Читать книгу Eden's Shadow - Jenna Ryan - Страница 13

It took the better part of three hours to straighten things out. If you could call them straightened. Eden’s neck and shoulder muscles felt knotted, and she could still hear one of the women in the lineup crunching hard candy.

Lisa had been dazed throughout the ordeal. She still was. Eden watched her through a glass room divider from her seat in the corridor. She was talking to a bald police officer with shiny brown pants and a paunch.

At least it was quiet here, she thought. And on the murky side of dark.

Resting her head against the wall, she closed her eyes. They hadn’t seen the witness or learned his name. All Eden knew was that a man had come forward after a two-day delay and announced that he could identify Maxwell Burgoyne’s murderer.

Eden also knew that thanks to her presence in the lineup he’d been unable to make good on his promise.

“Your sister’s a fortunate woman.”

The voice came from the shadowy region to her right. When she opened her eyes, she saw a tall, male silhouette lounging against one of the archway frames.

His hair, she noticed, skimmed his shoulders. While he appeared relaxed, she heard New Orleans in his voice and recognized the predator behind it. Whether she’d met him here or on a California beach, she’d have pegged him as a cop right off.

“Not in the mood to chat?” he asked when she didn’t respond.

Because it wasn’t in her nature to be rude, she murmured, “Lost in thought, I guess. It’s been a long day. I suppose she is fortunate, yes.”

Because he lingered in the shadows, she couldn’t make out his features. Except his mouth. She could see that clearly enough. “You’re Eden Bennett,” he said. “And, like your sister, you have no alibi for the night Maxwell Burgoyne was killed.”

“Exactly. No alibi, no way for your witness to be sure which one of us he thinks he saw, no charges pending against either of us at this point.”

“There will be a thorough investigation, you understand that.”

Eden drew her brows together. “We’re counting on it, Detective…”

“LaMorte,” he obliged. “Armand.”

“Are you involved in this investigation?”

“I’d be crazy to be here at this hour if I weren’t, don’t you think?”

“Maybe. You look like a night shift kind of person to me.”

“Uh-huh. Do you believe your sister’s innocent?”

The question didn’t faze her, but Eden still wished she could see him better. “Absolutely. The only things Lisa’s ever killed are aphids, and not many of those.”

“She’s a gardener.” He smiled at her speculative expression. “It’s in the report. She says she was home and working in her garden when the victim was struck. Do you like gardens, Eden?”

“I appreciate them.” She glanced at Lisa, saw the strain on her features and gave an inward sigh. “Will this take much longer?”

“I doubt it. You’re the oldest, aren’t you?”

“I’m twenty-nine,” she told him. “Lisa’s twenty-eight. Mary’s twenty-six. We were raised by three different sets of parents.”

“Did you know Maxwell as children?”

“We never even knew of him. Lisa located our birth mother, Lucille Chaney, six months before she contacted me. That was ten years ago. Lucille said she put us up for adoption when her husband died.”

“No money to raise you?”

“Among other things. Wasn’t this information in that report of yours, Detective LaMorte?”

“Some of it was. You can call me Armand.”

“Thanks, but I prefer Detective.”

He shrugged. “We’ll be seeing a lot of each other in the coming weeks, Eden.”

His words almost sent a chill down her spine. But Lisa wasn’t guilty, and Eden could hold her own with any cop, even one with a slow, sexy smile, long dark hair and—she had a fatalistic instinct about the last thing—dark eyes that were going to make her think things she shouldn’t.

“Why do I sense you want to slap me?” he asked in amusement.

“It’s been a long day. I’m tired.”

“You don’t like cops, do you?”

Now, finally, he moved—out of the deepest shadows and into the light.

Damn, she thought with a sigh. He had a face to match his voice and his smile. He also had those dark eyes she’d imagined and, for a split second, a glint inside them that made her nerves jitter.

“I was married to a cop once. It didn’t work out. He looked a little like you.” Right down to the stubble, she thought and found herself smiling at the irony of the situation. “We divorced three years ago. I’m over it.”

“Over the unpleasantness or the man?”

“Both. Our split wasn’t unpleasant, just…” Disappointing, she reflected. “Strained,” she said.

He didn’t believe her, but it didn’t matter, or at least it shouldn’t. Yes, she would see him during the course of the investigation, but she could keep her distance as well as any other woman. Better, since seeing him would remind her again and again of what she’d been through once and had no desire to go through a second time.

The smile that hovered on his lips suggested he knew exactly what she was thinking. “I met your husband, Eden. Our paths crossed once on a rather involved drug bust.” He shrugged. “I used to work in Vice.”

Eden stood. “Then you’ll understand my reasons for saying good night.”

Instead of backing off, he moved closer. “You can’t avoid me.”

She was exhausted, out of her element, and in no mood to play games with him. “I don’t have to avoid you, Detective. You’re involved in an investigation which I have no choice but to endure. I don’t waste time worrying about things I can’t change.”

He cocked his head. “What about your sisters? Can they cope as well as you?”

Oh, he was dangerously attractive all right. She glanced through the glass door. “Lisa’s stronger than she looks. As for Mary…” She flicked a hand. “She’s not on the hook for a crime. She’ll be fine.”

“She’s at Pascoe’s as we speak.”

Eden recognized the name of the trendy Caribbean lounge. “There you go, then,” she said. “Mary’s coping as always.”

“You call drinking martinis at 1:00 a.m. coping?”

Eden found it interesting that his amusement didn’t annoy her. “It’s her way, Detective, not mine.” She switched gears to inquire, “This witness of yours, is he by any chance connected to Maxwell Burgoyne?”

Armand’s expression told her nothing, and of course he’d discovered another shadow in which to conceal himself. That the shadow happened to be less than a foot from where Eden stood didn’t improve her mood.

“Before the lineup, one of our computer artists put together a composite based on the witness’s description of the murderer. That picture could be of you or your sister.”

“Which proves…?”

“Nothing on its own.” His lashes lowered. “Tell me, is your sister right-handed or left?”

“Right. Why?”

“You signed your name with your left hand tonight.”

“I sign with my left, but I promise you, I can inflict pain with either. You’re not very subtle, Detective LaMorte. I take it Maxwell Burgoyne was struck by a right-handed person.”

He didn’t answer, and a second later the door across the hall opened.

Lisa emerged looking edgy and drawn. “Thanks for waiting, Eden.” The blackness under her eyes had grown more pronounced. “Lieutenant Owen says we can leave.” She rubbed her forehead. “Who were you talking to when I came out?”

Eden glanced back. Somehow, it didn’t surprise her that Armand had vanished. “A man, a detective on the case. He asks questions, but doesn’t answer many.” She regarded Lisa. “Are you all right?”

“I want to get out of here.”

Eden checked out the shadows one last time. “They’re so elusive,” she said softly.

Lisa blinked. “What?”

Unsure what to make of the entire bizarre encounter, Eden shook her head. “I’m either incredibly perceptive, or—” she released a weary breath “—I’m headed for a whole lot of trouble.”

ARMAND WATCHED HER GO. She was more than he’d anticipated and not like her sister at all.

He had his cell phone out and the number punched. As she left the building with Lisa, he pressed the button to make the call.

“Is it done then?” his father demanded over a static-filled line.

“For the moment.” Armand took care not to lose his cover of darkness. Eden owned a sporty, black car, similar to both her sisters’, and she had the sexiest walk of any woman in New Orleans.

“Are you napping, Detective LaMorte?”

He smiled a little. “Observing. How did you know it was me?”

“Who else would phone so late? You understand your job?”

Armand’s gaze hardened. “I only need to be told once. Are you sure this is how you want it to be? It’s more complicated than you thought.”

“There we agree,” his father said. “But more complicated doesn’t mean we can walk away. You made me a promise, and I mean to hold you to it.”

“I’ll keep my word.” Armand followed Eden’s movements as she disengaged her alarm. “They’re leaving now, probably to pick up their other sister.”

“You sound displeased. You should be happy.”

“Why, because Maxwell Burgoyne is dead? I’m supposed to extract justice for death, not applaud it.”

“We both know what kind of snake Maxwell Burgoyne was while he lived. Now he’s gone, and I need your help, father to son. Don’t disappoint me.”

“Have I ever?”

“In the important ways, no. Just remember what’s at stake here, and if you have to, lock your conscience away. It’ll only be a burden to you in this case.”

This case, Armand thought as he disconnected. This skewed and twisted case into which he had been plunged with next to no warning.

Like it or not, however, he was in deep and stuck there. Whether that would prove to be good or bad depended entirely on how the victim’s murder was viewed.

“STOP AT LUCILLE’S CLUB,” Lisa pleaded with Eden. “She’s part of our lives. We should tell her what’s happening.”

“I didn’t drink enough if I’m hearing this.” From the back, Mary used her knee to poke Lisa’s seat. “Although she conveniently neglected to mention it to us, Lucille was married to Maxwell Burgoyne. She knows he’s dead. The rest of it has nothing to do with her.”

Lisa faced her sister. “Why do you hate her so much? Because she runs a nightclub?”

“No, because nightclub’s just a polite name for the business she really runs.”

Nonconfrontational by nature, Lisa appealed to Eden. “Can you talk to her, please? Oh, and turn left here.”

Eden had fought this battle with herself back at the police station. “Ten minutes, Mary,” she said. “You can wait in the car.” Which was the last thing Mary would do.

Lucille’s club, called Nona, was situated on the fringe of the Vieux Carre. The sign over the door didn’t flash or shine so the club didn’t appeal to the masses. That was exactly as Lucille wanted it. Her other business ventures—and she had more than a few, Eden had discovered over the years—did that. Nona was understated and personal. It was also the place where Lucille could be found six nights out of seven.

“I still haven’t figured out how someone as cool as Dolores could have given birth to a tarantula,” Mary muttered. “Too bad the family curse didn’t strike Lucille.”

“It couldn’t. She wasn’t the oldest,” Lisa reminded. “Lucille’s brother died from the curse twenty years ago. He drove off a cliff or something.”

Mary folded her arms. “Yeah, well, Dolores has a few things to answer for if you ask me.”

“Like what?”

Eden glanced in the rearview mirror for the fifth time in two minutes and saw Mary roll her eyes. “Like why she never mentioned that Lucille’s ex-husband—”

“Our biological father,” Mary inserted.

“Was alive,” Eden finished. “Lucille lied, Lisa, and Dolores went along with her.”

But Lisa was always ready to defend other people. “Of course Lucille lied. You’d have lied, too, in her position. You didn’t meet Maxwell. He was—awful.”

It was a huge comment coming from Lisa.

Bright headlights in the rearview mirror diverted Eden’s attention. She noticed a faint blue tinge around the edges. Was someone following them? Out loud, she asked, “Awful how? Was he obnoxious, abrasive, sloppy, rude?”

“He wasn’t sloppy.” Lisa indicated the curb lane. “There’s a parking spot. He was obnoxious and rude, and I didn’t like him at all. I’m sure you heard, I met him twice.”

Eden wedged her car between two monster SUVs. “Why a second meeting if he was so bad?”

“Because after our first disastrous outing last Wednesday, I figured I must have misjudged him. No one could be that horrible. So I called and asked if we could have dinner somewhere. I wanted to try again.”

“But you hadn’t misjudged him.”

“If I did, it was on the generous side.” Lisa’s shoulders twitched. “I don’t want to go into detail. Just believe me when I say he had a mean tongue.”

“Ah, so that’s why he hooked up with Lucille. Like seeks out like.” Mary made a face as she read the sign above the door. “I hate this place, but at least Mommy Dearest keeps a well-stocked bar. Defend her all you like, Lisa, I still have a bone to pick with—” She stopped, frowned and backtracked. “Wait a minute, he was rich, right? Eden, didn’t I tell you earlier that Maxwell Burgoyne was loaded?”

“You said big-time businessman. Lisa said horrible.” Eden used her remote to lock the car doors. “I wouldn’t get my hopes up if I were you.”

“He might have left us something in his will,” Mary persisted. “You know, a conscience thing.”

Lisa shook her head. “Maxwell didn’t have a conscience, Mary. There won’t be any guilt money.”

“Oh, well, screw him then. Or sue him if the opportunity arises.” Mary poked the front door open with her fingertips. “I smell raspberries.”

Eden looked up. The rain clouds had moved downriver but no stars shone overhead. The air felt heavy, almost suffocating. Cars rolled past on Canal even this late at night. She heard a saxophone down the street and the repeated zot of someone’s bug zapper.

Everything seemed normal. So why, she wondered, couldn’t she shake the image of those stupid blue-tinted headlights in her rearview mirror—or the face of a cop who preferred shadow to light?

“Losing it,” she decided and followed her sisters inside. “Hey, Ty.”

“Hey back at’cha.” Lucille’s six-foot-six rail-thin assistant waved a ring-covered hand at the rear of the building. “She’s up in her office if you’re looking.”

“Bring bourbon,” Mary called over her shoulder.

Ty ignored her. “Bad day?” he asked Eden.

“Okay day, not great night.” She squinted through palm fronds, people and tables to a trio of women on a small raised stage. “Is it blues week?”

“Winding down now, sugar. Got a reggae band booked tomorrow. Tell your chippy little sister, Lucille still keeps a good bar upstairs.”

Eden grinned. “Mary doesn’t really have a chip on her shoulder, Ty. She took a method acting course last year and hasn’t realized it’s over yet.”

Ty chuckled and moved on. Eden headed for the stairwell.

Lucille’s preference ran to freeze-dried palms, rattan furniture and dim lighting. Blues music drifted out of the private rooms, and the air did in fact smell like raspberries.

Because she’d done her first filling at seven-thirty that morning, Eden’s head felt as fuzzy as the lights. She’d crossed, she reflected, into that weird realm between consciousness and sleep.

The wall beside her was lined with oil paintings, most of them abstract, and every one as dark and mysterious as Armand LaMorte.

“Hell.” With a sigh, Eden started up.

“Hell, is it? And I thought you liked my place.”

Her heart lurched. Pushing a fist into her ribs, Eden breathed out and turned. “I don’t need a coronary to make this night a bust, Lucille. Don’t you creak when you walk?”

Lucille, a tall, fine-boned woman with straight, dark hair, a thick fringe of bangs and bloodred fingernails, gave Eden’s cheek a pat. “You were creaking enough for both of us, love. What are you doing here so late?”

Eden relaxed. “Lisa wants to talk to you.”

“I heard the story.”

“The whole thing?”

“Most of it. There was a police officer here tonight, an old friend. We chatted. He left twenty minutes ago.”

For some reason, Armand’s face flashed in Eden’s head. She pushed it out and asked, “Is this cop a regular friend?”

“Yes, but I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t use that word around Mary. Since my potpourri now contains a hint of poison, I’ll assume she’s upstairs with Lisa.”

Humor crept into Eden’s tone. “Wanna run?”

“It’s tempting.” Lucille plastered on a smile. “I’ll settle for letting you lead the way—in case she’s conned Lisa into buying her a gun.”

Gun, cop, Armand LaMorte. The circle drew her in, as did all the problems Eden saw looming before her. Why couldn’t Mary look like Lisa instead of her?

Barbs flew the moment they entered Lucille’s office. Eden ignored them and drank in the atmosphere to distract herself.

The decor was Haitian with an abundance of ebony wood. Eden zeroed in on the sofa and dropped onto it. Five minutes passed before it occurred to her that Lisa had vanished.

“She made a beeline for the lower balcony.” Mary gestured at a large outer terrace. “Digging helps her deal. She told me to fill Lucille in. Now that’s done, where’s the key to the liquor cabinet?”

Lucille’s brows elevated. “You don’t seem concerned about Lisa’s state of mind, Mary. Since when can’t she speak for herself?”

“She asked, I complied. Who am I to psychoanalyze her? She’s dealing, okay?”

“By digging in my club garden at 2:00 a.m.?”

“Digging’s what she does.” Annoyed, Mary paced. “Why am I talking, Eden, and you’re not?”

“I’m too tired to talk.” She wasn’t even sure she could open her eyes now that she’d closed them. “I see disembodied teeth smiling at me. I think I have an extraction at nine-thirty tomorrow morning.” She forced her eyelids halfway up. “Lucille, why didn’t you tell us about Maxwell?”

“Because he was a dreadful man. Not bad from birth, but he became that way over the years. For you to have known him would have served no purpose.”

Mary prowled the room. “You’d never know she grew up in the bayou, would you, Eden? Bottom line, the guy was a creep.”

“Did Dolores know about him?” Stupid question. Dolores knew everything about everyone in her life.

“She agreed you shouldn’t meet him.”

“But you must have realized Lisa would track him down eventually.”

“I thought Lisa had put that obsession behind her. I had no idea she planned to hire a private investigator to search for him. I wouldn’t have expected her to bother.”

“Well, no, seeing as you lied to us so convincingly.” Mary tugged on the armoire door. “You remember the tale, Lucille. Our natural father sailed off to the South Pacific with a team of scientists and their ship went down, blah, blah, blah.”

Curious now, Eden asked, “What made Lisa look for Maxwell, Mary?”

“Hey, I just found out about the P.I. thing myself. I have no idea what middle sis was thinking or why. Maybe the ship going down sounded hokey to her. It might have to me if I’d cared enough to think about it. I’d say you should ask Lisa, but she’s out of talk mode at the moment. As soon as we came in here, she got that ‘I need to get my hands in dirt’ look in her eyes and took off out the balcony door. Can we go now, Eden?”

“As soon as my muscles reconnect to my brain. Have you spoken to Dolores yet, Lucille?”

“Briefly. She said you didn’t have dinner with her last Sunday. That’s very generous of you. Unwise perhaps, but generous.”

Guilt niggled as Eden recalled her resistance to the police lineup. “It was Mary’s idea.”

“And a selfless one, I’m sure.”

Lucille’s mocking smile brought a scowl to Mary’s lips. “Extraction tomorrow, Eden. Let’s go.” She slid her hip sack over one bare shoulder. “Oh, by the way, Lucille, in case no one’s told you, you look like hell.”

“I’ve been on a diet.” Lucille regarded Eden from her oversized office chair. “Why are you staring at my armoire? Is someone lurking in the shadows?”

“No, only shadows.” And a face Eden couldn’t erase from her mind no matter how hard she tried. She brought her gaze around. “Who might have wanted him dead?”

“A better question would be, who wouldn’t? Anyone he knew could be on the list.”

Eden didn’t buy that. “Few people would resort to murder, Lucille. Nasty phone calls, maybe, but killing’s a drastic last step. The list can’t be long.”

Lucille shrugged. “How long does it need to be? Would there be twenty names on it? Easily. Thirty? I’d say yes. As many as fifty? Possibly. Disgruntled employees have been known to commit horrific crimes. Push the right button and a mind, already badly strained, snaps.”

Eden conceded the point. And yet… “How many disgruntled workers do you figure would look like Lisa and me?”

“Ah, yes.” Lucille sat back. “The witness.”

Mary snorted. “For witness, read real murderer.”

“I’m sure the police have considered the possibility, Mary. At any rate, Eden has rendered his testimony useless, so it’ll be back to basics for now.”

Mary made a sound like a growl. “I’m getting Lisa.”

When she was gone, Eden stood. It was either that or curl up on Lucille’s sofa for the night. “Is Dolores okay about Sunday then? She didn’t sound happy when I called.”

Lucille rose as well. “She’s fine with it, Eden, but I’ll warn you now, she’s on a tear about the family curse.”

Eden tipped her head back to ease the tension in her neck. “Tell her I’ll watch my back.” She glanced at the terrace. “Is Mary shouting at me?”

“Such a loving sister. Eden, wait.” Lucille wrapped a hand around her wrist. “I want you to promise me you’ll let the police handle this.”

“Why?”

“Because I know you. You don’t trust them. You have a stubborn streak, and you love Lisa almost as much as the family you grew up with.”

No, she didn’t. She wanted to, but she didn’t—which was undoubtedly the reason she’d gone along with Mary’s scheme. Guilt was an amazing weapon, as effective as it was destructive.

“Talk to me about this tomorrow, okay?” Eden headed for the terrace door. “My brain’s processing on low right now. I need sleep and time to think.”

She heard Mary outside, ordering Lisa to forget about Lucille’s flowers and worry about what really mattered.

“Don’t let Mary bamboozle you, Eden,” Lucille warned. “Lisa’s freedom is imperative to her, but not for reasons of love. It’s all about money. Mary might not control the bank account, but she controls the next best thing—Lisa herself.”

Setting a hand on the door frame, Eden glanced back. Mary was right, Lucille did look like hell. “She doesn’t control Lisa, Lucille. Plays on her emotions, yes, and there’s no question she loves money, but I think she also cares deep down.”

Lucille’s gaze strayed to the river. “Mary is Maxwell’s daughter, his blood by birth. Circumstances fashion much of who and what we ultimately become, but sometimes bad blood just plain wins out. I’ll leave it at that. Good night, chère.”

Eden hesitated a moment longer, but couldn’t think of anything to say. She did marvel, though, at how quickly a person’s life could go from simple to complicated. One incomplete dinner, one man dead, one nightmare commenced.

She only wished that a large part of that nightmare didn’t involve a dark-eyed police detective.

THIRTY MINUTES PASSED before Lucille did anything more than stare at the flashes of lightning still visible on the river. The club would be empty now except for the tables behind the back rooms. Mary didn’t know about those. None of them did.

There were other things they didn’t know, some important, some not.

She shifted her attention to the wall safe, the most cleverly hidden of the three she’d installed when the club opened. There were bankbooks inside, as well as stock certificates and money. There was also an unmarked envelope.

“No!” She shook her head. “No.”

Touching a sore patch in the crook of her elbow, she moved to her desk. It was late to be phoning people, but then again, not everyone who lived and breathed could be called people. Some were vultures. Others were vermin. And at least one person she knew of—the only one still alive—could more appropriately be called a serpent.