any details. He very possibly could have been the person who attacked me.

  Pulling away from the curb, I glanced at him in the rear view mirror. He still wore his infuriating grin. All the way back to the house the notion of his stalking me gnawed at my insides. Why did he show up in places where I happened to be? What purpose did his actions serve?

  I came to a stop at a red light and started to mull over the names of the no-shows at Lisa’s party. Mary Catherine and Trey were the only ones who didn’t attend. M C supposedly was sick but no one’s ever mentioned why Trey didn’t show up. But my intuition kept telling me a woman killed Anne. How did Trey fit into this scenario?

  Horns honked behind me. I looked up and discovered the light had turned to green. Trying not to think about Trey and concentrating on my driving at the same time proved to be quite difficult. Every so often I caught myself drifting back into question mode. What did Trey hope to accomplish by following me around? Was he afraid I’d find evidence to clear Steven? And why did that matter to him?

  Back at home, Jim met me at the door. “I figured you’d go running off as soon as I left you alone.”

  I waved him off. “Don’t start. I’m here now safe and sound. Nothing happened.”

  “Where’d you go?” he asked.

  “To visit a psychic.”

  He stared at me, and then burst out laughing. “Really, where’d you go?”

  “To visit a psychic,” I repeated.

  “And did this psychic tell you the identity of Anne’s murderer?” he asked with a condescending tone.

  “No, she didn’t. Actually the woman told me a lot of things I already knew, plus a couple she shouldn’t know unless she was clairvoyant.”

  “Like what?”

  “That my injury happened in the process of my investigation.” I ignored the skeptical look on his face. “She also said I found an item belonging to the person who attacked me in the house…a piece of jewelry.” He perked up. “It gets better. She saw a blond woman in the same house with a man who was no longer alive.”

  “Impressive. Who is this psychic?”

  “Her name is Taylor Evans.”

  He nodded in acknowledgement. “I’ve heard the name.”

  “Has NOPD used psychics in the past?”

  “Not officially,” he said. “There was talk about using one on cold cases, but the administration was against the practice. They decided the department would be ridiculed, so the idea was nixed.” A faint smile curved his lips.

  I rolled my eyes, knowing th
e meaning behind his expression. Like NOPD didn’t have anything more important to worry about than being ridiculed for consulting a psychic.

  “One of the officers who dealt with missing persons got in touch with one of these people on his own,” Jim continued. “That may be where I heard Taylor Evans’ name.”

  My cell phone rang and I dug through my purse to retrieve it, making certain it was the correct phone and not the old one. I’ve got to bring it to the recycling place. Melanie’s name and number appeared on the caller ID. Her call after her recent visit surprised me to say the least. “Hey, Mel.”

  “How are you?” she asked.

  “Pretty good. With the help of pain pills I slept all through the night.”

  “Are you still having a lot of pain?”

  “My body is still a bit sore, but today has been almost pain free.”

  “You must be bored to death having to sit at home. When will you be allowed a pass?” she asked in a joking manner.

  “I escaped for a short time this morning. Believe me it felt great.”

  “Oh, where’d you go?”

  Jim’s hand signal made me pause. He moved his finger under his neck directing me to cut my conversation short. “I just went for a ride. Listen, Jim has lunch ready for me. Can I call you back?”

  “Sure,” Melanie said. “We’ll talk later.” She sounded disappointed.

  I disconnected from the call. “What was that all about?”

  “When you’re investigating a crime you don’t tell anyone what you’re up to,” he said.

  “In Melanie’s case, you’re probably right.”

  “Not just her. In a murder investigation everyone is a suspect.” He chuckled. “Are you sure you can write murder mysteries?”

  I pondered his question for a moment. “Maybe I can’t get one published because I don’t know enough about how to solve a crime, so my scenes aren’t realistic. You’d think since I’m married to a homicide detective I’d know more about it. Of course, you hardly talk about your cases.”

  “That’s true,” he said. “But just like anything else in the world, knowing how to investigate takes a lot of practice and study.”

  I laughed. “You are so philosophical. But how do I learn all the fine points of investigating?”

  “Stick with me, kid.” He gave me a conspiratorial wink, slipped his arm over my shoulder and pulled me close. “I’ll teach you everything you need to know.”

  “Does this mean you intend to help me prove Steven isn’t a murderer?”

  “As of noon tomorrow, I’m officially done with NOPD, so yes, I’ll help you, but on one condition.”

  “Uh oh,” I said. “What condition?” Here it comes.

  “One day next week, I’m heading for Cypress Lake to meet with Bill and be introduced to my new crew. The city council has already approved my appointment from my application.”

  “Wow, he must really have an in with those people for them to approve you sight unseen.”

  “Yeah, he does. The majority of the council is related to him… Small town politics,” he added.

  “From everything I’ve heard or read about small towns, the politics there can get pretty dicey. Isn’t that like the old saying, ‘jumping out of the frying pan into the fire’?

  “Not really,” he said. “Everything in Louisiana is political, so any place you live there are issues to deal with. I know all the nuances of small town dealings.”

  “I suppose you want me to go with you.”

  “It’s just for the day.”

  “Then what’s the next step?”

  “We come back here and see what we can dig up to prove the case.”

  “But I wanted to be here when the DA decides whether to arrest Steven or not.”

  “You won’t be able to change anything by staying here.”

  “I know, but being able to hear the decision right away would make me feel better.”

  “We’ll just play it by ear then,” he said with resignation.

  “When do you officially become Chief?”

  “May First.”

  “So what will we do about this house?”

  “Let’s just take things one at a time,” he said.

  “Okay,” I agreed, and taunted him with a teasing grin. “Since you’re going to get involved with my investigation, the least I can do is go to Cypress Lake with you.”

  His brow wrinkled for a split second…until he realized I was joking with him. He laughed and kissed me on the nose. “That’s mighty big of you.”

  My cell phone rang again. “Boy, I’m really popular today.” This time the caller was Lisa.

  “Hey,” she said. “You must be glad to be home now.”

  “You better believe it.”

  “I knew you needed time to settle in which is why I didn’t bother you yesterday. So how’re you feeling?”

  “I still have a lot of aches and pains, but all in all, pretty good. Considering the welcome home surprise thrown on me here at the house, I’m doing well.”

  Jim narrowed his eyes and sent me a questioning look. I mouthed Lisa’s name. He gave a nonchalant nod.

  “What kind of surprise?” Lisa asked.

  “Someone broke into our house and set off the alarm. When the alarm company called here, a woman answered and claimed to be me.”

  “Oh my God,” she exclaimed. “Was anything stolen?”

  “No, but the place was trashed,” I said. “Well, not really trashed, but a lot of papers and other items were thrown around. There were some pieces broken, like a figurine and, oh, the painting you did for me of the Creole cottage was slashed. The crime scene reminded me of the one at your gallery the day whoever stole the list.”

  “That’s terrible. I’ll paint you another cottage to replace it.” She hesitated briefly before continuing. “So if nothing was stolen, what could have been the intruder’s purpose?”

  “Evidently she was searching for something.”

  “Like what? She already has the list. I’m being presumptuous, I guess, to think the woman who broke into your house is the same person who stole the party guest list.”

  Jim repeated his “cut” signal, silently warning me not to reveal any information. “Your guess is as good as mine. I have no idea.”

  “Whoever is creating havoc here is getting on my nerves. I can imagine how this is affecting you.”

  “The ordeal is not helping my emotional state or for that matter, my physical state either.”

  “Maybe you should give up trying to prove Steven’s innocence,” she suggested. “Whoever attacked you may have more serious plans to prevent you from unmasking the real killer.”

  “Bowing out has crossed my mind. I’m strongly considering it.”

  Jim sent me a “yeah, right” look and I almost started laughing. My statement was such a bald-faced lie.

  Our conversation ended with Lisa promising to come by for a visit the next day. As soon as I disconnected, Jim questioned me.

  “Did you tell Lisa about the charm when she came to visit you at the hospital?”

  “No, I never had the opportunity. My parents showed up, and Lisa left shortly after.”

  “Good,” he said.

  I frowned at him. “Okay, what would it hurt to reveal info to Lisa? Surely you don’t suspect her.”

  “Not particularly, but like I said before, everyone is a suspect, including Melanie, Lisa, Mary Catherine, and…Steven.”

  Sixteen

  My visit to psychic Taylor Evans claimed priority among my thoughts when I awoke the next morning. While sipping my coffee, I recalled her remarks concerning Melanie and Mary Catherine, in particular the latter. Consequently her conversation with Steven outside The Grill came to mind. She apologized for something. I couldn’t imagine what. It must’ve been the jolt of caffeine from the coffee but I had the feeling it could be an important clue in the search for Anne’s killer.

  Melanie also knew vital information if the psychic’s revelat
ions were to be believed. The conversation I overheard at the funeral home between John and Michael about my cousin’s knowledge, made Ms Evan’s words ring true. Wait, she said Melanie’s information was false. Did she mean my cousin made up a story or was she given false information by another person?

  My fragile relationship of late with Melanie caused me a lot of grief. I tended to throw out accusations based on my instincts and hold back on asking pertinent questions thereby causing a confrontation. My failure to conduct a proper interview prevented the discovery of what could be important facts. Her recent visit and telephone call suggested she wanted to renew the bond we shared growing up. Or did she have ulterior motives? Reaching for my cell phone, I decided to go for broke.

  “I’m so glad you called,” she said.

  She sounded sincere—an encouraging sign. “Your visit the other day felt like old times, so I wondered if we could get together this morning.”

  “That would be perfect. Last night I found all those photos from the European tour. You said you wanted to see them.”

  “Great,” I said, trying to keep from sounding overly excited. I glanced at my watch. “Can you come by about ten or ten-thirty?”

  “Sure, I’ll see you then.”

  Feeling a bit anxious, I puttered around in an attempt to spruce up the house before Melanie arrived. All the wreckage from the break-in had been cleared away, mostly by Jim. He wouldn’t allow me to exert myself—his word. He even vacuumed. The only task left for me to do was to fluff up the throw pillows on the sofa, clear away the breakfast dishes I used this morning, and place them in the dishwasher.

  Melanie rang the doorbell shortly before ten. She surprised me with her unusual promptness. In the past my cousin arrived at any affair fashionably late and wearing a designer outfit. Today the designer clothing came without the late arrival. She wore cream colored slacks and a pale blue blouse which made a close match to her eyes. Cream flats completed her ensemble. I didn’t know what, if anything, her punctuality meant, but it reminded me to keep my guard up.

  We spent about five minutes making small talk. I wanted to prod her into showing me the photos, but decided not to appear too anxious. Finally she produced an envelope containing her European photos. “I put the ones of Paris on top.”