know. Time for breakfast. As if you’d let me forget. My grandmother obviously spoiled you rotten.”
From the cabinet Jacinth took a can of the fishy-smelling canned food that Sin loved, opened it and filled the cat’s bowl. She gave her fresh water, as well, and then started a full pot of coffee. She had a feeling she’d need it before the day was over.
Her thoughts went back to her grandmother as the enticing odor of brewing coffee filled the cozy kitchen. Marie Villaré had never been a part of Jacinth’s life. Jacinth didn’t remember one birthday card or phone call from the woman. Her name was never mentioned by Jacinth’s mother. Yet the inheritance that Marie Villaré had left Jacinth and Caitlyn served as a golden binding, reaching from beyond the grave to connect Jacinth with her Villaré ancestors and especially with her grandmother.
Yet numerous questions still went unanswered.
Had Marie ever wondered about her granddaughters? Why had she made no attempt to contact them even after their mother had died of cancer? If she had no interest in knowing them, why will them this house?
Had Jacinth’s mother left New Orleans because of her husband’s murder, or had Marie Villaré done something to cause Sophie to leave Louisiana and never return or even want to speak of the city or this house again?
The phone rang as Jacinth poured her coffee, jerking her back to the present. A drop of hot liquid spilled over her fingers.
“I’m Detective Ron Greene,” said the voice on the line as soon as she’d identified herself. “I hear you had a little excitement at your place last night.”
“Shock might be a better word.”
“Yeah. I’m reading the police report now. Some of the details are a little fuzzy. I’ll need to talk to you as soon as possible. Do you have any problem with me coming over this morning?”
“No. I’m available anytime.”
“Then I’m on my way. The Crime Scene Unit will get there at approximately the same time.”
“That will be fine.”
The sooner they got this over with the better. Grabbing her coffee cup, Jacinth headed back upstairs to get dressed.
She hesitated a few seconds in front of the closed door to her crime-scene bathroom. Maybe this old house was cursed after all and had stealthily lured Jacinth and Caitlyn into its web of evil.
And maybe Jacinth had been sniffing too much plaster.
She shook off the mood and hurried to get dressed for her own reality CSI.
NICK TOOK THE hard plastic chair in front of the pane of thick glass. As always, this place, with its institutional gray walls, armed and aloof guards and acrid smell of cleansers and sweat, created a hard knot in the depths of his gut.
He’d been ten years old when he’d come here the first time. It was also the first time since he was a first grader that he’d laid eyes on the father he’d been told was out of county on a special mission for his country.
His boyhood superhero instantly dissolved into a flesh-and-blood disillusionment, leaving a hole the size of a bowling ball in his heart.
Nick hadn’t said a word to the stranger staring back at him. Finally his mother dragged him back to their old Chevy and he’d thrown up all the way home, soaking the backseat with vomit. His mother had cried hysterically and just kept driving.
He hadn’t returned to the prison until he was sixteen years old, two months after his mother had remarried and moved to Pennsylvania, leaving him to live with his paternal grandparents while he finished high school.
The second visit to the prison had been at the urging of his grandfather. No pressure, Gramps had promised. Nick only had to go and make up his own mind if he wanted to engage. If not, they’d leave and nothing would be lost except the morning.
Nick hadn’t walked away and the sluggish, agonizing process of building a relationship with his father had begun that day.
Nick watched a woman walk across the floor of the visitor center flanked by two preschoolers. The girl’s short ponytail was tied with a bright pink ribbon that matched her shirt. A worn teddy bear with one arm missing was clutched in her right hand.
The boy was tugging at his mother’s skirt, as if trying to slow down her progress across the scuffed tile floor. An action figure dangled from his fingers.
Nick swallowed hard, aching for the kids. If they were here to visit their father, they had a tough road in front of them.
A slight tapping on the window got Nick’s attention. His father smiled broadly as if they were meeting for lunch or to go to a Saints game. Nick saw past the smile to the dark bags around his father’s sunken eyes, the pall of his complexion and the swollen jowls.
The chemo was doing a number on him.
Nick picked up the phone in front of him. “How you doing, Dad?”
“I’m hanging in there.”
“Are they taking care of you?”
“Yep. Dr. Singleton makes sure of that.”
Tom Singleton was his oncologist, the one making the decisions on Elton Bruno’s medical care. Nick had talked to him by phone a couple of times and checked out his reputation on the internet. He was a well-respected doctor.
That didn’t make it any easier for Nick to watch his father go through the treatments knowing they might be in vain and that his father could die in this prison. Knowing he might die waiting for a parole that wouldn’t come for a crime Nick was certain his father hadn’t committed.
“What’s going on with you?” Elton asked. “Any interesting new cases?”
“One. I can’t talk about it yet, but when it’s solved, I’ll feed you all the details.”
“Sounds good. Weather’s great today. You going fishing when you leave here?”
“Not today.”
“Got other plans?”
“Thinking of volunteering to fix a busted pipe for a friend.” Unless the plumber had beat him to it.
“A lady friend?”
“How’d you guess?”
“You never liked plumbing when you were working with your grandfather. I figured you had to have some pretty good motivation to make you volunteer your services.”
“Not the kind of motivation you’re thinking. She’s just a neighbor.”
“Then you should blow the plumbing off and go fishing. The day is too nice to waste hanging out with rusted metal.”
“Good point.”
Elton curled his hands around the back of his head and leaned back, balancing his chair on the two back legs as if he didn’t have a care in the world. “I’d
