Watch Me Die (12 page)

After a moment, he turned back to her. “Here’s the deal, Mira. The questions the detective asked me don’t make sense, not in the context of what you’ve just told me. They wanted to know what I did after I left your house and whether anyone could corroborate my story. Like maybe they thought I was guilty of something. Or you were.”

“Guilty of what?”

“Don’t know.”

Mira thought back to the things the detective had asked, the way he had responded to her answers. “He did wonder if maybe I had been confused about my necklace. That maybe I’d had it all along and nobody had actually broken in last night. But I wasn’t confused.” She met Connor’s eyes. “I wasn’t.”

“I believe you.”

“But they don’t, is that what you’re saying?”

He opened his mouth to respond, then closed it as if he had changed his mind about something. He shrugged. “You’re probably right, it’s nothing. They’re just doing their jobs and I’m just being paranoid. Wouldn’t surprise me, we were trained not to trust anyone but our own. And even then … Never mind. Forget I came by this morning.”

She reached out, catching his hand. She laced her fingers with his. “I’m sorry. When you’re ready and want to talk about it, I’m here.”

He looked down at their joined hands, then slipped his from hers. “I need to let you get to work. And I suppose I need to be productive.”

“Are you working yet?”

“Dad wants me to come back on board with him.”

The Scott family was in banking, among other things. Connor had gone straight from university and a finance degree to work for his father. He’d never seemed all that interested in his career.

“What do you want to do, Connor?”

“That’s the problem, I don’t know. Not that, though. Overseas I learned that life’s too short to waste it doing something you don’t love.”

“How would you like to help install the Magdalene window? I could use a strong back.”

“Sure. When?”

“The next few weeks. I haven’t set the date yet.” She smiled. “But I warn you, it’s going to be intense. You’ll see a side of me you’ve never seen before.”

“I consider that a personal challenge. You’re on.”

Mira linked her arm through his and they exited the kitchen. As they entered the retail area, Deni stepped through the front door. She held a CD sleeve.

“What’s that?” Mira asked.

“Libby Gardner was just here.”

Mira smiled. “Is that our interview?”

“Not exactly. It’s the segment that’s playing tonight.”

“You look upset. What’s wrong?”

“She wanted to give us a heads-up. Before it aired.”

Mira’s stomach sank. “A heads-up? About what?”

“Jeff’s dad.”

Mira’s knees went weak. Anton Gallier had promised to make her pay for his son’s death, though his campaign against her had started long before Katrina. He had accused her of being a gold digger, had been vocal about the fact his only son was marrying beneath him and had threatened to disown Jeff if he went through with the marriage.

Jeff had shrugged off his father’s antics. That old dog’s bark, he had assured her, was much worse than his bite. After Jeff’s death, however, she had learned that the elder Gallier had very sharp teeth.

But she’d thought it was over.

“Libby said Anton Gallier engineered the whole thing.” Deni moved her gaze between them. “Used the anniversary and his influence with the station. She only saw it this morning.”

“Let’s look at the interview,” Connor said. “It may not be as bad as your imagination is making it out to be.”

Mira shook her head. “It’ll never be over, will it? I’ll never be free of him.”

Deni reached a hand out, expression twisted with sympathy. “Oh, Mira … honey—”

“No.” She took a step back, unwilling to accept the pity. “It’s been six frigging years. Everything he’s tried has failed. So he resorts to a … smear campaign.”

Connor plucked the CD from Deni’s hands. “We don’t have any idea what he’s resorted to. Do you have a computer?”

“My office.”

He headed for it; Mira and Deni followed. He loaded the disc into the computer and skipped ahead until he found what they were looking for: a section called “Six Years Later: The Dead, Dying and Still Missing.”

It was as bad as Mira feared. Worse. A devastated father. Grieving the loss of his only son. Bemoaning the failure of the criminal justice system. Twisting the truth in a way that made him seem as much a victim as his son.

He never came right out and accused her. Never spoke her name. Never offered any facts.

But the editors had cleverly segued from his interview to hers. Only those who had been living on a desert island would miss the connection. And if they didn’t quite get it, a Google search would take care of that, pronto.

Without a word, Mira left the office. She went to the workroom and stood in front of the Magdalene window. She gazed at the saint’s face, into the eyes Connor had said resembled hers.

It hurt so bad, all she wanted to do was crawl into a Xanax-fueled euphoria and pretend it wasn’t happening. For a moment, she let her mind go there: track down her connection, score—then oblivion. Pleasant and problem free. Who would care, really?

She would, she told herself, fisting her fingers.

And then the bastard would have won.

“We’ll sue him,” Connor said, coming up behind her. “We’ll sue the station.”

“It’d go nowhere. He has very deep pockets and an army of lawyers on retainer. And what do I have?”

“We can’t let him get away with this.”

She thought of where she had been these past six years, what she had endured, then overcome. She shook her head. “There is no
we,
Connor. This is about me. My decision. And you’re right, I can’t let him get away with this. And I won’t.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to go and have a conversation with him.”

“I’ll go with you,” Connor said.

“I’ve got to do this alone.”

“Let me drive you, then.”

“Let him, Mira.” That came from Deni, standing in the doorway, Chris beside her. “You’re upset now, after you see him—”

“No.” She retrieved her purse, slung it over her shoulder, then met Connor’s eyes. “I appreciate the offer, but I’ve got this. I’m going to find that son of a bitch and let him know he can’t break me.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Saturday, August 13

1:10
P.M.

Mira found her father-in-law at his club having lunch. It hadn’t been difficult; the man had been meeting his power-broker cronies at the Crescent City Club every Saturday afternoon for as long as she had known him. On a number of occasions he had coerced Jeff into joining them.

Each time Jeff had come home late, stinking drunk and reeking of cigar smoke. Not her happier memories.

That today’s would not be, either, was a given. Nothing good would come from confronting Anton, but she couldn’t stop herself. She was no longer going to lie down and let the man steamroll over her.

She alighted the elevator on the club’s third floor. It was a private men-only club, and the interior reflected that. Lots of rich leather and gleaming mahogany, masculine yet understated.

Although women were allowed on the third floor and in the restaurant, most stayed away. She’d been there only once before—in search of Jeff.

A butler approached her. “Can I help you?”

“I’m looking for Anton Gallier. It’s urgent that I speak to him. I’m his daughter-in-law.”

The man looked her over, unmoved by the urgency in her voice. No doubt he had been in this position before. “I’ll see if he’s available.”

She started to press her point, then let it go. She was speaking to her father-in-law, and no one was going to stop her. And certainly not this underpaid, monkey suit–wearing goon.

She gave the butler several moments’ head start, then followed. By the time he realized what she had done, she had spotted Anton.

“I need to talk to you, Anton Gallier!” she called out. The dining room went silent. All heads turned her way. The butler grabbed her arm, she shook him off. “Or are you afraid? That all these people will see what a snake you are?”

A waiter joined the butler. They each took an arm and started to haul her out.

“Wait!” Anton called, patting his mouth with his napkin and standing. “Let her go. I’m quite eager to hear what she has to say.”

The two released her.

“This is my daughter-in-law,” he announced. “Former, since my son is dead. Look at her, isn’t she lovely?”

Heat stung her cheeks. Mira knew she looked like a maniac. But he’d always been able to make her feel like crap, even when she had tried as hard as she could to achieve “lovely.”

She reached his table. He smiled benignly, though it affected her like the hiss of a snake. “I just want to let you know, I’m not letting you get away with this. Not anymore.”

“With what, my dear?”

“Your smear campaign. Your attempt to further discredit me.”

He laughed. “You’ve gotten a sneak peek at tonight’s segment.”

“I have. You did everything but call me a murderer.”

“I
have
called you a murderer. Repeatedly. Since I don’t have enough proof, I’ll just have to settle for making your life a living hell. The same that mine has been since you killed my son.”

“I’ll get a lawyer.”

She realized how ridiculous that sounded. To a man like him, her threat was pitiable.

She tipped up her chin. “You won’t break me, Anton Gallier.”

“If that’s a challenge, I accept.”

Real fear shuddered through her. He had the ability to grind her into the ground. The money, the resources and the connections. The desire.

She kept it from showing. And she kept it from affecting her. She would not live in fear. Not anymore.

Defiantly, she told him so.

His mouth tightened. He leaned toward her. “You’re weak,” he said softly. “A pill head. Isn’t that right? Can’t handle life. Poor baby. Had to run and hide.”

“I’m not hiding anymore, you son of a bitch. And I’m not running. You’re on notice.”

She turned to walk away and he started to laugh. She froze, then faced him, furious. “Don’t you dare laugh at me.”

“What are you going to do, little girl? Kill me?”

“Maybe I should. I doubt anyone would miss you.”

He smiled again, obviously pleased. “That sounded like a threat, Mira. How about I—”

“Back off, Anton!”

Mira turned.
Connor had followed her
. He closed the distance between them, stopping at her side, and laid a reassuring hand on her arm.

“Leave her alone.”

“The knight on the white steed arrives to save the damsel in distress.” Anton picked up his cocktail and held it high. “To the white knight.”

“Shut up, Anton. You’re drunk.”

Mira hadn’t realized it before, but he
was
drunk. His face was flushed, his eyes dulled by the alcohol.

Connor caught her arm. “Come on, Mira, let’s get out of here.”

“Did you tell her, Connor?” Anton called, after them. “Did you tell her the real reason you joined up?”

Connor’s steps faltered. He turned slowly around. “That has nothing to do with this. Or you.”

“No?” He took an unsteady step toward them. “I think it does.”

Mira felt Connor’s anger—it rolled off him in waves.

“Jeff’s
best
friend,” he said. “That’s what you were. But you’re glad he’s dead, aren’t you?”

For a split second, Mira was certain Connor was going to let loose of his tightly leashed fury. Instead, he looked at her. “Let’s get out of here. He’s not worth it.”

“Tell her!” Gallier shouted, coming after them. “Tell her why you joined up!”

They reached the elevator. The car was waiting and they stepped on. As they turned, she saw Anton’s face as he charged toward them, twisted with bitterness and rage.

The doors slid shut and the car started its descent. It reached the first floor, and they hurried off and out onto Poydras Street. The midday sun momentarily blinded her. When her eyes adjusted, she realized Connor was walking away from her.

Mira hurried after him. “Wait!” She caught up with him and grabbed his arm. “Where’re you going?”

“Away from here.”

He was angry. Shaking. She searched his gaze. “What was Anton talking about? Why
did
you join up like that, Connor?”

“Not now, Mira.”

“Why not now?” People streamed around them, some casting curious glances their way, but most oblivious. “What’re you hiding from me?” She curled her fingers around his. “What could be so bad?”

He opened his mouth, then closed it as her cell phone sounded. She ignored the call. “What was he talking about, Connor? What haven’t you told me?”

“Better get that,” he said. “It might be important.”

“Not as important as this. Not as important as you.” She tightened her fingers. “Talk to me. What are you hiding from me?”

He gazed at her, his expression tortured. After a moment, he bent and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Bye, Mira.”

Fear shuddered through her. The words, his gesture, sounded so final. She couldn’t bear to lose him again.

She started to go after him, then stopped as her phone went off again. Whoever was calling wasn’t giving up. She dug the device out of her purse and answered. “What?”

“Mira, it’s Deni. Where are you?”

“Just leaving the Crescent City Club. Why?”

“Those two detectives just called. They asked for you, when you might be back. They said they need to talk to you. About Preacher.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Saturday, August 13

1:12
P.M.

Malone hung up the phone. Gallier was not at her studio but was due back this afternoon. If he and Bayle popped over there now, they could question her employees and be waiting for her when she arrived.

He was certain Bayle would want to, once she heard the bombshell news: the crime scene guys had most likely found the weapon used to kill Preacher—a piece of stained glass nearly identical to the one he had brandished at Mira Gallier.