by Robin Caroll
“I wanted to make sure he knew why he was being sentenced to death. I called him out for what he was—a rapist—then I stabbed him. Each time I stabbed and he still stared at me with those eyes, I stabbed him again.” Geoff met Beau’s eyes. “He hurt women we both cared about, and many others who have mothers, sisters, brothers, friends who love them and weep for their pain. If these girls could even share their experience with others.”
Beau tightened his leg muscles so as to not flinch. He knew that Geoff knew about Adelaide’s experience.
“He will not hurt another woman.” Geoff’s stare remained settled on Beau’s face. “I’m here to turn myself in for killing Kevin Muller.”
Adelaide
“Two nights in a row . . . what’s going on?” Vincent Fountaine sat across the table from Adelaide.
“Do I need an excuse to come see you, Daddy? I thought you liked my cooking.” She lifted her plate and took it into the kitchen. Maybe her teasing would lighten the mood enough that she could get through the rest.
Her father followed her with his own empty plate. “You don’t, and I do, but I think there’s something you aren’t telling me.” He rinsed his plate and placed it into the dishwasher before doing the same with his glass. “I might not have a degree in psychology, but I do know how to read people. Especially my only child.”
Adelaide finished wiping down the kitchen counter and putting the leftover gumbo in the refrigerator. She couldn’t put it off any longer. “You’re right. I do need to talk to you about something. If it’s okay, let’s go sit on the back porch.” She led the way out the kitchen door.
She’d always loved the backyard of their house. It was furthest from her parents’ bedroom, so when her mother was sleeping off her inebriation from the night before, Vincent would set up his laptop on the patio table sitting on the porch that ran the full length of the house. Adelaide would swing on the old tire swing her father made her by cutting half the tire out, turning it inside out, and drilling a hole in the bottom to let water drain.
She loved being outside, partly because her mother couldn’t stand being out in the harsh sunlight after a night of heavy drinking, which was practically every night of Adelaide’s childhood. Her mother would leave Vincent to take care of Adelaide, only venturing out in late afternoon.
When her father finished a scene, he’d come out and push her on that old tire swing. He’d rear back and push her so high, he’d be able to run underneath her. She felt like she could fly to the moon.
Even now, her dad made her feel like she was invincible. That’s why this conversation would be one of the hardest she’d ever had.
The tire swing no longer hung from the tree, and the patio table no longer held her father’s laptop, but there were two cushioned rockers that she and her father sat on. The January wind cooled Adelaide’s body as much as what she needed to do cooled her heart.
Her father sat silent, rocking. He had always let her work out things in her head and start their conversations before he’d ask a question. A patient man who loved her. She defied any tears to start.
“Do you remember when I used to write poetry?”
“Of course I do, baby. I kept most of them that you sent me.” He smiled. “You’re a quite talented poet, if I do say so myself.”
Of course he’d remember and of course he’d say that. She smiled back. “And you remember that I used to recite my poems in an open mic venue?”
He nodded. “I do. That one weekend I came to Northwestern, and you took me to that little coffee place and got up on that stage.” He reached over and took her hand. “I was so proud of you, honey. You had all those people clapping and some of them tearing up. I was one of those.” He squeezed her hand and let it go. “I guess you got too busy with studying and then working to keep doing that, but you sure were good at it.”
This was harder than she imagined. She swallowed down the lump in the back of her throat, threatening to block her breathing. “Actually, there’s a reason I stopped. I haven’t been able to recite my poetry for a very specific reason.” She shivered.
“Are you cold? Let me grab you a blanket.” He was on his feet before she could protest, ducking into the house.
Maybe she needed the minute. She stared out into the darkness. The quietness. It was here that she came home and healed. Home.
“Here, honey.” Her father returned with one of the soft fleece throw blankets and wrapped it around her shoulders.
She noticed he’d slipped on a jacket. “We can go in if you’re cold too.”
“I’m fine.” He settled in the other rocker again. “Adelaide Grace, you know you can tell me anything, right? Nothing you say or do will ever make me love you any less.”
She couldn’t speak.
“I’ve known for years that something happened to you in Natchitoches when you came home for that semester. Oh, you hid it and tried to not let me see you were hurting, but I knew. I just didn’t know from what. You’re as stubborn as I am, so I knew I couldn’t force you to tell me. I figured you’d tell me when you were ready.” He shifted to face her.
From the light spilling out from the kitchen, she could make out every line of concern etched into his face. “I know, Daddy.”
“I’m guessing you’re ready to tell me now?”
She nodded, but the words didn’t come.
Her father stared at her. Seconds ticked between them. “Honey, you know I love you more than my own life. I’ve had my wild ideas as to what happened.”
“Like what?” Maybe if he knew, she wouldn’t have to rip off the bandage keeping her pain inside.
“I thought at first, maybe you’d fallen in love with a boy who’d broken your heart, but then I realized that wasn’t your personality. Your determination and ambition wouldn’t have been put on hold because of a love affair gone wrong.”
If he only knew how close he was.
“Then I thought that maybe you and a boy were serious in love. In a serious relationship and the two of you hadn’t been careful and that you’d gotten pregnant and then panicked and had an abortion.”
“Daddy!”
“I know, I know. Not your personality either. I have to admit, I was very tempted to research.”
Her heart tightened. “You didn’t!”
“No, I didn’t. I figured I’d just have to stop thinking all these things and let you be the woman I raised you to be and wait for you to tell me yourself.” He grinned. “But I have to be honest, I’m getting to the point where my age is reminding me every day that I’m not immortal and can’t wait forever for you to come to me.”
“I wanted to come to you, I did.” She could barely whisper.
“Yet you didn’t, so this must be serious.” He reached for her hand. “Whatever it is, I’m here for you. I love you so much.”
The tears snuck out before she even realized they’d filled her eyes. “Oh, Daddy, I love you, too.”
“Then just tell me.”
“I did meet a guy in that coffeehouse where I recited poetry. He came several times to hear me. Told me his name was Brayden Colton and would buy me a cup of coffee. He was charming and flirty and I thought I was so worldly. One night, he asked me to go for a ride with him. I thought he was nice. I should have known better. You taught me better. You taught me not to go anywhere with someone I didn’t know well.” Her breathing came out labored. Tears spilled down her face.
Her father turned his chair to be in front of hers and took her other hand. “Just breathe, honey. Slowly. In and out. It’s okay. I’m right here.”
She closed her eyes and concentrated on her father’s instructions. In and out. In and out. Slowly. In and out.
“Okay. Now tell me what happened.”
Without opening her eyes, she told him what happened. All the horrible details. The next morning. Talking with the university police. The feelings of everybody staring at her. Feeling worthless. Dirty. Alone.
“So I came home. I thought I could
just get away from how I felt by being here, but it followed me. I still felt like trash.”
Her father let go of her hands and grabbed her head with a hand on either side of her face. He lifted her face and looked her dead in the eye with tears sparkling in his own. “You, Adelaide Grace, have never, ever been trash. You’ve never been worthless or alone. I have loved you every day of your life—that precious moment you drew your first breath of air until now and every single moment in between—and I will love you with every ounce of my being until I take my last breath on this earth.”
Her tears were overwhelming as her father drew her into his arms. She let herself cry. Let all the pain and embarrassment and shame purge from deep within her very heart. She let her father hold her tightly and tell her he loved her, over and over again. Minutes fell off the clock as she lost her grief and sadness and anger.
Emotionally spent, she pulled back enough to kiss her father on the cheek. “I love you so much, Daddy.”
“I love you too, honey. But now, I need to find this Brayden Colton.”
She let out a quick breath. “Well, about that . . .”
Twenty-Four
Dimitri
“Well, it is so nice you finally concluded all your nocturnal activities and have returned home.” Claude Pampalon stood in the study, wearing his royal-blue smoking jacket and a disapproving frown.
Dimitri pocketed his keys and joined his father with a sigh. “Welcome home, Father.” He crossed the room and sat in the high-back chair. “Did you have a nice trip?”
His father took a sip of the amber-colored liquid in the Baccarat glass. No ice dared clink in Claude Pampalon’s brandy. “I had quite a lovely time, right up until you called about the murder in my hotel.”
Don’t let him bait you. Don’t let him bait you. Dimitri repeated the mantra to himself. “You needn’t have cut your trip short, Father. The police have made their arrest.”
“One of our employees, I hear.” His father went to the bar and poured himself another drink.
Funny how it was his hotel, but one of their employees when there was a crime involved. But Dimitri was prepared—he’d read Geoff’s file this afternoon. “Yes, Geoff Aubois, our chief of security. Good man. Outstanding employee. I believe you hired him some seven years ago?”
“So I did.” His father tilted his glass to Dimitri before taking a sip. He moved to the couch and sat. “However, I would not refer to a murderer as a good man and am a bit perplexed as to why you would.”
Don’t let him bait you. “Because he is. There were mitigating circumstances in that this so-called victim, Kevin Muller, had raped Geoff’s little sister.”
“So, murdering someone in an act of revenge is acceptable?”
“Acceptable, no. Understandable? Yes.”
“Oh, my bleeding-heart son.” Claude took another drink. “You are much too easy. People need to be held accountable for their actions.”
“Kevin Muller wasn’t held accountable for his. Geoff’s little sister did everything as she should—reporting the assault, seeking medical treatment, telling the university police—yet he wasn’t held accountable. And his little sister wasn’t the only one. There were others. Many others. His behavior continued, even up until the day of his death.” Dimitri let out a silent breath. He wouldn’t tell his father about Adelaide, but the anger he felt over what she’d endured pressed him into defiance.
“You now support vigilantism when the system fails? Is that what you are telling me?” Claude’s voice boomed in the spacious room. “That some people are above the law because they are meting out justice on their own?”
Don’t let him bait you. “No, Father, that’s not what I’m saying.” For the first time in his life, Dimitri wished he drank. “Geoff confessed his crime to me, then turned himself in to the police. He is in custody and will be held accountable according to our legal system.”
Claude shook his head. “Still, that this crime was committed in my hotel, right under the nose of my general manager says a lot.” He got up and poured himself another drink. “I think it is time that Ms. Fountaine is replaced.”
“No!”
His father’s eyes widened as he returned to his seat. “No?”
So much for not letting his father bait him. Dimitri cleared his throat. “Father, I was on site. I’ve been working in the hotel since I graduated. If anyone is to blame about not foreseeing this possibility, it would be me.” He let out a long breath. “However, since none of us are fortune-tellers, there is no way we could know what would happen. Maybe we should do further investigations into possible employees.”
His father’s frown told Dimitri that Claude hadn’t missed the implication. “Perhaps. Possibly the murder was made even worse for the hotel’s reputation, being right on the heels of a false fire alarm that brought our city’s department here for over two hours, a wasted trip. That was under Ms. Fountaine’s purview, was it not?”
“It was, but I was also here for that.”
“I understand Ms. Fountaine was with you and Mr. Aubois when the body was discovered?”
Dimitri nodded.
“Did neither of you notice Mr. Aubois acting out of place at the scene of the crime he committed? I find it hard to believe he could be so calm that neither one of you noticed anything amiss.”
“Forgive me, Father, but I paid more attention to the dead body than to Geoff.”
“Perhaps if one of you had been more observant, the case would have been solved sooner, do you think?”
“I don’t, but it doesn’t matter. The case is now in the hands of the Assistant District Attorney.”
Claude took another sip, then licked his lips. “Yes, about that. I am told he is represented by a firm you hired on his behalf?”
Dimitri nodded.
“But not our firm?”
“I suspected you would feel the way you obviously do, so I hired a different firm so there would be nothing attached to you.”
Claude took another sip and set his glass on the table. “I see that you at least thought of how this could reflect on me, even if you do not care how it affects you. My son, you will soon realize that every act you perform reflects on this hotel. As an owner and soon-to-be overseer, you should always look at every possible consequence before you act.”
Adelaide was right: it was time to come clean to his father. If she was strong enough to be willing to get on a stand and speak up for Geoff about her horrible assault, he could be strong enough to address his father. “About that . . .”
His father tented his hands and rested them on his stomach. “Yes?”
Dimitri sent up a silent prayer before speaking. “I don’t want to be overseer or general manager or even a supervisor at the Darkwater.”
Clouds filled his father’s eyes as he shot upright, his hands balling in his lap. “What?”
“Please, hear me out.” Dimitri held up a finger. He straightened his posture in the chair, even leaning a little forward. “I’ve never wanted to be in hotel management, Father. I appreciate your desire for me to follow in your footsteps, but that’s never been my intent. You’re the one who has pushed me in that direction, but I’ve never wanted it.”
His father’s face wreathed in anger. “Then what, pray tell, do you want to do? I will not continue to support you with no plans, no goals, no income.”
“I want to stay at the Darkwater, Father. Just as a chef.”
“A chef?” Anger punched those two words until they sounded like an insult.
Dimitri ignored the rage boiling in his father’s eyes. “Yes, Father, a chef. I’m a good one. Those rave reviews in the Times Picayune that brought in food reviewers from the Travel Channel and Zagat? That was me, Father. Me!” He inched to the edge of his chair. “I love cooking and coming up with new recipes for people to enjoy. And they do.” He grinned and shook his head, even though his father’s face turned a deeper red than the paint on the walls. “People are coming to the Darkwa
ter Inn just to eat in the restaurant and taste the creations I make.”
His father stood, grabbed his crystal glass, and hurled it against the wall. It crashed, amber liquid trailing down to the floor. “A chef? I have given you every opportunity in life, am handing you the reins to one of the most superior hotels in the state, have made sure you are fully equipped to see to the future of the Darkwater Inn for future generations to come, and you want to be a simple chef?” He pointed at Dimitri. “I will not accept that.”
Dimitri shot to his feet and moved around the table until he stood nearly toe-to-toe with his father. “I don’t care what you accept or not. I am never taking over the reins of management of the hotel. You never asked if I wanted any of that, and I don’t.” He was sure his anger raged just as much as reflected in his father’s glare. “If you don’t want me at the hotel, fine, I’ll find somewhere else to serve as chef, but I am going to remain a chef.”
“I will cut off your income.”
Dimitri shrugged. “I’ll be paid as a chef.”
“I will kick you out of this house.”
“I’ll find an apartment.” Adelaide had been right all along—he should have done this a long time ago. It was quite liberating. To be able to do what he loved every day? It made standing up to his father easier.
His father, however, shook with rage. “You will be cut out of my will. You will lose your entire inheritance.”
Dimitri gave a snort. “I’m so tired of you holding that over my head. I don’t care about an inheritance, never did. So I certainly don’t now.” He smirked at his father, who, for once, seemed to be at a loss for a viable threat. He softened his tone. “I’m not cut from the same cloth you are, Father. I don’t need a lot of money, and I certainly don’t need power.”
“Yet you used that money and power to provide for Mr. Aubois’s legal counsel. How will he feel if you pull it away now?”
Dimitri had always known his father to be ruthless and heartless, but this was even low for him. “Wow, Father. You’ve sunk to a new low.”
Claude stood straight, the rage recessed out of sight. “I do this for you, Dimitri. You were born for great things, and I would be remiss if I did not ensure your proper schooling and training in preparation for securing your future for your children and grandchildren.”
