Midnight on the Mississippi
Page 1
BOOKS BY MARY ELLIS
SECRETS OF THE SOUTH MYSTERIES
Midnight on the Mississippi
What Happened on Beale Street
Magnolia Moonlight
CIVIL WAR HEROINES
The Quaker and the Rebel
The Lady and the Officer
THE NEW BEGINNINGS SERIES
Living in Harmony
Love Comes to Paradise
A Little Bit of Charm
THE WAYNE COUNTY SERIES
Abigail’s New Hope
A Marriage for Meghan
THE MILLER FAMILY SERIES
A Widow’s Hope
Never Far from Home
The Way to a Man’s Heart
STANDALONES
Sarah’s Christmas Miracle
An Amish Family Reunion
A Plain Man
The Last Heiress
HARVEST HOUSE PUBLISHERS
EUGENE, OREGON
Cover by Lucas Art and Design, Jenison, Michigan
Cover photos © Larry Mulvehill, 13/Gary Faber / Ocean / Corbis
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
MIDNIGHT ON THE MISSISSIPPI
Copyright © 2015 by Mary Ellis
Published by Harvest House Publishers
Eugene, Oregon 97402
www.harvesthousepublishers.com
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Ellis, Mary,
Midnight on the Mississippi / Mary Ellis.
pages ; cm. – – (Secrets of the South mysteries ; book 1)
ISBN 978-0-7369-6169-1 (pbk.)
ISBN 978-0-7369-6170-7 (eBook)
1. Women private investigators—Louisiana—New Orleans—Fiction. 2. Murder—Investigation—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3626.E36M53 2015
813’.6—dc23
2015000616
All rights reserved. No part of this electronic publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, digital, photocopy, recording, or any other—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The authorized purchaser has been granted a nontransferable, nonexclusive, and noncommercial right to access and view this electronic publication, and purchaser agrees to do so only in accordance with the terms of use under which it was purchased or transmitted. Participation in or encouragement of piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of author’s and publisher’s rights is strictly prohibited.
Dedication
This book is dedicated to my parents,
Elizabeth and Steve.
Where would I be if you hadn’t picked me out from the other squalling infants?
Contents
Books by Mary Ellis
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Discussion Questions
Secrets of the South Mysteries
About the Author
About the Publisher
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thanks to my darling husband, Ken, who helped me prowl the streets and alleys of the French Quarter and travel the back roads of Cajun Country and upstate Louisiana. A better research assistant has never lived or breathed. Without you I would have driven straight into a bayou and drowned long ago.
Thanks to James at the Stonewall Range for answering my questions about firearms, and special thanks to Deputy Janise of the St. Landry’s Parish Sheriff’s Department for your procedural help.
Thanks to Joe Stopak, retired fire chief and arson investigator for Richfield Village, Ohio. Your patience with answering my questions was only exceeded by your expertise.
Thanks to Peggy Svoboda, who took the time to proofread a printed copy of this manuscript with her eagle eye.
Thanks to my lovely agent, Mary Sue Seymour; my fabulous editor, Kim Moore; and the wonderful staff at Harvest House Publishers. Where would I be without your hard work?
ONE
Yacht Queen Antoinette
Somewhere on Lake Pontchartrain
What? I still can’t hear you, James!” Hunter Galen shouted into the mouthpiece. “Call me back in a few minutes. I’m going on deck. Maybe the signal will be stronger.” Ending the call, he headed for the doorway of the grand dining salon. Around him, the birthday party was in full swing. He glanced across a room filled with smiling faces, assured that the party had been a great idea. His mother, still stunning at sixty years old, was dancing with the senior partner of the law firm that had represented Galen business interests for years. Was something going on between them—more than just a slow waltz between old friends? Maybe, but he wouldn’t worry about it tonight. His mother and everyone else were enjoying themselves. In addition to delicious catering and plentiful libations, two bands—zydeco and swing—provided entertainment, with even a DJ between sets to keep the younger generation happy.
From the corner of his eye, Hunter spotted his girlfriend, soon-to-be fiancée, clinking champagne glasses with his sister, Chloe, and his sister-in-law, Cora. Together the three looked like a blonde, brunette, and redhead hair color advertisement. While he watched, Ashley Menard glanced his way, her face lighting up with a Miss Louisiana smile. That’s what she once had been—or, at least, first runner-up. Tall and reed slim, Ashley’s cool composure stemmed from the belief that everything she touched would turn to gold. And it usually did. She lifted two fingers in a wave before refocusing on her future sisters-in-law.
“Don’t even think of getting down on one knee until you ask Daddy,” Ashley had warned him. Daddy. Twenty-six years old and owner of a chain of hair salons, yet she still referred to her father with a juvenile moniker. Well, this still was the old South, after all.
When the vibration of his phone jarred his attention from the party, he saw on the screen that it was James again. Sighing, he headed up the stairs for better reception. On the promenade deck above, Hunter sucked in a lungful of humid air and leaned over the polished teak railing. “Hello, James,” he spoke into the mouthpiece.
“Hunter, we have to talk. This is important. I know you’re tied up right now, but I had drinks tonight with old man Morrison at the bank. He wants to talk to us about the credit advance I requested. He refuse
s to extend the corporate credit line until we both come to his office. That tight-fisted—”
His colorful description of their banker became garbled as James’s voice rose with agitation.
Shaking his head, Hunter gazed out at the dark water of Lake Pontchartrain. A nearly full moon reflected off of the glassy surface. Although the breeze on his skin felt cool, his anxiety level kicked up a notch. “Don’t blame Mr. Morrison, James. Having us both present was my idea. You’re getting us in pretty deep. Let’s sit down tomorrow and crunch the numbers, but I think—”
Apparently James Nowak wasn’t interested in either crunching numbers or the financial solvency of the firm. Hunter could hear him shouting but fortunately couldn’t discern much of what he said.
“James! You keep breaking up. Let’s talk tomorrow. You know I’m on a boat in the middle of Lake Pontchartrain at my mother’s birthday party—”
The line went dead. Hunter probably would have tossed the phone into the waves if his older brother hadn’t crept up behind him.
“Something wrong, little brother?” Ethan Galen spoke with his smooth-as-cream accent. Funny how three siblings could be raised together, yet only one, Ethan, could speak fluent French that even a Parisian wouldn’t find fault with. Hunter and Chloe must have spent too much time in front of the TV instead of talking to Grandpère.
“No,” said Hunter. “Just business as usual in Galen-Nowak Investments. If James keeps this up, we’ll have to sail the Queen Antoinette to Costa Rica to hide from our creditors.” He laughed with little humor.
Ethan offered a halfhearted grin. “If there’s any way I can help, call my office in the morning. Right now Mother is about to address her adoring fans. I didn’t think you’d want to miss that.” He opened the vapor lock door leading back to the party.
While Hunter had been arguing with his partner for the one-millionth time, his family and friends—everyone in the world he cared about—were waiting for him. “Go on down. I’ll be right behind you.”
“Right. I’ll keep the party moving along.” Ethan studied his brother for a moment and then ducked his head under the bulwark.
Staring at the fishing boats bobbing on the surface, Hunter took stock of what a fortunate man he was. For the moment, all family members were speaking to one another, he had a gorgeous girlfriend, and he worked in a profession that thrilled and challenged him every day. He was no ordinary stockbroker. On behalf of his clients, he wheeled and dealed in initial public offerings, emerging markets, real estate investment trusts, aggressive sector funds, and volatile stocks that would cause the average investor to faint dead away. Fortunes were made and lost similar to a Vegas game of Texas hold ’em. His clients weren’t senior citizens who lived off income generated by their portfolios. Volatility, even wild gyrations, came as no surprise to those who trusted him and invested with his firm. Hunter loved the game and always would. The buying and selling of securities made his heart pound and his blood race through his veins.
With little alternative, he shook off his argument with James and hurried back downstairs. There wasn’t a business in the world that didn’t run into snags every now and then. The two of them would hammer this out in the morning. Didn’t they always?
In the main salon, Ethan had just finished his speech and was introducing the birthday girl. Accepting the microphone from him, Clotilde Galen looked beautiful in a peach-colored suit and high heels. She would still be a dynamo at one hundred, let alone a mere sixty. Hunter slipped into a seat at Chloe and Aaron’s table.
His sister passed him a bottle of champagne and an empty glass. “You missed the toast. Try to catch up.” She barely glanced in his direction, her attention directed to the center stage.
Hunter filled his flute but left it alone. The heavy fragrance of magnolia from the table arrangements was making it hard to breathe.
“I can’t tell you what a lovely surprise this party is tonight.” His mother’s lilting voice drifted over the guests like a sentimental refrain. She spoke more musically than he could sing. “Having my friends here, along with my beloved family, my mother…” Clotilde’s voice cracked as everyone’s attention shifted to Grandmère. Surrounded by Ethan, Cora, their young son, and her best friend, Jeanette Peteriere, the grand dame of the family smiled, the creases deepening on her gentle face. When Grandmère’s trembling fingers lifted her champagne glass in salute, the crowd erupted with hoots and uproarious applause.
After a brief interval, Clotilde tapped the microphone with one long fingernail. “I know not everyone could see from where they sat, so I wanted to mention the thoughtful, age-appropriate gifts I received from my darling children.” More hoots, more applause. “From my little girl, Chloe, who recently received her bachelor of arts degree at Tulane…” Clotilde paused, knowing her audience wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to make noise. She wasn’t disappointed.
Chloe stood, nodding and waving at her well-wishers while her FBI agent fiancé, Aaron, grinned with pride.
Clotilde waited before continuing. “Chloe has given me a year’s worth of classes entitled ‘Yoga for Senior Citizens’ at the community center downtown.” She waved the embossed certificate in the air. “A full year.”
The crowd offered thunderous applause.
“And my son Ethan and his lovely Cora paid for my lifetime membership in AARP.” She held aloft a second embossed document. “My entire lifetime—can you imagine?”
Apparently, the guests could imagine because many began pounding on the tabletops.
Suave and diplomatic, Ethan half stood and waved like a visiting royal monarch, while his wife beamed with pleasure. The corners of Clotilde’s lips turned up into a smile as she waited for everyone to settle down again. “As much as I love my gifts, the best of all is having my children here tonight. Thank you, Ethan, Hunter, and Chloe, for inviting everyone to this lovely boat for my celebration. This was the best birthday surprise I ever received.” Clotilde’s voice cracked slightly on the last word, even as her luminous green eyes filled with tears.
Kenneth Douglas, the family’s attorney and friend, offered her a steadying arm as she stepped from the podium.
“Wait, Mom. Stay up there,” called Hunter. He scrambled to his feet. “I haven’t given you my gift yet.”
Clotilde looked eager for the spotlight to shine elsewhere, but she nevertheless moved back to the dais.
“Happy birthday.” He held out a brightly wrapped box.
Accepting the gift from her son, she quickly stripped off the paper. “Fixodent adhesive,” she murmured. “Looks like the large, family-sized box. Thank you, dear.” Clotilde lifted it high so all could see. “I’ll keep this in a safe place until it’s necessary. Fortunately, my teeth are all still mine.” Again she tried to leave, but her younger son wouldn’t allow it.
“Look inside the box, Mama,” he said, relishing the moment.
Clotilde hated the endearment “Mama” and flashed him the look that said, You’re in big trouble, young man. But like a good sport she ripped open the box. The crowd leaned forward in their chairs, with several in the last row standing so they could see.
Instead of the plastic tube everyone expected, Clotilde extracted a sheet of thick vellum festooned with fancy calligraphy, stamps, seals, and assorted vestiges of officialdom. She unrolled and scanned the document, reading aloud a word here and there.
The party guests waited. Her family waited. Even Mr. Douglas peered curiously over her shoulder.
Then her face blanched as her hand fluttered to her throat. Finally, she stopped reading and stared at her son. “What is this, Hunter? What is this paper talking about?” As the fingers holding the document started to shake, the audience grew silent.
“The yacht Queen Antoinette, what you referred to as a ‘boat’ a few moments ago, is your new sailing ship. Don’t call her a boat anymore or you’ll make her mad.” Hunter waved a hand around the elegantly appointed main cabin, where forty guests had just finished dining. �
�She’s yours, Mama. Happy birthday. The captain and crew will be a phone call away whenever you wish to sail. They can charter her out to help defray operating expenses while you’re abroad.” Hunter glanced at his siblings and grinned. “Oh, by the way, Ethan and Chloe went in with me on the gift. And the missing tube of Fixodent is in my jacket pocket for whenever you need it.”
The crowd erupted into bedlam and rushed toward the podium, surrounding Clotilde with noisy congratulations and best wishes. Hunter overheard several aunts already asking to use the vessel for upcoming showers and parties. Despite her heels, his mother was soon lost in a sea of people. Hunter exchanged glances with Ethan, who lifted a snifter of bourbon in salute. Cora was trying to fight her way up toward the birthday girl. Snuggled against Aaron’s shoulder, Chloe grinned as the two of them whispered secrets the way engaged couples often did.
Hunter scanned the guests for Ashley but couldn’t find her. Usually her height in heels made it impossible for her to hide, but she definitely was not in the room. He was about to search for her in the galley when his cell phone vibrated. In exasperation, he sprinted up the stairs to the upper deck for better reception.
Once he had answered, his business partner again pleaded, cajoled, shouted, and cursed in a staccato of fractured phrases. But no matter where Hunter went on the ship, the signal was too weak to decipher anything coherent. “Wait until tomorrow, buddy. We’ll sort this out,” shouted Hunter into the phone. “Take it easy. Nothing can’t wait until morning.”
“Hunter, this is no time for you—Get back here now and—You’ve no idea who just walked in—”
Then he heard only the irritating sound of static. But one thing came through loud and clear, unlike their earlier attempt at conversation. James was begging. If not begging, then desperate—for what, Hunter had no clue. He stomped toward the ship’s stern, where a row of fiberglass tenders waited to ferry late arrivals or early departures. Fortunately, a few crewmembers lounged nearby.
“Take me back to the marina as fast as you can.” He stepped down into the nearest boat and handed the crewman a hundred-dollar bill. With a roar of a powerful outboard motor, they took off without another word.