Darkwater Secrets

by Robin Caroll

  She cleared her throat and nodded.

  “And you didn’t think it important to mention when we were working the crime scene?”

  “To be honest, I wasn’t thinking about secret passageways. There was a dead body in one of our hotel rooms. One of our guests had been murdered.”

  He stared at her, hard. Another detective wouldn’t have noticed the slight change in her speech as she said guests. “Understandable, but as I was reviewing the security footage, neither you nor your chief of security thought to even mention about the passageway into room 219? With no obvious entry or exit of the murderer through conventional methods, surely you had to at least consider the possibility that the passage could be the way the killer entered the room?”

  “I really didn’t.”

  He couldn’t allow himself to feel sorry for her. He had to treat her as he would any other suspect. “I just hope that no evidence has been destroyed with the delay in telling us the truth.”

  “I’m sorry. Really.”

  Flipping the page in his notebook, Beau moved on. “Did you know Kevin Muller?”

  She swallowed. Was that from nerves or was she hiding something? “I never met anyone named Kevin Muller. The first time I even heard the name was when Erika told me the name of the guest who had missed checkout, just before we went to unlock the room.”

  “Had you seen him around the hotel? With the group? In a meeting room?”

  She hesitated again. “I told you, Beau, I never met a Kevin Muller. Period.”

  He didn’t have to know her well to know that she was hiding something. He’d have to knock her off balance, as much as he didn’t relish the idea. “Do you have any idea how your fingerprints would have gotten on the knife that killed him?”

  The slight shift of her gaze. The almost undetectable catch in her breath.

  She already knew about her prints being on the knife. How?

  “I eat in the kitchen all the time, using utensils and so forth. Anybody could’ve picked up a knife and fork that I used before it was washed and stolen it.”

  “Do people often steal silverware from the hotel?”

  She lifted a casual shoulder. “You’d be amazed. People assume the biggest items stolen are robes or linens, but silverware and pillows are right up there.”

  “Pillows?” That surprised him.

  She nodded. “And back before the artwork was hard-­mounted to the walls, people would put those large paintings in their suitcases and carry them right out.”

  “Really?”

  She smiled, her breathing regulating as she nodded, clearly relaxing. “That’s why we don’t put vases or the like in the regular rooms. They kept getting stolen.”

  “That’s crazy.” He flipped to a new page in his notebook. “Any speculation on how yours, Dimitri’s, and Ethan Morrison’s fingerprints all got on the same knife? The one that was used to stab Kevin Muller nine times?” He could tell by the paling of her face that he’d done as he’d intended: lulled her into a false sense of security and familiarity, then pushed her with a probing question.

  Didn’t mean he had to like it.

  She blinked several times before responding. “I guess it was probably from when I ate something in the kitchen to get mine.”

  “And Dimitri’s?”

  “When I eat in the kitchen, Dimitri usually serves me. He tells me what I’m eating so I can sample if it goes on the menu or if the recipe needs tweaking in some way.”

  Plausible. “Ethan’s?”

  “One of the regular kitchen workers usually clears the dishes. I’m guessing Ethan was the one to clear that time.”

  “So you’re saying that Dimitri served you dinner, you ate, Ethan cleared, and that’s how all three of your fingerprints ended up on the knife?”

  She stiffened, obviously offended by his tone. Or maybe it was just his questions. Either way, it couldn’t be helped. He had a job to do and she had to understand that.

  “That’s just my guess. I don’t know for certain.”

  “Then you think someone—what? Stole that particular knife and used it to kill a guest in your hotel?”

  “I don’t know, Beau. I don’t know who took the knife. I don’t know who stabbed him. All I know is it wasn’t me.”

  “Wasn’t Dimitri either, because his alibi checks out.”

  A hint of a smile curled the corner of her lip. “Well, of course it wasn’t Dimitri.”

  Beau resisted the urge to give in to the jealousy. He had to remain objective to do his job, even when he wanted to rip Dimitri’s polished throat out. “Where were you between 11:30 Thursday night and 12:30 Friday morning, Addy?”

  She leaned back against her chair, her jaw dropping slightly. “You really think I could have murdered someone?”

  “It’s my job to rule you out.”

  She gave a half smile. “But you aren’t a hundred percent sure it wasn’t me who stabbed a man to death?” But there was something in her eyes . . .

  “Just answer the question, Addy.”

  “How quickly you forget, Beauregard Savoie. I was with you a little after midnight. I’d eaten a late supper in the kitchen, then decided to go for a run out in the Quarter, which is where I ran into you.”

  She was right. It had been that night. If he hadn’t been so focused on treating her like any other suspect, he would’ve remembered.

  “I’m guessing that you realize there’s no way I could’ve murdered someone, then met you—what, fifteen to thirty minutes later—calm and in clothes that clearly had no bloodstains.”

  Of course, she did live at the hotel, and Walt put the time of death between 11:30 and midnight. He’d run into her after midnight. If she killed Muller right at 11:30, she could’ve showered and changed clothes, then run out so people would see her to be her alibi.

  “Beau? Surely you can’t think . . .”

  No, this was Addy. She couldn’t hurt anyone, let alone stab someone nine times. It just wasn’t in her.

  “No, of course not, but I have to ask the questions. It’s my job.”

  She nodded. “I understand, but it’s my job to look out for the hotel’s best interests.”

  He grinned. “Then we’re on the same side because solving this homicide is in the best interest of the hotel and the New Orleans Police Department.”

  But inside, Beau couldn’t deny recalling he’d thought there was something off with Addy that night. Something off that had nothing to do with the exhausting day she had or missing supper with her dad.

  Something had rattled Adelaide Fountaine—something serious—the night of the murder. Something she didn’t want to tell him, which made him all the more determined to find out what it was.

  Adelaide

  “Did they tear up the passageway too terribly bad?” Adelaide leaned forward in the chair facing Dimitri’s desk until her elbows rested on the desk.

  “Surprisingly, no. They took samples of most everything, but didn’t do much permanent harm.”

  “Good. I know how your dad is about those secret passages.” She leaned back and smiled at Dimitri. “And I heard your alibi panned out.”

  “As did yours. Running into the detective handling the case kind of cements your alibi.” His returning smile made her feel warm inside. “They took Ethan down to the station to question him because he had a record, so he wanted his lawyer present.”

  “He didn’t kill anybody either.”

  Dimitri nodded. “I know, but somebody did, Adelaide. Someone who used a knife that put us in the crosshairs of the police.”

  “Do you think using that particular knife was intentional?” It was the question she’d been going over and over since Beau left, playing like a video on auto-­repeat. “That someone deliberately tried to set up one of us as a suspect?”

  “It would seem that way. That, or it was mighty convenient.”

  Tracey’s warning sounded inside Adelaide’s head. “Hey, I mentioned something about you finding a boa in your
mailbox to Tracey, and she thinks someone might be trying to use voodoo on you.”

  Dimitri burst out laughing. “Come on, Adelaide! Surely you don’t buy into all that nonsense.” He sobered. “You know I don’t believe in hocus-­pocus stuff. My belief is in Jesus Christ.”

  “I know, and I understand. Yet there are many in New Orleans who do believe in voodoo and hoodoo as a spiritual connection.” How to approach this without offending him? “Just because you don’t believe in something doesn’t make it less real.”

  “You believe in spells and hexes and gris-­gris and the like?” His eyes widened as he leaned forward in his chair. “Considering your upbringing and what you know from your study of the Bible?”

  Oh, she had to be very careful here. “I believe in Jesus Christ. I might be angry at Him and not on speaking terms with Him, but I believe in what Scripture tells me.”

  “See—”

  She held up a hand. “And that’s a reason why I do believe in voodoo and the like. Scripture warns us against communicating with the spirits. It tells of demons and the evil loose in the world. If such things didn’t exist, the Bible wouldn’t warn us against it. Wouldn’t tell us to stay away, yes?”

  “Well, yes. I suppose.”

  “I’m just saying to be careful. Tracey said snakes are used in various ways in voodoo. It’s unlikely the pranks of teens, considering the price of boa constrictors.” She crossed and uncrossed her legs. “First the snake, now the knife . . . I’m just asking you to be careful. The two could be connected.”

  Dimitri opened his mouth, paused for a second, then snapped it shut. He nodded. “You’re right. The timing of the snake in conjunction with the murder is suspect. I’ll be more vigilant.”

  As usual, Dimitri was the sort of man who could be reasoned with.

  “I heard Geoff had to run off a few reporters who tried going undercover to get information on the murder.” He shook his head. “They are a determined bunch.”

  “I guess a murder is news.”

  “And that it’s tied to the hotel, and Father, are added bonuses.”

  “Have you heard anything more from Claude?” she asked.

  He shook his head and lifted a pen, twirling it through his fingers. “Nothing, but then again, I don’t expect to hear from him. He’ll show up Monday or Tuesday morning like he’s said and want an update. Once he’s assured everything is handled and it’s business as usual, he’ll forget his threats and move on.”

  “That’s a big if everything’s concluded by then.”

  “I have faith in Detective Savoie.” Dimitri dropped the pen and leaned forward. “Don’t you as well?”

  She did, but . . . Adelaide nodded. “He said he’d be back this afternoon when Corey and Richard are on duty to question them.”

  “Corey and Richard are . . . ?”

  Adelaide shook her head. Dimitri had better start learning the employees’ names. Especially if his father fired her and expected him to take over. “Corey is the bartender and Richard is the—”

  “Elevator attendant who was on duty Thursday night into early Friday morning.”

  Her smile spread quickly. “Correct.” Just as quickly, she frowned. “Beau wants to question them about the woman Kevin took to his room.”

  “Beau. You’re very familiar with the good detective.”

  The heat crept up the back of her neck. “I’ve told you before that we’re friends. Beau’s family and mine are somewhat intertwined. We’ve been friends since we were children.”

  “So, you do trust him?”

  She paused, remembering how Beau had questioned her. It hurt, but she understood he’d just been doing his job.

  It still stung, though. “I do. He’s honest and fair. He hasn’t had the easiest life.”

  “Hasn’t he?” Dimitri leaned back and lifted his pen again, twirling it.

  “His father was a cop. A good one, from what Dad tells me. A lot like what Beau has grown into: a noble man of integrity.”

  “So what happened?”

  She shifted, stretching her legs out in front of her. “When he was twelve, his father was killed in the line of duty. A young kid pulled a gun on him during a robbery that Mr. Savoie had responded to. Beau’s father tried to talk him out of the gun. They struggled and the gun went off, killing Beau’s dad instantly. Beau and his mom never had a chance to say good-­bye.”

  “Oh, man, that’s really horrible.”

  Adelaide nodded, remembering as best she could. “I was eight at the time, so I don’t remember a whole lot. I remember the funeral and Mrs. Savoie crying.” She closed her eyes, seeing the tween Beau at the funeral in his stiff-­looking suit and flower on his lapel. “But not Beau. He didn’t cry. He later told my dad that he had to be strong for his mom.” Tears welled in her eyes at the memory.

  “How awful. Twelve . . . that age of a boy standing on the brink of heading into manhood, when a boy really needs his father.”

  “I think that’s why my dad stepped in. Began inviting Beau hunting and fishing with him. I didn’t realize it then, but he took Beau under his wing to make sure he grew up with a man in his life so Beau wouldn’t turn out bitter.”

  “Your father is a good man.”

  Adelaide grinned. “Don’t let him hear you say that. His head’s big enough already.”

  “I’d really like to meet him in person. After all of this is settled.”

  “I think he’d like you too.” She stretched, pushing the morning’s stress from between her shoulders. “And then five years later, Beau’s mom was killed in a car accident.” She pressed her lips together. “A drunk driver ran a red light and T-­boned her. A shard of metal sliced her jugular. She died quickly, just like Beau’s father. No good-­byes, no closure.”

  “Oh, wow. Tough childhood.”

  She nodded, but images of her own mother, alive, filled her mind. The screaming, then crying. The showing up at school to take Adelaide home, only to have to have her father called to come get her mother. The embarrassment. The stigma of hearing Addy’s alkie mom from her classmates.

  She pressed her lips together. “I guess we all have our childhood demons to deal with.”

  “I suppose we do. Look at Claude. He was so cruel my mother ran off as soon as she could get away. And I don’t blame her. I just wish she’d taken me.”

  “I’m sorry, Dimitri.”

  He shook his head. “I’m sure she wanted to take me, but Claude threatened her. That’s what bullies do, yes?”

  “They do.” Her mom hadn’t been a bully, but she’d made Adelaide’s childhood unstable and at times, miserable. She’d felt so guilty after her mother finally died because all she felt at the funeral had been relief. Grateful to not have to live in turmoil anymore. Comforted not to have to deal with a person bent not only on her own destruction but also those closest to her as well.

  Dimitri tapped the pen against his desk mat. “Beau questioned me about knowing Kevin Muller. I’m assuming he asked you as well.”

  “He did.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “What I told you. That I had never met a man named Kevin Muller, and the first time I’d ever even heard the name was when Erika told me who was in room 219.”

  He dropped the pen and shook his head.

  “I told him the truth.”

  “Adelaide . . .”

  She straightened, squaring her shoulders. “That is the truth. I never met a Kevin Muller.”

  “But you know Kevin Muller and Brayden Colton are one and the same. You’re lying by omission.”

  Shooting to her feet, Adelaide pointed at him. “It’s not a lie. He asked a question and I answered it truthfully.”

  Dimitri stood as well but stayed behind his desk. “If he had asked if you’d ever seen Kevin Muller before, what would you have said?”

  “That I have never met Kevin Muller before.”

  “You’re being evasive.”

  “I’m protecting myself. And
my father.” And Beau too. “I have a right to protect myself and what happened to me in the past.”

  “I doubt Detective Savoie would see it that way, wouldn’t you say? This is a homicide investigation.”

  “I didn’t kill him. Sure, I’m glad he’s dead. I’m glad someone took a knife and stabbed him until he couldn’t hurt anyone else. There, I said it. Are you happy? Does it make you feel better? Yes, I hated him. He raped me. He took my innocence and my trust and made me feel like I didn’t matter, so I’m actually very happy he’s gone and I’ll never have to worry about him again. But I did not kill him.” She stopped, struggling to catch her breath. Her entire body trembled.

  Dimitri was around the desk in a flash, taking her into his arms and holding her tightly.

  She leaned into his strength . . . his warmth.

  “Shh. I didn’t mean that I could ever believe you’d stabbed him. Shh.” His words were warmth on her forehead.

  She took a step back from him, putting a couple of inches between them. Her breathing still came in spurts as she stared up at him.

  “Adelaide.” Her name was more of a growl, as if it came from his gut. He held her by her shoulders, providing the steadiness she needed.

  She placed her hand on his chest, ignoring the thumping of his heart. Now wasn’t the time or place and definitely not the situation to delve into her strange emotions. “I have to go.”

  Adelaide rushed from his office, her heart racing the quick pace of her heels.

  Fifteen

  Beau

  Corey Devereaux’s intellect surprised Beau and Marcel. Surprising a detective wasn’t a common occurrence, but the Darkwater Inn’s favorite bartender did just that. Beau hadn’t expected to find a man holding an associate’s degree who was back in college to earn his bachelor’s tending the bar. It was quite refreshing to find a bartender who was not only quick on his feet but also extremely observant.

  Now that the preliminary questions were out of the way, Beau and his partner moved on to the reasons they’d called him in before noon on Twelfth Night. “Tell me what you remember of this man.” Marcel pushed the photo of Kevin Muller across the slick bar.