by A. C. Mason
Rachel’s face registered recognition. “Ah, now I remember. I’ve seen Heather at the office, but she also graduated from high school with Jessica. I don’t recognize the blond either.”
“I wonder if the task force knows about Gibb Romaine’s art work,” I said.
“Good question,” Rachel said. “We should tell them anyway. They may know already. At any rate, Danny will be very unhappy if any of his deputies are leaking information.”
“Jim won’t exactly be jumping for joy either.” I looked around for my husband, but didn’t see him. “I need to find Jim and tell him about this interesting turn of events.”
As I set off in search of him, several thoughts ran through my head. Hand-painted tarot cards? Gibb Romaine’s artwork? Could I have just defended a guilty man?
Thirty
I caught up with Jim just as people started to file in to be seated for the start of Mass. I pulled him aside and relayed my conversation with Heather Chauvin. Rachel, Danny, and the Kaufmans stood a few feet away waiting for us to join them.
Jim’s jaw muscles twitched. “I really wish you would have come to me before you spoke to this woman.”
I vigorously defended my actions. “I know you’re annoyed with me, but I couldn’t let her keep on spreading that story. Her friend grumbled about how the police and the sheriff were allowing a murderer to run loose.” He didn’t seem sympathetic to my reasoning. “She would have been gone by the time you tried to speak to her anyway.”
“You’re right about that part, but now she’s got an attitude about giving up her source. We’ll never get the information from her.”
As usual he was correct. She wouldn’t divulge her source to me so she could hire an attorney. Any good lawyer, even one fresh out of law school, would advise her not to make any kind of statement.
I lowered my eyes. “So where does this leave your case?”
“No worse than it was before. This information could be important to the case, but…”
“But you didn’t want me involved.”
He scowled at me. “You know I didn’t.”
“I’m sorry if I created a problem with the case. However, I have no regrets about stepping forward and letting her know she just repeated sensitive information which could blow the case.”
“It doesn’t matter now,” he said. “Danny and I probably need to leave and try to follow up on some of this.” He led me back to where the rest of the group stood.
“Rachel told me what they overheard,” Danny asked.
Jim motioned him aside. “We need to discuss the conversation of those two women.”
Rachel gave me a teasing look. “Are you headed for divorce court?”
“Not yet anyway.”
Bill Kaufman chuckled. “Have you considered signing up for the police academy?”
“I would be kicked out right away,” I said with a straight face. “I have a hard time following orders.”
~ * ~
“Actually, I hate to admit this, but that information they overheard ties up one loose end—the hand-painted cards. At the same time, it almost adds another,” Jim mused. “Maybe it’s me, but somehow the whole conversation sounded staged, like our wives were supposed to hear them talking.”
“Like a setup. My thoughts exactly,” Danny agreed. “Just to be on the safe side, we both need to have a talk with our respective departments about leaking information. We also need to let Mike know so he can talk to his men.”
“As well as have a conversation with Heather Chauvin.” Jim narrowed his eyes in thought. “If no one in any department is the source, who the hell would be spreading the info?”
Danny gave a shrug. “Damned if I know. Someone who wants Gibb Romaine to go down for this?”
“I’m beginning to wonder the same thing myself.” Déjà vu Steven LaGrange?
~ * ~
Jim left the car at the church for me and Rachel. He and Danny hitched a ride with a deputy back to their offices before the service began. Even though my husband disapproved of the approach I took with the two women, his admission of the information’s relevance made me feel somewhat vindicated.
After Mass, Rachel and I bid the Kaufmans goodbye and we headed back home. “I guess the guys won’t be home until late,” I said.
“Probably not,” Rachel said, giving a nonchalant shrug. Or what appeared to be an attempt at nonchalance. “Many years ago when we first got married, his schedule was like this all the time. Since he was elected sheriff, I’ve become accustomed to him being home a lot more.”
“I know what you mean. I certainly hope the parish will go back to the way it was before these two murders and Megan’s shooting.”
“Me too, but I have the feeling things will not be back to normal for a long time.”
Fifteen minutes later I walked into the house and paid the babysitter, a teenage girl named Tina who lived across the street. This was her first time to sit with the twins. Several friends had recommended her.
“Did they behave?” I asked.
She grinned. “As good as any six year olds.” Apparently noticing my surprised expression, she added, “My little brother and sister are six and seven.”
“I knew you had younger siblings, but I thought they were closer to your age.”
“My other sister is eleven.”
“So you have lots of experience,” I said. “By the way, are you free to babysit Mardi Gras night?” I hesitated to ask, knowing the next day school would be in session.
Tina looked disappointed. “No, my mom said I couldn’t sit that night. You’re going to the ball?”
“Yes, I guess I shouldn’t have waited so long to get a sitter. Do you know anyone who might be able to come over that night?”
She looked thoughtful for a moment or two. “I could talk to my cousin Carly—she’s eighteen—she might be able to sit for the twins.”
“I’d be grateful it if she could.”
“Okay. I’ll call you tomorrow and let you know.”
“If she’s available, have her call me instead.”
Later in the evening, Jim arrived home. His look of frustration gave me the answer to the question I was about to ask. But I inquired anyway.
“Did you learn anything from the information Heather Chauvin gave out?”
Jim danced around his answer. “Some.”
I knew he was stalling for a reason. Or maybe he didn’t want to tell me what they gleaned from the woman. “What did you learn?”
“Someone paid her to drop all those clues, but she wouldn’t reveal the name of the person who paid her. We’re charging her for withholding information.”
“So what she said isn’t true?” I felt used. And aggravated. And stupid.
“I’m waiting on a call from the warden at Angola to verify the story about the art work,” he said. “Their chase team is helping in a search for three escapees from Dixon Correctional, so he was tied up when I called.” He referred to a medium security prison in a neighboring parish from Angola.
“But why us?” The answer seemed obvious to me, but I wanted confirmation.
“Because you three…or rather you and Rachel were likely to report to me and Danny about what was said. That said, they probably did their act elsewhere to get the word out there about what a poor job the authorities are doing.”
This confirmed my deduction. Disappointment and indignation set in. “So if what she said wasn’t true, then the information is worthless?”
“Yes and no,” he said. “If it’s true, we have more evidence to show cause for Romaine as our killer. On the other hand, if the info is false, someone is attempting to throw the blame on him.”
He knew what I started to ask before I got the words out of my mouth.
“Yes, it’s possible Romaine really did sell some original art work, but an unknown person wants him to look guilty.”
“Are you taking that into consideration this time?”
He frowned. Guess he didn’
t appreciate my choice of words. I couldn’t help myself.
“Danny and I are taking into account every piece of evidence that comes our way.”
“What about the woman who was with her?”
“We haven’t been able to identify her.”
“And Ms. Chauvin isn’t talking.”
“Unfortunately she’s not.”
Thirty-one
After the day’s events I felt exhausted mentally and physically, but I knew sleep wouldn’t come easily. Thoughts and questions flipped through my head like a slide show.
Jim had gone to take a shower and the kids were in bed. Sitting alone in the den, I tried to rationalize the decisions I’d made since the Berthelot murder.
Should I have opted to take the kids and leave town? The killer hadn’t attempted to make good on his threat. The police officers and deputies doing security was a waste of money. Certainly the men enjoyed the extra pay, but not the boring job of surveillance.
Instead of confronting Heather Chauvin, I should have simply reported the incident to Jim. All that baloney about not having any regrets about my actions was just that—baloney.
I had no personal connection to these cases unless you count the fact I witnessed Teddy Berthelot die. But what about Megan’s shooting? Was there a connection to me in this case?
My head ached. My poor overworked brain. Why am I doing this to myself? I have two children who I adore and who need me to take care of them and a husband I dearly love. My marriage is at stake again and this time I’m not trying to prove the innocence of someone I love. I’m trying to solve a mystery in which I had no business getting involved.
I thought about the manuscript for my mystery novel lying unfinished on my desk. Had I really gotten involved in this investigation in order to know more about the crime? I looked up from my reflections when I heard Jim enter the room. He had slipped into a pair of sweat pants and a t-shirt that accentuated his sexy chest. He toweled his wet hair as he walked closer to me.
“You looked deep in thought.”
“Just trying to puzzle out why I do the things I do.”
He sat down next to me on the sofa and gave me a brief smile. “Because you’re you.”
I eyed him warily. “And you’re okay with that.”
“Now I didn’t say that I was okay with some of the things you do.”
“Exactly what do you mean?” I asked, frowning.
“You are impulsive and don’t think about the consequences.”
I didn’t like the way this conversation appeared to be heading. Even though what he said was true, his statement reminded me of a father scolding his wayward teenager. I didn’t comment because my comeback statement would have brought me down to that adolescent level.
He continued. “You scare me sometimes. I think about when you went out searching on your own for Anne’s killer. I’ve been afraid this situation will end up like it did back then.” He paused a moment as if for effect. “Next time you might not be so lucky. Maybe I’m selfish, but if you get killed, the kids and I would be left all alone.”
I sighed. “If anyone is selfish it’s me. I tried not to get involved, but I enjoy solving a mystery. Things just seem to come my way.” I studied his face to gauge his reaction.
He raised an eyebrow. “Like overhearing all these conversations?”
“Yes, and picking up on Dolly Babineaux’s reaction to the name Malcolm Whitehall…” The mention of those two names spurred the realization I had yet to show Jim the article I had discovered at the library. I stopped talking for a moment.
“What?”
“There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you,” I said. “About an article I found in an old newspaper from nineteen eighty-eight.”
“Did this article contain something of interest?” he asked. “To our case, I mean.”
“I thought it might. The article and a photo about a gala held in New Orleans. The picture showed Teddy Berthelot with the woman who provided the photo, along with David and Paula Edwards.”
“So how is that relevant?” He almost looked bored.
“There was an unidentified man who happened to pass behind them as the camera flashed. I compared the man with a photo of Malcolm Whitehall. It was a match.”
He perked up then. “Did you happen to make a copy of it?”
I gave him a smug smile. “Yes, I did, on the odd chance it might be important. I’ll get it for you and show you the photo on the internet of Malcolm Whitehall.”
Suddenly feeling invigorated, I jumped up and raced to retrieve my laptop and the copy of the printed article. On my return, I noticed Jim’s smile.
“Why are you smiling?”
His smile turned into a chuckle. “The idea of providing evidence certainly put a spring in your step.”
I laughed. “What can I say?” I presented the article to him and remarked, “Note the name of the singer who’s the featured entertainment.”
“Dolly B?” He looked up from his reading. “What’s the connection?”
“Dolly B… Dolly Babineaux.” He could be so frustrating at times.
“That is really circumstantial,” he said, emphasizing the word really. “Do you know for certain Dolly Babineaux is the same person?”
“No,” I admitted. “I haven’t had time to do research. Do you always have to play devil’s advocate?”
“Somebody has to.” He hesitated a moment for speaking again. “Actually, after hearing your father’s statement about the alleged affair with a nightclub singer, I’m inclined to agree with your conclusion about Dolly B.”
“Wow,” I said, in a teasing tone. “I can’t believe you actually agree with a conclusion of mine, but only after hearing what my father had to say.”
“No need to be sarcastic.” He tried not to smile. “Let me finish reading this.”
When Jim completed his perusal of the article, he gave me a look as if he were giving orders to one of his officers. “Show me the photo that made you believe this unidentified man is Malcolm Whitehall.”
I located the Whitehall obituary and turned the laptop for him to get a better view. “Let me get the magnifying glass so you can see the man in the newspaper photo.” I hurried to the kitchen and retrieved the glass.
Jim examined the enlarged view in the photo and then shifted his gaze to the obituary picture of Malcolm Whitehall. He raised both eyebrows this time. “Looks like we have a match.”
He looked deep in thought for a long moment. “The day the FBI agents showed up, Danny intended to speak to Dolly and see what he could come up with. I don’t believe he ever got the chance to talk to her.” He rose from his seat and walked over to the window. Peering out, he noted, “Danny’s unit isn’t there. I’ll give him a call. We need to start tying up all these loose ends.”
Jim punched in the number on his cell and waited for Danny to answer. “Hey, are you headed home?” …“Would you mind stopping at my place? There are some leads I just received that we need to follow up on as soon as possible … Really? ...Good, see you in ten.” He turned back to me. “He was just leaving the office.”
“He stayed late, didn’t he?” I glanced at my watch. “It’s after ten o’clock. Maybe you should’ve waited until tomorrow to tell him about this.”
“Checking out this information can wait until tomorrow, but I need to get him up to speed beforehand. Besides, he said he had several items of his own to tell me about.”
Danny arrived ten minutes later, on the dot. I noted his weary appearance, yet his tone of voice sounded upbeat. Maybe these murder cases were close to a conclusion.
“Have a seat, Danny,” I said.
He sat in a chair opposite the sofa.
“You have some new leads?” Danny looked expectant.
“I do…” Jim turned to me. “…or rather we do. Susan found an article dated nineteen eighty-eight from the old Cypress Lake Weekly. There’s a photo of Teddy and his group, and an unidentified male in the background.
Again, I have to credit her.” He pointed his hand in my direction. “Susan located a photo of Malcolm Whitehall and made a match.”
I handed Danny the copy of the article, which he quickly scanned. “I believe the singer Dolly B is Dolly Babineaux,” I said.
“That’s possible,” he said, without looking up from the paper.
“Do you know anything about her before she arrived in town?”
“Not really,” he said. “She moved here in late nineteen eighty-eight or early eighty-nine, and opened up the dress shop shortly thereafter. She could’ve been a singer. From what your father relayed to Jim about Whitehall, I’m inclined to think she might possibly be the same person.”
“Did you ever speak to Dolly?” Jim asked.
“I never had the opportunity to go over to her shop. Tomorrow, providing nothing else happens to prevent a visit, I’ll head over to her house and see what I can come up with.”
“So you think this is a good lead?” I asked, sharing my gaze with both men.
Danny smiled. “Definitely. You did good. I may hire you to do research for the Sheriff’s Office on some of my cases.” His blue eyes twinkled.
Jim groaned. “Don’t encourage her.”
Despite his words to the contrary, I heard a hint of pride in his voice.
“I would love to do research for the Sheriff’s Office.”
“Oh no, you don’t,” Jim said. He gave me a grin, knowing or at least hoping both Danny and I were kidding. “Even if it was a good lead.” He turned to Danny. “Back to business. You said you also had some leads.”
“Remember when I sent a couple of my deputies out to that unfinished campsite to check out the premises?”
“The day when Megan Whitehall got shot.”
“Well, whoever was staying there has apparently cleared out. He left a few items…we were able to get fingerprints and DNA and sent the samples to the LSP lab. I requested a rush job. In addition we should be getting the results back on the crime scene DNA pretty soon.”
“Why did you take DNA on the items in that place?” I asked. “I thought y’all were concentrating on Gibb Romaine as a suspect. He wouldn’t have any reason to camp out there when he has the family home to live in.”
