by A. C. Mason
He lowered the passenger side window and craned his neck to look at me, his usual infuriating smirk plastered across his face.
“What do you want?” I asked through clenched teeth.
“Now is that any way for you to greet an old friend?” His lips spread in a Cheshire cat grin.
Furious, I clamped both hands on the window ledge and leaned forward, glaring at him. “First of all, you are not and never will be a friend. If you come this close to me again, the police will be greeting you and they won’t be smiling. I’m getting a restraining order against you.”
He laughed. “O-oh, I’m so scared.”
“You should be.” The pungent fragrance of his aftershave filled the car’s interior. The smell nauseated me. I took a step back from the BMW, heeding the strong need to distance myself from him.
“Hope your brother is enjoying his stay at the ‘Orleans Parish Hilton’,” he said. “Once he’s convicted, he’ll be headed for Angola and from what I’ve heard about the place, he could end up as some big con’s honey.”
The breath caught in my throat. “You’re disgusting.”
Laughing again, Trey put the car in gear. The window closed with a soft whirring noise and the BMW moved swiftly away from me down the street. I watched, frozen in place, until the vehicle shrunk to nothing but a silver glint in the sunlight.
That’s it. I’m following through with my threat to have a restraining order issued against him. I turned and practically ran back to the house. Once inside, I paused and braced my shaking body against the door. Why did Trey continue to hassle me? What did he gain from this endeavor? He obviously had a connection to Anne’s murder, or he wouldn’t be doing this. Although I couldn’t for the life of me think what part he could possibly have played. I was thoroughly convinced the person who killed Anne was female. On the other hand, all the females on the suspect list had been eliminated. Maybe it was time I checked on the males.
I squeezed my eyes shut. Here I go investigating again. My obsession over finding the killer took over once more. Trey Williamson didn’t deserve my time and energy. In a few weeks I wouldn’t be living in New Orleans any longer and he couldn’t bother me fifty miles away.
The chime of my cell phone sounded. I pulled the device from my pocket and checked the display. Thank goodness it was Jim, my lifeline to sanity.
“Hey,” I said, happy to hear his voice.
“How’s your day been so far?” he asked.
I didn’t want to worry him, but not telling him about Trey wasn’t an option. “Okay, that is, up until a short time ago.”
“What happened?”
“There’s been yet another incident with Trey Williamson.”
“What’d he do this time?”
“I went for a walk down the street and he drove up in his BMW and gloated over Steven’s arrest. I threatened to have a restraining order issued against him if he didn’t leave me alone.”
“Isn’t that kind of extreme? Has he bothered you other than that time at The Grill?”
“Yes...I didn’t tell you?”
“No, you didn’t.”
“When I left the psychic’s office, he was waiting for me. He said he just happened to be in the neighborhood looking for prospective rental property and saw my car.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about this earlier?”
“It wasn’t on purpose,” I said in my defense. “Every time I had an important episode to impart something else happened, like my ending up in the hospital or an interruption such as a telephone call. The story simply fell by the wayside.”
“Yes, we have had a lot of interruptions and incidents lately. I understand perfectly,” he said. “Any other info you need to pass on?”
“There was another incident which occurred at Greg’s funeral, involving John Durand and Michael Benoit.”
“What happened there?”
“I overheard an extremely interesting dialogue between those two.”
“We don’t have time right now to go into that, but I want to hear about this conversation. As soon as I get back we’ll talk.”
“Great,” I said. “When do you think you’ll be home?”
“I should be back about seven-thirty or eight, barring any unforeseen circumstances.”
“I hope there aren’t any of those.”
He gave a low chuckle. “Me, too.”
The moment we ended our call, an eerie sensation overwhelmed me. A feeling of impending doom followed me through the rest of the afternoon. I tried to brush it off, chiding myself for being overly dramatic, but the sense of foreboding stayed with me. With the kind of luck I’ve had lately, the possibility existed for an unexpected event to occur, and I didn’t foresee a pleasant one.
Twenty-two
The box of old photos in my closet kept calling my name. Heaven knows what else I could possibly find in there; I’d looked through the pictures two or three times. The urge to sift through them one more time grew stronger by the minute.
I stood on a stepstool to reach the plastic storage container on the top shelf. Grasping for the box, I almost lost my balance. I grabbed hold of the shelf ledge and in the process, klutzy me somehow managed to knock the container off the shelf. The impact made a loud thump; the lid flew off spilling the contents all over the floor. Great, maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. My addiction had again lured me with the promise of a fix.
I sat in place on the floor and began to return the photos to the box without even checking them. Katy, the cat, strolled over to investigate. I stroked her head several times. She sniffed the photos apparently deciding the pictures were of little interest. She turned and leaped onto the bed. The cat circled around in place, finally curling up to watch me from a loftier perch.
Moving on to clear this mess, I tossed more photos into the container. One photograph caught my eye and made me pause for a second look. The picture showed five women at a social function. Four of them I knew were Melanie, Lisa, Amanda and Mary Catherine. The fourth female looked familiar, but I couldn’t bring her name to mind. I flipped it over to see if names were listed. No such luck. A note stating “1998 April Fools Party” was the only clue. Although Anne died two years later, my chest tightened at the mention of the April 1st date.
I studied the unidentified woman’s face. She wore her red hair swept back off one side of her face. On her the style looked rather tawdry. Wait a minute. Red hair? Could this mystery lady be Charlotte McBride? Lisa said Charlotte’s name sounded familiar. She might remember the occasion. I decided to give her a call.
Lisa didn’t answer so I left a message on her voice mail about the photo. I waited, expecting a return call shortly. Twenty-five minutes went by and she still hadn’t returned my call. Impatient for answers I decided to drive by her gallery on the odd chance of catching her at home. No, maybe she didn’t pick up the phone because of work on an art project, or she could be entertaining a date. I shouldn’t disturb her. Lisa does have a life.
Another look at the photo caused my skin to tingle. The unidentified woman bore a strong family resemblance to someone I knew. Who was it? No, I’m imagining things.
I decided on a visit to Melanie’s house. Hopefully she hadn’t moved to another place since she contemplated a divorce from Michael. If I phoned her she might not be receptive to a visit from me. Using the element of surprise seemed my best option. I slipped my cell phone into my pocket, snatched my purse off the table, and stuffed the photo inside. Rushing out the door, I left the rest of the photographs strewn about the room.
Before backing out the driveway, I made a quick call to Jim to let him know where I’d be in case he returned before me. It went directly to voice-mail, so I left a detailed message about my intentions.
About twenty minutes later I turned onto Robert E. Lee Boulevard. Another turn took me to the street where my cousin and her husband lived. Melanie and Michael were the only couple in the group who didn’t own a historic New Orleans home. They chose to buil
d a new modern house in Lakeview, an upscale neighborhood several blocks south of Lake Ponchartrain and close to the City Park Golf course. The house suffered a good deal of water damage during Katrina, but Michael and Melanie were the first in the neighborhood to restore their home.
Their driveway curved around, leading to a three car garage at the rear of the house. The garage door stood open to reveal three vehicles. Melanie’s Porsche and the Lexus belonging to Michael were both parked inside. Nestled alongside the Lex was a silver BMW. My stomach did a flip. The car sure looked like the one Trey drove this afternoon.
I started to turn around and leave. Trey Williamson was the last person I wanted to encounter right now. A tiny voice inside my head kept urging me forward.
Peering through the sliding glass door, I spotted my cousin. Alone in the room, she looked agitated, pacing back and forth. Rather than ring the bell at the other rear entrance and call attention to myself, I softly tapped on the glass.
Melanie’s head jerked around to the direction of the sound. Her mouth tightened when she recognized me.
Looks like I wasn’t too welcome a guest, not that I blamed her. She recovered from the surprise and walked briskly over to allow me inside.
“This is unexpected,” she said. “What’s going on?”
“First of all, I need to apologize for my rude behavior the last time you came to my house.”
“You drove all the way over here to tell me you’re sorry?” Suspicion clearly showed in her face. “I believe you’re simply looking for more information to clear Steven.”
“I don’t blame you for being mistrustful,” I said. “I’m sincere about the apology, but to be honest, there is another purpose for my visit. I wanted to ask if you could identify a woman in a photo I ran across this afternoon.”
“I knew you had ulterior motives,” she said with a huff. “Okay, let me see this photograph.”
A loud outburst from a room across the hall caught us both by surprise. We exchanged an anxious glance. The door stood partly open, allowing the participants’ loud voices to be clearly heard.
“Are you trying to bring the cops down on us?”
“I’m not doing anything.” Trey sounded annoyed.
“Cops? What’s going on?” I whispered.
“I don’t know.”
I wasn‘t so sure. “If you know anything…”
“No, I told you the other day, there was something going on with them. I don’t know what.”
“You seemed agitated before I came inside. I saw you pacing.”
“I planned to ask Michael for a divorce tonight.” She spoke so low I had to strain to hear her. “But Trey showed up and they closeted themselves in there.”
Her eyes registered anxiety as the forceful conversation between the men continued.
“You’re a freakin’ idiot, Trey,” Michael shouted.
“Hey, don’t be such a kill-joy. It’s all in fun,” Trey said.
Michael lowered his voice slightly, but his message was still audible. “You’re not only calling attention to yourself, but eventually to me and John.”
“How do you figure that?” Trey came back, not bothering to turn down the volume. “I enjoy giving Susan a hard time. I’m just having a little fun.”
“All you think about is having a good time. What happens when they start questioning you about the night Anne was killed?”
“The cops aren’t going to question me again. Amanda already told them I was at the party with her.”
“Did she know why you made her give you an alibi?”
“No, but she knew if she didn’t, I’d be considered a suspect. Naturally, wifey didn’t want me to go to jail. She’s made my life a living hell ever since. I’ve been tiptoeing around for ten years.”
“Well, you’d better stay on her good side because if you don’t she’s likely to go to the cops and tell them you were on the scene. You’ll be a murder suspect for sure.
“I didn’t murder Anne and there’s no evidence to prove I did. You worry too much.”
“No, you don’t worry enough,” Michael said, his tone adamant.
“Just because I witnessed her going in and coming out of the house doesn’t make me involved in the murder,” Trey insisted.
Oh my God. Did Trey see the killer? My heart pumped so hard I feared it might burst out of my chest. I glanced at Melanie. She appeared to be in shock, her face almost as white as the blouse she wore.
“If Amanda ever gets wind of where you really were and talks to the cops, you could be charged with withholding evidence. They’re bound to ask what you were doing outside the house, and who knows where those questions will lead.”
“Will you give it a rest? I was simply walking past the house,” Trey said.
“Yeah, like the cops are going to believe your phony story.”
“There’s nothing to prove otherwise. Do you honestly believe I’m going to tell them why I was there?”
“If they question you, it wouldn’t be difficult to slip up and give everything away. I know you, buddy. You won’t go down by yourself. You’ll be all too happy to name the others who knew the identity of the real killer. We’ll all be charged with impeding the investigation or withholding evidence. What if they find out why you were really outside the house? I can’t believe I let you talk me into your stupid scheme.”
“Chill out. My old man can get all of us out of any scrape we get into.”
“Murder could hardly be considered a scrape.”
“Murder? I didn’t have any intention of murdering the bastard. Just roughing him up a bit.”
“So you said. I’m not sure I believe your only intention was to beat him up.”
Melanie reached for my arm. “I can’t believe this.”
“Do you realize what this means?”
She refused to look at me. “It means Michael may be in trouble.”
I wanted to scream at her, but I restrained the urge. “It means Steven didn’t kill Anne. A woman murdered her, just as I suspected.”
The dialog between the two men became inaudible for a short time. But their discussion proved to be far from over. Hearing their voices once more we both turned in their direction.
“Listen, I’m not going to say anything to involve you and John. That’s a promise,” Trey said without his usual devil-may-care attitude.
“Were you still on the scene when Susan showed up and found the body?”
“Yeah, that’s when I decided to get the hell out of there.”
“Well, you need to leave Susan alone. Her husband is a cop, for Christ’s sake.”
“Okay, I’ll lay off,” Trey agreed with resignation.
A long pause followed his agreement. I could hear the sound of a chair scraping on the floor and several masculine chuckles and laughs. Presumably Michael had stopped lecturing Trey and the conversation had turned to male bonding.
Then out of the blue, Michael’s voice could be heard clearly again. “What’s your take on why she killed Anne and not Steven?”
Melanie gasped. My throat tightened.
“She probably figured shooting LaGrange would be too easy on him,” Trey answered. “Killing Anne made him suffer. You know he’s gone through hell, big time. The situation couldn’t have turned out better if we planned it.”
“Was Steven sleeping with her, too?”
“He could’ve been, but my guess is her motive was revenge for her sister, Charlotte. Although, why she would do such a thing for a slut like her is beyond me.”
“I had the same theory about why she did it.”
Trey laughed. “It must be true then.”
“But I can’t figure out how she managed to leave her house undetected.”
“I don’t know, but she did. No doubt about it. I still say Anne didn’t deserve being killed for trash like Charlie.”
“A slut, huh? Trash? That wasn’t what you said back then.”
“Hey, what can I say? Must have been the other he
ad talking.”
They both laughed.
Stunned, I braced myself on the back of a nearby chair. My head filled with questions. Had Mary Catherine escaped the detection of the video surveillance cameras at her home? Did she have a sister named Charlotte McBride? I didn’t recall a sister, only two brothers, but Trey couldn’t be referring to anyone else. Or could he? My notion about a family resemblance to one of the women came back to me.
As far as Trey was concerned, my suspicions about his involvement were confirmed. His connection just wasn’t what I expected. In reality he waited outside the house with the intent to do harm to Steven. Michael correctly identified Trey’s true intentions. He planned to kill Steven, not simply rough him up. My brain started working once more and made me realize the answers didn’t matter right now. The words of these two men would prove my brother innocent…and I had a witness.
“Mel, this is proof Steven didn’t kill Anne,” I whispered. “This is what I need to clear him. They know who killed Anne. You’ve got to testify you heard this conversation with me.”
She shook her head. “No, I can’t do it. Michael’s life would be ruined.”
“Michael’s life?” My voice rose in volume. “What about Steven’s life? Michael committed a crime. He knowingly allowed my brother to be arrested for a murder someone else committed. He belongs in jail.”
“I wanted to divorce him, not send him to jail.” Melanie squeezed her hands together until her fingers drained of color.
“Oh…but you’re willing to let Steven rot in jail for a crime he didn’t commit.” It took all my willpower not to grab her and shake some sense into her. “If you didn’t know the truth before, you do now.”
“Look, I’m sorry for believing Steven murdered Anne and accusing him, but I can’t do anything else but apologize. I just can’t.” She sounded on the verge of hysteria.
This was getting me nowhere. I took several deep breaths in an attempt to calm down. They didn’t help much. I felt a tirade coming on.
“Both those men in there have spent their lives having indiscretions and who knows what else covered up with their fathers’ money and influence…I admit, Steven may well fall in that category, too. Well, not this time.”