DIRTY LITTLE SECRETS (8 page)

“What night was that again?” Buddy asked, looking at his wife.

Ethan started to answer, but Benita broke in. “I think that’s enough.” She stood, making a production out of checking her watch. “We have to be somewhere. Are we under arrest, Detective?”

“No, ma’am,” Ethan said. “I just have a couple more questions.”

“Let’s go, Buddy. We’re leaving.”

Buddy frowned at her. “Benni, we shouldn’t be rude. That’s not the Christian way. You know what I always say.
Be kind, live life and—
” he stopped, glancing down at his hands.

“Love your neighbor,”
Benita said with a smile that looked stiff to Ethan. “That’s exactly what you say, and what a wonderful rule for living life. Don’t you agree, Detective?”

That was odd. Ethan studied Buddy for a moment, watching him perk up and continue talking about the Christian way to live one’s life. When Buddy was done, he gave Ethan a small smile and sat back in his chair, looking satisfied and smug.

On the other hand, Benita was a mini-volcano ready to explode. Her frustration and anger had been building ever since she walked into the station. It seemed that Buddy’s short soliloquy only added heat to her fire. Ethan was absolutely sure that she was going to blow her top within about twenty seconds. He studied her. When she finally blew, would she accidentally spill something she didn’t intend to? He could hope, he supposed.

There was nothing Ethan would like more than to burst Benita’s angry balloon, and he knew exactly what would do it—whether or not the evangelist or his wife were guilty.

He stood. “I want to thank you for coming in,” he said, smiling at them both. “I hope that if anything else comes up, I can speak to you again.”

“I’m not sure why you would need to talk to us again. We have nothing to do with Senator Sills or anything that happened to him.”

“In any case, I need to warn you not to leave town. We may need to question you again.”

“You may—?” Benita repeated. “You
may
need to question us again? This is unconscionable. Well, I
may
need to speak to Leon.”

Leon was, of course, New Orleans Police Department Superintendent Leon Fortenberry. Ethan smiled at her, hoping the right amount of wistfulness showed. “I think that would be a really good idea. I receive my orders from Superintendent Fortenberry’s office. So I’d actually welcome you speaking directly to him. He can discuss with you how vital your cooperation is to our investigation.”

“Fine. We’re going there right now.” She held out her hand to Buddy, and he took it and stood.

Ethan nodded reluctantly. “That’s your prerogative, Mrs. Davis.” He turned to Buddy. “Thank you, Pastor.” He paused, looking at Buddy’s waist. “You know, that belt buckle of yours,” he said. “I couldn’t help but notice it when you came in. It’s pretty distinctive.”

Buddy beamed. “Why thank you, son. I’m really proud of that. Did you know Benni designed the logo? Silver Circle. It stands for our Silver Circle of Faith.”

“Silver Circle of Faith. What is that?” Ethan asked.

“Wait a minute. What’s got you so all-fired interested in the silver belt buckle anyhow?” Benita asked sharply. “What’s it got to do with anything?”

Ethan feigned surprise as he turned to her. “Why, nothing. I was just admiring it. Have I upset you in some way?”

Benita glared at him. “You haven’t upset me. I just want to know what that belt buckle’s got to do with Sills’s murder.”

Ethan spread his hands. “I wasn’t suggesting it had anything to do with it. Please forgive me if I gave you the wrong impression. I was just curious.”

“Oh, please,” Benita huffed. “You brought us here to question us about Senator Sills’s murder. Now, suddenly you’re talking about belt buckles. You’d better do a better job than that of explaining yourself.”

“There’s nothing to explain,” Ethan went on, mildly. “I merely made a comment. Do
you
have any reason to think the buckle has something to do with the senator’s murder?”

An odd expression passed across Benita’s face. A flash of confusion or paranoia. It faded immediately, but Ethan knew he’d seen it.

Buddy said, “What in the world could my Silver Circle belt buckle have to do with the senator’s death?” Buddy asked. “I thought he was shot.”

“Nothing,” Benita said firmly, patting Buddy’s hand. “Absolutely nothing.” Her earlier confusion was gone. “Detective Delancey has no idea what he’s talking about. There are only around twenty-five in existence. They’re worth around five thousand dollars each. And fourteen of them are in our safe at the house.”

“Fourteen out of twenty-five. Well, that makes them pretty rare, doesn’t it?” Ethan asked with a smile. “When was the last time you checked on those you have in your safe? Are you sure you know how many are in there?”

“Oh, good grief,” Benita exclaimed, disgusted.

Buddy answered. “I doubt the safe’s been opened since the latest Silver Circle Award was bestowed upon a deserving member of our congregation.” He frowned at Ethan. “Son, you never answered my question either. Why are you asking about the belt buckles? Does this have something to do with Darby?”

Ethan took a deep breath and prepared to make the Davises suspicious of his motives. “I really can’t say,” he said. He waved toward the door of the interview room. “Come with me. I’ll walk you out.”

As he stepped over and opened the door, holding it for Buddy and Benita, he could feel Benita’s searing gaze burning the nape of his neck. Good. Now they’d be worried.

He glanced at his watch. Ten-thirty. Laney should be out front, waiting for him. Probably had been for the past half hour. He’d told the desk sergeant to seat her directly on the aisle from the front door to the interview room. He wanted Laney and the Davises to meet face-to-face, and he wanted to be there to observe all three of them. “Well, I want to emphasize how much I appreciate you coming down here to talk with me,” he said as the three of them stepped into the hall.

“You don’t fool me,
Detective,
” Benita assured him. “You’re trying to get a rise out of us by talking about the belt buckles. Well, it won’t work. You’ll be hearing from Leon about your disrespectful behavior. And you’ll hear from our lawyer, as soon as I talk with him about what charges we’re going to bring against you.”

“Mrs. Davis, I hope your meeting with the superintendent will be more satisfying that this one has been for you.”

“Don’t you worry,” Benita growled. She narrowed her gaze at him for a few seconds, started to say something else, then caught herself. “It will,” she said.

Ethan nodded solemnly. “Please don’t forget. You need to stay in town, in case we do have more questions for you.” He led them through the halls to the front desk. “Thank you again. If you’ll excuse me, the desk sergeant has something for me.”

He started toward the desk then stopped. “Oh, and by the way, can you call and let me know for sure how many of those belt buckles are in your safe? It will save us both some time and trouble if I don’t have to get a warrant.”

Benita turned red but Buddy took her hand and she clamped her mouth shut.

Ethan smiled as he walked over to the front desk. On the way, he nodded at Laney, gesturing to her that he’d be with her in one minute. Then he leaned on the high counter and started a conversation with the sergeant.

Buddy and Benita walked between the desks toward the front doors. Ethan turned to watch as the two of them came face-to-face with Laney. When she looked up and saw Buddy, her brow furrowed and she sent a quick, accusatory glance toward Ethan. Buddy saw her and smiled admiringly, as he did with every pretty young woman he saw, but as far as Ethan could tell, there was nothing else. Buddy either didn’t recognize her or he was one of the best, slickest criminals Ethan had ever seen. And judging by the contrast between his sermons and his behavior today, he just might be that slick.

Then Laney turned her gaze toward Benita and her eyes widened.

From Ethan’s vantage point, he could see Benita clearly. The woman aimed a scathing glance at Laney, then turned to her husband. “Come on, Buddy,” she said, sliding her arm into his. “Let’s get out of here. Next time we see you, Detective, or
any
of your officers, we will have our attorneys present.”

Ethan tipped an imaginary hat at her. “I wouldn’t have it any other way, ma’am.”

Chapter Five

“That was Buddy Davis, wasn’t it?” Laney asked Ethan as he guided her into the interview room where she’d waited for so many hours the day before.

“Yes, it was,” he said.

“And was that woman his wife? Benita Davis? I’ve heard she’s the real power behind Silver Circle of Faith Ministries.”

“She’s a piece of work. I can tell you that. What did you think when you saw them?” he asked her.

“Nothing really. I mean, Buddy’s build—I suppose he could have been the man in black, but her—what’s her name?”

“Benita.”

“Right. Benita. She looked as though she knew me and hated my guts.”

“Hmm,” he said.

“What do you mean, hmm?”

“She could have been jealous because I mentioned your name to them and Buddy remembered meeting you.”

“Oh, great. So she does hate me,” Laney said. “Thanks.”

“You want some coffee? A cold drink?” Ethan asked, choosing to ignore her sarcasm.

She sent him a wry smile. “So now you’re playing good cop. Will the other detective, the tall handsome one, be playing bad cop today?”

“Handsome?” Ethan echoed.

He looked slightly taken aback. She smiled to herself. Was he not used to his partner getting the attention from females? Granted, the taller, dark-haired detective had on a wedding band; and did a couple of inches really matter between two guys who were both six feet tall? She’d wanted to goad Ethan Delancey a bit, and she’d succeeded.

“I apologize. Did I hurt your feelings?”

Ethan smiled reluctantly. “No. It’s just that I have never once thought of that ugly mug as handsome in any sense of the word.”

“Well, you’re not a girl.”

“No, I’m not. I’m glad you realize that.”

“Are you?” Laney didn’t know what the difference was today, but Ethan, sitting across the table from her in his white shirt and dress pants, seemed to have gotten over whatever his problem had been with her the day before. In fact, if she weren’t mistaken, she could believe that he was actually flirting with her. Not seriously, of course. He was still the cop and she was still the victim, the witness and possibly one of the suspects.

She gave her shoulders a mental shrug. She was probably totally wrong. He probably wasn’t flirting at all. He could have had a headache yesterday, or a hangover. Maybe he got some sleep last night, too, and just felt generally friendlier today.

She glanced up and caught his gaze. He looked thoughtful and faintly puzzled. “What?” she asked.

“Wondering what you meant just now. Am I what? A girl or glad?” he asked. “Girl, no. Glad...yes.” His smile widened.

She almost gulped. He
was
flirting. The question now was, was he doing it consciously or unconsciously? She decided her best bet was to ignore it. “So is my statement ready to be signed?” she asked.

“Your statement.” He blinked, then stood. “I’ll be right back.” He left, shutting the door behind him.

Laney frowned. That was odd. He’d told her to be at the station at ten to sign the statement, then he’d kept her waiting for over half an hour while he talked to Buddy Davis and his wife. Now he’d demanded she come down here, he’d put her in the interview room, but forgotten about the statement. Strange.

She glanced at the two-way mirror. Was there something else at play here? Was he standing back there on the other side of that mirror and watching her? Waiting for her to do—what? There was nothing in the room except a short number two pencil lying on the table. She sent the mirror a mischievous look and picked up the pencil. What if she defaced the already-defaced table by carving her initials into it? Was that considered destroying city property? Maybe she could write some nasty graffiti on the walls, although the paint was such a musty gray already that her excellent penciled poetry might not even be visible. What if she stabbed herself with the pencil point? Would they put her under suicide watch and make her talk with a psychiatrist? Would they think she was a stronger candidate for killing the senator?

With a small laugh she tossed the pencil down. Maybe Detective Delancey was just absentminded this morning and really had forgotten to get the statement.

The door opened and he came in, hanging up his phone and pocketing it as he did so. “Sorry. We’re going to have to do this later. I’ve been called to the superintendent’s office. I have to go immediately.”

Laney frowned, seeing his empty hands. “If you have it, I could read it over and sign it while I’m here. You don’t have to be here, do you?”

He shook his head. “For some reason the transcriptionist couldn’t lay her hands on it. I’ll give you a call. Sorry for your trouble.” He stood there beside the open door, waiting for her to get up and leave.

“No problem,” she said, standing and walking out past him.

Ethan fell into step beside her. “I’ll see you out. I’m headed out to my car anyhow.”

“Where’s yours?” he asked as they walked down the steps to the sidewalk.

She pointed to a fifteen-minute parking place down the street from the police station.

“Okay. Mine’s over here in the police lot. We’ll get that statement signed maybe tomorrow.”

“Not tomorrow. I have to drive up to Baton Rouge for a meeting about Senator Sills’s funeral and who’s going to finish out his term.”

“Okay. Well, we’ll get together. When’s his funeral—and where?” Ethan asked as he turned toward the police parking lot.

“We’re finalizing that today, with his daughters. I’m guessing it will be Sunday morning in Baton Rouge. From what I’ve heard, his younger daughter will be taking him to Shreveport to be buried. That’s where his parents are.”

“Any idea who they’ll choose to finish out his term?”

Laney shook her head. “Not a clue,” she said. “He’s divorced, so it won’t be his wife. I’m sure I’ll know more after this meeting tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Ethan muttered noncommittally. “Okay. I’ll see you—”

His words were cut off by a town car speeding past, too close to the curb. Laney backed up instinctively and Ethan grabbed her, pulling her back against him as she turned to look at the license plate.

“‘Silver Circle 1,’”
he said as she focused on the vanity tag.

“Oh, my God,” she whispered breathlessly.

“Are you all right?” he asked, still holding her close. His strong yet gentle fingers were wrapped around her upper arms and her back was pressed tightly against him. She felt his fast, steady breaths and the lean hard planes of his chest and abs.

“I’m okay.” Her voice was shaky and she knew the tremor was only partly because of the close call. Some of it was her sudden, unwanted awareness of Detective Ethan Delancey’s fine, hard body.
No, it’s not fine,
she corrected herself, consciously pulling away from him.

He let her go, after a brief hesitation.

“Was that really—?” she started.

“Buddy and Benita,” Ethan grated. “Benita’s probably still pissed at me for hauling them in for questioning. I ought to have them picked up for reckless driving.”

“But who was driving? It wasn’t either of them, was it?”

“Can you describe the driver?”

She closed her eyes, thinking. “He was larger— muscle I think, rather than fat. He had black hair, kind of curly or wavy. That’s all I can remember.”

“Good job. I didn’t notice the hair being wavy or curly.” He was staring in the direction that the car disappeared.

“Do you think they were really trying to hit us?”

“No, he just got as close to the curb as he could, and he sped up as he came closer. They may not have been seriously trying to hit us,” Ethan said grimly, “but it was definitely a threat.”

* * *

E
VEN
THOUGH
IT
was only around noon when Laney got back to her house, she felt as if she’d been up another twenty-four hours. The sleep she’d gotten the day before suddenly seemed too far in the past to remember. She had nothing to do tonight except screen and return phone calls, so she’d stopped at the grocery store and bought mascarpone cheese, Parmesan cheese, angel hair pasta and a box of frozen spinach. After setting her purse on the foyer table, she put the grocery bags on the kitchen counter and dug in it for the spinach. She tossed the unopened package into the microwave and set it for defrost.

Ten-minute spinach Alfredo was her go-to dinner, and today, because she thought she deserved it, she’d bought a bottle of wine. All that was required for the sauce was butter, mascarpone cheese, garlic, spinach and plenty of Parmesan cheese. Within about seven or eight minutes, just the right time to cook angel hair pasta, the meal was ready. Paired with a good dry white wine it was manna from heaven. And if she had enough left over to last the rest of the week, so much the better.

While she waited for the spinach to defrost, she checked her phone. Twelve messages. She ran through them quickly. More acquaintances wanting to know what she knew, a call from a TV station asking for an interview and Senator Sills’s secretary reminding her of the meetings tomorrow. By the time she’d reviewed and deleted them all, her eyelids were drooping. She had a long, quiet afternoon stretching ahead of her, perfect for a nap before dinner.

She put the cheese and the defrosted spinach into the refrigerator, then headed down the hall to her bedroom. She’d sleep for a couple of hours, then get up and make the pasta. She was looking forward to curling up on her couch and eating while she watched the news. Then back to bed, and maybe, by the next morning, she’d feel as if she’d finally caught up on her sleep.

* * *

T
HE
NEXT
THING
Laney knew, someone was knocking on her door. Before she came fully awake, she dreamed it was Ethan, coming to check on her again. So when she opened her eyes and realized it was dark outside, she was surprised and, at first, a little disoriented.

It took her a few seconds to remember that it wasn’t morning. She’d lain down for a nap after getting home from the police station. But how long had she slept? The knock sounded again, startling her.
Oh, right.
Someone was at the door.

She swung her legs over the side of the bed and slipped on her shoes. She hadn’t undressed to nap, so she still had on the shirt and slacks she’d worn this morning. She went into the foyer and called out, “Who is it?”

A soft female voice said, “Hello? Hi in there. My name is Carolyn. I live a few houses down. I think my cat may be under your car.”

Laney sighed in frustration. Carolyn sounded young and perky and newly married, and Laney did not want to deal with her.
Sorry. Can’t help you if you don’t have sense enough to keep your cat inside,
she wanted to say. Instead she settled for a dismissive “Your what?” hoping that
Carolyn
would go away. She didn’t want to be pulled into the woman’s cat drama.

“Uh—my cat. Please? She’s a kitten. Can you help me?”

With an explosive sigh, Laney opened the door a crack and peered through it. A young woman in rather tight blue pants and a striped sweater stood there, smiling warily and holding a cheap flashlight. “Oh, hi. I’m Carolyn.” She held out a hand but Laney wasn’t in the mood. She hung on to the door.

Undeterred, Carolyn continued. “Okay, then. Hi. We just moved in and my cat got out when I came home a little while ago. I’ve been looking for her and I think she’s under your car. Do you think you could help me?”

“Have you tried calling it?” Laney asked, not yet convinced that her help was needed to get the silly feline out from under her car.

“Well, yes, I have,” Carolyn said archly.

Whoa.
Maybe that was unnecessarily rude. “Okay,” she said reluctantly. “I’m not sure what I can do—”

“Do you have a flashlight?” Carolyn asked, pointing hers at Laney and turning it on. A feeble glow was all that the bulb could manage. “Mine’s dying.”

“Just a minute,” Laney said and turned on her heel, as Carolyn stepped into the foyer. She had a very good flashlight somewhere. She looked in three kitchen drawers before she found it. When she got back to the door, Carolyn was tapping the head of her flashlight against her palm and then looking straight at it. “Now it’s completely dead,” she said woefully. She looked at Laney. “Oh, that’s a nice flashlight.”

“Mmm-hmm,” Laney responded as she gestured to Carolyn to lead the way to the lurking cat. Carolyn walked around the side of the house to Laney’s car and crossed to the far side. “I think she’s closer to this side. Can you bring the flashlight over here?”

Laney rolled her eyes. Yes, she was acting bitchy, but she’d had a difficult couple of days. Much more difficult than losing a cat.
Lost your cat? Well, I was shot by the man who’d just murdered my boss.
Taking a deep breath, she told herself that she should just get into the spirit of finding the cat, because the sooner the cat and Carolyn were back safe at home, the sooner Laney could get to her pasta and wine.

“Okay,” she said, a little more energetically as she walked around the car and crouched down. “What color is the kitty?”

“She’s white with a little black spot right here.” Carolyn pointed to the middle of her forehead. “So cute and only about three months old.” Carolyn knelt gingerly, as if she were afraid her pants would split.

Laney sank to hands and knees, doing her best not to scuff her shoes, and peered under the car. “I don’t see anything.”

“I’m afraid she could be up under the hood,” Carolyn wailed.

“Maybe I should start the engine,” Laney said drily, knowing that if the cat were in the engine compartment, cranking the car could be the end of kitty.

“Do you think that would work?” Carolyn asked, wide-eyed.

“No.”

“Oh.”

Laney thought she saw a hint of anger cross Carolyn’s plump face. The expression twisted her bland, wide-eyed countenance into a face that seemed oddly familiar. But it was dark out, and Laney was still in that drowsy waking-up-from-a-deep-sleep haze, so she wasn’t completely sure.

Then Carolyn brightened. “I know,” she said excitedly. “I’ll go on the other side and you stay on this side and shine the flashlight under the car. I’ll call her. Maybe the light plus the sound of my voice will make her come to me.”