by Meryl Sawyer
“I take it you were in on the kidnapping from the very beginning.”
“Yes. Phoebe came to me in a panic when she discovered she was pregnant. She knew Mother would have a hissy fit. Imagine, a pregnant, unwed Mardi Gras queen.”
Stranger things have happened.
“Phoebe had always had a thing for Clay, but she also liked older men. I think she expected to play around, then marry Clay when she was ready to settle down. Clay took up with Alyssa, and well, Phoebe nearly came unglued. My sister wasn’t the most stable person in the world, you know.”
Go on, you can’t mean it.
“Phoebe decided if she married Clay, Mother would accept her pregnancy because she was set on having her daughter marry into the Duvall family. Tricking Clay turned out to be easier than we thought.”
“Lucky Clay.”
Wyatt chuckled. “Clay was fried when he discovered what had happened. He was crazy about Alyssa, but he couldn’t deny the baby might be his. He didn’t have any choice but to marry Phoebe or have his parents disown him.”
“He suspected the baby might not be his, right?”
“Absolutely. He told Phoebe that he’d have tests run. That’s why she persuaded your father to take the baby.”
Jake was again amazed at how unaffected Wyatt was, considering his part in all this. Like his sister and mother, Wyatt was self-centered to the point of almost being delusional. They seemed to think they had a god-given right to do whatever they wanted.
They lacked a moral compass as his mother would say. He might be the redneck Hattie claimed, but his values weren’t screwy. He was better than this family, and so was Alyssa.
“What about the second baby who was taken when Alyssa’s aunt was in the hospital?”
“Phoebe arranged for some goon she knew to pay a nurse to move the baby, never intending to actually kidnap it. She wanted to frighten Alyssa into leaving town. She was afraid Alyssa would find out what happened to Patrick and tell everyone. When it backfired and the nurse confessed, Phoebe had the same guy threaten to kill Alyssa.”
“That didn’t work either.”
“Right. Alyssa’s a lot tougher than people realize. I know. I lived under the same roof and saw how my mother treated Alyssa. She survived and went on to be successful.”
Jake nodded, then commented, “All this seems a bit extreme just to keep Clay from finding out the baby wasn’t his.”
“In the beginning, Phoebe cared what Clay thought, but their marriage was never a happy one. She would have divorced him sooner, but she liked her place in society. She would be—would have been—the first to admit it.”
“She sure made it sound as if she still loved Clay when she kept accusing Alyssa of trying to steal him.”
“My sister was clever. It was a big act. She didn’t want anyone to know—especially my mother—that she was divorcing Clay and moving to Paris. Mother would have nagged the life out of her to stay. To her divorce is unthinkable—especially divorcing the son of the Duvalls.”
“Unthinkable,” Jake agreed.
“After she met Troy Chevalier, she visited Paris and met his parents. She went nuts for their life there.”
“I’ve been to Troy’s home in Paris. I can see how Phoebe would have been intoxicated by their lifestyle. It’s about as close to royalty as she could get,” Jake said. “A quantum leap from New Orleans.”
“Then you understand why she was terrified that the Chevaliers might find out about the baby and refuse to let their son marry her.”
For a second Jake was speechless, then he said, “What? Are you telling me that Phoebe did all this to keep Troy’s parents from learning the truth?”
“Well, yes, and Troy, too. She never told him the whole story about the baby. My sister was a little screwy at times.”
No shit.
“Phoebe was genuinely sorry about blaming Alyssa for taking the baby. In her own way, Phoebe was proud of all Alyssa had accomplished and a touch envious. Then Alyssa discovered they were sisters and wanted to be friends, Phoebe felt even more guilty.”
“So she accused Alyssa of trying to steal her husband in front of a bunch of women including Ravelle, who turned it into a death threat.”
Wyatt raked his fingers through his hair, saying, “I’m not excusing what she did, but Phoebe needed to keep my mother from finding out she was leaving New Orleans to live in Paris until the last minute, when it would be too late to do anything about it. Phoebe told me she was going to talk to Alyssa and apologize.”
“She did talk to Alyssa, then Phoebe was killed probably within minutes afterward. Do you have any idea who killed her?”
Two deep lines of worry appeared between Wyatt’s eyes. “No, I have no idea, but I don’t for one second think it was Alyssa. I want the killer caught.”
“If you had to take a wild guess, who would you say did it?”
“I’ve asked myself this question more than once. The way I see it, there are two possibilities. Clay didn’t want the divorce, but Phoebe wasn’t fooled. She knew he didn’t love her. She’d been having him tailed for over a year. He was having an affair with Maree Winston. Phoebe knew Clay wanted to dodge an expensive divorce settlement.”
Clay. It figured. He might have had his Bahamian buddy do the actually killing. Jake doubted Clay had the balls to do it himself, but who knew?
“Phoebe wanted out, and she needed her money. She’d given Clay everything in her trust fund to rescue Duvall Imports. It was still shaky. That’s why we ran the scam at the docks.”
Jake silently congratulated himself. From the very first, he’d sensed the company was in trouble.
“We were afraid you’d discover what was going on and cut off the company, so Phoebe persuaded Troy to alter the report. She wanted to buy time and force Clay to come up with the settlement money so she could start over. When Clay saw she was serious, he killed her.”
“Sounds logical. Most murders are crimes of passion or greed.” Jake waited a moment, but Wyatt didn’t continue. He prompted him. “The second possibility?”
“You’re not going to like this.”
“Max?”
Wyatt nodded slowly. “He’s loved Phoebe for years. He was always around, willing to help her, willing to do anything, even buy Duvall Imports. Phoebe told Max about the divorce the day before the Vampire Ball. Wow! He was furious.”
Son of a bitch! Max had never mention this. Why not? Something inside Jake snapped. He didn’t like admitting it, having kept Max at a distance all these years, but he’d come to care for the man who was his father. He didn’t want him to be a cold-blooded killer, but he had to concede that it was possible.
Alyssa knocked on the door of Maree Winston’s apartment. From inside she heard reggae music and voices.
The door opened a crack, but it was enough for Alyssa to recognize Maree’s beautiful face. “Alyssa!”
Maree pulled the door open and Alyssa stepped inside. “I’m sorry for coming over so late, but I need to talk to Clay.”
Maree’s dark eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly but Alyssa noticed. The woman was crazy about Clay. Great, she was welcome to him.
“I’m right here,” Clay called from the sofa.
She walked into the small room and saw a huge man with blue-black skin sitting next to Clay. The man smiled at her but the glint in his eyes was positively chilling.
“Hey, babe, have a drink.” Clay held up a tumbler full of an amber liquid. The slight slur in his speech and dilated pupils told her Clay was half-drunk.
“Merlot, please.”
“Does this look like a bar?” snapped Maree.
Clay jumped up and put his arm around Alyssa. “Hey, cool it,” he told Maree.
“There’s white wine, mon. A tasty chardonnay.”
“That would be nice.” The last thing she wanted was a drink, but she needed to appear relaxed and ready to celebrate.
“Aren’t you going to ask her how she knew where to find you?” Mar
ee said to Clay.
“At the party, Phoebe told me she was having you followed,” Alyssa volunteered. “She said you were having an affair with the woman in the feathered dress. I’d met Maree at Max’s party and remembered her name. When you weren’t at home, I thought you might be here.”
Clay nodded, accepting the lie. Alyssa had fabricated this story rather than say Sanchez had been tailing him.
“Come on, babe. Sit down.” Clay led her to the sofa and pulled her down beside him so she was wedged between Clay and the big man with Clay’s arm still around her. “This is Dante, a friend of mine.”
Alyssa smiled—or attempted to—but it was difficult. Dante smiled back, exposing teeth that were large and strikingly white in his dark face. Despite the smile, her instincts told her not to trust him.
“Maree, the wine, remember?” Clay asked.
The woman flounced out of the room in a swirl of black silk. Even though she’d changed into a flattering lavender dress, Alyssa felt positively dumpy compared to Maree. She supposed it didn’t matter. Her mission was to plant a few seeds of doubt in Clay’s mind and see what happened.
“How did you get out of jail?” Dante asked as Maree returned with a glass of wine and plunked it down on the coffee table in front of her.
She gazed up at Clay, trying for a look of adoration. “You know I didn’t kill Phoebe, don’t you?”
Clay smiled down at her, and for a moment, she was reminded of the old days when she’d believed she loved him.
“I’m so sorry about Phoebe. I truly am. We didn’t always get along, but what happened was horrible.”
Clay nodded with the suggestion of a smile creeping across his lips. He didn’t seem upset at all. Well, what did she expect? He was here—not with family or home grieving.
Maree had taken a seat in the chair across from them. “Are you out on bail?”
Alyssa shook her head, her eyes never leaving Clay’s. “No. I was never charged. You see, the killer made this teeny-weeny mistake.” She pulled her eyes away from Clay’s acting as if this was difficult but she felt the need to be polite.
“Mistake, mon. What mistake?”
Alyssa steeled herself and gazed at Dante. He appeared friendlier now. Maybe it had been her imagination spurred on because she was preparing to lie. “Well, Phoebe was killed with a .22. Those bullets twist when fired into a body. That makes it difficult to run a ballistics test. They tried but couldn’t match the bullet that killed her to the gun.”
“They let you go for lack of evidence?” Clay asked.
Alyssa attempted a gloating smile. “They let me go because they know I’m innocent.”
She noticed the tight frown on Maree’s face and the half-dazed expression on Clay’s. He was drunker than she’d first thought.
“There’s evidence that can clear me,” she continued, injecting as much sincerity as possible into every word.
“What evidence?” Dante asked.
“I’m not certain,” she hedged. “Forensic evidence. Who knows? A drop of blood. A fiber. I’m thinking hair since they took a hair sample from me. They work miracles with DNA, you know.”
“That’z great, babe.” Clay planted a wet kiss on her lips.
She threw her arms around him, telling herself to play this to the hilt. “I’m no longer a suspect. You have no idea how happy that makes me.” She took a swig of wine. “Let’s celebrate.”
“Celebrate,” Clay agreed, and he raised his glass.
She knew if the killer who so desperately wanted her out of town or in jail thought she was out of the woods, he would try again. This time he might try to kill her, but she didn’t care. The long two nights she’d spent in jail had given her plenty of time to think. She valued her freedom, her aunt … and Jake above all else. She had to risk her own life in order to save it.
The telephone woke Jake the next morning. He fumbled for it on the nightstand beside his bed. Benson’s head popped up as the dog surged onto all fours from the bench at the foot of the bed.
“It’s me.”
Jake mumbled something back to Sanchez.
“I know it’s early, but I thought you’d want to know.”
Uhh-ooh. Jake sat up and braced himself. “Okay, shoot.”
“Last night at eleven-thirteen, Alyssa went to Maree Winston’s apartment. According to my operative, Dante Benoit and Clay Duvall were there. Alyssa didn’t leave until shortly after one.”
Alyssa went to see Clay right after Jake had said good night. Why? His head suddenly seemed dull, heavy. He managed to say, “Didn’t you tell me you were going to pull off the tail on Clay and concentrate on Troy?”
“Yes, but another operative became free at the last minute. I have him working on Chevalier.”
“I see,” Jake muttered but he didn’t understand a damn thing. He clearly recalled telling Alyssa that Sanchez would be shifting his manpower away from Clay to Troy. No doubt, she’d gone there thinking she wouldn’t be observed. He said good-bye, then dropped the receiver into its cradle.
Benson leaped up, placing two paws on either side of Jake’s chest, his tail wagging furiously. The retriever kissed his face in long warm slurps of his tongue. Usually, this made Jake smile, but not today.
No doubt Alyssa had sought out Clay because she was looking for answers. But instead of clearing herself, she might end up dead.
CHAPTER 36
The following day, Alyssa awoke to soft light slanting through the shutters on her bedroom windows. She lay in bed, staring up at the coffered ceiling, recalling her conversation with Clay last night.
He seemed to think it was perfectly natural for her to come to see him. No doubt, he believed she still adored him. Maree obviously thought so, too. She kept glaring at Alyssa while Dante added little to the conversation.
The man gave her the willies. Dante claimed to be a psychic, but her intuition told her that he was a con artist or worse. What was Clay thinking? He was a snob and a closet racist. Why would he hang out with Dante?
She wasn’t sure what she had expected to accomplish. Her vague feeling Clay was the key to finding Phoebe’s murderer might be way off. It was apparent Clay was not mourning the loss of his wife, but did that mean he killed her?
Clay could have had her killed. Dante. He instantly popped into her mind, and she tried to remember the size of the man dressed in the devil’s costume who had gone into the study with Phoebe. She’d assumed it was Max because he’d been wearing the same costume, but it might have been Dante, who was also a tall, big man. Under normal circumstances, Dante would have been spotted, but with a mask and costume, no one would have noticed him.
“Criminy,” she said out loud as she got out of bed. “You’re no closer to the truth than you were.”
She dressed, trying to keep up her spirits, telling herself she had two more days. She couldn’t just sit around and wait to see if Sanchez could solve this. If she stirred the pot, no telling what might happen.
Someone wanted her out of the way. She’d been threatened with death. Would the person make a move now? She was offering herself as bait and banking on someone trying to get her.
She needed a bit of luck. The police wouldn’t release any information that would compromise their investigation. If they didn’t make a statement about her release—and her attorney assured her that they wouldn’t—then she could pretend she wasn’t expecting to be arrested again and get away with it.
This might make her enough of a threat for the killer to come after her. She would need to be very cautious. She didn’t have a gun, but a small canister of pepper spray would be helpful. She’d been too busy to pick up the one she’d ordered. She’d better get it today. Buying another cell phone was important, too, but it wasn’t as urgent as having a way to defend herself.
“Hi, there,” Shawn said when she came downstairs to the kitchen.
“Good morning.” Alyssa bent over and kissed Aunt Thee on the cheek. “How are you feeling?”
&
nbsp; “As good as new.” The Times-Picayune was spread out in front of Aunt Thee, who was reading it and nibbling on a wedge of whole wheat toast. “Oh, my. You’re not going to believe this,” Aunt Thee said. “You’ve had your fifteen minutes of fame. Now it’s Max Williams’s turn. There’s no mention of you anywhere in the paper.”
Alyssa read the headline in a font reserved for bombings and serial killers. WILLIAMS ABDUCTED BABY. Zane Welsh had written the article. Alyssa remembered Jake telling her about the obnoxious reporter’s visit to his office. Offensive or not, the man was accurate, she decided as she scanned the article.
“Did you know all this?” Aunt Thee asked.
“Yes. Jake told me.”
“You two missed the evening news,” Shawn told them. “Ravelle had part of the story. She claimed Max took the baby—period. No mention of him being the father. Now the old bat has egg on her face.”
Alyssa tried for a laugh, but it was hard. The media might be hot for another story, but she was dead certain the police were still trying to pin Phoebe’s murder on her. She had to do something, but what?
She poured herself a glass of orange juice and decided to go to see her father. He’d seemed sincere about wanting to help her, and she assumed he’d gone to the police. She knew he lunched every day at the Mayfair Club. Would he freak if she walked in to see him? It would certainly send a very public message that the killer would be certain to receive: She wasn’t afraid to go anywhere, even to the ultraexclusive Mayfair Club.
“Alyssa Rossi is on line two,” Spencer told Jake.
“Alyssa, did you get a decent night’s sleep?” he asked the moment Spencer transferred the call.
“After the Gray Bar Hilton, anything is an improvement.”
“Gray Bar Hilton?”
“That’s what the prisoners call jail.”
“Gotcha.” He wished she would tell him that she’d gone to Maree Winston’s apartment. He didn’t want to have to ask.
“Jake … I need to tell you something.”
He gripped the receiver hard and waited.
“I want to thank you for all you’ve done for me. I-I know I seemed … callous or something last night.” There was a distinct quaver in her voice now. “If the worst happens, I want you to know I appreciate you more than I can possibly say.”
