Stranger, Seducer, Protector Read online

  Meet me in one hour at this address. It’s about Joy Adams.

  The address that followed was just a couple of blocks away. It sounded like a trap to Nick. He hated walking into a trap.

  But at least he’d go prepared. His Glock was a great equalizer.

  Chapter Seven

  The address was in the middle of the block. The entrance was next to an antique shop and through a locked metal gate that opened into a narrow courtyard.

  He tried the key. It turned easily and the rusting gate squeaked open. Pigeons scattered as he stepped inside. Wind chimes tinkled from a second-floor balcony. A dragonfly darted past him and then landed on the arm of a wrought-iron bench.

  At least nothing resembled trouble—yet.

  He climbed the outdoor stairwell and looked for apartment 206. Two hanging planters overflowing with greenery served as a welcome.

  He put his hand to the butt of his gun and rang the bell. The blonde answered right away. “I’m glad you came,” she said. “I’ve been sick with worry ever since I heard the news. When I saw you in Swishers, I took that as a sign.”

  He scanned what he could see of the apartment, a living and dining space with a back window that opened onto a view of the street. “Are we alone?”

  “Yes. I’d rather no one know I’ve talked to you.”

  Hence the note stuck in his pocket. “I’m surprised you even heard me mention Joy’s name over the club’s loud music.”

  “I didn’t. I recognized you.”

  “Have we met?”

  “Two years ago. My sister hired you to find out if my cheating, lying brother-in-law was hiding money from her when they were going through their divorce.”

  Now he knew why she looked familiar. “You’re Delaney Michael’s sister. We met at her attorney’s office. I forget your name, though.”

  “Sarah Livingston.”

  “Good to see you again, Sarah.”

  “I only have a few minutes,” she said. “This is my lunch break. Do you mind if I finish eating while we talk?”

  “Not at all.”

  She went to the kitchen and retrieved a sandwich with one bite missing. She didn’t bother to sit, so he kept standing, as well.

  “How do you know Joy Adams?”

  “We were roommates.”

  “Bruce just swore to me that she’d never worked at Swishers.”

  “She didn’t. We got to know each other in karate classes. I was forever a novice but Joy earned her black belt. We hit it off and decided to rent this apartment.”

  “Were you living together when she disappeared?”

  “Yes, and we had been for six months.”

  “So what is it you want to tell me about her?”

  “I think I know who killed her.”

  Nick was cautiously excited. He’d been down dead-end roads that looked like highways before. “I’m listening.”

  “She was really into some guy right before she disappeared. He told her he was a prince from some Scandinavian country, but he couldn’t tell her which one because he was in the States secretly.”

  This was sounding fishier by the second. Nick stood with his back to the wall, half expecting burly guys to rush out of the bedroom and jump him at any second. “Why did his being in the States have to be kept secret?”

  “I don’t remember exactly, something about his not going through state department channels because he wanted to see the United States like any other tourist.”

  “Did the prince have a name?”

  “He told Joy to just call him John. His hair was obviously bleached and he didn’t look like a Scandinavian to me. But he gave Joy lots of tacky jewelry and he kept telling her he wanted to marry her and take her back with him to live as royalty.”

  “Did Joy take him at his word?”

  “Yes, but you’d have to know Joy to understand why she’d fall for such bunk. In spite of being hurt by every guy she’d ever fallen for, she always believed her prince would show up one day.”

  “Can you describe this prince?”

  “He was taller than average. Bleached hair, like I said. I saw him once, briefly, but didn’t get a good look at him. But I can tell you he didn’t look all that princely walking down Bourbon Street and chugging down a beer.”

  “Have you told all this to the police?”

  “I told them last year when Joy first went missing. They left and never got back to me. I could tell they just thought Joy ran off with the guy. To be honest, I would have thought that, too, except she didn’t take his gifts that she’d believed were worth a fortune.”

  “Then she didn’t leave a message or try to get in touch with you?”

  “No, but if Joy were all right, she would have found a way to get in touch with me.”

  Sarah’s eyes welled with tears and she wadded the rest of her sandwich into the napkin and tossed it into the trash. “Joy loved him and he killed her. He should pay, Nick. Someone should make him pay.”

  “Someone should—if he’s the killer. We don’t have proof of that yet. Do you still have the gifts he gave Joy?”

  “I do. Wait here and I’ll get them for you.”

  She returned a minute later with a plastic shoe box. She opened it and set it on the counter next to the sink. “John claimed these were heirlooms that had been in his family for generations.”

  “They do look old,” Nick said.

  “Actually, they look like the tacky stuff my grandmother wears, and, believe me, she’s not royalty.”

  Nick leaned over for a better look. There were at least a dozen pieces of jewelry—necklaces, earrings, pins, bracelets. They ran the gamut of design, but all looked to be antique.

  He reached into the shiny mix and picked up a gold bracelet with delicate heart-shaped links. It looked real enough to Nick, not that he was an expert in jewelry. He wore a plain, leather-band watch and had never owned a ring. He’d never bought one for anyone else, either.

  He sifted to the bottom of the box and let his fingers come to rest on an ornate, silver filigreed brooch with a blue stone in its center. Probably at least similar to the one Marie Villaré had given Carrie when she thought she was going to become part of the family.

  “Have you had the jewelry appraised?”

  “Not these pieces, but I took in a couple of the rings that John had claimed were priceless. The jeweler said they were the kind of costume jewelry you can pick up at garage sales for ten or fifteen dollars. I wore them for a while, but threw them in the trash when they turned my fingers green.

  “I kept these thinking Joy might come back for them. Now I know she never will.” Sarah’s eyes teared up again as she snapped the lid back on the box. “You can take the jewelry with you if you think it will help in finding her killer.”

  “Thanks.” He slipped the brooch he was still holding into his pocket. “Unless we discover the jewelry is stolen property or evidence in a murder case, I’ll get them back to you.”

  Nick’s best hunch right now was that Prince John had stolen the jewels from Marie and used the baubles to lure at least three young women to their deaths. Now all he needed was to find this John when he didn’t have a solid description or a last name.

  Worse, he had no clue if the killer was connected to Marie Villaré in some way or had just broken into the house while it was empty.

  “I’ll get out of here now and let you get back to work,” Nick said, “but I may need to talk to you again.”

  “No problem. Just don’t come around the club to talk.”

  “I guess Bruce frowns on your having personal conversations on company time.”

  “Bruce is fine. I’d just rather Eric Ladeaux not find out I’m talking to a private detective about Joy.”

  “Why would he care? You and Bruce both claimed there was no connection between Joy and Swishers.”

  “I said Joy didn’t work for Swishers. I never said there was no connection between her and Eric.”

  If this kept up, Nick was g
oing to need a scorecard to keep up with the suspects. “What was the connection between Joy and Ladeaux?”

  “They were lovers. Joy broke it off with him when her prince came along.”

  The plot was thickening to mud. It would take hours to catch Jacinth up to speed on everything that he’d learned today.

  He’d make one quick stop and drop the shoe box full of treasures off with a jeweler friend of his so that he could get a true appraisal. And then it was back to the Villaré mansion and Jacinth. He planned to be there waiting when she returned home.

  He had to tell her the full truth about the three women who’d disappeared, had to admit that the beast who’d killed Joy Adams might well have killed all three of them and perhaps others.

  And then he’d lay down the rules for keeping Jacinth safe. He was taking no chances with her life.

  He’d just started down the stairs, shoe box in hand, when he felt the hammerlike blow to the back of his skull.

  The world spun around him as he stumbled and careened down the steep steps to the concrete courtyard below. His vision blurred and then turned off like a lightbulb.

  When he came to, his head hurt like hell. An elderly woman with a cane was standing over him, staring disgustingly as if he were rubbish that had missed the Dumpster.

  The plastic shoe box was nowhere to be seen.

  JACINTH MADE HER SECOND call of the afternoon to Nick. Again, there was no answer. Frustration made her edgy. It wasn’t that she had news for him. She just needed to make contact. With all that was going on, he seemed her only link to sanity.

  Not that she should expect him to be at her beck and call. He had his own cases to work on just as she had her responsibilities at the university.

  Today had been nonstop. Arrangements for a guest lecturer and a meeting with her doctorate advisor had to be integrated with her already full teacher/grad student schedule. It was four-thirty now and she hadn’t even managed to find time for lunch.

  But at least the demanding workload had given her some reprieve from the horrors of the past weekend. Now that she had a moment to catch her breath, the problems and the murder were closing in again and she felt as if she were caught in a dangerous undertow that was pulling her beneath a torrent of gray, deadly waves.

  Her nerves were frayed and there was no respite in sight. Her spirits plunged with her energy level. She was positively exhausted. The last three restless nights were taking their toll.

  Her inexplicable infatuation with Nick wasn’t helping.

  He was complicated and frustrating, savior and tormentor at the same time.

  He’d moved in fast, rushing to her rescue, voluntarily taking on a dirty plumbing job, following her to the cemetery just be certain she was safe—or so he’d claimed.

  He was seemingly as infatuated with her as she was with him, yet he pulled away every time things between them started heating up. She’d be far less perturbed and more trusting of his motives if they made sense to her.

  She looked up at a light tapping. Dr. Jefferies smiled from her doorway. “Do you want to grab a bite to eat before class?”

  “Either that or a nap.”

  “You do look rather exhausted.”

  “Thanks. I needed that.”

  “Sorry, but you do. Doctoral studies paired with a teaching assistantship can sometimes become overwhelming. If you’re having problems handling everything, you should speak to your advisor.”

  “It’s not that. It’s personal issues,” she offered, unwilling to say more and pull him into her mire.

  “We’re all really pleased with your work, Jacinth. You’re exactly the caliber of doctoral candidate we love to get. But if you need a few days’ leave to take care of personal matters, that can always be arranged.”

  “Thanks. I’m good for now but I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “Then will you join me in a quick bite before class?”

  She nodded. “But we’ll have to make it fast. The students in my evening classes like to start at straight up six o’clock so I dismiss them on time.”

  Tonight, she’d be more than ready to leave, herself.

  They opted for a nearby coffee shop. Jacinth was in serious need of caffeine, but she chose mineral water with a bowl of vegetable soup. She was desperate for a good night’s sleep tonight.

  “I visited the Villaré family crypt yesterday,” she said while they waited for their order.

  Dr. Jefferies’s eyebrows arched. “In those thunderstorms?”

  “I admit I picked a poor day for the adventure. But the crypt was worth getting wet.”

  “Yes. It’s been featured in several articles about New Orleans cemeteries.”

  “I didn’t realize that, but I can see why. However, the visit was personal for me. My father’s body was never found, but his name is carved into the large family tombstone.”

  “You’d seen it before, of course?”

  “No. I’ve been busy with house repairs and renovations.” She was not getting into her aversion to ghostly confines with Dr. Jefferies. “There was a plaque that mentioned Victoria Villaré’s heroism during the Civil War.”

  “Ah, yes, Victoria the Brave. She was in her teens when key officers in the Union Army booted her family from the premises and seized the Villaré house for their own use. Victoria used the secret passageway’s corridors to overhear the officers’ strategies. Many saved lives were accredited to her.”

  “So the house I’m living in really does have a hidden passageway that would allow someone to come and go unnoticed?”

  “Well, it did at one time. I suspect the passage was sealed off years ago.”

  “Why seal it off?”

  He worried a small mole on his neck as if it were the key to his vast store of knowledge. “Rats. At one time, they became a real plague to the city. After a couple of people died from rodent bites, it was determined that many of the filthy rodents bred in the dank and useless passageways. At that point, home owners couldn’t seal them off fast enough.”

  The man might not have a social life, but he was a walking encyclopedia. “How would I check to see if the passageway in my house had been sealed?”

  “Locate the entrance.”

  “How would I do that? Is there some mark on the wall I should look for?”

  “If they were easy to find, they wouldn’t be called secret passageways, but rest easy, Jacinth. The Villarés were members of the socially elite back in those days. I’m certain your passageway is sealed. No rats will invade your living space.”

  Dr. Jefferies’s assurance was comforting.

  But what if he was wrong?

  “I’d love to know more about how the passageways were constructed and used.”

  “Then I have a good friend you should talk to. Her name is Eugenia Kibecti and she and her husband own a house on the historic registrar with a functioning secret passageway. I’m sure she’d be glad to give you a tour if you asked.”

  “I just may do that.” Hopefully Eugenia’s passageway did not contain body parts.

  JACINTH WAS BEYOND exhaustion when she swung out of Dr. Jefferies’s car at half-past nine and hurried up her walk.

  “Long day.”

  Startled, she jumped, banging her shoulder against the nearest Greek column. “Nick. Don’t you ever give warning before you pop up?”

  “It’s not like I’m hiding. I’m sitting in your porch swing.”

  She was glad to see him, but still irrationally irritated that he hadn’t called. “Why are you sitting there? It’s late.”

  “Educator’s hours?”

  The hint of sarcasm in his voice increased her frustration. “As a matter of fact, I teach a freshman research class twice a week that lets out at nine. I would have explained that had you answered my calls.”

  “I was out of commission for a while. Fortunately, your friend waited around to drive you home.”

  She leaned against the column. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous, Nick. Not after yo
u lectured me on why our attraction for each other had to be locked away and forbidden to even rear its sensual head.”

  “Let’s start over. We’re both just a little undone tonight.” Nick rose from the swing and walked over to her. “We need to talk.”

  One look at him in the glow of the porch light and her anxiety level soared. She gingerly touched a finger to his bruised and swollen face, then noticed the lump on the back of his head. “What happened?”

  “I took an ugly fall, nothing serious. Don’t worry. I’ve had the lump checked out. I’m fine.”

  “This has to do with Joy Adams, doesn’t it?”

  “It’s a long story. I can talk better inside.”

  She unlocked the door, dreading what would come next.

  Nick walked over to the porch swing and retrieved a small duffel she hadn’t noticed before. “What’s in there?”

  “Important developments. I’ll explain it.”

  “Before or after you tell me why you look like you fell into a tiger’s cage?”

  “It’s all connected.”

  Her brain reeled from apprehension and the numbing fatigue that refused to let go of her.

  “I need a minute to change into something more comfortable and splash some cold water on my face to jump-start my weary brain.”

  “Mind if I brew a pot of coffee while you do?”

  “Go ahead, but none for me. The coffee’s in a canister just above the pot. So are the filters.”

  Sin was waiting at the top of the stairs, but when Jacinth approached, she yowled and ran down the hall, disappearing into Marie’s old bedroom.

  Jacinth started to her own room, but paused when she caught a whiff of that same unpleasant odor she’d noticed when she returned from the store on Saturday. Only this time she knew exactly what it smelled like—the dank, moldy stench of mildew and stale air that she’d breathed inside the crypt.

  She had to get the plumber out here to find that leak in the wall soon or she’d get sick from the mold.

  Jacinth unzipped her straight black skirt and stepped out of it. While she unbuttoned her blouse, she opened the closet to retrieve her blue silk robe.