Chapter
27
“Telephone for you, Mallory.” Yvonne
knocked softly on the closed bedroom door. “Mallory, did you hear
me? There’s a call for you.”
Mallory flopped over in bed, grumbled
sleepily and forced her eyes open. “Who is it?”
“I don’t know. He didn’t
say.”
“He?” Mallory’s heart fluttered.
It must be R. J. She
sprang into a sitting position, grabbed the receiver off the
telephone base and called out to Yvonne. “I’ve got it. Thank
you.”
“Hello.”
“Hi, Mal.”
It was R. J. They hadn’t said good-bye until
shortly after three this morning. With Max out of town, it was a
whole lot easier sneaking in past her curfew. No one else in the
house kept close tabs on her, not even her mother, who seemed lost
in her own little world of grief these days.
“Do you miss me already?” Mallory
asked, her body softening and tingling just thinking about R. J. He
had made her a woman…and she loved him wildly, passionately,
completely. “I miss you.”
“Mal, babe, listen up, will
you?”
“Sure. What is it?”
“Well, it’s like this—I’m fixing to
head out to Texas. A buddy of mine called awhile ago and said he’s
got this really fantastic job out there just waiting for
me.”
Mallory felt as if all the wind had
been knocked out of her. “You’re leaving Sumarville?”
“Yeah, I gotta go. This job is just too
good to turn down.”
“When—when will you come back?”
For me, she added
silently.
“Well…that’s just it. You see, I
probably won’t be back.”
“Not ever?” Please, God, please let him ask me to go with
him.
“Hey, sugar, we’ve had a great time,
haven’t we? Lots of fun in the sack. We’re lucky we’re ending it
before we got bored with each other. Right?”
Emotion lodged in her throat,
threatening to choke her. Somehow she forced the words of a reply
past the restriction. “Right.”
“If I’m ever back this way, I’ll look
you up,” R. J. said. “But by then you’ll probably be married or
something.”
“Yeah, I probably will be…married or
something.”
“You’re one fantastic lady, Mal. I’ll
never forget you.”
“I—I’ll never forget you,
either.”
“Good-bye, babe.”
The dial tone hummed in Mallory’s ear.
“Good-bye.” The telephone dropped from her hand as she slid off the
side of the bed and onto the floor. She sat there, staring off into
space, the singsong, off-the-hook-warning blaring from the
receiver.
Another barrage of bullets ripped
through the car door and shattered the back windshield. As the
gunfire peppered the asphalt beneath the trunk, Jolie prayed harder
than she’d ever prayed in her life. Max lay on top of her, large
and heavy, his big body shielding her from the attack. Suddenly she
heard screeching tires mingling with hysterical screams. Then Max
rolled off her. She opened her eyes and looked at him. They lay
side-by-side, on the ground by the rental car, her shoulder
brushing the front right tire.
“Are you all right?” he
asked.
“Yes.” Her trembling hand reached out
to touch his face. “Are you?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Whoever was shooting
at us wasn’t much of a shot or we’d both be dead.”
“Another hired gunman?”
Max stood and assisted her to her feet.
“My guess is that he was just some goon who got sent out on the
spur of the moment. Probably hired through several people passing
along the assignment.”
“He could have killed us.”
“Yeah, he had enough firepower to have
mowed down a dozen people,” Max said. “I’d say his orders were to
scare the shit out of us, not kill us.”
“A warning?”
“Oh, yeah. A major
warning.”
A crowd of curious excited bystanders
hovered nearby. One tall slender gray-haired man, dressed in casual
white slacks and a striped cotton shirt, came forward and said,
“We’ve called the police. Are either of you hurt?”
Max wrapped his arm around Jolie’s
waist and held her close. “We’re okay. Just a little shaken. Did
anybody get a good look at the car or the shooter?”
“It all happened so fast,” the man
said. “I don’t believe anyone got a good look at the man, but he
was driving a late model, red Ford truck.”
Max inspected Jolie, apparently wanting
to make sure she was truly all right. He frowned when he saw the
tears in her linen slacks and the blood seeping through from the
scratches on her knees. He grabbed her hands and turned them palms
up.
“Damn.” He removed a handkerchief from
his pocket and tenderly smoothed the blood off her raw palms, then
he lifted first one hand and then the other to his
lips.
Adrenaline pumped through her at a high
velocity. She laid her head on his chest and slipped her arms
around him, her heart hammering madly and her body shivering with
the aftershocks of fear.
After spending several hours at the
police station in Key West, Jolie and Max went on a quick shopping
spree. They bought new clothes, since when they were attacked,
they’d been wearing the only change of clothes they had taken with
them on their trip. On the plane ride home, they discussed their
options concerning the Belle Rose massacre case. They both knew
chances were slim that they’d ever get their hands on the stolen
files.
“Bendall did give us a clue,” Max said.
“It’s not much, but it’s all we’ve got.”
“Lisette
Desmond was pregnant and you’ll never guess who the daddy
was.” Jolie quoted Bendall’s exact
words.
“Was Lisette pregnant when she died?
And if she was, why is the father’s identity important?” Max
asked.
“If she was pregnant, the father’s
identity has to be a clue to who the real killer is. Did the baby’s
father have a reason to kill her? Did my mother and Lemar simply
get in the way that afternoon?”
It was late evening by the time Max and
Jolie arrived at Belle Rose. The entire family had congregated in
the front parlor, awaiting their arrival. Georgette perched on the
sofa, a sulking Mallory beside her. A medicated Aunt Clarice
lounged in one of the wing chairs; Nowell Landers hovered directly
behind her. A bleary-eyed, slightly tipsy Parry Clifton stood by
the fireplace, a bored expression on his face. And Theron sat in
his wheelchair, Yvonne at his side.
As they entered the foyer at Belle
Rose, Max dumped their bags on the marble floor; then cupping
Jolie’s elbow, he led her into the front parlor. She couldn’t help
thinking about how easily she accepted Max’s touch, how a man who
had been little more than a stranger to her several weeks ago was
now the most important person in her life.
When they entered the parlor, all eyes
focused on them. Parry lifted his whiskey glass in a salute. “Hail,
hail the conquering hero.”
“Oh, shut up, Uncle Parry,” Mallory
said. “You’re drunk!”
“Please, Mallory…dear…” Georgette spoke
to her daughter, but her gaze never left Max and
Jolie.
“Where the hell did you two go?” Parry
asked. “Slip off somewhere for a night of debauchery? A little
private slap and tickle away from prying eyes?”
“Parry!” Georgette scowled at her
brother.
“Did you get them?” Theron asked,
completely ignoring the others.
“Get what?” Trying to focus, Clarice
blinked as if awakening from sleep. “Jolie, dear girl, you left in
such a hurry. You didn’t even say good-bye.”
Max looked directly at Theron. “We came
close. I bid a sizable amount of money for them and struck a deal,
but it seems someone else upped my offer, and we weren’t given a
chance to make a counteroffer.”
“So, you don’t have them?” Grimacing,
Theron tightened his hands into fists and then loosened them over
his knees.
“Don’t have what?” Georgette asked.
“Where did you and Jolie go and what did you make a bid
on?”
Jolie walked over to Clarice, leaned
down, kissed her cheek, and said, “I’m sorry I didn’t say good-bye
before we left, but we had to fly to Key West
immediately.”
“Nice vacation spot,” Parry said. “Very
romantic. Surf and sand and brilliant sunsets.”
“Dammit, Uncle Parry, shut the hell
up!” Mallory marched over to her uncle, planted her hands on her
hips and glowered at him. “You don’t honestly think Max would take
her away on some romantic
holiday, do you?”
Max cleared his throat. “Jolie and I
flew to Key West to speak to Sumarville’s former sheriff, Aaron
Bendall. It seems that when he left office fifteen years ago, he
took the Belle Rose massacre files along with him.”
Gasping, Georgette’s gaze met Parry’s.
“Why—why would he take those files with him?”
“So he could blackmail someone with
them,” Jolie said. “Someone who didn’t want the truth to come out.
Someone who knew that there was evidence in those files that
probably proved Lemar Fuqua didn’t kill my mother and
aunt.”
“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve
ever heard.” Parry attempted to set his glass on the mantel, but
missed by a fraction of an inch, sending the tumbler crashing to
the marble hearth.
Clarice jerked and cried out. Georgette
jumped.
“Someone has been paying Bendall hush
money all these years,” Max said. “And that same someone offered
Bendall more than a million dollars to disappear and take the files
with him.”
“A million dollars?” Mallory’s eyes
rounded. “You offered the man a million dollars? Why? What
difference does it make who killed those women? What’s it to you,
Max?” Narrowing her gaze, Mallory glared at Jolie.
“Mallory, please be quiet,” Georgette
said. “You’re being terribly insensitive. Those women were Jolie’s
mother and aunt, as well as Clarice’s sisters.”
Mallory shrugged.
“The bottom line is that you didn’t get
the files,” Theron said. “So we don’t have the evidence we need to
reopen the case. Not even one more clue that might lead us to the
real killer.”
Jolie looked at Max, silently asking
for his agreement before she revealed their one small tidbit of
information. Max nodded. “Bendall gave us what he referred to as a
‘freebie.’ So we do have a clue, but unless we can exhume Aunt
Lisette’s body, the clue is useless.”
“Exhume Lisette’s body?” Georgette rose
from her chair.
“You’re crazy!” Staggering toward
Jolie, Parry wagged his index finger at her. “I’ll not stand for
it! Do you hear me? You will not disturb my poor
Lisette.”
Clarice grabbed Jolie’s hand. “Why do
you want to do this terrible thing?”
Jolie knelt beside her aunt’s chair.
“Because we need to have another autopsy performed.”
“But why?” Clarice gazed at Jolie with
utter confusion in her hazel eyes.
“Aunt Clarice, was Aunt Lisette
pregnant when she died?”
Clarice gasped. “Pregnant? Oh, dear. Oh
dear. No one was supposed to know. Not until after the wedding She
didn’t tell a soul except Audrey and me and she swore us to
secrecy.”
Jolie let out the breath she’d been
holding. “Do you know who the father was?”
“The father?” Clarice glanced at Parry.
“I assumed the child was Parry’s. After all, they were engaged to
be married.”
Just as Parry reached down for Jolie,
rage contorting his features, Max crossed the room and grabbed his
uncle’s arm. He whirled Parry around to face him. “Was the baby
yours?”
Parry swayed back and forth. Max
gripped his shoulder to steady him. “Yes, of course, the baby was
mine. And if you’d gotten your hands on those files, you would have
read where I was questioned about Lisette’s pregnancy and I told
the sheriff that the baby was mine.”
“Poor, poor Parry,” Clarice said.
“Losing not only Lisette, but his child, too.”
Jolie stood and moved to Max’s side. “I
don’t understand, then. If the baby was Parry’s, why would Bendall
think the father’s identity would be a clue to the killer’s
identity?”
“Unless the man was implying that Parry
was the killer,” Nowell Landers said.
“What?” Clarice shook her head. “No,
no, that’s not right. Parry and Lisette were engaged. They loved
each other.”
“For once, Miss Loony Tunes is right,”
Parry said. “Why would I have killed the woman I loved? Bendall
gave y’all a false clue. Hell, this is ridiculous.” Parry glared at
Yvonne and then at Theron. “Lemar Fuqua killed Lisette because he
was crazy in love with her and couldn’t have her. And he killed
Audrey because she knew what he’d done.”
“That’s a damn lie!” Theron
shouted.
“Then prove it, boy. By God, prove it!”
Parry stormed out of the parlor.
“I’m sorry.” Georgette looked
pleadingly at Yvonne. “I apologize for the way Parry acted, for
what he said.”
“Lemar cared for Lisette, as he did
Clarice,” Yvonne said. “It was a brotherly affection. Nothing
more.”
“Then it’s not possible that Lemar was
the father of Lisette’s baby?” Jolie asked.
“No, it’s not possible,” Yvonne
replied.
“There’s only one way to prove it,”
Theron said. “If we can exhume her body and test the baby’s
DNA.”
“We can’t do that, without permission,”
Max said. “The next of kin would have to—”
“Do it,” Clarice said as she tightened
her hold on Nowell’s hand. “I’m Lisette’s closest living relative.
I’ll sign whatever papers are necessary.”
“But why put yourself through the
torment?” Georgette asked. “Parry has already admitted that he was
the baby’s father.”
“Because Lisette Desmond had numerous
lovers,” Jolie said. “My aunt could have told Parry he was the
father, when in truth, the baby could have belonged to another
man.”
“And this other man might have killed
her,” Yvonne said.
“Aunt Clarice, if you truly are willing
to give us permission to—”
“I am,” Clarice declared.
“Then tomorrow morning, we’ll contact
Ike Denton and find out just what we have to do to have Lisette’s
body exhumed,” Max said.
Jolie lay in Max’s arms, in the
four-poster in her childhood bedroom. It was a young girl’s room
with white eyelet lace curtains and bedspread edged in tiny pink
satin roses, pale pink-and-white striped wallpaper, and a huge
antique bookcase filled with expensive collectable dolls that had
belonged to Audrey, Lisette, and Clarice Desmond when they were
children. Max had come to her room long after everyone had gone to
bed, when the house was quiet and dark. She had welcomed him into
her arms and into her bed, and never for a moment considered
turning him away. They had made love with a passion as hot and
demanding as it had been the first time, then they’d slept for a
couple of hours.
He nuzzled her neck. “I should go back
to my room soon.”
She turned over and cuddled against
him. “Stay awhile longer.”
“I could be persuaded to
stay.”
She breathed in the scent that was Max
Devereaux’s alone. Her lips painted wet kisses from his chest to
his chin; then she rose up and over him, straddling him. She
swooped down to lunge her tongue inside his mouth. Her movements
brushed aside the sheet and light quilt, leaving her naked body
exposed to the golden moonlight coming in through the windows…and
to Max’s hungry gaze.
“Still want to leave me?” she
asked.
“I never want to leave you.” Max lifted
his hips, bringing his sex in direct contact with hers. “But what I
want and what must be…”
Jolie positioned herself, circled his
penis with her hand, and guided him into her. When she impaled
herself on its hard length, he grasped her hips and together they
set a steady rhythm. She rode him, placing pressure on the precise
points of pleasure, while he catered to her needs with caresses and
kisses. They climaxed simultaneously, falling apart with groans and
moans and whispered words that were said in the heat of passion,
meant to be forgotten in the cold light of day.
Yvonne woke with a start. She lay in
bed and listened. Silence. What had awakened her? A noise? Theron?
No, she’d heard nothing. She’d been restless for hours, tossing and
turning, until finally exhaustion had claimed her. It was the smell
that had roused her from a light sleep.
She sniffed. Smoke?
Yvonne kicked back the covers and
jumped out of bed. She sniffed again. Definitely smoke. She ran to
the door, and when she flung it open, billows of dark smoke
attacked her.
Dear God, the house was on
fire!
Theron!