Closer Than She Thinks

by Meryl Sawyer

  “They’re going to rerun the ballistics test. If it’s the murder weapon, they’ll arrest you again.”

  Jake wasn’t sure what he expected from Alyssa. She’d taken the news better than he’d expected, he thought as he watched her talking to Thee.

  “It’s time for her nap,” Shawn informed them.

  Alyssa kissed her aunt and allowed the nurse to wheel Thee out of the living room. She slowly turned to Jake and Max. Vincent Crowe had left them at the station, and they’d brought her home.

  “I guess I’m on borrowed time.”

  “Not necessarily,” Jake responded. “We’re making progress. With luck, we’ll find the killer before the police arrest you again because there’s zero chance that .22 isn’t the murder weapon or it wouldn’t have been planted here.”

  “Do you know how many times I’ve been to the police station? It’s getting to be a joke.” She tried for a laugh but it sounded brittle.

  “Max.” He nudged his father toward Alyssa. “Explain why you threatened her.”

  Max smiled—or tried to—and crossed the room to stand close to Alyssa. “Phoebe and I go way, way back.”

  Alyssa’s puzzled expression made Jake say, “Explain everything.”

  Max launched into an explanation of his relationship with Phoebe, and her pregnancy with his son, Patrick.

  “Patrick?” The word was barely a gasp. “Your son?”

  “You were right,” Jake told her. “Phoebe knew what happened to her baby. She was afraid Clay would have him tested and discover he wasn’t the father.”

  Alyssa slowly sank into a chair. “Where is he now?”

  Jake sat on the sofa near Alyssa and motioned for his father to join him. “He died almost nine years ago of a viral infection.”

  “Oh, my God. That’s terrible.”

  Max went on to explain the details in a low-pitched voice that revealed an undercurrent of emotion. Alyssa scrutinized his face, taking in every word. Jake knew how worried she’d been about the baby. Now she knew he’d been loved.

  “I would never have allowed you to be arrested for what I’d done,” Max said. “I was in Oklahoma with the baby. When I returned, you’d gone to Italy.”

  “Have you told this to the police?” she asked.

  Max nodded. “I told them. I know it’s a lot to ask, but please forgive me. I never meant you any harm.” The sincerity in his father’s voice was unmistakable.

  “I forgive you, but I can’t say I understand. You’re so successful, so intelligent … What did you see in Phoebe?”

  Max looked at Jake and smiled. “My son asked me the same thing. She needed me in a way that no one else has ever needed me. I would have done anything for her. That’s why I got ugly with you. Phoebe thought if you stayed in New Orleans, the truth would come out about the baby.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me Max threatened you?” Jake asked.

  “I didn’t want to come between a father and son.”

  Why was he not surprised? She’d missed having a father in her own life, and she didn’t want to deprive him of any chance he might have in building a relationship with Max.

  He had to admit she was right even though he cursed himself for not knowing she was in danger. Had she told him the threat, he would have confronted his father. Undoubtedly, he would have lost his temper. If that had happened, Max might have been too alienated to go to the police when it counted.

  Alyssa gazed at Max. “Did you hire the man with the knife?”

  Jake jumped up. “What knife?”

  “When you accused me of threatening you, you didn’t mention a knife,” Max added.

  He stood by the side of Alyssa’s chair while she told them all about the man waiting for her in the parking garage. Holding raw emotion in check, he tried to remain calm. She could have been killed, and she hadn’t told him because she thought Max was responsible.

  “I wanted to scare you,” Max said, “but I never followed up.”

  “The man could have killed me if he’d wanted,” she told them. “He planned to frighten me into leaving. That’s all.”

  “Don’t be too sure,” Jake countered.

  She thought for a moment, then spoke to Max. “You said Phoebe wanted to get rid of me. Could she have hired the man to threaten me?”

  “I don’t think so. She didn’t tell me about it.” Max’s dark eyes reflected the tortured dullness of disbelief. “But then, she didn’t tell me she was divorcing Clay to marry Troy Chevalier until the night she died.”

  “What?” Alyssa cried. “She was leaving Clay for Troy?”

  Jake resisted the urge to pace the room. He explained about Troy’s wealthy family and the lure of Paris. “You see, while you were under arrest, we’ve all been working hard to untangle this mess.”

  “It’s complicated, real complicated,” Max added.

  Jake told her about the scheme Duvall Imports was running at the wharves, aided by Wyatt LeCroix. “That’s how I discovered Troy and Phoebe had this thing going.”

  “It’s hard for me to imagine Phoebe leaving New Orleans. Her whole life revolved around Mardi Gras and krewe functions,” Alyssa said. “But she did tell me she was starting over, getting a new life.”

  “I think we can assume it’s true,” Jake said. “While we were waiting for you to be released, Sanchez called. He’d spoken with Wyatt. He verified that his sister did plan to move to Paris with Troy.”

  “Does Wyatt have an alibi?” Alyssa wanted to know.

  “Not really. He claims he was at the party but left before dinner. No one can verify his story.”

  “Why would he want to kill his sister?” she asked.

  “It’s doubtful he would.” Jake hesitated before adding, “Sanchez thinks Wyatt isn’t telling all he knows. I want to put a little pressure on him. I could turn him in to the authorities for his scam with Duvall Imports, if he doesn’t tell me the whole truth.”

  “Good idea,” Max responded.

  “The night Phoebe was killed, I thought I saw you going into the study,” Alyssa said to Max.

  His father shook his head.

  “How tall was the person?” Jake asked.

  “As tall as you two. His back was to me. I didn’t get a really good look, but later when I went to talk to Phoebe, I thought someone had gone out the French doors. I saw a flash of red outside.”

  “So, it had to be a man,” Max said.

  “Probably. He was tall and big. In a devil’s costume with a mask, it would be difficult to say for sure.”

  “It occurred to me,” Jake said, “the original intention was to frame Max. Then you conveniently appeared.”

  “It makes sense,” Max added. “I was the only one in a devil’s costume.”

  Alyssa didn’t look convinced. “I don’t know. The second baby being taken, then I was threatened. I think it’s a deliberate attempt to frame me.”

  Jake decided to voice an idea that had been hovering in the back of his mind. “It could be two separate agendas we’re dealing with. Phoebe could have been responsible for the baby being taken and Alyssa being threatened. But she certainly didn’t plot her own murder.”

  Alyssa said, “The two have to be connected.”

  “Not necessarily.” Jake’s sixth sense had kicked in big-time. He needed to talk to Wyatt LeCroix.

  CHAPTER 33

  Clay stood at the back of Charbonnet’s Funeral Home and said nothing as Hattie took over, the way she always did. Gordon, of course, had been “tied up.” So far she’d ordered a mother-of-pearl coffin lined with pink silk and one hundred and fifty lavender roses, Phoebe’s favorite, for the church where the service would be held. Now, she was working on the music.

  Clay didn’t know what the rush was. There had to be a full autopsy, which wouldn’t be completed until the end of the week. He didn’t want to appear callous, so he’d accompanied Hattie. He leaned against the wall, thinking.

  Max had given him back his company without a cent chan
ging hands. What was that all about? Max was a crusty old fox. Clay wondered if he was up to something, then decided Max had been crazy about Phoebe. This could be his convoluted way of honoring her memory—give back the family business. On the other hand, Max could be up to something. As soon as this messy funeral was over, Clay was going to Max to find out what was happening.

  “Clay, the choir from St. Anthony’s is available. That would be perfect, don’t you think?” Hattie asked.

  “Absolutely. Phoebe would love it.” This was a total lie. Phoebe hated church choirs, loathed spiritual music, and rarely attended services. Naturally, Hattie tried to impress her own wishes on her daughter in death as she’d done in life.

  If Clay could put his finger on the one single reason the LeCroix family was so screwed up, it would be Hattie. A doyen of social power, obsessed by her own reign as the Orion krewe’s Mardi Gras queen, she’d been determined to relive her moment of glory through her daughter. The discovery of Alyssa, the skeleton in the closet, had thrown Hattie completely.

  His cell phone rang, and he headed toward the door opening into the hallway before answering it. His secretary, Ami Sue, the big-boobed, blond bimbo was hysterical.

  “They’re moving us out. What am I going to do?”

  “Moving? Who?”

  “They say Mr. Williams sent them. We have to be, like, out of the building by five o’clock.”

  Jake must have ordered this, not Max. The old man had been nuts about Phoebe. She’d died Saturday night; Max had returned Duvall Imports the following day. It was now Tuesday, just days after what Max had to see as a tragic death. He wouldn’t boot out Clay’s company, but Jake would.

  Jake had been jealous of Clay from the moment they’d been introduced. Clay could understand it. Jake came from humble beginnings. Nothing short of his father’s phenomenal success could have elevated poor white trash from Mobile’s docks to New Orleans’ society. It was only natural that Jake was insecure and vengeful.

  “Call Wyatt LeCroix and tell him that we’re moving into his offices until I can arrange for new office space.”

  Ami Sue asked a few more totally stupid questions. Couldn’t she have more initiative? It wasn’t going to happen when you selected a secretary based on her bra size instead of her brain. He reminded himself to fuck her then fire her. He’d been saving her for a rainy day, and this was it.

  What made this situation with his company dangerous was Dante. Somehow he’d taken charge. Heroin had been loaded on one of Clay’s ships. He had no doubt this was just the beginning. Clay wasn’t stupid enough to think Dante was in this alone. He had the backing of Venezio and the mob—no question about it. If Clay tried to weasel out of their deal, no telling what would happen.

  Continuing to sleep with Maree was only encouraging her to think he would marry her. With Maree came Dante. They might as well be joined at the hip. He would demand Clay continue to smuggle in heroin. There had to be a way out of this—a way back to Alyssa.

  Short of killing Dante and Maree, Clay didn’t see a way out. It was something to consider.

  “She’s better,” Alyssa told Jake, referring to her aunt. “But this has been hard on her.”

  “Right, but she’s a trooper.” He leaned back on the sofa, his arm around Alyssa. Max had left hours ago, after apologizing to Alyssa yet again. Shawn had brought Thee down for an early dinner, then taken her upstairs to rest.

  “I didn’t want to say it in front of Max, but I think Phoebe may have hired the man with the knife. He might be the same man who paid the nurse to move the baby into the closet near Thee’s room.”

  “Why didn’t you want to talk about it when your father was here?”

  Jake wasn’t sure exactly how he felt about his father, but his feelings had changed considerably since Max went to the authorities at tremendous consequences to his own life. I have no intention of losing you again. His father’s words came to him, the way they had many times already. In his own way, Max cared about Jake, and he was sorry he hadn’t been a better father.

  “My father had a blind spot where Phoebe was concerned.”

  “He chose to believe anything she said.”

  Derision underscored every syllable she uttered. He couldn’t blame Alyssa. Max had been responsible for the trouble she’d had over Patrick’s disappearance. She was again facing prison. She had a right to be angry.

  “I’m not proud of what my father did, but I am grateful that he went to the police and told them everything as soon as I found out he had fathered Phoebe’s child.”

  “What if you hadn’t discovered the truth?”

  “Max would have gone to the authorities the minute he learned about Phoebe’s murder.”

  Alyssa stared across the living room. It had been hastily put back together after the search, and things weren’t quite in their proper place. He thought she was silently condemning him for sticking up for his father.

  Jake tried again. “He’s told the police everything he knows. The things that matter most to him like a political career, being Mardi Gras king, and having a place in society will be impossible now.”

  “He did it for you, didn’t he?” she asked.

  He silently applauded her intuitiveness. “Yes. I told Max that I love you, and I don’t want you to suffer any longer for something you didn’t do.”

  She gazed at him for a minute as if she hadn’t heard what he’d said. “You’re in love with me?” she whispered incredulously.

  Shaking his head in mixed tenderness and exasperation, he pulled her closer until their lips were a few inches apart. “I’m crazy about you. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to get you out of trouble.”

  “Thank you,” she whispered, but she didn’t say she loved him.

  “I want to marry you and have a big family. That’s how much I love you.”

  She stared at him for a long moment, and for the life of him, Jake couldn’t tell what she was thinking. He had so much to give her, endless abounding love, but would she accept his gift? When she still didn’t respond, acute disappointment replaced anticipation.

  “Jake, I can’t think about my personal life until this is over.”

  She spoke in a soft, low voice, but each word was far sharper than a slap. Love and doubt collided, then twisted into a tight knot deep in his gut.

  “I understand,” he replied even though he didn’t, at least not completely. He’d wanted her to give him a sign, no matter how small, that she loved him, wanted to share her life with him.

  Brizt, brizt. His cell phone chirped from where it was clipped to his belt. He pulled it out and flipped it open. Sanchez was on the line.

  “I just spoke with my contact at the police station,” the detective told Jake. “Your father’s information has made quite an impression. The fact that Phoebe lied about her baby’s disappearance puts a whole new light on the case.”

  Jake watched Alyssa cross the room and go up the stairs. No doubt she was going to check on her aunt. He waited until she was too far away to hear him. Max was a sore point between them, and he didn’t want to make the situation any worse.

  “Do you think they’ll charge my father?”

  “Nah. I don’t think so. They’ve checked out everything Max told them and it’s been true.”

  “Good.” Jake thought being ostracized socially was punishment enough.

  “Did you know Gordon LeCroix came to the police this afternoon?” Sanchez asked.

  “I had no idea.” He looked up and saw Alyssa coming down the stairs.

  “He told them he’s Alyssa’s father. That threw them. LeCroix also said he’d persuaded Alyssa to go into the study and speak with Phoebe.”

  “Does he have an alibi?”

  Sanchez laughed, but Jake was not amused. Alyssa had sat down, looking pensive, but she hadn’t sat beside him. Instead she was in the chair directly across from him, the coffee table with a stunning orchid plant separating them. So much for true love.

  “Gordon�
��s hard to track. He admits he was downstairs during the party, but he insists he went upstairs after talking to Alyssa. With so many vampires around, in masks and all dressed alike, it’s hard to prove or disprove the whereabouts of a lot of people. Of course, a nun and a priest and a devil stuck out as did the woman in the feathered vampire number.”

  “Have they questioned Wyatt LeCroix?” Jake wanted to know.

  He intended to see Wyatt himself, but he didn’t mention this to Sanchez. Jake didn’t want Sanchez to think he was second-guessing him. The private eye had done a damn fine job—faster and better than the police—but Wyatt knew more about his sister than anyone.

  “The detective in charge of Phoebe’s case went to Wyatt’s office this morning, but I don’t think he seriously interrogated him. Phoebe and her brother were known to be close. Why would he want her dead?”

  “Money. Isn’t that what the FBI says? Right after crimes of passion, killing for financial gain ranks next as the cause of murder.”

  “According to the last will they found, which is five years old, Phoebe’s money would go to her parents. Wyatt claims there’s a new will on file with an attorney in Baton Rouge. Wouldn’t you know, Wyatt didn’t remember the lawyer’s name. The police are trying to track him down.”

  “Baton Rouge. Why not here?” Then it hit him. “Daddy’s an attorney. Word gets around. She didn’t want her parents or Clay to find out she’d changed her will.”

  “Who knew what went on in her mind?”

  “Got that right.”

  “Wyatt and Clay say they know nothing about it. Clay, I believe, but as I told you, Wyatt seems to know more than he’s telling.”

  “Yeah,” Jake said. He was hardly listening now. Alyssa was watching him, her expression vacant, devoid of emotion. A burning sensation feathered through his stomach.

  “There is some good news.” Sanchez sounded upbeat.

  “That’s great. Alyssa will be glad to hear it.” He tried to catch her eye, but she was staring up at the ceiling now.

  “They are going to give Clay Duvall a lie detector test tomorrow afternoon. I didn’t have to push for it. This was their idea after some people at the party said they thought he went downstairs. Of course, with all those vampires, it’s hard to be positive.”