Closer Than She Thinks

by Meryl Sawyer

  Gordon leaned over and whispered to Jake, “Alyssa tells me she’s in love with you. I can see why. You’re just like your father. You have guts.”

  Jake mustered a smile, his eyes on Alyssa. She was stunning in a bright blue dress and a strand of her own beads. In love with him, huh? Why would she tell her father, a man she wasn’t close to, but not tell him?

  Duh! He got it. No wonder he loved her. Jake couldn’t keep a shit-eating grin off his face.

  Clay watched Alyssa with the three men. Why were they so happy? Alyssa had come to him last night, not Jake. Clay told himself not to doubt her love, but the cocky expression on Jake’s face made it difficult.

  “What do you suppose Gordon LeCroix is thinking?” Clay’s father asked. “He claimed he wanted to have a private conversation with that—that—woman. Then Gordon saves a seat for the man who kidnapped his grandson. Outrageous.”

  “Max was the father.” Clay couldn’t resist saying, “If you remember, when Phoebe announced she was pregnant, I told you I didn’t think the child was mine.”

  “Yes, well …” His father gave an anxious little cough. “I suppose we should go over and see Hattie. She’ll be very upset when she hears about this.”

  Clay realized his father didn’t know Alyssa was Gordon’s daughter. He’d known for years, because he’d been close to Wyatt and Phoebe. Hattie had kept the truth from all her friends, including his parents.

  He watched his father sign the check and write down his membership number. He could tell him about Alyssa, but he didn’t bother. Instead, he concentrated on developing a plan to get rid of Dante.

  Tonight, the night before Phoebe’s funeral, would be perfect. Everyone would expect him to be home grieving. Cousins of Phoebe’s would be spending the night at the house. He could pretend to go to bed then slip out.

  He would make up some excuse to have Dante meet him at one of those seedy jazz clubs the Bahamian frequented. Parking being what it was along Frenchman Street, Dante would have to park on some dark side street. Clay would be following, and he would shoot him from inside his own car.

  Wait! Not his Masarati. It was too memorable of a car should someone witness the drive-by shooting. Maree had a forgettable black Toyota. He’d come up with some excuse and borrow it.

  “Aren’t you coming?” his father asked.

  Clay hadn’t noticed his father stand up. As they left the dining room, Nelson Duvall made it a point to say hello to several friends, but not to go over to Gordon’s table.

  This group could turn on you quicker than a snake, Clay decided. It was something he’d always known, of course, but it had never occurred to him that he could be banished. His rightful place as a Duvall, a golden boy with looks, and a family lineage, could be taken away from him, after all.

  It had just been a simple ménage à trois that had gotten out of hand. That’s all. But Clay couldn’t imagine these people understanding. He’d be dirt, worse off than Max Williams.

  On the way to the LeCroixs’ house, Clay’s father rattled on about his golf game, their second home in Sarasota, and their plans for a trip to Tuscany. Clay could have told his father about the problems at Duvall Imports, but he didn’t. The father had screwed up the business after generations of success. His advice was worthless.

  “Oh, Nelson, what am I going to do?” Hattie flung herself at his father the second they walked into the house.

  It was midafternoon now and hotter than Hades, but at least it was cool inside. Clay told himself to let his father handle this woman while he concentrated on working out his plan.

  “Now, now, Hattie,” Nelson Duvall said. “I’m here to help. Tell me what’s happening.”

  Hattie had been crying. Her eyes were bloodshot, but they still had what Clay thought of as his mother-in-law’s feral glint. She got that look when someone crossed her.

  “Ravelle’s going to be on the evening news, telling everyone Alyssa is Gordon’s daughter,” wailed Hattie. “It’s dreadful. So embarrassing.”

  His father led Hattie to the sofa, his arm around her, and they sat down. Clay took a chair nearby. From the agonized expression on his father’s face, Clay knew the man had no idea what to say.

  “We just saw Gordon at the Mayfair Club. He was having lunch with Alyssa and Max and Jake Williams,” volunteered Clay.

  “The Mayfair Club?” Hattie screeched. “He’s with her in front of everyone who counts?”

  Clay nodded solemnly, stifling a smile. He had always despised his mother-in-law, the social climber. Sticking the knife in and twisting it gave him more pleasure than he’d had in all the years Phoebe had forced him to spend time here.

  “Is she Gordon’s … ah … daughter?” his father finally asked.

  “Y-yes,” Hattie replied between dramatic sniffles. “Imagine, I took care of her the way I did my own daughter. All those years and I never knew.”

  Clay almost said: That’s a bald-faced lie. He knew why Hattie had done it. She always bent over backward to impress his parents. The woman had known from the start about Alyssa, but she’d kept it a secret.

  “Have you called a doctor?” his father asked. “He would prescribe something to … to make you feel better, and help you get through this ordeal.”

  “I have medication, but I hate to take it. I want to be brave, yet it’s so, so hard. My poor, beautiful Phoebe is gone, and Gordon is spending his time with her killer. Why don’t they throw that woman in jail?”

  “Good question,” his father replied. He rolled his eyes at Clay, the message clear: Do something, say something.

  “Is anyone staying with you?” Clay asked.

  Hattie shook her head. “People have been here, but I’m too distraught about Phoebe and now this—this news. The maid is sending away visitors, and I’m not taking calls.”

  What she meant was she was too embarrassed to face her friends. Clay sat there, his mind wandering while his father convinced Hattie to take a sleeping pill and get some rest. Clay couldn’t get out of there fast enough. He had a plan to put into action.

  “I need my car,” Maree protested. “Why can’t you take Phoebe’s Jag?”

  “Her cousins from Biloxi are using it.”

  It was nearly six o’clock, and he was standing in the tacky living room of Maree’s carriage house. Air conditioning had been an afterthought in the ancient building, and a swamp cooler wheezed out moist air that was only marginally cooler than it was outside.

  “Oh, all right. I can never say no to you, darling.”

  Her voice was sweet, flirty. He knew what was coming next. He endured a kiss and what was intended to be a seductive brush of her body against his. When she’d finished, Maree pulled back, her lips parted and moist.

  “Can I come with you?”

  He automatically corrected her. “May I come with you?”

  “Whatever.”

  Her pouty look was supposed to be sexy, but he wanted his life back. He wanted to be rid of this woman as well as Dante. She’d tricked him into engaging in a threesome and filmed it. He’d never forgive her. She probably was in cahoots with Dante. It was all he could do not to put both hands around her soft neck and choke the life out of her.

  “No, honey,” he forced a caress into his voice. “You can’t come with me. This is business.”

  “Am I going to see you tonight?”

  “Maree, I’ve got a house full of Phoebe’s relatives. Tomorrow’s the funeral. It’ll look suspicious if I’m not at home.”

  She ran her tongue across her lower lip, a petulant gesture that he found more annoying than usual. First things first, he told himself. Once Dante was out of the way, he’d decide how to handle Maree.

  Dante was far too cunning to have left the tapes here. They must be hidden at his apartment. With luck, he’d be able to get rid of the troublemaker, then search his apartment.

  “What about tomorrow night?”

  He tried for a placating tone. “I’ll still have a house full of peop
le, but I may be able to get away. It’ll be really late, though.”

  That satisfied her, and Maree smiled the slightly aloof smile that once had reminded him of Alyssa. “I’ll be waiting.”

  “Don’t be disappointed if I don’t come over,” he said, preparing her for what was going to happen. “One of her relatives might want to stay up late talking about Phoebe.”

  “When are you bringing back my car?”

  Good question, he thought. “In a few hours,” he said, although he didn’t have any idea how long this might take.

  “Put the key in an envelope in my mail slot with a note about where to find my Toyota. I’m going to be out with Dante at Funky Butts.”

  Hot damn, Clay thought. Now he knew where Dante was going to be. He wouldn’t have to call the psychic and come up with some story. Now all he needed was a time.

  “You’ll probably still be here when I’m done,” he said as casually as possible. “Funky Butts doesn’t get going until eleven or so.”

  “We’re meeting in the bar at eight.”

  Interesting, Clay decided. Funky Butts was one of the liveliest clubs around. The ground floor was a classic dive bar, but upstairs a variety of jazz acts were featured. None of them started playing until after nine at the earliest. Dante must be meeting someone in the bar. It didn’t matter to Clay. He had the information he needed.

  Another, more pleasing, thought crossed his mind. He could kill them both at the same time. Then he wouldn’t have to deal with Maree later and risk her blabbing about the tapes to the police.

  “Thanks, babe.” He made himself kiss her good-bye. On the way to her Toyota, he revised his plan. He’d go right home and tell the relatives he was taking a nap, and to wake him at nine for dinner at the Mayfair Club. He’d slip out, kill them both, and return home. He’d have an iron-clad alibi.

  The note Dante had sent him popped into his mind.

  Ashes to ashes,

  dust to dust.

  If God won’t have you,

  the devil must.

  He laughed out loud. In no time Dante—and Maree—would be dust. Served the fuckers right.

  CHAPTER 38

  “What do you mean? You’ve got my number?” Alyssa asked Jake. “Of course you do. You’re calling me, aren’t you?”

  “Wiseass.” The smile in his voice came over the telephone.

  “You love me. Admit it. Your father told me so.”

  She tried for a joking tone, cursing herself for not telling her father to keep it a secret. “That blabbermouth.”

  “I know what you’re trying to do. You want everyone to think you’ve gotten off scot-free. You’re trying to flush out the killer.”

  Sheesh! She thought she could fool Jake, but he was far too perceptive. “Something like that,” she conceded. “But it’s not working. I haven’t even gotten a threatening phone call.”

  “It’s a dangerous game. I don’t like it.”

  “Jake, what choice do I have? They’ll arrest me again. I have to do something.”

  “Let’s talk about it. I called to tell you I’m going to be late. Sanchez needs to see me.”

  “Does he have new information?”

  “I don’t know what he wants. So far, it’s been details that don’t add up to much. I’ll fill you in when I see you. I should be there in about an hour. I know it’s late—”

  “It might be all the time we have.”

  Two beats of silence, then he asked, “Did your see the evening news?”

  “Yes. Ravelle was in all her glory when she told New Orleans I was Gordon LeCroix’s love child.”

  “Love child. Is that what she said?”

  “Her words exactly. I wonder what Gordon thinks?”

  “Don’t worry about it, Alyssa. Gordon was cool at lunch. My father and I both appreciated what he did.”

  “So did I,” Alyssa admitted, although she wondered if he might have some ulterior motive. “The truth is out in the open—about the past anyway. Now if only we can find the killer.”

  “We’re closing in. I can feel it. I have a lot to tell you about the case. Details, no big breakthrough. I’ll explain when I see you.”

  She hung up and went to check on Aunt Thee. Shawn was in the upstairs sitting area outside her aunt’s bedroom, reading a magazine.

  “I’ll just say good night,” Alyssa told him. The nurse was a stickler for maintaining a schedule and not tiring his patient. She knocked softly on the door.

  “Come in,” called Aunt Thee.

  “I want to say good night. Jake’s been delayed, but by the time he arrives, you’ll be asleep.”

  Aunt Thee nodded. She was already in bed, the lightweight comforter spread over her. She patted a spot beside her, and Alyssa sat down.

  “I’ve been thinking,” her aunt said. “Shawn is such a dear, and he plans to study for his real estate license. He wants a career change. I’ve offered to let him stay here, if he’ll look after me. That way you can get a place of your own without worrying about me. It’ll give you and Jake some privacy.”

  As she had so many times over the years, Aunt Thee had considered Alyssa before herself. Alyssa knew she would rather have her live here than Shawn, but she believed she was hampering Alyssa’s love life. She bent over and kissed her aunt on the temple.

  “I think that’s an excellent idea, but not because of my love life. You know it’s only a matter of time before I’m arrested again. If Shawn’s here, I’ll feel better about you.”

  A sheen of moisture glistened in Aunt Thee’s eyes. “Don’t say that. You’ll find the killer. I know it.”

  Alyssa tried to give her a confident smile, but it was difficult. She wished she could be so sure, but she wasn’t. There was one thing that she did know and should share with her aunt while she still had the opportunity. She’d confessed to her father how she felt about Jake, but not her aunt.

  “I think I might be in love with Jake.”

  Her aunt’s face broke into a wide, open smile. “I knew it the moment I saw you two together. You’re perfect for each other.” She patted Alyssa’s hand. “As I told you before, I can hardly wait to be a grandmother.”

  Alyssa rolled her eyes. “You’re getting way ahead of things. I might spend time in prison. I have to settle this before I can think of having a life. I—”

  The telephone on the nightstand rang and interrupted her train of thought. She almost reached for it, but it stopped mid-ring. The low murmur of Shawn’s voice came from the other room.

  “If you’re arrested again, I’ll do everything in my power to help you. I’m very secure financially. We can mount the best defense possible, but I don’t think it’ll come to that.”

  She wished she shared her aunt’s optimism, but she didn’t dare. She thought it was better to prepare for the worst. “Thank you for all you’ve done. Everything—”

  “Alyssa,” called Shawn from the doorway, “telephone.”

  “Just a minute.” She leaned over and gave her aunt another kiss. “Good night. I’ll see you at breakfast.”

  “Tell Jake hello,” her aunt replied as Alyssa rose. “And give him a kiss for me.”

  Alyssa walked out of the room and shut the door quietly behind her. Shawn had left the sitting area, but the telephone’s receiver was on the sofa table. She picked it up, expecting Jake and hoping he wasn’t delayed again.

  “Alyssa.” It was Gordon LeCroix. “I need to talk to you.”

  There was a disturbing note in his voice, and with a pang of concern, she realized she’d come to care about him. He’d been so understanding with Max at the Mayfair Club. Everyone else was primed to snub him, but her father, without a word from her, had done the right thing.

  “I’m alone. I can talk.”

  “Not on the telephone. I—I need to see you now. Can you come over here?”

  She couldn’t imagine walking into a house filled with Hattie’s friends, all of them blaming her for the killing. But if her father needed he
r, Alyssa couldn’t refuse him. He was reaching out; she had to meet him halfway.

  “No, no,” he said. “We don’t need any food. We have more casseroles than we know what to do with.”

  What was he talking about? she wondered. She hadn’t volunteered to bring any food.

  “Flowers? No. We have too many already.” His voice sounded a little hoarse and he was rattling on, which wasn’t his style. He was clearly upset about something. Phoebe. He’d lost a daughter, a child he’d loved in his own way.

  “I’ll come right over.” She glanced at her watch and saw it was quarter to nine. Jake wasn’t due here for another half hour.

  She heard a muffled sound as if Gordon had put his hand over the receiver. “Alyssa, don’t mention this to anyone.”

  Hattie, she thought. He doesn’t want her to know. With Phoebe’s funeral tomorrow, Hattie was probably hysterical. “Do you want me to come in through the back door?”

  After a long pause, he said, “No. Don’t bother. I don’t need anything.”

  She hung up, rushed into her room, and grabbed her purse, thinking of Gordon—her father sounded strange. She met Shawn going down the stairs. “I have to go out. If Jake gets here, ask him to wait. I should be back within the hour.”

  He agreed, and she raced out of the house, thinking the faster she got over to the place she’d once called home, the sooner she’d be back here to see Jake. What could her father want to talk about? Possibly he had something to say about Jake or Max. She’d had to leave them at the Mayfair Club without getting another chance to speak to Gordon in private because she’d promised Aunt Thee she would take her to the doctor for a checkup.

  That must be it, she decided as she trotted into the passageway leading to their parking garage. Both lights were on but they were dimmer and cloaked the narrow passageway in dark shadows. She stopped in her tracks and reached into her purse for the tiny canister of pepper spray she’d purchased that morning.

  Maybe it was just her imagination, but suddenly a blinding awareness that something was lying in wait made her fingers tremble. She found the pepper spray and clutched it in her hand. Squinting at the shadows, she walked down the corridor. It was hot and dank with the smell of mold growing after the latest rainfall, but she didn’t see anything.