Darkwater Lies

by Robin Caroll

  He couldn’t seem to make his legs obey his command to move. His father had put him in the worst spot, and Dimitri didn’t know what to do.

  “So, you’ll do as Claude says, or Addy will lose her job—is that it?” His sister’s voice was filled with raw emotion.

  Dimitri spun to face her leaning in the doorway. “Lissette!”

  Her hands were balled into fists on her hips. “No, I want to know where I stand with you.”

  “How long have you been there?” The pain on her smooth mocha complexion was enough of a sign to know she’d heard enough.

  “Apparently long enough to hear Claude demand you betray me.”

  “It’s not that simple.” How could he explain? He didn’t want her to think he was giving up on their plan.

  “He didn’t mince words, Dimitri. He said I was already gone, basically.”

  “Because you’re going to turn twenty-four soon.”

  “What does my age have to do with anything?” She crossed her arms over her chest and raised her chin.

  “Because as the law is written, the forced-heirship mandates of the state don’t apply to anyone over the age of twenty-three.”

  She shifted her weight from one leg to the other. “Is that absolute?”

  “I’m not sure. I put in a call to Mr. Kidel’s office this morning because of the way Claude was acting regarding you. I figured he was up to something, so I just wanted to get confirmation of our legal standing like what we were told last year.”

  “What did the attorney say?”

  Dimitri shook his head. “Xavier’s been in court, according to his assistant, with a big trial and will be for the rest of the week. She took a message to have him call me when he comes back to the office next week.” He closed the distance between them and took her hand in his. “But don’t worry. We’ll figure something out.”

  She jerked her hand free of his. “It sounds to me like Claude’s already figured out how to get what he wants. He can get rid of me as soon as my birthday rolls around, and he can get you to do his bidding by threatening to fire Addy.” Tears filled her eyes. “The great Claude Pampalon wins again.”

  “No, don’t say that, Lissette. We’ll figure something out after we talk to Xavier and see what the law really says.”

  “Who did we think we were kidding, Dimitri?” She shook her head. “Seriously, who are we to go up against Claude Pampalon? You’ve been his puppet all your life, whether you want to admit that or not. I stepped into the play willingly. Wanting to be accepted. Wanting to please.” Her eyes glistened even as her voice cracked. “I should have known that I could never be enough for Claude. That he never wanted me to begin with. I didn’t know, though, that he’d asked her to get rid of me before I was born. That’s a whole new level of hurt.”

  Dimitri’s heart and gut flipped places. “No, Lissette, don’t go there. Claude is a callous narcissist who will lie and say anything to hurt those he considers threats. Don’t believe him.”

  “Why wouldn’t I? He might be the biggest, most pompous jerk I’ve ever met, but he hasn’t lied to me. He told me he didn’t want me, and he never has, apparently. Seems to me he’s been consistent in wanting me to just disappear.”

  The defeat in her voice was Dimitri’s undoing. He pulled her into a hug. She resisted for a second, then leaned into him. “Shh, cher. If you give up, he wins. He wants to destroy our plans, but we won’t let him. I won’t.”

  “But he’ll fire Addy, and I know how you feel about her . . .”

  “I’ll figure something out, Lissette. Please know that I will.” He didn’t know what, but he’d do everything in his power to make sure both Lissette and Adelaide were taken care of.

  Dimitri would do whatever it took. No matter what.

  Beau

  “Well, lookie here, it’s the forensics report back from the Darkwater’s vault.” Marcel waved the file folder at Beau as he plopped down on the edge of his desk.

  Beau glanced over to his partner. “Anything surprising?”

  Marcel opened the folder and read. “Let’s see . . . one set of fingerprints on the vault door was identified, belonging to Leon Edwards.”

  Expected and didn’t help their case. “What else?”

  Marcel went back to the report. “Two sets of fingerprints on the safe itself. One set belonging to Claude Pampalon, and the others are Addy’s.” He read more, then stopped and grinned over at Beau. “There are three sets of prints on the drawer in the safe. Claude and Addy’s, but the last set belongs to Jackson Larder.”

  “Really?”

  Marcel’s words spilled out on top of each other. “Also, got the report back from Raphael in cyber on all the security guards at the Darkwater. Guess what Larder did in the navy?” Marcel didn’t wait for Beau to guess. “Virtual intel. Cyber counter-intelligence.”

  “Bingo!”

  “Yep. A hack would be no problem for Larder. I guess you were right that Larder had gotten Leon to open the door to the vault and probably the safe, then shot Leon and Rubin. But why didn’t he have Leon open the drawer too?”

  “He might not have gotten that close to the safe to see that there was a drawer that would need to be opened. Think about it. He’s standing a few feet away from them. Tells Leon to open the safe. Leon does. For whatever reason, Larder doesn’t check the safe, just sees that the door’s open, so he thinks it’s safe to shoot them.”

  Marcel nodded.

  “Or,” Beau continued, “maybe something spooked him so he shot and hurried to grab the crown to get out.”

  “Could be either.”

  “But with the prints there, that’s evidence that he was in that vault and in the safe. I doubt any of the security guards are given access to the safe itself.” Beau lifted a pen and rolled it through his fingers. “Addy said the only ones with the code are the two Pampalons, herself, and Lissette.”

  “Right.”

  Beau’s cell rang. He smiled at the display photo of him and Addy at one of last year’s Mardi Gras balls. “Hey.”

  “How does the press know Jackson was murdered?”

  “I’m just as unhappy as you are, Addy. And my captain is furious.” Beau leaned back in his chair. “We’re doing everything we can on this end to see if we can find how the information is getting out there.”

  “That Allison Williams woman nearly accosted me leaving lunch.”

  “I’m so sorry. Are you okay?” The reporter reminded him too much of a bulldog—determined and focused, with little regard for anything else.

  Addy laughed. “I’m fine, but you might want to check on her. When I drove off, Tracey was giving her an earful.”

  “Oh, my!” Addy’s best friend, while beautiful and with a heart of gold, was very defensive when it came to Addy. Beau loved that about her.

  “Anyway, just thought you might want a heads-up that she’s sniffing around for comments.”

  “I appreciate that.” He sat up and ran a finger over his bottom lip. “Hey, do you think it’s possible that she’s getting her information from someone at the hotel?”

  “What?”

  “I mean, like a housekeeper or somebody like that? It just seems that as soon as information is available at the hotel, the reporter seems to know it too.”

  “I doubt it, but I guess anything is possible. I’ll see what I can find out.”

  “Thanks, Addy.” He lifted his notes. “Hey, in Jackson Larder’s file at the hotel, do you have what he did in the navy?”

  “Hang on just a second. All of security’s personnel files are on my desk.” The sound of papers rattling filled the background of the connection. “Um, no. He just has down here that he was in the navy for five years and was honorably discharged. Why?”

  He shouldn’t give her such information, but this was Addy, and she was pretty good at reading people too. “Off the record?”

  “Okay.”

  “He dealt with cyber details. A computer hack would be nothing for him to pull off
. Would that surprise you?”

  She hesitated. “I didn’t know him well, but now that you ask, there was a little something that seemed, I don’t know, reserved about him. I thought perhaps all ex-military were reserved. Is he a suspect?”

  “Right now he’s the best suspect I’ve got for the hack at your hotel, but then that begs the question of who killed him.”

  “This is getting really complicated, Beau.”

  “Don’t stress. We’re still working the investigation. I guess I’ll see you at your dad’s tonight for dinner. Still BBQ?”

  “Yeah. See you then.”

  Beau hung up the phone, but he couldn’t deny the surge of happiness that rushed through him over knowing he’d get to spend some time with Addy in a relaxed setting. Away from the case. Away from the hotel.

  And away from Dimitri Pampalon.

  13

  Addy

  “Here are the video files you requested, Ms. Fountaine.” Hixson handed Addy a USB stick across her desk. “They’re titled for the day they were recorded. I included Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday until the system went down.”

  “That was fast.” She smiled at the young man. No matter what Beau and Marcel might consider, she knew—she knew—Hixson was not involved in any way. He was barely more than a kid, and a kid who wanted to please.

  “It was easy.” A blush crept over his cheeks, and he diverted his gaze to the floor. “We had already isolated the files for the police’s cyber-crimes review.” He shifted his weight from one leg to the other and jiggled his keys in his pants pocket. “I’ve gone over the files myself several times with the police cyber investigator. Is there something specific you’re looking for, Ms. Fountaine? I might be able to save you some time.”

  She couldn’t very well announce that she thought the hotel owner was lying about taking something out of the safe, but she really didn’t have a lot of time to waste either. She popped the USB stick into her computer and accessed the drive. “Did you happen to document everyone going in and out of the vault?”

  His head bobbed, his too-long bangs falling into his eyes. “Yes, ma’am. The police asked for an index, too. It’s right there on the file. The one named Index. I also cross referenced that with the people who are on the video entering and exiting the vault who corresponded correctly with the electronic code used to disarm and open the vault door. Also, on the videos, twice a day, housekeeping service came by and cleaned the outer door and the floor in that hallway. I didn’t document those times or who was there because they never disarmed the door. If you need that information, I can track it down for you.”

  He’d given her exactly what she needed. She double clicked on the file name. “That’s not necessary. This is perfect. Thank you, Hixson.” She smiled at him again.

  His blush deepened. “Yes, ma’am. If you need anything else, well . . . you know where to find me, Ms. Fountaine.”

  He turned so fast that he nearly tripped over his own feet rushing from her office. She shook her head, smiling as he stumbled out her door like a kid racing out of the principal’s office. Once the door clicked shut behind him, she lowered her gaze and read the list of files on the index:

  Monday: 0800: Sully Clements enters the vault—exits 0805 Monday: 0932: Claude Pampalon enters the vault—exits 0944 Monday: 1941: Adelaide Fountaine enters the vault with Lissette Bastien, Claude and Dimitri Pampalon. Accompanied by Princess Katerina von Pavlovna, Liechtenstein royal guards Rubin Hassler and Luca Banzer, and Edmond Jansen—all exit 1958 Monday: 2001: Leon Edwards enters the vault—exits 2005 Tuesday: 0758: Sully Clements enters the vault—exits 0804 Tuesday: 1958: Jackson Larder enters the vault—exits 2011 Wednesday: 0801: Leon Edwards enters the vault—exits 0805

  Addy read that the file noted the recording ceased at ten after five on Wednesday afternoon. She sat back in her chair. Claude Pampalon had definitely lied. He had never taken anything out after they put the princess’s tiara in the safe. He’d never even logged going back into the vault after Monday evening.

  She clicked on the video file for Claude’s visit to the vault on Monday morning and narrowed her eyes as Claude’s figure filled the screen. His salt-and-pepper hair glistened under the hotel’s chandelier in the hall.

  Gripped in his left hand was the black pouch she recognized from the drawer in the safe. It was tubular shaped, about four inches in diameter, and about two feet or so long. She watched as the on-screen Claude disappeared into the vault with the pouch, leaving the heavy door ajar. He stepped out again and locked the vault door behind him at nine forty-four, according to the video’s timestamp.

  He had nothing in his hands.

  Had she not seen the black pouch in the safe’s drawer, she would assume from this video that he put it somewhere other than the safe. But she had seen it. Her fingers had grazed the velvet when she set Katerina’s tiara in the drawer in front of it. She wasn’t crazy.

  What had he put in the drawer? Why did he keep saying nothing of his was stolen when something clearly was? That was so out of character for him. Claude was the type to scream from the rooftops if someone stole anything from him. Ever.

  Addy closed the file and ejected the USB drive, the possibilities racing in her head. Did Claude know whoever had broken into the safe? Oh, mercy, had he been in on it? Had whatever was in the black pouch been payment to someone for breaking in?

  Surely not. But . . . he claimed nothing of his had been stolen, which was clearly a lie. Even if he knew who’d done it, that wouldn’t stop him from claiming his belonging had been stolen. And the stolen fifty thousand dollars in cash was no small chump change.

  Addy’s gut knotted. Was his denial of anything being stolen because he’d orchestrated the whole robbery? To what avail? For the tiara? Considering what Edmond and Katerina had told her about the history of the tiara, she could understand the significance of the crown. But would Claude really steal it? To what—just own it? He couldn’t ever display it. Just to know that he had it? That thought made her want to hurl.

  Yet it seemed the most logical answer, and that terrified her.

  She needed to talk to somebody. Tell somebody so they could laugh at her and tell her she was being crazy. Someone who would poke gaping holes in her theory.

  Addy’s gaze settled on the framed photo on the corner of her desk. It was one of her favorite pictures of her and her father, taken years ago during Mardi Gras. They’d been to a parade, and Beau had snapped the candid shot of them with piles of big beaded necklaces around their necks. Both of them wore their identical smiles. It was a rare photo of them out in public together. Ever since Vincent Fountaine had become The Master of Suspense in the literary world under the pen name of R. C. Steele, he’d avoided the public arena almost entirely.

  Immensely proud of her father, Addy did miss the anonymity that had allowed them to go out to eat or to the movies or just about anything. But he’d been too visible in the public eye years ago, garnering some of the most unwanted attention. When a younger version of herself had been threatened by Vincent’s “fans,” he’d pulled out of the public awareness completely. Hiding away in their very private cabin just outside of New Orleans, her father had tightened the circle around them, letting very few in.

  Vincent had loosened a little over time, as Addy had gotten older and built her own life, but he’d never forgotten and wouldn’t let his guard entirely down. Maybe that’s why the photo of them together at the carnival was one of her favorites.

  That her father was a thriller writer meant he created suspense out of nothing—not the best feature for the talk she needed to have. She tried to call Tracey, but got her voicemail. No wonder—it was the time that Tracey usually started getting ready for her evening. She ran a business that provided evening cemetery tours so wouldn’t be available to talk until tomorrow.

  Beau’s face filled her mind. He would be at dinner tonight at her father’s, and perhaps he’d be a good sounding board on this. He always did seem to understand her.
Or would at least tell her she was just being crazy.

  Some days she wondered if there was ever any question of that not being the case.

  She unlocked her bottom desk drawer and jerked it open, dangling the USB drive. She started to drop it inside, but stopped. Her old Bible lay in the drawer.

  Surprising herself, Addy lifted it and set it on her desk, the worn leather soft under her touch. She’d brought it to the office and locked it in her desk soon after starting work at the Darkwater, unable to bear looking at it in the house. It had been more or less ignored ever since.

  She gently opened it and waited for the rush of emotions to hit her like they normally did, but this time . . . This time no anger nearly suffocated her. No resentment threatened to unhinge her.

  The intercom on her desk buzzed. She dropped the Bible and USB into the drawer and locked it back as she answered the phone.

  Dimitri

  “Rodney Ardoin, pleasure to meet ya.” Dimitri shook the hand of the middle-aged man with the hippy hairstyle. His bland facial features were ones that would allow him to make inquiries with- out notice. To move about many people and remain unremarkable. Unrememberable.

  He was nothing like Dimitri had expected and yet everything he needed in a private investigator.

  “What can I do you for?”

  Dimitri quickly explained who he was and what he needed. Rodney nodded as Dimitri spoke, never breaking eye contact, but not writing anything down either.

  “Just to be clear, your main priority is the return of the diadem and apprehension of the person who stole it and murdered three people, yes?”

  Dimitri nodded. Put so bluntly, he couldn’t imagine someone willing to take the job.

  “Sounds simple enough.” Rodney didn’t so much as blink that three people had been killed over the tiara. He rattled off his rates, which were on the high end of the going rate, but he had the references and success rate to justify the expense.