Monday, March 14, 2005
Noon
I
n the end, Stacy agreed to move into the Noble mansion. Not because she thought she could protect the Nobles. And not because she felt she would be safer in the company of others.
But because the closer she was to the Nobles, the closer she was to the investigation. If she was in the middle of it, Malone couldn’t shut her out.
She had insisted, however, that Leo install a video surveillance system. She had also strongly suggested that Alice and Kay move from the guest house to the main house. Although Kay had refused for herself, she’d compelled Alice to do it. That very day, they had moved Alice’s daybed into the room that already served as her schoolroom.
Outfitted with a computer, high-speed Internet and cable TV, the teenager had little reason to emerge from the room. Or lair, as Stacy already thought of it.
Alice’s response to the change had been typical teenage cynicism. The frightened girl Stacy had glimpsed was gone, replaced by a sullen teenager. Living with a teenager, she was discovering, was akin to living with a victim of multiple-personality disorder.
Stacy snatched up the books she needed for her evening class, then headed out, locking her door behind her.
“That’s a little paranoid, don’t you think?”
Stacy glanced over her shoulder. Alice stood just outside her schoolroom door. She looked bored.
Stacy smiled. “Better safe than sorry.”
“Nice cliché.”
“But true. How’re you doing?”
“Fine and dandy.” She smirked. “Speaking of clichés.”
Stacy cringed at the sarcasm in the girl’s tone. “I don’t plan on getting in your way.”
“Whatever.”
“The other day you were frightened. But not anymore?”
“No.” She lifted a shoulder. “I figured it out. You engineered all this, to get closer to my dad.”
Stacy held back a sound of amused disbelief. “And why would I do that?”
“Star power.”
Clark called the girl back to her studies then. He caught Stacy’s glance and rolled his eyes. She grinned. Obviously, he had overheard their conversation.
The rest of the day rocked by. Stacy worked on a paper due the next afternoon. Instead of working in her room, she set up in the kitchen, to keep better tabs on the comings and goings in the mansion.
Mrs. Maitlin wasn’t thrilled with the arrangement.
“Can I get you something?” the woman asked as she made herself a cup of coffee.
“You don’t have to wait on me.” Stacy smiled. “But thanks for the offer.”
The housekeeper stood at the counter with her coffee, looking uncomfortable.
“Have a seat.” Stacy motioned to the chair across from hers.
“I don’t want to disturb you.”
“It’s your kitchen.” Stacy closed her laptop, stood and got herself a cup of coffee. The woman sat, but not before bringing out a tin of gourmet chocolate cookies.
Stacy helped herself to one, then returned to her seat. “How long have you worked for the Nobles?”
“A little over seventeen years.”
“You must like your job.”
She didn’t reply, and Stacy got the impression that she’d stepped over some line. Or that the woman just didn’t trust Stacy with an answer.
“I’m not a spy,” she said softly. “Just making conversation.”
“Yes, I do.”
“You moved with them. That must have been a difficult decision to make.”
She lifted a shoulder. “Not that hard. I don’t have a family of my own.”
Stacy thought of Jane. “Not even siblings?”
“Not even.”
The Nobles were her family.
The woman gazed into her coffee for a moment, then met Stacy’s eyes once more. “Why are you here? Not as a technical assistant.”
“No.”
“It has something to do with those cards. And that weird message.”
“Yes.”
“Should I be afraid?”
Stacy thought a moment. She wanted to be honest with the woman, but there was a razor’s edge between educating and alarming. “Be careful. Watchful.”
She nodded, expression relieved, brought a cookie to her mouth, then set it down, untasted. “It’s changed around here. It’s not the way—” She bit the thought back. Stacy didn’t push.
“I’ve been with the family since before Alice was born. She was such a cute baby. A sweet child. So smart. She—”
Again, she bit her words back. Stacy sensed a deep sadness in the woman. “The house used to be filled with laughter. You wouldn’t recognize Mr. and Mrs. Noble. And Alice. She—”
The housekeeper looked at her watch and stood. “I better get back to work.”
Stacy reached up and touched her hand. “Alice is a teenager now. It’s a difficult time. For them. And those who love them.”
The woman looked startled. She shook her head. “It’s not what you think. When they stopped laughing, so did Alice.”
Clearly uncomfortable, she picked up her cup and carried it to the sink. She dumped the contents, rinsed it and stuck it in the dishwasher.
“Mrs. Maitlin?”
The woman glanced back. “May I call you by your first name?”
She smiled. “That’d be nice. It’s Valerie.”
Stacy watched her go, frowning over what she had said. What had the Nobles been like seventeen years ago? Why had they divorced? They cared deeply for each other, that was obvious. They were committed to each other and Alice, also obvious. In essence, they still lived together.
When they stopped laughing, so did Alice.
She glanced at her laptop, then stood and headed out into the bright day. The idea of working on her paper didn’t appeal, and a quick spin around the property every hour or two was a good thing.
She lifted her face to the sky. Dark clouds gathered on the horizon. It looked as if the sunny afternoon would give way to a stormy evening.
At present, the security guys were installing the new system. Troy was chatting with one of them while he took a cigarette break. Previously, the driver had been sunning himself in a lawn chair. He’d hung his yellow polo shirt on the chair’s back. She realized she’d only seen him fully clothed a handful of times.
She smiled to herself. As near as she could tell, Troy had pretty much the least stressful job on earth. He hung around, waiting for Leo to need him for something—run an errand, drive him someplace. He sunned, he washed the cars, he smoked.
Tough life. She wondered at the man’s salary and where she could apply.
The installation tech put out his smoke and went back to work. Troy caught sight of her and smiled, his teeth almost startlingly white against his tanned face.
“Hi, Stacy,” he said.
She stopped. “Hi, Troy. Keeping busy?”
“You know, typical day.” He motioned to the workman. “That’s a high-tech system they’re putting in. The dude was trying to explain it to me.” Troy shrugged, indicating he hadn’t really gotten it. “Mr. Noble, if he’s going to have something, it’s going to be state of the art. Only the best.” He scratched his chest, the movement almost absentminded. “I don’t know why he’s doing it, though. I’m pretty much always around. I keep an eye on things.”
“Maybe it’s for the times you’re not?”
He nodded, drawing his eyebrows together. Something in his expression suggested that, like her, he was thinking of Saturday and the message Leo had been left.
Whoever had done it had slipped in and out during the hour he and the housekeeper had been gone.
He fell silent, as if with thought. After a moment, he looked at her. “What’s going on? The new system. Alice moving into the main house. You. Has someone threatened Leo or Alice?”
“Someone’s playing a sick game,” she said. “Leo’s just being cautious.”
He stared at her a moment. They both knew she wasn’t being completely truthful. But he didn’t call her on it.
He shrugged and started back toward his chair. “If you need anything, I’m here.”
She watched as he settled in, then glanced up at the second-floor windows.
And found Alice staring down at her.
Stacy lifted her hand to acknowledge the girl. Instead of returning the friendly gesture, Alice flounced off.
Stacy shook her head in partial amusement. It seemed she didn’t have to do much of anything to offend young Ms. Noble. She was beginning to suspect that just her breathing did it.
Tough nuts, kiddo. You’re stuck with me.
Monday, March 14, 2005
6:10 p.m.
S
hannon’s Tavern, a blue-collar bar and NOPD hangout, was located in the area of the city called the Irish Channel. Run by a mountain of a man named Shannon, the bar was a fine place to wait out a storm.
If you made it inside before the storm struck.
Spencer and Tony hadn’t. They burst into the tavern, bringing the wind and rain with them. Shannon took one look at them and shook his head. “Cops.”
“Blame John Jr.,” Spencer said, catching the towel the barkeep tossed him. He dried his hair first, then the rest of himself, as best he could, anyway. A call from John Jr. had, indeed, gotten this particular ball rolling. Their mother and father’s fiftieth wedding anniversary was only six months off; they needed to start planning immediately. That John Jr. had been the one to remember hadn’t been a surprise. As oldest of the brood, John Jr. always played the role of the conscientious one.
And thank God he did. With seven of them to organize and corral, it took someone willing to own the job.
Tony had come along because Betty and Carly were shopping for a prom dress, and he was on his own for dinner.
Shannon served more than ice-cold beer; he cooked up some of the best burgers in the city—big, juicy and priced to fit a cop’s wallet.
Quentin and his wife Anna arrived next. Spencer couldn’t have special-ordered a better sister-in-law. He credited her with giving Quentin the confidence to follow his dreams. The rest of the family felt the same way about her as he did.
“Yo, little bro,” Quentin said, slapping him on the back. “Shannon, draft and a mineral water.”
“Anna.” Spencer kissed his sister-in-law’s cheek, then held her at arm’s length. “You look wonderful.”
Three months pregnant with their first child, she radiated joy.
“How’s the writing biz?”
“Murder,” she said, tone dry. “As usual.”
Anna was a successful suspense novelist. She knew Tony through Quentin and happily took the bar stool beside the older cops.
Percy and Patrick trundled in, dripping wet. John Jr. followed moments later. His wife, Julie, a registered nurse, with him. Shauna and Mary followed.
Big, loud and good-looking, the Malone brothers always attracted attention. Mostly from females, but in New Orleans, that wasn’t necessarily a given. The Malone women had learned to use their brothers’ charisma to their own advantage. While all the available women in a given place vied for their brothers’ attention, the Malone girls had taken their pick of everyone else.
More times than not, it worked like a charm.
Tonight, however, they had serious plans to discuss.
“Aunt Patti and Uncle Sammy are coming,” Mary said, kissing each of her brothers on the cheek. “I talked to her on the way over. They’re a couple minutes late.”
“No problem,” Percy said, signaling to Shannon, “we’ve never started a family powwow on time in our lives.”
“I resent that,” John Jr. replied, taking a long swallow of his draft.
“Represent that, you mean,” Patrick, the accountant said, tone dry. “Keep in mind this is tax season. Unlike you guys, I need to pull twelve-hour days for the next month. Let’s get this show going.”
His siblings’ responses ranged from rolled eyes to comments about the world’s smallest violin. Spencer grinned. Patrick, the family’s square peg.
The door burst open and Aunt Patti and Uncle Sammy sloshed in. With them came another rush of wind and rain.
“It’s miserable out there,” she exclaimed, closing her umbrella and dropping it in the stand by the door. “Could you have picked a worse night, John Jr.?”
Her comment was met by whistles and applause. John Jr. flushed. “Without me, this family would fall apart.”
The older couple made the rounds of hugs and kisses. When his aunt reached him, she leaned close. “We have to talk. Tonight. Catch me before you go.”
He frowned at her tone. “What’s up?”
She shook her head slightly, indicating she couldn’t discuss why now. Whatever it was, he could tell, it was about work. And serious.
Two and a half hours later, the group began breaking up. Although loud, unruly and borderline obnoxious, they’d managed to accomplish all they needed to. Plans had been made; each sibling had a job to do. John Jr. expected committee reports within the week.
Spencer looked at his aunt. She signaled he should meet her in the poolroom in back.
He found her there, back to him. When she turned, he frowned. She looked drawn. Her color off.
“Are you all right, Aunt Patti?”
“Fine.” Her no-nonsense tone told him she had her captain hat firmly in place. “PID called on me today.”
Public Integrity Division. The NOPD’s version of Internal Affairs.
He went cold, the past crashing over him. Two years ago, when his last captain called him into the office, two PID guys had been waiting for him.
It’d been an ambush. A PID specialty.
“They were asking about you, Spencer. This case.”
“This case? The White Rab—”
“Yes.”
He shook his head. “Why?”
“I don’t know for sure.” She rubbed her chest, almost absently. “He was fishing.”
“Why’s this happening?”
“You tell me.”
“There’s nothing.” He searched his memory. “Everything’s been by the book.”
“There’s more. Chief called me. About you. About the case.”
Not good. The chief’s attention always spelled trouble.
He shook his head again. “Why? I don’t get it.”
She curled her fingers around his forearm. “You and Tony,” she said, voice suddenly strained, “watch your backs.”
Spencer opened his mouth to comment, swallowing the words as her face contorted with pain. “Aunt Patti? What’s wrong?”
She tried to speak but couldn’t. She brought a hand to her chest. Alarmed, he shouted for his uncle and sister-in-law.
The family members came running. Julie took one look at Aunt Patti and shouted for someone to call 911.
Within twenty minutes, Aunt Patti had been sent by ambulance to Touro Infirmary, where the family learned she had suffered a heart attack.
The entire Malone clan had turned out, which explained the floor nurse’s harried expression.
Spencer knew the nurse would need to get used to the crowds; cops took care of their own. His aunt was likely to have visitors 24/7. No doubt some of them would attempt to smuggle in no-no’s. Things like Krispy Kreme doughnuts. And Krystal burgers.
The waiting seemed endless. They finally let Uncle Sammy in to see Patti, then Spencer’s mother, who had just arrived. The rest had to wait.
When the doctor emerged, a guy who looked way too young to be trusted with the care of anyone’s favorite aunt, he explained that she’d had a mild attack, brought on by a blocked artery. They’d given her a clot-busting miracle drug.
“She asked for Spencer,” he said.
“Here.”
The physician looked at him. “You a cop?”
“I am.”
“No talking business. I don’t want her worked up.”
“You got it, Doc.”
Spencer entered his aunt’s room. For such a tough bird, she looked pretty damn vulnerable.
She smiled weakly. “I feel like I went head to head with one badass perp.”
“Doctor says you’ve got a blocked artery. Gave you some wonder drug that’s supposed to solve the problem. You’ll be fine.”
“I’m not worried about…me. You—”
“Shh.” He found her hand, squeezed it. “I can take care of myself.”
“But—”
He squeezed her hand again. “I’ll be careful. The investigation is on track. Tony and I will make certain it stays that way. You concentrate on getting better. That’s your job right now.”
She dozed off; Spencer stayed with her, watching her as she slept.
Watch your backs.
Those three little words brought back that terrible time when everywhere he turned, he faced suspicion, and everyone seemed to be gunning for him.
Why had he caught the attention of the chief and PID?
The nurse poked her head into the room. “Time’s up, Mr. Malone.”
He nodded, brushed a kiss across his aunt’s forehead and returned to the waiting area.
Tony and several of the other guys had arrived. They had all paid their respects to Uncle Sammy and were huddled together, talking.
Spencer took Tony aside. “Tonight, Aunt Patti said we’ve attracted the attention of the chief. And PID.”
Tony’s eyes widened. “Why?”
“She didn’t know. They were questioning her about the White Rabbit case.”
The older man scowled. “Friggin’ Pogo had to surface at the French Quarter.”
Spencer nodded. “Thing is, that still doesn’t explain PID’s involvement. They’re usually interested in improprieties.”
“Let me nose around. See if anybody’s heard anything.”
John Jr. waved Spencer over. Spencer started for him, then looked back at his partner. “You do that. And keep me posted.”