want me to ask him to spy for us?”
“If necessary, yes. Look, I don’t think you’re clueing in here. This little scenario has the potential to go very bad, very fast.”
Circumstantial evidence…
Eden rubbed her temples. It was still hot in here. She really needed a new air conditioner. “Back up a little,” she suggested. “Did Lisa go to this plantation with—what was his name?”
“Burgoyne, Maxwell. She says no. They had dinner near Chalmette, or started to. He said something that ticked her off—which couldn’t have been easy since she’s virtually untickable—and she left. He followed her out. They got into their respective cars and drove away. Lisa went home. Maxwell went to the auction preview. Less than an hour later, someone slammed him on the head, and it was lights out for Mr. B.”
Unimpressed, Eden kicked her sister’s feet off the chair where she’d propped them. “Maxwell Burgoyne was a person, Mary, and he was murdered. You could try for a little compassion.”
“Why? Because he was our father?”
“Oh, no.” Eden swung around to face her. “No way was some stranger my father. You want to talk science and procreation, fine, but my dad, my real dad, had a ponytail until I was thirteen, which he cut off so I wouldn’t get bugged because he and my mother were going to chaperon my first spring dance.”
Because that same real dad had also died of cancer five years ago and Eden still cried when she thought about him, she halted her tirade there and forced her mind back to Lisa.
“Do the police have a murder weapon?” she asked after a pause.
Mary started to put her feet up again, caught Eden’s expression and shrugged. “I get the impression no. I think the sticking point is that several people in the restaurant where they ate heard Maxwell laughing—and not in a nice way, if you know what I mean. That’s why Lisa got upset and took off. You know how lame she is at hiding her feelings.”
“What did Maxwell do, professionally?”
“Businessman, big time.”
Eden leaned on the kitchen counter and stroked her white cat. “Powerful people tend to cultivate enemies,” she mused.
Mary snorted. “What was that you said about compassion? Oh hell, I hear a cell. Is it mine or yours?”
“Must be yours. My ring tone doesn’t sound like bad disco.”
“It’s Beethoven.” Mary dug the phone out of her shoulder bag. “What is it? I’m busy.”
If she hadn’t seen it happen, Eden wouldn’t have believed it was possible. Within five seconds, the blood had drained from Mary’s face, leaving her pasty white and gaping.
She hissed into the phone. “You can’t be serious. When? Are you sure?” She closed her eyes, groaned. “This can’t be happening.” Jamming two fingers into her temple, she breathed hard. “Okay, let me think, let me think.” Her eyes opened, slid to the window, then slowly, very slowly traveled to Eden’s face. “A lineup,” she murmured. The fingers she’d been pushing into her temple pointed at Eden. “Hey—yeah, it could work. It really could… What? Oh sure, I know the precinct. Thanks, Dev. No, just lock up and go home.”
“Who was…?” Eden began, but Mary had already ended the call, grabbed her hand and started dragging her toward the bedroom.
Eden yanked free. “Are you crazy? Who was that?”
“A neighbor. The cops came again. Lisa’s been taken in for further questioning.”
A streak of lightning over the old city caused the power to flutter for several seconds. Eden rubbed her wrist.
“Go on. I know there’s worse to come.”
“They have a witness.”
“Someone saw Lisa murder Maxwell Burgoyne?”
“Apparently.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“No, that’s New Orleans.” Thunder shook the foundations of the old building. Mary’s eyes glittered. “You know the justice system, Eden. All it takes is one bad cop. He wants Lisa guilty, bam, she’s guilty.”
“It’s hardly that simple, Mary.” And Eden didn’t want to go there in any case. “What’s your point?”
“Look at you, Eden.” Planting both hands on her shoulders, Mary propelled her to a plantation mirror in the hall. “Look at your face. Look at your hair—dark, thick, long. Green, green eyes. Gorgeous features.”
Eden saw it coming. She might be a step behind, but only a baby step.
“You and Lisa are ringers for each other.” Her sister sounded both triumphant and relieved.
Eden resisted the idea. “Mary, we’re not…”
“To a stranger, you are.” She caught Eden’s glare and shrugged. “Well, okay, you’re close enough, or you will be once I fix your hair and you put on a pair of jeans and a pink T-shirt.” She frowned. “I think that’s what Lisa was wearing today. Pink or peach.”
“I don’t have a pink T-shirt.”
“Close’ll do, Eden.” Exasperated, Mary tugged and twisted until Eden’s hair was wrapped in a messy bun. She found a pencil on the hall table and stuck it though the knot to secure it. Then she stood back. “It’ll work.” She spun Eden around. “You have to do this, okay? Lisa’s our sister, and we both know whoever he or she is, this witness is lying. Lisa doesn’t even swat flies. She wouldn’t hit a man on the head and kill him.”
“Mary…”
“Please, please tell me you don’t have an alibi for Sunday night.”
“I don’t need one.”
“Stop being difficult. What did you do on Sunday?”
For Lisa’s sake, Eden relented. “I had dinner with Dolores at her place.”
Dolores Boyer was their natural grandmother and the only family member Lisa, Mary and Eden all got along with. She made her home north of New Orleans in the bayou and only came to the city when she absolutely had to.
“That’s perfect.” Mary arranged strands of loose hair around her sister’s face. “She’ll go along with you when she realizes what’s at stake.” She stopped styling. “You were alone, right?”
“Yes.” Eden removed the pencil. “Look, Mary…”
“There’s no look. Our neighbor specifically said the word lineup. You have to be in it.”
Eden studied her reflection. Lightning forked through the night sky, threatening the power once again. But even though the lights trembled and faded and the hall was poorly lit, she saw Lisa’s features in her own.
Struck
