Behind the Mask

“Not yet, Graham,” she insisted. “Let’s try once more. And drive slowly. The neutral ground, the trees, even the houses, look right. But something’s different.”

He shook his head in annoyance and spun the car around, heading back up the street.

Lindsey resumed her searching. The house couldn’t have moved overnight. She tried to peer through the tree branches, imagining how things had looked from her perch above the crowd.

“Stop here! In front of the brown brick!”

Graham pulled off the street and parked at the beginning of the driveway. “We studied this house earlier. You said it couldn’t be, that it wasn’t quite right,” he reminded her, his irritation no longer masked.

She jumped from the car, letting the door slam behind her. Graham followed.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

She ignored him, walking under and past a towering tree, her eyes following the lines of the house, beyond the wraparound balcony on the second floor, to the third-level turret. Her breath caught. This was the image haunting her mind. The perfect couple in an imperfect frame.

“This is the house.”

“You’re sure?”

“Dead sure.” She shuddered at her choice of words. “It was the angle. That’s why I didn’t recognize it before. See? The top of the right shutter is broken off. It was hidden by the tree when we were riding in the car, but from here you can see it clearly, just like I saw it last night.”

“You never mentioned a shutter before.”

“No, I’d forgotten about it. Or maybe it had never registered, except in my mind’s eye.”

“Of course. How could I forget? That photographic memory of yours let you ace every test in high school, while I struggled for Cs.”

Lindsey walked ahead of him, scrutinizing every detail of the house. It stretched out in all directions, almost Gothic in appearance. Vines of ivy climbed the steep walls, and untrimmed branches hung low around the windows.

A sudden gust of wind stirred, chilling her to the bone. But it was more than the temperature that raised goose bumps on her flesh. It was the cold feeling of doom. She took a deep breath and started up the walk.

“Hold on, Lindsey. Where do you think you’re going? We can’t just knock on the door and ask them if they happened to notice any bodies lying around. I’m a detective. These people have rights.”

“Fine. You’re a cop. I’m not. So just get back in your car and you won’t have to worry about your little policeman rules.”

Lindsey took a deep breath and glanced over her shoulder. Graham was a few feet behind her, glaring threateningly. But this was the house. She was sure of it. She walked to the door and pressed her finger firmly against the cold bronze button. By the time the melodic chimes finished their performance, Graham was right behind her.

“Looks like no one’s home,” he offered in the long silence that followed.

Lindsey eyed him suspiciously. “Your relief is obvious. So why did you come to the hospital to question me in the first place, if you had no intention of following up on my story?”

Stepping back, he leaned his muscular frame against the brick column that bordered the steps. He smiled, the same devastating smile she remembered. But something was different. Something she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

“Oh, I intend to follow up, all right. And if there is a murderer, I’ll catch him. You can count on it. But when I get started, I’ll do it the right way.”

She turned back to the door and gave the bell a final attempt. All was quiet. But not still. The curtain at the front window inched sideways.

“And it looks like you’re about to get started,” she quipped.

Graham shot a penetrating look in her direction and stepped in front of her. “Lucky me.”

The door opened slowly, and a tall, thin woman peeked around the edge. She wasn’t old, no more than forty-five or so, but streaks of gray dulled her dark hair, and deep lines had already formed around her mouth and beneath her eyes. The furrows in her brow deepened when Graham presented his badge and an introduction.

“I hope we’re not disturbing you too much, ma’am. I just need to talk to you a minute.”

“What is it, Officer?”

“Just a couple of questions. Someone reported a disturbance in this area last night.”

“You can come in, for a minute. But I doubt if I can be much help. I work here five days a week, but I wasn’t here last night.” A New Orleans accent flavored the woman’s voice.

She motioned them into the massive foyer with a wave of her hand. “My name’s Ruby Oleander. Most people just call me Miss Ruby.”

Graham stepped back to let Lindsey enter in front of him. “And how about the owners of the house? Are they in?” he asked, closing the door behind him.

“No. They’re out of the country. In Rome. They have been for three weeks,” she explained, ushering them into the formal living room.

Lindsey took a seat beside the window and listened as Graham proceeded with the questioning, his easy manner quickly putting the suspicious housekeeper at ease.

She had worked for the LeBlancs for twenty years, Miss Ruby explained. And no doubt the LeBlancs could afford to pay her well for her services, Lindsey noted as she studied the opulent surroundings. It was no wonder Miss Ruby took her job as caretaker of the estate so seriously.

The house was furnished in antiques. Authentic, unless she missed her guess. Lindsey’s gaze followed the lines of the marble fireplace down to the hardwood floors that were covered with well-worn but exquisite Persian rugs. It was like visiting a living museum, even down to the smells of age and lingering cigarette smoke.

The place screamed money. No, not screamed, bespoke—elegantly. Apparently old money. Uptown at its finest. The same type of homes many of her high school friends had lived in. But not the way she had lived. Her dad epitomized the flashiness of new wealth. He liked life on the cutting edge, everything new and thoroughly modern.

Lindsey shifted her weight and tried to get comfortable on a period chair designed for women who had nothing more stressful to do than needlepoint.

“This must have been a great place to watch the Minerva parade from,” Graham commented, his tone as relaxed and friendly as if he were chatting with an old friend. “I heard it was impressive for a new krewe. What did you think of it?”

He was pretty smooth. Lindsey would have to give him that. She would have just plunged in herself, demanding to know who was in the house last night. Of course, Miss Ruby would probably have shut up like a clam.

“I didn’t see the parade.”

Miss Ruby’s tone cooled considerably as she responded curtly to Graham’s question and then shut up like a clam. So much for smooth.

Graham flashed her his most dazzling smile. “I didn’t see it, either. Not much of a paradegoer myself. I heard it was nice, though.”

“There’s really nothing I can tell you about last night,” Miss Ruby offered, regaining her composure quickly and sliding back into her friendly-housekeeper role. “You’ll have to ask one of the other neighbors. This house was empty last night, locked up tight.”

Lindsey squirmed about in the chair, determined to keep her mouth shut, even if it killed her. Her agitation did not go unnoticed.

“Could I get you some coffee? Or perhaps a cup of tea, Miss—?”

“Yes, some coffee would be nice.” Lindsey nodded appreciatively at the woman, but decided against providing her name. Especially with Graham intensifying that “keep quiet” look he’d been shooting her way ever since they’d stepped inside the door.

“And you, Detective Dufour?”

“No, nothing for me.”