She smoked half a cigarette. Flicked the rest in the water.
Alma saw the boat for the first time.
Pretty nice.
Another breeze swept a brochure onto the deck. Galveston Island.
How come he never asked me if I wanted to do something like this?
She couldn’t help but wonder if those two ever talked about getting rid of her, permanently.
“If you can’t be with the one you love, then kill the one you’re with?”
No more time to waste. She pressed her feet against Rex and shoved them off the port side. A perfect free fall. They hit the water with a tremendous splash. She stared into his unblinking eyes as a rush of water covered them. Her face, twisted with hate and anger, was the last thing he’d ever see.
Alma lowered the dinghy to the water from the aft of the small yacht. Saw the name: Knot Workin’. Debated about setting the vessel adrift and ablaze.
Remembered her other idea.
She went to the galley. Retrieved all the wine and liquor bottles she could find; surprised by how many there were. She opened several. Splashed red, brown, and clear liquids across the deck knowing rain and waves would wash away most of it. She poured the rest in the water. Strategically placed opened and unopened bottles where they could be seen before anyone boarded the vessel.
On the floor beside the bunk she tossed around two full sets of clothing from underwear to shirts and shorts. Dangled a pair of red lacy thongs over a light fixture just for the hell of it. About to turn away, she scattered two more full sets of clothing around the sleeping quarters. It dawned on her what fun it’d be if she left the bloody knife on the floor with blondie’s DNA on it.
Let the authorities draw their own conclusions about the missing dinghy.
Alma headed for land. In the right direction, she hoped.
<>
BJ Donovan shut down her desktop computer, and unplugged it. Carefully packed it in a padded cardboard box next to the retired ten-inch laptop. Looked over at the black canvas carrying case of her brand new laptop purchased at an electronics store.
CHAPTER 61
Why is he so interested in her?
Detective Cantin saw Officer Wentzel pull over to the curb and park. He kept his head forward and drove on past him, glancing left in time to see BJ Donovan carry a heavy box out of her house, and put it in the trunk of her car. She’d left the front door open. He saw two more cardboard boxes.
She’s moving? Lucas wondered.
Through his rearview mirror, he watched Wentzel back into the driveway behind him, cut his wheels hard to the left, and drive toward the entrance of Donovan’s subdivision.
Shit. Which one do I stay with? Wentzel’s going on duty soon. Donovan’s actions are more intriguing. He made a U-turn. Parked curbside in front of a house where the grass had grown ankle-high. Folks must be on vacation.
Donovan finished loading the trunk. Started filling the back seat.
Halfway up her sidewalk, she swung her head in his direction. Lucas ducked. She kept staring his way as she continued on into the house. He sensed she watched him from a window. About to put the gearshift in drive he stopped. She came out, locked the front door. Got in her car. Keeping his distance, he followed her to the French Quarter. Saw her park in front of a very nice apartment building on St. Philip Street. He continued driving forward, doing his best not to look at her. A block away, he glimpsed in his rearview mirror in time to see Wentzel turn right on a side street.
>+<|>+<
Lucas walked to the café next door to the police department. He had a lot to mull over in his mind. Might even bounce a few things off the other cops. Such as, why is BJ Donovan moving out of her house? Where’s her husband?
Upon entering the restaurant he caught bits and pieces of idle conversation, the aroma of dirty rice and Po-boys, the clink of ice in drinks served in tall and skinny glasses, and the sound of a familiar voice calling his name. Lucas scanned the room. Gary Northcutt waved him over to a table near the kitchen.
He took a seat across from Gary. “Hey. You just get here?” He asked, noticing only a glass of tea and silverware rolled up inside of a paper napkin.
“About five minutes ago.” He slid a menu out of a metal holder, handed it to Lucas.
“Thanks. What’d you order?”
“I’m in the mood for a big ole bowl of gumbo. You?”
“I might have,” Lucas sighed. Looked at Gary. “Did you know BJ Donovan moved out of her house today?”
Gary blinked. Twice. Lucas knew something he should’ve known first. He became defensive. “She didn’t say anything about moving, last time I talked to her.” Embarrassment warmed his cheeks. “How do you know?”
“It’s no big deal. I happened to see her when I drove through the French Quarter, a while ago. I saw her parking in front of an apartment building. I also noticed several cardboard boxes piled high in her back seat. She is married, right?”
“Yes. Why do you ask?”
“I don’t know. Just strikes me strange I’ve never seen him out and about.” Lucas caught himself. “I mean, I’ve seen her a time or two, so you’d think I’d see him.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Hell, I don’t know. Hunger’s affecting my brain.” He watched Gary stare out the window, perhaps lose himself in thought. Dammit, why’d you have to tell him? He was relieved to see the waitress working her way through the crowd.
“I’ll have a Po-boy with nuttinonit,” Lucas told her when she arrived at their table with Gary’s food.
Gary waited until she left. In a low voice he said, “Have you had a chance to speak with the Captain about Wentzel?”
Lucas wasn’t expecting him to change the subject. “Talk to me.”
Gary swallowed a mouthful of tea. “It, uh, it was weird, you telling me about BJ moving out, possibly walking out on her husband.” He took a deep breath, exhaled slowly. “I came home for lunch today and found half of the furniture gone, half of the bank account gone, and my wife gone. Never saw it coming. Not much of a detective, am I? I knew, or at least thought I knew, she was seeing someone else, but I had no idea it had gotten this serious. Serious enough for her to leave without so much as a kiss-my-ass note stuck to the fridge. And you want to know why I had no idea? Because all of my attention was focused on another woman.”
“I guess that old saying is what keeps me single.”
“Old saying?”
“Don’t marry the one you’re with, marry the one you love. That saying. I haven’t been with a woman I also loved.”
Gary shook his head in confusion. “And this applies to my shit, how?”
Lucas released a short laugh. “Beats the hell outta me. I’m just trying to cheer you up, man.” Movement caught his eye. Officer Wentzel passed by the window with a scowl on his face.
CHAPTER 62
Why the hell hasn’t she called me? Detective Schein, I mean, Jeff wondered.
Bored with cruising the same uneventful section of the city, he made a sharp right turn, almost collided with an oncoming vehicle. His heart thumped hard enough to pop out of his chest. The image of a jack-in-the-box entered his mind.
“Okay, okay. Get a grip.”
It was truly nice not having a partner anymore. Most of the time. Other times, he would’ve enjoyed having someone to shoot the shit with. He glimpsed at his watch.
Like now, when it’s way past dinnertime.
Eating alone was something he never cared for.
Maybe because of my days in service or while incarcerated I got used to eating with my body hunched in, since there was always someone sitting very close on either side of me and—
“Oh my gawd, SHUT THE FUCK UP! Stop talking to yourself, you goddamn MORON!” Jeff punched the window with the side of his fist, startling the passenger in the car beside him at the traffic light. “Jeebus Christ.” He rubbed a hand over his chin. “I need a friend.”
He made another right turn,
drove to the stop sign at the end of the street. He became aware he had driven to the French Quarter. Driving slowly, he passed by BJ Donovan’s new place.
Pretty nice digs.
He loved the Old Square. Loved the New Orleans style of architecture.
Rounding the corner onto St. Charles Street he spotted a For Rent sign.
Fate?
He parked. Searched for other squad cars. Concocted a lie for why he wasn’t in his car in case someone called for him. “Potty break, boss.” Jeff snickered.
He rushed across the street, and thumbed the buzzer. A gorgeous woman with dark hair, hazel eyes and a sweet smile answered the door. He recognized her from a popular television show. She opened the door wider, and invited him in.
Jeff exited a few minutes later with a signed lease agreement in his hand. She explained she’s going to California to play the lead role in an upcoming movie, and with her husband in Australia filming his new movie she didn’t want to leave their home empty for an indefinite length of time.
“Who better to have here than a cop?” Her long, dark eyelashes swept the air automatically when she smiled.
Just like mamma’s.
He made a plan to pick up a sprig or two of Joe-Pye weed and a nice little planter to put them in. Feeling rather nostalgic, he wanted, no, he needed something familiar and comfortable in his life.
For the first time, he wondered why BJ had moved.
He cranked the engine. His jaw dropped open. His right hand landed on his leg.
“Why’d I do that? I already have a home.”
He lit a cigarette, pulled away from the curb.
Because you’re so damned desperate for a little attention or some small act of kindness, you’ll go to any length to not only get it but to hang on to it. That’s why.
“No. It’s because I’m cruising around the city on an empty stomach because I spent my dinner hour spying on Donovan. I am so damn hungry,” He slammed on the brake. The driver behind him swerved to avoid a rear end collision. Jeff stared in disbelief. Long black curls bounced with each footfall as she walked purposely along the sidewalk through the French Market on Decatur Street with a canvas shopping bag clutched in her fist.
“Mamma?”
CHAPTER 63
DECEMBER
BJ collected the typewritten sheets of paper, and put them in numerical order. Gently tapped the bottom edges on her desk to straighten them.
Are five pages too many for a critique?
“Not if they’re compelling enough to hold everyone’s attention. Besides, it’s my conference room the club uses free of charge. Well, so long as they continue to pay for dinner in the restaurant instead of bringing their own, it’ll be free.”
Once more from the top. She laid the papers flat on her desk. Scooted her chair closer, and put on her reading glasses. A quick sip of coffee to wet her throat. Decided she has read the excerpt out loud enough times already.
<>
Alma knew the family lawyer, Robert Greene, was in possession of certain information that could prove damaging if he decided to have a little chat with Detective Boutin. She entered the lawyer’s house with ease by means of an unlocked door, careful not to catch her long black cloak with the red satin lining on anything.
<>
“Hm.” BJ drew a red line across the words following door. “Readers might think she’s a damn vampire. Don’t want that.”
<>
Alma heard a faint noise further up the hallway. She crept toward the room on the left, peered through a narrow opening in the door. The room appeared to be a den. She saw Greene. He stood in front of the TV in the far left corner. His back was to her. Something caught her attention. She nudged the door open a few inches. Recognized the voice of the evening news reporter.
Greene lifted the remote control and raised the volume.
“Yes, we have a multiple homicide on our hands,” said Captain Orly Frost. “There are no suspects in custody at this time. However, DNA analysis has given us a significant clue, and we are acting on it as we speak.” He held up both hands. “That’s all we have for you at this time. G’day, ladies and gentlemen.”
Obviously angered by the sudden high-pitched tone of a salesperson, Greene snatched up the remote control device and cut off the TV. He sipped brandy. Pressed the other hand against the fireplace mantle, and stared down at the unlit logs on an iron grate.
Alma’s eyes narrowed into thin slits. He knows too much.
She squatted; set a little, square, decorative box on the floor as close to the opening as possible. Opened the lid. Moved out of the way. Fast. Its tongue flicking in and out of its mouth the coral snake eased over the edge of the box slower than pus oozes from an open wound.
<>
BJ sighed. Used the red pen to slash everything after box.
<>
The small but deadly creature slithered alongside the baseboard toward Greene’s desk. Got in behind a tall wicker wastebasket, and coiled its body tight. Alma was pleased the creature had gone where she wanted.
Red on yellow kills a fellow, Alma thought, moving fast toward the exit. Same colors as the handcuffs I used to tame those cheating hearts in a hotel suite. “Red on black, venom lack. Too bad Greene didn’t know the difference.”
CHAPTER 64
Detective Gary Northcutt entered the conference room at Wild Capers to find the place filled with members of Lieu du Crime Club. Several unfamiliar faces, as well.
Since the release of BJ Donovan’s debut novel, aspiring writers from all over the region had come to meet her and, Gary guessed, to glean a few insider tips from the publishing world. Okay, that’s why I’m here, he thought, along with an invitation to dine with her at the chef’s table.
He couldn’t believe she’d finally followed through on her offer of a get-together over coffee. Dinner at her restaurant was better than coffee at Binyay’s. He could only drink just so much coffee, so their time together would’ve been very limited.
He sat on a metal chair against the back wall.
Smiled when his roving gaze found her.
Dressed in black, long blonde strands covering her shoulders. She folded her hands neatly, set them on top of several sheets of paper, and listened to the secretary read the minutes from the last meeting.
A round of applause.
The secretary moved out of the treasurer’s way, and returned to her seat beside the podium. The microphone squeaked horribly when the short man tried to lower it.
A round of uncomfortable laughter, and subtle criticisms.
Gary shook his head in disappointment of their behavior.
The treasurer droned on and on about facts and figures.
Gary tried to follow questions asked and answers given about an upcoming joint book signing, but he had too many other things on his mind.
A roar of applause got his attention.
The moment they’d all been waiting for was upon them. The critique hour. The time when everyone, published and non, got to read an excerpt from his or her work-in-progress and receive feedback, positive and non.
BJ, the thirteenth writer to stand before her peers, exuded a great deal of confidence. She read slowly and clearly. A hush fell over the crowd. Everyone seemed captivated by her voice.
Gary leaned forward in his chair, clasped his hands and let them hang between his knees. He tilted his head near the end of her piece and frowned. Then he went cold. Odd colored handcuffs? Seems a little strange she’d used a critical piece of evidence from a real life murder investigation in her novel. She’d read something else from her excerpt he could’ve sworn was confidential information. Couldn’t remember what.
Gary studied her interaction with the writer beside her.
Is someone in the department whispering in her ear? If so, why?
His heart flip-flopped.
If word gets around BJ Donovan’s using this information in her unpublished novel, will people think I am her whisperer? Damn. Not people, Lu
cas Cantin. He’s been acting different here lately. Kind of secretive. What’s he got he doesn’t want me to have?
CHAPTER 65
BJ called Detective Schein’s home from a payphone, left a brief message on his answering machine stating she wanted to see the farmhouse sometime tomorrow afternoon.
The tires on her car squealed a little when she turned left on Caulfield off of Claude Street. She thought she’d never get rid of the cop after the writers meeting.
Why the hell did he question me about the contents of my excerpt? Handcuffs? Really? Who the fuck does he think he is?
She drove to the end where Virgil Wentzel’s house stood in total darkness. Veered left of the driveway, and parked behind a cluster of trees. Still pissed, she managed to close the car door without slamming it. Walking to the front entrance she reached in her shoulder bag and hunted for the house key she’d found hanging on a peg in the kitchen at the farmhouse.
She stopped. Frantically searched everywhere. Shit. Did I leave it in the desk drawer of Sonnier’s house? If she did she was out of luck. Sonnier lived in an upscale neighborhood. She’d surely be noticed if she tried to break into his house. Dammit all to hell.
BJ glanced up at the dormer windows. I wonder? She walked around back. Withdrew the penlight in her purse, shined it on each window. Stopping before the bathroom window, she could see the outdated slide lock faced in the opposite direction of the other windows.
Checked the others, to be sure.
She returned to the bathroom window. Dropped the penlight in her purse, dropped her purse on the ground. Pressed her outstretched hands hard against the pane. She pushed upward. Was met with enough resistance to thunk her forehead against the glass. “Ow!” She guessed that, over the years, the foundation might have shifted the windows out of rectangle. Or the sash and tracks had become swollen or cracked making a tighter fit. Or…? She traced the frame with the beam of her penlight to learn whether or not the damn thing had been painted shut. A rustling noise to her right. She clicked off the light. Held her breath, listened.
Long Night Moon (Bad Mojo Book 1) Page 18
