Deceived (8 page)

He frowned. “Your questions can really wear a person out.”

She shrugged. “But I’m correct. Right?”

“On all fronts. I wasn’t hiding anything, though. I was answering Joe’s question, as he asked it,” Brandon said, “and I’ll call Joe now and tell him, so no one really thinks that I was trying to conceal anything.”

“He was going home when I talked to him earlier.”

Brandon shrugged. “I have his duty number. He’ll get the message in the morning, if he isn’t sleeping with his cell by his bed.” Brandon pressed a few buttons on the display on his car’s dash, directing the phone to dial the fourth most recent number. The car’s speakers relayed the rings, then Joe’s voice directed the caller to leave a message. “Joe. It’s Brandon. Nothing urgent. Only an update. I put some feelers out on the streets, as I said I would. I also thought you might want to know about Lisa’s research project, because Taylor is asking me about it. It involves my family history, and also Taylor Bartholomew’s family history.”

Taylor hadn’t thought about it that way, but Brandon was right. If Lisa was looking into the Morrissey treason case, she was also looking into the history of HBW Shipbuilding Enterprises. Anything involving HBW history involved Bartholomew family history.

Brandon continued with his message to Joe, “That’s why Lisa came to see me in the first place. She didn’t come for legal advice. She was researching spies of World War II, and, in particular, my grandfather’s treason case. Call me when you get this message. Or call Taylor. She thought that you might be interested in this.” He broke the connection. “Satisfied?”

“Yes,” she said, “You really wanted Joe to hear that from you rather than me, right?”

He nodded. “After Joe interviewed me, I couldn’t seem to stop thinking what-the-hell-if. What if her murder could have been related to her research? It’s a long shot, but given my family history, I can’t get it out of my mind. So, I sure as hell didn’t want Joe to think I was hiding something, as you insinuated. I might not worry much about the NOPD, but I also do not play games with homicide detectives.”

With the touch of one button he made another phone call. “Hello, Esme. Is Michael sleeping?”

“Soundly. He finished a bottle a half hour ago and now he’s out. I think that gives us another two and a half or three hours.”

“Call me if you need me.”

Brandon pulled the key out of the ignition, and reached into the backseat for his laptop case. “Look. I really feel bad about what happened at Marvin’s house.”

“Don’t,” she said, taking in the serious set of his jaw and the apologetic look in his eyes. “I can handle it.”

He gave her a glance that said that he wasn’t so sure, then said, “If you’re still interested in Lisa’s research, come into the house with me.”

“You must really feel bad to be this nice.”

He shook his head. “I do feel bad, but that isn’t why I’m inviting you in. I want to show you how easy it would have been for Joe to figure out what Lisa was researching, if Joe had been interested.”

“Ah,” she said, “so you’re still trying to teach me a lesson.”

He shrugged, but didn’t deny it. Taylor was curious, so she followed Brandon into Lisa’s house, which looked as it had in the afternoon. As Brandon went to the study and flipped on the lights, Taylor typed a text for Carolyn.
“Hey. I’m running late. All good.”
She hesitated.
“Be home in a couple of hours.”
She thought she’d be home in an hour, but it was best to overestimate. She didn’t want Carolyn to worry. Her next text was for Andi. It was late, but Andi and Collette would be up, watching movies.
“Are you guys all right?”
What Taylor really meant was, is Collette ok, and Taylor knew that Andi would know what she meant.

Andi’s reply was instant.
“All good here, but I might spend the night.”

Spending the night meant that Andi was worried. Taylor replied,
“Let me know if you guys need anything.”

“I can handle this,”
Andi answered.
“We can talk in the morning. Get some sleep before your last day of work, and the first day of the rest of your life. You’ll be the best general counsel ever. :)”

Her good friend was trying to make her feel better about her current funk at switching careers. Taylor wanted to hug her.
“Love u.”

Taylor dropped her phone in her purse. Brandon was standing over a stack of boxes. “Joe and Tony could have done this. In a minute.” He pulled something out of his pocket, then pressed a button that revealed a shiny six-inch blade.

“Do you always carry that knife?”

He glanced at her. “Almost always.” He used the blade to open boxes that were labeled research. After looking in the boxes for a minute, he said, “Well, it would have been hard for them to piece it together from what’s in these boxes.”

At the small couch, he sat and reached for the ottoman. He lifted the top portion of it, which was hinged. “I saw this the other night when I was babysitting.” He pulled out a binder and slipped a jump drive from a plastic pouch. “There’s more binders in the ottoman, with more jump drives.”

Brandon pulled his laptop out of the case, and slipped in a jump drive. Taylor sat next to Brandon as he opened the files. She asked, “You read her work?”

“I didn’t read it, but I did see it. I moved the ottoman with my feet, the weight of it was odd, and I opened it when I realized the top was hinged. I thought it was a clever hiding space and that it would be a good thing to have on a boat, where storage is always a challenge. Here,” Brandon said, “this folder was labeled background.” He positioned the screen so that they both could read Lisa’s text.

The names of the four men - - Andrew Hutchenson I, Benjamin Morrissey, George Bartholomew Sr., and Charles Westerfeld - - who designed and built the Hutchenson Landing Craft are legendary. The Hutchenson, Bartholomew, and Westerfeld families remain prominent in New Orleans’s elite social circles
.

Seeing the Bartholomew name in print wasn’t unusual for Taylor. The Bartholomew family, and HBW Shipbuilding Enterprises, were woven into New Orleans history and were current day newsmakers. The story of HBW and the Morrissey treason case had been told before. Seeing it in black and white, in Lisa’s apartment, made her wonder why Lisa had focused on it and whether she could have shed new light on facts that had been aired again and again.

As Brandon and Taylor shared the small couch and the laptop, his leg pressed against hers and his arm touched her bare skin. He had shaved his face since she’d been at his house. Loose, thick waves of dark hair were neatly combed. Black pants and a pure white, long-sleeve, button-down shirt perfectly draped over his long-limbed, lean, and muscular body. His skin was smooth and clear and his cheeks had natural color, as though he spent time outdoors. He emitted warmth and his scent, well, it was fresh and light, and she paused. She inhaled, focusing. Despite his tough-guy masculinity, he smelled like a baby.

She started laughing.

Jade green eyes studied her. “What’s funny?”

“You smell like baby powder.”

With the first real smile that Taylor saw from Brandon, the weight of untold problems fell from his eyes. He chuckled, then shrugged. “I’ve gotten more on me today than on Michael.”

He was gorgeous when he smiled. He had straight, white teeth, full lips, and the smile didn’t end there. His eyes lightened, and his smile brought a few crinkles to the corners of his eyes. It was simply a smile, she reminded herself, but as he held her gaze for a few extra seconds, and looked into her eyes, she couldn’t stop looking at him. It was only a smile, but the lightness of it stood in sharp contrast to his hard-edged masculinity. He didn’t conform to the norms of the men with whom she typically associated, and his individualistic attitude, coupled with his rough good looks, was intriguing. Sweet-scented baby powder had no business falling on this man, whose eyes revealed a serious soul. As she drew a few breaths laced with the out-of-context scent, she became aware of how close they were sitting, and how his sharp focus on her eyes made her feel as though he saw straight through her pretensions. As though he could tell that her pretty clothes, her careful make-up, and the polished image that she projected were her way of shielding her ultra-vulnerable self from the world. Suddenly, the lack of distance between them was too intimate. It was wrong, on many levels, especially there, where both Lisa’s presence and her tragic end were palpable. Taylor shifted to the right, placing a few inches between them, as he shifted to the left.

“I didn’t mean to crowd you,” Brandon said, as his smile faded. He gestured to his laptop. “Lisa was focusing on home-grown spies of World War II. In particular, the Hutchenson Landing Craft, how it changed the war, and how the craft that won the war for the Allies almost landed in Hitler’s hands, thanks, as most people say, to my grandfather.”

“And that’s what Lisa went to see you about?”

Brandon nodded. “A year ago, when she came to see me, she was beginning her research. I didn’t want to talk about it,” his eyes flickered with intensity, “but I met with her because I wanted to make sure that she didn’t go to anyone else in my family.”

Taylor thought about letting it go. She couldn’t, though. She followed her natural inclination to ask, “Why?”

He was silent, then let out a long breath. “My father was obsessed with his belief that his father was falsely convicted. He was unable to cope when real adversity hit. Now, my mother is sixty-nine years old. She’s still sharp, but I didn’t want her to be bothered with this. I wanted to spare Kate from dealing with it and,” he drew a deep breath, “my brother, Victor,” he paused, “doesn’t live here and is generally unavailable. So I headed Lisa off at the pass by meeting with her.”

A pulse throbbed at his temple, revealing an emotional toll that wasn’t detectable through the flat tone of his voice. Taylor felt a twinge of nervousness. It wasn’t polite to ask such personal questions. Yet she was fascinated, because she’d never thought about her luck at being born a Bartholomew, on the good side of history, and the bad luck of being born a Morrissey, with a notorious war criminal for a grandfather.

Brandon turned his attention to Lisa’s text. Taylor followed his gaze.

World War II would ultimately require the cancellation of Mardi Gras for two years. However, in New Orleans, in 1937, during carnival season, despite current world events being grim, Mardi Gras revelers filled the French Quarter and spilled into the surrounding streets. It was the Monday before Mardi Gras when Andrew Hutchenson returned to HBW&M Shipyard’s main office on the bank of the Mississippi River, where Canal Street met the river. He brought with him a design for a boat that the Japanese were using. He believed it could be adapted to carry modern tanks and land on beaches. For three years, the partners of HBW&M worked on designing the boat that would ultimately be known as the Hutchenson Landing Craft. Morrissey alone was convicted of attempting to sell the design to the Nazis. My research looks into whether Morrissey was framed.

Taylor glanced at Brandon. “Whether your grandfather was framed? Now that’s a novel idea.”

“Seriously?”

“I’ve never heard anyone suggest that your grandfather was framed.”

He shook his head. “Maybe that idea isn’t trumpeted in your circles, but you wouldn’t think it was so original if you had grown up with Marcus Morrissey as your father.”

There was something about him, something that made the history of HBW and the Hutchenson Landing Craft, even the preposterous idea that Morrissey was framed, downright fascinating. She glanced at her watch, where the hands had drifted past midnight. Seven a.m., when she needed to awaken for her last day of work, was going to come fast, but something about Brandon made her not mind that it was late. She hadn’t eaten dinner, but also wasn’t the least bit worried about food. His patronizing, teach-her-a-lesson motivation that had caused him to take her to Marvin’s house was now only a distant memory. Maybe it was his rough good looks, the body warmth that he emitted, and his intense stare with those light eyes, but as he focused on the computer screen, she couldn’t deny that she was attracted to him, and that realization made her uncomfortable. He wasn’t the type of guy to whom she should be attracted. She forced herself to read Lisa’s words.

Hutchenson, Bartholomew, and Westerfeld held engineering degrees and were from old New Orleans families. Bartholomew and Hutchenson had wealth, but the depression had drained their family fortunes. Westerfeld did not have the family wealth that Hutchenson and Bartholomew had, but his family had strong political ties. In the late 1930s and 40s, Westerfeld’s father was a senior member of the Senate and a close friend of President Roosevelt. In contrast to the other principals of HBW&M, Benjamin Morrissey had no formal schooling and no family wealth. He was from Galliano, a small town in South Louisiana and had experience designing and building a wide range of boats. The role each man took in the design, production, and contract procurement of the landing craft, that is ultimately credited with winning the war, varies depending upon the source of the information.

Taylor read the last sentence again, then glanced at Brandon. “What is your version of the facts?”

“I only know what my father used to say, as he rambled on and on. It can be reduced to a few facts. Benjamin designed the landing craft’s innovations, the other men gave him none of the credit, and Benjamin was falsely accused of being a traitor.” He shrugged. “I told Lisa what my father used to say.” Both pulled away from their locked gaze and turned back to the screen.