Dangerous Mercy: A Novel (11 page)

“Definitely,” Pierce said. “It would be truly historic if a descendant of one of Josiah Langley’s slaves were to become caretaker. The history of Langley Manor is the town’s claim to fame. It would be a shame if Flynn Gillis’s murder cast a shadow over that.”

Zoe sighed. “I’m more worried about Noah. Langley Manor can stand on its own merit. He can’t.”

“Yes, but don’t be so sure the Langleys won’t take a financial hit. How many people will want to stay out there until the murderer is caught? In fact, I’d be surprised if Vanessa and Ethan weren’t feeling unsettled—especially about letting Carter roam freely unsupervised. We’re all speculating that Flynn Gillis was murdered because he stepped on someone’s toes, but we really don’t
know
what the motivation was or if the killer will strike again. Or if it’s somehow related to the bathtub killings. It’s not safe right now.”

“Pierce, you’re scaring me.”

He pulled her closer. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think it would hurt for us all to be a little scared. And if the sheriff doesn’t put a stop to these murders, tourism is bound to suffer. We could take a big financial hit too.”

Zoe held tightly to Pierce’s arm. Could she ever have imagined things getting this frightening—or this complicated?

CHAPTER 11

Late Thursday night, Adele sat in the window seat in her bedroom and looked up at the moon, which shone brightly through the live oak branches and formed strange shadows on the back lawn.

She glanced across the moonlit room at the delicate poster bed—so different from the bulky seventeenth-century English oak canopy bed she and Alfred had bought in the Cotswolds on one of their antiquing trips.

She had sold most of the Woodmore antiques in an estate sale and bought furniture more suitable for this smaller home. She settled on French Country decor—mostly because Zoe and Vanessa seemed so drawn to it. The new look proved warm and inviting, and everyone seemed comfortable and relaxed in her home. Why didn’t she? Perhaps it was because all the tangible reminders of Alfred were gone now—except for the wedding portrait she kept on her nightstand.

She moved her gaze to the framed sepia photograph, barely visible by the light of the moon but vivid in her memory. Adele in her ivory peau de soie gown and lacy veil and Alfred in his gray morning coat and ascot—standing in the archway at the front door of Saint Francis Xavier Cathedral in Alexandria. Weren’t they a sight to behold—young, passionate, so full of themselves? They had little need of anyone besides each other. By the time they decided they wanted a child, they had trouble conceiving. And when they finally did, Adele lost the baby in the third trimester—a girl. Her anger and disappointment with God was even more crippling than the grief. Why had He taken from her the thing she wanted most—the one thing money couldn’t buy? She and Alfred mourned until they had no tears left. They wanted to conceive again, but it never happened, so they traveled the world, rubbing elbows with the rich and famous and living the life others only dream about.

Adele sighed. Hadn’t the Lord known all along that her anger over not being able to bear a child would drive her away from Him for a time—but that she would return to Him spiritually barren and needy and ready for a relationship with Him?

Would she have ever given her heart to Jesus and trusted Him as her Lord and Savior if she hadn’t experienced the emptiness that nothing else could fill? She’d had it all—the finest designer fashions, the richest food, the most exotic vacations. A husband who adored her. Perfect health. A magnificent home on a sprawling estate. Servants to tend to her every need: a maid, a chauffeur, a cook, a seamstress. Anything she wanted was hers—except a child.

She went over and sat on the side of the bed, feeling a twinge of the shame that she had given to God long ago. How many people had she hurt in the years that followed her baby’s death? It had been hard to accept that she lost an infant daughter she would never know. Her attitude turned caustic—not with Alfred, but with the hired help. She was impatient with anything less than perfection. She didn’t fire people. She tormented them. Belittled them. Alfred had to pay a high price to keep people willing to put up with her relentless perfectionism.

And then he died of a heart attack. He kissed her good-bye one morning and went to play golf. She got a call later that he was gone. Died on the way to the hospital—while she thumbed through the latest issue of
Better Homes and Gardens,
totally unaware that her soul mate had taken his last breath.

Adele turned on the lamp. She picked up the picture and looked for a moment into Alfred’s eyes, then held the frame to her heart. If her baby’s death had driven her away from God, wasn’t it Alfred’s death that had brought her back? One night, while she was in the throes of grief and despair, she had watched a Billy Graham crusade on TV. His message of hope touched something deep inside her, compelling her to confess her corrosive attitude and all the emotional wounds she had inflicted on others—and ask God’s forgiveness. She invited Jesus into her heart and was filled to overflowing with His grace.

Adele was a changed woman. Was it anything short of a miracle that her critical spirit had turned to genuine affection? Over time, she sought out the people she had hurt and apologized for her harsh words. And instead of pointing out the faults of those in her employ, she began to bring out the best. She came to regard them as extended family, even though her peers cautioned that fraternizing with the help was foolish and that someday it would cost her. But she hadn’t seen it coming—and certainly not from Zoe, the most trusted member of her household staff.

Adele dismissed a pang of sadness. Why dig up unpleasant memories? She had forgiven Zoe’s transgression. And hadn’t the Lord used the painful truth to teach everyone involved the depths of His grace?

Grace
. Adele smiled without meaning to. It was significant that Zoe and Pierce named their daughter Grace, and perhaps, when the child was old enough to understand, they would tell her why.

Adele yawned and captured it with her hand. How could she be this tired and still unable to fall asleep? Her treatment of Flynn Gillis was weighing on her. Isabel and Zoe had absolved her of guilt, but would the Lord agree that there was nothing more she could have done to show kindness to this young man?

She could still see Flynn helping Murray move her furniture out of the bedroom. He was cocky. And unkempt. But he had been a soul in need of love, just like everyone else. Why hadn’t she reached out to him with kindness instead of keeping her distance and feeling relieved when he finally left? Hadn’t she promised the Lord that she would extend to others the amazing grace He had bestowed on her—the most unworthy of all?

A knock at the door startled her.

“Mrs. Woodmore? Are you all right?”

“Come in, Isabel.”

The door opened, and Isabel, dressed in her yellow nightgown, filled the doorway. “I noticed your light was on. Is everything okay?”

“Yes. Yes. I’m fine. I just can’t sleep.”

“Why don’t you take something on nights like this? You’re having entirely too many of them.”

“I’ve gone eighty-six years without being dependent on pills. I don’t intend to start now.”

“I could get you a cup of warm milk,” Isabel said. “That’s
my
drug of choice.”

Adele didn’t especially like warm milk, but she didn’t want to deny Isabel the blessing of helping her.

“Very well, hon. Maybe it will help. I really do need to sleep. I have to be up and presentable by nine, since the computer desk is being delivered. And I really don’t want to be exhausted when Murray comes to take me shopping.”

A long moment of silence registered Isabel’s disapproval, and then she turned and walked toward the kitchen.

Adele slipped on her robe and slippers, trying not to be annoyed with Isabel’s stubbornness and remembering their earlier conversation.

“You did a background check on me first,”
Isabel had said,
“and I don’t blame you one bit. You don’t know anything about these men except what they’ve told you.”

Isabel had a point. Perhaps doing a background check on Noah and Murray couldn’t hurt. After all, she had done that routinely with live-in staff over the years. No one needed to know, and everything she learned would be kept in strictest confidence. In the meantime, she wasn’t going to distance herself from Noah and Murray the way she had with Flynn Gillis. Isabel would just have to live with it.

CHAPTER 12

Adele floated somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, aware of a chirping sound that kept getting louder. She turned over in bed and looked on the windowsill.
A Carolina wren
.

She smiled. Who needed an alarm to wake up when nature was so willing to be involved? She sat up on the side of her bed and held out her arms and stretched. By the end of the day, she would own a computer and know how to send email. Not bad for an octogenarian.

Good morning, Lord. Guard my words today and help me to be kind to all those You put in my path.

She spotted a note she had written to herself just before she went to bed. It was almost eight. Danny would already have been up for hours. She picked up the phone and dialed his number.

“Danny Clinton.”

“Hello, Danny. It’s Adele.”

“Well, hello, my queen. What can I do for you today?”

“I’ve befriended two men who currently live at a halfway house here in Les Barbes. One takes care of my lawn; the other does odd jobs for me. Both were homeless and are getting back on their feet, and neither is eager to talk about his life. And since they’re both at my home quite often, it probably couldn’t hurt for me to know more about them.”

“Of course,” Danny said. “How deep shall I dig?”

“I’d like to know where they’ve worked. And whether they have any family. I’d like to know if they’ve ever been arrested, though they couldn’t be living at Haven House if they were convicted felons.”

“Should be easy enough to find out.”

“When can you start, Danny?”

“I’ve got a few irons in the fire, but I’ll try to have something for you in a week or so. It’s always a pleasure working for you.”

“How many years has it been now?”

“Twenty. I know this because you called while I was on my way to my fortieth birthday bash.”

Adele smiled. “Oh, that’s right. I had forgotten.”

“So who am I investigating?”

“The first man is Noah Washington. Middle-aged African-American. He says he lived in the ninth ward in New Orleans and lost everything in Katrina. Claims he had his own landscaping business there. Are you getting this?”

“Yes, ma’am, I’m recording. Go ahead.”

Adele looked at the notes she’d made. “Now he’s working at Langley Manor for Vanessa and Ethan Langley, the proprietors. One of his ancestors was a slave there. I know the Langleys, but I don’t feel comfortable asking them about him and don’t want them to know anything about this.”

“Understood. Who’s the other fellow?”

“Murray Hamelin. He’s much younger—about thirty.
Caucasian. Single. I’m pretty sure he’s from Lafayette. He’s a whiz with computers.
Very good with his hands and can do just about anything around the house—paint, repair, install. If only I’d had someone that versatile working for me at Woodmore. That’s really all I know about him.”

“Do these men drive?”

“Yes. But I’m no good with vehicles. They both drive older-model trucks. Murray’s is a white Ford, I think.”

“Good. Anything else?”

Adele doodled stars on the notes she had made. “Perhaps you heard about the young man from Haven House who was found murdered yesterday?”

“I didn’t make the connection until just now. But yeah. I sure did.”

“Of course, Noah and Murray knew him. And since his body was discovered on the Langleys’ property where Noah works, the authorities questioned Noah at length.”

“I heard that. The sheriff told the media he was just a person of interest.”

“I’m never quite sure what that means,” Adele said. “But all the men at Haven House were questioned by sheriff’s deputies.”

“Anything else I should know?”

“I can’t think of anything.”

“Well, if you do, call. Otherwise, I’ll get back to you as soon as I know something.”

“Thank you, Danny. I know you’ll be discreet.”

“Always.”

As Adele hung up the phone, her cheeks burned. Why did she feel as if she was snooping? She had paid Danny to investigate dozens of potential employees over the years. It was good business.

But she wasn’t doing this to satisfy Isabel or to feel safer. She didn’t consider Noah or Murray to be a threat. Wasn’t she doing this was because she was curious about what had caused them to become homeless?

Jude headed for his office after the Friday-morning briefing and planned to tackle the mound of paperwork that had been piling up since Monday when the first murder victim was found.

Just as he anticipated, the community seemed relatively disinterested in the victim from the halfway house. But there was heavy speculating—even bets being placed—on who the next victim of the Bathtub Killer might be. As offensive as that was, it wasn’t surprising. Who in Les Barbes hadn’t been touched in some way by the layoffs and foreclosures? Cynicism ran deep, even among his detectives.

He spotted Chief Detective Gil Marcel at the water fountain and hurried over to him.

“I’ve been looking for you!” Jude said, aware that his voice had gone up a decibel.

“Sorry, I just got back from the lab,” Gil said. “What’s up?”

Jude got right in Gil’s face. “What’s this I hear about your detectives placing bets on who’s going to be the next victim of the Bathtub Killer?”

“They were just clowning around.”

“
Clowning around?
We’re public servants.
Our job is to protect the public so there
isn’t
another victim! For crying out loud, Gil. Your people take their cues from you. What were you thinking?” Jude could feel his own breath bouncing off Gil’s face. “I want you to put a stop to this right now. Any personal disdain for the victims is irrelevant and should be kept to ourselves. You’re a professional! Either you start acting like it, or I’ll find someone who will. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

Jude stormed down the hall and into his office. He flopped in his desk chair, his temples throbbing.

Half a minute later, there was a knock at the door. He looked up and saw Aimee standing in the doorway.
Not now.

“You okay, Sheriff?”

“I will be.” Jude wiped the perspiration off his upper lip. “Is it too much to expect my chief detective to set a good example?”

“No,” Aimee said. “He was out of line. You were right to call him on it. I was just about to talk to him myself when you stepped in.”

“How Gil—or any of us—feels about the victims is irrelevant! We need to stay focused!”

“Yes, sir. You made that abundantly clear.”

Sir?
Jude took a few moments to calm down, then lifted his gaze. “Look, I know I’m edgy. It’s going to be a long day unless we get something useful back from the lab. Did you need anything else?”

“Not really. I overheard your run-in with Gil and was just checking on you.”

“I’m sure everyone on this entire floor heard my run-in with Gil. You think I was too hard on him?”

Aimee came in, shut the door behind her, and sat in the chair next to his desk. “You were right to set him straight. Allowing deputies
to bet on who the next victim might be is over the top. He’s lucky you didn’t suspend him. But you should know that Gil’s brother was laid off at the sugar refinery and has been without a job for eighteen months. And Deputy Castille’s sister—a single mom with three kids—was laid off ten months ago and is still looking for a job that pays her a living wage. The majority of people in this town and in this department aren’t going to shed a tear that these two CEOs are dead.”

Jude bit his lip.
Let her have her say.

“But as you pointed out, Sheriff, it’s not our job to voice our opinion or express our sarcasm. Our job is to do everything in our power to see that the killer is stopped and brought to justice. And to help protect those who are high-probability targets.”

“That’s right. And I need your help to keep everyone focused.” Jude glanced out the window at the white pillars on the courthouse. “We need to brace ourselves for the likelihood that the Bathtub Killer isn’t done. We’re assuming he’s targeting CEOs—but we don’t know that. All we really know for sure is that no one is safe until the killer is locked up.”

Murray came downstairs from his dorm room at Haven House and saw Father Vince in the living room.

“Did you sleep well?” Father Vince asked.

“Not really.” Murray put his hands in the pockets of his cargo pants. “I can’t shake what happened to Flynn. The guy was irritating, but I sure didn’t wish him dead. How’s Noah?”

“He could use some encouragement.” Father Vince nodded toward the dining room. “He’s hardly said a word to anyone.”

“Probably embarrassed, don’t you think? Having the cops grill him all day for a murder he didn’t commit couldn’t have been easy.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t,” Father Vince said. “And even though the sheriff let him go, he’s still considered a person of interest.”

“Noah’s not capable of murder.”

Father Vince’s eyebrows formed one bushy line that almost disappeared under the dark, wispy curls that lay on his forehead. “I’m glad to hear you say that, Murray. Maybe you should say it directly to him.”

“I did. He’s upset with me for telling the deputies about his run-in with Flynn and for joking around about Flynn not coming back.”

“Yes.” Father Vince met his gaze. “He thinks you should’ve had his back.”

“He’s right. I explained to Noah that I was intimidated by the authorities. I’ve never been questioned about a murder before. But there’s no way he’s capable of killing anybody. I did tell the deputies that.”

“A kind word would probably go a long way.” Father Vince glanced into the dining room where Noah sat alone.

“I doubt he’s speaking to me.”

Father Vince patted his back. “He may not speak, but he’ll listen.”

Murray went out to the kitchen and filled his plate with scrambled eggs, sausage, hash browns, and biscuits, then grabbed a banana and went out to the dining room.

“Mind if I sit with you?” he said to Noah.

“Suit yourself.” Noah took a bite of sausage, his plate almost empty.

Murray set his plate at the end of the table, pulled out the chair, and sat across from Noah. “I didn’t sleep. How about you?”

“If you didn’t sleep, then you already know the answer. Don’t patronize me.”

“I’m just making small talk. Isn’t that what we always do?”

Noah put down his fork, his angry dark eyes glaring. “The last time we small-talked, you used it against me.”

“I said I was sorry, man. Cops intimidate me.”

“Try bein’ black.”

“Look, I’m sorry they were tough on you. I wasn’t thinking about how the deputies would use what I said. I was just trying to make them understand that none of us liked Flynn. That’s all.”

“Well, you succeeded.” Noah stuffed half a biscuit into his mouth.

Murray sprinkled salt and pepper on his eggs and let a long moment of silence pass before continuing. “So are you still working for the Langleys?”