by Nancy Bush
“What is it?” Dana was demanding. Her shrill voice finally penetrated Coby’s cotton-stuffed ears. “You were talking about Jean-Claude.”
“He’s my dad’s best friend,” she said woodenly.
“That’s what you said.” Dana was impatient. “What is it? You’re scaring me,” she added, her sharp eyes scouring Coby’s face. “What happened?”
Coby couldn’t tell her about Yvette. She didn’t want to tell her about Yvette. She was struggling to even comprehend what had happened to Yvette. “I need something to eat,” she said flatly, as a diversion, realizing as she said it that it was the absolute truth. It was dinnertime and she hadn’t had anything since her makeshift breakfast.
Without another word she headed for the cafeteria with Dana hurrying to keep up with her.
Jean-Claude’s house sat on a ridge overlooking the city. Danner drove up the narrow, winding street and parked in the driveway of the daylight basement home next to a black Mercedes SUV He walked up a curving stone path to the front door, which was surrounded by overgrown bushes that nearly swallowed the porch. He rang the bell, hearing the deep tolling sounds within, reminding Danner of a funeral dirge.
It was Benedict who answered the door. The boy looked a bit crestfallen upon seeing Danner. “It’s a man,” he yelled over his shoulder.
“I told you your mother would still be at work,” Jean-Claude called back, his voice echoing from the floor below. Directly ahead of Danner was a wrought-iron rail that wrapped around the hole that was the stairs to the basement level. Jean-Claude’s head appeared behind the rail as he ascended the stairs to the main level. Behind him, through huge glass windows, was a staggering view of Portland, the city lights winking on as night approached.
“Detective Lockwood,” he said cautiously, upon seeing Danner in the doorway.
Danner’s gaze flicked to Benedict, and Jean-Claude picked up on the unspoken comment. “Go on downstairs and play that terrible video game while I talk to the detective,” he told his grandson.
Benedict didn’t have to be asked twice. He gave a whoop of joy and jumped down the stairs and out of sight.
“You and Coby are both all over the place, eh?” Jean-Claude stated flatly.
“Mr. Deneuve, I have something to tell you,” Danner began, searching for the right words. There was a protocol for delivering this kind of news, but he’d found he was no good at that kind of rote delivery.
But Jean-Claude was nothing if not perceptive. “Oh, Jesus. Oh, Lord. What’s happened?”
“I’m sorry to inform you that your daughter, Yvette, is dead.”
He blinked in shock, then backed away as if Danner had hit him. “No.”
“I was the one who discovered her body,” Danner said.
“What? How? Where?”
“Her apartment.”
“An accident?”
“A homicide,” Danner said.
Jean-Claude staggered back farther, holding on to the rail. “She was fine! She gave me Benedict last night! She was fine when I left her. This is a mistake!” He gazed at Danner pleadingly, but the truth was self-evident.
“I’m sorry,” Danner said, and Jean-Claude buried his face in his hands and shuddered violently.
Five minutes later Danner and Jean-Claude were in the kitchen and Jean-Claude was muttering, “I knew something would happen. I knew it. She was so impulsive. Oh, my daughters . . . my daughters . . .” He pulled out a bottle of scotch, poured himself a drink, then sat down hard at the kitchen table. He stared at the drink but didn’t pick it up.
Danner asked, “Would you like to call someone?”
“Yes . . . yes . . . Dave . . .” He picked up his cell phone from the counter and in a voice full of shock and disbelief baldly told Coby’s father what had happened. He hung up and told Danner in a strangled tone, “He’s coming over. He is at the hospital. Did you know Hank died tonight?” His voice cracked with disbelief. “They say things come in threes. That’s three deaths in a week. Three deaths! Oh, my daughters . . . my daughters!”
And then he broke down and sobbed.
Coby bought herself a turkey sandwich and couldn’t eat more than two bites. She turned instead to her black coffee, holding the cup for warmth and fortification as she felt her insides shudder uncontrollably. Yvette . . . she just couldn’t be gone. It had been hard enough to believe that Annette was dead—murdered—but now Yvette, too?
Dana was picking at the salad she’d ordered and sniffling. Just as soon as she corralled her tears, they began again. “Who called?” she asked again. “You look like your best friend died. What happened to Jean-Claude?”
Coby was saved for an answer by the appearance of her father and mother entering the cafeteria together, Leta’s arm clutched to Dave’s. It pissed Coby off, and for a moment she gratefully stoked her anger at them. It was easier to be mad than confused and shocked. Dana greeted them, accepting their condolences, but a line slowly formed between her brows. When Dave and Leta went to find themselves something to eat as well, Dana hissed quietly, “Are your mom and dad back together?”
“You mean because it’s barely been a week since Annette’s death?”
“Well, yeah . . .”
“I know,” Coby said flatly.
Across the room Coby heard a cell phone jingle and looked up to see her father reaching in his pocket. He pulled out the phone and the ringing got louder before he answered. He and Leta were standing in the cafeteria line, but Coby could see her father’s expression and body language. One moment he was standing there, the next he had staggered out of line. Leta rushed to him, but he was heading Coby’s way, his eyes wild.
“That was Jean-Claude,” he said hoarsely. “Yvette’s been killed. He wants me to come to his house.”
“I’ll follow you,” Coby said, and everyone was too shocked to notice that she’d already heard the news.
She was worried about her father’s driving, but Dave, with Leta tucked into the passenger seat, drove with exceptional care. Coby followed just as carefully, and by the time they got to Jean-Claude’s, she’d begun to accept that this was real, that Yvette was really dead. She’d left Dana gape-mouthed and lost, and upset that the focus had suddenly shifted from her own tragedy, and had driven after her father and mother, not caring whether she was invited or not.
Nicholette had arrived just ahead of them, looking white-faced and undone. Spying Coby, she decided to take her shock out on her. “Don’t start asking your questions! I’m advising my father to speak to me, as his attorney, and no one else!”
“No one thinks Jean-Claude has anything to do with Yvette’s murder!” Coby said in horror. “Nicholette, please . . .”
Nicholette tossed her hands in the air and went inside. Coby followed on her heels with Dave and Leta bringing up the rear.
The Deneuve family was in the kitchen, Jean-Claude and now Nicholette, along with Coby’s father and mother. Suzette and Juliet had been notified and were on their way, according to Jean-Claude. Leta stayed to one side, standing against the back wall as Dave sat down next to Jean-Claude; she was the odd woman out. Danner, too, was several paces back.
Coby said to him, “My mother shouldn’t be here.”
“I’m about ready to leave myself,” he told her.
“Let’s connect later?” she asked and he nodded. Then she moved close to Leta and said in her ear, “Let me take you home.”
“I’m here for your father.”
“Mom, catch a clue. You shouldn’t be here.”
Leta’s chin jutted mutinously. Her eyes warred with Coby’s but Coby just held her gaze. Finally, she sighed and announced, “Coby’s going to take me home now, Dave. Jean-Claude, I’m so sorry.”
Both men nodded vacantly and Leta, seeing how little they noticed, preceded Coby from the house, her back stiff. Danner followed them to the door. “I’m right behind you,” he said. “I’ll come to your town house.”
“Okay.”
The whole night
was surreal. Leta climbed into the passenger seat of Coby’s Nissan and pulled the seat belt across her body, eyes straight ahead. She was afraid of losing the slightest influence over Coby’s father, Coby realized, also seeing for the first time how weak her father was. He couldn’t be without a woman, a forceful woman. Yvette was right about that; Annette would have gotten her way eventually, had she lived, and there would have been a new baby, Coby’s half brother or sister.
“Hey . . .” A voice came out of the darkness, from somewhere near the bushes that were trying to overtake the front porch.
Coby whipped around, terror slicing through her before her brain registered that the voice was young and male. She couldn’t see anything. It was too dark. “Benedict?” she asked cautiously.
He materialized from the darkness, all angles and limbs and big eyes. “Is my mom all right?” he squeaked out.
Coby’s shoulders dropped. “Oh, Benedict. This is something you need to talk to your grandfather about.” Coby wanted to grab him and hug him and comfort him, but he stayed back, just out of range.
“She’s dead,” he stated flatly. “I heard them. Somebody killed her.”
“You really need to go back inside and talk to Jean-Claude. He’ll be looking for you.”
“Here.”
He suddenly held out his hand. Dangling from it was something small and chainlike. A necklace. The necklace, Coby realized with a start. The sapphire pendant.
Benedict took it?
“My mom put it in my backpack,” he explained. “She wanted me to find it. It’s Aunt Annette’s.”
She lifted her hand to take the necklace, which Benedict pooled into her palm. “Does anyone know about this?”
“Grandpa. He thinks Mom left it for him, but it’s for me.” He started to cry. “Take it. I don’t want it anymore.”
He ran to the front door and yanked it open. Nicholette was standing on the other side and he barreled into her arms, surprising her. Through the aperture she saw Coby holding the necklace and she shook her head, as if she didn’t want to talk about it. Then she shut the door.
Coby stared down at the sapphire necklace in her hand. Its appearance wasn’t a surprise to Nicholette, so Jean-Claude must have told her about finding it. They were both protecting Yvette. Except now Yvette was dead, and Nicholette had warned her father not to talk to the authorities without a lawyer present. She was protecting him as well.
Or . . . ?
“Coby!” Leta rolled down the window and regarded her impatiently.
She should give the necklace to Danner. She shouldn’t keep it. What did it mean? Yvette had taken it? So was she Annette’s killer after all? Had she altered her story to protect herself, claiming she’d walked away from the hot tub when she’d really held Annette’s head under in a fit of rage?
Stuffing the necklace in her pocket, Coby walked to her car on wooden legs.
“What did that boy give you?” Leta demanded.
“A lot more questions than answers,” Coby responded, then drove her mother back to the Portland house where Coby had grown up.
It’s all getting smaller and smaller around me.
Yvette stole the necklace from me. Stole it! My souvenir! She said that she and I were the same, but she’s wrong. She said she’s always known about me, but she doesn’t know anything!
We’re not the same. We’ve never been the same.
She took the necklace and thought she had the upper hand.
She slammed the lamp at me but only grazed my shoulder.
She’s not like me. She’s nothing like me! I found the knife and I stabbed her in the throat and pulled with everything I had.
I told her I was sorry, but she was already.
I am sorry.
But she’s never done what she’s supposed to do. She doesn’t belong!
None of them belong anymore. They ruined it.
They were the queens and kings and now they’re nothing.
I’ve done so much for them . . . and they don’t appreciate it.
I have to make them see! Do something . . . something to make it all matter.
I’ve made mistakes. I failed to kill Coby last night, and she’s getting closer to the truth. I can feel it.
She doesn’t belong. She’s never belonged.
Chapter 28
Dave called Coby just after she dropped oft Leta. “I hate to ask you, but can you stop by Lovejoy’s? Juliet left in a panic when she heard about Yvette, and I’m afraid William’s overloaded. Suzette’s already here at Jean-Claude’s.”
“Sure. What do you want me to do?”
“Ask William. Maybe close down the wine bar. Thanks, Bug. I really appreciate it.”
She changed course from her town house to Lovejoy’s. She’d called Danner and left him a voice mail, telling him about the necklace and Benedict and Nicholette. Though it hadn’t occurred to her in the moment, she wondered if she should have gone back inside and handed the necklace over to her father, or to Danner, like she’d intended.
Instead she’d just stuck the necklace in her pocket, a kind of rote security measure, like stowing her car keys. Now the necklace felt heavy. A mental trick. Some huge onus.
She punched in her contact list and hit the button for Danner but was sent to voice mail. “I’m at Lovejoy’s,” she told him. “Can you meet me here? I’ve been called into active duty.”
Just before she pulled into the parking lot across the street from the hotel, her cell rang back at her. Assuming it was Danner, she didn’t look at the number as she clicked on. “Hey, did you get my message?”
Silence.
Coby’s attention sharpened. Maybe a bad connection—maybe something else. “Hello?” she said loudly. “Danner?”
“I didn’t kill her,” the female voice responded. Unrecognizable.
“Who is this?” Coby demanded.
“Genevieve.”
“Gen?” Coby repeated; there was some familiarity to the tone now, though her voice was strangled.
“I didn’t kill Yvette. I saw it on the news . . . her apartment complex . . . I knew it was Yvette’s. They said there was a female homicide victim. It’s Yvette, isn’t it? That was her door they focused on. I know it was! And I was there last night. I don’t know when she died, but she was alive when I left her. I swear it! I don’t think Jarrod believes me! He stormed out of here and he’s probably calling Danner now, but I didn’t do it!” Her voice was rising with hysteria.
“Calm down.” Because of a special event in the area the garage attendant was waiting for her to pay in advance, so Coby said, “Just a minute. Genevieve. Hold on, just a minute.” She tried to hold the cell with her shoulder and ear, dicey at the best of times, and open her purse at the same time. The attendant took her cash and said he’d bring change. “Genevieve? Are you still there?”
“I accused her of running down Hank Sainer. I was mad at her. She wanted me to leave. We argued some, but it was just words! Oh, my God. Oh, my God.”
“Gen, just hold on.” Frustrated, Coby curtly thanked the attendant for her change, then wanted to scream while he scratched his neck and told her there might be a place to park at the far end, and if not, come on back and he’d hold her car until a spot opened up.
Coby drove forward, searching for a parking place.
“We were talking about Lucas,” Gen choked out. “I just wanted to blame her, but it was . . . I don’t know. It’s over! It’s so over, and it’s just been like this piece of me died with him, you know? She stood up there that day and swore she and Lucas were lovers and I knew it wasn’t true. I knew it. I told Rhiannon it wasn’t true, and she believed me at first. But then she realized Lucas had been unfaithful and . . . oh . . . it’s never been right.”
“Gen, I’ve got to put down the phone while I park.” Coby set the cell on the seat and maneuvered into a spot. The place was packed and she remembered distantly that there was some wine-tasting thing going on in Nob Hill tonight. She switched off
the ignition and picked up the cell. “Gen?” she said urgently as she squeezed from the driver’s side.
“Yvette’s dead, isn’t she?”
“Genevieve—”
“She’s dead, isn’t she!”
“Yes,” Coby said.
“I didn’t do it. Honest to God, Coby. It’s not my fault.”
“No one’s accusing you of killing Yvette.”
“They will. I can see it coming. Jarrod’s livid. He thinks I did it!”
Coby glanced both ways as she crossed the street and headed up the steps to the front doors of Lovejoy’s. The lobby lights had been lowered some and no one was behind the counter.
“It doesn’t matter what Jarrod thinks, if it’s not true. What time were you at her apartment?” Coby asked. “Maybe you can help the police figure out who did kill her. Talk to Danner.”
“I didn’t kill her,” she repeated, like a mantra.
“Call Danner,” Coby repeated. “Let me give you his number.” She rattled it off, unsure whether Genevieve was even listening any longer. “Gen, I’m at Lovejoy’s. They’re short-staffed and I’m just covering until they can get someone to fill in.”
“Can I come be with you?” Her voice was small.
“Sure,” Coby said, though a bit of warning slid along her nerves.
“I’ll be right there!”
As soon as Gen ended the call, Coby phoned Danner, and it went straight to voice mail yet again. She told him about Genevieve coming to Lovejoy’s, then said, “Call me,” wondering why he wasn’t picking up.
Coby headed toward the tearoom/wine bar and saw it was dark and looked closed. She was thinking maybe there wasn’t that much for her to do when Juliet suddenly came through the door from the inner sanctum. “Oh, there you are,” she said with relief. “I don’t know where William is. Just didn’t feel like I could leave.”
“I’m so sorry, Juliet,” Coby said, meaning it.
