Murder in the Garden District (Chanse MacLeod Mysteries) (22 page)

“When he wasn’t answering his phone, I went over there. The door was ajar. I saw him lying on the floor, in all that blood. I got out of there as fast as I could, went back to the Kappa house.”

She wiped the tears away. Her eyes blazed.

“And I just
knew
.” She spat the words out. “Dad was behind it. The police said it was a robbery—his wallet was gone, and his computer, and his DVD player. But his computer was ancient, and he never had any money. He didn’t have
anything
. Then Gram came with her goddamn doctor. They shot me up with drugs and dragged me home. Janna—Mom—said she hadn’t told Dad, but she must have been lying. How else would he have known? If I’d just done what he said, Jerrell would be alive.”

“It isn’t your fault, Alais,” Abby said gently.

“You can’t think that, Alais,” I added. I knew saying it wouldn’t help. Everyone had told me that, too. I hadn’t believed it, either. “You don’t have any proof?”

“If I’d had proof, I’d have gone to the police. I told that stupid cop up at Oxford, but he didn’t believe me. The asshole acted like I was crazy. But it was him, I know it, I kept calling those stupid cops up there, to tell them, but they wouldn’t listen. Gram took me to some psychiatrist. He didn’t believe me, either, kept telling me I was delusional. He put me on pills. Gram kept track, to make sure I was taking them. Every night she’d come to my room and count them. I was a zombie all summer.”

“Did they help at all?” I asked, although I knew the answer.

“When I was medicated it didn’t hurt anymore, so the pills helped that way. I didn’t feel anything when I was taking them. Two weeks ago, Vernita told me to stop, that I had to face the pain or it would never go away. So, I stopped taking them. And once I could think clearly again, it all started making sense. Gram wanted me doped up so I’d forget that Dad killed Jerrell.” She stifled a sob. “My own
grandmother
did that to me.”

Abby hugged her again. “It’s okay, Alais. Go ahead and cry, if you need to.”

Alais pulled away.

“I can cry later.”

She was Cordelia’s granddaughter, all right.

She looked me right in the eyes.

“Gram still counted my pills every night. I flushed them down the toilet so she wouldn’t know I wasn’t taking them. I started listening to their conversations when they thought they were alone. As far as they knew, I was drugged out. They weren’t paying attention to me. One night I heard Gram and Dad arguing in the drawing room. She told him he was playing a very dangerous game, and she couldn’t go on covering things up for him. He needed to get rid of everything in the safe, because if anyone ever found it, he’d go to jail and there wasn’t anything she could do about it. He just laughed. He said he’d changed the combination, and wouldn’t tell her the new one. I knew if I could just get into the safe, I’d be able to prove he killed Jerrell.

“I tried to get the combination. I went through his desk, went through everything, but I couldn’t find it. On Monday, I decided to confront him.”

“What happened?” I leaned forward.

“I heard him pull into the driveway. It was just after nine. I remember looking at the clock. It took me maybe ten, fifteen minutes to get up my nerve, then I left my room. He and Janna were in the drawing room, arguing. I went down the stairs and listened. She wanted a divorce. She said she wasn’t going to raise another child in that house. He just laughed at her, told her he’d fight her, he’d take us kids away from her and make sure she never saw us. She told him to go ahead, when she was through with him, he wouldn’t be able to get elected dogcatcher. ‘Who’d vote for a murderer?’ she said. Janna
knew
. All along, she knew he’d killed Jerrell and never said anything.

“I couldn’t listen anymore. I ran across the hall to the library and closed the door. My head was spinning, I could hardly breathe. I got the gun out of Gram’s desk, and loaded it. I don’t know how long I sat there, trying to work up my nerve. I didn’t want to kill him. I was just going to use the gun to scare him, to make him open the safe and tell me the truth. I had to do it—for Jerrell. And then I heard the shot.”

“You never left the library?”

“Not until I heard the shot. I dropped Gram’s gun into the drawer and ran across the hall. Dad was on the floor. There was blood everywhere. I saw the gun. I picked it up and screamed.

“And then Janna was there.
Alais, what have you done?
she shouted. Gram took the gun and wiped it with her shirt. She told Janna to get me out of there. I was hysterical. We were on the stairs when I heard another shot. Janna got me to my room, made me take a pill, told me that if anyone ever asked, I’d never left it, had my headphones on, didn’t hear anything. That’s what I told the police.”

“You didn’t see or hear anyone else with your father before the shot?”

She shook her head vehemently.

“After the shot?”

“I didn’t kill my father. You have to believe me.” She laughed bitterly. “But why would you? My own
family
doesn’t. I tried telling them, but Gram and Janna refused to believe me.”

“That’s why she left,” Abby said.

“I believe you, Alais,” I said.

“You do?” She seemed startled.

The pieces were starting to fit together in my head. It all made sense now. The nonsensical story Janna and Cordelia had been trying to pass off as true—they’d been trying to protect Alais. But the only thing they’d succeeded in doing was letting the real killer get away with it.

“Yes, Alais, I do. But you’ve left something out, haven’t you? You know who killed your father.”

She shrank back against the couch.

“Alais,” I coaxed. “You were in the library a long time, almost an hour and a half. While you were in there, you could hear your parents arguing, right?”

She nodded.

“You said as soon as you heard the shot, you ran across the hall. Unless the killer moved at superhuman speed, there is no way you couldn’t have seen who it was.”

I gave her a smile.

“You can tell us, Alais. It’s okay,” Abby encouraged.

“I don’t know! Why won’t you believe me?”

“Who was it, Alais?” I said.

I’d miscalculated. She froze up, and refused to say anything further. Either she really didn’t know or wasn’t going to tell us. But I was pretty sure I knew anyway.

My cell phone rang. I didn’t recognize the number. I debated not answering it, but thought it might be the U.S. Marshals with an update on Vinnie.

“MacLeod.”

“This is Meredith Cole,” a ragged voice whispered. “From the Allegra Gallery? I talked to you last night? I need your help. Can you come to the gallery?”

“I’m sorry, Ms. Cole. I’m kind of busy right now. Can this wait?”

“Please! Kenny’s dead!” she screamed into the phone. “And the police won’t come!”

“I’m on my way.”

I knelt in front of Alais and took her hands in mine.

“Alais, will you answer a different question?”

She looked miserable.

“What happened the night your mother died?”

“How would I know?” she responded, clearly surprised. “Gram and I were in Paris.”

It all made sense now.

“I have to go out for a little while. But when I’m done, I’m coming back here and taking you home, Alais.”

“No.”

“There’s a hurricane heading for the city,” I said calmly. “Your family is worried about you, and you can’t stay here.”

Abby followed me onto the porch.

“I don’t know how long I’ll be, but I’m counting on you to convince her, Abby.”

“I don’t know if I can talk her into it, Chanse. She seems pretty determined not to go back there. I can’t say that I blame her.”

“Me, either.” I said. “But promise me you’ll work on her? I’ve got to run downtown.”

“What’s going on, Chanse?”

“I think I’ve figured it out. I’ll tell you when I’m sure of it. In the meantime, Kenneth Musgrave is dead, and I need to get over to the gallery. From there I’ll go to the Sheehan house. Then I’ll call you. Don’t tell Alais, okay?”

She nodded. I kissed her cheek.

“Good work, Abby. After the hurricane we’ll talk about that raise.”

“If you think I’ll forget because of the storm, you’re wrong!” she called after me.

*

When I tried to reach Venus, a mechanical voice informed me that all circuits were busy and to try again later. Irritated, I threw the phone into my passenger seat and turned on the radio as I got into the line of cars on Magazine heading toward the highway.

The latest projections showed New Orleans directly in the path of Ginevra. The storm surge coming into Lake Pontchartrain could reach thirty feet. The governor had requested aid from the Federal government, and National Guard units were mobilizing throughout the Southern states. The low-lying coastal parishes were already ordered to evacuate, and the order for Orleans Parish would come at noon. Anyone who remained in the city would be on their own until conditions were considered safe for first responders to get into the affected areas. That meant
after
the storm had passed. State buses were lining up at the Superdome and other sites throughout the metropolitan area for those without transportation out of New Orleans, with a limit of one suitcase per passenger. A toll free number was provided for anyone who needed a lift to the staging areas. Pets would be transported by the Louisiana SPCA. No hotel rooms were available on I-10 West before Houston. The Red Cross was setting up the Cajundome in Lafayette as a shelter, but only for people bused in from New Orleans. Traffic reports estimated a thirteen-hour drive to the Texas state line. I-10 East was closed off. Contraflow lanes on I-10 West would open at noon. The mayor urged everyone to leave as soon as possible.

I turned off the radio. What had the Katrina surge been? Twenty-five feet? More than enough to crumble levees and destroy most of the city. Who would come back this time? Who would want to?

My entire body shook. My eyes filled with water. I told myself to get a grip, I had work to do.

Other than the cars crawling along Magazine Street, the city was like a ghost town. All the businesses along the street were boarded up. A sign at the gas station at the corner at Washington read
Go away you bitch!
Plastic bags covered the pump handles. My gas gauge still showed past full. Hopefully that would be enough to get me to Houston.

I turned left onto Washington to get out of the line of slow-moving cars, gambling there wouldn’t be heavy traffic on Prytania, which didn’t have an outlet to the highway. The gamble paid off. I flew up Prytania Street, turned left again at Felicity to get to St. Charles and was forced to make a U-turn back to Prytania. I parked in front of Paige’s house. The gallery wasn’t far, and I’d get there faster on foot. I texted Venus to meet me, having once again gotten the damned circuits-busy message.

My heart was pounding. I started jogging, to burn off adrenaline. Calliope Street, the feeder road for the highway, was like a parking lot jammed with cars packed full of belongings, pets, and children. I weaved my way through them, focusing on the tall monument at Lee Circle, avoiding eye contact with passengers. Just as I got across, I spotted a little black girl about seven years old, her hair twisted into three or four braids ending in beads sticking out from her scalp, a look of terror on her face. I gave her what I prayed was a reassuring smile, then looked down and moved faster.

Meredith Cole was sitting on the hood of the only car on Julia Street, a silver Honda Accord parked in front of the Allegra Gallery, smoking a cigarette. She flicked it into the street when she saw me. She was wearing flip-flops, a yellow LSU T-shirt, and purple LSU sweatpants.

“Thank you for coming,” she said. “I didn’t know who else to call.”

“Tell me what happened,” I responded, hoping that concentrating on work would calm my jangled emotions.

“I was getting ready to leave this morning. I’m going to my sister’s in Baton Rouge.” Her voice shook a bit. “I realized I’d left my wallet on my desk last night, I was in such a rush to get home. When I got here and put my key in the gallery door, it was already unlocked. I knew immediately something was wrong. I didn’t want to go inside. I tried to call the police, but the circuits were busy. I needed to leave, and I needed my WALLET!”

She screamed the last few words and began sobbing hysterically.

Hating myself, I slapped her.

She gaped at me. Her knees buckled and I caught her, pushing her gently backward until she bumped against the car. I heaved her up until she was sitting on the hood.

“You
hit
me,” she accused.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “Are you okay now?”

“I’m all right.”

“Please finish your story.”

“I went inside. There was all this blood. Kenny was lying on the floor in the middle of it.”

My phone rang. I pressed the message button and read Venus’s text.

“The police are on their way,” I said softly. “You’ve had a shock. Stay here and get hold of yourself while I look inside.”