Authors: Beverly Barton
When she entered the parlor where everyone had congregated, her grandfather paused in his conversation with Charlie and surveyed her from head to toe.
“Well, look at you,” G.W. said. “Don’t you look pretty.”
“Thank you, Granddaddy.” Smiling sweetly, she breezed across the room and planted a kiss on his cheek.
“You seem to be bright and chipper today,” Olivia said.
“Why thank you, Olivia.” Leslie Anne blasted the hateful floozy with one of her thousand-watt smiles. “I am bright and chipper. As a matter of fact, I’m downright fine.”
Her aunt Sharon eyed her skeptically. “And just what brought about this miraculous transformation?”
Leslie Anne danced her shoulders up and down as she smiled coquettishly, her gaze traveling over the room and settling on Tad Sizemore. Tad was suspect number one. And his mother was suspect number two. Wouldn’t they just love to get rid of her and her mother, then move in to grab the entire Westbrook fortune?
“I decided that life is too short to stay in my room and pout.” She laced her arm through G.W.’s. “Besides, I wanted to have lunch with Granddaddy.”
“Well, I’m certainly glad you’re feeling better.” G.W. gazed at her tenderly and she sensed the same unconditional love he’d always given her. “My precious girl.” He uttered the last three words so quietly that only Leslie Anne heard them.
She gave his arm a squeeze, then eased away and scanned the parlor. As she meandered around the room, she kept sensing that someone was watching her and soon realized that Lucie Evans was keeping a close eye on her. That was okay. After all, that was Lucie’s job, wasn’t it?
Charlie came up to her and put his arm around her shoulders. “It’s good to see you acting more like yourself. You had us all terribly worried you know. Tad all but convinced us that you were on the verge of doing something…” He cleared his throat. “Well, I should have known better, shouldn’t I?”
“Yes, you should have, considering the source.”
Charlie chuckled in his usual good-natured manner. Always pleasant and mannerly. A gentleman to the core. There had been a time when she’d wanted her mother to marry Charlie. God knew he’d asked her a zillion times. But now that she was more mature, she understood that there just wasn’t any sparks between Charlie and her mother.
But between Dante and her mother—well, a girl could hope, couldn’t she?
Within minutes, her great-aunt Myrle cornered her and starting talking some sort of nonsense about boys and girls and being young and foolish.
“I imagine it was some young cretin that dared you to run away from home,” Myrle said. “My dear, you simply mustn’t associate with these uncouth teenagers.”
She never thought she would welcome Celia’s presence, since her cousin was far from her favorite person, but she was actually glad when Celia interrupted Aunt Myrle’s spiel.
“You’ve certainly been a worrisome brat, haven’t you?” Celia told her. “You should be ashamed of yourself for worrying Uncle G.W. half to death. Whatever were you thinking? You know the poor dear has a bad heart.”
“You’re so right, Celia,” Leslie Anne said and relished the look on her cousin’s face when she agreed with her. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I feel I should help Aunt Sharon play hostess.”
Taking this one chance to escape Aunt Myrle and Celia, Leslie Anne started across the room to corner Lucie and ask if she’d heard from Dante today. But before she made it to her destination, Tad waylaid her.
“You’re putting on a good act. This bunch has no idea what a good little actress you are, but I do.”
“Takes one to know one, huh, Tad?”
“Touché.”
“I can’t have everyone thinking I’m suicidal, can I? They’d never leave me alone or let me have any peace.”
“So this little act is to convince G.W. you don’t need a bodyguard?” He glanced at Lucie. “Now, that’s some woman.”
“Let’s just say that I have my reasons for wanting everyone to think I’m doing just fine.”
There, Tad
, Leslie Anne thought,
I’ve given you a little rope. Not nearly enough to hang yourself, but just enough to draw you in
. In case he was the guilty party—and she’d lay odds he was—she didn’t want him catching on to what she was up to. Not until it was too late and she’d trapped him.
Tad put his hand on her shoulder. “Look, kid, if you ever want to shake your shadow—” he glanced at Lucie “—let me know and I’ll help you slip off from her.”
“Would you really do that for me?” Leslie Anne acted innocent and grateful.
“Absolutely. After all, I’m practically family. At least I will be when Mother marries G.W.”
“That’s right, isn’t it? Once Olivia and Granddaddy are husband and wife, you’ll be G. W. Westbrook’s stepson.”
“And your uncle.” He tapped her playfully on the nose.
She managed to laugh and smile, all the while wondering exactly what Tad Sizemore was up to.
S
HERIFF
E
ARL
S
UMMERS
was a friendly guy in his early forties, with a potbelly that hung over his belt and a slightly receding hairline. He had the words “good old boy” written all over him. He’d welcomed Dante and Tessa into his office, ordered coffee for them and agreed to answer any
questions they had. But when Dante asked him if he remembered when a young blond woman had been found naked and nearly dead off Interstate 20 seventeen years ago, his face went ashen and he got a severe case of amnesia.
“Are you sure that happened in Richland Parish?” Summers asked.
“Yes, we’re positive,” Tessa said. “You see, I’m that woman. I spent ten days in the hospital here.”
Summers shook his head. “I was a deputy back then, just a green rookie, and I’m telling you that I don’t remember nothing about a case like that, but I seem to recall a young blond gal being in a bad car wreck back a good fifteen or twenty years ago. I’m sure that, if he could, Sheriff Wadkins would tell you the same thing. Unfortunately, he can’t. The poor old fellow’s got Alzheimer’s and doesn’t know what day of the week it is.”
Dante looked pointedly at Summers. “You’re sure you don’t remember anything about a young girl being found—”
“Sure don’t!”
“You’d think that as unusual as the case was, everyone working in the sheriff’s department when it happened would remember something about it,” Tessa said. “Maybe if we could talk to everyone who was working here at the time.”
“Wouldn’t make any difference,” Summers said. “Won’t nobody remember any more than I did.”
“Why do you say that?” Dante asked.
“Because like I told you, we never had a case like that. If we did, there would be a record of it and I can assure you there is no record of any blond woman being found off Interstate 20 and being brought to the hospital. No records here at the sheriff’s department. No records at the
hospital or the coroner’s office. Because it never happened. Ma’am you must have our parish and our town mixed up with another one here in Louisiana somewhere. Have you checked with the sheriffs over in Madison or East Carrol or even West Carrol Parish? You know that highway cuts clean across the state.”
“No, Sheriff Summers, we haven’t checked other counties because I know for certain that—” Tessa gasped when Dante abruptly grabbed her arm and jerked her to her feet.
“Since the sheriff here is certain we’ve got the wrong town and even the wrong parish, I don’t think we should take up any more of his valuable time.”
“What?” Tessa glared at Dante, her look questioning his sanity.
“Honey, let’s go. We can make a few phone calls and check out a couple of other parishes before suppertime, if we hurry.”
Dante shook hands with Sheriff Summers while he held on to a fuming Tessa with his other hand; then he practically dragged her from the sheriff’s department and outside onto Julia Street. When they got to their rental car, she stopped dead still and glared at him.
“Want to tell me what the hell is going on?”
“Sorry about the caveman act, but it was obvious Summers is hiding something and he had no intention of sharing it with us. The harder we’d have pushed, the more he would have balked. Besides, he told us something interesting without even realizing he’d let something slip.”
“What did he let slip?”
“He adamantly vowed that there were no records of the case we described to him at the sheriff’s department or at the hospital or at the—”
Tessa gasped. “Or at the coroner’s!”
“Bingo.”
“Why would the coroner have any records about a victim who survived?”
“Yeah, why would he?”
“How do we find out?”
“We wait to hear whatever our hospital spy has to say, then we’ll see if we can make any connection between what the sheriff didn’t tell us—” Dante grinned at Tessa “—and what our informant has found out.”
T
HE
C
ITY
C
AFÉ
was a small, neat restaurant nestled between a shoe shop on one side and an empty two-story brick building on the other. A dark-haired guy in a quilted navy blue parka and a red hat hovered near the front door, his gaze downcast. The minute Dante and Tessa approached, the man glanced up and a pair of pale gray eyes studied them.
“You Moran?”
“Yeah. And you’re—?”
“Somebody Dundee’s hired to do a little dirty work for them.” The man looked up and down the sidewalk, then grinned. “I live in this town, so if anybody asks, I’ll tell them you’re friends of my aunt Sadie, who lives out in Texas. You understand how it is. Okay?”
“Whatever you want,” Dante said.
“Just call me Tug.” He looked at Tessa and grinned. Deep dimples appeared in his cheeks and softened his rode-hard-and-put-away-wet appearance. “And you’re…?”
“She’s with me.” Dante slipped his arm around Tessa’s waist. Protectively. And possessively? Hell, he didn’t want to feel possessive about her, but he did.
Tug waved his hand in an expression of unconcern. “Hey, man, I wasn’t hitting on the lady, just asking her name.”
“I’m Tessa.” She held out her hand. “Hi, Tug. Nice to meet you.”
Tug shook Tessa’s hand quickly and let go, but he didn’t make direct eye contact with her. Dante figured Tug wisely chose to not risk irritating him again. It wasn’t that he tried to be intimidating, he just was. He’d been told once by a fellow FBI agent that he sent out some powerfully dangerous vibes.
“How about we talk while we eat lunch?” Dante suggested. “No point in wasting time.”
“You in a hurry or something?”
“Or something.”
“Sure thing,” Tug said. “City Café’s got the best down-home cooking you’ll ever eat. They run a lunch special five days a week. Today’s fried chicken.”
Dante chose a back table, off by itself, in the crowded restaurant. He felt uneasy discussing business with so many strangers surrounding him. But when you dealt with informants, you usually had to let them choose the rendezvous point in which he or she felt the most comfortable.
After they removed their coats and settled in, the waitress brought three glasses of water, and put one down at each place setting. “Today’s special is fried chicken, mashed potatoes, green beans and corn bread. If you want something else, the menu’s on the wall over there.” The middle-aged brunette, whose plastic name tag read Gert, nodded to the large white metal sign with red lettering that listed such things as hamburgers, hot dogs and chicken stew. “Our desserts are banana pudding and chocolate cake.”
“Three lunch specials.” Dante looked at Tessa. “Want dessert?”
“No, thanks.”
“I’ll have the banana pudding,” Tug said.
“What do y’all want to drink?” Gert asked, glancing disapprovingly at Tug’s hat.
“Sweet tea, please,” Tessa said.
Tug jerked off his hat, folded it in half and laid it on the table. “Sweet tea for me, too.”
“Make that three,” Dante said.
As soon as the waitress headed off to put in their order, Dante leaned forward across the table and skewered Tug with a let’s-get-down-to-business glare.
“What do you have for us?”
Tug reached around to where he’d hung his coat on the back of his chair, pulled a folded manilla envelope from the inside pocket and handed it to Dante. “That’s the girl’s medical records.” Tug glanced at Tessa. “You’re her, aren’t you? You’re Tessa Westbrook.”
“Yes, I am.” Tessa removed the paper ring from her paper napkin which was wrapped around her silverware. After nervously opening the napkin and placing it in her lap, she set her fork to her left and arranged her knife and spoon side by side on the right.
Tug watched her closely. “Ma’am, I’d like to say I think you’re a mighty tough lady to have survived what you went through.”
Tessa swallowed, then offered Tug a fragile smile.
Dante tapped the envelope against his open palm. “You read through these medical records?”
“I skimmed ’em,” Tug admitted. “After I photocopied them. I had to do a rush job before somebody caught me.”
Tessa eyed Tug curiously. “How were you able to—”
“How I get a job done is classified info, ma’am.”
Tessa nodded.
“Look, Moran, when Dundee hired me to get my hands on those confidential files, I was given the background information on Ms. Westbrook and told to compare what I found in the files with the info I’d been given. This is far from the first time I’ve done something like this, you know. If I wasn’t trustworthy, people would stop coming to old Tug—” he patted himself on the chest “—to help them out when they needed to sidestep the law in order to get things done.”
“Did my medical records confirm what you’d been told?” Tessa asked.
The waitress returned with three iced teas, which she set around the table. “Food will be out in a minute.”
“Thanks,” all three said in unison.
Tug looked right at Tessa. “Yes, ma’am, those records—” he eyed the manilla envelope Dante held “—paint a sad picture. Yes, they do. White female, age eighteen, raped, brutalized…It’s a wonder you lived.”
Not wanting to hear more details and concerned for Tessa, Dante asked hurriedly, “You didn’t find any inconsistencies? Nothing that sent up a red flag and made you question the information?”
“Nope, nothing in the medical records. You can see for yourself when you read over them.”
Dante heard an unspoken “but” in Tug’s voice. “Just lay it on the line for me, will you? What else is there?”
Tug grinned. “When I’m hired to do a job, I tend to get creative, if I think it might mean a bonus.”
“You want extra pay for extra information, is that it?”
“You give me your word that my check from Dundee will be, say a grand more than agreed on and—”
“If what you have to tell us is worth a thous and, you’ll get it,” Dante told him.
The waitress returned with a large, food-laden tray. “Three specials.”
After she set the plates on the table, she laid the bill, facedown, beside Dante. “Anybody want refills on that tea—” she eyed the untouched, full glasses “—just holler.”
Tug lifted his glass and took a hefty swig of tea, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Best iced tea in Rayville.”
Neither Dante nor Tessa said a word, but both glared at Tug.
Tug set his glass down, picked up his fork and speared the green beans on his plate. “There’s a woman—a close personal friend of mine, if you know what I mean—” Tug winked at Dante “—who works in medical records at the hospital and she’s got an aunt who used to work over at Maitland’s Funeral Home. The aunt’s name is Deanetta Knight. That old gal’s got a memory like an elephant. She don’t forget nothing.” Tug stuck the green beans in his mouth, then added a scoop of mashed potatoes. As he chewed, he eyed Dante, then swallowed. “Deanetta’s willing to talk to y’all, if you promise not to never tell nobody that you got the information from her.”
“What does she have to tell us that’s worth your getting an extra thousand dollars?” Dante was fast losing patience with this good old boy.
“That’s for her to say.” Tug put his fork aside and picked up the chicken leg. “But I’ll tell you this—she recalls when there was a gal found out on Interstate 20, about seventeen years ago. That’s when Deanetta was working for the funeral home.”
“What does one thing have to do with the other?” Tessa asked.
“Well, you see, Aaron Maitland, who owned the funeral home, was the county coroner back then,” Tug explained.
A knot formed in the pit of Dante’s belly. “And?”
“And Deanetta remembers that Sheriff Wadkins called in Aaron Maitland when a body was found on the side of the road.”
“What’s strange about that?” Tessa glanced from Tug to Dante. “Isn’t it usual procedure for the coroner to be called—?”
“Ma’am, the body Aaron did an autopsy on was a young, blond girl who’d been raped, beaten and dumped off the interstate.”
Turning white as a sheet, Tessa gasped. Damn! She looked like she might faint.
T
HE LITTLE BITCH
! She’d done a complete about-face, transforming herself from a hysterical, out-of-control child into an astonishingly calm young lady. The way she’d acted at lunch today, no one would believe she was suicidal.
I’ve never seen a better job of acting. Or was she acting? She had to be. She couldn’t have recovered from such shocking news so quickly. She was putting on a show. But for whom? For G.W., no doubt. She knew the old man had a bad heart. Everybody was aware of the fact that G.W.’s doctor had warned him to change the bad habits of a lifetime before he had a severe heart attack. I suppose it’s possible, even probable, that she loves her grandfather enough to do whatever is necessary to make him believe she isn’t completely falling apart. I suppose that’s well and good. After all, I can’t have G.W. dying on me. Not yet anyway.
My plan for Leslie Anne’s death to look like a suicide is
a good one. Too good to abandon just because she decided she can bluff her way through this traumatic experience. I need to remind her of who she is, of the evil flowing through her veins. And I should make her realize that it’s only a matter of time before her ugly little secret is out and everyone will know she’s Eddie Jay Nealy’s daughter.
As a matter of fact, perhaps I need to figure out a way to let those nearest and dearest to the family learn about Tessa’s pitifully sordid past. And I need to do this while Tessa is out of town.
Hmm. What’s the best way to go about this? A phone call, using the same device to disguise my voice that I used this morning when I taunted a sleeping Leslie Anne? Oh, it had been so easy to enter and exit her suite through the sitting room without anyone noticing. And if anyone had seen me, so what? Who wouldn’t have believed me if I’d told them I was concerned about Leslie Anne and wanted to check on her?
D
EANETTA
K
NIGHT
lived a few miles outside of town in an old turn-of-the-century house that had been renovated, added on to and bricked sometime in the recent past. She met them on the porch, asked to see some identification, then invited them into her living room. The old woman walked with the aid of a cane, making her movements slow and slightly unsteady. Tessa guessed her age to be at least seventy, maybe seventy-five.
Deanetta looked back and forth from Dante to Tessa, her milky brown eyes studying them, obviously trying to discern their honesty. “Tug said I could trust y’all not to involve me if anything gets stirred up because of what I’m gonna tell y’all.”
“That’s right,” Dante said.
“Swear it to me.” Deanetta focused on Tessa.
“We swear, don’t we, Dante?” Tessa said.
Dante nodded.
“You’re that Westbrook gal, ain’t you?” Deanetta looked Tessa over, from head to toe. “I never seen you up close back then. Once your daddy showed up at the hospital, they posted a private duty nurse in your ICU room. Never heard of such a thing. That’s how everybody knew your daddy was somebody important.”
“Mrs. Knight, I thought you worked at the Maitland Funeral Home at the time,” Dante said. “How do you know what went on at the hospital?”
“My sister Flossie was an LPN who worked the night shift at the hospital back then. She’s dead and gone these past five years.” Deanetta sighed heavily. “Me and Flossie talked about it, you know, but when there was never no mention of it in the papers or nothing, and Mr. Maitland warned everybody who worked at the funeral home to never say a word about it, we figured it was best to keep our mouths shut. We didn’t want no trouble.”
“Tug said Aaron Maitland performed an autopsy on a young woman whose body was found out on Interstate 20 and he implied there was a connection between this woman and Tessa Westbrook. Is that what you’re talking about? Is that what Mr. Maitland warned his employees to never talk about?” Dante asked.
“There was a connection.” Deanetta studied Tessa again. “Two young gals, both blond, both raped and beaten and dumped out on the side of the road. The same thing was done to both of them gals. Awful things. Just awful.”
Tessa’s heart stopped for a split second. Snapping her
head around, she looked at Dante. He’d gone still as a statue, his face without expression. But she knew what he was thinking—the same thing she was. That second girl, the other blonde who hadn’t survived, had been Amy Smith. But why the cover-up? Had her father made certain that what had happened to the other girl was kept secret, too? But why?
Deanetta stared sympathetically at Tessa. “You poor little thing you. How you lived through that is beyond me. Flossie told me that the folks working in the emergency room when you was brought in said you was nothing but a broken, bloody mess.”
“I really don’t remember.” Tessa tried her level best not to picture herself as she must have looked when she’d been brought to the E.R. She barely remembered those days, when she’d been unable to think straight and had been totally helpless. Thank God her daddy had shown up so quickly and had made sure she received the best care money could buy.
“Yeah, Flossie heard you had amnesia and we agreed it was a blessing you couldn’t remember nothing about what happened to you.”
Dante’s gaze met Tessa’s. She wanted to reach out, grab him and hold him close. He had to be dying inside, halfway hoping he could lay Amy Smith to rest once and for all and yet maybe praying that the other blond girl Deanetta had told them about hadn’t been his Amy.
“What happened to the other girl?” Dante asked. “What did the funeral home do with her body? Was it sent to the state—”
Deanetta lowered her voice as if she thought the walls had ears. “After the autopsy, her body was held for identi
fication. You see, her body was found first, that is her body was found before they found you, Ms. Westbrook. And your daddy came to Rayville to take a look at the other girl because she fit your description. That was about five or six days after her body was found, best I can recall.”
“Oh, poor Daddy. He must have been so relieved that it wasn’t me.” Tessa reached over and grasped Dante’s hand, wanting to comfort him. God, how she wished that Dante’s Amy had survived, too. “When Daddy told the sheriff that the girl wasn’t me, what happened then?”