Mardi Gras Gris Gris

by A. C. Mason

  I made the phone call and told Jim about Megan’s request. Naturally he was more than happy to have the chance to speak to her and perhaps get a break in the case. I disconnected the call and started back to Megan’s room. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted the woman who had earlier tried to go in to see her. She stood in front of a vending machine looking over the selection of snacks. It might be my imagination but she seemed to be only biding her time. Who was she and what was she up to?

  “Stan, who was that woman who came to see Ms Whitehall?”

  “Paula Edwards,” he said.

  “Really? That’s interesting. Did she say why she wanted to see her?”

  “She told me she was a good friend and wanted to check on her. I couldn’t allow her into the room because her name wasn’t on the list.”

  “Good job.” Another strange twist in the madness of Mardi Gras season. Does Megan even know Paula Edwards?

  This was the first question I asked Megan.

  She thought a moment and slowly shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. Oh, wait… Edwards? Isn’t that the last name of one of the murder victims here?”

  “Yes, David Edwards was the second victim.”

  “What in the world could she want to talk to me about?” She seemed genuinely puzzled. “I don’t know the woman.”

  “She told the deputy she was a good friend of yours and wanted to check on you.”

  “That sounds like a good plot for a suspense novel,” Megan joked. “I hope she doesn’t dress up in a nurse’s uniform and sneak into my room.”

  “You joke, but with everything going on concerning these two murders, anything is a possibility.” I definitely need to tell Jim about Paula Edwards.

  Jim made it up to the hospital in record time. I heard his voice outside the room as he spoke to Stan.

  I greeted him with a question as soon as he entered the hospital room. “Who’s babysitting?”

  “Tina’s going to stay with the kids for a few hours,” he said. “I’ve also got an officer stationed outside.”

  I smiled. “Good, I’m glad Tina could sit with the kids. They really like her. The officer is good also.”

  Megan appeared curious about security being posted outside our house, but she didn’t comment.

  Jim greeted Megan and inquired about her healing progress. With the pleasantries out of the way, he said, “I understand you have some information that might be advantageous to solving the two Allemand homicides.”

  “Yes, hopefully this info will help bring the killer to justice.”

  I took a seat on the small sofa next to the window and Jim sat in the chair facing her. Today she seemed so different from the self-assured attorney who met with me at the café. The woman who advised me to let go of the memories or they would destroy me appeared to be holding on tight to memories of her own.

  Megan looked at him thoughtfully for a while before she spoke. “When I have a trial coming up, there’s always an attack of nerves, but once I’m out on the floor defending my client, the nervousness disappears. The situation is different now that I have to testify, so to speak.”

  Jim smiled. “Just pretend you’re the defense attorney presenting evidence to the court.”

  “In this case—easier said than done. I’ll be exposing some family secrets. But I’d be wasting your time if I didn’t tell you what I know.”

  “I’m ready whenever you are,” he said.

  “My father had an affair with a nightclub singer named Dolly B. She disappeared rather suddenly sometime before he was murdered.”

  “How old were you at the time of his murder?” Jim asked.

  “Seventeen,” she replied. “My sisters and I all knew about the affair. Actually, so did my mother, but the subject was never to be discussed, not even in private.” For a short time, she looked absorbed in her own world. “I’m certain Mother and Daddy discussed the affair.”

  “Why is that?”

  “One evening about a year or so before Daddy’s murder, they were in their bedroom. Janice—the sister closest to my age—and I heard them arguing. Mother raised her voice which was totally out of character for her. ‘She’s pregnant?’ Daddy admitted this unnamed woman was carrying his child. We naturally assumed he meant his mistress, Dolly.”

  Knowing Jim, he was very interested in this item, although his expression remained neutral. He continued his interview in a professional manner. If I were questioning her, I would have delved more deeply into the subject. I had the feeling Dolly’s child would prove to be an important factor in the case.

  “Could he have paid her to leave?” Jim asked.

  “Either he paid her or Mother did. My mother died several years after Daddy’s murder. While going through all the finances, we discovered a certain certificate of deposit worth over a hundred thousand dollars had been cashed in about that time and we couldn’t find out where the money went.”

  “What was his connection to Allemand Parish?”

  “He started buying up property here and a parcel of land in St. Tammany Parish, though his major interest seemed to be in this parish. We didn’t think anything about these transactions because real estate can be extremely profitable.”

  I listened with a great deal of interest to what she’d said so far. She had confirmed my suspicions and Dad’s statements. There must be a larger connection besides the land deal—one to link Malcolm Whitehall closer to the Berthelot and Edwards families. Megan continued.

  “One day Daddy asked me to retrieve some papers from the desk in his office. He wasn’t the neatest person in the world and the desktop was cluttered with stacks of papers and files. I finally located the papers he requested and a small piece of paper fell out and floated to the floor.

  “The paper turned out to be a short article clipped from a newspaper regarding the beating and sexual assault of a woman by two unidentified men. The article was kind of yellow so I thought it might be years old. When I turned the paper over, I saw where Daddy had written the year nineteen seventy-two on the back.”

  Jim leaned forward in the chair. “Did you ask him why he kept this article?”

  “I didn’t believe I would get a straight answer from him. I just replaced the article back in the folder and decided to do a little research on my own before I confronted him.”

  “How long before his murder did you make this discovery?”

  “That would have been in September of nineteen eighty-eight. He was killed the following February.”

  My curiosity fought against my common sense about butting into the conversation. Had she discovered anything about the article? Was her father one of those unidentified men who participated in the sexual assault? I barely managed to control myself until Jim asked her about her research.

  “At the time, I was a student worker at a law firm after school...thanks to Daddy,” Megan added. “After I discovered the name of the newspaper and a few more details about the incident, I risked my job to ferret out information by secretly using their contacts with law enforcement agencies and delving into office data bases. I didn’t find out much.”

  “What were you able to find out about the crime? Where did it occur?” Jim eyed her with interest.

  My heart thumped when I heard her answer.

  “The crime took place here in Allemand Parish. Naturally, the article never identified the woman and I wasn’t able to get her name. The evidence I was able to get from a contact in the sheriff’s office indicated both men beat and sexually assaulted her. At that time, DNA was unheard of, but the police lab identified the semen samples taken as containing two different blood types.”

  “I gather the case went unsolved,” Jim said. “You said, someone from the sheriff’s office told you about the evidence? Do you remember his name?”

  “That was so long ago.” She gave an embarrassed chuckle. “I cozied up to him on the phone, pretending to be a reporter. He told me the woman refused to give any information about her attackers. The men ha
d taken her to a secluded spot—I never determined where—and after the attack the creeps left her for dead.

  “She managed to crawl up to a main road and whoever found her took her to the hospital. Her emergency room visit and the police interview afterwards were the only reasons the newspaper made any mention of the attack.” Megan gave Jim an apologetic look. “I wasn’t able to find out any further details.”

  “Do you have any idea what your father’s interest in this particular case might be?”

  “At times I thought perhaps he might have been involved in the attack, but I didn’t want to believe he could commit such a horrible act.”

  “If the sheriff’s office still has files on unsolved cases back from then, I might be able to find out the victim’s identity and go from there. I believe there is a connection.” Jim narrowed his eyes. “Seems like there would have been rumors circulating about the woman’s identity. The three major towns in the parish—Cypress Lake, Beau Chene, and Foretville—were all very small places. In fact, Foretville was simply a wide spot in the road. After you became an attorney, you never delved into the case again?”

  “No. I pushed everything out of my mind until my two brothers-in-law started discussing their desire to build a camp on the property.” Megan gave a disgruntled sigh. “They lost interest after a short time and I bought them out. Then I heard about the two homicides here. The memory of the newspaper article came back to me. Even though Daddy’s killer was in prison, I felt certain there was a connection to his murder.” She raised a hand palm up. “Why else would he save the article?”

  Thirty-five

  Jim put away his notebook and stood. “Thanks for speaking to me.”

  “I hope my information helps you,” she said.

  He grinned. “I have a good feeling about this. This will be the break we need.”

  “Before you leave, I need to mention one very interesting incident earlier,” I said.

  He eyed me with a mix of curiosity and concern. Knowing me well, he probably wondered what I’d gotten into this time.

  “Paula Edwards tried to visit Megan shortly before I phoned you. Stan wouldn’t let her in the room because she wasn’t on the list.”

  “That’s very interesting. I’ll look into it.”

  I stayed with Megan for a short time after Jim left.

  “Did your father ever mention the Berthelot family?”

  “No, he didn’t,” she said. “At least I never heard him mention them except that he had purchased land from a man named Aristide Berthelot. I didn’t realize until after the murder of Teddy Berthelot he was related…his father I believe.”

  “Yes, Teddy was Aristide the third.” I hesitated. “May I ask you a personal question?”

  She arched her brows. “Go ahead.”

  I wanted to ask her how she felt about possibly having a half brother or sister, but decided against doing so. “Why did you buy out your sisters and become the sole owner of the property?”

  “Investment purposes mainly,” she said. “But I suppose in the back of my mind I thought the property could somehow shed light on Daddy’s secret life. The only problem is I don’t know whether I really want to see what ends up in the spotlight.”

  “I know exactly what you mean.” Reaching out, I clasped Megan’s hand. “You should get some rest now and I’ve got to get back and rescue the babysitter.”

  She smiled. “Thanks for coming. Despite the situation, I enjoyed your visit very much and hope you’ll come to see me in New Orleans.”

  “I can’t say the memories don’t pop up unexpectedly, but I’ve made several trips to the city during the last few years. I didn’t fall apart, so I might just take you up on your offer.”

  “We have to block those memories,” she said.

  I suspected all those memories of hers would soon come crashing right back into her mind no matter how hard she tried to block them. Her ordeal had brought my own recollections of murder back to the forefront of my mind.

  I wished Megan good luck with her recovery and left the room. All the way down the corridor to the elevator, I kept an eye out for Paula Edwards. Did I expect her to be lurking in the hallway or hiding in a linen closet waiting for her chance to slip into Megan’s room? And do what? My imagination was running wild again.

  Paula Edwards wouldn’t be crazy enough to try to sneak into the room with a deputy standing guard. I turned and peered down the hall to make sure Stan still guarded the entrance. He was.

  As soon as I stepped through the automatic sliding door to exit the hospital, I spotted her. Paula Edwards sat on one of the concrete benches on the edge of the walkway. She rose and started walking toward me. The fact she wore a smile—a nervous one at that—didn’t put me at ease.

  I’d never formally met Paula during my time here in Cypress Lake. At several functions, I’d seen her at a distance, but we were never introduced. The style of her shoulder-length ash blond hair complemented her oval face. Her features gave a much softer appearance than her friend Denise Berthelot.

  “Susan,” she said. “I’m Paula Edwards.”

  I started to say “I know,” but she spoke again.

  “You probably don’t remember me. My name was Paula LaBauve. I attended St. Theresa’s about the same time you did.”

  At a loss for words, I didn’t say anything for a moment. I had no recollection of anyone by that name.

  She smiled. “I was a few grades ahead of you. Class of eighty-four.”

  “Oh, I’m surprised you recognized me.” I vaguely remembered her face but not the name from the senior class when I was a freshman. “I’m happy to meet you after all these years. I knew you were Paula Edwards, though we were never formally introduced. My condolences on the loss of your husband.”

  “Thank you.” She appeared hesitant to speak.

  “Can I help you with something?” I prompted.

  “I wanted to talk to Megan and see how her recuperation was coming along, but the guard wouldn’t allow me to enter the room.” Paula averted her eyes briefly. “But you must know that by now…your husband being the Chief of Police and all.”

  I waited for her to continue.

  “How is she?”

  Silly me. I expected her to reveal an earth-shaking detail. Curtailing my disappointment at her generic question, I replied. “She’s recovering well. Of course she’ll need physical therapy for a while, but the doctors are planning to release her soon.” I probably shouldn’t have given out information about her status—guess I was probing just to see her reaction.

  Her face remained neutral. “I’m glad she’s doing so well. The murders and her shooting don’t reflect well on Cypress Lake, do they?”

  “No, the recent crimes don’t reflect well on the city or the parish. Megan’s shooting must have been a painful reminder so soon after your husband’s murder.”

  Paula sighed. This time her grief showed in her expression. “The incident did keep the wounds open. And David’s and Teddy’s murders were almost identical to her father’s death. I thought we might…” She gave a low humorless chuckle. “…console each other.”

  Either Paula Edwards was a terrific actress or she really was sincere. At the moment, I leaned toward her fitting somewhere in between. “The security is for her protection. You can understand why, I’m sure.”

  “Of course, but I’m glad she’s recuperating without complications.” She extended her hand. “It was nice seeing you.”

  I shook her hand. “Thanks, same here. Take care.”

  As I watched her walk away, I had the oddest feeling about our conversation. What did she really want to know? Or what did she want to say? I remembered Denise’s side of the phone call to her and wondered if she knew any details related to Malcolm Whitehall’s murder and how his death was connected to the murders of her husband and Teddy Berthelot. There definitely was a connection. So many connections—but where do they lead?

  It suddenly dawned on me that Paula graduated with
Megan’s older sister Sara and may have even been close friends with her—although Megan didn’t admit to knowing her. Oh-h, she probably didn’t recognize the married name and might have known her as Paula LaBauve.

  Most likely Paula had heard about the Whitehall murder from Sara Whitehall, or because of her being a classmate. Still there was something else going on. Why would the widow of one of the murder victims be so interested in speaking to Megan? Couldn’t she simply commiserate with Megan’s sister?

  I dismissed those questions for the time being and thought of another one. Jim’s statement about small town rumors fascinated me. Finding that old file was a long shot. What long-time resident of the parish could I speak to who might remember the incident? Someone who would’ve been around in 1972 and wasn’t a child at the time.

  Chill out, Susan. I had no business doing any more investigating. Scratch all those questions. I’m going home.

  Thirty-six

  An upbeat Jim arrived home as I was preparing supper. He waltzed into the kitchen with a big smile on his face.

  “Wow, you really look happy. What’s the occasion?”

  “We got some big breaks on all the cases. Believe it or not, the sheriff’s office report on the attack Megan told us about was still on file. The victim’s name came as a big shock.”

  My anticipation rose. If her identity was a shock to him… “Who was she?”

  He hesitated—just to keep me in suspense no doubt—and took a seat in a barstool at the counter before he answered. “Patia Romaine.”

  “Oh my gosh. Were there any suspects named?”

  His expression sobered. “No, but I checked Gibb Romaine’s date of birth listed in his records. He was born about nine months after the date of the attack.”

  My mouth gaped open. “So he could be Patia’s son by one of her attackers and not her brother.” I eyed him inquisitively. “What made you check his date of birth?”

  He shrugged. “I had a hunch about their age difference.”

  I decided to play devil’s advocate. “You know it is possible for a woman to have a menopause baby. Do you know when Patia’s mother died?”