Showdown in Mudbug (11 page)

“No. I’m Maryse, but I’ll be happy to help you if you’d tell me what you’re looking for.”

The stiff frowned. “I’m looking for Sabine LaVeche.”

“I’m sorry, Sabine isn’t available.”

“I need to speak with her—now. Tell me where she is.”

Maryse bristled. “If you’d give me your name, I’m happy to tell her you stopped by, but there’s no way in hell I’m giving out her personal information.”

Maryse saw his jaw clench and his face flush a bit. She stared him directly in the eyes until he finally understood that she wasn’t intimidated now and wasn’t going to be later. Finally, he gave her a disgusted look and pulled his wallet from his pants pocket, then flipped it open to show her his FBI identification.

She barely managed to hide her utter relief that the stiff was merely a fed and not one of the Hebert clan. “Agent Fields?” Maryse gave him her best confused expression. “Why in the world would the FBI want to talk to Sabine?”

“That’s confidential. Can you tell me where to find her?”

“She’s in the Bahamas on her honeymoon. There’s no way to get in touch with her.”

Agent Fields blew out a breath of frustration. “When is she returning?”

“In three days.”

“And when did she leave?”

“Yesterday.”

“I’m looking for a friend of hers, a Raissa Bordeaux. Do you know Ms. Bordeaux?”

“Yes.” It was all Maryse could do to hold in a smile. Agent Fields was so frustrated with her clipped answers, his expression looked pained.

“Do you know where I might find her?”

Maryse gave him her wide-eyed innocent look. “At her store in New Orleans?”

Agent Fields threw up his hands. “Obviously, if Ms. Bordeaux was at her store, I wouldn’t be looking for her here.”

Maryse shrugged. “Then I can’t help you. I have no idea where she is.” At that very moment, the statement was entirely true.

Agent Fields pulled a card from his pocket and shoved it at her. “If you see her, please give me a call. It’s a matter of utmost urgency.” Agent Fields spun around and exited the shop.

“What an ass,” Helena said.

Maryse nodded. “A matter of utmost urgency? Is that even English?”

“Pompous, stick-up-your-ass English. I’m not clear on the grammar part, though.”

Maryse walked to the front window and watched as Agent Fields got into a tan Honda Accord, adjusted his mirrors, checked his blind spot, then pulled onto Main Street and headed out of Mudbug. “That guy is wound way too tight.” She was just about to turn from the window when a glint of sunlight flashed in her eyes. She looked farther down the street to see where the reflection had come from and saw a black sedan with dark tinted windows parked at the far end of Main Street.

“Helena,” Maryse said and waved at the ghost. “Come look at this car. Is that the car that ran you and Raissa off the road this morning?”

Helena peered out the window. “It looks like it, but then all I know is it was a black Cadillac. Seems like the front would be damaged if it was the one that hit us, though.”

“Yeah,” Maryse said, “but when Raissa called earlier,
she said Sonny had several of that make and model, right?”

“Four is what you said, I think.”

Maryse backed away from the window. “I need you to do something.”

Helena gave her a wary look. “You? You hate it when I ‘do something.’ ”

Maryse glanced back outside and walked to the cash register before she could change her mind. “I know, but this is different. We have to find out who the guy in the car is. If I walk down there, he’ll leave. Well, best case, he’ll leave.”

“Worst case, he’ll shoot you.”

“There is also that.” Maryse pulled a disposable camera from beneath the cash register and handed it to Helena. “Which is why I’m not the one who’s going to walk down there.”

Helena stared at her as if she’d lost her mind. “You want me to take a picture of him? Won’t that be a little noticeable?”

“Yeah, for a minute, maybe. Hide the camera in your pocket until you get to the car. I’m still working on this ghost-logic stuff, but that should keep it fairly concealed. If you can’t get a clear shot of them through the driver’s window, then take a picture through the front windshield.”

“Let me get this straight. You want me to stand in front of a killer’s car and take a picture.”

“All he’ll see is the camera. You take the picture, and by the time he jumps out of the car, assuming he even does, it will be too late. You tuck the camera in your pocket and stroll back to the store.”

Helena shrugged. “What the hell. Probably be more interesting than watching you type.” She slipped the
camera into her pocket and walked through the wall of the shop and onto the sidewalk.

Maryse moved behind a display of colored rocks so she had a clear view of the street without the driver seeing her in the storefront window. She peered over the top of the display and watched as Helena strolled down the sidewalk, then crossed the street to the black Cadillac. She bent over and peered into the driver’s-side window, but apparently the tint was too dark for her to get a good picture, so she moved to the front of the car. Maryse sucked in a breath and clutched the top of the display.

This is for Raissa, God. If you could just help Helena get it right this one time.

Helena stood in front of the car, studying the windshield. She looked behind her, then moved one step to the right, apparently trying to cut out the glare. She glanced back at the store and gave Maryse a thumbs-up. Maryse tightened her grip on the display.
Please God. Please God. Please God.

Helena pulled the camera out of her pocket, but it got stuck on the way out and flipped through the air, seemingly in slow motion, then landed directly in the middle of the hood of the car. Helena froze for a moment, then scrambled onto the hood and grabbed the camera. The car rocked with her weight, and Maryse could see frantic, shadowy movement inside. Helena kneeled on the hood and directed the camera at the driver’s seat as the car roared to life and lurched in reverse.

“Oh, no!” Maryse gasped as Helena rolled off the hood of the car and into the street. She lay there for a second, completely still, and Maryse was certain she had somehow died again. Then she was up and running.

Clutching the camera in one hand held high above her head.

Maryse felt the blood drain from her face and she had to lean against the display for support. The display gave way, and Maryse and a million colored rocks spilled onto the floor of the store. She managed to pull herself up on her knees and peer outside, but the situation was dire. Helena was running as fast as she could, the camera still in plain sight. The car had stopped backing up and was now coming down the street after the floating camera.

Maryse managed to crawl to the front door of the shop and open the door a crack. Surely, the driver wouldn’t hear her yell over the car engine. “Hide the camera,” she yelled as loudly as she could, then slammed the door shut, rose from the floor, and peeked between the miniblinds on the door.

Helena stopped dead in her tracks, which wasn’t exactly smart. The car came to a screeching halt, but not before it bumped Helena and sent her rolling down the street.

Dazed, Helena jumped up from the ground and tucked the camera in her pocket just as the car door opened. Maryse strained to see the driver, but he had his back to her as he scanned the street for the missing camera. Helena staggered down the street to the shop. The driver took one final look in the street, then jumped in his car and tore out of town.

Maryse waited until the car had turned at the far end of Main Street, then opened the door of the shop to allow Helena in. “Are you all right?”

Helena leaned against the wall and slumped to the floor, wheezing. “I guess so. I mean, what could happen to me, right? I’m glad you opened the door. I don’t know if I could concentrate enough to walk through a
wall right now.” Helena reached into her pants and pulled the camera out. “I don’t think it got damaged when I fell, or when the car hit me, or when I fell again.”

Maryse took the camera and studied Helena. “You know, I hate to say this, but you’re white as a ghost. I know it sounds stupid, but normally you have color.”

“Of course I’m white. That scared the shit out of me.”

“It doesn’t seem fair, you still feeling fear when there’s really nothing that can hurt you. Kinda a rip, if you ask me.”

“Tell me about it.” Helena looked behind Maryse at the mess on the floor. “What happened?”

“Scared the shit out of me, too.” Maryse looked at the mess and sighed. “I guess I better call Raissa.”

“Think this will scare her?”

“No. And that’s what worries me the most.”

Raissa snapped her phone shut and stared out the windshield of Zach’s car as they drove down the highway back to New Orleans. Zach looked over at her, and Raissa knew he was waiting to hear what was said in the phone call, but she wasn’t sure how to relay the information without his going ballistic. And then there was the whole Helena angle. He definitely wasn’t ready for Helena. No one was.

“Was that Maryse?” he asked finally.

“Yeah. Fields showed up at Sabine’s shop earlier.”

“Was there a problem?”

“Not really,” Raissa said. “Maryse deflected him by saying Sabine was out of the country. He left his card. My guess is, Fields is done with Mudbug.”

“So what’s the problem? And don’t even try to say there’s not one. I saw the expression on your face, and that conversation was far too long to just be chatting about Fields.”

Raissa rolled the story Maryse had told her around in her mind. How the hell was she supposed to explain it to Zach when a key component was a photo-snapping ghost? Finally, she blew out a breath and told him about the black car at the end of the street.

“Did Maryse get a look at the driver?” Zach asked.

“No, but she might have a photo.”

Zach raised his eyebrows and Raissa shook her head. “It’s a long, complicated story going back months, and I’d rather explain the details when I can show you myself.
Maryse is on her way to a drugstore in New Orleans right now to get the film developed. One of those one-hour joints, so she can meet us somewhere in the city or back in Mudbug.”

“What are you going to do about your car?”

“Nothing, right now. It’s obviously not safe to drive.” She waved her cell phone. “I’m glad I maintained an untraceable cell phone, or they’d likely be tracking me that way, too.”

Zach shook his head. “This is all a bit much. I made detective five years ago, and I’ve never seen such cloak-and-dagger stuff in my life. I don’t know how you’ve lived this way for so long. Hell, my captain’s on the verge of a stroke and he’s not even facing an opponent like Sonny Hebert.” Zach sighed. “But in his defense, this case could cost him his job if it goes wrong.”

Raissa looked over at Zach. “What do you mean? I know there’s pressure on the department because it’s the mayor’s granddaughter, but that’s status quo for this sort of situation.”

“Not exactly.” Zach hesitated for a moment, then decided that given Raissa’s deductive skills, she might be able to help. He told her about his talk with the captain that morning and his subsequent visit with the Francos.

Raissa listened to the story, her eyes widening until he got to the part about talking to Peter Franco, and then she frowned and shook her head.

“Why are you shaking your head?” Zach asked.

“That’s not right.”

“What part?”

“That Melissa wasn’t ever sick. Once a month, her mother took her to a specialist who has an office across from my shop. They usually stopped in my shop and bought Melissa candles.”

“You’re certain?”

“Of course, I’m certain. I’ve seen them once a month for probably six months or more. That’s why I was so upset when I saw the details of the kidnapping on the news. This one was almost personal in a way, because I knew the victim.”

“Why would the father lie?”

“I have no idea. Maybe we should ask?”

“If he’s lying, he’s not likely to tell the truth just because I ask him to.”

Raissa shook her head. “Not him. The doctor.”

Zach frowned and started to speak and she waved a hand to cut him off. “I know doctor privilege and all that, but this is the mayor’s daughter who’s been kidnapped. If the doctor knows something, he might tell us.”

“No way. You’re not going anywhere near your shop. One of Sonny’s guys is probably watching it, not to mention the Agent Fields problem.”

“I can handle Fields, and the FBI can’t make me do anything. I’m not under arrest.”

“Sonny’s guys can probably make you do plenty, starting with giving up breathing.”

Raissa turned in her seat to face him. “Who do you think stands a better chance against them—me or Melissa Franco?”

Zach rolled the options around in his mind for half a second. “Shit.” He turned at the next red light and headed toward Raissa’s shop. Raissa pulled off the wig and tried to fluff her hair into some semblance of normal.

A couple of cars were parked on the street outside of Raissa’s shop, but none was a black Cadillac. She pointed across the street. “That’s the office.”

Zach pulled over close to the building and parked at
the curb. A man in his sixties with black and silver hair stepped outside the door and turned to lock it. “That’s him,” Raissa said, pointing at the man locking the door. She checked the street, then jumped out of the car.

“Dr. Spencer,” Raissa called as the doctor slipped the keys in his pocket. He turned around and gave her a wave.

“Hello, Raissa. I haven’t seen you in a while. Did you finally take a vacation?”

Raissa walked over to the doctor, Zach close behind. “Hardly,” she replied. “But a friend did—her honeymoon, in fact—so I’m filling in at her shop.”

The doctor smiled. “That’s nice.” He gave Zach a curious look, then looked back at Raissa. “Well, my wife has dinner on the table, so I better run.”

“Actually,” Raissa said and pointed to Zach, “this is Detective Blanchard with the New Orleans Police Department. He’d like to speak with you about Melissa Franco.”

Dr. Spencer’s eyes widened. “The kidnapped girl? Why would you want to speak to me?”

“Because,” Zach said, “you treated her, but her father clearly stated to police that his daughter had never been sick. I want to know why he would think that.”

Dr. Spencer shook his head. “You’re mistaken. Melissa Franco was never a patient of mine.”

“I saw her here,” Raissa said. “Once a month. She and her mother always stopped in my shop after they left your office.”

Dr. Spencer appeared flustered. “I’m sure if you check my rec ords, you’ll see I’m telling the truth. I’ve never treated Melissa Franco. I didn’t even know the name until it was on the news.”

Zach narrowed his eyes at the man. It was so clear he was lying, but about what part? “Dr. Spencer, there
are other eyewitnesses who put Susannah Franco and her daughter in your office,” he lied, “so you can either tell me what’s going on now, or I can drag you down to the station, and we’ll take all night to go over it.” Zach pulled the handcuffs from his waist. “Your choice.”

Dr. Spencer paled. “You don’t understand.”

“That’s exactly my point,” Zach said. “And I need to understand. Rest assured that I don’t care what you were doing here as long as it had nothing to do with Melissa Franco’s kidnapping, but I do have to know what you were doing. So what was it—were you having an affair with Susannah Franco?”

“Good Lord, no,” Dr. Spencer said. “I’m a happily married man, and Susannah is young enough to be my daughter.”

“That’s never stopped ’em before,” Raissa said dryly.

Zach shot her a warning look and turned back to the doctor. “Good. See, this isn’t so hard, is it? So you weren’t sleeping with Susannah Franco. Were you treating her?”

Dr. Spencer sighed. “No. I was treating Melissa, but I swear I didn’t know that was the child’s name until I saw her on the news. Her mother gave a fake last name. Paid cash.”

“Isn’t that unusual?”

“Yes and no. Susannah said their church took up a collection each week for Melissa’s visits. It’s not that uncommon among some of the churches here.”

“And you never noticed that their clothes or jewelry didn’t match the charity claims?” Zach asked.

“Well, no. They were always clean and tidy, but never overdressed or even dressed fancy. The mother always had on jeans and a top. The child had on the type of
cotton clothes that children wear. I never saw any expensive rings or other jewelry.”

Zach looked over at Raissa for confirmation and she nodded. The doctor was right. There was nothing about them that automatically made one think “wealthy.” Even Raissa had never caught onto their status during the shop visits.

“I apologize, Detective,” Dr. Spencer said, “but the reality is, if Ms. Franco was carrying an eight-hundred-dollar handbag or wearing a two-hundred-dollar polo shirt, I’d be the last to know. My wife does all the shopping for our household.”

“So let’s just say you didn’t know,” Zach said. “Melissa’s picture has been plastered all over the news. Why didn’t you come forward then?”

“What could I possibly know that could help the police?”

“I find all this secrecy disturbing. You’ve never met Peter Franco?”

“No. Ms. Franco claimed she was a single mother. She didn’t wear a wedding ring, so I had no reason until recently to suspect otherwise.”

Raissa stared at the doctor. “But, Doctor, this is the part that I don’t understand. It’s one thing for Susannah Franco to hide her identity, but Peter Franco told the police that his daughter has never been sick. Are you trying to tell us the man doesn’t know his own daughter is ill? How can that be? Why wouldn’t Melissa tell him about the treatment herself?”

A hint of red crept up Dr. Spencer’s neck. “Because we didn’t tell her what was really wrong with her.”

Zach threw his hands in the air. “Well, why the hell not?”

Dr. Spencer took one step back, clearly unnerved by
Zach’s obvious exasperation. “Her case was mild. Even the treatments weren’t making her sick. Her mother said as long as the disease remained that way there was no use scaring her.”

“So what, exactly,” Zach asked, “did you claim you were treating her for?”

“Allergies. It’s something that requires some blood drawn, regular care, and daily medication.”

“And it doesn’t bother you in the least that this woman obviously used you for her own purposes?”

Dr. Spencer gave Zach an apologetic look. “I wasn’t trying to create a smoke screen for a crime spree, Detective. I only wanted to save a little girl a lot of worry, if it wasn’t necessary. I know it’s not the most ethical thing to do, but the mother really had the final word on the matter since Melissa is a minor. I was certainly unaware of all the other subterfuge.”

“You said she takes medicine daily,” Raissa said. “How much damage will be caused by her going without it?”

Dr. Spencer shook his head. “There’s no way to know for sure, but the medication seemed to curb newly developing symptoms and relieve previously developed others. The longer she goes without the medication, the greater the chance she’ll suffer a lot for it.” Dr. Spencer pulled a card from his wallet and handed it to Zach, clearly worried. “If you need anything else, or when you find her, please call me. She’ll need special care.”

Raissa shot Zach a grim look. No further explanation was necessary.

Maryse flipped through the photos at the drugstore counter, then shoved them back into the envelope.
“They look great,” she told the woman behind the counter, who scanned the envelope to ring her up. Maryse passed the woman some money, picked up the envelope, and headed to the back of the store for the restroom. Helena was already waiting inside.

“Well?” Maryse asked.

“There’s a black sedan parked across the street. Dark tint on the windows, but no bullet holes.”

“Shit.” Maryse said. “I was hoping Raissa was being melodramatic worrying about me, but apparently she wasn’t. And the film counter is in clear view of the street. I’ll bet black-sedan guy knows exactly why I’m here, even if he can’t figure out how I managed to take the pictures.”

Helena nodded. “It would be too much of a coincidence for him to ignore.”

“Okay, so he probably won’t kill me right there in the street, right? I mean, it’s the pictures he wants, and the negatives.”

“I guess,” Helena said, but didn’t look completely convinced.

“We’ll go with that for now.” Maryse pulled the photos out of the envelope and pulled out the spare copies. “I had duplicates made. I guess I was expecting trouble of some sort.”

“God knows why, since your life has been a cakewalk for over a month now.”

“Oh, you mean since you showed up?”

“You can’t blame all this on me. Hell, if I had that much power and control, I’d run the world.”

“There’s a frightening thought.” Maryse handed Helena the duplicate photos. “Hold on to those and do not lose them. Regardless of how scary things might be, remember that the bad guy can’t see you. Keep
those photos under your clothes, and try not to crease the heck out of them.”

Maryse stuck the other set of photos back into the envelope along with the negatives and closed the flap. She looked at Helena and blew out a breath. “Okay, I’m going to leave the store and get mugged or jacked or rolled—whatever the hip, trendy term is for getting your butt kicked by a picture-stealing thug.
You
are going to get in the car and wait for me.”

Helena raised her eyebrows. “You sure about this?”

“No, which is why we have to leave now. Otherwise, I’ll spend the night in this restroom.” Maryse opened the door and stepped outside. “Get ahead of me and let me know if the car’s still there. It might have been a fluke.”

Helena hurried out the drugstore ahead of Maryse, then rushed back inside. “The car’s still there, but it’s pulled up right behind your car now. Are you sure you want to do this? We can call Raissa and Zach—have them pick us up.”

“That just puts Raissa in his line of fire and Zach on his radar. I don’t think he’ll shoot me. The street’s well lit and lots of people are there. Besides, if this goes as planned, he’ll think he got what he wanted and go away, right?”

Helena gave her a skeptical look. “Okay, but just in case things don’t go as planned—which always seems to happen, by the way—why don’t you give me your cell phone? I can call Raissa if something goes wrong.”

Maryse frowned. “Do you think she would be able to hear you through the phone?”

Helena shrugged. “She heard me when I was putting the bug in Sonny’s house.”

Maryse’s expression brightened. “You’re right. I’d forgotten about that.” She pulled her cell phone from
her pocket and handed it to Helena. “Raissa’s number is the fourth one on the favorites list.”