The Reckoning

by Jana DeLeon

  But Holt knew all of it was connected. He could feel it in his bones.

  Somewhere, in all these seemingly mismatched pieces, was a picture that would eventually take shape. And he was going to keep pushing until it did. His dad had gone too long without justice. His sons had gone too long without answers.

  They were all due some peace.

  * * *

  ALEX PUSHED HER CART down the bread aisle, glad she’d made a grocery list at Sarah’s house. Her mind was so overloaded, she would have stood there for hours without having a clue what they needed otherwise. Like the last time, when she’d returned to Sarah’s with enough tomatoes to feed a small nation.

  She selected a loaf of bread and some rolls, then checked her list. Milk was the only item remaining and then she’d be ready to check out. She’d call Holt when she got in line, figuring that would put him at the store by the time she got through paying.

  As she rounded the corner to the dairy section, she saw Lorraine Conroy standing at the bakery counter. Given an opportunity, Alex would have turned and left without the milk, just to avoid the woman. Her emotions were too raw and she was too on edge to deal with the shallow accusations of the biggest bitch in Vodoun. But before she could even make a move to wheel the cart around, Lorraine turned around and locked her gaze on Alex.

  “Well,” Lorraine said, “grocery shopping for your cousin again? Best be careful—men don’t like fat women. Or maybe the two of you plan on living out your lives together.”

  “Commenting on fat women seems a strange statement coming from the woman standing at the bakery counter.”

  Lorraine laughed. “This is not for me. It’s Martin’s birthday.”

  “And you’re getting him a cake. How cute. Just like you would for any little boy.”

  Lorraine’s face turned beet-red. “At least I can keep a man.”

  “It’s a shame you didn’t know how when your husband was around.” Alex knew what she said was a cheap shot before the words even left her mouth, but three decades of insults from Lorraine overrode any manners she had left.

  She knew the slap was coming as soon as the words left her mouth, but before Lorraine’s hand could connect with her face, Alex caught her wrist. Lorraine yanked her hand from Alex’s grasp.

  “Why don’t you and your cousin leave? Vodoun would be a better place without your kind around.”

  Lorraine whirled around and hurried away from the bakery counter, the cake long forgotten. A clap of thunder boomed overhead and the lights flickered. Alex grabbed a carton of milk and shoved it in her cart. If she hurried, they might make it back to Sarah’s before the storm hit full force.

  She hurried to the front of the store, but drew up short as she caught sight of a man running across the street away from the store. It was him. The height, the build, the gait. It was the killer.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Alex fumbled in her purse for her phone and pressed in Holt’s number. “He’s here,” she said. “Right outside the grocery store.”

  “Who’s there?” Holt asked.

  “The killer. I just saw him run across the street.”

  “Stay inside,” Holt said. “I’m pulling up to the store now.”

  Alex placed her groceries on the conveyor belt and tried to appear normal as the clerk rang her up. She handed the clerk cash and impatiently waited as the clerk counted out the change. Holt was still nowhere in sight when she grabbed her bags and hurried out of the store, completely ignoring Holt’s order to stay inside.

  She looked up and down the street but didn’t see Holt’s rental car or the killer. Rain began to fall, and she held one hand over her forehead to keep the huge drops from falling into her eyes. She was just about to step back into the store when she caught sight of Holt hurrying up the sidewalk a block away.

  She rushed down the sidewalk to meet him. “Why didn’t you park in front of the store?”

  “I saw a man running down the alley a block away. I followed him thinking it might be the man you saw.” He pointed a block away to an alley and took one of the grocery stacks from her. “I’m parked there. What was he wearing?”

  The rain began to come down heavier and she hurried beside him down the street toward the alley he’d indicated. “Black slacks and a rain jacket. I only saw him from behind, but he moved just like the guy in the alley.” She blew out a breath of frustration. “I know that sounds stupid—”

  “No, it doesn’t.”

  “What was the guy in the alley wearing?”

  “Black slacks and a rain jacket.”

  Alex felt her pulse spike. “Did you see his face?”

  “Yeah.” He frowned.

  “Do you know who it was?”

  “Martin Rommel.”

  She sucked in a breath and climbed into the car. “Lorraine’s boyfriend? You’re sure?”

  “I’ve only seen him once, but it was him. I’m sure. He drove away in her Mercedes.”

  A million thoughts ran through her mind. “But what…why? Sarah only knows the man by sight and reputation, and he and Bobby would hardly move in the same circles. Besides, Rommel’s not old enough to have kidnapped those girls years ago.”

  “No, but I believe this is some type of organized crime. Rommel could easily be the next generation of hired guns.”

  “But hired to accomplish what, exactly? What in the world is going on here?”

  “I don’t know, but if Rommel is the killer, I have to wonder what he’s up to with Lorraine.”

  “She’s a good cover for him,” Alex said. “Wealthy and carries some weight in Vodoun.”

  “Above reproach,” he said. “I tried to tell my uncle earlier that someone local was involved. Someone above reproach, but he didn’t want to hear it.”

  “Well, he’s really not going to want to hear this.”

  “He’s not going to.”

  “But don’t you think—”

  “I think if I tell my uncle that Rommel’s involved, he won’t believe a word of it, then he’ll tell his mother.”

  “Who’ll tell Rommel,” she finished, and sighed. “You know how I feel about Lorraine, but she needs to be warned.”

  “Not until we’re sure.” Holt stared silently out the windshield into the pouring rain for several seconds. “Do you know what Rommel does for Lorraine, exactly? I know there’s gossip, but my uncle claims their relationship is business. I don’t buy it, but what business does he take care of?”

  “I don’t know. I doubt Sarah does, either, but I wouldn’t want to ask her even if I thought she did. She’s hanging on by a thread, and if I give her a tangent to launch onto, I’m not sure she’d make sound decisions.”

  “You think she’d go after him?”

  “If she believed for a minute that he was responsible for Bobby’s death and Erika’s kidnapping, I think she would in a heartbeat.”

  Holt blew out a breath. “Yeah. I guess I wouldn’t blame her. So is there anyone we can ask who won’t gossip about it?”

  “Ms. Maude.”

  “Is she going to shoot me if I step onto her land? Her reputation for disliking men is sorta legendary in these parts.”

  “Ms. Maude doesn’t like people as a species. Added to that, she has a low tolerance for stupid and there’s plenty of that around.”

  “She’s sort of a hermit. Do you really think she’ll know anything that can help?”

  “I don’t think she misses much. Be honest with her about what we’re doing, and I think she’ll tell you anything she knows.”

  Holt started the car. “Ms. Maude’s it is, then.”

  * * *

  THE GRAVEL ROAD THAT LED to Ms. Maude’s house was narrow, rutted and barely passable with a vehicle. Holt tried not to cringe at the sound of tree bra
nches scraping down the side of his second rental car of the week. His brief foray into law enforcement had been hell on vehicles. The moss-heavy trees draped over the road like a canopy and combined with the storm, made visibility almost nil. It seemed like forever before he finally saw a light from her house ahead.

  They jumped from the car and ran to the porch but were still drenched by the time they got there. Before Holt could even lift a hand to knock, the door swung open and he found himself staring down the wrong end of a shotgun.

  He stepped back, certain Alex had made a grave miscalculation in suggesting they question Ms. Maude. The woman was a tiny thing, but when you were holding the right end of a shotgun, size became far less important. Her silver hair was cut short and stuck out in all directions and she studied him with a cold, calculating stare.

  “What do you want?” she asked.

  “Ms. Maude,” Alex said, “it’s Alexandria Bastin. You taught me to shoot a nine-millimeter this week, remember? I’m Christine Bastin’s daughter.”

  Ms. Maude looked in Alex’s direction and squinted. A couple seconds later, her expression switched to one of recognition. “What the hell are you doing standing out here in the storm? Best come inside before you drown.”

  She lowered the shotgun and motioned them in the house. Holt stepped inside, praying that Alex hadn’t missed the mark in labeling Ms. Maude safe and relatively sane.

  Ms. Maude’s house was a study in contrast from its owner. Dainty lace doilies perched on top of antique tables, with crystal bowls and vases on top of them. Everything was neat with military precision, and Holt felt his spirits rise a bit as they followed her into the kitchen. Perhaps Alex was right. A person this organized physically may also possess a very organized mind.

  “I was just making a pot of coffee,” Ms. Maude said. “Would you like a cup?”

  “I would love a cup,” Alex said. She waved a hand at him. “This is Holt Chamberlain. He’s filling in for the sheriff while he’s out with a broken leg.”

  Ms. Maude slid two cups of coffee in front of them and narrowed her eyes at Holt. “You Walt Conroy’s boy?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “From which woman—first, second or however many was after?”

  “The first.”

  Ms. Maude nodded. “Your dad was a smart businessman but stupid about relationships. Drove those women crazy and probably would have continued to their entire lives because they would have allowed it.”

  “You’re probably right.”

  “Wasn’t right to do you boys that way, though. Grown women’s got a choice. Kids don’t.”

  “I agree with you, ma’am.”

  “Well, seems you turned out to be a decent sort despite not having a good role model, so what brings you here in the middle of a storm to talk to an old woman? I ain’t broke any laws—not that your fool of an uncle would know if I did it in front of him. But I figure you got something on your mind if you came all the way out here in the storm.”

  “We need your help,” Alex said.

  “Is this about your missing niece?”

  “Yes.”

  Ms. Maude nodded. “I’ll help any way I can. When I think of how scared that poor child must be…well, it just makes me want to haul out my shotgun and put it to good use. What is it you need to know?”

  “I want to know everything you can tell me about Martin Rommel,” Holt said.

  Ms. Maude raised her eyebrows. “Well, I guess I know now why you’re here. Can’t have everyone knowing you’re checking up on Lorraine’s bit of fluff, can you?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “You’re shrewd to guess that anyone besides me would probably take that bit of information back to her, but I got no problem telling it how it is and keeping my mouth shut about it besides.”

  “I’d appreciate anything you can tell me.”

  “The man’s a snake,” Ms. Maude said, “and a liar.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I got a feeling for such things, and I didn’t like him the moment I set eyes on him. Never had feelings so strong for someone before except a man I met in a bar in New Orleans when I was young and foolish. That man turned out to be a serial killer who was looking to make me his victim that night. If I hadn’t listened to my instincts, I wouldn’t be talking to you today. That taught me to never ignore what I feel.”

  Holt nodded. “You’re smart to do so. My uncle said Rommel’s relationship with Lorraine is about business, but do you know what that business is?”

  Ms. Maude snorted. “Business, my foot. The woman’s

  got him hanging around like a plaything. Oh, she cooked up some story about him running her high-end restaurant…years of experience and a culinary degree and the like. I ate there a couple of times and one thing is for certain—Martin Rommel has never set foot in a restaurant before that one—not to run it, anyway.”

  “You’re certain.”

  “My mother owned a country kitchen. I worked there for forty-two years before Mamma sold and retired to Florida. That man wouldn’t know fine dining from a bologna sandwich.”

  “So what do you think is going on?”

  “I don’t know, but you can bet he’s up to no good. Do you think he took that girl?”

  “I don’t know,” Holt said, “but I’ll be watching him closely.”

  “Be careful with that,” Ms. Maude said. “He’s got cunning. He plays all smooth and mannered, but I can see the wheels turning in the back of his eyes. The man’s always looking for an angle—a weakness he can exploit.”

  “What’s he got on Lorraine?”

  “She’s a lonely older woman who was married to a serial cheater. That’s all a smooth talker like Rommel needs to get in the door. Some women don’t listen to their instincts. They always pay for it in the end.”

  “Do you have any idea where he came from? If he has family around?”

  “Not that I’ve ever heard of. Seemed like he just appeared one day after Walter Senior died and never left. I asked around back then, but no one seemed to know much about him. After a while, he became old news and people stopped asking.”

  Alex looked over at him and frowned. “I think it’s time someone finds out exactly who Martin Rommel is and why he’s in Vodoun.”

  * * *

  HOLT PEERED OUT THE kitchen window of Sarah’s home into the stormy night. Alex stepped up beside him and looked out into the inky blackness that the porch light failed miserably in illuminating.

  “See anything?” she asked.

  “Unless there was something to see six inches from the window, I’m not going to see a thing.” He released the curtain and it slid back over the window. “Habit, I guess.”

  Alex nodded. “I just finished looking out the front window.”

  “There’s a state trooper posted in a car across the street. No one’s coming in the front of the house.”

  “I know, but I have this feeling that someone’s watching.”

  “Someone is watching—the state trooper.”

  Alex sighed. “You know what I mean.”

  Holt nodded. He’d had the same feeling all day, even though he’d found no evidence of a tail since the car incident that morning. Still, tailing wasn’t necessary when everyone in Vodoun knew where Sarah lived. With the rental car parked out front, all it would take was a drive around the block to know exactly where they were.

  “Did you find anything on Rommel?” Alex asked. Holt had dropped her off at Sarah’s and went straight to the sheriff’s department after their conversation with Ms. Maude, hoping to fill in the blanks on Lorraine’s “business associate.”

  “Not a thing, and that’s not a good sign. There’s only three types of people who don’t leave a trace on the internet—those who live as hermits, those
who intentionally live off-radar or those who started as one person and are now masquerading as another.”

  “But surely there’s something.”

  “Nothing. Not even a driver’s license.”

  “Are you going to tell Lorraine?”

  “No. I’m going to find a way to get a fingerprint first. You can change your look and identity, but prints always remain the same. If Rommel’s gone to this much trouble to hide his identity, likely he’ll have a record. If I go to Lorraine without proof, she won’t believe me, and she’ll warn him.”

  “Lorraine always was too stubborn for her own good.”

  He nodded. “I talked to Mathilde’s doctor. He’s releasing her tomorrow at noon.”

  “Are you going to arrest her?”

  “I don’t have any reason to believe she had anything to do with this. Certainly she didn’t run our car off the road today or shoot someone in that alley.”

  “But Bobby’s body was dumped somewhere near the island.”

  “I think someone is using Mathilde as a scapegoat. Someone who knows what happened years ago.”

  “You think they planted the barrette, too?”

  “If someone were trying to frame her, it would fit.”

  “But it doesn’t make sense, Holt. They cleaned out Bobby’s place after they killed him to make it look like he’s the one that took Erika. Why plant evidence on the island?”

  “Yes, but dumping the body near the island may have been a way to hedge their bets just in case it was discovered. That and the barrette.”

  “I guess that could be, but the biggest question still isn’t answered—why kidnap Erika in the first place? She’s just a little girl. Do you actually believe there’s an organized gang of pedophiles kidnapping little girls then committing multiple murders to hide it all?”

  Holt blew out a breath. “No, but I can’t come up with a single idea that works.”

  Alex slapped her hand against the top of the couch. “It’s all so maddening. There has to be logic behind this on some level, but yet all we find is more questions. Erika is still out there going through God knows what while Sarah slowly goes off the deep end. And we sit here in this house with armed guards and don’t have even one idea about how to fix all this.”