Authors: Erica Spindler
“That’s between me and Mira.”
Again, he let that pass. For now. “How long were you at her home?”
“Twenty minutes tops.”
“You left there and did what?”
“Started moving into my new place.”
“Renting?”
“No. My maternal grandmother died recently. It was her house, she left it to me. I spent the day doing that.”
“See anyone?”
“The guys I hired to move me.”
Malone asked the name of the company, then jotted down his answer.
The lawyer spoke up. “Is that all, Detective?”
Malone flipped through his spiral, pretending to consider the question, then shut it. “For now.”
They all stood. “By the way,” Malone said, “Mira Gallier found the body.”
Scott stiffened. “Excuse me?”
“She found the body. She was pretty shook up.”
The information threw him, although Malone could see he tried to hide it. He could almost feel sorry for the guy—if he didn’t suspect him of being a murdering son of a bitch.
“You don’t find it odd, Mr. Scott, that these murders have all occurred since you returned to New Orleans? Or the fact they all connect to your friend Mira?”
“I haven’t thought about it.”
“Really? I find that hard to believe.”
“Why should I? I had nothing to do with them. It’s an odd coincidence, that’s all.”
“I don’t believe in coincidences.”
“That’s your problem then, isn’t it?”
“Mira Gallier’s thought about it. She’s thought about it a lot.” Malone paused a moment to let that sink in. “And she finds it odd, too.”
Scott flinched. Malone pressed on, deciding to take a stab at him. “I understand you have both a key to Mira Gallier’s home and knowledge of the alarm code.”
“Pardon me?”
“You were Mira and Jeff Gallier’s best friend. They trusted you with a key and alarm code.”
Scott was scrambling to right himself. “That was years ago. What could that have to do with now?”
“What indeed?” He looked down at his imaginary notes. “I see you’re in love with your
friend
Mira Gallier.”
Scott blanched. “Mira told you that?”
Bull’s-eye.
“Love is one of the most powerful motivators there is. Love, hate, greed: the holy trinity of murder.”
Knight stepped in. “That’s enough, Detective. Connor, we’re leaving.”
“I’ll walk you to the elevator, said Malone.”
They stepped into the hall. Bayle appeared at the door of the viewing room. Scott saw her and stopped. They stared at each other, and in those seconds Malone couldn’t see Scott’s expression, but Bayle looked like a deer caught in headlights.
Then the expression was gone, replaced by cool indifference.
Malone frowned, recalling the first time he and Bayle had questioned Scott. He’d sensed a strong, unpleasant emotion between them. He had asked Bayle about it. What had she said?
That she had met him before. Through a guy she’d been dating. The relationship had ended badly.
It didn’t add up. Could Bayle be so distraught over a relationship that some guy she had been introduced to once stirred that kind of emotion? In both of them?
Maybe it wasn’t some other guy she’d been in a relationship with. Maybe it was Scott. It could explain why she was so set on Gallier’s guilt.
It would also mean her work on this case was anything but objective.
After dropping Scott and his attorney at the elevator, Malone walked back to the viewing room, thoughts racing. He couldn’t bring his suspicions to the captain. Not now, after she had ordered the two of them to put their differences aside and work together. He needed more than a suspicion to take to Captain O’Shay.
Bayle and Percy were waiting. “What did you think?” he asked.
His brother spoke up first. “My guess is, he’ll go straight to her. If they’re in this together, we’ve poked a serious hole in his trust.”
“Bayle?”
“Brilliant, insinuating she shared the same personal information he’d withheld.”
“Did you notice, he never asked where the body was found or how she died?” Malone didn’t take his gaze from Bayle. “I like that he admitted being in the vicinity of the scene. That helps.”
“In my opinion,” she said, “that supports his version of events.”
Malone inclined his head. “Maybe. When I told him Mira had discovered the body, he looked as if I’d punched him in the gut. He didn’t expect that.”
“Or like it,” Percy added. “He’s definitely got it bad for her. You must’ve hit it earlier, Bayle. The father-in-law was the intended target. He did it for the woman he loves.”
Something vulnerable crossed Bayle’s face, then vanished. She cleared her throat. “Where do we go from here?”
“Let’s stay on the pathologist. Also, I want the security video and code records from the Scott residence.”
“I got that,” Percy said. “I’ll check in as soon as I have something.”
His brother left them alone. Malone turned to his partner. “You’re quiet, Bayle.”
“Am I?”
“No thoughts?”
“I’d like to go over the interview again, then I’ll contact the moving company.”
As she started off, he stopped her. “What happened earlier, can we put it behind us?”
“I don’t know, can we?”
“I’d like to try.” He held out a hand. “Partners?”
She hesitated, then took it. “Partners.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
Wednesday, August 17
8:40
P.M.
Connor hadn’t been home. Mira had waited outside his parents’ home for a few minutes before getting cold feet and driving off. She had tried his cell phone but had hung up without leaving a message. She had no idea what she would say to him. She couldn’t ask him to prove she could trust him. What would that even take?
And where did she go now?
Not home. Not yet. She couldn’t stand the thought of being in the house. Alone with her thoughts and the memory of what had happened just across the lawn.
So she drove, with no particular destination in mind, Nola riding shotgun, nose pressed to the cracked window. The mindlessness of it calmed her. Focusing on the road and the simple chore of driving helped to chase away the horrific image of Mrs. Latrobe. And to keep her own terror at bay.
Did the killer have a number waiting for her?
Mira found herself in front of her old studio. She hadn’t been by in a long time, since just a couple months after the storm. She parked across the street, lowered the window and stared, remembering it as it had been on her first visit after the water retreated.
Like a futuristic scene after nuclear war. Everything painted the gray of dried, cracked mud. The trees covered in it. Bushes and lawns. The dilapidated structures that had once been homes and businesses. And no sound. Not of birds singing or children playing.
No life.
Slowly but surely the area was being built back up. The devastation had been so complete that the dotting of homes seemed to her a monumental act of courage. And faith.
While she sat and stared, a woman emerged from the house, carrying a bag of trash. She saw Mira and looked curiously at her, then went around to the side of the building, dumped the garbage and made her way back around front.
As the woman reached the porch, she stopped and looked back at Mira in question.
She didn’t belong here anymore. This wasn’t her life.
Dump the garbage, Mira.
It was time to let go. Time to move on.
The truth of that burst through her, leveling the protective walls she’d erected, shattering the layers of grief, regret and guilt that held her in their grip.
The garbage. Take it out.
Let it go.
She wanted to live again—life with all its complicated, messy pieces. Chores. Work. Friends. Relationships.
Love.
She
could
love again. She could be loved.
Connor.
Take a chance, Mira. Live again.
The thought startled her. The garbage: everything holding her back, good memories and bad ones. The past. Jeff. It was time to let go. Time to move on.
Now she drove with purpose. Uptown toward the Riverbend, taking Carrollton to Oak Street. She eased into the parking lot beside her current studio.
She gazed at the structure, satisfaction washing over her. This felt right. She belonged here now, it was home.
Mira climbed out. “Come, Nola,” she said, snapping the leash to the dog’s collar.
They made their way around front. Just as it should have been, the studio was locked up tight. Mira let herself in, then disabled the alarm. It was Nola’s first visit to the studio and although she was excited by the new smells, she seemed to understand it wasn’t the place to romp.
Mira slid open the pocket doors and headed into the workroom. The Magdalene window was waiting for her. The saint gazing out at the world, forever brokenhearted.
How like the saint she had been. Grief unchanging. Separated from the world—and from life—by a grim wall of her own making.
Had been. No more.
She laughed, feeling young and free. And new. Amid the blood and the death, she had come back to life.
Suddenly, Nola growled. That sound was followed by another.
Tap, tap, tap.
Mira froze. Nola growled again.
Tap, tap, tap …
She looked at Nola. Her attention seemed to be trained on the rear door and windows. Something moved outside. A scream rose in her throat.
Then she saw what it was. Or rather, who it was.
Chris. He’d been tapping on the window.
She hurried over and opened the door. He stumbled in, a huge gash in his arm.
“My God, Chris, what happened!”
“I was working. I slipped.”
“Working? Do you know what time it is?”
“I have work lights. I thought I’d work late, since it’s cooler. I got sloppy.”
“Because you’re tired! Come on, let me get a look at it.”
She led him to the kitchen. In her line of work, she dealt with a lot of cuts. She was well versed in how to tend them and when they needed professional attention.
She cleaned the wound, being as gentle as she could. She knew it hurt.
As if on cue, he winced. “That stings.”
“I’ll bet. Sorry.” She examined the cut. “Not as deep as I thought it would be.”
“That’s good.”
“Your call, Chris. I think you’re okay without stitches, but if you—”
“No stitches. Just a bandage.”
“You got it.” She collected what she needed. “No more night work, okay? Besides, you scared me to death. And you’re lucky Nola didn’t eat you.”
He grinned sheepishly. “I guess I am. No more night work. What are you doing here tonight?”
“I’m not really sure. I just am.” She cut off strips of tape.
At his silence, she glanced up at him. “I’m not trying to be vague. I really don’t know for certain. Could be I wanted to see Maggie.” She motioned the window. “She helps me focus sometimes.”
“Or?”
“I didn’t want to be home.”
“How come?”
She applied antibiotic cream to the square of gauze, then carefully fitted it over the wound. “My neighbor was murdered. I found her.”
“Good God, Mira. That’s awful.” He touched her hand. “Are you all right?”
“I am now.” She thought about sharing her newfound freedom with him, then decided not to. “There you go,” she said, finishing taping the bandage. “Keep it clean and dry.”
He smiled. “Yes, Dr. Gallier.”
She returned the smile. “You go on. I’ve got this.”
He hesitated, watching her pack up the first aid kit. She glanced at him. “I’m fine. You don’t have to stay. I know you’re tired.”
“But I could, if you need me to.”
She smiled slightly. “That’s really sweet, but I’m good.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Spend a little time with Mags, then head home. I’ve got to go sometime, right?”
“I suppose.”
She carried the kit back to the pantry. He hadn’t moved. “You can go. Really.”
He didn’t look comfortable with it, but he nodded. “See you in the morning?”
“See you then.”
He started off; she stopped him. “Chris?” He looked back at her. “Tuesday night, when I was over at Deni’s, were you there?”
“Tuesday night?” He shook his head. “I didn’t even know you were at Deni’s.”
“I spent the night. I thought she told you.”
“Nope. Why did you think I was there?”
“In the middle of the night, I thought I heard you talking. Probably just the TV.”
“Probably. She sometimes leaves it on all night.”
“Are you guys okay?”
He hesitated a moment. “Yeah, we’re good.”
She frowned. “You don’t sound convinced.”
“It’s just that sometimes … never mind.”
“No, tell me.”
“Sometimes, it’s like I don’t know her at all. It’s like she’s … a whole different person.”
The comment chilled her. Maybe because it mirrored what she had learned about Dr. Jasper. And what she was feeling about everyone in her life.
He was looking at her strangely and she wondered what he was reading in her expression. She cleared her throat. “Women can be moody. Maybe it’s just that.”
“Maybe.” He paused. “Look, it’s getting late and I don’t feel comfortable leaving you here alone. Especially with the … all the crazy stuff that’s been happening.”
“I’ve got Nola.”
“Still, please let me walk you to your car. If you’re not ready to go, I’ll wait in the kitchen or something.”
Mira looked back at the Magdalene window, realizing that everything she had wanted to glean by sitting here, she already had.
“You’re right, Chris. It is late and I would appreciate you walking me out.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
Wednesday, August 17
9:50
P.M.
Connor was waiting for her when she got home, sitting on her front step. He stood when she climbed out of the car.
Nola bounded over to him. He bent and scratched behind her ears and thumped her side. “Hey, girl. You doing good?”