The Whispering Room (25 page)

They were so close she could smell his aftershave, could feel his breath warm against her face. Evangeline shivered, both in dread and anticipation because he had denied none of her accusations.

“You wanted me to see those files.”

“I wanted you to stop asking questions about Johnny.”

A silence fell between them.

“Do you want me to go?” Nash finally asked.

Evangeline shivered as she stared out into the night. She felt his hand on her neck, in her hair and something gave way inside her.

She closed her eyes and told herself this wasn't a betrayal. Johnny was dead. And before he died, he'd betrayed
her.
Maybe not with a woman, but in
a way that hurt her every bit as much as infidelity. Maybe more.

Nash was watching her, and his eyes darkened as she reached up to touch his cheek, to trace the strong contour of his jaw with her fingertip, to outline his mouth with the pad of her thumb.

He didn't move, even when she wound her fingers around his neck, but his eyes dared her to forget.

She pulled him toward her and they kissed.

Evangeline couldn't stop trembling. She hadn't been with another man since Johnny. Abstinence had never been a conscious decision, but her grief had allowed no room for any other emotion. Now it was as if a fragile dam had broken and a pent-up need rushed out of her.

She tugged at Nash's clothes; ran her hands up and down his hard body; opened her mouth and deepened the kiss.

“I can't stop thinking about you,” he said against her neck. “You've been driving me crazy since the first day I met you. And I swore I'd never let another woman do that to me.”

“You mean this?”

She jerked his shirt apart and the buttons went flying.

He laughed softly against her mouth.

They shed clothes all the way to the bedroom, and when they fell back against the mattress, Evangeline
didn't bother crawling underneath the cover. She lay naked on top of the quilt, watching him. Not caring that he watched her right back, not caring that he was seeing her in a way that no man but one had seen her in years.

 

A little while later, they got up and showered together, and afterward Nash brought Evangeline a glass of wine. She sipped it in bed while she watched him knot his tie in the mirror.

He looked amused by her scrutiny. “What?”

“Do you even own a pair of jeans?”

“That's an odd question to ask at a time like this.”

“It seems the perfect time to ask.” She studied him over the rim of her glass. “I really don't know anything about you.”

His gaze met hers in the mirror. “That's not exactly true.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Okay. I do own a couple of pairs of jeans. I even wear them once in a while. Never at work, though.”

“Are you implying this is work?”

“Hardly.” He turned from the mirror and came back over to the bed. Placing one hand on either side of her, he leaned down and kissed her. “This is what I call incredible.”

“It is. Was.” But self-doubt filled Evangeline and she was glad when he straightened and moved away.

The phone rang, but she decided to let the machine
pick up in the other room. After her recorded message, she heard only silence and, after a moment, the soft click that severed the connection.

Her glance darted to Nash. His reflection stared back at her, and she remembered what she'd told him earlier about hang-up calls. She always imagined that Johnny was on the other end of the line.

He reached for his jacket. “I should get going. I need to put in a few more hours at the office tonight.” He turned with an apologetic smile. “I'm terrible at this. I've been married to my job for so long, I make lousy company.”

Evangeline drew up her legs under the cover and rested the wineglass on her knee. “I'm not so great at it, either.”

He came over and sat down on the edge of the bed. “I'm no good at relationships, Evangeline. I've got two failed marriages to prove it.”

“So you've mentioned.”

“I just want you to know what you're getting into.”

“Who says I'm getting into anything? Tonight was great, but it was just one night.” She paused. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

He took the wineglass from her hand and set it on the nightstand, then draped an arm over her knees. “This may sound corny and totally insincere considering how long I've known you, but tonight meant something to me.”
“It meant something to me, too, but I don't expect anything. And you shouldn't expect anything from me, either. I'm not ready for a relationship. It's too soon, and I have my son to think about and a career that also takes a huge commitment, just like yours. I don't have a lot of energy left over for anything else.”

“You had plenty of energy earlier,” he teased.

She felt her face heat. “I'm just trying to tell you, you don't need to worry about me. We had a nice night. I'm cool with leaving it at that.”

She reached for her robe, slipped it on and walked him out. Locking the door behind him, she moved to the window and watched him leave. He strode down the walkway to his car and climbed in, but he didn't start the engine right away. Instead he sat there for so long that she wondered if he meant to come back inside. Then she decided that he must be watching the house. She was a cop, so a part of her resented the intrusion while another part felt touched by his concern.

Surely he would leave in a minute, she thought. Surely he knew that she could take care of herself.

She left the window and took her time washing out the wineglasses and tidying up the kitchen. Before she turned in, she glanced out the window again.

Nash was still out there.

I
t was a fairly simple matter to locate an address for Mike and Nella Blanchard. They lived in one of the subdivisions out by the lake, and as soon as Evangeline could get away from the station the next morning, she grabbed a car from the motor pool and took a run out there.

The air was cooler away from the city, and as Evangeline rolled down her window, she could smell brine and sand and flowers. The lake was slate-gray and glistening with diamonds, though farther out, a dark cloud had formed, and where the sunlight hit water droplets, a rainbow arced over the surface. The scenery was almost dreamlike, a prism of soft colors that blurred and melted into the horizon.

She found the Blanchard house tucked neatly into a landscaped cul-de-sac. It was similar to the
other modest ranch-style homes in the neighborhood. A chain-link fence enclosed the backyard, and a black mutt had already started to howl by the time she climbed out of the car.

A woman in a straw hat sat on the front porch snapping pole beans into a plastic bowl. “Hush, Maggie!” she hollered at the dog, then watched Evangeline suspiciously from beneath the brim of her hat.

Evangeline came to the bottom of the steps and stopped. “Good morning.”

The woman nodded and smiled. “Morning.”

She was probably in her late fifties or early sixties, but her high cheekbones and dewy complexion gave her the kind of timeless beauty that only softened with age. Her fingers continued snapping the beans, but her hazel eyes never left Evangeline.

“I'm looking for a Mrs. Blanchard. Nella Blanchard.”

“Well, you've found her. And who are you?”

“I'm Detective Theroux.” Evangeline opened her ID and held it up.

The woman squinted as she read aloud, “New Orleans Police Department.” She looked a little taken aback. “Now what in the world would the New Orleans Police Department want with me?”

“I'm hoping you can answer some questions for me,” Evangeline said. “I was down in Torrence yes
terday. The sheriff there told me that you're related to Mary Alice Lemay. A cousin, I believe he said.”

The hazel eyes flickered as the silence stretched out like a thin, quivering wire.

“He said you're the one who made the call to the station that morning.”

A subtle change came over the woman's features then. It was like watching a storm cloud sweep across the sun. “I don't like thinking about that day, much less talking about it.”

“I can understand that,” Evangeline said softly.

“Not many days go by that I don't think about it, though.”

“It must be a painful memory for you.”

“You have no idea.” She glanced down the steps, her eyes wary beneath the brim of her hat.

“All that happened a long time ago,” she said.

“I know. But the murder of those little boys may be connected to a more recent homicide here in New Orleans.”

She tried not to react, but Evangeline could see the shock in her eyes, and then the confusion. “I don't see how that could be.”

“There were two little girls left alive that day.”

“Ruth and Rebecca.”

“That's right.”

Nella looked out over the yard. Evangeline could see her eyes moving along the sidewalk, lifting to the sky, watching the dark cloud coming ashore. A few
drops splattered against the porch steps and on Evangeline's bare arms. The rain was cool and bracing and, closing her eyes, she turned her own face to the sky.

When she glanced at the porch again, Nella was staring back at her. She had the strangest look on her face, as if something had caught her by surprise.

“Can you tell me about them?” Evangeline asked.

Nella's eyes searched her face. “They were beautiful,” she said. “Like angels.”

“Could you walk me through what you saw that day? I know it's been a long time, but just tell me what you remember.”

She set the plastic bowl on the porch and straightened. For a moment, Evangeline thought the older woman had chosen not to speak with her, but then she realized that Nella was lost in thought. Her eyes grew distant and her facial muscles slackened as she worked her way back in time. And then she shuddered deeply.

“The first thing I noticed was the silence. All those children and there wasn't any racket at all. It was unnatural, like the stillness of a tomb.”

Slowly, she took Evangeline through the story, her recollection of that day so vivid that Evangeline could picture the scene in her mind as they walked from room to room, searching for some sign of the children.

Evangeline had been in that house the day before,
so she knew those rooms. She knew the quiet of that house, the eerie echo of all those tormented whispers and screams.

“When I came back into the hallway, I heard a sound coming from the room beneath the stairs. I opened the door and found one of the girls inside. I didn't know which one she was, though. They looked so much alike, I was never able to tell them apart.”

“Where was the other girl?”

“I didn't see her until I went upstairs. She was at the end of the hallway, and when she came toward me, I noticed that she had blood on her clothes. I asked her if she was hurt, but she said Jacob had got the blood on her when he grabbed her dress. I asked her then if Jacob was hurt, and she said—I'll never forget this—she said, ‘Jacob doesn't hurt anymore.' That's when it hit me. The realization of what Mary Alice had done. And all I could think was that I had to get those two little girls out of there before she came back. No matter what, I had to save them.”

“What about the baby?” Evangeline asked.

Nella's face went deathly white. “What do you know about the baby?”

“I know the body was never found. The sheriff in Torrence seems to think that Mary Alice threw him in the swamp.”

Nella put her hands to her face.

“I'm sorry,” Evangeline said. “I know this is upsetting to you. Maybe it'll help if I tell you the
reason I need to know about that baby. Someone is killing off all the male members of the Lemay family because they think evil is being passed on through the genes. I know it sounds crazy, like some weird science fiction movie or something, but three men have been murdered in cold blood. An uncle and two cousins. If that baby lived, his life would be in danger. And if he had male children, their lives would be in danger, as well. I don't want any more bloodshed in that family. I don't think you do, either.”

Nella's hands dropped and she slowly looked up. “You have it all wrong.”

“I do?”

She searched Evangeline's face. “What makes you think that baby was a boy?” she finally asked.

“Just an assumption, I guess. Are you telling me it was a girl?”

“Yes. The baby Mary Alice gave birth to that morning was a little girl.”

Evangeline frowned. “And she lived?”

Nella closed her eyes and nodded. “She was alive the last time I saw her.”

“When was that?”

“I found her in the room beneath the stairs with one of her sisters. I left them there while I went upstairs to look around. When I came back down, the baby was alone in the room. Ruth and Rebecca had vanished.”

“What did you do?”

“There wasn't a phone at the house so I took the baby with me to go call for help. When the sheriff got there, he found Mary Alice and the girls sitting on the front steps, all dressed up as if they were ready for church. It was a sight he said he would never forget as long as he lived.”

“And the baby?”

“I took her.”

Evangeline felt a punch of dread in her stomach. “What do you mean, you took her?”

“The sheriff asked me to find her a good home. We were both afraid of what would happen to her if she was put in the system. Who would adopt a child coming from that kind of background? With that kind of stigma? My best friend's sister had been trying for years to have another baby. She'd suffered one miscarriage after the other. When I told the sheriff about her, he said to make the arrangements and he would see to a birth certificate.”

Evangeline could feel something dark growing and swelling inside her. The dread started in the pit of her stomach and mushroomed up through her chest. “What was the woman's name?”

“I'm trying to remember her married name. It's been years since we kept in touch.”

But she knew. The truth was in her eyes, in the tremble of her lips. She knew.

And so did Evangeline.

“The woman's name was Jennings,” Nella whispered. “Lynette Jennings.”

 

Evangeline's heart was in her throat as she drove like a bat out of hell to her mother's house.

To Lynette Jennings's house.

Her real mother was Mary Alice Lemay. Her veins were tainted with Mary Alice's blood. Her DNA was encoded with Charles Lemay's genes.

And now those same genes had been passed down to her son. And because of his heritage, his life could be in danger.

Evangeline pressed the cell phone to her ear, willing her mother to pick up. When she heard Lynette's voice, a myriad of emotions swirled through her head. Anger. Betrayal. Disbelief. No time for any of that now, though. Later, there would be reckoning, but the only thing that mattered now was her son.

“Mom?” How strange it seemed to call her that now. “Listen to me. I think J.D. could be in danger—” Evangeline gripped the phone as a string of questions erupted from Lynette. “No, Mom…just listen. I don't have time to explain.” She realized she was yelling into the phone, and she drew a quick breath, trying to calm herself. “You need to make sure all the doors are locked, and don't let anyone inside. I'm calling Mitchell as soon as we hang up. He may get there before I do.”

“Evangeline, honey, what is going on—”

“Mom, please, just do as I say. I'll explain everything as soon as I can.”

Evangeline's mind raced as she accelerated through the busy streets. All she could think about at the moment was making sure J.D. was safe.

But a voice kept pounding away inside her.
Mary Alice Lemay is your mother. A woman who murdered her own sons gave birth to you. You carry the genes of Earl, Carl and Charles Lemay.

Jesus. Christ.

She came from a long line of cold-blooded murderers.

How the hell was she supposed to wrap her head around that?

Don't think about that now. Don't!

J.D. was all that mattered. She couldn't let herself think of anything but saving her son. Her precious little boy.

“I'm coming,” she whispered.

 

Lynette didn't need a premonition to warn her something bad was about to happen. Her daughter's fear had been palpable. Someone wanted to hurt J.D., but they'd have to get past Lynette first. She might not be the best mother in the world, but she was no coward when it came to her children and their children. She would fight to the death to protect any of them.

She ran down the hallway to the bedroom where she kept J.D.'s crib. Flinging open the door, she froze on the threshold, her heart in her throat.

A woman glanced up as she lifted J.D. into her
arms. She was blond and thin and pale, and something that might have been a memory wormed through Lynette's terror. Did she know this woman?

“What are you doing?” she said on a gasp. “Give me my grandson.”

She started across the room, but the woman moved away from her. “Stop right there. Don't come any closer.”

Lynette shivered at the woman's threatening tone. “Dear God, how did you get in here? Who are you?”

“My last name is Lemay,” the woman said. “Now do you know who I am?”

Lynette's knees almost buckled. “Mary Alice,” she whispered.

“I'm her daughter.”

“What do you want?” Lynette's heart pounded so hard she couldn't think. She had to do something…but what? She was terrified the woman would hurt the baby if she tried to take him by force. But there was no way in hell she would let a stranger walk out of this house with her grandson.
No way in hell.

A shadow fell across her and she whirled.

A tall, pale man stood behind her. The man with the scarred face and gleaming eyes. As Lynette watched in horrified fascination, he lifted his right hand over his head so that she could see the wriggling water moccasin he clutched behind the thick head.

As he clung to the serpent, his lips moved silently,
his eyes beginning to glow with the righteous fire of madness.

Then he began to speak in a strange tongue, his body writhing in imitation of the snake that was trying to get away.

Lynette had never been so frightened in her life, but the only thing that kept her from collapsing in terror was J.D. He had started to cry, and she half turned her head toward the sound while keeping her gaze fixed on the creature before her.