by Jana DeLeon
She pulled the pineapple and milk out of the refrigerator and grabbed a container of protein powder from the pantry. Breakfast had never been a big meal for her and definitely not this early, but if she didn’t have something, she’d be starving in an hour and would eat the rest of the croissants. No way was she interested in putting in the time on the treadmill it would take to run all of them off.
She’d polished off half her shake when Jackson came into the kitchen wearing blue jeans and a T-shirt, barefoot, and rubbing his damp head with a towel.
“I apologize for not completing my grooming before venturing out,” he said. “But I got a whiff of coffee and I couldn’t contain myself.”
“I understand. It’s the one call that can never be ignored.”
He poured a cup and took a drink, closing his eyes. A couple seconds later, he opened them and shuffled over to the island to take a seat on the stool next to her.
“How did you sleep?” she asked.
“Well, I don’t remember getting into bed and the only things that made it off of me were my shoes and my belt. I’m not sure if I slept or fell into a coma.”
“Either works. You needed the rest. I’m sure you’ll be better today because of it.”
“Between that and the shower, I feel like a whole new human being. Thanks for pushing me to stay here. You’re right. I slept better than I would have at home.”
“Sometimes, I know what I’m talking about.”
“I’d say always, but I’m probably biased. So what are you up to today? More paperwork? Someone scamming on a slip-and-fall?”
She rolled her eyes. “Probably plenty of people are doing that. There seems to be no shortage of people trying to get out of real work. And the admin side of things is a never-ending battle of procrastination for me, as you well know because you hear me complain all the time. But I’ve actually got a new case to work on. A real one, although I’m not sure how much value I can add to what’s already been done.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Cold case. Six years ago, a young woman went missing from a bar during Mardi Gras.”
He shook his head. “That’s tough. I assume the family is pursuing?”
“Her twin sister and two of the friends who were also with the missing girl in the bar that night.”
“Twin sister? Wow. I’ve always heard that twins had some special bond.”
Shaye nodded. “I’ve done some reading on them, and the research is fascinating. How twins separated at birth and who know nothing of the other’s existence end up in the same career and marrying the same kind of women. They have the same hobbies and often the same style in hair and clothes.”
“Is there anything I can do? I can talk to Records and try to pave the way for you to get the police file.”
“Actually, one of the friends was wise enough to have the sister request it. She thought, given my rather public past with the department, that I might run into trouble, and she wanted me to have everything I needed.”
“Nice. Well, let me know if there’s anything I can do.”
“You have bigger fish to fry than a case that probably ended long ago.”
He nodded but didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. They both knew the likelihood of Shaye’s missing woman being found alive was practically nil, where Jackson still had a chance to rescue the girl he was looking for.
“If there’s anything I can do,” Shaye said, “you let me know. I’m sure I don’t have to remind you that I’m not bound by the same rules and red tape as you. And if it comes down to resources—especially the financial kind Corrine can help with—let me know.”
“I appreciate it. We’re really hoping for a ransom call, but the longer we go without one, the more I worry that the kidnapping was an afterthought and not the reason for this crime.”
“The news has only said home invasion, but I know you only give out what you want them to know. What do you think happened?”
“I can’t say for sure. The job looks professional because the alarm system was deactivated and the locks were picked. But no family members can find anything in the house that was taken except the wife’s wedding ring and the girl.”
“Personal?”
“The father was a manager at one of his father’s companies, so we’re looking into that angle, talking to vendors, employees, and customers. But if it was personal, then either he offended someone who was already a pro at breaking and entering or the offended party hired someone who was.” He shook his head. “Maybe I’m reading too much into it. Maybe the intent all along was to take the girl and get money out of the grandfather.”
“They could have done that without beating the parents though.”
“Yeah, but the fact that they did beat the parents sent a message to the grandfather. Assuming this is a kidnapping for ransom. I figure we’ll know today. I can’t imagine them taking longer than this to make their move, especially if this was their plan all along.”
“And if taking the child was an opportunistic move?”
“The smart play would still be to make contact sooner rather than later. Waiting gives us time to close in.”
“That’s the smart play from a cop’s perspective, but most criminals think they’re much smarter than you.”
“That’s true enough. I guess we’ll just have to wait and see. In the meantime, Grayson and I will be going over everything again today. Witness statements, the house, what little evidence the forensic team recovered, the father’s work connections, the mother’s friends, poking into the family…”
“Sounds like a long day.”
“Even longer if that call doesn’t come.”
She gave his arm a squeeze. “It will come.”
Maybe all of them hoping would make the phone ring.
CODY REYNOLDS WALKED through the tombstones in Metairie Cemetery, headed for the meeting place he hadn’t used in years after calling a number the night before that he hadn’t called in years. It was a bit of a hike to the location, but you had a better shot at privacy that way. These days, with security cameras on every corner, it didn’t pay to meet people in the city unless it was on the up-and-up. And this definitely wasn’t.
He reached the crypt where they’d met before and took a seat on part of a crumbling wall nearby. He was a little early, but traffic was always iffy and he wasn’t sure he’d remember exactly where the crypt was, so he’d built in some extra time for both.
The person he was meeting wasn’t there yet, but Cody had no doubt they’d be there soon. He ran one hand through his hair and blew out a breath. He should have never gotten involved. But once again, Caitlyn had gotten the better of him. There was something about her that brought out his worst side. He’d always known it but had never been able to just walk away.
Now the chickens had come home to roost.
The police had been one thing, but given their workload around Mardi Gras, and with little to go on, Cody had bet on them giving up before discovering anything relevant. And it had been a good gamble. But now he wondered if he’d made the wrong decision. If he should have stepped back in the bar that night and just forgotten he’d ever known Caitlyn Taylor.
Right now, sitting on a cold, hard piece of cement in a damned creepy cemetery, it seemed like a no-brainer. But then, no one had ever accused him of being smart. He heard footsteps behind him and started to turn, but before he moved even an inch, he felt something strike the back of his head.
Pain exploded in his skull, and he screamed as he fell, the second blow catching him as he slumped onto the ground. His vision blurred, and the entire cemetery upended, then began to spin. He saw a shadow above him and blinked, trying to clear his blurry vision.
That’s when the final blow came down right on his forehead.
And everything went black.
6
CAITLYN TAYLOR PACED the length of the bedroom, a path worn in the old wood indicating her repeated passage. She looked out the one tiny window and
into the woods, feeling like a bird in a cage. “Bedroom” was just what she called the place, but the reality was, it was her prison. Calling it a bedroom made her feel better, as if it were a place she chose to be.
But she knew if she twisted the doorknob, she’d find it locked from the outside. The same with the window. It didn’t have a lock, but it was one of those octagon-shaped decorative windows. The kind that didn’t open. And even if she could somehow work it out of the wall, it would be a tight fit to get out and a drop down of two stories. She’d spent some time scraping at the caulk around it with a nail file until she got caught. Now the only thing in the room was a hairbrush, a bed, and some clothes. A tiny bath was attached to the room, leaving no viable excuse for her to leave. Not as far as her captor was concerned. Food was randomly delivered when she was asleep, and that was enough to keep her functioning.
She knew the food was laced with drugs. Too many times, she’d eaten, then passed out without even realizing she was sleeping. Other times, she didn’t even remember eating but there was an empty plate in the room. When she woke, things were different. Toiletries had been replaced, and sometimes she was wearing different clothes. A couple times, several inches had been cut off her hair.
She had no idea how long she’d been in the room. At first, she’d tried to keep track, but the blackouts made it impossible. The last time she looked, she’d scratched fifteen lines in the floor under the bed, but she couldn’t remember if they represented days or weeks or maybe even months. When she tried to think hard about it, everything was fuzzy.
It was the drugs. But she had to eat, and often she was starving before the food arrived.
Sometimes she tried to figure out how she got here, but that was fuzzy too. She remembered Mardi Gras masks, and sometimes she got a flash of a stage where people were singing. Then she saw another mask, and after that everything went blank. Then she woke up here.
And she’d been here ever since.
7
SHAYE PULLED up to the curb in front of Carly Boudreaux’s house. It was a nice middle-class neighborhood where most everyone seemed to care about their homes and their lawns. Every neighborhood had the usual holdouts who favored weeds and peeling paint, but Carly wasn’t one of those. Fresh blue trim framed a neat house with white siding and pretty azalea bushes. A good-sized magnolia tree stood in the middle of the lawn, providing some shade for the front of the house.
A newish Camry was parked in the drive and as she walked toward the house, Shaye saw a baby car seat in the back, a good sign Carly was at home. Also a sign she should knock lightly on the door rather than ringing a doorbell. The quickest way to get on the bad side of a new mother was to wake up a sleeping baby.
She opened the screen door and rapped lightly on the door, then waited, hoping Carly was close enough to hear the knock. A couple minutes later, she saw someone moving inside the house, but couldn’t make out whether it was man or woman through the thick white sheers covering the front window. Seconds later, the door swung open and a pretty woman with a short brown bob looked out at her.
“Carly Boudreaux?” Shaye asked.
“Yes.”
Shaye handed her a card. “My name is Shaye Archer, and I’m a private investigator. I wondered if you could spare some time to talk to me.”
The girl took the card and frowned. “What’s this about?”
“It’s about a young woman who went missing six years ago from the French Revival. I believe you were working there at the time.”
“Oh, yeah. That was awful. Please come inside.”
Shaye stepped inside and followed Carly through a living room cluttered with baby stuff and into an even more cluttered kitchen.
“Sorry about the mess,” Carly said. “I had no idea babies required so much stuff. I’m convinced it multiplies when I’m sleeping, which isn’t often. Please have a seat at the counter. It’s the only place in here with a clear spot.”
Shaye smiled and sat on the stool. “How old is your baby?”
“Two months. I just put her down for a nap, so your timing is perfect. Do you mind if I fold clothes while we talk? I live in a perpetual state of behind.”
“Please do whatever you need to do.”
Carly lifted a laundry basket from the floor and dumped a stack of baby clothes and rags on the counter. Shaye reached for some rags and started to fold.
“The least I can do is help,” Shaye said.
“Thanks,” Carly said and pulled up another stool. “I swear it never ends. How does such a small person go through so many clothes? That’s rhetorical, mind you. So what did you want to ask me?”
“Jenny Taylor, the sister of the missing woman, has asked me to look into her disappearance.”
“I guess the police gave up, huh?”
“It’s a cold case, but it’s still unsolved. Unfortunately, unless some new evidence is introduced, they feel there’s nothing left for them to do.”
Carly nodded. “There’s not a worse time to go missing in New Orleans than during Mardi Gras.”
“It definitely adds another layer of difficulty. Anyway, I talked to Alyssa Hebert yesterday and she said you were the one who told Jenny that her sister, Caitlyn, had gone out the back door.”
“That’s right. I was on break myself and went out back to take a quick smoke. I stopped, by the way, long before I started trying to get pregnant. No desire to start again. Anyway, I was leaning against the wall out back when the woman—Caitlyn—came out the back door. She was moving so fast, I don’t even think she saw me when she came out.”
“Was there anyone else in the alley?”
“Just me and Caitlyn. She was wearing a mask but pulled it off and stopped right there in the middle of the alley, breathing hard. I figured she was going to get sick. She wouldn’t be the first or the last that night. But she just stood there for a bit, mumbling to herself.”
“Could you understand what she was saying?”
“No. It was too low. Anyway, she turned around and saw me and froze. Then she said ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you.’
“I told her she wasn’t disturbing me at all and besides, it wasn’t like I owned the alley.”
“What did she say?”
“She laughed and said it was a shame everyone didn’t have my same view of things. By that time my break was almost up, so I told her good night and headed back inside to get in a quick bathroom visit before going back to work. Her sister was coming from the bathroom, and I had to do a double take at first, thinking it was the same person.”
“I’ve seen pictures,” Shaye said. “They definitely looked like mirror copies.”
Carly nodded. “And they were dressed exactly alike, too. College sweatshirt, jeans, white Keds. Probably on purpose. Hot blonde twins attract the guys, you know? The only difference was the one outside had a pink mask and the one inside was holding a turquoise one.”
“And you talked to Jenny? The sister inside?”
“Yeah, she asked if I’d seen her twin sister, and I said she was out back and pointed to the door.”
“Did she say anything else?”
“No. She just ran by and went out the door.” Carly frowned. “But she looked upset. Maybe. Or maybe she was drunk. I don’t know. We were so slammed I admit I didn’t pay much attention.”
“And you never saw either of them again?”
“No. Not until the police came the next day. They showed pictures of Caitlyn and told me she was missing.” She stopped folding and looked directly at Shaye. “It spooked me. Bad. So bad I almost quit. One of the older waitresses talked me out of it, and I’m glad she did, because it was good money. Not all the bars are. But after that, you can bet I had one of the guys walk me to my car every night. It still bothers me. I mean, how does someone just disappear that quickly? And no one saw anything?”
Shaye nodded. “It is scary. Most people don’t think about the things that can happen until it’s too late.”
Carly looke
d down at the counter, then back up at Shaye. “She’s probably dead, isn’t she?”
“The odds aren’t good that she’s alive.”
Carly nodded. “She’s better off if she’s not, right? I mean, six years…” Her eyes widened. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry. I mean, I know what happened to you. I didn’t mean to imply you’d have been better off…”
“That’s okay. Trust me, there were so many times that I would have been. And even when you’re no longer captive, you’re still never really free.”
Carly’s expression filled with sympathy. “I can’t imagine. How do you deal with it?”
“One day at a time. An awesome mother and the best therapist in the world. But most of all, I think you have to have a purpose, a reason to get up every day and do something with your life. My job does that for me.”
Carly gave her a small smile and sniffed, and Shaye could see tears brimming in her eyes. “I think you’re the bravest person I’ve ever met. And if anyone can figure out what happened to Caitlyn, it’s you.”
SHAYE LEFT Carly’s house and stopped at the nearest café, where she ordered a coffee and Danish and opened her laptop to make some notes. She’d scanned the police file that morning and had all the documents in a folder for easy access. When she finished making notes from her interview with Carly, she compared them with the police report, as she had her interviews with Cody and Alyssa. And just as she thought, the stories matched. They had in every instance.
The only difference in Carly’s story was the tiny comment about Jenny looking upset when Carly spoke with her in the hallway. But as Carly said, she could have been mistaken. She was young and green when she went to work there, and Lord only knew how many people she’d served that night. She might have misinterpreted Jenny’s expression or even attributed someone else’s look to Jenny.
And even if Jenny had looked upset, did it matter?
