by Mary Ellis
“Yes, ma’am. That sounds good.” Nicki tried not to giggle.
“Why do you keep a bag of old beer cans?” Jeanette asked Hunter. “What are you up to?”
“And what are you doing here today?”
Jeanette poured the soda over ice with great deliberation. “When I was cleaning here the other day, I smelled something bad coming from your hamper.”
Nicki took a long swallow of her drink and locked gazes with Hunter, lifting one eyebrow.
“My laundry doesn’t smell, but thank you for your concern.” He held up the sack of evidence. “This is important, Jeanette. Did you touch what’s inside in any way?”
“No. With your sneaking around like a thief in the night, I knew you were up to something.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Peteriere.” Nicki took the bag from him. “We need to have these analyzed for possible fingerprints.”
“You’re a little Agatha Christie, and he is Hercule Poirot?” Nodding at Hunter, Jeanette released laughter akin to a cackle. “N’est-ce pas?”
“Yes, ma’am. I loved those kinds of stories when I was growing up.”
“Why don’t I fix you two a nice dinner? By the time you return from your clandestine sleuthing, everything will be ready to eat.” The housekeeper grinned at each of them in succession.
“Thank you, Jeanette, but I’ve made reservations for dinner. Please take the rest of the day off.” Hunter nudged Nicki in the direction of the door.
“I’ll give my cousin your fond regards, Mrs. Peteriere, and thanks for the soda.” Nicki smiled warmly at the elderly woman.
“Alors, you should avoid Monsieur Price like Bourbon Street on a Saturday night. He was a thorn in your foot, remember?”
“Good night, Jeanette.” Hunter swept open the door and then discovered that visiting Nate or dinner in the Quarter wouldn’t be in his and Nicki’s near future.
Two plain-clothes detectives in expensive suits stood in front of them. One of them held up a badge. “Hunter Galen, you’re under arrest for fraud and securities violations. You’ve been ordered to surrender your passport and come with us for questioning. If your passport is on premises, Agent Anderson will accompany you to retrieve it. You may call your attorney on the way downtown.”
Hunter glanced at Nicki as though waking from a dream.
“You go get the passport while I call your lawyer, your brother, and my cousin.” Nicki shifted the bag of evidence behind her leg. “May I have your card, sir, so I know where you’re taking Mr. Galen?”
The federal agent nodded his head politely as he handed her a business card.
Nicki watched helplessly while Hunter was led from his comfortable French Quarter apartment in handcuffs. He would be locked in a cell that would be neither comfortable nor remotely justified. She knew without a doubt that he hadn’t bilked his clients out of their savings, just as he hadn’t killed his college chum and business partner, but her faith in her ability to prove either of those things slipped to one notch above sea level.
THIRTY-TWO
A few days later, when Hunter walked into Grandmere’s formal parlor, he was blindsided by a sense of loss. Grandmère was almost ninety years old and had lived a long, productive life, but Hunter wished she could have stuck around until he straightened out the mess he was in, which probably would have made her the oldest living human in recorded history.
Arranged around the perimeter of the elegant room was an assortment of Galen family members. Ethan and Cora greeted the endless stream of friends and neighbors in the foyer who arrived bearing enough food to feed the entire Garden District. People wanted to be helpful, even if it was just baking a pan of pecan brownies. Aaron and Chloe sat on the sofa, their faces awash with misery. Jeanette perched on a straight-back chair by the fireplace. For once his grandmother’s best friend wasn’t doing anything except clutching rosary beads. Her employer and friend for the past fifty years was gone. Hunter’s mother, usually so indomitable, looked as fragile as a porcelain doll. Ken Douglas, the attorney responsible for his release from federal custody on bail, hovered nearby, eager to comfort but reluctant to intrude.
Hunter slouched in a wingback chair, wishing Nicki were with him. She had captured his heart without trying. Lately, he found himself thinking about her in the most peculiar circumstances and during not so peculiar ones as well. He’d called her repeatedly since his release and left several messages on her voice mail, all to no avail.
“You look like you could use this.” His brother held out a glass filled with something amber.
Hunter shook his head. “No, thanks. Alcohol will only make me feel worse.”
“Agreed. That’s why I brought iced tea brewed by our sister.” Ethan set the glass on the end table at Hunter’s elbow. “Judging by the color, she must have used a dozen teabags, but her heart was in the right place. So drink up.”
Hunter swallowed some of the bitter brew. “Tell me what happened to Grandmère and leave nothing out. I can’t believe I was in jail when she died. I hope she didn’t know.”
“Rest easy. She went out on her own terms and knew nothing about your arrest. She got up early to bake cookies and cook a pot of oyster stew for a neighbor who just had a baby. So like her—always thinking of others. Later she told Jeanette she felt light headed and had some indigestion. Jeanette wanted to call the doctor, but Grandmère wouldn’t hear of it. She insisted on taking antacids and lying down. When Jeanette checked on her an hour later, she was gone. The doctor said she probably had a massive coronary while asleep. Mama said she’d been complaining about dizziness and fatigue for the past month but didn’t want anyone to worry.” Ethan swallowed a mouthful of Chloe’s tea with a grimace.
Hunter stared out the window at another neighbor arriving with yet another casserole. “What on earth will you do with all this food?” He made conversation so he wouldn’t think about his grandmother dying alone in her room instead of surrounded by her family.
“Invite the entire island of Hispaniola for the funeral luncheon. What are you going to do, Hunter? Ken was able to get you out so you could attend the funeral, but he isn’t a criminal lawyer. Your case is out of his league.”
“I know that. I contacted Mark Kirby. He’s from Washington and familiar with federal prosecution of financial crimes. I can’t think of a better use for my trust fund than high-priced attorney fees.”
“Don’t worry about the cost. Our family isn’t bankrupt yet. What I’m asking is do they have a case?” When his elder brother locked gazes, Hunter noticed for the first time how gray Ethan’s temples had become.
“If you’re asking if I had any part in James’s scams, I didn’t. But according to my investigator, you’re not innocent until proven guilty in the investment business, not when people trust you with their entire net worth.”
“Miss Price is absolutely right. What evidence prompted the feds to file charges?” Ethan dropped into an adjacent chair.
“They have a stack of documents, including lines of credit and unauthorized buy and sell orders for accounts James had been churning. My signature is right beside his. James—or somebody—can execute my signature with amazing accuracy.” Hunter saw no need to name whom he suspected.
“You will need to take copies of the documents to a handwriting expert. Maybe Aaron can help with that.” Ethan ran a hand through his hair, his usual response when frustrated.
“Nicki is one step ahead of you. She already talked to our future brother-in-law. Aaron contacted his Atlanta office and lined up a handwriting analysis. Of course, with the FBI involved, whatever they find becomes federal evidence that can’t be swept under the rug.”
“Miss Price is that certain of your innocence?”
“She is, and because I never signed those papers, this innocent man can relax and enjoy another glass of his sister’s special brew.” Hunter toasted Chloe across the room with his empty glass. Her sweet smile nearly broke his heart.
“Good to hear.” Ethan rose to his
feet. “We’ll get through the next couple of days and then concentrate on putting your troubles behind you.”
But Hunter knew his troubles wouldn’t go anywhere soon, because at that moment Ashley walked into the room. She greeted Cora wearing black from her Jimmy Choo stilettos to the Chanel pillbox hat atop her upswept blond hair. Her skin was pale and her makeup understated—Ashley had even her mourning operandi nailed down.
With rage building in his gut, Hunter approached the two women hugging in the doorway.
“There you are, Hunter,” said Cora. Dark circles ringed her red-rimmed eyes. “Ashley is here.” Apparently unaware of their breakup, Cora squeezed Ashley’s fingers once more before walking toward the kitchen.
“My father sent a case of Maker’s Mark with his deepest condolences. Could you have someone retrieve it from my trunk?” Ashley’s drawl tinkled like wind chimes, but right now Hunter would rather listen to fingernails dragged down a chalkboard.
“Phil thinks a funeral for a ninety-year-old woman needs a case of bourbon?” Hunter muttered under his breath.
“Oh, Hunter, don’t be difficult. I came the moment I heard.” Ashley stepped forward, extending her arms in sympathy.
With half the room watching, Hunter had no choice but to accept her embrace. “Thank your father for his generosity.”
“I can’t believe she’s gone.” Ashley laid her head on his shoulder. “Grandmère was always so unselfish. She was a paradigm for women. I wish I hadn’t been too busy to learn a few lessons.”
Truer words were never spoken, Hunter thought, pulling Ashley to arm’s length. Surprisingly tears were flowing down her cheeks. He automatically dug his handkerchief from a back pocket, which she accepted with a half smile.
“Thank you, Hunter. I’m so sorry for your loss. She was an exceptional woman. I so wanted her to be my mentor. There’s no denying I certainly could use one. Now I’ll never have that chance.” A fresh batch of tears streamed from her eyes.
Hunter hated it when women cried. He felt so helpless, and in this case, culpable. He no longer had feelings for her, but it was impossible to remain unaffected by her sorrow. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and tried to offer whatever comfort he could.
Ashley turned herself against his chest, sniffling and whimpering softly. “I can’t believe she’s gone,” she said again.
Hunter patted her back with growing disgust. The repetition made it seem as though she were using stock replies from googling “appropriate sympathy responses” and felt as sincere as handshakes following a grudge match in sports. When several cousins surrounded them, squeezing Ashley’s arm and murmuring words of solace, Hunter realized many didn’t know about their breakup. He’d told his mother, sister, and brother, but apparently word hadn’t gotten around.
“Let’s go to the kitchen,” he said, eager to quit the limelight. “Chloe made iced tea. Would you like some? And give me your car keys. I’ll have someone take the case of bourbon out of your trunk.” Hunter stopped one of his teenaged cousins along the way with the request.
“I would love some of your sister’s tea,” she said, finally extracting herself from his shirt. “I must tell Chloe how very sorry I am and your mama too.” Ashley’s voice sounded as weak as a child’s. In the kitchen she blotted her face with his handkerchief and went to the window. “Oh, my. Would you look at Grandmère’s garden? I mean, Ethan and Cora’s now.”
Bad choice of rooms, Hunter thought, struggling to summon a single charitable thought for her. He should have known the backyard would remind Ashley of the recent party. “She did as much work as the gardeners.”
“How pretty the flowers look with everything in bloom. Seems like we were just celebrating our engagement here. Everyone was so happy that day. I know I couldn’t have been happier.” Ashley was starting to sound like a character in a Tennessee Williams play.
“As my grandmother’s death reminds us, everything in life changes. Nothing stays the same.” Hunter wanted no misinterpretations. He poured her some iced tea and then emptied the pitcher into his glass to protect the unsuspecting.
“Well, I don’t like it! This reminds me of when my mother died. The normal routine and things I could count on were taken from me. Once you and I got engaged, I thought I had found stability. You were my rock. I planned to settle down and become a real wife and mother, just like Mother was to Daddy.” She set down her glass untasted and turned to face him.
Her luminescent blue eyes failed to have their usual effect.
“Then you broke our engagement,” she continued, “and the rug was again ripped from beneath my feet.” She paused, waiting, while tears welled up in her eyes.
Hunter would have to be less than human if he didn’t regret the pain he caused, but his compassion didn’t include even an ounce of love. “I’m sorry today brought back sad memories and that I caused you so much heartache.” Even if Ashley’s sorrow was genuine, he stood on a slippery slope. He needed to keep their breakup permanent—no cooling-off period, no stepping back to assess the situation. “What other news did you hear? Did word of my arrest reach Baton Rouge?”
Her glassy eyes rounded with surprise. “Arrested for James’s murder? What could they possibly have to tie you to that?”
“No, not for murder. For fraud and securities violations, many counts of each.”
Her expression of astonishment faded a tad. “What do you mean?” She took a small sip of her beverage and frowned.
“My name appears on all kinds of documents found at James’s. I have copies and so do the feds. Apparently, they have been gathering evidence for months to prepare formal indictments.”
“Of course your signature would be on Galen-Nowak paperwork.” Ashley pulled her hat from her head and tossed it on the counter. “You were business partners. Both signatures were needed for major transactions.”
Hunter lifted an eyebrow. He’d never mentioned that particular detail due to her previous disinterest in financial matters. “These are trades James made without investor consent, part of his little scheme to enrich himself using our clients’ assets. I never signed any of those buy and sell orders. He or someone else forged my signature.” He lowered his voice as Aunt Donna entered the room with an empty ice bucket and a warm, loving smile for him.
Ashley didn’t so much as blink at his words, but a muscle twitched along her jawline while her nostrils flared. “That’s ridiculous. Why would James forge your signature? He had to know you would spot it during the end-of-month review.” She marched to the refrigerator. “Is there anything else to drink? That tea tastes dreadful.” She pulled out a bottle of wine and reached for a stemmed glass.
“He forged my name because it was the only way trades would have gone through. James dummied up fictitious statements for each client he defrauded to cover his tracks. I reviewed the bogus statements at the end of each month.” Hunter chose not to mention that her dad had been last month’s larceny victim.
She swallowed a gulp of wine. “Why, that little thief! You never would have found out if he hadn’t been killed and you started snooping in his home.”
An interesting choice of words, but Hunter let it pass. “That’s true, and I have Miss Price to thank for the full picture of his deception.”
Ashley didn’t even try to hide her displeasure at the mention of Nicki’s name, but she only said, “Well, I’m glad she earns the salary you pay her. Now she has plenty to keep her busy with the fraud indictment and your partner’s murder.”
“Getting the fraud charges dropped won’t be too hard. Nicki sent samples of my handwriting, along with copies of financial transactions I never signed to a handwriting expert. He should be able to conclude those signatures were forged. Maybe they’ll even be able to tell who did sign my name.” It was pure bluff, but Hunter gave it a try.
She didn’t grab the bait. “I hope so. With Grandmère’s death, we have other things on our minds besides bogus charges against you.” Ashley quickly swallowed he
r wine and then crossed the large kitchen to set her empty glass in the sink. In the doorway, she looked back over her shoulder. “Please tell me I can sit with your family at the funeral, Hunter. I know things are…different between us, but I did love your grandmother and I wish to pay my respects.” The crocodile tears returned, called to duty once more.
“All right, Ashley. I can’t stop you from attending her Mass.”
She offered a thin smile and walked into the living room, where even more friends and neighbors had swelled the ranks of mourners. Ashley went straight to his mother, who wrapped her in a warm embrace. “Oh, Mrs. Galen,” she drawled. “I’m so sorry about your mother-in-law. I know you two were very close. Is there anything I can do to help? My daddy and I are at your disposal.” Ashley’s musical voice sang the words in near parody of Southern womanhood.
Yet his mother didn’t seem to recognize an actress in her midst. “Your sympathy is all I need, my dear. You know what it’s like to lose a mother.” Clotilde dabbed her eyes with a lace-edged handkerchief. “And you were so young when you lost yours. At least I had my mother-in-law for many years.” She wrapped a steadying arm around Ashley’s thin waist and led her to the sideboard, where she poured them each a small glass of bourbon.
Throwing gasoline on the fire. Hunter clenched down on his back molars as he watched the performance. It took him mere seconds to regret his decision about the funeral. He’d had no idea how to refuse, but he should have found a way. Ashley would use the occasion to worm her way back to the fold, making the breakup that much harder. How much of her emotional outpouring was real, and how much was just another attempt at manipulation? He had been engaged to a duplicitous liar and a cheat, but was she also a murderer? He didn’t think so. But then again, he’d played by everyone’s rules for years and ended up the fool.
For now he couldn’t let Ashley suspect his true feelings for his private investigator. Not until they ruled out any connection between Ashley and the thugs who had frightened Nicki half to death. He needed to find out if someone was still threatening Nicki and take care of them. He’d stood on the sidelines keeping the peace long enough.
