Authors: Kathy Ivan
“I take it you anticipated running the blackjack tables here in New Orleans like you did in Atlantic City?”
Trudy hung her head shamefaced and Esther verbally agreed with his statement.
“Mrs. Spencer wanted in on your little 'operation', that’s what you're telling me? The three of you fought over money?”
“Bottom line, Detective? Yes, it all boils down to the money. We'd have lots of it and she wanted it.” Trudy volunteered the information with a slight hitch in her voice.
Damn, he thought. Tens of thousands of dollars? A hundred thousand, maybe more? “Ladies, exactly how much money are we talking about here?”
Esther's eyes lit up at his question. “Last fall in Atlantic City we made a real killing at the tables, right, Trudy? We brought home a bundle of cash, split it fifty-fifty. We're talking five thousand dollars.”
What? Five grand?
He'd figured them for bigger fish than that. All this drama and lies and a woman dying for a measly five grand. He shook his head in disbelief.
I'll never understand women
.
Esther caught his look and huffed out a sigh. “Detective, I'm sure to you five thousand dollars isn't a lot of money. For women like us, living on fixed incomes with no extra cash coming in, barely making ends meet, it’s a bloody fortune. We'd hoped to double it on this trip.”
“Ladies, I'm afraid that won't happen. Your names and photos will be given to all the casinos and gambling establishments in and around New Orleans. You, Mrs. Shapiro, and you, too, Mrs. Miller, will be banned from ever stepping into a casino again.”
“No, you can't do that,” Trudy wailed, covering her mouth with both hands, her eyes filling with tears. Oh, no, don't let her turn the waterworks on again, he thought.
“Mrs. Miller, not only will you not be able to gamble in Louisiana, I'll be notifying Whispering Pines and Mrs. Scott. Atlantic City will have your pictures and names soon enough, the New Orleans Police Department will ensure that. Plus, if I hear of either of you pulling this kind of stunt again, I will personally haul both your asses to jail. Do you understand me?”
Solemnly, both women nodded their understanding, and the policewoman who'd accompanied Trudy into the room assured Taglier she'd make sure casino management was notified immediately to ban both women.
“I do have one more question, ladies. The diamond necklace that belonged to Mrs. Spencer? How'd it end up in your bag, Mrs. Miller?”
“I don't know, Detective. The last time I saw the necklace it was around Abby's neck.”
“It was me.” Esther's voice broke into Trudy's statement, causing them to stare at her. She dropped her head in her hands, her whole body shaking. “After we went back to our room, Trudy went to sleep, but I was restless. I wasn't happy with the way we left things with Abby. She wasn't going to drop it, and I knew she'd tell Alyssa everything and cause us to be sent home like misbehaving children. So I went back to talk to her.”
“Without me?”
“Trudy, you were asleep. Besides, Abby had been such a bitch to you earlier and you were so upset—she needed to know she wasn't getting anything.” Esther stood up from her chair and Taglier took a step back, giving her a bit of space. Once this final question was resolved, the case would be closed and he could get out of here.
“Abby was in a pisser of a mood, let me tell you. I told her no again, but she suggested a bargain. Damn, I'm such an old fool.” Esther leaned against the wall and stared at her hands. “Abby knew how much I loved her necklace. You've seen it; it's beautiful. She never thought twice about it and I'd never had anything like that, and she rubbed it in my face often enough. She took it off and held it out to me, the light shining on that diamond. It sparkled so prettily.”
Esther closed her eyes, and Taglier wondered if she was picturing the necklace again, reliving the scene.
“Abby said I could have it if we'd cut her in for fifty percent of the winnings from the casino.”
“Fifty percent! I know you told her no, right, Esther?”
Esther shook her head. “I wish I'd told her no, hon, but I didn't. I wanted that diamond pendant more than anything, so I said yes. Convincing you to split the money would've been the easy part, because you trust me, Trudy. Instead, I was selfish. Abby handed me the necklace like it didn't matter one bit. I agreed the old battle-axe could have her fifty percent share and I left.”
“Mrs. Spencer was still alive when you left, Mrs. Shapiro?” Taglier asked.
“Not only was she alive, she laughed at me, closing the door in my face, thrilled she'd gotten exactly what she wanted. I'm a strong woman, Detective, I don't back down from anybody. But I'd coveted that necklace for months and months and it was finally mine.”
The puzzle pieces fit together in Taglier's brain, each snapping into place, the picture clear.
“When you heard I'd shown up in New Orleans, you panicked, didn't you?” Esther nodded, looking at Trudy. Taglier glanced her way as well, saw the moment she realized she'd been set up by her best friend.
“Esther? You . . . you put Abby's necklace in my bag, knowing they'd think I stole it. That I'd taken it after Abby was killed. How could you?”
“It's worse than that, Trudy. I'm the one who called and left an anonymous tip saying you were seen coming from Abby's room.”
“Why, Esther? We're friends. Why would you do that?”
“I'm so sorry. Everything was snowballing out of control and I knew he wouldn't give up.” She jerked a thumb toward Taglier, and he bit back a smirk.
Yep, you're right, I wouldn't have. Too many questions with no answers.
“I regretted it the minute I hung up, but what could I do? Call them back and say, oops, I made a mistake. That would have made things even worse. I swear I wouldn't have let them arrest you. I wouldn't! It was stupid and I wasn't thinking things through, but I thought they'd know you didn't kill Abby. You couldn't. There's no way you're a killer. But we were the only two people who saw Abby before she died, and when they cleared you, I'd be the only suspect left. People would believe I could have done it. I'm not well liked by most of the people at Whispering Pines. It's never bothered me, 'cause I don't care what people think.”
“Esther . . .”
“You know it's true, Trudy. You put up with me because you’re my best friend. Abby tolerated me because she liked feeling superior. So I decided to throw any suspicion off me and onto you. Plus I was afraid someone might have seen me leaving Abby's room and they'd surely send me to prison.”
Taglier interrupted her. “Mrs. Shapiro, we do our best not to send innocent people to prison. It's why we investigate the crimes, to find out who actually commits them.”
Ruddy color flushed Esther's cheeks and he knew he'd made his point.
“The bottom line here, ladies, is neither one of you killed Mrs. Spencer.” Both heads bobbed around to stare at him, shock giving way to relief across both faces.
“Surprised? I talked to the medical examiner and Mrs. Shapiro died from a temporal hematoma or a brain bleed probably caused by the knock on the head during the bus accident.”
“So, even though I pushed her and she fell, that's not what killed her?”
“No, Mrs. Shapiro, the second blow to the head wasn't fatal. When she bumped her head earlier in the day, she refused to have any scans or x-rays done. If she had, she probably would still be alive. She refused them and the slow bleed would have caused her death anyway.”
Both women burst into gut wrenching sobs, the sounds echoing through the room. Taglier grimaced and glanced over to the policewoman still standing by the door. She shrugged, pointing toward the box of tissues. He quickly snatched them up, pressing some into each woman's hands.
“Esther, I still can't believe you set me up. We've got a lot of talking to do when we get back to the hotel—that is if we're going back there, Detective?”
“Yes, we'll get your paperwork processed and you'll be able to leave. Just remember, no casinos from now on. Got it?”
They agreed and within minutes were free.
Well, I guess that wraps everything up here. Now where can I get some jambalaya?
With a chuckle, Taglier walked out of the police station and onto the busy New Orleans streets.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Sunday
B
ethany stalked back and forth behind Alyssa's bound form. Darkness obscured her view outside, where the front door stood ajar, enough to see anybody approach—not that she expected anybody to show up, not yet. Cold seeped in through the opening, but Bethany wore a sweater and jacket, unlike the bitch in the chair. Bet she's freezing her ass off.
Alyssa, that stupid whore, nearly ruined everything. Rage, burning and fierce rushed through Bethany, scratching at her brain, screeching like a banshee's wail when Alyssa tried warning Connor. Almost made a big mistake letting Alyssa speak with him, but the pleasure of making him squirm, feeding him clue after clue with the knowledge he chased his tail, that was bloody perfect.
The disposable cell phone battery indicated low power when she illuminated the screen. No problem, like a Boy Scout, she was prepared. She was so much smarter than they knew. From her pocket she pulled another prepaid phone, one she'd already programmed Connor's number into, the outgoing number blocked, just like every phone she carried.
Alyssa's sobs ended for a few minutes. Only an occasional sniffle filled the eerily quiet room. This small concrete and cinderblock building wasn't much to look at, but this was her
special place
. The only other person she'd shared it with was Mickey—he'd loved the isolation. Nobody around for miles to hear the screams.
The candles burned around Alyssa, encircling her nearly naked body in their ebb of light and shadow. Bethany turned on the industrial-strength flashlight Mickey kept hidden behind the back leg of the table—she'd remembered it earlier. He'd brought it with him the last time they had a guest here.
The setting now reminded her of the last time she'd been here, with one glaring difference. The female body in the chair. Before, a homeless man had occupied the same chair Alyssa currently sat in. Mickey knew exactly how far to go, the precision of each cut, the strength behind each blow to cause such exquisite pain. Bethany loved watching the struggle, the surge of adrenaline riding through her body. It was orgasmic in its intensity. Better than any sex she ever had.
A quick punch of the power button turned on the new phone, fully charged and ready for use. Time to send Connor another text, to dig the knife in a little deeper and give it a sharp twist. If only she could watch his face. Ah, that would be the icing on the cake.
Alyssa's been a naughty girl. I have to punish her. Sit tight and maybe I'll let you talk to her when I'm done.
Bethany's hysterical laughter filled the space as she hit the send button.
“Hope your writhing in hell, dear Connor. You deserve everything I throw at you and more, you son of a bitch.”
A whimper from the chair in front of her pulled her back to the present. She walked back around in front of Alyssa with a quick glance at the camera phone she'd switched off a while back. She'd lost her temper; that was a mistake, but not a big one. The camera would still capture everything she did to Connor's ex-wife. Not just yet, though.
Bethany strode forward past Alyssa and checked, making sure the camera wasn't recording right then. No need for anybody to see what came next. White-hot anger roiled through her at Alyssa's stupid stunt—giving her real name to Connor.
Without conscious thought her fist shot forward, slamming into the side of Alyssa's face. Bright red blood trickled from her nose with the force of the blow. Damn, it felt good, the first smack of her fist against Alyssa's perfect white skin, the thrill of delivering pain to somebody else. Power—it was the true aphrodisiac she craved. More than the violence, more than the thrill of the chase.
Swinging her arm forward, she backhanded Alyssa. The blow landed across her mouth, splitting her lip as her teeth broke the tender fleshy area inside. Again blood pooled to spill from the cut.
Not enough
.
A vicious pinch squeezed the fleshy part of her arm eliciting a scream. Bethany smiled.
That's more like it. Let me hear you squeal
. Blow followed blow as her strikes landed with a surgeon's precision. Stomach, arms, breasts. No area escaped her wrath.
Damn, it felt good to let loose. Why hadn't she done this all those times she worked alongside Mickey?
Mickey always played with their specially chosen playthings. The press had called them victims, but Mickey always called them his toys. Now, though, she understood the thrill, the high he got having another person at his mercy.
I get it. I control her fate, the very air she breathes.
A spike of adrenaline rushed through her; bubbles of joy flooded her very essence like an uncorked bottle of champagne. No drug she'd every tried felt this good, this right.
Mickey's special backpack lay against the wall in the farthest corner, barely discernible in the near darkness of the room. Bethany noted it first thing on entering this place, her home-away-from-home. Whenever they'd finished playing with their human toys, he meticulously cleaned and repacked it. Everything in its place, orderly and precise. All part of his military training, he'd joke, right before he'd stash his supplies and they'd make love. The sex after their fun and games, well, amazing didn't begin to describe it.
My Angel
he called her. Of course, he didn't know her real name or even the name she used as a reporter. To him, she was his Angel, his inspiration. Kindred spirits. She grinned.
If he only knew . . .
Bethany closed her eyes, twirling to unheard music in her head. She missed Mickey. Nope, she didn't love him, not even a little, but he'd understood her like nobody else.