Deceived (16 page)

She held her father’s gaze, undeterred by his annoyance. “When Lisa Smithfield, the Tulane student who was murdered, talked to you, what did she ask you, and what did you tell her?”

A flush formed on his cheeks, yet his voice was calm and controlled. “I don’t recall anything very interesting or noteworthy.” He paused. “Now you’re going to be late for a meeting that I was counting on you to lead. As we discussed yesterday, I need you to responsibly handle your duties this weekend. Government personnel and elected officials who are in charge of the submarine-contracting decisions will be at Saturday’s party and Sunday’s gala. I’d appreciate it if you would stop worrying about things that are none of your business, such as closed-door meetings and the unfortunate murder of a Tulane student, and pay attention to things for which you are responsible. Right now, your priority needs to be that the patron party goes off without a hitch, then you can turn your attention to the gala.”

George turned his back to her, stepped into the conference room, and shut the door.

Chapter Ten

Even after driving for ten minutes, Taylor was still furious with her father and angry with Claude. She made it to her father’s house a few minutes late, composed herself as she put on lipstick in her car’s make-up mirror, then smoothed her hair. She drew a deep breath, and let herself into the foyer, where Clara Mullins, the party planner that she and her father used, and John Mancke, her father’s personal assistant and house manager, were waiting on her with the caterer, the photographer, the florist, and the head of her father’s internal housekeeping staff. The meeting took a half hour, with a walk-through of the residence. They stopped in each room that would be open for the party, and ended in the rear yard, where a white tent was being erected, complete with chandeliers and a dance floor.

After, Taylor went home and found Carolyn waiting for her in her bedroom, with a seamstress for final alterations on the dresses that she was going to wear for the Saturday party and the gala. Taylor apologized for running late. She took a quick shower before trying on the dresses, staying under the warm water long enough for a soapy rinse, but was careful not to wet her hair. “I have to be in Old Metairie at 6:30, so I’m in a rush.”

Carolyn glanced at her watch and frowned. “You might not make it.”

“I know. Let’s try on these dresses fast, all right?”

Carolyn’s sharp eye and the seamstress’s insistence that every tuck and seam be perfect tried Taylor’s patience. The red dress for the gala gave the seamstress an easier time than the ivory chiffon and silk cocktail dress that she was wearing on Saturday. The problem was underwear lines, which Taylor changed three times. Carolyn laid out the accessories and jewelry that Taylor would use each night, glancing at Taylor for a nod or a shake of the head. As Taylor stood still while the seamstress pinned, then unpinned the waistline, mental images of Anna Maria’s angelic brown eyes, the young girl’s pink and chartreuse satin ribbon, and Marvin’s machine gun flashed through her mind. She saw 2813 Melody Street, and Lisa’s apartment, where Lisa had been packed and ready for a new life with Michael. Michael, crying inconsolably, while in Brandon’s arms, was a fitting reaction to the tragic circumstances of his mother’s absence. The world was tragic and sad, and, as she glanced at the ladies who were working hard to make sure that she looked her best at the weekend’s parties, reality was oceans away from her pampered existence.

“Taylor,” Carolyn said, interrupting her thoughts.

“Yes?”

Carolyn gave her a perplexed look. “We’re through.” The seamstress was packing her bag. “You need to slip out of the dress.”

“Sorry,” Taylor said. “I was daydreaming.”

Carolyn said, “Your schedule for today didn’t include a meeting at 6:30.”

“I’m doing a favor for a friend, and I have people meeting me there,” Taylor explained to Carolyn as she went into her closet for a pair of jeans. She stopped, suddenly aware of the excess that confronted her. She didn’t have only a few pairs of jeans from which to choose. She had countless jeans, organized in a neat row by color, size, and whether they required heels or sandals. Brandon’s words from earlier in the day flashed through her thoughts.
The fact that someone cannot see past the exterior is more of a reflection of them that it is a reflection of you.
As she paused, she wondered if he was correct. Had she become, on the inside, the prissy rich girl that her wardrobe suggested?
Dear God. She hoped not.
Without thinking too much about it, she chose a pair of jeans that, hopefully, minimized her butt, a white linen blouse, nude, peep-toe heels, and a matching thong and brassiere that were made of beautiful, intricate swirls of lace in crisp white.

She sat at her vanity. As Taylor smoothed her hair, Carolyn said, “Is everything okay?”

Taylor nodded. “I’m fine.”

“I know the work transition is going to be hard on you,” Carolyn said, “but you were late last night, distracted this morning, and this evening your thoughts are a million miles away.” Carolyn narrowed her eyes. “What’s going on?”

“I just have to hurry. This is really important.”

“Are you doing this favor for a friend who is a man?”

“No,” Taylor said, “his son.”

“Oh,” Carolyn said, “so there is a man involved. Is he the person you were talking to on the phone when you arrived home last night? The one who was worried whether your alarm was working?”

“Yes,” Taylor said as Carolyn studied her. “There was a murder this week. He knew the victim. The baby was theirs.”

“Good Lord.”

“He’s compelling. He’s,” she paused, “different. Intense. It’s complicated.” Taylor blushed as she thought about the night before, how his arms had been strong and hard, how his kiss had made her knees weak.
Oh. My. God. I want him. It could happen. This is what it feels like. Anticipation, with a capital A. This is why I’m shaking at the thought of going to his house.
She shook her head, but couldn’t stop thinking about Andi’s advice.

Just do it and move on
.

“Well?” Carolyn asked. “What’s complicated?”

“It’s nothing.”

Carolyn gave Taylor a soft smile, “Looks like something to me.”

Taylor shook her head. “Tomorrow, early, I have a board meeting.”

“I know that.”

Taylor glanced again at herself in the three-way mirror. “Do I look fat?”

“Of course not,” Carolyn said.

Taylor often joked with Andi and Collette that she had Beyonce’s butt, without the voice. Glancing at herself made her think of that joke and that she hadn’t heard from Collette. She dialed Collette’s cell, but there was no answer. Taylor left a message. “Hey. I thought I’d swing by your house later. Call me. We can do a late dinner, or I’ll hang out with you at your house.” She dialed Collette’s land line. There was no answer there, either. She left a message.

“Hey. Call me. Soon.”

***

Normally he felt great after a kill. But this Friday, he was tired. After he was sure that Collette was with her mother, he was too tired to stage her death so that it looked like the accident that he planned for it to be. He found a sheet, one that he would take, laid it next to her, and, for a few minutes, he indulged himself by laying on the floor and sleeping. When Collette’s cell buzzed with a text, he awakened. He read Taylor’s text. He smiled. Taylor was coming. Later, but she was coming. Taylor would find Collette. He would be there, watching. His joy dissolved as he received a phone call from his person on the inside, who said, “There has been no decision as of yet.”

“The board does not believe that Lisa’s murder is connected to the extortion attempt?”

“The Board is not worried about Lisa’s murder.”

He looked at Collette. Her blue eyes stared vacantly at the ceiling. People who knew him knew what he was capable of, how he could extinguish life without raising alarms. It was his signature. These people, though, did not know him. Collette’s death might break their hearts, or at least it would break the heart of Claude Westerfeld, one of the three board members. That would be gratifying, but it would not secure twenty-five million dollars. He would have to do a better job with his next kill. He thought through the best way that he could accomplish his goals. He had to sound alarms. George Bartholomew needed to be worried.

He had options, he reassured himself. Many options by which he could destroy the lives of Andrew Hutchenson and George Bartholomew by killing their daughters. Options by which he could rob their lives of joy and make them meet his demand.

***

Taylor arrived at Brandon’s house at 6:45. Max, the painter and carpenter, was there, as was Sarah, the decorator and designer. They stepped out of their cars, as Taylor parked to the side of Brandon’s driveway. Max had curly brown hair, large brown eyes, and an easy smile. Sarah, the more serious of the two, had short black hair, dark eyes, and a peaches and cream complexion.

“Sorry I’m late,” Taylor said.

“Honey, we’d wait a week for you,” Max said as he gave her a head-to-toe glance. “Those are the new Louboutin’s aren’t they?” When Taylor nodded, he said, “Fabulous. And those jeans are divine.”

Taylor chuckled, glad that she’d met his razor-sharp scrutiny. “Thanks, Max.”

“So,” Sarah said, “how are you involved in this?”

Taylor explained as best she could as she walked to the front door then added, “The last thing on Brandon’s mind is how to decorate a nursery, and Lisa, the baby’s mother, was trying hard to get that sort of stuff right. I want to pull it all together, fast.” Taylor knocked on the door. “That’s where you two come in.”

The nanny answered. Taylor extended her hand and introduced herself to Laura, with whom Taylor had spoken on the phone the day before. “Mr. Morrissey left this for you.”

Brandon’s handwriting was neat and elegant on thick, heavy paper.
“Pick any two rooms upstairs that make sense for a baby/toddler’s bedroom, along with a playroom. I don’t care about the specific furniture or color, etc; Budget is whatever is reasonable. As for theme, I’d like it to feel happy. I’ll be home around seven.”

Sarah, Max, and Taylor entered, as Laura disappeared down a hallway. Max paused in the entryway, gesturing with his chin to the wall of living room windows. “Stunning pool. The Lin Emory sculpture is a perfect piece for a focal point, and,” he looked around the spacious living room, “this is certainly minimalist, but done well. If only there was more furniture, some art, and personal touches, it would be perfect.” They climbed the stairs, where a hallway led to open French doors. Max paused, studying the doors. “They’re steel.” He looked at the upper corner of one of the doors. “Smile, because we’re on camera,” he glanced at the hinges, “and there’s an automatic shut mechanism. Goodness. His upstairs is a giant safe room.”

The doors led to a wide center hallway that was large enough to contain a seating area, but there was no furniture or decoration of any kind. “This area would make a great open-air study, with plenty of bookshelves and photographs,” Sarah said.

“I’ll tell him,” Taylor said, her heart twisting, because she knew why Brandon’s house was devoid of family photographs. All six upstairs rooms were open. The first five that they looked into had no furniture. One had neat stacks of baby things, on the floor, that Taylor recognized from Lisa’s house. Their footsteps echoed on bare limestone floor as they moved around the rooms.

“Well,” Sarah said, “I thought downstairs was sparse. Did he just move in?”

The articles that Taylor had found the day before about Brandon killing a man in self-defense had indicated that the incident had happened in his home on Northline Street, which is where they were. Taylor said, “He’s been here at least two years.”

“We’ve done a few houses in this area. Sarah doesn’t pay attention to the chatter, but I do,” Max said, “He’s the lawyer who does the Morrissey Minute.” He lowered his voice. “You know, the hunk in the suit. He and his wife bought the property after Hurricane Katrina. After that, his wife died in an awful automobile crash. He was going to sell, but when it was finished he moved in. A couple of years ago, he killed an intruder, in this house.”

“So decorating hasn’t been a high priority. Finally,” Sarah said, at the door of the final room. “Signs of life.”

Minimal furnishing decorated the master suite, but the furnishing that was there, an oversized king size bed, side-tables, a dresser, a gentleman’s desk with a chocolate-velvet upholstered chair, had the rich look of hand-made items. Sarah and Max stepped into the room, while Taylor felt more comfortable viewing his private space from the doorway. Sarah’s gaze fell on the bed, which was adorned in crisp white linens. She said, “Yves deLorne. Gorgeous.” She looked around the room and gave a nod to the furnishings. “The man’s got great taste.”

He favored light, grainy woods. A cream-colored area rug softened the hardness of the limestone floor. A neat stack of hardback books and an iPad sat atop a side table. A laptop computer was open on his desk. Floor to ceiling draperies were made in lush, cream-colored raw silk, with a chocolate-brown border. The only decoration was a built-in waterfall, framed in copper, which filled most of the wall that was across from his bed. Water cascaded over smooth rocks and disappeared into the floor. The gentle, rain-like sound, the light colors, the white linens, and the uncluttered furnishings gave the room a spa-like feel, yet it felt undeniably masculine. The ambience of Brandon’s bedroom, coupled with the memory of his arms around her and his taste as he kissed her, made Taylor’s legs go weak, her stomach twist, and a flush creep up her chest.

Anticipation.

God. She was going crazy.

Just do it
.

“Baby’s suite,” Taylor said, bringing everyone’s focus back to the matter at hand.

When they agreed on which two rooms made the most sense, Max measured the rooms and the windows. “Plantation shutters would be perfect. Also, I think a build-out in each room for a desk. One room can have a desk for play, while the other can have a desk that’s for homework. I’ll do design plans for each.” Max took more measurements, mumbling about an entertainment console, while Sarah pulled out paint chips and fabric samples.