He’d worn his hair natural for a long time, but these days, he’d taken to dyeing it black, and he liked to slick back the glossy strands from his high forehead in the manner of an old-timey preacher.
But his hair and even the scar played second fiddle to his eyes. They were by far his most prominent feature. So dark a brown they were almost black, but in the center radiated the heat and fury of a fire-and-brimstone zealot.
Ellis didn’t think of himself that way, though. He considered himself a soldier and sometimes a prophet.
Turning his attention back to the glass panel, he lifted the origami crane he’d found in Mary Alice’s room and watched her over the graceful curve of the paper head.
She stared back without blinking. Her eyes were clear and blue and mesmerizing in their intensity.
And Ellis thought, almost in awe, She knows.
It was almost as if Mary Alice Lemay could peer straight down into his soul.
Five
The day was still, hot and hazy as Evangeline and Mitchell drove into the Garden District.
The streets in this glorious old neighborhood were lined with the gnarled branches of live oaks, and the lush, vivid yards—heavily painted with crepe myrtle, oleander and flaming hibiscus—provided a striking contrast to the gleaming white houses.
Underneath second-story verandas, ceiling fans rotated in the sluggish heat. Children played in the lawn sprinklers while gardeners dripping with sweat clipped hedges and weeded flower beds thick with petunias and geraniums.
This was a neighborhood steeped in history and quiet refinement; a lifestyle of summer garden parties, servants and drinks by the pool.
A world very different from the one Evangeline knew.
After leaving the crime scene earlier, she’d showered and changed her clothes, but the scent of Paul Courtland’s rotting flesh still clogged her nostrils as she pulled the car to the curb in front of his house.
She leaned her arms against the steering wheel and stared out the window at the house, dreading the moment when she would have to climb out of the car, walk up to the house and ring the bell.
Mrs. Courtland? I’m afraid I have some bad news for you.
Evie? I hate like hell to be the one to have to tell you this.
“Evie?”
For a moment, Mitchell’s voice seemed so much a part of her memory, Evangeline forgot he was in the car with her. She turned and glanced at him. “Yeah?”
“You ready to do this?”
“Can I just go have a root canal instead? Or maybe get some surgery done without anesthesia?”
“’Fraid not. Comes with the territory. Could be worse, though,” he added, and Evangeline knew that he was thinking about the night Johnny died, too.
Silently, they got out of the car and started up the walkway together.
The Courtland home was a three-story Greek revival with wide Doric columns in the front and a walled garden in the back. Baskets of trailing ferns hung from the balconies, and the carefully tended flower beds exploded with color.
The sound of splashing water and laughter drifted over the garden walls, and as Evangeline walked up the front steps, she heard a child singing in the back, a happy, inane tune that tugged at her heart and made her wish she was anywhere in the world but where she was—standing at a dead man’s front door.
A middle-aged woman with short gray hair answered the door straightaway. She wore brown slacks and a blue, nondescript top that she tugged down over her rounded hips. “Yes?”
“We’re NOPD,” Mitchell said as he hauled out his wallet and showed her his ID. “Are you Mrs. Courtland? Mrs. Paul Courtland?”
“No, I’m the Courtlands’ nanny.” Her hazel eyes flickered with uncertainty. “Is there some trouble, Officer?”
“It’s Detective. And, yes, I’m afraid there’s been some trouble. Is Mrs. Courtland home?”
“She’s out by the pool with her daughter. Hold on a second and I’ll get her for you.”
Instead of inviting them in, she closed the door in their faces.
Mitchell gave a nonchalant shrug. “Lots of riffraff in the city these days. Can’t be too careful.”
“You do look a bit dodgy. Where’d you get that shirt?”
“Salvation Army,” he said. “A buck twenty-five.”
They waited in silence until the door was drawn back again a few minutes later. The woman who stood on the other side this time was a thirtysometh-ing blonde wearing a green-and-gold bikini top with a matching sarong fastened at the top of one hip. She was tan and lean with the kind of soft beauty and quiet elegance women of her social station seemed to acquire naturally.
Her full lips glinted with pale peach lip gloss and when she propped a hand on the door, Evangeline saw the same shade of shimmer on her nails. Fine-tuned was the first description that came to mind. Pampered was the second.
“I’m Meredith Courtland,” she said as her cool gaze skipped from Evangeline to Mitchell and then darted past them to the unmarked car at the curb. “How may I help you?”
“I’m Detective Hebert, this is my partner, Detective Theroux.” They both presented their IDs. “Ma’am, I’m afraid we have some bad news for you.”
“Bad news?” She stared at them blankly, as if such a concept were unheard of in her comfortable, insulated world. “Is this about the accident?”
Mitchell glanced at Evangeline. “What accident would that be, ma’am?”
“The fender bender I had in the Quarter yesterday. I left all my information with the other driver, and I’ve already contacted my insurance company. I don’t know why he felt the need to get the police involved.” She looked mildly annoyed as she ran her manicured nails through the precisely clipped strands of her blond bob.
“We’re not here about a car accident,” Evangeline said. “This is regarding your husband.”
“Paul? What about him?” She must have glimpsed something in their faces then because her annoyance vanished, and for a moment, her blue eyes looked as if they were drowning. “Is he…” She drew a quick breath and seemed to dismiss the possibility of any real unpleasantness. “He’s all right, isn’t he?”
“No, ma’am, he’s not.” Evangeline tried to keep her voice neutral, without letting the pity she felt for the woman creep in. “If it’s okay, we’d like to come in and talk to you for a few minutes.”
For the longest time, Meredith Courtland didn’t say a word, just stood there clutching the door while, in spite of her best efforts to cling to denial, her world started to crumble around her.
Evangeline’s heart ached for her. She knew only too well what it was like to be on the other side of that door. To feel so overwhelmed by the news that you forgot how to breathe. You could hear someone talking to you. You could even make out their words. But what they said made no sense. Nothing made sense. How could the husband you’d kissed goodbye that morning, the man you loved more than life itself, be dead?
How, all of a sudden, could the life you’d shared with him be nothing more than a memory?
Evangeline could feel the burn in her eyes of a thousand unshed tears and she had to glance away for a moment. Sometimes even now a future without Johnny seemed too much to bear.
Meredith Courtland stepped back from the door. “Please come in,” she said shakily.
They stepped into a cool, terrazzo entryway with gilded mirrors and tall vases of pink and white roses. Sunshine spilled in from a domed skylight and dazzled the crystals of a huge chandelier. A floating staircase swept gracefully up to a second-story gallery, where a black maid temporarily appeared at the railing before vanishing back into the shadows.