The Stalking, page 25
Vine pursed his lips. “Trouble is on you—and blood is on your hands—if that Derringer does anything else.”
He turned and headed for his car.
“What do you think?” Andre said lowly to Cheyenne.
“I think he’s on the outs with his captain,” Cheyenne said. “Maybe over this.”
“He needs to learn to be a team player,” Andre said. “Most of the time, we all do just fine—even being Krewe, with what many people consider a different method of working.” He let out a long sigh. “Well, we’ve made a long trip out here and we could have gotten this information over the phone. While we’re here I thought that we should stop back by the cemetery, pay another visit to Detective Vine’s kinsman, Mr. Guy Mason.”
“That’s a fine idea. We can also stop by and see how Emil Justine’s lawyers are doing.”
“And check in with your cousin,” Andre said softy.
She nodded, her lips curling just slightly. “And check in with my cousin.”
“And maybe I’ll make some calls.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, every one of our old ‘friends’ has said they’d love to get together. I want it to be tonight. We’ll have to see if Mike Holiday can take a night off, and we’ll be early enough for it to be late lunch/early supper. I’ll ask the caterer to make sure we have paper cups and plates. We’ll get Jackson and Angela there, too, and that way, one of us can make sure we have a paper cup from everyone discreetly stashed away and we’ll have DNA. It will be a lovely evening.”
“On to the cemetery,” Cheyenne said. “Nothing like looking for a mummy—and of course, a rougarou.”
“Right,” he said. “With the help of a few ghosts, of course.”
14
The gates were open when they arrived. Andre drove the car up to the house—there was only one other vehicle there—the business car driven by Guy Mason.
The door to the house was open; Mason evidently wasn’t worried about anyone coming to cause him harm.
They found him in his office, going through paperwork.
“Special Agents, hello,” he said, seeming surprised to see them, but not annoyed.
“Please, sit. What can I do for you?” he asked, indicating the chairs in front of the desk.
“We’re just following up,” Cheyenne said. “Hoping you might have thought of something that could help us. I’m not sure what you’ve seen on the news, but Jacques Derringer will be released today. The medical examiner is ruling Father Napier’s death as natural—he died of a heart attack.”
“Ah, poor fellow,” Mason said, and shrugged. “I mean, the man is dead. And once you are dead, can it really matter to you how you got that way? Believe me, this I know, even though I am not an embalmer. We are like all animals. Once the flicker of life is gone, we are all but dead meat.”
“Interesting,” Andre said, folding his hands idly and appraising Mason. “You’re not much of a believer in the hereafter, or in the soul going on?”
“If it goes on, it’s not in the body. You take Mr. Tybalt’s family—they loved the man. Really loved him. But his life is over. The body rots—burns here, in our sun. Our tombs and crypts and ‘cities of the dead’ make fast work of the circle of life. When the pain of death, however it occurs, is over, then a man or woman is at peace. Whether there is a hereafter or not, the body has no purpose. Funerals are for the living, not the dead.”
“I believe that to be true,” Cheyenne said, “but I also do like to believe there is a hereafter. And I wonder how many people believe that the dead go on, and—perhaps from some lofty perch, a heaven in the clouds, as many artists depict—look down and watch. Perhaps they watch to assure their loved ones are okay, or to make sure they are given a fond farewell.” Smiling, she leaned forward. “Perhaps, in some small way, all the people who believe in ghosts are right and some stay behind to see that justice is done.”
Mason grinned at her. “Trust me—it’s all just dead meat. Anyway, how is that young woman who was rescued? Has she been able to help at all? I guess not, or you wouldn’t be here again.” He sighed. “Look, I know I’m a suspicious character. I’m here and Emil is still trying to get out of jail. He will—they have nothing but circumstantial evidence. And so you know, Bill Vine isn’t a bad guy. He just knows that I wouldn’t hurt anyone—don’t want to say that I wouldn’t hurt a fly since I’ve swatted hundreds of them in my lifetime. Part of bayou life in Louisiana.”
“Really,” Andre said, “we just came hoping that something else might have occurred to you. We hope you’ve tried to think of anything unusual you might have seen—or anything else you might know about. We know that kids are in here all the time, but there are still no guards around the property, no way to keep people out.”
“We can’t afford to build a better wall,” Mason said. “Yes, there are a lot of graves and crypts and larger family mausoleums, but you have to remember that this began as a family graveyard. In the early 1800s, there weren’t many public cemeteries—not in this area. Once the back-then Justine opened it to all his neighbors and the nearby communities, it became big. We still have a number of families in the area making use of their family tombs, but...the money isn’t really coming in. We can’t afford to hire full-time guards. The police watch, but you know yourselves that it’s easy enough for kids to sneak in and hide between tombs when patrol cars go by. We can’t afford to stop it. Justine can barely pay me. Right now, I’m here because there’s a funeral the day after tomorrow. Half the time, I don’t even come in. I supplement what I make here by selling vintage and antique stuff online.”
“Mr. Tybalt’s funeral is Saturday,” Andre said. “I believe you mentioned that the other day.”
“Yes. Did you know him?”
“Not well,” Andre said, and he stood. Cheyenne rose as well, and Guy Mason did the same. “I believe you might need some help for that. You’ll have people coming out of the woodwork for that.”
“He was elderly. Most of his friends have already passed. The family will be here, of course, but I’m not sure it will be busy. They’re off today speaking with the priest who was sent in by the diocese yesterday to...well, to take Father Napier’s place. Temporary right now, I understand but...well, you can imagine. Napier was loved in the community. People need...consolation.”
“People will come,” Andre said, “because they’ll want to see where Lacey Murton was found. They’ll want to rehash the Rougarou, and the Artiste—and wonder about the Mortician. People can be ghoulish when the horror doesn’t touch them personally.”
“I’ll mention this to my cousin. He’ll see that he has cops out for the funeral, maybe a man to specifically watch over the outbuildings,” Mason assured them.
They thanked him and left.
Out by the car, Cheyenne looked toward the cemetery.
“We can wander down,” Andre said. He watched her with a touch of humor. “Interesting theories you were exploring with our Mr. Mason. Is that when you first saw Janine after her death?”
Cheyenne nodded. “She was suddenly next to me, insisting that I tell the world that Lassiter killed her.” She glanced at him. “You—you never saw anyone here, in this cemetery?”
“That day? I was playing my guitar, glad to be in the jazz band. I wasn’t paying attention to anything else—I just ran after Lassiter when Jimmy shouted to me to flank the man.”
They walked among the tombs. She looked at him. “When did you first realize that you saw the dead?”
“I was a kid—small. My dad was fine thinking that I had imaginary friends. My mom...she just let me talk to them. She never saw them, but she was open to anything.” He glanced her way. “As I got older...well, I learned not to mention it.”
Cheyenne saw Janine and Christian slipping out from around the Dumas family mausoleum. Cheyenne knew that the two had been watching them since they’d arrived.
“Anything?” Janine asked anxiously.
Cheyenne told the two ghosts about Father Napier and seeing the mummy in New Orleans. While she asked them if they had ever seen a mummy running around the cemetery, Andre stood aside to make phone calls. “Like an Egyptian mummy?” Christian asked.
“Yes.”
“No. I’d have noticed a mummy,” Janine said.
“Have you seen anyone in here lately—anyone at all?” Cheyenne asked.
“No,” Christian said. “It’s been so empty...it’s creepy. No one visiting the dead. I think everything has freaked people out. They don’t bring flowers, they don’t come to cry or pray or anything. It’s been weird. But we’ll stay and keep watch as long as you need.”
“What about Melissa and Captain Bouche and Lieutenant Kendall?” she asked.
“They’ve been watching, too,” Janine said. She smiled grimly. “All these years...poor Melissa. I don’t think she’ll ever know who killed her.”
“My friend Keri researched in every way that she could,” Cheyenne told her. “She had some ideas, but she’s a good writer—she’ll put forth ideas, but unless she can completely substantiate them, she won’t say they were fact. Maybe she can come down for a few days and talk to Melissa, help her.”
“That would be great. Melissa is very sweet. And...she wants to move on,” Janine said. She smiled at Cheyenne. “I’ve been fine. I’ve had Christian all these years.”
“And I’ve had Janine,” Christian said. “We would have never found one another in life, and I believe—obviously—that there is a higher power, and that I have been forgiven. So, we’re doing okay, but... Melissa. She’s so sad.”
“She has friends—I mean, she’s got Lieutenant Kendall and Captain Bouche, right—and you two,” Cheyenne said.
Janine shook her head. “They are friends, yes. But it’s not the same. She wants to be with her family, with those who have gone on. She’s miserable. I think that the captain and the lieutenant believe that they stay in the name of peace and unity.” She smiled. “They haunt those who are fighting or bickering, and either try to straighten them out or scare them into getting along. Melissa is just...so sad.”
Andre walked over to them. “It’s set. We’re having a dinner party. Catered by one of my mom’s favorite places on Magazine Street—Your Cajun Uncle Sam’s.”
“You really think this could be someone we knew?” Janine asked.
“Yeah. We really do,” Andre said.
“We’ll keep watch!” Janine promised.
“And we’ll be back for the funeral the day after tomorrow,” Andre told her.
They left the cemetery and headed to the jail to see Emil Justine. They started with Detective Vine, who was not happy. “Justine isn’t here—no indictment. We’re investigating—oh, yes, of course, you’re lead on the case, but we are still investigating.”
“Do you know where he is? Did he have one of his children come for him, or did he return to his home?”
“Went to his house—in Broussard. I’m assuming you can get his address. I heard you were out to harass my cousin again. He’ll slap a lawsuit on you if you don’t stop,” Vine told him.
“Interesting,” Andre said, looking at Cheyenne. “We go to your cousin for help, and you think he’ll throw a lawsuit on us. You’ve gone after Emil Justine like a determined dog, but he should just say thank you for the room and board?”
“They teach you to be a wiseass in the academy?” Vine asked. “Justine owns the property.”
“Guy Mason manages it,” Cheyenne said.
“Well, Justine’s not here—and I have nothing from the church, or on the organist—and I have nothing from the rectory. Your people were in there, so...”
“Yep, thanks,” Andre said. He had set his hands on Cheyenne’s shoulders; she wasn’t sure if he felt they had to get out of there because she’d lose her temper—or because he’d lose his.
As they walked out, he told her, “I’m starting to think that he might be guilty of something—he’s an ass.”
“Yeah, and...”
“Being an ass isn’t illegal. But really...”
He stopped walking again.
“One more phone call.”
“Okay?”
“I want Angela to get someone looking at the financials—both business and personal. Maybe there’s money being passed from someone to someone else.”
“For?”
“For turning a blind eye,” he said. “Come on—let’s pay a visit to Emil Justine, and head on back. We don’t want to be late for our own dinner party.”
Cheyenne easily found Emil Justine’s home address. It was listed online, along with his phone number and the welcome to call anytime when a loved one passed away.
Emil Justine appeared to be older and even more tired than he had before. Still, he welcomed them in.
His home was a new house, a small two-bedroom ranch, and Cheyenne noted everything in it was brand-new and modern in style.
Maybe having grown up in a historic house—with historic plumbing, electricity and pipes—had made him crave what was new and always worked.
“I’m sure that Detective Vine is going to keep looking for evidence against me,” Justine said once they’d settled into his living room. “But for the time...here I am. I’ll probably head up to Pennsylvania—my kids want me out of here. They think I’m too old to deal with everything going on. But Rusty Tybalt was a friend of mine, so I’ll be at that funeral. Then I’ll make my arrangements. I won’t be leaving the country. Vine will know right where to find me.”
“He does seem to be determined to charge you,” Andre told him. “Do you know why? Does he have something against you?”
Justine shook he head in bewilderment. “I don’t understand. Unless, of course, Vine is worried about Guy. Maybe, in his mind, someone had to know what was going on. And he’s never going to believe it might have been his cousin. So, it had to be me.”
“How well did you know Guy Mason when you hired him?” Andre asked.
“He’s from Shreveport, but moved down here for a girl. He and the girl broke up, but he’d invested in a small home, and he’d worked for one of the big funeral companies when he’d been up in Shreveport. We met at church. Oh, actually, Father Napier introduced us. Anyway, I checked out all his credentials, and he’s for real. He’s been a good employee, especially considering that I can’t pay that much and a lot of responsibility is on him. I like Guy. He loves antiques, and when he’s not at the funeral home, he’s out scrounging the countryside, buying up things he knows he can get some good prices for on the internet. I don’t wish him any harm. Detective Vine’s behavior is not his fault. He’s trying to do his job. But at least now I’m out.”
“Well, sir, I hope it all works out well for you,” Cheyenne told him.
“I swear to you again, I have had nothing to do with kidnapping or murder,” Justine told them.
“And you’re doing all right?”
He nodded. “And how’s the young lady who was saved?”
“Still doing well,” Andre assured him. “We’ll be checking on you this weekend—we’re coming out for the funeral, too. Help keep an eye on things.”
“That will be fine. You’re welcome to be anywhere on my property, crawl the house—look through the attic and the basement...you’re welcome anywhere there.”
They thanked him and left.
“Nice man,” Cheyenne said, and Andre smiled.
“Well, being an ass doesn’t make you a murderer and being nice doesn’t mean that you’re not—but still, I don’t see how Justine could have been involved. He was away too much.”
“Unless it’s money,” Cheyenne said.
“Money. That’s why I’m having everyone’s financials checked and double-checked.”
“So, what are we having tonight?”
“Down-home cooking!” he told her. “Boudin, jambalaya, cheese grits, turnip greens—I decided to go as stereotypical as possible. I mean, what would a rougarou like? Cajun!”
* * *
Andre and Cheyenne made it back to the house by four, and when they parked and walked up, they found that the caterer was arriving, as well.
Andre remembered his board—with all of the guests’ pictures on it—and started to move into the parlor, but Jackson told him, “I’ve taken care of it. The board is upstairs in the closet. Someone would really have to be prying to get into it.”
“And,” Angela said, “we’ve got everything coming in—just as you ordered.”
“Paper everything,” Jackson confirmed.
“Guests should be arriving shortly,” Andre told Jackson. “Every one of them said that they could come.” A thought had been mulling in his mind. “I’ve been forming a plan, and it’s something that might just be out of the question. First, have you had any luck? You were trying to see if you could find the scent that Lacey said she smelled on the rougarou.”
“So far, we’ve been through at least a hundred,” Jackson told him. “We have to give her time in between, or she could ignore the right one or come up with a false positive. I’ve been smelling a lot of different aftershaves lately! Okay, what do you use?”
“Me?”
“Yeah. Just curious after all the ones I’ve been through today,” Jackson said.
“I wear the same thing all the time. An aftershave by a small company in Virginia. They’re growing—but for now, I like the company a lot, and they fit a government employee’s budget. What about you?”
“I use one from a department store,” Jackson said. “I never switch. Guess I found what I like, and I stay with it.”
“And Angela?” Andre asked.
“She loves a scent that’s by Versace. It’s all she wears.”
“Some people switch up now and then, but perfumes, colognes and aftershaves mix differently with different body chemistries, and we all have a tendency to be creatures of habit. I’m not sure what Cheyenne wears, but I have noticed that it’s the same every time.”
