CHAPTER 33

Clay stood at the back of Charbonnet’s Funeral Home and said nothing as Hattie took over, the way she always did. Gordon, of course, had been “tied up.” So far she’d ordered a mother-of-pearl coffin lined with pink silk and one hundred and fifty lavender roses, Phoebe’s favorite, for the church where the service would be held. Now, she was working on the music.

Clay didn’t know what the rush was. There had to be a full autopsy, which wouldn’t be completed until the end of the week. He didn’t want to appear callous, so he’d accompanied Hattie. He leaned against the wall, thinking.

Max had given him back his company without a cent changing hands. What was that all about? Max was a crusty old fox. Clay wondered if he was up to something, then decided Max had been crazy about Phoebe. This could be his convoluted way of honoring her memory—give back the family business. On the other hand, Max could be up to something. As soon as this messy funeral was over, Clay was going to Max to find out what was happening.

“Clay, the choir from St. Anthony’s is available. That would be perfect, don’t you think?” Hattie asked.

“Absolutely. Phoebe would love it.” This was a total lie. Phoebe hated church choirs, loathed spiritual music, and rarely attended services. Naturally, Hattie tried to impress her own wishes on her daughter in death as she’d done in life.

If Clay could put his finger on the one single reason the LeCroix family was so screwed up, it would be Hattie. A doyen of social power, obsessed by her own reign as the Orion krewe’s Mardi Gras queen, she’d been determined to relive her moment of glory through her daughter. The discovery of Alyssa, the skeleton in the closet, had thrown Hattie completely.

His cell phone rang, and he headed toward the door opening into the hallway before answering it. His secretary, Ami Sue, the big-boobed, blond bimbo was hysterical.

“They’re moving us out. What am I going to do?”

“Moving? Who?”

“They say Mr. Williams sent them. We have to be, like, out of the building by five o’clock.”

Jake must have ordered this, not Max. The old man had been nuts about Phoebe. She’d died Saturday night; Max had returned Duvall Imports the following day. It was now Tuesday, just days after what Max had to see as a tragic death. He wouldn’t boot out Clay’s company, but Jake would.

Jake had been jealous of Clay from the moment they’d been introduced. Clay could understand it. Jake came from humble beginnings. Nothing short of his father’s phenomenal success could have elevated poor white trash from Mobile’s docks to New Orleans’ society. It was only natural that Jake was insecure and vengeful.

“Call Wyatt LeCroix and tell him that we’re moving into his offices until I can arrange for new office space.”

Ami Sue asked a few more totally stupid questions. Couldn’t she have more initiative? It wasn’t going to happen when you selected a secretary based on her bra size instead of her brain. He reminded himself to fuck her then fire her. He’d been saving her for a rainy day, and this was it.

What made this situation with his company dangerous was Dante. Somehow he’d taken charge. Heroin had been loaded on one of Clay’s ships. He had no doubt this was just the beginning. Clay wasn’t stupid enough to think Dante was in this alone. He had the backing of Venezio and the mob—no question about it. If Clay tried to weasel out of their deal, no telling what would happen.

Continuing to sleep with Maree was only encouraging her to think he would marry her. With Maree came Dante. They might as well be joined at the hip. He would demand Clay continue to smuggle in heroin. There had to be a way out of this—a way back to Alyssa.

Short of killing Dante and Maree, Clay didn’t see a way out. It was something to consider.

“She’s better,” Alyssa told Jake, referring to her aunt. “But this has been hard on her.”

“Right, but she’s a trooper.” He leaned back on the sofa, his arm around Alyssa. Max had left hours ago, after apologizing to Alyssa yet again. Shawn had brought Thee down for an early dinner, then taken her upstairs to rest.

“I didn’t want to say it in front of Max, but I think Phoebe may have hired the man with the knife. He might be the same man who paid the nurse to move the baby into the closet near Thee’s room.”

“Why didn’t you want to talk about it when your father was here?”

Jake wasn’t sure exactly how he felt about his father, but his feelings had changed considerably since Max went to the authorities at tremendous consequences to his own life. I have no intention of losing you again. His father’s words came to him, the way they had many times already. In his own way, Max cared about Jake, and he was sorry he hadn’t been a better father.

“My father had a blind spot where Phoebe was concerned.”

“He chose to believe anything she said.”

Derision underscored every syllable she uttered. He couldn’t blame Alyssa. Max had been responsible for the trouble she’d had over Patrick’s disappearance. She was again facing prison. She had a right to be angry.

“I’m not proud of what my father did, but I am grateful that he went to the police and told them everything as soon as I found out he had fathered Phoebe’s child.”

“What if you hadn’t discovered the truth?”

“Max would have gone to the authorities the minute he learned about Phoebe’s murder.”

Alyssa stared across the living room. It had been hastily put back together after the search, and things weren’t quite in their proper place. He thought she was silently condemning him for sticking up for his father.

Jake tried again. “He’s told the police everything he knows. The things that matter most to him like a political career, being Mardi Gras king, and having a place in society will be impossible now.”

“He did it for you, didn’t he?” she asked.

He silently applauded her intuitiveness. “Yes. I told Max that I love you, and I don’t want you to suffer any longer for something you didn’t do.”

She gazed at him for a minute as if she hadn’t heard what he’d said. “You’re in love with me?” she whispered incredulously.

Shaking his head in mixed tenderness and exasperation, he pulled her closer until their lips were a few inches apart. “I’m crazy about you. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to get you out of trouble.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, but she didn’t say she loved him.

“I want to marry you and have a big family. That’s how much I love you.”

She stared at him for a long moment, and for the life of him, Jake couldn’t tell what she was thinking. He had so much to give her, endless abounding love, but would she accept his gift? When she still didn’t respond, acute disappointment replaced anticipation.

“Jake, I can’t think about my personal life until this is over.”

She spoke in a soft, low voice, but each word was far sharper than a slap. Love and doubt collided, then twisted into a tight knot deep in his gut.

“I understand,” he replied even though he didn’t, at least not completely. He’d wanted her to give him a sign, no matter how small, that she loved him, wanted to share her life with him.

Brizt, brizt. His cell phone chirped from where it was clipped to his belt. He pulled it out and flipped it open. Sanchez was on the line.

“I just spoke with my contact at the police station,” the detective told Jake. “Your father’s information has made quite an impression. The fact that Phoebe lied about her baby’s disappearance puts a whole new light on the case.”

Jake watched Alyssa cross the room and go up the stairs. No doubt she was going to check on her aunt. He waited until she was too far away to hear him. Max was a sore point between them, and he didn’t want to make the situation any worse.

“Do you think they’ll charge my father?”

“Nah. I don’t think so. They’ve checked out everything Max told them and it’s been true.”

“Good.” Jake thought being ostracized socially was punishment enough.

“Did you know Gordon LeCroix came to the police this afternoon?” Sanchez asked.

“I had no idea.” He looked up and saw Alyssa coming down the stairs.

“He told them he’s Alyssa’s father. That threw them. LeCroix also said he’d persuaded Alyssa to go into the study and speak with Phoebe.”

“Does he have an alibi?”

Sanchez laughed, but Jake was not amused. Alyssa had sat down, looking pensive, but she hadn’t sat beside him. Instead she was in the chair directly across from him, the coffee table with a stunning orchid plant separating them. So much for true love.

“Gordon’s hard to track. He admits he was downstairs during the party, but he insists he went upstairs after talking to Alyssa. With so many vampires around, in masks and all dressed alike, it’s hard to prove or disprove the whereabouts of a lot of people. Of course, a nun and a priest and a devil stuck out as did the woman in the feathered vampire number.”

“Have they questioned Wyatt LeCroix?” Jake wanted to know.

He intended to see Wyatt himself, but he didn’t mention this to Sanchez. Jake didn’t want Sanchez to think he was second-guessing him. The private eye had done a damn fine job—faster and better than the police—but Wyatt knew more about his sister than anyone.

“The detective in charge of Phoebe’s case went to Wyatt’s office this morning, but I don’t think he seriously interrogated him. Phoebe and her brother were known to be close. Why would he want her dead?”

“Money. Isn’t that what the FBI says? Right after crimes of passion, killing for financial gain ranks next as the cause of murder.”

“According to the last will they found, which is five years old, Phoebe’s money would go to her parents. Wyatt claims there’s a new will on file with an attorney in Baton Rouge. Wouldn’t you know, Wyatt didn’t remember the lawyer’s name. The police are trying to track him down.”

“Baton Rouge. Why not here?” Then it hit him. “Daddy’s an attorney. Word gets around. She didn’t want her parents or Clay to find out she’d changed her will.”

“Who knew what went on in her mind?”

“Got that right.”

“Wyatt and Clay say they know nothing about it. Clay, I believe, but as I told you, Wyatt seems to know more than he’s telling.”

“Yeah,” Jake said. He was hardly listening now. Alyssa was watching him, her expression vacant, devoid of emotion. A burning sensation feathered through his stomach.

“There is some good news.” Sanchez sounded upbeat.

“That’s great. Alyssa will be glad to hear it.” He tried to catch her eye, but she was staring up at the ceiling now.

“They are going to give Clay Duvall a lie detector test tomorrow afternoon. I didn’t have to push for it. This was their idea after some people at the party said they thought he went downstairs. Of course, with all those vampires, it’s hard to be positive.”

“It won’t hurt to run the test.”

“I won’t be surprised to find out Clay offed her. He’s a scumbag. I have a tail on him. He was at the LeCroix home receiving condolence callers until a little while ago. He claimed he had a migraine from all the stress and said he was going home to get some sleep. Where do you think he went?”

Jake didn’t hesitate. “Clay’s spending the night with Maree Winston, the woman in the feathered vampire getup.”

“Right. It looks like another night of kinky sex. The Bahamian psychic is there, too. I’m pulling the tail off Clay and have him do an in-depth on Troy Chevalier. We haven’t taken a good enough look-see at him yet.”

“Great work,” he said, and he meant it. “There’s a bonus in this for all—”

“Oh, one other thing. The ballistics test is being done at the FBI lab.”

“Really? Why?”

“They want an accurate report from a state-of-the-art lab. It’ll take at least two more days to get it.”

“Is there any chance the FBI won’t be able to match the bullet to the gun?” Jake asked as he tried to catch Alyssa’s eye and reassure her with a smile.

“Abso-fucking-lutely! A .22 is notorious for twisting and getting whacked out of shape. I guess the murderer didn’t realize that.”

“Or maybe he did.” It would be another circumstantial trap for Alyssa like last time. “This gives us some valuable time to find the killer.”

Jake hung up and explained all he’d learned to Alyssa. She was attentive, but didn’t comment until he’d finished.

“Clay knows more than he’s telling,” she said. “Maybe he didn’t actually kill Phoebe, but he’s hiding something. That’s why he left the LeCroixs’. Guilt. Sanchez should keep his man on it.”

“It’s fairly late. I think Clay’s in for the night. Considering all he’s uncovered, I think we should trust Sanchez’s judgment.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

“Let’s see what they learn from the lie detector test.”

The way she talked, her eyes never quite meeting his, told Jake all he needed to know. There was nothing more to say. The ensuing silence stretched over light-years of time even though it was only a few minutes. Jake told her to get some sleep, then left.