Deceived (5 page)

Taylor had shut the door to her bedroom because Carolyn was one person from whom she couldn’t hide her emotions, and her disappointment over the end-result of the meeting with her father was still too raw. Carolyn’s blue eyes gave Taylor a quick once over, then her brow furrowed with her frown. “You were going to call me. I’m guessing the meeting didn’t go well?”

Taylor shook her head.

“Oh, Taylor,” Carolyn said. “How bad was it?”

“Actually, he was nice, for him,” Taylor said. “But you’re looking at the next General Counsel of HBW. Starting Saturday.”

Carolyn was silent for a second as she absorbed Taylor’s news. “I’m sorry. How are you doing?”

“I’m fine,” Taylor said.

Carolyn shook her head. “You don’t need to pretend with me.”

“I was foolish,” Taylor said. “I should’ve known this would be the result. When have I ever had a backbone with my father?” Carolyn didn’t need to respond, because they both knew that the answer to that question was never. “The good news is that I don’t have time to feel sorry for myself. I was supposed to be at this event twenty minutes ago.”

Taylor changed into black linen palazzo pants, a matching halter top with fat straps, and high-heeled, strappy sandals. Taylor’s phone rang. When she answered it, Andi didn’t waste time. “I can’t believe that you’re not here.”

“I’ll be there in twenty.”

“That long? This is painfully boring,” Andi said, “and it is really hot out here.”

Andi, who loved the kind of partying that happened in dance clubs and bars, hated organized fundraisers and only attended when Taylor insisted. “I had to change,” Taylor paused. “Is Collette there?”

“Yes, she’s trying, but she’s having a rough time.” Collette’s mother, Alicia Westerfeld, the daughter of HBW co-founder Charles Westerfeld, had never married and had adopted three children. Alicia and her oldest son, Charles Westerfeld II, had died in a plane crash two months earlier, leaving Claude, who was thirty, and Collette, who was twenty-three, as the only remaining direct descendants of Charles Westerfeld. Alicia, while a tough-as-nails director of HBW, had put together a close-knit, happy family. Collette and Claude were struggling with the loss of their mother and brother.

“Well,” Taylor said, “at least she’s out. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Wait. How did it go with your father?”

“Don’t ask.”

“Ouch. I feel terrible for you.”

“No sympathy. I don’t want it,” Taylor said. “Let me go. I need to get there, right?”

Taylor broke the connection, then studied her backside in the three-way, full length mirror. “Do I look fat?”

Carolyn said, “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Too much cleavage?”

“You’re not a nun.” Carolyn squinted her eyes as she studied Taylor. “Put your shoulders back.”

Taylor did, then Carolyn nodded. “You look fabulous. Only the expression in your eyes shows how terrible this day really was.”

Taylor sat at her vanity, grabbed a tube of eye liner, and said, “I’ll try to fix that.”

Carolyn chuckled. “I don’t think eyeliner is a cure-all for disappointment. Have you eaten?”

Taylor shook her head. “No time.”

“I’ll have something in the fridge for you for when you get back.”

“Thanks,” she said, “but go light.”

As Taylor paddle-brushed her hair and smoothed it into a black rhinestone ponytail holder, Carolyn gave her a run-down of housekeeping details, pending meetings, and personal appointments. Taylor listened as she moved the contents of her day purse into an evening clutch. She switched out her pearls for diamonds. Taylor applied coral lipstick, a shiny gloss, and made sure the key to Lisa’s house made it to her evening bag, in case Joe needed it. Taylor kissed Carolyn’s cheek when she was finished. “Good bye, and thank you.”

She pulled alongside Lafayette Square at eight-fifteen and into the event’s valet parking area. Her phone rang, with an unknown number.

“Yes, Taylor,” the caller didn’t introduce himself, but there was no need. Brandon’s deep voice was distinctive, it conveyed a punch of sarcasm, and she had spent part of the day listening to it. She had given her card with her cell and office numbers to two of Brandon’s friends, and she guessed they had called him to report on their conversations with her. “I have a temper. A bad one. In the past, I had difficulty controlling it. It hasn’t given me problems recently. Since you asked Sandra that question, I figured I should answer it myself.”

“I was simply verifying your alibi.”

“My temper has nothing to do with my alibi,” he said, “and neither does the reason behind Lisa’s original visit to my office, which you felt the need to ask Pete about. So, tell me. Did you get all the information that you need?”

“Well, I did verify your alibi,” she said.

“That’s not what I asked. Is your curiosity abated?”

“No,” she said. “I still want an answer to the question that I asked you earlier. Why did Lisa originally go to see you?”

“You should leave police work to the police.”

“That’s what I told you earlier today. If I recall correctly, you asked, what’s the harm. So what’s the harm?”

“Damn,” he said. She detected more than a little frustration in his tone as he asked, “You could keep going all night, couldn’t you, with question, after question, after question.”

“Absolutely.”

“Can you meet me at Lisa’s house at ten this evening?”

“Why?”

“So that I can answer your question.”

Her heart did a stutter beat. “Really?”

“No,” he said. “Joe called a few minutes ago, gave me free access, and you have the key. I don’t feel like climbing through a window or breaking in, and I’d like to get in there tonight.”

“Do you expect me to take your word for this?”

“Joe said he’d call you. For the moment, though, he’s busy on another case, which shouldn’t come as a surprise. There’s always another case.”

“If Joe calls me,” she said, “I’ll be there.”

As Taylor walked towards the party, Andi and Collette were walking towards the valet stand. Andi, a tall, thin brunette, with dark green eyes, had an easy smile. Collette, a shorter red head, with large blue eyes and a few freckles on her nose, looked more serious. “Sorry that I’m late,” Taylor said. “Time got away from me.”

“We’ve been here since seven,” Andi said. “We’ve traipsed through tree roots in high heels for long enough.”

“Where are you going now?”

“My house,” Collette said.

Andi added, “We’re going to drink wine, order a pay-per-view comedy, and get pizza. Stop by when you’re done here, if you’d like.”

Andi stared intently at Taylor, conveying a silent message of worry about Collette. Taylor glanced into Collette’s blue eyes. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. Really. Please don’t look at me like you’re trying to gauge my depression level,” she smiled. “Come to my house when you’re done here. Andi told me about your day. I’m sorry, Taylor. I know how badly you were hoping to stay in the D.A.’s office. You need a drink and a pizza binge more than we do. We’re ordering extra pepperoni.”

Taylor groaned. “I can’t eat carbs until Monday and especially not pizza. My dresses for Saturday and Sunday are form-fitting nightmares.”

“Then we’ll only allow you to eat Greek yogurt,” Collette said. “Please come by.”

“I’ll call first if I can, but it will be late.” She gave both of her friends a kiss on the cheek. “Love you guys.”

As they left, Taylor scanned the crowd and walked to where it was most dense. She was starving, but eating wasn’t an option. As her mother would have said, Taylor was there for more important things than being photographed with food in her mouth. Marlowe money provided significant grants to this nonprofit, and Taylor was the only Marlowe who was present. Taylor’s attendance was a nod to the importance of the organization.

“Hello, beautiful,” Claude Westerfeld’s voice came from behind her. The newest member of the HBW Board was blue-eyed and blonde-haired. He looked younger than his years, and his summer tan suggested an athletic life. Long hours on tennis courts had given him natural, athletic grace. In the last few months, with the sudden deaths of Alicia and Charles, Claude had turned to alcohol to ease the pain. Now, he had a tight grip on a glass that held a double-shot of undiluted, golden-amber liquor. His eyes were blood-shot. The Times-Picayune photographer walked by, spotted the two of them, and waited for a nod. Taylor obliged. She stood straight, squared her shoulders, and smiled for the camera. When the photographer moved on, Claude took a deep swallow of whiskey.

“Hey,” she said, her voice low. “You’re hitting it a little hard for a Thursday, don’t you think?”

“Thursday’s the new F-Friday, haven’t you heard? Besides, Friday’s going to be a dud because of the board meeting on Saturday,” he winced. His smile was replaced with a marked frown. “Call your father now. Tell him no. You know, it isn’t too late.”

“What do you mean?”

“Tell him you’re not going to join the family business. Don’t attend Saturday’s board meeting.”

Taylor said, “I wasn’t aware of how bad the economic realities are. He made me aware. I’m going to be HBW General Counsel because that’s what I want to do.”

“And if you say that enough,” Claude said, “maybe one day you’ll believe it?”

She couldn’t fool her friend and she wasn’t fooling herself. She drew a deep breath, but it was hard to push past the tightness in her throat.

“You’ll see,” Claude said. “When your father dumps the full HBW weight on those gorgeous shoulders of yours,” he said, “you’ll see.”

“Now isn’t the place or time,” she said, “for you to be saying this.”

“Why? Afraid someone might overhear the newest member of the HBW Board express disillusionment? Forgive me, Taylor. I’ve had cocktails and dinner with your father, Lloyd, and Andrew. I’m all done with pretension for one night.” Claude looked over her shoulder. The expression on his face brightened. “There is a God. My dates have finally arrived.” Her gaze followed his to a cluster of three young women who wore beat-the-heat sundresses, revealing yards of limbs and skin.

Taylor’s phone dinged with a text. She pulled it out of her purse and read a text from Joe.
“Brandon’s correct. He has access. Will call in a few minutes.”
Claude’s dates drew closer, but she didn’t focus on them. Joe’s text had made her think about Lisa, who should be roaming around a fundraiser in a sundress. She glanced at Claude, and her heartbeat raced. If Lisa had been questioning Brandon about the history behind his grandfather’s treason case, Lisa may have also talked to current members of the HBW board. “Did you hear about that Tulane student who was murdered?”

Claude’s eyes slid back to her. “Yes. Terrible, huh?’

“Did you ever meet her?”

He shot her a surprised glance. “Why are you asking about her?”

Before she could answer, the trio of party girls arrived and clustered around him. Claude introduced them to her, then grazed Taylor’s left cheek with his lips. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow. For now, things are looking up. See you later.”

They left her in the thick of the party, alone. She felt eyes on her, but when she glanced at the crowd, no one in particular was looking at her. Attending a fundraiser by herself was nothing new, and being an object of curiosity in a social setting also was not unusual. After all, it seemed that everyone that Taylor met in New Orleans knew of her. Tonight, though, as she worked the fundraiser crowd, she couldn’t shake off the feeling that she was being studied from afar. She looked to see whether someone was staring, but no one seemed to be hyper-vigilant. Because she was there to be seen, she made several slow circles through the crowd. Along the way, she shook hands and exchanged pleasantries. She left the party at 9:30 p.m., intentionally giving herself extra time before her meeting with Brandon. Rather than head straight to Lisa’s house, Taylor drove to the 2800 block of Melody Street, where Lisa’s life had ended.

Pavement on Melody Street was broken and the narrow street was cramped with cars. Taylor found the closest parking spot, which was on the far side of the block from the wood-frame house that bore the address of 2813. Pink paint was peeling. Tall weeds had overtaken the yard. There was no light in the windows. The front door gaped open. Some houses on the street looked the same, but others were better maintained. It was the type of neighborhood where she shouldn’t be alone at night, and she hesitated before stepping out of her car. She thought about driving away without getting out, but her memory of the feeling of Lisa’s tiny baby, resting on her shoulder, kept Taylor there.

Her phone rang, startling her. “Sorry it’s taken me all day to get back to you. Brandon’s correct,” Joe said, with the call automatically defaulting to her car’s audio system. “He has access to the Smithfield home, but you don’t have to meet him there. I’ll do it.”

“It isn’t a problem. I’m on my way,” she said. “Is there anything new?”

“Let’s see. Fingerprints there belonged to Lisa and Brandon. There were hairs. Lab reports on that won’t be in until tomorrow. They’re likely hers, though. If the murderer went there, he didn’t leave signs of his presence. I’m thinking that the perp more likely was someone who frequented the Melody Street neighborhood and happened to see her.” Joe paused. “Brandon told me you checked his alibi. I’m not one to kill initiative, but you didn’t need to do that.”