White Hot (6 page)

No one ventured a comment or an answer. Red Harper cleared his throat again. “Do you recall the last time you saw that particular shotgun, Huff? I don’t see an empty space in your gun cabinet there.”

He nodded toward the corner cabinet with the glass doors. Huff owned an array of firearms, including several handguns, deer rifles, and a shotgun used for bird hunting. All were on display.

“That was an old gun. None of us liked it. We retired it, so to speak. Kept it out at the fishing camp for emergencies. I don’t know when it was last fired.”

“I do.”

Everyone’s attention shifted to Chris. Judging by his characteristic insouciance, they could have been discussing anything—a missing glove, or the weather. Nothing as significant as the weapon that had killed his brother.

“One weekend—it was about three months ago, wasn’t it, Beck?” Beck nodded. “The two of us spent the night out there. Late that night, Frito started going crazy. We went outside to see what had stirred him up and spotted a bobcat. Beck fired the shotgun into the air twice just to scare it off. The cat hightailed it into the woods.”

Beck took up the story from there. “The next morning I cleaned and oiled the shotgun and put it back in the rack above the door.”

“Did you reload it?” Sheriff Harper asked.

“No.”

“Well, somebody did,” Scott said.

“Have you checked it for fingerprints?”

He replied to Sayre’s question with a polite “Yes, ma’am. Your brother’s—Danny’s—are all over it, along with some others. One of the latent prints will probably turn out to be yours,” he said to Beck.

“So you know that Danny handled the shotgun,” Sayre said.

“Yes, ma’am. I just don’t know when.”

“Is his fingerprint on the trigger?”

“We didn’t lift any distinct prints off the trigger,” Red Harper said. “Which is also a bit confounding. I mean, if Danny was the last one to touch it…” He left the thought unfinished.

Huff seemed to reach the limit of his patience. He came out of his recliner, rounded it, and took a bead on Wayne Scott. But he addressed Red Harper. “Why in hell are you letting this new detective of yours drag us through all this? To earn his crisp new uniform? Is that it? If so, let me give him something better to do, like patrolling the shop floor at my foundry and knocking heads with anybody who starts talking about unionizing. Now
that
would be putting his duty time to good use.

“As it is, he’s wasting my time and keeping me thinking about things I don’t want to think about anymore. Danny is dead. We buried him. That’s the end of it.” He shook a fresh cigarette from the pack.

“Excuse me, Mr. Hoyle, but that’s not the end of it.”

Huff glared at Scott as he lit the cigarette.

Bravely, the young man continued. “It’s not just the position of the shotgun on Mr. Hoyle’s body that raises questions. Or the contortions he’d have had to go through to pull the trigger with his finger while the barrels were in his mouth. There’s more to it that puzzles me.”

The new detective’s face had turned red, whether with embarrassment or with fervor, Sayre didn’t know. But he was standing up for himself before the mighty Huff Hoyle, and she commended him for that, even though she guessed that, after tonight, his days in the sheriff’s employ were numbered.

“Well, let’s hear what’s got you bumfuzzled,” Huff said.

“It was your son’s newfound religion.”

The surprises just kept coming. Sayre glanced at Chris and then at Huff to see if they were laughing over the bizarre notion of a Hoyle with religion. But they remained stone-faced. If anything, Huff’s frown deepened.

She turned toward Beck, who evidently sensed her bewilderment. “Danny had recently joined a congregation of—”

“Bible thumpers,” Huff snarled.

“He had embraced their beliefs and became very devout,” Beck continued.

“How recently?”

“For about a year. He never missed a Sunday service or Wednesday night prayer meeting.”

“He became a real bore,” Chris added. “He stopped drinking. Got upset if we took the Lord’s name in vain. He’d become a real Jesus freak.”

“What brought it on?”

Chris shrugged.

“You never asked?”

“Yes, Sayre, we asked,” he replied snidely. “Danny refused to discuss it.”

Beck said, “We couldn’t trace his sudden involvement back to a particular incident, like a near-death experience or anything like that. Suffice it to say, he became a different person the last few months of his life. He changed completely.”

“For better or worse?”

In answer to her question, Huff said, “That’s a matter of opinion.” His scowl expressed his opinion of Danny’s religious conversion.

She turned back to the young deputy. “How do you think this relates to his suicide?”

“I’ve questioned his pastor and members of the congregation who talked to Danny Sunday morning. Without exception, everybody said he was upbeat and happy. Left the services on fire for God and telling everybody he would see them that night at evening vespers.” He made eye contact with everyone in the room before adding, “It seems peculiar that a man in that mood, on a spiritual high so to speak, would go off and shoot himself.”

“Are you saying it was staged to look like a suicide?” Sayre asked.

“Now, don’t go putting words in Wayne’s mouth, Sayre,” Red Harper said, casting an uneasy glance in Huff’s direction. “All he’s saying—”

“What I’m saying is that the circumstances surrounding Danny Hoyle’s death warrant further investigation.”

“The parish medical examiner didn’t equivocate when he ruled it a suicide.”

“That’s right, Mr. Merchant, but the cause of death was obvious.” He glanced at Sayre. “I’ll spare you the graphic terminology that was in the ME’s written autopsy report.” Then to Beck he said, “It’s the method of death that, in my opinion, remains undetermined.”

“The method of death,” Beck repeated, his eyes narrowing on the detective. “The barrels of the shotgun were still in Danny’s mouth, indicating that he did not pull the trigger.”

“Right,” Scott said, nodding somberly. “Otherwise the weapon would have been knocked away from the body by the recoil. It’s pretty much a foregone conclusion that someone held the muzzle inside Danny’s mouth. It was a homicide.”

Red Harper winced as though in pain. “Which brings me to the question I’ve got to ask. Do y’all know anybody who would have wanted Danny dead?”

T
he afternoon heat had taken its toll on the floral arrangements that covered the new grave. Blossoms had withered. Petals had turned brown, curling downward upon their stems as though in total defeat.

Because there was no breeze to disperse it, the smoke from the blast furnaces of the foundry had formed a gray cloud bank above the cemetery. It hung there, an ugly pall.

Sayre thought of it as Danny’s shroud. She’d gone to the cemetery in the hope of finding some measure of peace, but after the session with Deputy Scott, she thought it unlikely that Danny’s death could be that easily reconciled.

Of Huff’s three children, Danny had been the least like him. He’d been mild-mannered, soft-
spoken, and to her knowledge had never committed a spiteful act or harbored any malice toward anyone.

When they were kids, Danny had always deferred to her and Chris, putting up token resistance if he was wronged, but eventually yielding, especially to Chris, who was the undisputed bully of the three. Chris was also devious and knew how to manipulate his younger brother. Danny invariably fell for Chris’s tricks, which were often cruel.

She’d had the fiercest temper. Whenever she unleashed it on Danny over some real or perceived affront, he bore her tirade with grace and didn’t hold a grudge later for the hateful things she had screamed at him.

Once, during one of her most vicious tantrums, she had thrown his favorite toy truck into the bayou. He had cried, and called her names, and ordered her to dive in and retrieve it. Of course she had refused and, instead, had described to him in tortuous detail how his shiny truck would rust and erode even before it reached the Gulf of Mexico.

Danny had wailed for hours, then lapsed into a funk that lasted for days. When Laurel demanded to know why he was so blue, he declined to tattle on Sayre. He never told what she’d done. If he had, she would have felt justified for having done it. But he had let her get away with it, which made her deeply remorseful for her meanness to him.

Their mother had doted on Danny because he was the baby of the family. Sayre remembered Huff saying often that Laurel was going to make a mealymouthed sissy out of the boy if she didn’t stop coddling him. Yet, despite their mother’s obvious favoritism, ironically it was Huff’s approval that Danny craved most.

Chris had automatically gained it by being the firstborn. His temperament and interests also mirrored Huff’s. It fed Huff’s ego to have Chris near him because he was a mini-personification of Huff himself.

Sayre was regarded as the rather useless but decorative princess of the clan and treated accordingly. She was a brat who constantly demanded her way, and when she didn’t get it, she pitched tantrums. While her mother looked upon these fits of temper as improper behavior for a young lady, her father thought they were amusing. The more infuriated she became, the harder he laughed.

Because Danny was self-effacing and well-behaved, he was last in line for Huff’s attention.

Growing up, Sayre had sensed this family dynamic but lacked the intellect and insight to analyze it. Now, as an adult, she realized how hurtful it must have been for Danny always to be Huff’s afterthought, the far distant second son.

The family had been operating under the same dynamic when Danny died. Chris was the indulged, anointed heir apparent who could do no wrong in Huff’s eyes. Sayre was the thorn in his side, the one who had rejected him. That left Danny to be the obedient child, who did as he was told and never voiced a contrary opinion, the one to be counted on but rarely acknowledged.

Was it that feeling of invisibility that had prompted Danny to kill himself?

If
he had killed himself.

She pinched a dying rose off one of the sprays and twirled it against her lips. A tear slid down her cheek. It was unfair that the sweetest, most harmless of them had died young and violently. And, if Wayne Scott’s intuitions proved correct, he hadn’t died voluntarily.

“Ms. Lynch?”

Sayre spun about to see a young woman standing not two yards away from her.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” she said with apology. “I thought you would have heard me.”

Sayre shook her head. Finally able to find her voice, she said, “I was lost in thought.”

“I don’t want to disturb you. I can come back later. I wanted to come…wanted to come and say good night to him.” The woman was about her age, possibly a few years younger, and she was struggling not to cry. Sayre remembered seeing her at the wake but hadn’t had an opportunity to meet her.

“I’m Sayre Lynch.” She extended her hand, and the young woman shook it.

“I know who you are. I saw you at the wake. Somebody pointed you out to me, but I had already recognized you from photographs.”

“The photographs in the house are all old. I’ve changed.”

“Yes, but your hair is the same. And Danny had showed me a recent newspaper article about you. He was very proud of your accomplishments.” She laughed, and Sayre was impressed by the musical quality of the sound. “When I remarked on how glamorous and sophisticated you are, Danny said that looks could be deceiving and that you were actually a hellion. But he meant it affectionately.”

“What’s your name?”

“I’m sorry. Jessica DeBlance. I am…I was Danny’s friend.”

“Please.” Sayre motioned toward a concrete bench beneath a tree a short distance from the grave.

Together they walked toward it. Jessica was wearing a tastefully cut linen dress. Her hair was light and fell into soft waves to her shoulders. She was petite and wholesomely pretty.

They sat down on the bench. By tacit agreement they shared a long moment looking toward the grave without speaking. Jessica sniffled into a tissue. Acting on instinct, Sayre placed her arm across the woman’s thin shoulders. At her touch, Jessica began to tremble with weeping.

There were dozens of questions Sayre wanted to ask her, but she refrained from saying anything until Jessica’s crying had subsided and she mumbled a gruff apology.

“Don’t apologize. I’m glad my younger brother had someone who cared enough to cry for him in front of a perfect stranger. Apparently you were very good friends.”

“Actually, we were going to be married.” Jessica extended her left hand, and Sayre stared speechlessly at the round diamond solitaire on a narrow platinum band.

“It’s lovely.”

And because the understated ring embodied a simple declaration of love, the quiet kind of profession that Danny would make, she was engulfed in pity for the young woman. She was also furious at Chris and Huff. Danny’s fiancée should have been included in their family observances. It was a glaring snub.

“I’m sorry I didn’t make it a point to speak to you at the house, Jessica. I didn’t know Danny was engaged. No one told me.” Maybe Danny had tried. Maybe that was what he’d been calling to tell her.

“No one knew about our engagement,” Jessica said. “No one in your family. Danny didn’t want your father or brother to know about me until after we were married.”

Although she felt she already knew the answer, Sayre asked the obvious question. “Why?”

“He didn’t want them to interfere. He knew they probably wouldn’t have approved of me.”

“That’s ridiculous. Why wouldn’t they?”

Again the woman laughed, but with sadness. “I don’t come from money, Ms. Lynch.”

“Please call me Sayre.”

“My daddy works at the Tabasco plant in New Iberia, and my mother is a homemaker. They scraped together enough money to send me and my sister to college. We’re their pride and joy because we’re both elementary school teachers.”

“They have every right to be proud, and I don’t mean that to sound condescending. How did you meet Danny?”

“I teach third grade, but I also work as a volunteer in the public library. He came in one night to browse and got interested in a book. It got time to close. I roused him and asked him to leave. He looked up at me, and kept on looking for the longest time. Then he said, ‘I’ll go quietly, but only if you’ll join me for a cup of coffee.’ ” She touched her cheek with the back of her hand as though the memory of their meeting had caused her to blush.

“Did you?”

“Go for coffee? Yes,” she said with a soft laugh. “I shouldn’t have. It wasn’t like me to go somewhere with a man I’d just met, but I did.” She returned her gaze to the flower-banked grave. “We talked for hours. Before we said good night, he asked me for a date the following weekend. By the time Saturday rolled around, I had learned that he was Huff Hoyle’s son. That scared me. I started to beg off, but I liked Danny so much that I kept the date.

“We went to dinner at a place between here and New Orleans. Danny said he wanted to take me there because it was such an excellent restaurant, and it was. But I understood even then the reason for the secrecy. I didn’t mind. I didn’t particularly want to get involved with your family.” Turning her head quickly, she said, “I hope you’re not offended.”

“Not at all. I dislike being involved with us myself. I know better than you how rotten we are.”

Jessica smiled sadly. “Danny wasn’t rotten.”

“No, not him.”

“He worked at the foundry and did his job there well, but his heart wasn’t in it. He disagreed with your father and brother’s management philosophies. He disagreed with them about a lot of things. It was just hard for him to stand up to them, lifetime habits being difficult to break. Although he was getting more courageous.”

Sayre tucked away that statement to think about later. How had Danny demonstrated his newly acquired courage, she wondered.

“How long had you been engaged?”

“Two weeks.”

“Two weeks?” Sayre exclaimed.

“That’s right.” Jessica shook her head adamantly. “They’re saying Danny killed himself. He didn’t. I know he didn’t. We were making plans about where to live and what we wanted to do. We’d chosen names for our future children. Danny did not commit suicide. He would have considered it a sin.”

The word
sin
triggered Sayre’s next question. “Do you attend Danny’s church?”

“Yes. After our second date, I invited him to go with me. I was singing a solo that Sunday in the worship service.”

So she was a vocal soloist. That accounted for her lilting laugh.

“Danny was reluctant to go. He said Huff—that’s usually what he called your father—scorned religion. But I told Danny I couldn’t continue seeing him if he couldn’t believe as I do. And I meant it.”

She smiled shyly. “He cared enough to go with me that Sunday. After that first time, he realized that it was God’s love that had been missing from his life. He discovered it and became a new person.”

On that point Huff, Chris, and Beck Merchant agreed with her, although they attributed Danny’s personality change to a lapse in reason rather than to a religion-based renewal. They saw it as a negative change, not a positive one.

“I think you must have been very good for my brother, Jessica. I’m glad he knew you. I’m grateful to you for loving him.”

“I can’t accept any gratitude for that.” Her voice cracked, and she held the tissue to her eyes as tears began to flow again. “I loved him with all my heart. How am I going to endure this?”

As Jessica wept, Sayre hugged her against her shoulder. Tears filled her own eyes, but they were as much for Jessica as for Danny. Danny was beyond feeling, while this young woman’s heart was breaking and there would be no surcease except the passage of time.

There were events in your life that you didn’t think you could survive…and weren’t sure you wanted to. Things happened that were so painful, you’d rather die of them than to go on living with the agony of surviving. Sayre knew what that was like. She remembered what it felt like to have a heartache so severe she wanted to die. Nothing short of death would relieve the pain. But the survival instinct is a miraculous thing. One’s heart goes on beating even after the will to live is lost. One takes another breath even when the desire to breathe has been crushed. One lives on.

She didn’t blame Danny’s fiancée for her bitter grief. Nor did she try to console her with banalities. She merely held her and would have continued holding her all night if necessary, because when she’d gone through her personal hell, there had been no one to hold her.

Eventually Jessica stopped crying. “Danny wouldn’t want me to do this.” She blotted her eyes and blew her nose. When she was more composed, she said, “I do not accept the coroner’s ruling.”

“It may give you some comfort to know that you’re not alone. Hard questions are already being asked.” Sayre told her about the meeting with Sheriff Harper and Wayne Scott. She gave her as detailed an account as she could remember.

When she was finished, Jessica mulled it over for several moments, then said, “This detective works for Red Harper?”

“I know what you’re thinking. That Red Harper is on Huff’s payroll. Nevertheless, Deputy Scott seems determined to continue his investigation.”

The young woman thoughtfully gnawed on her lower lip. “Danny had been troubled by something lately. Every time I asked him about it, he made a joke, said he was worried about how he was going to support me, or what if I got fat and sloppy after he married me, or if he lost all his hair would I still love him. That kind of thing. I’d begun to wonder if I was imagining it, but I don’t think so. I knew him so well.”

“He never gave you a hint about what was troubling him?”

“No, but something definitely was.”

“Something weighty enough to cause him to take his own life?” Sayre asked gently.

“He wouldn’t hurt me like that,” Jessica insisted. “He wouldn’t leave me with a lifetime of asking myself why he did it and what I could have done or said to prevent it. He wouldn’t burden me with that kind of self-doubt. No, Sayre. I’ll never believe he shot himself.”

After a pause she said, “But I’ll admit that the alternative is just as unthinkable. Danny was so guileless. Even foundry workers who don’t think too kindly of the other Hoyles liked Danny.”

“Not entirely, Jessica. He was director of human resources, in charge of hiring and firing, insurance claims, salary. Issues like that can create ill will.”