by Joanna Wayne
“Then three different people were in on this?”
“Very unlikely. We believe a professional grade voice changer was used.”
“Where is my grandmother’s phone now?”
“In police custody. It hasn’t rung since her death.”
“Then he must have known her well enough to know when she died,” Helena said.
“Maybe, but it made the local news. Your grandmother was pretty much a legend in this area what with all her charitable and historic preservation work.”
Helena massaged her arms as if she were cold, the facts no doubt chilling her to the bone.
“I know this is not what you wanted to hear, Helena, but rest assured we’ll apprehend this guy sooner or later. He’ll make a mistake. Serial killers always do. And when he does, we’ll get him.”
“But how many other teens or young women will he kill before he makes that mistake?” Helena asked.
“I can’t answer that.” And that was what kept him up at night, what haunted his mind every hour of the day. That kind of evil had to come from devils residing deep in a person’s psyche. Even the killer might not know when he’d succumb to the darkness and strike again.
“Had Mia not died the untimely way she did, she might have led us to Elizabeth’s killer,” Hunter said.
“Poor Mia. So much to deal with. How horrible to spend the last few weeks of her life being intimidated by a madman who must have wanted her dead. Wanted it bad enough...”
“I know what you’re thinking,” Hunter interrupted. The haunted look in her eyes and the angst in her expression made it clear. “Mia wasn’t murdered by the serial killer or anyone else, Helena. That possibility was thoroughly investigated. There was absolutely no evidence of foul play. Absolutely none.”
“Thank God for that.”
“If it was the killer’s intent to intimidate her, he failed miserably,” Hunter said. “Your grandmother considered herself part of the investigative team and she was good at it.”
“She was always a fighter,” Helena said.
Hunter planted both feet on the floor and leaned forward. “I have one very important request. I don’t want you to discuss the phone calls with anyone. Not your best friend. Not Ella. Definitely not a reporter.”
“Why?”
He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. He didn’t want to frighten her, but he had to warn her. “There’s an outside chance the killer may try to contact you now that you’ve returned to the carriage house.”
“What makes you think he even knows I exist?”
“He mentioned you in the last call.”
“What did he say about me?”
“Just that she had a beautiful granddaughter. He hoped you’d be visiting soon.”
“And obviously, I did. For Mia’s funeral, almost as if he knew Mia was going to die.”
“There’s no way he could have predicted the fatal fall. The important thing is that I need you to call me immediately if you get a suspicious phone call or if anything happens that makes you uneasy,” Hunter warned. “Even if you think it’s probably nothing—even if the person who makes you uneasy is someone you know.”
“Right now, you’re making me extremely uneasy.”
“Don’t be. I’ll keep you safe. I promise, but you have to trust me and never hesitate to call me.”
“What great timing I have, as if I’m part of the killer’s welcoming committee.”
“If I’d known you were coming this week, I would have suggested you put the trip off.”
“It never dawned on me to check a serial killer calendar.”
“Understandable.” Hunter walked over, took her hand and pressed his card into her palm. Even that slight touch stirred the old vibes. He struggled to keep them under control.
“Put my cell phone number in your phone on speed dial. Call anytime, day or night. I’ll always answer. Count on it.”
She took the card, but quickly moved her hand away from his. “If that’s all, you should go now. I’m sure you have more important work to do.”
“Okay. Just remember, if you need me, I’m a phone call away and I can have a police officer here in seconds.”
She walked him to the door and opened it.
“You always were a good cop, Hunter, even if you didn’t know it. I’m glad you took it up again. You must have missed it.”
“I missed a lot of things.” Nothing as much as he’d missed her.
For a second, her gaze softened to velvet and he could almost swear he sensed a tinge of desire. But the moment passed, and she closed the door behind him.
She didn’t want him around. He got that, but he had only two goals right now. To find the French Kiss Killer before he killed again and to keep Helena safe.
He planned to do both.
* * *
LEANING AGAINST THE closed door, Helena struggled to make sense of the disturbing emotions churning inside her. She felt like a cannonball had smashed into the house and ran over her, leaving her flattened and unable to react in any appropriate way.
Her first impulse had been to lash out at Hunter and blame him for Mia’s having to deal repeatedly with a killer. He was the detective. He should have done more to find the killer or at least kept him from talking to Mia.
If nothing else, he should have at least called Helena and let her know about the phone calls.
Only her grandmother wasn’t one to be ordered around by anyone—never had been. Instead of quivering in fear, she’d likely dived in just like Hunter said, knowing full well what she was doing and any risks she might be taking.
She was sixty-eight years old, but Mia had known no limits, accepted no boundaries. Helena would be lucky if she had half Mia’s spunk at that same age.
Helena looked at the card Hunter had given her and realized she’d wadded it up in a clutched fist. She took it to the kitchen counter, laid it out flat and used her fingertips to iron out the wrinkles.
Call him if she needed him. She quaked at the thought.
Retrieving his last words from six years ago out of the depths of her memory, she used them like a suit of armor.
I’m sorrier than you’ll ever know, but I can’t go through with this.
And then he’d left her standing at the flower-bedecked altar like the fool she’d been. The fool she would never let herself be again.
Her phone rang. A quick surge of apprehension rocked through her.
“Hello.”
“Helena, it’s me, Ella. I hope I’m not disturbing you.”
“Absolutely not. It’s so good to hear from you. In fact, I was hoping to pay you a visit about eleven if that works for you.”
“That would be great. We have so much to talk about now that you’re moving back to New Orleans.”
There was that bothersome misconception again. She’d clear that up when she saw Ella. The way things were going now, she couldn’t get out of here fast enough. She slipped Hunter’s card into her pocket.
* * *
ELLA MET HELENA at the door, greeting her with a bear hug that wouldn’t quit. The clinging was an unnecessary but potent reminder of the angst Ella had been through over the last six months. When Ella finally pulled away, Helena took a good look at her and was shocked to see how much thinner and frail she’d become over the five weeks since Mia’s death. The downward plunge in her health had begun months prior to that. Losing her best friend had only made it worse.
Before Elizabeth’s murder, Ella had been so plump that her apron ties were barely long enough to make a bow in the back. Her cheeks had been fat and rosy, her hair smooth with a fair amount of brown.
Now, her flowered top practically fell off her shoulders and her blue, flour-stained apron was tied in a big bow. New wrinkles tugged at her mouth and puffy, dark flesh circled her eyes. Her hair was almost
totally gray with frayed ends that barely reached the middle of her ears.
Selling the house and property might turn out to be a wash on this trip, but at least Helena could spend some quality time with Ella before she left for Boston.
Helena breathed in the odor of spices wafting from the kitchen. “What is that I smell?”
“Peach cobbler.”
“My favorite,” Helena said. “You remembered.”
“How could I forget? Mia and I spent one whole day a few summers ago gathering peaches at a local pick-your-own orchard. Day was hotter than Lucifer’s spa, but she refused to quit until she had enough of the juicy fruit to fill her freezer.”
“I take it you did not handpick these peaches.”
“Sure I did. Picked them right from the baskets at the French Market when they were at their peak. Then I sliced and froze them.”
They both laughed, and it was amazing how much that softened the hard lines in Ella’s face. She probably didn’t laugh nearly enough.
“I didn’t just make cobbler,” Ella said. “I made some homemade shrimp salad. And I have fresh French baguettes to spread it on.”
“You shouldn’t have gone to all that trouble.”
“Wasn’t that much trouble. Besides I figured we’d have a lot more time and privacy for talking if we ate here. You know how noisy some of the lunch spots can be.”
“Especially the ones worth going to where the seafood gumbo is hot and spicy and the po’boys drip all down your shirt.”
“Well, when you put it that way, maybe we should have gone out,” Ella said.
“Another day,” Helena said. “Shrimp salad sandwiches, peach cobbler and being here with you in your comfy, air-conditioned apartment can’t be beat.”
Ella led the way to her second-floor kitchen.
All of the units were more or less what Helena considered upside down. Kitchen and dining areas and a spare room with floor to ceiling windows were on the second floor. Ella used her extra room for a guest room.
A large family area with a fireplace was on the first floor of every apartment as was a very spacious bedroom suite. All the apartments were entered through the courtyard. All had second-floor balconies and an ambiance that reeked of history and comfort.
Ella pointed to a bottle of white wine on the counter. “Would you mind opening the wine? I splurged on a bottle of Mia’s favorite chardonnay and I’ve been saving it to celebrate your homecoming.”
“Sounds great.”
“I chilled it before you got here. Wineglasses are on the table.”
They stuck to small talk until they’d settled at the dining nook that overlooked the myriad of greenery and blossoms trailing over the iron balcony.
They devoured the sandwiches and were halfway through bowls of warm cobbler topped with ice cream before the conversation took a nosedive.
“I saw you talking to Hunter Bergeron in the courtyard when he left here this morning,” Ella said. “I’m glad to see the two of you are cordial again. Mia would be, too. I’m not sure she ever quite forgave him for backing out of the wedding, but she was convinced he was going to be the one to apprehend Elizabeth’s killer.”
First Alyssa and now Ella. It was as if Hunter had his own cheering squad. She had no intention of becoming one of his groupies.
“I hope he’s successful in getting the killer off the streets,” Helena said, “but I don’t see the two of us becoming friends.”
“Sorry. It was probably thoughtless of me to bring him up. I don’t blame you for the bad feelings. It’s just that you’ve both done a lot of growing up since then. I think you’d like him if you’d give him a chance.”
“From what I hear, Hunter has plenty of friends.”
“Mostly other detectives. He’s asked about you several times,” Ella added before letting the subject drop.
Helena was not about to get drawn into talk of what Hunter said or thought about her. Seeing him again had shaken loose a few old memories, but she would make certain things between them went no further.
They talked for at least an hour about the neighborhood and the other tenants and all the plans that were in the works for fall festivals.
Fortunately, they managed to avoid any further mention of Hunter and any talk about Elizabeth’s murder, keeping things on the lighter edge of the spectrum.
Things had gone so well, Helena was stunned when she saw tears welling in Ella’s eyes as she walked Helena down the stairs and to the door.
“I’m thrilled you’re back, Helena. I promise not to be a burden, but you can’t imagine how much your being close by means to me. I miss your grandmother so much. She held me together when I literally didn’t think I could go on. She’s the only one who understood how much I was hurting.”
Ella’s words felt like a jagged cord circling Helena’s heart. “I know how close the two of you were, but you must have other friends you can talk to about your grief. It can’t be good for you to keep it all bottled up inside you.”
“I have lots of friends. They all try to help. Even Hunter comes by at least once a week. They say they understand, but they can’t. It’s not their pain. It’s mine. Most of them had never even met Elizabeth.”
“Your niece was beautiful in looks and spirit,” Helena said. “I know how much you loved her.”
“I still do, and I can’t begin to heal as long as the monster who killed her is out there just waiting to take someone else’s life.”
“They’ll find him and make him pay,” Helena said, though she wasn’t convinced of that herself. “Have you tried talking about your pain with Alyssa Orillon? Mia always said Alyssa had an uncanny talent for connecting with people.”
“We talked a few times. I begged her to try to reach Elizabeth across the gulf of death. All she did was tell me to think about happy times Elizabeth and I had together. It didn’t help. I’m just glad to have you back.”
Helena couldn’t leave it like this. A lie of omission even for a good reason was still a lie. “I hate disappointing you, Ella, more than you can know, but I’m not moving back to New Orleans.”
“But Mia left all the property to you. It’s yours free and clear.”
“It is. But my life isn’t in New Orleans. I’ve taken a new job in Boston that starts November 1. I’ll be moving there permanently then or sooner if this property sells.”
Ella stepped away. “But you loved this place. Mia had always counted on your moving here one day. You can’t just put it in the hands of strangers.”
It was useless to try to explain her own reasoning when at times she doubted the decision herself.
She took both of Ella’s hands in hers. “Let’s just take it a day at a time. Who knows? I may never find a buyer.”
Ella sighed and shrugged. “You will. It just won’t be a Cosworth.”
Helena felt like she was deserting Ella as she walked away, but at least Ella would have Hunter around to pay her visits.
And for some crazy, inexplicable reason, that thought made Helena feel worse.
Chapter Six
Determined not to dwell all afternoon on a lunatic killer who had trolled her grandmother, Helena began the task of cleaning out Mia’s closets. She’d been far too upset to tackle that when she’d been here for the funeral, although she had picked up numerous large plastic containers to simplify the process.
One pile for throwaway. One for items to keep. And one to be given away to local charities. She even had a fourth pile for items she though Ella might like.
Unfortunately, the task was much more difficult than she’d anticipated. There was basically nothing to throw away out of the linen closet. Mia had always been a neatnik, another of her admirable traits that hadn’t been passed on to Helena. Everything was in excellent condition, many items unused.
Unfortunately, there was a fifth pi
le Helena hadn’t counted on—the items Helena had no real use for but couldn’t bear to part with.
The tablecloths Mia had used for the various holidays. The Easter one with a Peter Rabbit illustration had been Helena’s favorite as a child. And then there were the lace table runners and doilies that they’d purchased the first time Mia had taken Helena to Scotland. And there were the cashmere throws Mia wrapped herself in to read or watch TV in front of the fireplace on cold winter nights.
That barely scratched the surface of the possessions Helena would love to keep, but as nostalgic as they might make her feel, they weren’t Helena’s style. She’d likely only be moving them from a closet in New Orleans to one in Boston to sit until they dry-rotted.
So, armed with the plastic containers and a will to keep only what was necessary while she lived in the carriage house, Helena began to put everything away and label accordingly.
It was nearly five o’clock when she finished. She stood and stretched, unkinking her tight muscles. When she walked into the kitchen to refill her water bottle, she noticed that the sun’s hot rays were no longer beating against the windows.
A layer of dark clouds had moved in, threatening one of the late afternoon showers that were so common in this part of the South. No one complained much since the rain cooled things down a bit.
If she hurried, she might get in a walk and a chance to check on Alyssa before the storm hit. The more she thought about Alyssa’s dizzy spell last night, the more it worried her.
Helena ran upstairs for her rain jacket, tossed her handbag over her shoulder and hurried out the door.
With her head lowered to block the breeze that had kicked up, she practically ran into Pierre Benoit at the gate.
“Where are you off to in such a rush?” he asked. “Hot date?”
“No such luck. Only a walk around the neighborhood, hopefully before the thunderstorm breaks loose. If not, I’ll duck into a shop and wait it out—or get wet. Water won’t kill me.”
“So, you’re a walk in the rain kind of gal. Interesting.”
“Warm rain. Not the icy downpours we get up North.”
