Closer Than She Thinks

by Meryl Sawyer

  “It won’t hurt to run the test.”

  “I won’t be surprised to find out Clay offed her. He’s a scumbag. I have a tail on him. He was at the LeCroix home receiving condolence callers until a little while ago. He claimed he had a migraine from all the stress and said he was going home to get some sleep. Where do you think he went?”

  Jake didn’t hesitate. “Clay’s spending the night with Maree Winston, the woman in the feathered vampire getup.”

  “Right. It looks like another night of kinky sex. The Bahamian psychic is there, too. I’m pulling the tail off Clay and have him do an in-depth on Troy Chevalier. We haven’t taken a good enough look-see at him yet.”

  “Great work,” he said, and he meant it. “There’s a bonus in this for all—”

  “Oh, one other thing. The ballistics test is being done at the FBI lab.”

  “Really? Why?”

  “They want an accurate report from a state-of-the-art lab. It’ll take at least two more days to get it.”

  “Is there any chance the FBI won’t be able to match the bullet to the gun?” Jake asked as he tried to catch Alyssa’s eye and reassure her with a smile.

  “Abso-fucking-lutely! A .22 is notorious for twisting and getting whacked out of shape. I guess the murderer didn’t realize that.”

  “Or maybe he did.” It would be another circumstantial trap for Alyssa like last time. “This gives us some valuable time to find the killer.”

  Jake hung up and explained all he’d learned to Alyssa. She was attentive, but didn’t comment until he’d finished.

  “Clay knows more than he’s telling,” she said. “Maybe he didn’t actually kill Phoebe, but he’s hiding something. That’s why he left the LeCroixs’. Guilt. Sanchez should keep his man on it.”

  “It’s fairly late. I think Clay’s in for the night. Considering all he’s uncovered, I think we should trust Sanchez’s judgment.”

  “I suppose you’re right.”

  “Let’s see what they learn from the lie detector test.”

  The way she talked, her eyes never quite meeting his, told Jake all he needed to know. There was nothing more to say. The ensuing silence stretched over light-years of time even though it was only a few minutes. Jake told her to get some sleep, then left.

  CHAPTER 34

  Alyssa sat in the living room of her aunt’s town house, unable to move, barely able to think. Something inside her had seized up the moment Vincent Crowe said they would arrest her again if the ballistics on the bullet matched the gun. She’d told herself to be brave, but now she thought it might take a great deal more fortitude than she possessed.

  Jake was undoubtedly right—if the killer had taken the time to plant the gun, then it must be the murder weapon. The bullet had to match the gun, and no doubt, the top-notch technicians at the FBI would prove it. She’d be sent to jail for a crime she did not commit.

  “Jake loves me,” Alyssa whispered to encourage herself.

  She closed her eyes and saw his expression as he’d told her he wanted to marry her and have a family. She pictured his wide-shouldered, long-waisted body, the concern lingering in his dark eyes even when he tried to hide it.

  Despite his tendency to toss out humorous one-liners, Jake was earnest and steadfast and absolutely true. If you were facing the worst crisis of your life, he would be the one to have at your side.

  She loved him, she honestly did. She hadn’t been able to look him in the eye for fear he would see the truth and know how much she loved him. She had no right to drag him down with her. This could go on for years and years. He’d be an old man when she was released—if they released her. Without question, she knew he’d wait if he believed she loved him.

  Alyssa opened her eyes, whispering, “If you love someone with all your heart, you know when to let them go.”

  That’s what she’d done. She’d seen the disappointment lurking in his eyes when she hadn’t responded by telling him how much she loved him. It had been the hardest thing she’d ever done, but she would do it all over again.

  He’d walked out the door, saying he needed to talk to Wyatt, but she knew he wanted to get away from her to hide the humiliation he must feel. He was an insular man, close to almost no one. She’d managed to penetrate the invisible shield he kept between himself and others. She’d rewarded him in the most unforgivable way.

  If only she could step out from under the dark cloud of the past and into the sunlight of a new beginning with Jake. If only. The words swirled through her brain like a mantra. If only, if only, if only.

  “What are you doing?” she muttered under her breath. “You’re sitting here like a victim just waiting.”

  Jake was doing everything he could to help her. Why wasn’t she trying to help herself? Sanchez said the FBI lab would take up to three days to analyze the bullet.

  Two days in jail had seemed like an eternity. Three days on the outside, doing her best to clear herself, would pass in a heartbeat. But if she had a prayer of having a life with Jake, it was all the time she’d been given.

  Where should she start?

  The instant she asked the question, something in her brain clicked. Clay. He had the key to this nightmare. She didn’t know how she knew this, but she did. An embryo of a plan formed in her mind, and she glanced down at her watch.

  It wasn’t yet ten o’clock. Jake had advised her to get some rest because he knew how little sleep she’d gotten in jail, but she didn’t want to waste a single second. Clay was at Maree Winston’s home on Julia Street.

  She looked down at her rumpled dress and knew how terrible her hair must look as well. She’d taken a shower in jail but the harsh soap and shampoo were nothing like the gentle, fragrant brands she preferred. Rushing up the stairs, she concentrated on her plan and even managed to smile to herself.

  Jake sat in his car down the block from the LeCroixs’ mansion. Cars lined both sides of the narrow street. Wyatt’s black Lexus was parked out front, and Jake had no doubt Wyatt would be there most of the evening.

  Clay could be a creep and duck out, claiming a migraine, but Wyatt would stay to the end. Jake settled back, leaning his head against the headrest. Immediately, he thought about Alyssa.

  I love you.

  He’d never considered saying those words to any of the women who’d waltzed through his life, and yet he’d never meant any words more. He only knew he’d never felt happier, more alive than when he was with her. She brought the type of companionship he’d always craved even though he hadn’t realized it.

  “Face it, partner. She doesn’t love you.”

  He’d said the words out loud, and they had a hollow, aching echo inside the car. It was stuffy, and he rolled down the window rather than attract attention to a lone man sitting in a car by turning on the engine to use the air conditioning. A thin mist of warm, moist air redolent with the scent of gardenias and soil still wet from the recent rains swept into the car.

  It was hotter, more uncomfortable now than it had been. For a moment, it blocked Alyssa from his mind. Then his image of her returned with startling clarity. The look on her beautiful face when he said he loved her had told him that he’d just drawn the joker, not a winning ace.

  Something had splintered inside him into a million sharp pieces that pierced him every time he thought about Alyssa. He’d trade everything he had or ever hoped to have if she would love him. Holding raw emotion in check, he realized it was hopeless. You can’t make deals with the universe.

  Maybe things would change if they could find the killer and get Alyssa out of this mess. Maybe and maybe not. Why delude himself with false hope? It wasn’t his style.

  Get over it!

  Okay, she didn’t love him. They’d had fun—not to mention great sex—but she hadn’t fallen for him. A tragedy, sure, but … “Stop trying to make a joke out of everything,” he told himself.

  No matter had she felt, Jake still loved Alyssa. He wasn’t going to turn his back on her now. She was inn
ocent, and he intended to prove it.

  He forced himself to concentrate on the crime, and he narrowed his lists of suspects. Wyatt was a definite possibility. Troy was a good candidate—if Phoebe had intended to back out. Clay ranked right up there. Even Max couldn’t be eliminated.

  Motive and opportunity, he reminded himself, the lifeblood of every crime. All four men had their reasons to want Phoebe dead. Who else might be out there?

  The Bahamian psychic who was involved in some sort of kinky sex intrigue with Clay and Maree might have his own reasons—God only knew what—for wanting Phoebe dead. Maree might … his thoughts drifted away, remembering the stunning brunette in the feathered vampire outfit. Playboy’s idea of a female vampire.

  Nah! Maree couldn’t be guilty. The odds were against it. More men committed murder than women by far.

  A trickle of sweat dribbled down his temple followed by another. He’d hoped to catch Wyatt as he left, but if he stayed here much longer, his clothes would be saturated. Why not make a condolence call and see if he could have a private conversation with him?

  Inside the brightly lighted mansion, floral tributes by the dozens lined the foyer. Clusters of them stood in the corners of the rooms Jake could see from the entrance. After waiting outside, the cool blast of air chilled the fine sheen of perspiration covering his body.

  He recognized a few people, but he didn’t see Wyatt or his parents. Making his way through the living room, where still more flowers stood on every surface from the mantel to the sofa tables to the sideboard, Jake said hello to those he knew, but kept moving, his eye out for Wyatt.

  “Jackson, dear, isn’t it awful?” gushed a woman just behind him.

  Jackson? No one called him by his full name unless they didn’t know him. He turned and found Marie-Claire Duvall. He’d met Clay’s mother a few times at social occasions and when Max had forced him to have dinner with the family right after TriTech had acquired Duvall Imports.

  “Yes, Mrs. Duvall. It’s a tragedy.”

  “Poor Clay. He’s so broken up.”

  Yeah, sure. Right now he was probably humping Maree. “Where’s the family?”

  “I’ll show you.” She took his arm in the old-fashioned way as if she couldn’t make it across the room on her own. She was a silver blonde with a natural air of sophistication. Jake could see where Clay got his looks. “They’re on the sunporch looking at pictures of Phoebe when she was Mardi Gras queen.”

  God forbid.

  Even more flowers were banked on the perimeter of the sunporch where Hattie and Gordon were sitting with a handful of friends, going through photo albums. Off to one side stood Wyatt. Bingo.

  “Look who’s here,” announced Clay’s mother in her honeyed drawl.

  The group turned to him. Heat gathered under his collar, and he cursed himself for being so inconsiderate. These people had lost someone very special to them. He’d come just to corner Wyatt.

  “Mr. and Mrs. LeCroix, I’m sorry for your loss.” Damn! What do you say at times like this that doesn’t sound trite? “Phoebe was so young. Her whole life was before her.”

  “Thank you. We appreciate you coming,” Gordon said with quiet dignity.

  Hattie glared at him with burning reproachful eyes.

  “Where’s Clay?” he asked, all innocence. “I’d like to tell him—”

  “He was devastated, completely devastated,” Hattie said. “Poor boy had to go home. Dr. Martin gave him a prescription for sleeping pills.”

  “He’s brokenhearted,” added a woman he didn’t know.

  Jake orchestrated a concerned nod. This was proof positive you could fool some of the people all of the time.

  “I understand the police have released the killer,” Hattie said, venom infusing every word.

  He had no doubt she knew how close he was to Alyssa. He was damn tempted to tell her off, but he heard a little voice in his ear. His mother. She was reminding him to be more sensitive. No matter what he thought of Hattie and the way she’d treated Alyssa, the woman had lost her daughter in a brutal murder that would haunt her until the day she died.

  Gordon spoke up. “They don’t have enough evidence to charge anyone yet. The police are still investigating.”

  Jake tried to catch Wyatt’s eye, but he was studying the top of his mother’s head. Jake opened his mouth to express his sympathy to Wyatt and get his attention, when a woman swanned into the room, a blur in his peripheral vision.

  “I hate to be the bearer of bad tidings.”

  Ravelle. Oh, shit. Tidings? Hadn’t they gone out with hoop skirts? All eyes were on the television gossip.

  The skinny old crone with the blue-black hair bent and kissed the air near Hattie’s cheek. “I grieve for you, my dear, dear friend. Tragic, so tragic. Your loss is my loss.”

  Ravelle turned, smiling with exaggerated sadness at the small group. Had she spent too much time in front of a camera, or what?

  “That’s why I want to tell you in person what my secret sources at the police station tell me about dear Phoebe’s murder. It’ll be on the eleven o’clock news, but I wanted you to hear it from me first.”

  Uhh—ooh. Gordon didn’t look too thrilled either. Jake wondered if he’d told Hattie about his trip to the station. If Ravelle were a true friend, she’d take Hattie aside to tell her. Of course, Ravelle was a media maven who lived for as much attention as she could get.

  “The police know what happened to your grandson.”

  Hattie gasped. “Baby Patrick?”

  Ravelle glanced meaningfully at Jake. “Max Williams had him.”

  “You, bastard, you.” Hattie catapulted off the sofa and slammed into Jake. “I’ll kill you. He was my grandson.” She pummeled Jake’s chest with her fists. “My only grandchild.”

  The unexpected outburst caught Jake off-guard. He stumbled backward, barely managing to stay upright as she rammed into him. An instant later, Gordon had grabbed her from behind and pulled her away.

  “Your father’s nothing but a redneck. Imagine him mincing around my town, trying to be somebody, when he had my little Patrick.”

  Jake lost it. “Max was the baby’s father. He loved him. That’s why he took him.”

  Silence dark as a closed coffin settled over the room. Jake could see even Ravelle had been taken by surprise. Her informant wasn’t all that good. He had unearthed only a portion of the story.

  “You liar, you,” shrieked Hattie. “My darling Phoebe would never allow white trash to touch her.”

  Once again, Jake’s mother called to him from the grave, and he didn’t tell Hattie about the other creeps Phoebe had seduced. Don’t lower yourself to her level.

  “Lordy, lordy, save me from these animals.” Hattie collapsed against her husband.

  “Oh my, she’s swooned,” cried Marie-Claire. “Call Dr. Martin.”

  Swooned? He had to be a redneck. No woman he’d known swooned. Not his mother. Certainly not Alyssa.

  “My crew’s just outside,” Ravelle informed Jake. “New Orleans wants to hear the whole story.”

  “Drop dead, bitch.”

  Once again the room plunged into shocked silence. His father might have withered under the accusing stares, but Jake didn’t give a damn what these people thought of him.

  “Wyatt, come on. I need to talk to you.”

  Phoebe’s brother’s head jerked up with a ‘who me?’ look. He reluctantly followed Jake out the side door into the garden.

  Jake yanked off his tie and shoved it into the pocket of his sports coat. He was still overheated. Shrugging out of his jacket, he said, “Let’s cut the shit. I know all about the Port Authority scam.”

  A sheepish expression crossed Wyatt’s face. “I knew you’d figure it out sooner or later.”

  Jake inhaled a stabilizing breath, knowing his next few words might mean the world to Alyssa. “Get this straight. I’m willing to let it go, pretend I know nothing about it, or I can call the IRS right now unless you tell me what I want
to know. You’ll lose your CPA license. Your name will be worthless. You’ll bring even more sorrow on your family.”

  Jake looked into Wyatt’s eyes, and he saw the man was thinking it over. His sixth sense kicked in. A lot more must be at stake than he’d realized. Wyatt should be jumping at an opportunity like this.

  He grabbed Wyatt by his designer tie. “Want me to beat the crap out of you, then call the authorities?”

  “Okay, okay. I—I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

  CHAPTER 35

  Jake and Wyatt stood in the backyard where a lagoon-style pool took up most of the yard. Beyond it was a small pool house with changing rooms. Jake had been here once for a summer barbecue right after they’d acquired Clay’s importing business.

  “O-okay, okay. What do you want to know?” Wyatt sounded leery.

  “Start by telling me about Gracie Harper. Do you know who killed her?”

  “Give me your word you won’t tell anyone about the Port Authority scam.”

  “You have my word.”

  Wyatt let out a long, audible breath. “My sister did it.”

  “Why am I not surprised? Did Phoebe pull the trigger or did she have someone do it for her?”

  “It was an accident. The nurse was going to talk to some detective, and Phoebe was afraid the truth would come out. She went to see the nurse, hoping to persuade her to keep quiet, but something went wrong.”

  No kidding.

  “From day one, Gracie Harper was a bleeding heart. She got plenty of money to hand over the baby to your father, but for Gracie, it didn’t end there. She kept calling to check on the kid for years. When he died, you’d have thought Gracie was responsible, the way she carried on.”

  Jake’s instincts had been correct. Wyatt was a class A prick. He cautioned himself not to allow his true feelings to show. Too much was at stake.

  “When the detective started to ask questions, the woman freaked. She called Phoebe and said it was time to tell the truth. That’s why Phoebe went to see her.”