by A. C. Mason
“Well, it’ll be my devastation and I’ll just have to deal with it,” I said firmly. “I can handle it.”
He didn’t look convinced. “No, I’ll have to deal with your devastation also. You won’t be fit to live with.”
“I will be totally destroyed if Steven turns out to be guilty, but I still have to try to dig out the truth. Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.” I paused a second or two deciding my next move. “Dropping by his condo unannounced, he’ll be caught off guard.”
“Now you’re learning.” Jim smiled in spite of his apprehension about the emotional response a visit with Steven might cause me.
“I love you,” I said.
“I love you too. Be careful and check out your surroundings before you get out of the car.”
His cautionary advice set off an alarm. “Do you believe I’ll be in danger if I go?”
“You could be. Somebody tried to prevent you from finding a piece of evidence and could have killed you.”
“Hopefully you don’t still believe Steven hit me.”
“I plead the fifth,” he said.
Nevertheless, I kissed him goodbye and left the house on my way to the Warehouse District where Steven’s condo was located. All the way there I kept second-guessing my decision to speak to my brother. What if Jim was correct in his assumption about my disappointment? Could I handle the reality of the situation if he really did kill his wife?
Needless to say, Steven was surprised to see me. He invited me in with a great deal of trepidation showing in his face.
“Have a seat.” He directed me toward a brown leather loveseat. “What’s going on?” he asked, giving me a questioning look.
I cleared my throat awkwardly, unsure of how to start without being asked to leave.
His jaw tensed. “Has something happened?”
“You could say that,” I said, finally finding my voice. “I heard a story about you today. It’s important for me to hear your side of the story.”
“What? You heard I killed my wife? That’s old news.” His sharp tone of voice cut me like a piece of broken glass.
“A woman who will remain nameless for right now told me an almost unbelievable story about you and several other guys forming a so-called swinger group about ten years ago.”
“Now that is news to me,” he said with an indignant huff. “Who the hell told you such an absurd story and why is it almost unbelievable?”
I waved off his questions. “All in good time. Let me finish.”
Steven took a deep breath. “Go ahead.”
“The other guys involved were Michael, John, and Trey. Here’s where it really gets interesting.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“Melanie and Anne supposedly declined to participate, but Mary Catherine and Amanda agreed. Since that left you and Michael as odd men out, several other women were asked and consented to join the party. According to the story, Michael, John, and Trey, being as vain as they are, expected to be overrun with women begging for sex. As it turned out you were the one to get all the women, which didn’t make the Three Musketeers happy.”
“Under other circumstances, the story would be downright funny,” he said, cringing. “Right now it’s pathetic and very dangerous to my defense. My attorney needs to know about this and who is spreading this around.”
“So you’re denying the story?”
“Of course I’m denying it.”
Even knowing this would elicit an outburst of some kind, I decided to ask anyway. “Would you admit to the accusation, to me or anyone?”
“You must really have a terrible opinion of me,” he said in a low voice. “The story is a bunch of bull.”
“Please tell me everything about the night Anne was killed and before,” I pleaded. “Start at the beginning and name the women with whom you had affairs. I have to hear your side of the story…from your mouth, in your words, the whole story.”
Steven leaned back in the chair and briefly closed his eyes. “My attorney isn’t going to like it, but here goes.”
Eighteen
“There were two women I slept with,” Steven began.
I grimaced.
“You wanted to know so I’m telling you.”
With a slight hand wave I signaled for him to continue. “I know the identity of one—Mary Catherine. Who was the other woman?”
“You probably don’t know her. She moved out of town after we broke off the affair. Her name was Charlotte McBride.”
I racked my brain, hoping to remember where I’d heard the name, but couldn’t recall. So I returned my focus to the conversation at hand and one major question I wanted Steven to answer. “Can you give me one good reason why you would cheat on a woman as lovely and sweet as Anne?”
He glanced down at his lap. “Honestly, no. Stupidity, I guess or damn bad judgment. Anne was a wonderful woman. I’m not proud of my actions by any means. The affairs just happened.”
“They don’t just happen,” I said irritated. “Anyway, how did you meet this Charlotte person?”
“I went out for drinks with the ‘Three Musketeers’ as you called them. We all got drunk. She came on to me and she and I ended up going to her place over on Foulard Street. The house she lived in turned out to be one of those old shotgun doubles. She had her half fixed up real nice which kind of surprised me. My first impression was she didn’t seem like the type to collect antiques. I’m talking about antiques worth a lot of money.” He spoke with a great deal of tenderness about the woman. His sense of pride in her abilities seemed strange. What happened between him and Anne to make him feel that way about another woman?
“What was she like?”
“Pretty and intelligent,” he said. “Red hair and big green eyes. She had a degree in interior design, but was wasting her talent working in a souvenir store in the Quarter.”
“So you continued to see her after the night you met her.”
“The first time we got together turned into more and more meetings. After three or four months I came to my senses and tried to break it off with her, but she told me she loved me. Somehow I managed to persuade her to quit calling me. Several weeks later I heard she’d left town.”
“I hope you used…”
“Don’t worry, I didn’t get her pregnant,” he cut in.
“Okay, how about Mary Catherine?”
“She and John were having big problems in their marriage. One night I ran into her in the bar at the Marigny.”
“Mary Catherine was drinking alone?”
“Yes, believe it or not,” he said. “I had a couple of drinks with her and one thing led to another.”
“It appears you have a drinking problem,” I said eying the three empty beer bottles on the lamp table. “Did you ever think about getting help?”
“No, I couldn’t bring myself to admit there was a problem.”
His mind worked completely opposite from mine. He obviously felt something for Charlotte and also for Mary Catherine. We weren’t on the same wave length in that department. If he wanted to sleep around, he should have gotten a divorce from his wife.
“Tell me about the night Anne died.”
“Mary Catherine didn’t show up at the camp as we planned. I stuck around for hours and did a lot of soul searching. Anne should have been home by then, so I hoped we could have a talk and work things out. But it was too late.” His voice wavered. “The cops were already there. You know the rest of the story.”
“I understand now why the cops suspected you. Of course, they always look at the spouse first. You didn’t have anyone to verify an alibi and after the affairs became known, you really looked like the murderer. I’m sorry for not believing your story about being alone at the camp.”
“Thanks,” he said. “Now it’s your turn. Who told you the story about the swingers group?”
“Melanie,” I said.
“Damn, where would she get an idea like that?”
“According to her, she got it from Mic
hael,” I said and repeated Melanie’s version.
He shook his head in disbelief. “Is there any other information you’ve uncovered since you’ve been snooping around?”
“Quite a bit, but it’s all considered hearsay. Even the charm I found is not allowable as evidence because there’s no chain of custody.”
“So in the end, there’s not much hope to prove I’m innocent.” His dejected expression mirrored his words. “It doesn’t matter anyway. I might as well have pulled the trigger.”
“There’s always hope,” I said. “The truth is close. I can feel it.”
Steven’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “You really are a Pollyanna.”
“Some people might accuse me of being Pandora instead, since I opened the box and allowed all the demons of dirty laundry to escape.”
“You should consider Melanie for that title,” he said. “She opened one box at least with her tale about the swingers, although I have a feeling this particular account was for her ears only. I’d give my right arm to know why Michael told her that story.”
I nodded. “Or if she made the whole thing up. It’s practically impossible to find out either scenario.”
“Yeah, it’s not like you can interrogate any of the people involved. What about the cops? Can’t they talk to them? I presume you told Jim everything you’ve uncovered.”
His statement jogged my memory. In all the chaos following Greg’s funeral and my hospital stay, I didn’t relay to Jim the conversation between John and Michael I overheard outside the funeral home. I also hadn’t told him about Trey confronting me near the psychic’s home and made a mental note to give him a rundown of these incidents. “There is information I never had the chance to tell him.”
“What is it?”
“Before I reveal those incidents let me ask you another question. Would Michael like to see you go down for Anne’s murder?”
My question visibly took Steven aback.
“Not that I know of,” he said. “I do know he was jealous of me because I started a business without funding or backing from my father. Simple jealousy couldn’t possibly be a big enough motive to start a movement to destroy me.”
“People have killed other people for much less complicated reasons. That said, from what I’ve heard, the feelings of these men about you is more than simple jealousy. Is there anything else?”
“I can’t think of any reason.”
“What about Trey Williamson?” I continued. “Does he have a vendetta against you?”
Steven averted his gaze for a moment. The mention of Trey must have hit a nerve.
He shrugged. “Who knows about Trey? Although at one time the rumor was I was sleeping with Amanda. I wasn’t. Do you think he and the others had anything to do with the murder?”
I homed in on the mention of Trey’s wife, but decided not to pursue it at present. “If they’re not involved in the murder itself, there’s some other connection. I can’t quite get a handle on their role. They’re connected somehow. Trey seems to be following me every place I go.”
Steven frowned. “What do you mean?”
“The first time he appeared on the scene was when Lisa’s gallery was vandalized. At the time it seemed odd, but later I brushed the incident off as his simply being curious about the police presence.”
“Sounds logical. Tell me more.”
“On the afternoon I met you at the Grill, he confronted me in the parking lot as I was leaving.”
“What do you mean by confronted?” he asked, sounding alarmed.
“First he accused me of having an affair, and made a remark about how risky such a tryst was for me since my husband was a cop. In other words Jim would shoot me if he found out.” I rolled my eyes, remembering the absurdity of Trey’s remark.
“Did he say why he happened to be there?”
“He said he came every evening after work for Happy Hour.”
“Funny, I don’t ever remember seeing him at Happy Hour or any other time.”
“I gather you’re in there a lot.”
He acknowledged my suspicion with a nod. “Did you tell him you met me, and not a lover?”
“Yes, but after that he said if I continued to keep company with a murderer, I might also be accused of collaboration in the crime.”
His expression clouded with anger. “Was there another time he showed up where you were?”
“The last time occurred when I went to visit a psychic.”
“A what?”
“I went to visit a psychic.” I brushed off his inquiry. “That’s a story for another time. After the session with her, I discovered him leaning against the fender of the Chevy. He claimed to be researching some properties for rentals, saw my car, and waited to say hello to me.”
Steven’s expression suggested a revelation had occurred to him. Whatever it was, he didn’t reveal this epiphany to me.
“In light of all that, I’ll have to think back over my dealings with him,” he said.
“It would be better if you told me the truth,” I said.
He started to object, but I cut him off. “They seem to feel a lot of animosity toward you and want to make sure you’re convicted. This makes the whole situation even stranger because in my opinion the murder was committed by a woman.”
He looked surprised. “You think a woman killed Anne?”
I gave a slight wave of my hand. “It’s obvious. A jealous lover killing the wife is a theme as old as time. Did you believe a man killed her?”
“Actually, at first I suspected the killer was a woman, but after years of hashing and rehashing everything, I decided she took the bullets that were meant for me.”
“You mean the killer expected you to walk in and fired before he realized he’d shot Anne instead.”
He nodded. “Why do you think the killer was female?”
I frowned momentarily puzzled. “Oh, I forgot, you don’t know about the break-in at our house.”
Steven jerked to attention. “No, what happened?”
“Apparently a blond woman broke in looking for a particular item, probably the windmill charm. The security company called the house when the alarm went off. She identified herself as me. They grew suspicious when she couldn’t give them the password, so they called Jim’s cell. We were on our way back from the hospital.”
“Coupled with the blond’s visit to my old house with Greg, I could see why you believe a woman actually pulled the trigger. But why ask questions about my relationship with Trey and Michael? How did you make a connection to them?”
“From an odd conversation I overhead between John and Michael,” I said, replaying the incident in my mind. “They mentioned you and…”
A loud banging at the door startled both of us. My stomach plunged. Steven’s face drained of color.
“Police! We have a warrant,” a man shouted. “Open the door.”
Nineteen
Steven grabbed his phone from the table next to his chair and punched in a number. “Josh, the cops are here to arrest me. …No, they’re at the door now. I haven’t let them in yet. …Okay, I’ll see you there.” He threw a fearful glance at me, and left to allow the police entrance.
I sat frozen in place, not knowing what if anything I could do. Seconds later my brain kicked in. I pulled my cell from purse and keyed up Jim’s name in my contacts list. He answered right away.
“The police are here to arrest Steven,” I cried.
“I knew this would happen, but not so soon. Take it easy,” he said. “There’s nothing you can do. Just let them do their job.”
“Police!” the officer outside repeated. “Open up.”
I stayed on the line with Jim as the banging and shouting continued until Steven opened the door.
“Steven LaGrange?” one of the men asked.
My brother acknowledged his identity.
“We have a warrant for your arrest for the murder of Anne LaGrange.”
The officer’s words seemed like
a horrible nightmare. The reading of Miranda Rights and the click of handcuffs sent an icy chill up my spine. Jim was right. I was powerless to help him.
Steven turned his head in my direction. “Lock up the place for me, will you?” he asked in a strangely calm tone. Although his voice sounded composed, fear flooded his dark eyes.
My own voice chose not to work at the moment so I simply nodded and watched the officers lead him away.
Jim’s voice sounded in my ear. “Hey, are you still there?”
“I believe I’m in another universe.”
“Have they left?”
“Yes, they just walked out the door. I’m going…”
“Don’t follow them down to the jail,” Jim interrupted. “It’s pointless. You can’t help him right now.”
“I’m not going to the jail. Steven asked me to lock up his condo.”
“Do you know the name of his attorney?”
“Josh somebody,” I said. “Steven contacted him before he even let the police inside.”
“Good, he’ll be okay. Are you coming back to the house after you lock up?”
“I can’t think right now. I’ll call you back shortly.”
“If I don’t hear from you in about fifteen minutes, I’m coming after you.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll talk to you later.”
I made sure every window was secured, and locked the door behind me. The image of my brother in handcuffs being led away by police played over and over in my mind all the way back to my car. A multitude of emotions overcame me. I felt scared for him and angry with him for his immoral behavior, which most likely led to this whole situation. Anger with the real guilty party, and extreme frustration for not being able to prove his or her guilt created an assault on my senses.
Get it together. I can’t help him by going all to pieces. I took deep breaths and tried to think rationally. Charlotte McBride could be the key to save Steven. But who was she, and where had I heard her name? Just for the heck of it, I decided to check out her former residence if I could locate it with the scant information I had. Before starting the car, I called Jim to tell him my intentions.