Relentless Pursuit: A Novel (Secrets of Roux River Bayou) (6 page)

“The kid’s only sixteen. He seemed pretty upset—and scared. He knows he’s a person of interest. But truthfully, I think he’s just a high school kid making deliveries. There’s nothing in his background to suggest he’s capable of this or had access to cyanide. His home life seems stable. Dad’s an attorney. Mother’s a stay-at-home mom. He’s an honor student. On the swim team. And captain of the debate team.”

“Did he deliver groceries to all the victims of Gaudry water?”

“Yes. Three homes. Five victims. The kid said he took the water off the shelf to fill the orders. According to the stockroom records, that water arrived by Loo-Z-ana Transit Thursday afternoon and was checked in just after midnight on Friday, then put out on the shelves or in the cooler after three p.m. More than a dozen employees on several shifts had access to the water, and we’ve questioned all of them. None of them look good for this.”

“I want you to take a closer look at Adam Marcotte,” Jude said. “See what he does in his spare time. Who his friends are. What contacts he has on social networking sites. The kid seems a little too perfect to me.”

“We will. Is that everything?”

“Make sure you take the DHH officials down to Chief Norman’s office and introduce them. He knows they’re coming.”

“Will do—and I’ll be gracious.” She flashed a manufactured grin.

Aimee got up and left Jude’s office, and he sat quietly, listening to the bustle in the detective bureau.

No new poisoning cases had occurred since early afternoon when the food bar at Marcotte’s was closed down and the public advised of the contaminated bottled water. Was the threat over? Or was the person or persons behind this evil action just regrouping, preparing to attack somewhere else? The public had been called to vigilance. But if the killer was determined to poison more food or water, could he really be stopped?

Chapter 6

Sax Henry drove his silver PT Cruiser down Cypress Way, eyeing the lovely mansions and massive live oaks draped with Spanish moss. From the moment he entered the city limits, he could see that Les Barbes was as charming as the travel brochures claimed. Why hadn’t his jazz band ever done a gig here?

He spotted Magnolia Lane and turned left, stopping in front of the one-story frame house on the corner—white with green shutters and a dark slate-shingle roof. He checked the address he had written on a Post-it note. This was it. Nice place.

Why did he suddenly feel foolish? Even if this woman turned out to be the right Adele Woodmore, would she even know where his sister was? Every lead he’d followed in the past three years had led nowhere. If this turned out to be another dead end, did he have the strength to keep pursuing it? How could he not?

He thought of the two bronze urns in his closet. His sister deserved to know both parents were dead now. She was entitled to half of the estate, meager as it was. And she should have a say-so in how their mom and dad’s ashes would be dispersed—though he wondered if her idea of how to do it would be even more irreverent than his.

His motivation to find Shelby went much deeper than resolving the present. How could he ever find peace until he admitted that he’d been a coward? That he’d left home so he wouldn’t have to confront the unthinkable? Neither his sister nor his mother ever talked about it. It was as though not talking about it made it not so. Music and marijuana made his pretending much easier.

It was time to tell the truth. And it was long overdue.

Sax got out of the car and tucked in his plaid shirt, his no-wrinkle khaki pants not quite living up to their name. He rubbed the five o’clock shadow he rarely shaved off and patted his moussed hair. Did he look presentable enough that Mrs. Woodmore wouldn’t close the door in his face before he had a chance to ask his questions?

He walked in front of the car and stepped up on the curb, passing between two flowering crape myrtle trees as he made his way toward the front of the house. According to the man who had provided this lead, Mrs. Woodmore was a nonjudgmental, levelheaded individual. And if anyone would know where his sister was, it was her.

Sax climbed the brick steps up to the small porch, his heart pounding and perspiration dripping down the small of his back. If this didn’t pan out, he would be right back to square one.

He rang the doorbell, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, thinking he should have worn shoes instead of Birkenstocks, and wondering if he could even articulate his thoughts. All he could hope for was that Mrs. Woodmore would hear him out—and give him a truthful answer.

The door opened, and an attractive young woman with long dark curls and intriguing brown eyes met his gaze. “Yes?”

“My name’s Sax Henry. I’m looking for Adele Woodmore.”

“Is she expecting you?”

“No. I was referred here by Julien Menard, who used to be her chauffeur when she lived in Alexandria. Is Mrs. Woodmore home?”

“What shall I tell her is the nature of your business, Mr. Henry?”

So I’ve got the right Adele Woodmore!
“It’s personal. Tell her my sister, Shelby Sieger, used to work for her.”

“Wait here …”

The young woman closed the door and left him standing on the porch with his toxic insecurity and the oppressive June humidity. Sax put his hands deep in his pockets and rocked from heel to toe, rehearsing in his mind how he planned to broach the subject with Mrs. Woodmore. How hard could it be? She either knew where Shelby was or she didn’t.

The door opened again, and an elderly white-haired woman, dressed in white slacks and a pink blouse, stood in the doorway.

“I’m Adele Woodmore, Mr. Henry. Isabel said you’re looking for Shelby Sieger.”

Sax nodded. “She’s my sister. We’ve lost touch, and I very much want to reconnect.”

“Define reconnect,” Adele said.

“I want to see her. I have news about our parents and some personal business to discuss with her.”

The elderly woman’s eyebrows came together. “I see. And you’re of the opinion that I can help you?”

“Yes, ma’am. I’ve been trying for three years to find her. I recently found your name and address in my mother’s address book. She listed you as Shelby’s employer. I went to your home in Alexandria, but I was told you had moved. The woman who lives there now gave me the phone number of Julien Menard.”

“And Julien told you where I was?”

“He just said you had moved to Les Barbes. You’re the only Adele Woodmore in the phonebook.”

The woman’s blue eyes turned to slits. “How long has it been since you’ve seen Shelby?”

“Quite a while.”

“Be specific, Mr. Henry. I’m a straightforward woman.”

“I haven’t seen Shelby since she was thirteen. That was twenty-eight years ago.”

“How do I even know you’re her brother, since your last name isn’t Sieger?”

“Actually, it is—was.” He took out his old driver’s license and handed it to Adele. “I changed my name from Michael Austin Sieger to Sax Michael Henry when I got interested in jazz and learned to play the saxophone.”

Adele arched her eyebrows. “Oh my, like Kenny G?”

“Not exactly like Kenny G. He plays soprano sax.”

She studied the picture on his driver’s license and then handed it back to him. “The name Sax Sieger has a nice ring to it for a musician. Why did you go for Henry?”

Sax was at the same time amused and annoyed at the woman’s asking personal questions. “It’s a long story, Mrs. Woodmore. Do you know where I can find Shelby?”

Adele studied him. Was she going to tell him no—the one word he did not want to hear?

“Why don’t you come inside where it’s cool, Mr. Henry? Have a glass of raspberry tea, and let’s talk some more.”

Was the woman serious—or was she messing with him?

Adele opened the door wide. “Come on, come on,” she prodded. “It must be close to a hundred out there.”

“Thanks. It’s downright oppressive. And please, call me Sax. Everyone does.”

He stepped inside, the aroma of warm bread filling his senses. “I didn’t mean to intrude on your dinner.”

“Isabel and I have already eaten.”

I wish I had.
Sax’s stomach rumbled, and he tried to muffle the sound.

“I suppose you heard about the cyanide poisonings?” Adele said.

“Uh, no. I haven’t. I drove up from New Orleans and listened to CDs the whole way. I haven’t heard any news today.”

“I’m afraid Les Barbes isn’t the ideal place to be right now. A number of people were taken ill after eating at the food bar at Marcotte’s Market, and then several more from drinking Gaudry’s bottled water. Sixteen people in all—six have died.”

“Six people—today?” Sax said.

Adele nodded. “The authorities say it was cyanide poisoning, and it was definitely deliberate.”

“I could believe that kind of thing in New Orleans,” Sax said. “But here?”

“I assure you everyone in town is shaken to the core. Most of us knew someone who died today. Isabel is baking bread to take to friends of ours who lost their four-year-old son.” Adele stopped at the kitchen door and spoke to the pretty young woman with dark curls who had answered the door. “Isabel, would you bring us some raspberry tea and some of your scrumptious butter cookies?”

“I’d be glad to,” Isabel said, her voice dripping with curiosity.

“Let’s sit out here in the sunroom.” Adele led him into a room that was glass on three sides and offered a gorgeous view of her perfectly manicured lawn and a mosaic of colorful flowers all along the fence.

“Very nice,” Sax said. “I imagine you get a lot of use out of this room.”

“Indeed I do. I so enjoy being close to nature. I loved my country estate in Alexandria. The grounds were delightful, particularly my rose garden. But I have to admit, it’s been a relief to scale back.”

She sat at a glass table, and he sat across from her, intrigued for a moment at the hummingbirds hovering at a feeder attached to the window.

“I assume you know where Shelby is,” he said, “or you wouldn’t have invited me in.”

Adele tented her fingers. “Your sister was a trusted member of my household staff. We were well acquainted. She left my employ about fifteen years ago.”

“But you know how I can get in touch with her?”

Isabel breezed through the doorway, carrying a tray holding a glass pitcher of raspberry tea, two stemmed glasses filled with ice, two china plates and matching napkins, and a small platter of butter cookies. She arranged it neatly on the table and filled the glasses with tea, then stepped back. “Can I get you anything else?”

“This is lovely, hon,” Adele said. “Thank you.”

“These look good.” Sax took a cookie off the plate and bit into it. “I was so eager to get here that I didn’t bother stopping for dinner.”

“Those butter cookies will melt in your mouth. Have as many as you like.” Adele pursed her lips. “Before Isabel came in, you asked if I know how you can get in touch with Shelby.”

“Do you?”

Adele wrapped her hands around the stem of her glass and held his gaze. “That’s not how this is going to work. If I’m convinced your intentions are good, I’ll consider contacting Shelby to see if she’s interested in reconnecting with you. It should be up to her.”

Sax sighed. “She might not agree to it unless she knows how important it is. We haven’t seen each other since we were teenagers. And there’re some issues we need to address.”

“Yes, I know. Do you even know what she looks like now?”

Sax blinked away the regret stinging his eyes. He reached into his pocket and took out his wallet, then removed Shelby’s school picture and handed it to Adele. “This is how she looked when I left home. She was in middle school. I try to put age on her and imagine what she looks like now.”

Adele took the picture and studied it. “She doesn’t look anything like this. She’s prettier. A healthier weight. And her eyes aren’t sad.” Adele handed the picture back to him. “I doubt you would recognize her.”

“She definitely won’t recognize me,” Sax said. “I was seventeen when I left home—hair down to my shoulders. A mustache and beard. I don’t know how old she was the last time she actually saw my face.”

Adele took a sip of tea, her eyes peering over the top of her glass. “Tell me about yourself, Sax. It would take more than what you’ve told me for me to contact Shelby. You have no idea how hard she’s worked to reconcile her past. I realize you want to salve your conscience, but I’m not willing to help you do that at Shelby’s expense.”

“I never said anything about salving my conscience.”

“No, you didn’t.” Adele’s cheeks turned pink. “Let me rephrase. What good will come of her dredging up the abusive past she’s worked so hard to put behind her? What do you hope to gain?”

Sax wiped his mouth with the napkin. Adele wasn’t going to make it easy for him. “I hope to start fresh. I realize I’ll have to earn her trust. She may not be open at first. Or maybe ever. But I have to try.”

“Why? You’ve gone this long without any relationship.”

Sax shifted his weight and avoided eye contact. “I’m not proud of that. I promise you, not a day went by that I didn’t think about Shelby. I went back to Devon Springs several times after I left home. I met with my mother privately and begged her to leave my dad, to take Shelby and go to a women’s shelter. She wouldn’t. She said she loved my dad despite his drinking. I never could understand it. My old man was mean as a snake.”

Adele’s lips formed a straight line, her piercing gaze telling him she knew more than she was saying. “And yet you never took Shelby under your wing. You were of age. Had you let her live with you, would your mother really have objected?”

Sax felt his face turn hot. Did he really want—or need—to have this conversation? “With all due respect, Mrs. Woodmore, I think we’re getting into private matters that really aren’t your concern.”

“If you’re using me to get to Shelby, they most certainly are. Everything that affects her concerns me.”

“Because you were her employer? I don’t think so.”

“No, because I’m her friend—and her daughter’s godmother.”

“Oh.” Sax took another cookie, his pulse quickened. He hadn’t seen that one coming. This was too good to be true. “So I guess you and Shelby are close?”

“Let’s stay on the subject, young man. We can agree that it’s none of my business why you left Shelby in an abusive environment. But I need to know more about you before I’m going to get involved in putting you two together.”

“There’s not all that much to tell. I have an apartment in New Orleans. I’m a professional musician in a jazz band called Smooth Blues. You can check out our website. We’ve been together almost ten years. I’m a responsible person. I pay my bills. I’ve never been in trouble. I’m divorced. No kids. Actually, I’ve been married three times. My ex-wives are still friends with me. But none of them could deal with my highs and lows over the unfinished business in my life.”

“By unfinished business, I assume you’re referring to your having left home, knowing full well how vulnerable Shelby was?”