whole thing about Courtland being followed is just some bullshit diversion.” She toyed with the straw in her drink. “Does this jibe with anything Courtland’s neighbors told you?”
“No, but now that I’ve got something specific, I’ll have another go at them. Your buddy Nash didn’t happen to say what kind of car Courtland saw, did he?”
“Conveniently, no. But that could be because Courtland didn’t mention it in the overheard conversation.”
“Maybe his wife put a P.I. on his tail. She seemed pretty bitter about the breakup.”
“Yeah, she did. And that would explain why he thought he was being followed. But what it doesn’t explain is how his brother’s death ties into all this. I still say Sonny Betts has to be the key.” She paused when she saw Mitchell’s look. “What? Am I getting fixated again?”
“Maybe just a tad.”
“And none of this is my business anyway, right? Not my case, not my headache.”
“You okay with that?”
“I don’t have much of a choice, do I? Let’s just drop it for now. Talk about something else.”
“Okay, then, speaking of diversions… I’ve got a trip planned for weekend after next,” Mitchell said.
“I thought you and J.D. might like to come along for the ride.”
“Where are you going?”
“Houston.”
“You want to make a six-hour drive with a five-month-old baby?” Evangeline asked incredulously. “You’re crazy. You’d be tearing your hair out. What’s left of it, anyway.”
He ignored the hair comment. “You forget I helped raise four girls. When we used to go on vacation, the squabbling from the backseat was epic. Not to mention all the potty breaks. Took us nearly twenty hours to drive to Orlando one summer. Compared to that, a five-month-old is a piece of cake. Besides, a change of scenery might do you both some good.”
“What about Lorraine?”
“What about her?”
“Doesn’t she want to go?”
“Nope.”
Evangeline lifted a brow. “Weekend after next or ever?”
“I didn’t ask for clarification.”
“Don’t you think you should? Assuming your aim is to talk to your uncle about that job.” Evangeline’s tone was mildly scolding.
Mitchell picked up his beer and took a long swallow. When he set the bottle back down, an uncharacteristic defiance gleamed in his eyes. “Lorraine’s mind is all made up, and that’s all well and good. More power to her. But why should I let her make up mine for me?”
“Because you’re married? Because you’re the one talking about uprooting the family to move to another state?”
“Uprooting what family? It’s just me and her. The girls are scattered to the four corners.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Yeah, I know.” He gave her a look that was almost apologetic. “Look, I hear what you’re saying, Evie, but this is something I need to do. I’m not saying it’s a done deal or anything close, but I’m sure as hell going to consider it. I’ve been married for nearly thirty years, a cop for twenty. Maybe I need a change of scenery, too.”
She swallowed her protest and nodded. “Okay.”
He nodded back. “Okay.”
“Here,” he said, tossing a five-dollar bill on the table. “How about picking us up some pralines for the road while I hit the can?”
After Evangeline bought the candy, she went outside to wait for Mitchell. Standing in the shade of the awning, she searched through the steady flow of traffic for a dark gray sedan even though she told herself she was probably just being paranoid. It seemed the FBI—or more specifically, Declan Nash—had easier ways to keep tabs her.
But when her phone rang, she kept her eyes on the street as she fished it out of her bag.
“Theroux,” she said.
“Detective Evangeline Theroux?”
“Speaking.”
“My name is Lena Saunders,” a feminine voice drawled. “You don’t know me, but I’m calling about the murder of that lawyer…Paul Courtland. I read about it in the paper this morning. I also saw your name mentioned.”
“What can I do for you?” Evangeline wondered how the woman had gotten her cell phone number and why her name sounded vaguely familiar.
“It’s what I can do for you, Detective Theroux. I think I can help you find Paul Courtland’s killer.”
“I’m listening,” Evangeline said, though she refused to get too excited. Phone calls like this were a dime a dozen, especially in high-profile cases. The publicity brought the crackpots out of the woodwork.
“I’d rather not get into it over the phone,” Lena Saunders said. Her voice was soft and cultured. It reminded Evangeline of Meredith Courtland’s. “Could we meet in person?”
“That’s a bit of a problem for me. I’m no longer working that case. You’ll need to talk to Detective Hebert or Captain Lapierre….” Evangeline trailed off when she realized she was talking to a dead phone.
“What’s going on?” Mitchell asked as he came around the corner.
“Does the name Lena Saunders ring a bell for you?”
“Can’t say that it does. Why?”
“She claims she can help us find Courtland’s killer. When I tried to give her your name and number, she hung up.”
He grinned as he shifted the toothpick in his mouth to the other side. “Obviously a crank if she didn’t want to talk to me.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought, too, but she didn’t sound like the typical nut-job. I can’t say why, exactly, but I think I know her. Her voice sounded kind of familiar.”
“Maybe she’ll call back, then.”
“Yeah, maybe.”
“Oh, say, I almost forgot to tell you. Lorraine talked to Nathan’s sister last night. She said he’s driving up here sometime today.”
“Did she happen to say where he’ll be staying?”
“No, but it seems there’s a place he always visits when he comes to town. I don’t think you’re going to like it, though.” He took the toothpick out of his mouth and flicked it toward a nearby trash can.
“What is it, a strip joint?”
“It’s a cemetery. Mount Olive.”
“But that’s where—”
“Yeah, I know. It’s also where his first wife was laid to rest.”
A shiver prickled along Evangeline’s spine. She hadn’t been out to Mount Olive since the day of Johnny’s funeral. Somehow she just couldn’t bring herself to visit his vault. Seeing his name engraved in the plaque would make his death all too real and all too final.
“I hear anything else, I’ll let you know.”
“Thanks, Mitchell.”
“You bet.” Giving her a little salute, he turned and disappeared down the street.
Evangeline stood in the shade for a moment as a feeling of being watched came over her. Instead of glancing around, though, she closed her eyes.
Her husband’s presence was so strong at that moment, he might have been standing on the sidewalk beside her.
The breeze picked up a strand of her hair and lifted it up off her neck. But Evangeline told herself the touch of ghostly lips against her skin was probably nothing more than her imagination.
