Lies Agreed Upon (46 page)

“Hey, hey, it’s not the end of the world,” soothed Tony, taken aback by her emotional r
eaction. “I’ll take you to dinner at Antoine’s on Saturday. How about it?” he coaxed.

Tess accepted Tony’s invitation grudgingly. The romance of New Orleans had palled for her. After a long, dull Saturday, however, she was eager for distraction. She took a taxi to A
ntoine’s in the Quarter and met Tony waiting on the banquette.

As they entered, Tony whispered conspiratorially, “This place has 14 dining rooms, and tourists usually get put in the front one. But you’re with a native, so you get to see the Mystery Room. This is the oldest family-owned restaurant in the country by the way,
and a New Orleans institution. It was founded in 1840. Every generation of your family has likely dined at one of its locations over the years.”

“
The white family members at least.”

“What’s the ‘Mystery’?’ asked Tess as they took a circuitous route. “Is it how to find the room?”

“Sort of,” laughed Tony. “During Prohibition, you’d go through the ladies’ restroom to reach a secret room where you’d get a coffee cup of booze. If anyone asked where it came from, the protocol was to say, ‘It’s a mystery to me.’ Hence, the ‘Mystery Room.’ It isn’t as large, fancy or antique as other rooms, but it seemed apropos for tonight. By the way, they invented Oysters Rockefeller here, so you’ve got to try it. Oysters are an aphrodisiac, so I’ll keep my eye on you,” he winked.

Tony’s jovial effort made Tess
rue her previous snit. “I’m sorry I pitched a fit when Dreux postponed. I should explain,” she apologized and told him of her desire to force Dreux to address the unresolved secrets of Guy’s murder, Desmond’s death and her mother’s obsession with both prior to her suicide.

Tony
gave Tess a sober look. “Then I should tell you I received a call from Dreux earlier today. He expressed regret for spoiling your holiday and offered tickets to a July 4 picnic-and-fireworks event tomorrow at The Lost Lady Restaurant (Tess started at the familiar name). It’s a fundraiser for local charities. He said he might be there if he’s feeling better. Now you’ve explained your goals, I think you may want to go on the off chance of cornering him with your questions. Do you want to go?”

Tess did
not hesitate. “Tell Dreux that we hope to see him at The Lost Lady, Tony. I guess we’ll finish my family saga with fireworks,” she smiled.

19 DARK
NESS

Tess and Tony followed the aromatic invitation of grill
ed chicken and ribs to The Lost Lady’s outdoor “Independence Day Gala.” A jostling line of diners had already formed along linen-draped serving tables on the raised stone patio to the rear of the restaurant. Children were running in shrieking circles on the wide apron of grass below. A band of jazz musicians poured warm notes into the humid air. Picnic tables and patio tables had been scattered over the grass, but many people were lolling on blankets they had brought from their cars. A portable four-tier viewing stand was filling up with spectators as the setting sun gilded the bucolic scene.

Tess and Tony ate
and sipped cool beer as they strolled. Tess decided she had overdressed in her lacy, white cotton dress with flounced skirt and high-heeled sandals, especially when the heels kept sinking into the soft sod. Tony remarked sarcastically that the restaurant should pay her for lawn aeration.

Just as Tess began to think Dreux would be a no-show, Tony squinted through the failing light and exclaimed, “Well, here he comes.” Tess followed his gaze and picked out the small, fussy figure of Dreux. He was dressed in his notion of picnic attire, which mea
nt wearing a sports coat over an open-collared shirt instead of a suit coat and tie.

“Hello, I hope you’re enjoying yourselves,” smiled Dreux with a gracious nod of his head, as if the entire event had been managed by and for him.

“If you don’t hurry, you’ll miss getting any food,” noted Tony.

“Ah, well, it is probably wiser for me to pass on that.
My stomach is still a bit unsettled,” said Dreux with a regretful shake of his head.

The event organizers on the patio interrupted with a microphone blast and began to e
xpress formal gratitude on behalf of various charities for “all the support.” As a local Congressional representative began a patriotic speech, Tony declared, “I know this character. He’s got diarrhea of the mouth ’cause he’s got shit for brains. I’m gonna get another beer. Want one, Tess? Phil?” Tess and Dreux both shook their heads, and he strode off.

“Young people today have an unfortunate disrespect for common courtesies,” sniffed Dreux. “He asked if you wanted a beer.
Perhaps you would prefer a chilled Pinot Grigio?”

“Is that available?” marveled Tess.

“It is for me because I know the restaurant owner and the main sponsors of this event,” declared Dreux and trotted off on his errand before Tess could say more.

“Where’s Prissy Phil?” Tony asked when he reappeared, beer in hand.

“He’s gone to get me a glass of chilled white wine, something only a gentleman with connections can do, unlike you, you foul-mouthed boor,” smiled Tess. Tony grinned, unrepentant.

Dreux soon came shuffling back, triumphantly holding a carefully balanced wine glass in his tremulous fist. On Dreux’s heels strolled another man, and Tony stiffened and muttered a curse.

“What’s the matter? Do you know the man with Dreux?” whispered Tess.

“That’s Bobby Benoit, and he and I are opposing counsel in a very contentious case
—and I bet Dreux knows it,” answered Tony.

“Look who I met while I was fetching your wine, Miss Parnell. Let me introduce Mr. Bobby Benoit. He’s a respected leader in the legal community and one of the sponsors of today’s event. Of course, you know Tony Mizzi, Bobby,” said Dreux as he handed Tess her wine flute, which turned out to be a plastic imitation rather than glass.

“Thanks,” mumbled Tess. She anxiously watched as the two other men faced each other with aggressive smiles and hard, locked eyes. “This is good wine. Aren’t you having any, Mr. Dreux?” Tess said after a delicate sip.

“Ah, my stomach is still a bit too queasy for any alcohol,” smiled Dreux with a disa
ppointed shake of his head.

He then dropped his voice and leaned close to murmur in her ear. “I believe the two gentlemen have some business to discuss in private. And I believe you and I have things b
etter said in private as well. Why don’t we stroll over to the little bayou dock on the other side of the oaks? I recall watching the fireworks from there at last year’s July 4 picnic.”

Tess hesitated, eying Josephine’s gloomy “haunted oaks.”

Seeing her uneasy look, Dreux quickly reassured with a little chuckle, “I’m not the big bad wolf trying to drag you into the dark woods, Miss Parnell. The dock will have its share of fireworks fans and amorous couples.”

He indicated a gravel path through the oaks, marked by a border of white-painted rocks glowing like dull moonstones. Pathway lights cast small haloes of brightness that meandered through the dark trees. Tess could see people strolling through the shadows, and a giggling
teenage couple emerged as he spoke.

Dreux cocked his bald head quizzically. It was hard to imagine a less menacing figure, and their route was too clearly populated for mayhem.

“OK,” nodded Tess. “I’ll let Tony know.” She explained her destination to Tony, who was engaged in an apparently confrontational debate with Benoit. He distractedly agreed to come and look for them “in a few minutes.”

She and Dreux walked into the shadows of the tree-lined path. The night was very still, but the oaks seemed to generate their own faint respiration. It stirred the tattered shrouds of Spanish moss and sent an occasional black leaf spinning down to the gravel path.

“So is this where Josephine’s spirit is said to walk?” Tess asked with involuntary goose bumps. She balanced her almost untouched wine carefully as they crunched over the uneven gravel. She had not wanted to insult Dreux by rejecting the drink, but she was already a little buzzed from beers with Tony, and she was determined to keep her wits sharp enough for a potential duel with the old lawyer.

“According to the legend in the restaurant menu,” smiled Dreux. “Of course, the ghost should roam the location of the old house, but that has been erased. So the ghost has been di
splaced, too.”

“Josephine loved her horses, so maybe she’s happier hanging around the stables an
yway,” laughed Tess.

“Ah, your psychological understanding of the dead is superior to
mine,” chuckled Dreux. At that point, they rounded a curve and passed out of the trees’ dark realm and onto the bank of a small bayou’s inky flow. The path lights outlined the silhouettes of a dozen people standing or sitting on a short wood pier. The crowd was chatting and laughing, and leaving little room to stand.

As Tess stepped forward, Dreux reached out to hold her back. “Ah, this dock is much more crowded than I expected,” he whispered. “I don’t want everyone to overhear our discu
ssion. There’s one more landing before the path loops back, and I remember from last year’s event that it’s much less popular. I think the fireworks view is blocked a bit by the trees. But we’ll likely return to the viewing stands for the start of the show anyway. I’ll tell the people here so Tony can find us. You go ahead. Just keep on the path.” Dreux waved her onward.

Tess paused uncertainly in the dark, but the presence of the little crowd was reassuring. So she obediently followed the pathway lights, going slowly to allow time for the tottering Dreux to catch up.

“It’s a bit warm. I hope you don’t mind if I remove my jacket,” he said when he rejoined her. Tess nodded and smiled at the antique courtesy as Dreux removed his sports jacket, folded it neatly and draped it carefully over his arm. He looked unnaturally casual in his black short-sleeved shirt.

Together, they slowly circled some large live oaks, and the small crowd at the dock was no longer in sight. Tess felt a growing unease
at being alone with Dreux in the dark. She did not trust him; the more she knew of him, the more his mysterious and malevolent aura grew.

But she could see, now that he had removed his coat, that he was clearly unarmed. Plus, he was small, palsied and feeble, and she was confident she could fend off a d
irect physical attack unless she was incapacitated by drugs or alcohol. She glanced at her wine with a frown. Could it be doctored? To avoid any risk, she quickly pretended to trip, dropping the plastic glass with an exclamation of dismay as liquid splashed her toes.

“T
sk, tsk. What a waste of good wine,” sighed Dreux and leaned down awkwardly to scoop up the empty plastic flute. “Well, at least we don’t want to litter. I’ll hold on to it until we find a trash receptacle, shall I?” He smiled, shook off any remaining drops and casually slipped the empty glass into the draped jacket pocket, unperturbed.

In a few minutes more, they rounded another curve and a smaller dock came into view. This one was deserted. In the distance, the band began a medley of patriotic tunes, heral
ding the imminent arrival of fireworks. Faint shouts and laughter filtered through the trees. Yet between black water and black sky, the wood platform before them was as disturbingly isolated as a raft at sea. Tess turned on the old man impatiently.

“It can’t get any more private. Let’s get to the point or go back,” she declared, stopping short. “Tell me about the day you visited my mother, the day of her suicide. What happened? I know she arranged the meeting, not you. I know that you left with a lot of her documents about the property, but secrets about the pr
operty are a red herring. It’s the connection to Desmond’s suicide that you’re covering up. It’s why you’ve been worried about what I might find in her private files. Well, I found what you feared I would. And I believe it is related to her death.”

“
Ah, the secret files. You needed those. You really didn’t know your mother very well when she was alive, did you?” responded Dreux with a sad, knowing smile. He stepped onto the dock and shuffled forward, speaking in a distracted voice and scanning the empty sky for the start of the fireworks. “Where to begin and where to end? Ah, well, your mother has doubtless insisted that she was Desmond’s victim and not the other way round, and she probably also accused Desmond and me of responsibility in the death of your grandfather. Am I right? It is all a complete misunderstanding.”

“Now you’re getting somewhere.”

“I know what my mother believed, but I’m open to other explanations.” Tess gestured vaguely and followed Dreux to the center of the little wooden platform, their steps echoing softly over the lapping water.

“
If it weren’t for his disability, Desmond would have been a suspect in your grandfather’s death, I admit. You must understand that Desmond was, um, unbalanced by his terrible physical disfigurement right after the accident,” explained Dreux, turning on her a pained, unblinking gaze. “He was obsessed with finding a way to harm Guy as he had been harmed. He didn’t want him dead so much as suffering. But it was all talk. You’d think he would be glad when someone else shot Guy. But he was upset, because the murder thwarted Desmond’s personal vengeance.”

“So do you know the ‘someone else’ who killed my grandfather?” probed Tess.

“The killer was a sleazy little male prostitute who called himself Alonzo Lamour. Guy had treated him in a Charity Hospital program combating syphilis with the new antibiotics. He was upset over the doctor’s need to alert clients, which would have impacted his livelihood,” answered Dreux.

“You knew he planned to kill my grandfather? You didn’t stop him or alert the police?” interrupted
Tess, her heart rate speeding.

“I only realized who
the killer was after the fact,” sighed Dreux.

“Then why didn’t you tell the police so he could be arrested? How did you know he did it?” demanded Tess.

“It’s complicated. I admit to two mistakes with perhaps moral but not legal accountability,” responded Dreux with pinched brow and downcast eyes. “Unfortunately, I gave the killer Guy’s home address before I knew his intent. He initially told me he wanted to express gratitude for his treatment. I didn’t tell Guy about it because I didn’t see any harm. I was as shocked as everyone one else when Guy was killed, but I had to suspect Lamour. I confronted him, and he revealed a violent, almost psychotic, rage. I was horrified.”

“How did you know a prostitute named Lamour so well that he would ask your help fin
ding the doctor’s address? And I still don’t see why you didn’t inform the police after the murder,” Tess pressed.

“If you’re on the right side of the law, you meet people on the wrong side,” murmured Dreux. “The police did look at unhappy patients, including Lamour. But he had completely va
nished and never turned up again in New Orleans, or anywhere else for that matter. Since police searches could not find him, and nothing could be done to reverse the tragedy, I didn’t want to tell the authorities about my poor judgment. I was ashamed.”

“But
that doesn’t explain why my mother held Desmond responsible,” Tess pressed. “There’s more to the story than you’ve admitted, and my mother knew your secret.” So far, Dreux’s explanation did not show the connection between Desmond’s suicide and her grandfather’s murder, the two deaths of her mother’s secret obsession.

“Ah,
yes, let me explain that after Guy’s death, Desmond was still mired in a self-hating despair. Only now he had no focus for his rage. Guy’s death at another’s hand only underscored Desmond’s crippled impotence. Without a purpose to his life, even a negative one, I feared he would give up and end it all. I could not turn back the clock and rescue Guy from my mistaken trust in Lamour, but I suddenly saw how the tragedy could be used to help Desmond. I lied to Desmond. I said I had acted on one of
Desmond’s
fantasized plans to punish Guy. I told him that I had hired someone, meaning Lamour, to threaten Guy at home in front of his wife, to force him to plead for his life and then to shoot him in an extremity to hurt, maybe even cripple, but not kill—to make him feel some of Desmond’s pain. The goal was not
murder
, but the attacker had panicked and botched it up, I explained. I begged Desmond to forgive me for failing to properly execute his plan. Can you understand my purpose? With my lie, I made Desmond the man who pulled the strings again. It transformed him from a pathetic victim into a dangerous foe. With
his
vengeance achieved and his self-destructive plotting cauterized, he could embrace new goals and start a new life. Of course, he might still see his existence as pointless and end it, but it was a risk worth taking.”