Let’s not talk about John right now,” Lisa said when she arrived at her father’s house.
“Are you sure?” Dad asked, clearly on edge.
“We’ll take it up later, as well as why you stopped investigating the Gray case years ago. Rosalyn told me about the threats when I was a child.”
“She wasn’t supposed to do that,” Dad said, clenching his jaw and looking to where Rosalyn sat with her laptop at the dining room table. She wore earphones and bobbed her head to an unheard beat. Other than waving at Lisa when she’d arrived, Rosalyn seemed to be in her own little world.
“I’m glad she did. You should have told me. I’m a mother, don’t you think I’d understand? I’d do most anything to protect my son.”
Dad opened his mouth as if to explain, then stopped.
“Let’s save this, really, Dad. We need to focus. I talked to Leonard’s attorney. They won’t delay his execution date. We’re running out of time. The court system is slow. Even if we finally get what we need, the court could still take a bit of time.”
“Yes, okay,” Dad said. “Should we go out to the workshop, then?”
“Sure. I want to go over everything you learned in New York. And Molly and I uncovered a few things as well. We can put that together with what Rosalyn found.”
Lisa caught Rosalyn’s smile, though the woman kept her eyes on the computer.
“Then we should get started,” Dad said, looking as if a weight had lifted.
Lisa noticed the freshly cut lawn in the backyard as they moved between the house and the workshop. It reminded her of how Dad had resorted to yard work when he and Mom had conflicts. Lisa found it somewhat humorous, but she didn’t remark.
Dad unlocked the workshop door.
“The other thing is, I’m going home tomorrow. I already told the hotel, and I booked an afternoon flight.”
“What?” Dad turned from the door. “Why?”
“You know how it feels to be gone from home too long. Let’s do what we can today. Then we can work just as effectively with me in Boston. And I have a great security system there as well.”
“Okay,” Dad said, sounding resigned.
Lisa couldn’t keep a slight grin from the edges of her lips. He’d only be happy if she moved back into her old bedroom, at least until this case was completed. But she was more than ready to get back to Boston. She wanted her own house, her own stuff, and her own bed.
And she felt ready to see Drew. There was much to say to him, and it couldn’t be spoken over the phone.
The harsh fluorescent lights flickered on inside the workshop. Lisa wished they could stay beneath the sunshine instead of spending the day in the Bat Cave.
“And one more thing.” Lisa put a hand on his shoulder before they stepped inside.
Dad raised an eyebrow.
“When this is all over, you need to get rid of all of this and get a new hobby.”
“What’s wrong with this hobby?” Dad said, motioning to the walls of crime scene photos with an exaggerated look of confusion.
“Uh-huh,” Lisa said.
“Okay, let’s go through it all.” He moved inside and flipped on the extra lights over the workbenches. “I’m pretty certain we know the killer.”
“Stanley Blackstone.” Lisa pulled up her usual stool and let her eyes pan over the walls.
“Yes.”
“But what’s the motive?” Lisa asked, thinking of a judge cutting through their theories. “We need to answer every question before facing the courts.”
“We don’t have motive. Most likely Blackstone and Gray knew one another in Alexandria. They were in segregated schools, but there are too many connections to be a coincidence. They graduated high school only a few years apart. Benjamin Gray was three years older. Alexandria isn’t a big city, especially back in the 1960s. Stanley attended college in Dallas and dropped out at the time of Gray’s shooting.”
“Still no motive,” Lisa said. She had her theory but wanted to hear what her father had discovered.
“Perhaps Stanley killed him because of their history. He saw this black man becoming someone of importance, fighting for everything he and his family stood against, so he went to the rally and killed him.” Dad leafed through papers he’d compiled on Stanley Blackstone.
“But it was a foolish way to kill him. Why so public? It speaks of passion.”
“Passion?”
“The motive may be simple,” Lisa said.
“What?” Dad stopped looking through the papers.
“A woman.”
Lisa explained how they’d discovered that Gray’s fiancée was probably Madeline Fitzgerald and that her family had ties to the plantation owned by the Blackstone family.
“So all three of them knew each other back in Alexandria,” Dad said. He moved to one of his boards and wrote down some notes on a 3 × 5 card.
“Yes. If we have the right Madeline, her father was white and her mother was black. She’s been the proprietor of a dinner house in New Orleans for decades, and she was a gorgeous woman in her youth. She’s still beautiful, from the website photos, and she must be in her seventies. Another point, she could almost pass for white.”
“You think Stanley Blackstone was in love with her?” Dad said doubtfully.
“It happened, even in situations like this. And Stanley might have felt entitled to Madeline. Her aunt was his nanny. Maybe he even felt as if he owned her. Then later she gets engaged to a black man he knows from his hometown. That’s a recipe for a crime of passion. The shooting at the rally wasn’t thought out or methodical.”
“And Blackstone is usually careful,” Dad said. He explained that he’d talked to a detective in Florida earlier that morning. The man believed Stanley Blackstone was involved in the killing of a wealthy local businessman, Blackstone’s rival, and the man’s mistress.
“They think he dumped the bodies in the Atlantic, but there’s no evidence. And according to Detective Martin, this is far from the only crime they suspect him of, but they never have enough evidence for an indictment.”
“The rally shooting was extremely sloppy,” Lisa said, “but Blackstone was young then—early twenties. He could have easily been caught that day. There had to be a powerful reason.”
Dad didn’t look convinced. He leaned his elbows onto the workbench and studied some black-and-white photographs on the wall. “Even if he loved her, Blackstone knew he couldn’t be with that woman. Mixed-race marriage was against the law in the South until maybe the late sixties or early seventies. And his family would’ve certainly disowned him.”
Lisa thought of Drew and the reasons she’d told herself that a relationship beyond friendship shouldn’t occur. But she couldn’t imagine one of those reasons being the law. “How would that apply to someone who was half black?”
“She still would’ve been considered black. But if she looked white, it would’ve been hard for her to be with either of the men during that time. Neither community would have accepted her. I can see how New Orleans was the right place for her.”
“There may be an easy way to answer this,” Lisa said, digging into her bag.
“How?” Dad asked.
“I’m going to ask her.”
Lisa studied the website for Fitz House. The images displayed a small dinner house tucked into a courtyard in the French Quarter. Wroughtiron gates opened into a cobblestone patio with hanging baskets that overflowed with flowers. The inside shots displayed tables with red velvet chairs and couches, a black marble fireplace, and gold-colored lighting hanging from the ceiling. There was also a small dance floor and stage.
In one picture Madeline Fitzgerald stood at the side of an ornately carved wooden bar. She wore a floor-length dress from an era gone by.
Lisa leaned close to the screen to study the woman. Her black hair was pinned up in an elaborate twist. She didn’t smile but stood regally with one hand resting on the bar. Lisa couldn’t imagine what this woman had experienced, growing up half white and half black in a small Louisiana town during the turbulent fifties and sixties.
“I’m trying to reach Madeline Lorraine Fitzgerald,” she said after calling the restaurant. Dad pulled up a chair beside her.
“I am Madeline Fitzgerald,” a woman said in a smooth Southern accent.
Lisa explained who she was and asked if she had an aunt in Alexandria who had worked at the Red Wolf Plantation.
“It seems you already know that answer,” Madeline said, her voice suddenly sounding strained and suspicious.
“My father and I are looking into the death of Benjamin Gray.”
Silence.
“You were in a relationship with Benjamin Gray at the time of his death, is that correct? You were engaged?”
“I would rather not answer these questions. You are a prosecutor, you said. Is this a formal query? Should I contact my attorney?”
“Please, Ms. Fitzgerald, I’m not doing this in any official capacity. Leonard Dubois has spent his entire life in prison over this. We know he isn’t the killer. And I believe you know that as well.”
“I cannot help you.”
Dad sighed and stood from the chair. He started pacing around the small room.
“Don’t you want justice for your fiancé?” Lisa said in a gentle tone.
“I wanted my fiancé to live a long life with me. Then I wanted my own long life. Justice doesn’t always come until we pass over.”
“I know Leonard Dubois is hoping for some justice. His execution date is only weeks away.”
“I didn’t know that, and I’m sorry,” Madeline said.
“Did you know Stanley Blackstone and Benjamin Gray when you were young?”
She started to speak, paused, and then said, “I did. We knew one another at that time. But that is all I’m going to say. Please, I have put that behind me, long ago. There is nothing I can do to help that man in prison.”
“Will you answer me one more question?” Lisa hoped the woman wouldn’t hang up. Dad stopped his pacing and sat near her again.
Madeline didn’t respond.
“Did you have a relationship with Stanley Blackstone?”
Lisa caught the woman’s sigh over the line.
“Yes. Stanley wanted to marry me. When we were younger. But other times he wanted nothing to do with me.”
“What happened?” Lisa clenched her fist in excitement. Finally, they were getting a solid motive.
“His father forbade it, of course. And Stanley was a conflicted man. He didn’t want me, but he didn’t want anyone else to have me. That is all I will say. Please, leave me alone.”
Lisa heard the line go dead as she opened her mouth for another question. She set down the phone, both excited and frustrated with the many answers she still sought.
“Perhaps I should talk to her in person.”
“In New Orleans?” Dad said with a frown. Lisa knew the break-in at her home and hotel room continued to haunt him.
“People can’t hang up or easily dodge questions when face-to-face. I could make an overnight stop there on my way home.” Lisa had always loved New Orleans. She had been there right after Katrina and mourned the devastation. But the city was resilient, and she’d longed to return as it continued its restoration. For a moment she thought of Drew meeting her down there.
“You could show up and she might not open the door for you,” Dad said.
“She owns a business. She can’t slam the door on a customer,” Lisa said, getting more excited about the idea as she spoke.
If Madeline had lost her fiancé because of Stanley, she might be the right person to finally bring Stanley down.