Dreadful

by Jana DeLeon

  Virginia shrugged. “His heart wasn’t great to begin with, and he was almost a decade older than me, so no spring chicken. Neither am I, for that matter.” She looked at Shaye. “You’re wondering about my age, aren’t you? Probably thought I was Jenny’s grandmother when you set eyes on me.”

  Because that’s exactly what she thought, Shaye elected to remain silent.

  “People always did, mind you,” Virginia said. “Even when they was little, it was clear I was a lot older than most mothers. Roy and I tried for years to have a baby and it never happened. Finally, we gave up and figured it wasn’t God’s will. Then I turned forty-two and I came up pregnant. Could have knocked me over with a feather. Heck, I was sick for two months before Roy made me go to the doctor. Didn’t even guess…”

  Shaye quickly did the math and put Virginia’s age at sixty-nine or so, which was older than what she expected to find, but still younger than Virginia looked. Shaye would have guessed the woman was closer to eighty than seventy.

  “I suppose after all that time you wouldn’t guess you were pregnant,” Shaye said. “It must have been a shock.”

  “That’s one word for it. And not just pregnant but pregnant at forty-two with twins. Heck, by that age, I was supposed to be worrying about college or weddings. Never thought I’d be chasing toddlers long after the time I was fit to go chasing anyone. But I’m sure that ain’t what you came for, so go ahead and ask your questions.”

  Shaye pulled out her phone and showed Virginia a picture of Cody Reynolds. “Do you recognize this man?”

  Virginia looked at the picture for a couple of seconds, then shook her head. “Should I?”

  “I think he was someone Caitlyn dated. Might even have been dating when she disappeared. He was a bartender at the bar she disappeared from and was working that night.”

  “I don’t know nothing about him, but Caitlyn did a lot of things I probably don’t know about. We did our best with her, but she was a willful one. If she wanted it, wasn’t God or nobody getting in her way.”

  “The reason I’m here tonight is because this man was murdered today, and I think it might have something to do with Jenny asking me to look into Caitlyn’s disappearance.”

  Virginia stared at Shaye as if she didn’t quite believe what she’d heard. “Murdered?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I interviewed him yesterday and he called someone right after, but the number he called can’t be traced. He went to Metairie Cemetery this morning—the police think to meet someone—and that someone killed him.”

  “Lots of people get killed in those cemeteries. Lots of crime in the city. That’s why I live out here.”

  “It wasn’t a robbery. His wallet wasn’t taken, and he had cash inside. The police also agree that the timing of his death and my investigation are suspicious. They’ll probably be here at some point to ask you and Jenny some questions, but I felt you needed the information as soon as possible.”

  “Well, I appreciate your sense of responsibility, but I don’t know what I’ll do with that information. I’m sorry the young man was killed, but I can’t see as how it matters to me.”

  “It’s possible that this man knew something about Caitlyn’s disappearance. Something the person who killed him didn’t want us to know. But it’s strange that he waited all these years to eliminate Reynolds as a threat. If my taking this case has someone spooked, then it’s possible that person could come after Jenny, Marisa, or Rick, or even you.”

  “I see. You’re worried she’s done stirred up a hornet’s nest.” She sighed. “Sometimes it’s better to let sleeping dogs lie. My daughter is gone. Knowing how it happened doesn’t change a thing.”

  The sadness in her voice made Shaye’s heart clench. This woman had lost her daughter years ago and had decided that the cause didn’t matter. Although Shaye had never felt that way about her own unanswered questions, she understood how some people did. Everyone had their own way of coping and Virginia’s way was blanket acceptance. Unfortunately, Jenny couldn’t follow the same path and had kept them both mired in the past.

  “I’m really sorry for what happened,” Shaye said. “I can’t imagine the pain of losing a child.”

  Virginia tilted her head to the side. “But you know a thing or two about loss yourself. I seen you on the TV. You had a hard time of it. The fact that you came out of it like you did speaks to your own convictions and that of the people around you. I sometimes think if I’d done things different…but then, I don’t know what different would have been.”

  “I’m sure you did everything you could. Jenny is lucky to have you to care for her.”

  Virginia nodded. “I worry about what will happen when I’m gone, but then I guess I’ll be cold in the grave and it won’t matter. Not to me.”

  “Is Jenny home?”

  “Upstairs in her room. Been quiet most of the day. Guess now I know why.”

  “I don’t want to upset her, but I feel like she needs to know the risks of my continuing to work on the case. I want to give her the opportunity to stop the investigation.”

  “Go ahead in and try, but I doubt she’ll change her mind. Once it’s made up, that’s all she wrote.”

  Shaye thanked the woman and headed into the house, through the tiny kitchen and toward the front of the house where she found the stairs. They were narrow and somewhat steep and ended at a small landing with a single door. Shaye knocked on the door and called out.

  “Jenny? It’s Shaye Archer. I’d like to talk to you if that’s all right.”

  She heard movement inside and a couple seconds later, the door swung open and Jenny looked out at her. Her hair was disheveled and although she was fully dressed, her clothes were rumpled as if she’d been asleep in them.

  “Do you want to talk here?” Shaye asked when Jenny stood silently. “Or would you like to go downstairs?”

  “Here is fine,” Jenny said. “I have a chair you can sit on. I’ll just sit on the bed if that’s all right.”

  “Whatever you’d like,” Shaye said.

  Jenny stood back and allowed Shaye to enter the room. If it hadn’t been so run-down and if there wasn’t an oppressive air to the place, it could have been charming. Instead, it was what Shaye would describe as sparse. The basics of furniture and linens and that was it. No frilly pillows. The only things hanging on the walls were two sad-looking floral paintings.

  Shaye took a seat in the chair Jenny had indicated and watched as Jenny perched on the end of the bed, still not meeting Shaye’s eyes.

  “How are you feeling today?” Shaye asked.

  “A little tired, but that’s no different from any other day.”

  “I’m sorry. Everything is so much harder when you’re not feeling well.”

  Jenny shrugged. “Got nothing to do but sit here anyway. Being tired doesn’t make a difference. Sleeping makes the time pass quicker besides.”

  “I wanted to ask you some questions about Caitlyn. Is that all right?”

  Jenny looked up at her and nodded. Shaye pulled her phone out and rose from the chair, approaching the bed. She held the phone up so that Jenny could see the image of Cody Reynolds.

  “Do you recognize this man?” Shaye asked.

  Jenny looked at the image for a bit, frowned, then finally shook her head. “I don’t but I feel like I should.”

  “His name is Cody Reynolds. Does that name ring a bell?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “He was a bartender at the French Revival and was working the night Caitlyn disappeared.”

  “Oh. Maybe that’s why I thought I should recognize him. I probably saw him there that night, right?”

  “It’s possible. But you’ve never seen him any other time?”

  Jenny shook her head.

  “Did Caitlyn ever mention his name?”

  “Not that I can remember. Why?”

  “Because I have reason to believe that Caitlyn and Mr. Reynolds were involved.”

  Jenny’s eyes wi
dened and she looked at the image again. “You mean, like dating?”

  “Yes.”

  “But he lived in New Orleans, right?”

  Shaye nodded, and Jenny frowned.

  “What are you thinking?” Shaye asked.

  “I remember Marisa saying something about Caitlyn disappearing on weekends. I guess we figured she was with Garrett. Caitlyn stayed pretty busy with boyfriends. She usually had one or two.”

  “Did she have a boyfriend when you went to New Orleans?”

  “I don’t think so. I mean, she’d been going out with that awful Garrett Trahan, but she swore that was over. I never liked him. None of us did. He always thought he was better than the rest of us. And he was using Caitlyn. I’m sure of it. He followed her to New Orleans. Did you know that?”

  “I know that’s what Caitlyn accused him of. I talked to Mr. Trahan earlier today, but he denies her claim.”

  “Did you believe him?”

  “I’m not sure. I am certain I didn’t like him.”

  Jenny gave her a rueful smile. “That’s because you’ve got good taste.”

  Shaye studied Jenny for a bit. Her skin was even paler than it had been in Shaye’s office, and the circles under her eyes were darker. Jenny might be getting plenty of sleep, but it didn’t appear restful. Could she handle what Shaye needed to tell her? Or should she talk to Marisa about it and let the other woman decide? Virginia didn’t seem all that worried about the potential for danger and certainly showed no interest in attempting to tell Jenny what to do.

  It can come from you or Detective Grayson.

  She held in a sigh. Ultimately the decision wasn’t whether or not to let Jenny know what had happened, because that was going to happen one way or another. The decision was whether to deliver that news herself tonight or let the police do it later. As much as Shaye hated putting additional stress on the already-frail young woman, she couldn’t in good conscience leave there tonight without telling her what had happened. She had an obligation to her client.

  “I have some bad news,” Shaye said.

  Jenny sat up straight, looking slightly distressed. “You’re quitting, aren’t you?”

  “Not unless you want me to.”

  “Why would I want that? I just hired you.”

  “The man I showed you—Cody Reynolds—was murdered this morning. The police think it has something to do with my investigation.”

  Jenny’s eyes widened. “Do you think he’s the one? Did he do something to Caitlyn?”

  “I don’t know, but if he did, he wasn’t alone. And that other person didn’t want him to talk. Jenny, I interviewed Cody yesterday. The police don’t think the timing is a coincidence.”

  “You interviewed him? Did he say he was dating Caitlyn?”

  “He claimed he’d never seen her before the police showed him a picture the day after her disappearance when they came to question everyone in the bar.”

  “But you said they were dating.”

  “The police found a picture of Mr. Reynolds and Caitlyn in his apartment. They looked like a couple.”

  “He lied. All this time…but why?”

  “I think if we knew that, we’d know what happened to Caitlyn. And I’m not trying to scare you, but there’s a chance that the same person who hurt Mr. Reynolds might come after you or Marisa or Rick to try to stop the investigation.”

  Jenny grabbed Shaye’s hand. “You can’t stop. Promise me you won’t stop until you’re certain you can’t get me answers. If you can’t, well, I’ll figure out how to handle that.”

  “I won’t quit unless you ask me to, but I need to be certain that you understand you might be in danger.”

  “Then that means you are too, right?”

  “Yes. But that’s part of my job, and I’m trained to protect myself against that kind of threat. You’re not.”

  “I’ll be okay. What’s the worst that can happen? He gets me too? Either way, my problems are solved.”

  “You can’t think that way. It’s not productive, and I know you want answers.”

  “I do. And sometimes I think I’m going to get them, then I wake up disappointed again.”

  “Are you still dreaming about Caitlyn?”

  “All the time. But lately, it’s different. I’m starting to see things at the bar—things I never remembered. Today I remembered going into the alley and Marisa pulling me back inside and talking to Rick, but I don’t remember anything she said or what happened in between. That’s got to be it, right? The thing that will answer all of it?”

  “Maybe. But there is no guarantee. For all we know, Caitlyn might have left the bar and walked down the street. Whatever happened to her might have been in a completely different location than the French Revival.”

  Jenny looked disappointed. “I guess that’s true. But I still feel like it’s there, you know?”

  Shaye nodded. “I know exactly. And I also know you can’t force it to happen. When you’re ready, the memories might come. Or they might be gone forever. It’s impossible to know.”

  “But yours came back, right?”

  “Yes, but even now, I’m still remembering things I didn’t before. I’ll have no way of knowing if I’ve remembered everything. Each time I think it’s all come out, I dream about something new or a previously unrecalled memory is just there, like a flash of lightning.”

  “Does it frighten you?”

  “Yes. Then I remind myself to breathe and force myself to remain calm. Your memories can’t hurt you unless you let them.”

  “Thank you for being honest. Most people would have lied to make me feel better, which is nice but not helpful. I’m sorry, but I’m really tired. Can we talk again later? I need to rest.”

  “Of course.” Shaye headed out of the room, glancing back as she pulled the door shut behind her. Jenny was already laying back on the bed, curled into a ball like a child, her shoulders shaking. Shaye wanted to comfort her, but she had no idea how and was afraid anything she did right now would only embarrass the distraught woman.

  She headed downstairs and almost collided with Virginia, who was turning on the porch light near the front door.

  “Couldn’t change her mind, could you?” Virginia asked.

  “No. She’s upset, even though she didn’t want me to know it. You might want to check on her.”

  “Always have. Always will.”

  She sounded as exhausted as Jenny looked.

  “Good night,” Shaye said. “And thank you for your time.”

  Virginia nodded and walked past Shaye toward the kitchen. Shaye took that as her cue to leave and hurried out to her SUV, beyond ready to get out of that house. It felt as if a dark cloud hung over the structure and everyone in it. She started her vehicle, trying to put her finger on what it reminded her of. Then it hit her.

  The morgue.

  11

  JACKSON WALKED up the sidewalk next to Grayson and waited while he knocked on the door of Cody Reynolds’s parents’ house. It was a small brick home, built in the ’70s, with overgrown landscaping and peeling paint on the trim. A quick background had shown that Reynolds’s father, Peter, was a mechanic at a locally owned auto repair shop and his mother, Sue, was a waitress at a nearby café. Neither had a police record, and Jackson figured they were probably a typical blue-collar family.

  The background check also revealed that Cody was an only child, which made Jackson even more sad about what they were about to do. Not that having multiple children diminished the loss of another, but when there was only one and they were lost, there was nothing left at all. Grayson rang the doorbell and shifted to his professional face. He’d done family notification more times than he could probably count, but based on his huge lapses into silence on the drive there, Jackson knew it hadn’t gotten any easier, even if the senior detective had gotten more proficient at it.

  The door swung open and Peter Reynolds looked out at them. Grayson pulled out his badge. “Peter Reynolds? My name is Detective Gr
ayson and this is Detective Lamotte from the New Orleans Police Department. We need to speak with you.”

  Peter looked back and forth between the two of them, and then his shoulders slumped as he stepped back for them to enter.

  He already knows.

  The older man’s body language told the entire story. Two detectives from New Orleans showing up at his front door could only mean something had happened to Cody. Jackson’s gut clenched as he thought about what kind of devastation Grayson’s words would deliver. Seeing what had happened to the victims was the worst part of his job, but this was definitely second.

  They followed Peter to the rear of the house, where Sue was pulling a mixing bowl out of a kitchen cabinet. She frowned when they walked in, then looked at Peter and set the bowl down. It was impossible to ignore the general feeling of gloom that had descended over the room.

  “These are detectives from New Orleans,” Peter said to Sue. “They need to talk to us. You best come sit down.”

  Sue stiffened, then left the kitchen and joined her husband on the couch. Grayson and Jackson sat in two chairs placed in front the fireplace. One of the first things Jackson had learned was to sit when delivering this kind of horrible news. It was more human, less domineering.

  “I’m sorry to have to tell you this,” Grayson said, “but your son, Cody, was killed this morning.”

  Sue cried out and covered her face with her hands, immediately sobbing. Peter put his arm around her and pulled her close, burying his face in her hair. Jackson could hear him mumbling but couldn’t make out what he said. Jackson and Grayson sat silently, giving the grieving parents some time to process the shocking information. It rarely took more than a minute or two before they started asking questions, but every minute felt like an hour to Jackson. Finally, Sue lowered her hands and Peter kissed her forehead.

  “Can you tell us how it happened?” Peter asked.

  Unfortunately, there was no gentle way to deliver that information.

  “Your son was murdered,” Grayson said.

  Sue gasped and clasped her hands to her chest. Peter’s eyes widened, and he stared at them in disbelief, then slowly, his expression shifted to one of anger.