Behind the Mask

Lindsey groaned and crawled out of the bed, bending over to look for her shoes. They weren’t to be seen, and a quick glance around the sparsely furnished room didn’t reveal any sign of her clothes, either. She stumbled toward the small closet, grabbing the back of a chair for support when her knees proved more the consistency of Jell-O than bone.

“Your clothes aren’t here. Grace Ann took care of that. You’re the victim of a Dominican Daredevils conspiracy. You need rest. Doctor’s orders. We plan to see that you follow them.”

The Dominican Daredevils. Funny, she hadn’t thought of that nickname in years. So much had happened since her days at old Dominican High. But for Grace Ann, Brigit and the others, life was just one long extension of the friendships and habits begun so long ago. Like so many others in New Orleans, they had never moved away, had even attended colleges that let them remain close to home.

She eased back to the bed to contemplate her next move. Her friends meant well, but obviously they were convinced she’d imagined the whole stabbing incident. And apparently the doctors and the police were just as certain. A cold shiver shook her body as the scene replayed in her mind. They were wrong. Somehow, she had to prove that to them.

“Ah, Miss Latham, I see you’re awake. And feeling a lot better than you were last night, I trust.”

Lindsey looked up and into the bluest eyes she’d ever seen, playful and twinkly, peering from behind a multitude of wrinkles. The graying gentleman stepped closer and stuck a steady hand in her direction.

“Dr. Matthew Benson,” he offered, grasping her outstretched hand and shaking it firmly. “How’s the head feel? Still a little dizzy?”

“Yes,” she admitted, reluctantly. She didn’t want to argue with the doctor, but she was getting out of here. Now. Or at least as soon as she located some clothes.

“The drugs appear to be wearing off fast, but I think you’ll feel a lot better for the night’s rest. You gave your young friends quite a scare when you started hallucinating.”

Brigit smiled at the doctor in conspiratorial fashion as she backed away from the bed.

“But I told them we’d see what some sleep would do for you,” the doctor continued. “I’m glad I gave you the shot before the officer showed up. If I hadn’t, I’m afraid our determined man in blue would have harassed you half the night. And you weren’t ready for that.”

Harassed? What was it with these people? Did she look like a basket case, or were murders just so commonplace in the Big Easy that nobody even bothered to report them anymore?

“I appreciate your concern, Dr. Benson, but I must talk to the police at once. Coherently. A young woman was murdered last night, and I may well be the only witness.” She turned to Brigit for support, but she had conveniently disappeared through the open door. “For all I know, the killer is still on the loose, doing who knows what,” Lindsey continued. “Running for his life. Maybe even killing again.”

The doctor flashed a patronizing smile, but his words were stopped short by a strident voice from the hall.

“You’ll have to wait. Dr. Benson would have my hide if he knew I’d let you in last night after he specified no visitors. Though personally I don’t see why he’s so worried about just another girl who overpartied. Mardi Gras! I’ll be glad when it’s over.”

Two sets of footsteps, one heavy, one barely discernible, moved closer to the door.

“I have to agree with you on that. But I’m just doing my job, ma’am. Just like you’re doing yours.”

A man’s voice. Strong and husky. And familiar, like an old love song. Lindsey struggled for air. It couldn’t be Graham. She was losing it, imagining things. Maybe the doctor was right. If her mind was playing tricks on her now, how could she be sure it had been any different last night on the float?

She waited, her body tense, as the heavy footsteps grew closer. Waited until a tall figure stepped inside, smiling uncertainly, his eyes riveted on her.

Her breath caught, settling in her throat like hot coals. She’d known this day would come eventually, but not now. Not like this.

“Hello, Lindsey.”

That was it. Two simple words. Years had come and gone since their last meeting. Ten long years, and now it all came down to a simple hello.

“Hello, Graham,” she answered, her shaky voice little more than a whisper. A thousand sleepless nights she’d wondered if her memories were accurate. If his smile was really that captivating, if his hair actually fell in lush, dark waves about his high forehead, framing his classic features. Now she knew just how deceptive memories could be. They hadn’t done him justice.

“Detective Graham Dufour, homicide,” he announced, flashing his badge for her and the others to see. His voice had almost broken on the simple hello, but it was all business now—and that was a message she needed to heed. Whatever they had once shared had died a long time ago. At least it had for him.

“I’m Dr. Benson.” The doctor broke the painful silence. He extended his hand, but the warmth he’d flashed at Lindsey was missing in his greeting to Graham. “It appears you’ve already met Miss Latham.”

“Yes. Lindsey and I are...old friends.”

Suspicion pulled at the lines of the doctor’s smile. “I’m going to let you have a few minutes with my patient. If she’s ready to see you, that is. But I want you out of here in ten minutes. She needs rest. So ask your questions fast and be on your way.”

“I’ll be fine, Doctor.” Somehow Lindsey managed a reassuring smile.

Graham’s gaze traveled over her, scrutinizing her face, her eyes, the outline of her body beneath the revealing covers of the hospital bedding. She pulled the sheet higher and raked her fingers through her long brown hair, pushing the wispy curls away from her face.

The doctor stepped to the door, then stopped. “When you’ve had enough, Miss Latham, just push that button on the edge of your bed. We’ll escort your young detective out of here.”

He pulled the door to, leaving behind a cloud of silence that threatened to suffocate her. She struggled for composure. She didn’t dare sit up, didn’t want to deal with Graham in her weakened condition. He’d surely notice the dizziness that once again had the room spinning unmercifully. He’d seen her weak and vulnerable before. He wouldn’t get that chance again.

She turned to slide the pillow higher, needing the added support.

“Here, let me help you with that.”

He stepped beside her. The smell of him assaulted her senses. A clean smell, soap and after-shave, and something more. That unmistakable musk that had always clung to him like a personal aura, a permanent badge of his masculinity.

“No, that’s okay. I can get it.”

“Of course. You always could take care of yourself, couldn’t you?”

“I manage.” At least she had been managing. Suddenly all her independence was going up in smoke. Her body longed to reach out to Graham, to bury itself in his strong arms, the way it had done last night in her dreams.

“So, what brings the famous Nashville research doctor back to old New Orleans? Surely not Mardi Gras. You were never one to mingle with the poor masses. This was always your week for skiing in the Alps.”

Sarcasm edged his voice and hardened the lines in his face. Nothing had changed in the ten years since she’d seen him. Nothing ever would. Those were the facts she needed to keep in front of her, not some romantic fantasy from her dreams.

“This isn’t about me, Graham. Things will go better for both of us if we just keep to the reason you’re here.”

“You’re right. So tell me what happened, before the good doctor runs me out.”

“I witnessed a murder last night. A young woman.”

“And where were you when this happened?” he asked, his expression cold and stony, successfully masking all feeling.

“I was on a float, in the Minerva parade.” The words came slowly, rolling off a tongue that felt too big for her mouth. No doubt another side effect of the drugs. “We had stopped. The crowds were pushing closer and closer. I backed away, against the support frame. I was just staring into the horde of spectators.”

Graham pulled up a chair and straddled it, his long legs stretching to the edge of her bed. “And you think you saw someone murdered in the crowd?” he asked, doubt clearly written in his face. “But no one else saw it?”

“No. I don’t think anything. I saw a murder.”

“Point made. And taken.” He settled in his chair.

Lindsey chose her words carefully. She needed to be as accurate as possible, in spite of the drugs. “I’m not sure where we were exactly, the route was so long. But it was somewhere in the Uptown section.”

“Was it near the beginning of the route?”

“We were about an hour into the parade, but we were moving slowly. I know we were on one of the avenues. There was a grassy neutral ground separating the two sides of the street. Almost all of the houses were huge, and they had balconies loaded with people,” she continued. “But not this one. It was dark as night, except for a sliver of light from an upstairs window. The window and room were rounded, like a turret, jutting out from the rest of the house.”

Lindsey tried hard to concentrate on her story. But everything seemed hazy. She wished she could blame it solely on the drugs, but she couldn’t deny the effect seeing Graham again was having on her senses. And the way he was staring at her now was definitely not helpful.

Detective Graham Dufour. He’d always talked of joining the police force, and she’d thought his aspirations far too limiting. But she’d been only seventeen. What had she known then of life...or love?

“And you saw something in this window,” he offered, keeping her on track like a good detective.

“Yes. A young couple, in costume.”

“A soldier and a Southern belle?”

“That’s right. How did you know?”

“It was in the report from the hospital. A patient named Lindsey Latham admitted for treatment. Slightly inebriated and talking out of her head, mumbling incoherently about the dashing soldier who’d stabbed the beautiful Southern belle.”

“So you knew it was me?”

“Let’s just say I thought it might be. I wasn’t sure you still were Miss Latham.”

No. He wouldn’t be. Not when he had been so distraught over their breaking up that he’d managed to stay single a whole three months.

“Did you come here last night?”

“As soon as I read the report. You were out of it.”

“But you stayed for a while?”

“Yeah. I stayed, until one of the nurses threw me out.”

Lindsey met his gaze, for just an instant, and once again pain pierced her heart. She stared at the muted pattern in the wallpaper, determined not to let Graham invade her life again.

“Are you all right, Lindsey? You look so pale.”

No, she wasn’t all right. She wouldn’t be all right as long as Graham was around, but she would never let him know it.

“I’m fine. And you’re wasting a lot of time sitting here, when you should be out catching the murderer.”

“If there’s a murderer, I’ll catch him. Now, exactly what did you see through that window, Lindsey, besides a soldier and his girlfriend?” he questioned, Sergeant—Friday.

“They were dancing, close together. His hands were around her waist. Hers were wrapped about his neck.”

“And you were able to pick up all these details?”

“Yes, I was on one of the tall floats, above the crowd. The street was narrow, and the house sat close to the sidewalk. Besides, like I told you, the round room jutted out, putting them even closer. It was almost as if I could reach out and touch them.”

“Okay. You had a perfect view, and they were dancing. Then what?”

“It was beautiful. She looked so happy, so much in love. The soldier lowered his lips and kissed her. It seemed to go on forever. His lips on hers, his arms wrapped around her. But then he dropped one hand to his side and began to run his hand along the sheath there.”

Lindsey paused. The room seemed so cold. And the memories so vibrant. “It happened so fast. No one could have stopped it. He just yanked the dagger from out of the sheath and plunged it into her heart.” She fought to steady her voice. “One minute she was lost in his kiss. The next she was crumpling to the floor.”

“It’s Mardi Gras, Lindsey. You remember how it is. The people go crazy. What you saw was probably just an act, a performance for the enjoyment of the crowds outside their window.”

“No!” She wanted to scream. Why wouldn’t people listen? Why wouldn’t they believe her? She’d seen a woman murdered, and all anyone could do was question her story. “It wasn’t an act. The blood was everywhere, gushing, covering the bodice of her green velvet dress.”

“And what was the soldier doing while you watched the woman die?”

“I don’t know. I only remember her. When I noticed him again, he had started to walk away.”

“Started to walk away? What stopped him?”

“I’m not sure. Perhaps me. He paused and stared out the window. I was too far away to see his eyes, of course, but his face was turned, as if he were looking straight at me. As if I were part of his deadly conspiracy.”

Her throat was dry now, like cotton. She reached for the glass of water on her table.

Graham beat her to it. He handed it to her, his fingers lightly brushing against her own. She jerked away, frightened by the feelings that accompanied something so meaningless as an incidental touch. She sipped the water slowly, struggling to keep her mind on the task, to keep feelings from the past at bay. She had to concentrate, to remember everything that might lead to the killer’s arrest.

“The float jerked forward then.” She shook her head again, to clear the haze from her thoughts. “I’m not too sure about what happened next. Just that I lost my balance, slid to the side and into Brigit. When I looked up again, there was nothing where the window had been. Nothing but blackness. That’s the last thing I remember.”

Graham stepped closer. “Rounded window on the Minerva route. Neutral ground and ancient oaks,” he muttered, as if to himself. “Uptown. Maybe St. Charles or Napoleon. We’ll check it out, see what we can find. We’ll probably need to get back to you on this, though, when you’re feeling stronger.”

Lindsey jerked to a sitting position, temporarily forgetting her state of undress. She couldn’t believe his lack of concern. She had seen a murder, and she was not going to just stand by while the murderer walked away.

“What do you mean, you’ll get back to me?” she demanded. “No wonder the crime rate’s rising so fast around here! I’m the only one who can recognize that house.” She swung her feet over the side of the bed. “And I’m going with you to look for it!”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You know what the doctor said. You need your rest.” He moved toward the door. “Besides, your description is adequate. I’m sure I can find the house even without your personal assistance.”

She pushed the call button and slid to the floor, careful to keep her back and the open hospital gown toward the wall.

The voice on the intercom wasted no time in responding. “What can we get for you, Miss Latham?”

“Clothes. And I need them now.”

“But the doctor said you needed rest, and your friend Brigit—”

“It doesn’t matter what the doctor or my friend Brigit said. I’m telling you that I’m walking out of here in the next five minutes with this police officer. It would look a whole lot better for everyone concerned if I did it with my clothes on.”

“Yes, Miss Latham. We’ll bring them at once.”

Graham’s eyes captured her, his dark eyes flashing threateningly. “Clothes or not, Lindsey, you are not going with me.”

“Listen, Graham. I’m not any more excited about spending time with you than you are with me, but we don’t have a choice. I can find that house. You can’t turn down my help. If you do, I’ll call your supervisor, the district attorney, the governor if I have to.”

“And if that doesn’t work, you can always call Daddy.”

Anger fueled Lindsey’s resolve. Daddy. Ten years, and the argument was still the same. “It doesn’t matter what you think of me, Graham. I’m the one who can recognize that house, and one way or another, I am going with you.”

“Suit yourself. I won’t spoil your chance of playing policewoman. But just remember,” he said, stepping out of the way as the nurse entered with her clothes. “Murderers don’t always listen to Daddy.”

Chapter Three

Lindsey stared out the window as she’d done for the past two hours, studying each house, each identifying detail, with the eye of a practiced researcher. She’d been so sure she would recognize the house and the window. But her memories were clouded by the sights and sounds of a Mardi Gras parade.

Everything looked different in the stark light of day. Houses that had appeared magical in the soft glow of artificial lighting now showed signs of cracked and fading paint. Cozy porches and balconies alive with eager spectators were now lonely and imposing. Except for the few stray beads that dangled haphazardly from barren tree limbs and whitewashed porch railings, there was no way to tell that the Krewe of Minerva had ever passed this way.

Maybe she wouldn’t know the house at all. They had passed several with turrets and rounded windows that swung open, but nothing about them had reached out to her. There was always something missing. The problem was, she wasn’t sure what that something was. Only that it had been in the picture last night and wasn’t there today.

Graham pulled the unmarked police car to the curb and slowed to a dead stop. He reached for the parade guide and opened it again to the map of the route Minerva had followed last night.

“We’ve been down St. Charles twice, Lindsey. I say we break for lunch. We’re getting nowhere with this. Besides, that last police report confirmed the earlier one. No bodies of blondes found. No young women admitted to the hospital with dagger wounds. Not even a missing-persons report that fits your description.”

Stuffing her hands in her jacket pockets, she glared out the window. There was nothing to back up her claim, and now she couldn’t even locate the house. A truce of sorts had existed between Graham and her ever since they had left the hospital, but she could tell his patience was wearing thin.

“So, do you want to stop for lunch, or can I drop you off somewhere?”

“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.