Dangerous Mercy: A Novel (3 page)

CHAPTER 2

Zoe Broussard stood on the gallery outside her apartment above Zoe B’s Cajun Eatery. The late-morning breeze was thick with humidity and the melded aromas of ground coffee, chocolate, and caramel corn wafting from the quaint shops along
rue Madeline
. Across the street, Madame Duval waved from amidst a garden of blooming plants on the gallery that jutted out over the Coy Cajun Gift Shop.

A FedEx truck pulled up behind the horse-drawn carriage that was unloading passengers in front of the Hotel Peltier. Two little boys and a cocker spaniel raced down the sidewalk, chasing a runaway balloon.

Zoe glanced at her watch. She missed Grace and wondered how Adele was holding up with a lively two-year-old in the house. She went inside the apartment and slid the glass door shut, then went out the front door. She skipped down the wooden staircase and walked through the alcove, past the office, and into the cozy dining room at Zoe B’s.

The breakfast crowd was long gone, the empty tables set with clean blue-and-gold fleur-de-lis tablecloths, a bud vase and yellow daisy in the center. The pervasive aroma of warm bread and rich seafood gumbo emanated from the kitchen, where her husband, Pierce, was busy preparing something delicious for today’s luncheon special.

Could thirteen years really have passed since she opened this place? The same French country furnishings still flavored the ambience. Little had changed, other than the color scheme and laminated wood plank flooring, the addition of a dozen D’Arceau Limoges collector plates, and the for-sale oil paintings by local artists.

She headed for the window table where her head waitress, Savannah Surette, seemed lost in conversation with Tex Campbell, Father Sam Fournier, and Hebert Lanoux.

“Poetic justice, I’d say.” Savannah filled Hebert’s cup with coffee. “Normally, it’s the people who don’t deserve it who end up victims.”

“Who’s a victim?” Zoe said.

Savannah turned, her blue eyes wide and round, her ponytail swaying. “Girard Darveau, the president of Roux River Bank. I just heard on the radio he was found murdered this morning. It’s hard to feel sorry for him.”

“How’d he die?” Zoe said.

“It appears to have been a robbery. Someone cleaned out his safe and drowned him in the bathtub. The maid found him. He was dressed in a suit and tie.”

“Goodness.” Father Sam pushed a lock of white hair off his forehead. “What a gruesome start to the week. Every human life has value—even his.”

“That might be a hard sell around here.” Tex sat back in his chair, his thumbs hooked on his red suspenders, light from the window making his bald head shiny. “I don’t see many people sheddin’ tears over it.”

“Why would dey?” Hebert leaned forward on his elbows, his mousy gray curls sticking up on one side, the ridges in his leathery skin made deeper by the intensity of his gaze. “Darveau lived high on da hog while workers were left wid nothing when dey got laid off. He foreclosed widout giving folks a chance to make good on dare mortgages.”

“The man had ice in his veins.” Tex wiped his forehead with a red kerchief.

“Well, if y’all will let me finish, there’s a disturbing detail I haven’t even told you yet.” Savannah paused as if to make sure she had everyone’s attention and then continued. “The killer spray painted the number one on the wall—that is, the pound sign followed by the numeral one.”

“What does that
mean?”
Zoe felt a chill crawl up her spine.

“The killer numbered him. At least, that’s what they said on the radio.”

Hebert scratched the gray stubble on his chin. “So if Darveau’s number one, dere must be a number two.”

“The authorities won’t say so,” Savannah said. “But what else could it mean? Why else would a killer number the victim unless he plans to strike again?”

“Heaven help us.” Father Sam took off his thick glasses and wiped his eyes. “You suppose the killer will go after someone else at the bank?”

Pierce Broussard came out of the kitchen, wearing his chef’s hat and apron. He walked over to the table. “Did Savannah tell you what happened to Darveau?”

Everyone nodded.

“Do you know if there are any suspects?” Tex said.

“The sheriff won’t comment during an open investigation.” Pierce put his hands on Zoe’s shoulders. “But if I had a close connection to Girard Darveau, I’d be hiring a bodyguard.”

Zoe’s heart sank. Darveau was the man everyone loved to blame. But murder? Who hated him enough to kill and number him? Was it someone she knew? A customer? A neighbor? Resentment ran deep in the community. It could be anybody.

Sheriff Jude Prejean sat at the oak desk in his office and looked across the street at the stately Saint Catherine Parish Courthouse, its proud white columns glowing in the hot July sun.

The old vendor, Andre Chauvin, stood on the sidewalk at Courthouse and Primeaux, serving up andouille corn dogs to a couple and three little boys.

People strolled round the courthouse grounds, some occupying the wrought-iron benches placed strategically in the shade of the giant live oaks.

The intercom buzzed and then Deputy Chief Aimee Rivette’s voice startled him. “Excuse me, Sheriff. Chief Norman and Mayor Theroux have arrived and are waiting for you in interview room one.”

“I’m on my way.”

Jude got up and walked out of his office, across the detective bureau, and down the hall to the first interview room.

Mayor Oliver Theroux and Les Barbes Police Chief Casey Norman sat on one side of the oblong table.

Jude shook hands with each. “Good to see you. I wish it were under better circumstances.”

“So do I,” the mayor replied. “I understand your departments are working the Darveau murder as concurrent jurisdiction, with you taking the lead. Fill me in.”

Jude sat across from them, his arms folded on the table. “Casey’s officers and my deputies have done a complete sweep of Darveau’s home and grounds, dusted for fingerprints, gathered trace evidence. We’re processing all that now. So far, we have no prints that show up in the system. The maid’s prints were all over the house, but no more abundant at the murder scene than anywhere else.”

“Is she a suspect?” the mayor asked.

“Not at this time. We found a large opening cut in the wrought-iron fence at the back of the property. We believe that’s how the killer gained access. The lock on the back door was also broken. Whoever did this either knew the combination to Darveau’s safe or forced him to empty it. The preliminary evidence supports that Darveau was drugged, and then dragged to the bathtub where he was drowned. The maid weighs about a hundred and twenty pounds. There’s no way she could’ve done this alone. And the woman was beside herself when she made that 911 call. The EMTs had to sedate her. We can’t rule her out as a suspect, but she didn’t react like someone who was involved.”

“So Darveau was alive when he was put in the water?” the mayor asked.

Jude nodded. “That’s what the medical examiner concluded. The cause of death was drowning. But he was drugged. The ME found a significant level of a veterinary sedative called ketamine, which is sold on the street as ‘Special K’ or cat Valium. It’s likely the killer wanted Darveau to know he was being murdered and yet helpless to do anything about it.”

“It shouldn’t surprise us.” Casey tented his fingers. “So many people in this area suffered because of Darveau’s policy on foreclosures. Our concern now should be the number one spray painted on his bathroom wall and how we avoid a number two.”

The mayor nodded. “What are you doing to protect the people who worked with him at the bank?”

“It’s not possible to protect them all,” Jude said. “Casey’s got his officers staked out at the homes of Darveau’s vice president, immediate staff, and board members. And my deputies are posted at Roux River Bank’s main office and six branches. That’s all the personnel we can spare. And we can’t do it indefinitely and expect to adequately serve the rest of the community and the parish. If this guy is determined to strike again, he’s probably smart enough to wait us out.”

“So you’re saying there’s no way to stop him?”

Jude glanced over at Casey. “Probably not, if he’s determined. We need to figure out who he is and catch him before he makes a move on whoever is number two on his list.”

Murray Hamelin pulled his truck onto Jacquard Street and parallel parked in front of the gray frame house with the rocking chairs on the front porch. He walked up the steps, Flynn Gillis on his heels, and pushed open the oak and beveled-glass door of Haven House. He stepped into the living room and was hit with a gust of refrigerated air.

Father Vince came out of the kitchen, a towel draped over his shoulder. “How’d it go? Did you get the furniture moved and the room painted for Adele Woodmore?”

“Yep,” Flynn said. “Murray here’s a whiz kid. All I did is move stuff. I took a nap while he did all the painting.”

“I finished the job,” Murray said. “We’ll go over there tomorrow and move the furniture back.”

Father Vince smiled at Murray. “You’re getting quite a reputation. It’s not easy to find a jack-of-all-trades these days. Every profession is so specialized and expensive. I’ve got a whole list of people who want you to do work for them. You can stay as busy as you want.”

“Good. I’d like to stay busy.” Murray inhaled the aroma of something that made his mouth water. “What’s for dinner?”

“Blackened catfish, coleslaw, and dirty rice. Corn-bread pudding for dessert.”

“Man, I’m starved.” Flynn flopped on the couch. “Think I’ll read the paper until you ring the bell.”

“I could use someone to set the table,” Father Vince said.

Murray glanced at the empty table in the dining room and then shot Flynn a crusty look. “I guess
I’ll
do it.”

“Thanks,” Father Vince said. “I’ve got volunteers for the cleanup.”

“Then I’m off the hook there, too.” Flynn laughed.

“You’re a real
bon rien
, you know that?” Murray said. “You’re supposed to pull your weight around here.”

“Hey, I helped you, didn’t I—for a lousy thirty bucks?”

“You helped me for ten minutes and then took a three-hour nap. I’d say you were well paid. You know, being lazy isn’t going to win you friends around here.”

“Hey, guys, lighten up,” Father Vince said. “I’ve got some chores for Flynn to do that he didn’t sign up for. He’s going to do his share.”

Flynn waited until Father Vince turned his back and then made an obscene gesture.

Murray didn’t react. Flynn was such a loser. But what good would it do to get confrontational when he needed Flynn’s help to move Mrs. Woodmore’s furniture back? Unless Flynn changed his ways, Father Vince couldn’t let him stay here anyway.

CHAPTER 3

Vanessa Langley sat on the floral Victorian settee, enjoying the ambience of the parlor at Langley Manor, finding it hard to believe it had been six months to the day since they opened the manor house as a bed-and-breakfast.

She could vividly remember her surprise when Ethan announced that his dad and uncles were giving them this family heirloom as a wedding gift. It was a generous gesture, but what were they supposed to do with it? It didn’t take long for them to start the ball rolling to renovate the manor house and turn it into a bed-and-breakfast. And once they discovered the house had been used as a station on the Underground Railroad, drawing a steady stream of curious guests was easy.

The soft yellow walls trimmed with white crown moldings made this room elegantly warm and inviting. Above the white marble fireplace, the framed portrait of Josiah and Abigail Langley seemed so real she half expected them to blink.

The musty smell of the old plantation house was gone now, replaced by fresh eucalyptus—and the aroma of oatmeal cookies baking.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw someone come out of the kitchen.

“Excuse me, Vanessa.” Noah Washington spoke softly as if he were trying not to startle her. “I’m finished mowin’ the grounds. I’ve got an errand to do in town. I’ll be back this afternoon to weed the flower garden and put up those new birdbaths.”

“No hurry.” She turned to Noah. “Do it when you can. I’ve probably overstated it, but Ethan and I love what you’ve done with the landscaping. Our guests compliment us all the time, especially about the waterfall and the babbling brook.”

His bright smile was a dazzling contrast to his polished dark skin. “It’s an honor for me to help make this place beautiful again.”

“It shows. Your ties to this place are as strong as Ethan’s.”

“So are yours.”

Vanessa nodded. “Yes, but I wasn’t a Langley until I married one. You two are descendants of heroes.”

Noah smiled with his eyes. “I wonder how many times I heard my great-grandma tell the story of how her great-grandma Naomi gave up her chance at freedom to help the Langleys move other slaves up North? I’m proud to be her kin. Who’d have thought I’d be workin’ here myself?”

Vanessa glanced up at the oil portrait. “Don’t you wonder why Josiah and Abigail didn’t keep a written record of what took place here? I guess the tunnels speak for themselves. If your family hadn’t kept the story alive from generation to generation, we would never have made the connection to the Underground Railroad. And that’s the
true
legacy of Langley Manor.”

“And now it’s our job to keep the story alive.” Noah glanced at his watch. “I have to get goin’. I told Murray I’d meet him at Adele Woodmore’s and help him move some furniture. Flynn flaked out on him.”

“Flynn seems to flake out on just about everyone.”

“You got that right. Sometimes I wish Father Vince would throw him out o’ Haven House.”

“Where? Back on the street?”

Noah shrugged. “Maybe that’s what he wants. I’ve tried reachin’ out, but he puts up a wall. No one can seem to get a straight answer outta this guy.”

“Not even Murray?”

“Not really. It’s hard to get along with Flynn. The guy’s not serious about gettin’ his act together. All he does is irritate the rest of us.”

Vanessa heard the oven timer buzzing and rose to her feet. “Sounds like my cookies are done. Take as long as you need to help Murray, and be sure to tell Adele I said hello. At least you won’t have to deal with Flynn much longer. The caretaker house will be finished soon, and then you can move out here.”

Adele followed Zoe and Grace out onto the brick porch of the spacious white frame house with green shutters.

“I’m glad you could take a little time to visit, hon. I know you’re busy at the eatery, but it’s wonderful you’re close enough to sneak by for a few minutes. I’m tickled to death to spend time with Grace.”

“She loves you.” Zoe slid her arm around Adele’s waist. “We all do. I just hope you don’t miss Woodmore too much.”

Adele smiled. “I had sixty wonderful years living in that beautiful home Alfred built for me. What does an eighty-six-year-old widow need with a big mansion and all that property to maintain? The simpler lifestyle suits me just fine. And living close to you and Pierce and Grace is pure joy.”

“For us, too. You’re family now.”

Grace tugged at Adele’s skirt, the purple ribbons on her pigtails catching a glint of midday sun. “Bye, Addie!”

“Bye, darlin’.”Adele cupped the child’s face in her hands. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Thanks again for letting her come over.” Zoe picked up Grace, and the little girl leaned over and put her arms around Adele’s neck.

“You’re my sunshine.” Adele closed her eyes and relished the moment. She couldn’t imagine that having a grandchild could be any better than this.

“I’ll call you later in the week,” Zoe said.

“Oh good. Let’s plan on Grace and me having grilled cheese and pickles for lunch again.”

“I wuv grilled cheese!” Grace flashed an elfin grin.

“Then it’s a good thing I have plenty. Bye now.”

Adele watched as Zoe carried Grace to the car and buckled her in her seat belt. She waved as they pulled out of the driveway and disappeared down the street.

Just as she turned to go inside, Murray’s white truck pulled into the driveway, a red truck behind it. A few seconds later, both drivers got out. She was relieved the second man was Noah Washington and not Flynn.

“We came to move your furniture back,” Murray said. “Is this a good time?”

“Heavens, yes. Any time is a good time. What else have I got to do? Come in.”

Adele stepped inside and locked gazes with Isabel. “Would you make a pitcher of fresh-squeezed lemonade?”

Isabel glanced over at the two guests and managed a less-than-sincere smile. “Of course. Right away.”

“Noah”—Adele took his hand in hers—“how are things at Langley Manor? Is it still drawing plenty of guests?”

“Sure is, ma’am. The history o’ the place draws more guests than the Langleys can accommodate. They have a waitin’ list.”

“That’s wonderful.” She gave his hand a squeeze and let go. “I haven’t really asked, but are you going to be able to keep your other customers once you move out there?”

“I’ll keep a few favorites—you’re one o’ them.” Noah’s soft brown eyes lit up. “Don’t you worry none about your yard and flowers. I’ll take good care o’ them.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful. I was afraid I was going to have to start over, trying to find someone.”

“No, ma’am. Oh …Vanessa asked me to say hello.”

“Please give her my regards,” Adele said. “I want to get out there soon. It’s a pleasant surprise seeing you. I thought Murray was bringing that young man who came yesterday.”

“Flynn’s a deadbeat,” Murray said. “And if he doesn’t change his attitude, he’s going to find himself homeless again.”

Adele sighed. “He seemed troubled.”

“Don’t feel sorry for him,” Murray said. “Father Vince has bent over backwards—and bent the rules. Nothing works with that guy.”

“Perhaps I need to add Flynn to my prayer list,” Adele said.

“Save your breath. I’m sure God doesn’t like him either.”

Adele winced. What an awful thing to say. That wasn’t the first time Murray’s cynicism had surfaced. What an unbecoming trait in such a nice young man.

“I’m going to leave you two to get the furniture moved back. When you’re finished, we’ll have a cold glass of lemonade out in the sunroom.”

Adele watched the two men walk down the hall to the newly painted bedroom, aware that Isabel was put out with her for inviting them to stay for lemonade.

At least they didn’t have to worry about that Flynn character.