Malevolent (Shaye Archer Series Book 1)

by Jana DeLeon

  “You think it’s one of those identity theft things? I seen that on the news.”

  “I think it could be. That’s why I’d like to talk to Mrs. Grange. See if she has any idea who might have had access to her son’s information in order to use it.”

  The woman nodded and motioned her inside. “I’m Sissy. Been working for Mrs. Grange since she married. Worked for her mama before that.”

  Shaye stepped into the entry and glanced around. A huge circular staircase sat at the back of the entry, ornate iron spindles gleaming with polish. A formal living room was off to the left and looked like something out of an old picture book with its dated artwork and stiff and uncomfortable-looking furniture. To the right was a library, dark wooden bookcases covering every square inch of wall space. The carpets and decor in the entryway were as dated as the living room, and Shaye decided Sissy hadn’t been exaggerating when she described Mrs. Grange as a hermit.

  “You thinking it could be family?” Sissy asked. “None comes to visit, but I know she’s got cousins and such. I always say trusting someone just because you related is a good way to get screwed.”

  “It certainly can be, and family would be the most logical explanation.”

  The woman looked at her again, her expression conflicted. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt for you to talk to her, but I gotta warn you, Mrs. Grange ain’t been right since her boy passed. She sits in this house and stares out the window or at a wall and that’s about it. Me and Mina manage to make her eat a couple times a day, but she don’t do much else.”

  Shaye frowned. “Are you saying she doesn’t speak?”

  “She can speak, if that’s what you’re asking. She just doesn’t. Told me one time there wasn’t nothing worth saying.”

  It sounded to Shaye like Abigail Grange had checked out of life. She understood the desire. When Shaye had first gone to live with Corrine, she felt that way every second of every day. It didn’t happen as often now, but sometimes, when the nightmares were the worst, the thought would pass through her mind.

  Was it worth it?

  So far, the answer had always been yes, and thankfully, it was getting easier to say it.

  “I understand,” Shaye said. “There’s things in my past that I don’t like to think about. I promise I’m not here to upset her.”

  Sissy studied her for several seconds. Something in Shaye’s expression must have convinced the housekeeper of her sincerity because she nodded. “Come with me.”

  Shaye followed her down the hallway to the back of the house. At the end of the hallway, Sissy knocked lightly on a door, then opened it and stepped inside. “Mrs. Grange. There’s a lady here that needs to speak to you.”

  Shaye stepped to Sissy’s side and got her first look at Abigail Grange, who sat in a rocking chair in front of a picture window. If someone had checked out of life, people often said they were a shadow of their former self. Abigail Grange didn’t even have enough substance to be a shadow. Her pale skin was almost translucent and hung on her tiny frame like fabric. She looked over at them, her gaze seeming to go right through them and into the hall.

  “Will you speak to her?” Sissy asked.

  Abigail nodded, and Sissy motioned Shaye toward the window.

  Shaye walked over to where Abigail sat and took a seat in a chair a couple feet away, not wanting to stand over her while they were talking. “Mrs. Grange, my name is Shaye Archer. I’m a private investigator from New Orleans. There’s a man I’ve been trying to get information on who I think used to live in Hamet. He’s been using your son’s name.”

  Abigail looked perplexed. “Why would someone do that?”

  Shaye reminded herself that Abigail had been out of society for a long time, and thus far, Shaye had yet to see a television. It was possible Abigail had never heard the term “identity theft.”

  “Sometimes,” Shaye said, “people pretend to be someone else because they don’t want anyone to know their true identity.”

  “Why would that bother a person?”

  “The most common reason is because they’re involved in criminal activity. They might be wanted for crimes under their real name, so they assume someone else’s identity in order to hide from the law.”

  Abigail frowned. “And you think someone is using David’s name for such a thing? Has the man you’re looking for committed a crime?”

  “The man in question is deceased, but he abused his wife. The question of his identity didn’t come up until after his death, and his wife would like to know who she was really married to.”

  “Oh. I imagine that must be horrible for her.”

  Abigail’s expression and voice were mildly sympathetic, but it was clear to Shaye that the woman wasn’t completely in the conversation. More like she was drifting on the outside of it.

  “Can you tell me your son’s Social Security number, so I can verify if his identity is the one my client’s husband was using?”

  Abigail looked up at Sissy. “My small box, Sissy.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Sissy said and retrieved a jewelry box from her nightstand.

  Abigail opened the jewelry box and her eyes filled with tears. She lifted a photo and stroked it with her finger, then handed it to Shaye. “My son.”

  Shaye took the photo and looked down at the smiling boy, holding up a large fish. He looked like his mother, or at least, like his mother would look if she had some weight and color to her and hadn’t aged beyond her years. “He’s beautiful,” Shaye said, a lump forming in her throat. How awful it had to be to lose a child. She couldn’t fathom losing someone she loved. In fact, it was something she deliberately avoided thinking about.

  Abigail took the photo back and handed Shaye a Social Security card. Shaye checked the information she had stored in her phone, and her pulse ticked up a notch. It was a match to the employment records from Wellman Oil and Gas.

  “Did you report your son’s passing to the Social Security Administration?” Shaye asked.

  “I thought the doctor did that,” Abigail said.

  Shaye looked over at Sissy, who shook her head. “Doc LaFleur is who she’s talking about, but he wasn’t no spring chicken and had his hands full just keeping people tended to. My guess is the paperwork never got filed.”

  Shaye nodded. If the SSA was never notified of David’s passing, that explained how Emma’s husband was able to use his identity. If he was from the area, he might have guessed that the death had never been reported. She pulled up a picture of the man calling himself David Grange and turned the phone to face Abigail.

  “Do you recognize this man?”

  Abigail took one look at the phone and wailed. “No!” She threw her hands up in front of her face as if she were being attacked. Her entire body shook as she sobbed.

  “Mina!” Sissy yelled and ran over to Abigail, trying to calm her down.

  Shaye jumped up from her chair, feeling completely helpless as another woman rushed into the room and over to Abigail. The other woman pushed Sissy out of the way and grabbed Abigail’s arms, speaking to her in a low, level voice. Sissy grabbed Shaye’s arm and pulled her toward the door.

  “You said you wouldn’t upset her,” Sissy said as she stomped down the hall.

  Shaye practically jogged to keep up with the woman, still trying to process Abigail’s unexpected reaction. Before she’d had her outburst, Shaye wouldn’t have even thought her possible of such emotion. “I didn’t mean to upset her. I don’t even know why she’s upset.”

  “What did you show her?”

  Shaye held up her phone.

  Sissy gasped and her hand flew over her mouth. She reached out and took the phone from Shaye, her hand shaking, and pulled it closer to her face. “Lord, Jesus. Is this the man? The man that stole David’s identity?”

  “Yes. You know him?”

  Sissy turned the phone away and pushed it back at Shaye. “I never thought I’d see that face again. It’s Jonathon Bourg. The last time I seen him he was no more tha
n fifteen or sixteen, but I’d know that face anywhere.”

  “Why does he upset you and Abigail?”

  “Because he killed David.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Jackson left the interrogation window and headed back to his desk, but couldn’t sit still. He ended up pacing the rows until Vincent yelled at him to sit down or go outside. He claimed Jackson was making him tired. Jackson figured he was probably telling the truth. The man was so inert, just watching someone else move probably exhausted him. He was just about to go outside and take a walk around the block when he heard Detective Reynolds take a call about Ron Duhon.

  He lurked at the detective’s desk until he hung up the phone. “Was that a tip on Ron Duhon?” Jackson asked.

  “Yeah.” Detective Reynolds grabbed his keys from his desk. “Is Murphy still taking the Frederick woman’s statement?”

  Jackson nodded.

  Reynolds looked at him for several seconds, clearly contemplating something, then looked over at Vincent. “Hey, can I borrow Lamotte for this check? Murphy’s tied up in interrogation.”

  Vincent waved a hand in dismissal. “Please. Get him out of here.”

  “Thanks,” Jackson said as they exited the building. “What’s the tip?”

  “We circulated pictures of Ron this morning among our street contacts. One of them called in and said a maintenance worker saw Ron at the Midnight Moon motel. It will probably turn out to be nothing, but there’s always a chance the worker got it right.”

  Jackson nodded. Chasing a long shot was better than stagnating at his desk.

  ###

  Shaye struggled to maintain her cool, but was certain her expression was anything but composed. “But…the report said it was accidental.”

  Sissy nodded. “I think you best come with me. I’m gonna need a shot of bourbon. Maybe two.”

  Shaye followed Sissy down a side hallway and into a kitchen at the rear of the house. Like all the other rooms, this one was stuck in time as well. Sissy went straight for a locked cupboard on the far wall and removed a key from her pocket to unlock it. She pulled a bottle of bourbon out and placed it on the counter along with two glasses.

  “We have to keep it locked or Abigail will help herself to a bottle,” Sissy said as she poured. “Damn near killed herself with vodka once. That’s when Mina and me started locking it up. Didn’t want to remove it altogether as sometimes we slip a bit in Abigail’s afternoon tea to help her sleep.” She placed the glasses on the table and sat down. Shaye slipped into the chair across from her and noticed that Sissy’s hand still shook as she took a big sip of the whiskey.

  “Jonathon and Nathan Bourg was twins,” Sissy said. “They lived in the swamp around Hamet with their mama, Helen. All the kids was supposed to go to school in Port Sulphur, but they didn’t show half the time. I know it’s the law and all, but I’m guessing the teachers was happier when they weren’t there.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “They was what polite people call ‘troubled,’ but I think it went deeper than that.” Sissy took another drink of the bourbon. “They used to come into town and sit on the bench outside the general store. They rarely had money, so they wasn’t there to shop. They’d just sit there and stare at people with them black eyes. You didn’t dare look back. Not if you wanted to sleep that night. It was like looking at a snake. Cold. Inhuman.”

  Twins! Shaye struggled to absorb and process what Sissy had told her. She knew Ron couldn’t be Jonathon’s twin. Ron’s identity had been simple to verify, but if Jonathon had a brother, he could be Emma’s stalker. Where they chasing the wrong guy? “What about their father?”

  “As far as the townspeople knew, they wasn’t one, but there was rumors.” Sissy locked her gaze on Shaye. “What I’m about to tell you, I ain’t never told another soul. Never intended to.” She took a deep breath and blew it out. “I was walking home from Mrs. Godeaux’s one night. That would be Mrs. Grange’s mama. Mrs. Grange was nineteen at the time and had just gotten engaged to Mr. Grange.

  “On nights when the moon wasn’t out,” Sissy continued, “I always walked down Main Street and then to my house—it’s about a mile outside of town—but when the moon was full, sometimes I’d take the path along the bayou all the way home. There’s something about moonlight on the water that makes a person calm after a hard day of work, and Mrs. Godeaux was not an easy woman to work for. Anyway, I was just outside of town when I heard a man and woman arguing up ahead of me. The woman was yelling at the man as how he couldn’t lay with her and make babies then pretend it never happened. I couldn’t hear what he said, his voice was too low, but whatever it was, she weren’t happy about it. She told him that she didn’t want his money and that one day he’d pay for treating her like trash.”

  “You didn’t recognize the woman’s voice?”

  “No, but I didn’t need to. Next thing I knew, I heard someone running on the path straight toward me. The man yelled for her to wait, but she kept going. I don’t know why I did it, but I ducked into the bushes and watched until she ran by. It was Helen Bourg.”

  “Do you think the man was someone from Port Sulphur?”

  “I know who the man was. I recognized his voice when he called after her. It was Mr. Grange.”

  “Oh no! Do you think Mrs. Grange knew?”

  “I don’t think Mr. Grange ever told her, if that’s what you’re asking, but there was whispers. Helen wasn’t exactly known for being a lady. Most of the boys round town had a go with her when she was a teen. Word was she got Mr. Grange drunk and had a go at him one night at a bonfire party when Mrs. Grange had the flu.”

  “You think she was trying to get pregnant by Mr. Grange?”

  Sissy’s eyebrows shot up. “I guess I hadn’t thought about it that far, but I suppose it’s possible. Given that she hadn’t gotten pregnant before then, I guess she could have been trying to snag a savior. The Granges were the wealthiest family in the area.”

  “What about Helen’s parents? Where were they while their daughter was running wild?”

  “Her mama died when she was a little girl, maybe three or so. Her daddy…” Sissy swallowed and made the sign of the cross. “I don’t like to speak ill of the dead, but there wasn’t nothing nice about Randal Bourg. I ain’t got no proof, but there was talk that he had his way with the girl himself, and he traded her to men he knew to pay off gambling debts.”

  Shaye’s stomach rolled and she forced the nausea back. “How old?”

  “Ten, maybe younger.”

  “Why didn’t anyone do something?”

  “Some of us called social services, but we didn’t have no proof. They did one of those checks, but the girl said it weren’t true. I guess they couldn’t force a medical exam over gossip.”

  “Probably not,” Shaye said, but it made her blood boil. No wonder Helen was off. No wonder her own children were troubled. “I’m guessing Mrs. Grange pretended she didn’t hear any of the rumors and hoped Helen Bourg would go away. Did she?”

  “Pretty much. She never made no scene or nothing. Just disappeared into the swamp. Came into town to get her welfare checks every month and buy some food, but that was it. Once the boys was ten or so, she sent them instead. Then Nathan died.”

  A guilty sense of relief passed over Shaye when she heard those words. Jonathon’s twin couldn’t be the stalker. They had gotten it right. Ron was the criminal. “How did he die?”

  “Drowned. He had crab traps set up along the bayou that he worked. He sold the crabs to the grocery store. People here like ’em right out of the water. Anyway, it was right after one of those tropical storms came through leaving thunderstorms behind that it happened. The tide was running high and fast. Best anyone can figure, he slipped off the bank and got tangled in his lines and couldn’t get out. By the time Jonathon found him, it was too late.”

  “I guess Helen came to town then.”

  “Once. She took one look at the body, turned around without saying a word
, and headed right back to Hamet. Ain’t no one set eyes on her since. People say Jonathon left when he was eighteen. Without Jonathon there to cash her checks, we thought we’d see Helen again, but she never surfaced.”

  “She might be dead.”

  Sissy nodded. “Dead or gone. Don’t know that it makes a difference to anyone here, especially with what Jonathon did.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “Jonathon was beside himself over Nathan’s death. He went straight to the grocery store, still dripping wet from pulling Nathan’s body out of the water, and lit into Mr. Grange. Told him it was all his fault. That if he took care of his responsibilities Nathan wouldn’t have been crabbing in a storm for a couple of dollars. Told him he’d pay for what he’d done.”

  “What did Mr. Grange do?”

  “I didn’t see it myself, but my friend was there and said Mr. Grange just stood there looking horrified. Maybe because Jonathon was airing his dirty laundry in the store. Maybe because he was afraid of what people would tell Mrs. Grange. Maybe it was guilt over the way those boys had to live. Ain’t nobody knows for sure.”

  Sissy sniffed and wiped her nose with her fingers. “About two weeks later, David Jr. drowned. He’d gone fishing like he always did, and when he didn’t come home, Mr. Grange and a neighbor went looking for him. They pulled him out of the bayou a little ways down from his usual fishing hole. There was a crowd of people on Main Street when they brought the body in. That was my day off and I’d just come out of the drugstore. I watched as they carried his body into the doctor’s office. Then I caught sight of him—Jonathon was standing across the street, watching them. He was smiling and I knew it was him. Just knew it.”

  “What did the doctor say?”

  “He said it looked like an accident. Wasn’t no bump on his head or anything else to indicate someone had struck the boy, but I ask you, how hard would it be to hold a sixty-pound child under water long enough to kill him? Jonathon was a big strong boy while David was slight like his mother.”