Bitter Reckoning

by Heather Graham

  Still, the car having come from his company was still something that needed to be explained. Perhaps the police having Trent at the station would, at the least, allow them to talk to him, and perhaps, if he sincerely wanted to help, Trent Anderson might be able to give them some answers.

  She decided not to insist Tracy get right in and tell the police what she knew.

  “Colleen, I’m sure Trent will tell them he was with someone, that he has a witness, and they’ll believe in his innocence. But Detective Ellsworth did just say they had some questions; we should probably let them talk. If Mr. Anderson begins to feel he’s being pressured, I’m sure he has a half dozen lawyers who can get in there for him. Right now, I’m sure he just wants to help.”

  Both women looked at her. Even Colleen, who had appeared so indignant and sure, had begun to look thoughtful and concerned.

  “Okay, then, if they arrest him, we’ll all go in,” Colleen said. “I mean, he is such a nice guy; he might allow himself to be arrested rather than tell the truth.”

  Danni didn’t think even a nice guy was going to cop to a murder rap rather than admit he’d been sleeping with a woman, but for the moment she smiled.

  Then she frowned feeling every muscle in her body tighten. Colleen was wearing a necklace. The medallion on it was a fleur-de-lis. Just about a perfect copy of the one she had sketched that morning.

  “What?” Colleen asked, looking at her worriedly.

  “Nothing. Just out of context here when we’re worrying about someone. I just noticed your necklace. That’s so pretty. Did you get it out here—I mean in Perryville rather than New Orleans?”

  Colleen self-consciously fingered the necklace. “Yes, I bought it at the fair. That harvest fair they have going on. It’s…it’s just pretty. It’s a good fake, but they aren’t real stones and it’s just gold-plated. Would you like it? You’re welcome to it, Danni. Giving you the necklace would be the least that I could do for you, with all the help you and Quinn have given me.”

  “No, no, I don’t want to take your necklace, but I’d love to borrow it,” Danni said.

  “Sure!” Colleen took the necklace off and handed it to Danni.

  Danni smiled. “Thanks,” she said.

  “People were killed; they’ve taken Trent, and you two are talking about a necklace,” Tracy murmured.

  “No more,” Colleen said. “Excuse me. Albert Bennett is over at the counter. I need to speak with him. Tracy, we’re going to have to work on some numbers, see how the ball is shaping up, how many people stayed, how many have left, if the band is still coming, and we need to bring those numbers to the kitchen.”

  “You want me to meet now, with you and Albert Bennett?” Tracy asked.

  “Yes,” Colleen said firmly.

  “Larry Blythe really does the computers and the numbers,” Tracy reminded her.

  “Yes, and he’ll be down soon. You need to meet with us,” Colleen said. Then she smiled gently. “Tracy, it will help me and help you. Let’s keep our minds occupied, okay?”

  Tracy smiled. “But if they arrest Trent—”

  “You, Danni, and I will head right to the station.”

  “How will we know what they’re doing?” Tracy asked anxiously.

  Colleen looked at Danni. “You can call Quinn, right? He’ll know what’s going on.”

  Danni nodded. “He’s in New Orleans right now, but he’s in touch with Peter Ellsworth.”

  Tracy was staring at her. “You knew! You knew they were coming for him.”

  “I wasn’t surprised,” Danni said. “They need to talk to him; he really might be able to help. His property is next to the cemetery. He may know things that can help he just might not think about unless he’s speaking with people who know the right questions.”

  “See?” Colleen asked. “Oh, there’s Larry now. He’s smiling and coming our way.”

  “He looks like he finally got himself a girl—horrors! Maybe he even got to have sex!” Tracy said.

  “Hey!” Colleen protested. “Larry is a hard-working and very nice man,” she said.

  “Sorry. He is a great co-worker,” Tracy said. “I’m just…I’m just nervous and being tacky, I guess. I like Larry, but let’s face it, he’s not exactly a hunk. Oh, sorry again. I’m beginning to sound like Ally—oh!” She realized what she had said and clamped her hand over her mouth, looking at Colleen wide-eyed. “Oh, how terrible! I’m so sorry. I almost forgot—”

  “It’s hard to believe she’s gone,” Colleen said.

  Larry had reached them. Danni thought he purposely forced his smile to fade as he met his employer, remembering they had just lost a colleague.

  And a friend. At least to Colleen.

  “Good morning,” he said, joining them. “Are we meeting here, Colleen? I thought it was going to be up in your suite? I was just going to grab some coffee. We did hire great people for this coffee bar, didn’t we? And such good coffee!”

  “So, who were you with last night?” Tracy asked him, smiling.

  Larry turned red. “I—I—”

  “It’s all right,” Colleen said. She let out a sigh. “I’m all for love! If you found someone, I’m very happy for you.”

  “I think she likes me,” Larry said.

  Albert Bennett came striding over from the coffee bar just catching the last. “Larry! The pretty brunette you were with last night? I saw her talking to you, and yes, I’d say she likes you. I looked on her page—she loves computers and gadgets—she’s perfect.”

  “Well, we talked. I mean, I can’t say it’s a perfect relationship, but…there might be something there. And I’ll be able to see her! When we head back to base. She’s—”

  “A New Yorker,” Albert said.

  Larry nodded, studying his co-worker and smiling slowly. “She is pretty…more like your kind of girl.”

  “She was all over you, buddy,” Albert said. “All over you—give yourself some credit, my friend, you’re educated, slim and fit—a catch.”

  “We’re meeting in the suite, guys, now,” Colleen said. She smiled, taking any sting out of her words. Then she looked at Danni. “My friend, you’re welcome to join us—”

  “Thank you, thank you. I need to run back up to my room. I’ll leave you all be, and see you later!”

  She smiled, gave them all a small wave, and headed for the elevator. In her room, she checked to see the balcony doors were securely locked and then double checked the door to the hallway. She checked her phone to make sure she hadn’t missed a call from Quinn.

  She sat at the desk then and pulled out the necklace that Colleen had given her.

  A copy, just as Colleen had said.

  She set the necklace down and picked up one of the books on the area and the legends and scanned the information quickly. She found herself turning back to the book that had been written in the early twentieth-century. It seemed to engross her the most. The author, having read through letters of the time—like checking someone’s texts these days Danni thought—had another theory on the murder.

  Yvette had not been killed by her lover’s mother. Rather, Yvette had been killed by a rival for Percival’s attentions. It was an interesting theory. But if that were the case, who had murdered his mother at a later date, starting the legend that her spirit awoke now and then to destroy such women? And how did any of this relate to the number three?

  There was an answer. Percival’s mother had tried to prove her own innocence.

  Perhaps the real killer had been getting too close.

  Danni was so engrossed in her reading the knock on her door caused her to jump.

  She rose, shaking her head at the unease that filled her. All she had to do was go to the door—and check out the peephole.

  She was safe. Locked in her room.

  She rose and headed silently to the door.

  ***

  The French Quarter in New Orleans was bordered by Canal Street, Rampart Street, Esplanade, and the Mississippi River—it t
ook Quinn and Larue a few minutes to reach their destination from the MacDonald Mansion right on the edge of the city where New Orleans meet up with Metairie.

  The French Quarter was home, but they weren’t heading for Royal Street yet. They were heading to a destination right off Rampart—across from the Treme area, and just blocks from St. Louis #1, and for that matter, St. Louis #2. They passed by the beautiful and historic church Our Lady of Guadalupe, built in 1826 and serving as a mortuary chapel during the yellow fever that ravaged the city at the time—a place from which mourners bringing a corpse could easily reach St. Louis #1.

  “Jazz mass,” Quinn murmured.

  “Amazing and, yes, I’ve been!” Larue assured him. “St. Peter Street just ahead!”

  “What, you don’t think I know where I’m going?” Quinn asked.

  The bed and breakfast Belinda Cardigan had chosen for her stay was a charming old house built soon after the fires that ravaged New Orleans in 1788 and 1794—when the French Quarter had been largely rebuilt with the Spanish having dominion over the area at the time.

  It was a typical and inviting place, much like the house on Royal Street where Angus Cafferty had opened his “Cheshire Cat,” and where Danni and their crew continued to run it.

  There was a handsome courtyard surrounded by a stone fence. The entry to the bed and breakfast was through the iron gates that led into the courtyard, and then onto the patio where double-French door opened into the first room.

  The manager of the “Saint on St. Peter’s” was an older woman with soft, silver-white hair, dark brown eyes and a quick smile.

  Her smile faded when she saw it was Jake Larue coming into her patio heading to meet her where she sat behind a desk watching her computer.

  “Mrs. Robertson,” Larue said, “I’d like you to meet Mr. Quinn. He’s—”

  “Mr. Quinn!” Mrs. Robertson said, rising to shake his hand. “I know of you,” she said softly, and then shrugged. “I’m friends with Billie McDougal. I’ve known him forever.”

  “Oh,” Quinn said, wondering just what it meant that she might know about him. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, and I’m surprised, really, that we haven’t met yet.”

  “Ah, well, when you reach the great ages as Billie and I have discovered, a wild night on the town means bedtime is nine instead of eight. I’m not getting out much these days, but Billie and I, we keep up. And Detective Larue, I’m happy to speak with you both. I have, however, spoken with the police. I wish I had something for you. Miss Cardigan was such a lovely girl. So friendly and absolutely sweet! Anyone staying here when she was a guest was bowled over by her. We serve breakfast in the courtyard you just came through. Unless it’s raining, of course, then we’re in here. Of course, that doesn’t matter to you two men right now at all, does it? What can I do to help you?”

  “You knew nothing about where she was going?” Quinn asked.

  Mrs. Robertson shook her head. “She didn’t say, but she had rented a car. She was in love with the city and anxious to go beyond. She did say she was heading west. I took that to mean she was maybe going to drive out to Texas. She did mention she loved Austin and went whenever she could. She…she talked to other guests. I had two couples with children staying here, and she was wonderful with them. Truth was, she had checked out…before she was found. She was here just a couple of days seeing the historic sites in a swift hurry, loving everything she saw. I tell you, such a heinous crime is always tragic, but that such a beautiful young woman was taken…so sad.”

  “Mrs. Robertson, did she say anything about a dating site to you?” Larue asked her.

  Mrs. Robertson shook her head. “No…she was lovely. I doubt she needed to be on a dating site.”

  “Did she mention a harvest ball or anything like that?” Quinn asked.

  Again, Mrs. Robertson shook her head. “No…seemed to be on her own. Except that one night when she was here…”

  She paused, thoughtful. “Well, one night when she was here, I believe she…well, met someone, a man. I happened to wake up, and my window is right up there…” She pointed above herself at the ceiling. “There’s a balcony, and I know I shouldn’t, but I often leave my windows open once the temperature cools down a bit. I know I heard her voice, and I think…I think she might have been talking to a man. Laughing. She sounded happy.” She paused again, wincing. “I don’t like to say because I’m not sure. I mean, voices were just drifting up to me, you know?”

  “Please, we’ll remember you weren’t certain about what you heard,” Quinn said.

  “They might have been making arrangements to see each other at another time—at another place. It sounded as if they hadn’t known each other long, but they liked one another. The next morning, she didn’t say anything about meeting a new friend or heading out to meet anyone. She left the morning after that.”

  “What about your other guests?” Quinn asked.

  “Well, of course, the police asked about that, too. They spoke with a few people, but while she was charming and played with the children here, she didn’t say anything about where she had come from or where she was going. When she talked to them, it was always about things they should see and do in New Orleans. They must take a carriage ghost tour, do the museums on Jackson Square—oh, and have beignets and café au lait at Café du Monde! How they need to take their kids to the aquarium and the zoo. She wasn’t a gambler, but she had walked through Harrah’s and had a great steak dinner there.”

  They stayed a few minutes longer; Quinn complimented her on the bed and breakfast, and gave her his card, asking she get a hold of him should she think of anything—anything else at all.

  “I wish I could help!” she said.

  “You did help,” Quinn assured her.

  As they headed back to the car, Larue asked, “I like to believe every step brings us closer to a solution, but…what do you think we gained here?” he asked.

  “We know she was a member of Colleen’s dating site. I believe she did go into the office here in the Central Business District, if only for a minute. She met someone who had to do with the dating site, and I believe she was heading out to Honeywell Lodge for the event there. She was heading west. If she was with a man…he might well have been her killer.”

  “Right,” Larue said, “but which one? You think it was Trent Anderson, that he came into the city and killed Belinda, dug up a corpse, and killed another man—here. Then did the same back in Perryville? I can see Perryville, but…how and when did he dig up or disinter a corpse here? Did he pack the straw in his vehicle? It’s just crazy.”

  “It’s crazy complicated whoever did it,” Quinn said. “Come on, you can get your cold drink at the house on Royal while I take a shower before you are forced to take the long drive back with me at your side.”

  Larue looked upward. “Thank the Lord!” he said fervently.

  ***

  Danni opened her door. It was Colleen who stood on the other side.

  “Hey,” she said. “How did your meeting go?” she asked.

  Colleen walked into the room, dropping her shoulder bag on a chair and flopping down on the bed. “Fine. We’re going to go on. Apparently, we’re more popular than ever.” Her voice had a bitter note to it. “If only I’d known the horrible murder of a friend would have made me more popular than shrimp and grits, I might have thought of it earlier.”

  “Colleen,” Danni said gently. “It just means people have heard about the site now and—”

  “And they’re ghoulish. I feel like shutting down, except I just opened this, and I was with Albert and Tracy and Larry, and if I let things fall apart now…there is so much invested! I’ll go down like a ton of bricks.”

  “You’re not going to go down. Colleen, terrible things happen. People have been killed in hotel rooms, restaurants, and malls—but the businesses can’t close down. You’re…you’re going to pick up and go on. I know you’re seriously mourning Ally, and you should get to mourn her. You have a right to
cry and be furious. But, at this time, really, trust me…the responsibility of going on will be something important to you and something that will really help you.”

  Colleen nodded then shook her head. “I’m so naïve. I set up a dating site plus a meeting and event venue for clients…and all my employees are fooling around all over the place. I blithely had no idea! My plan here is for people to really find romance!”

  “Well, I think Tracy is crazy about Trent Anderson, and apparently, he enjoys her company.”

  “Ally slept with anyone she found to be exceptionally attractive—if and only if she felt the urge. I never knew Tracy…well, you know what? Maybe I thought they were both a little too frisky with Albert Bennett, but…oh, I don’t know! What difference does it make? I wanted this to be a site where people really found romance and relationships—not a shack-up site!”

  Danni was silent.

  Colleen sighed. “If only—” she said and broke off. Her phone was ringing, and she angled around on the bed to get into her pocket to find it and answer it.

  “Yes, yes, yes…of course!”

  She ended the call and leapt off the bed. “I’ve got to go,” she said.

  “Where?”

  “John Appleby—he wants to speak to me. He doesn’t want to come here.”

  “So, where do you think you’re going?”

  “He—he—said he was afraid to be here. Walls have ears, he said. I’ll be back—way before our social mixer this evening. I promise.”

  She headed for the door; Danni blocked her way.

  “Where?” she demanded.

  “Oh, at the cemetery gates.”

  “You shouldn’t be in that cemetery, Colleen.”

  “I’m not going in the cemetery; I’m meeting him at the gates. Let me go, Danni! Do I need to call security on you, my friend? Please—I have to know what happened here! I can’t go on if we don’t find out what happened. Maybe Appleby will talk to me when he couldn’t talk to others!”

  “Colleen, they’re questioning Trent Anderson right now.”

  “And he didn’t do it! He was sleeping with Tracy.”