Stratagem Page 5

  “And you’re sure it wasn’t in your room before?” He just couldn’t wrap his mind around a doll just showing up in a room.

  “I’m positive.”

  “And you thought Anna Belle might’ve put it in your room?” Brandon had met Anna Belle more than a couple of times, knew her through Grayson of course, but didn’t really know her well, yet he couldn’t exactly envision her running around with a voodoo doll and putting it in someone’s room. To what purpose? To scare her? Well, it had definitely rattled Georgia, that much was pretty clear.

  “Maybe.” Georgia rubbed her cheek.

  Ah. One of those telltale signs. “Why would Anna Belle have put a voodoo doll in your room?”

  “She’d do anything to mess with me if it meant that she’d get a leg up on me in any way.”

  Well, that certainly sounded like the Anna Belle he’d met. “I’m assuming she’d done other things before?”

  Georgia nodded. “She stole two of my campaign ideas and passed them off as her own to the clients. I lost the accounts because of that, which meant I also lost the commission money—about five grand.”

  “Did you tell your boss?”

  Georgia snorted. “Of course, but everybody knew Tim was sleeping with her back then. What was he going to do? Confront her? She’d just lie, and he’d believe her.” She shook her head. “The first time she pulled a stunt like that, I told him. He didn’t do anything, so why bother when she did it again?”

  Anna Belle sounded like a real piece of work. “What else did she do to you?” He deliberately lowered his voice and leaned forward, as if they were sharing a private conversation.

  His tactic worked. Georgia leaned forward as well. “She sabotaged one of my campaigns for one of our biggest clients. It didn’t matter that the company lost the business, she just wanted to make sure I was blamed for the big mess.”

  “That’s awful.” And it was. He really felt for his friend now. What had it been like to be married to someone like that?

  “She was terrible. She’d run over anyone and anything to get to the top. Sleep with the owner, even though she knew he was married and he and his wife had been trying to get pregnant, sabotage others’ campaigns, steal other people’s ideas—like I said, anything and everything she could do to stay on top of her career.”

  Brandon felt Danielle’s nudge under the table. Yeah, he knew how to question a suspect/witness. “You know for a fact that Anna Belle did this to other people too?”

  Georgia wiped her face again. Ah. Brandon loved those telling signs of deception and discomfort.

  “Well, not for positive, not like I know she messed with mine, but I know that Franklin didn’t trust her. He told me that much.”

  Brandon opened the folder and scanned. “Franklin Barron? He was there this weekend too?”

  She nodded. “Yeah. All four of us being considered for the promotion to executive accounts director were there. It’s a good thing Anna Belle and Tim weren’t a thing anymore, otherwise she would’ve gotten the promotion without question. But since they’d broken up and he’d gone back to his wife … well, four of us had a chance. We had no idea this was a game.” She snorted. “Some game.”

  He couldn’t wait to get the details of why Grayson’s company in particular was hired, but that would come from the owner of Anna Belle’s company. He could, however, find out what the unwitting players knew. “What, exactly, were you told about the weekend?”

  “Tim had told us—me, Anna Belle, Franklin, and Hugh that we were under consideration for the promotion. He said that a lot would go into the decision, but that he wanted to watch us work, independently and as a team, and we would be tested over a long weekend. To be considered, we had to fill out a stack of paperwork, sign a waiver of release to participate, and authorize the release of our medical records and financials to the company.”

  “What?” Danielle blurted out.

  But Brandon couldn’t blame her for breaking their routine. He was just as shocked.

  Georgia nodded. “Yeah. I thought it was a little in-depth, but when you think about it, it’s not that far-fetched. The executive accounts director would oversee clients that were worth millions. Every aspect of the person who would get the position had to be vetted.”

  It sounded insane to Brandon, but then again, in his profession he saw the ugliest part of humanity and thus had very little trust in his fellow man.

  He resumed his questioning by asking, “So, you went to Anna Belle’s room to ask her if she left the doll in yours. You knocked, and the door opened, and…?”

  Georgia jumped right back into the retelling. “It just pushed open, and I saw Anna Belle just lying there on the ground. She was just so still and lifeless. I just knew she had to be dying. I screamed my head off.”

  Overuse of the word just. A slight embellishment from her initial statement that she saw Anna Belle on the ground. Her initial statement had nothing about Anna Belle being dead or dying. It never failed—people always deviated in retelling. That’s one thing that made their job so difficult: weeding out the fact from fiction.

  “Of course you screamed.” Building the connection again. “How awful. So then what happened?”

  “Everyone came running. Tim started CPR. Another man I’d never seen before called 911. There were several people I have no idea who they were just appeared. Emmi, Tim’s wife, hugged me. I was just beside myself.”

  “I can imagine.” Brandon nodded. “So the ambulance came?”

  Georgia nodded. “They came and took her out on a stretcher. Tim and Emmi left to go to the hospital.” She shook her head. “If I’d been Emmi, I sure wouldn’t have been concerned. Anna Belle had had an affair with her husband, after all.”

  “What about everyone else?”

  “Well, we didn’t know who all was who. Franklin told me that we needed to go. He waited while I got my stuff and then walked me out to my car.”

  “Did you take the voodoo doll?”

  That threw her off. She gave a little shudder. “Of course not. I dropped it when I found Anna Belle.” She crinkled her nose. “I guess it’s still there.”

  It would be in evidence collected by their CSI unit. He’d check if it became an important item. For now he just needed to know what Georgia could tell him. “About what time did you leave?”

  “I guess about a quarter till five.”

  “Did you go to the hospital?”

  Her expression showed her disdain. “No.” She must have remembered who she was talking to. “I mean, not that I didn’t care if someone lived or anything, but Anna Belle wasn’t my friend. We didn’t like each other. It would’ve been hypocritical for me to go, right?”

  Brandon nodded. “Did you know Anna Belle was allergic to cherries?”

  Georgia shook her head. “No. I’ve never even heard of somebody being allergic to fruit like that.”

  “Do you happen to know if Anna Belle drank energy drinks often?”

  Georgia nodded. “Oh yeah. She drank at least one every afternoon. Called it her pick-me-up. Everybody knew. I mean, she kept them on her desk at the office.”

  “Did you hear from anybody else about the incident after you got home?”

  She nodded. “Tim called everybody Friday afternoon and let us know that Anna Belle had died and told us you, the police, would be contacting us. He told us we’d all been in an elaborate game that was created for him and the board to decide who to promote.”

  Nothing like giving all the suspects a heads-up. “Did you talk to anyone else? Besides Tim and me and my partner here?”

  “No.”

  Brandon slipped on a smile. “Is there anything else you can think of we might need to know?”

  Georgia nodded and leaned forward, her eyes widening, and lowered her voice. “The company Tim hired to create the game? The owner is Anna Belle’s ex-husband.”

  FIVE

  Monday morning dawned cooler and overcast, as if the weather had been ordered to match
Grayson’s current state of mind. The night had seemed to stretch on and on with constant tossing and turning. Sleep had evaded him for the four hours he’d actually been in the bed attempting to rest. Most of those dark hours were spent unloading his emotions in prayer. He’d finally gotten about two hours of shut-eye. Not enough, but it was better than nothing.

  “Grayson?”

  He’d just stepped onto his front porch, about to head into the office, when an elderly woman’s voice cut through the February air. Hand still on the knob, he turned to face her coming up his driveway. “Yes?” She looked vaguely familiar.

  “It’s me. Monique.” She strode to the steps.

  Anna Belle’s mother. His former mother-in-law. “Monique.” He held out his hand to assist her up the steps.

  The woman had aged rapidly in the years since he’d last seen her. Her gray hair was thinner, her skin more translucent, and if possible, she stood probably an inch or two shorter. Her movements were much slower than he remembered.

  She hugged him as she reached him, stretching up on tiptoe, her thin frame feeling very fragile and delicate against his six feet two inches. “I’m very sorry we’re having to see each other under these circumstances.” She released him. “Do you have a moment?”

  “Of course.” He pushed open the front door and discreetly checked his watch. Pam would understand if he ran a little late. Or she’d come looking for him. “Come in.” He led the way inside, into the living room. “Please, sit down.”

  She sat on one end of the couch. Grayson slumped to the other and concentrated on Monique Fredericks. If she was here to blame him—

  “I don’t know the details of yours and Anna Belle’s divorce, but I want you to know that I always thought of you as family.”

  A lump the size of a Mardi Gras float lodged in his throat. All the snide remarks Anna Belle had made about her mother flashed across his mind. Yet Monique had never been anything but cordial to him. “You too, Monique.”

  She let out a dry, humorless laugh. “I’m not delusional, Grayson. I know exactly how Anna Belle felt about me. She told me every time I saw her that she felt that her poor upbringing had held her back in some way. I can only imagine the tall tales she told you about her childhood.”

  Anna Belle had been colorful in her description of her mother and her upbringing. According to her, Monique had been lazy and selfish not to provide bigger and better for herself and her daughter. Anna Belle blamed Monique for their situation in life, which may or may not have been true, but Anna Belle could be unforgiving in her assessments. Grayson knew that better than most.

  “That’s okay. I’m not here to dispute her version of the past. I just wanted to come here to see and talk to you.”

  For what purpose? Grayson smiled and nodded, letting his mother-in-law get comfortable enough to say what she’d obviously come here to get off her chest.

  Monique took a breath, obviously ready to get on with it. “Since you two are divorced, I’m listed as her next of kin to make arrangements.” She rubbed her palms against her polyester pants. “I’m ashamed to say that I don’t know her preferences. It wasn’t anything we discussed before she stopped all contact with me.” Her eyes met his. “I’m hoping you’ll be willing to help me.”

  “Of course.” But did he really know what Anna Belle would want? They’d never discussed funeral preferences or the like. Sure, he’d been her husband for six years, but in the six months since their divorce, he’d come to realize he didn’t know her nearly as well as he’d once thought.

  “I don’t think she had a will, did she?”

  He shook his head. “At our age … with no children.” The word nearly choked him. “No, she didn’t have a will. Not that I’m aware of.”

  Monique nodded and shifted her weight on the couch. “Did you two own any burial plots?”

  “No.” If they had, she would’ve demanded they be cashed in for the divorce settlement.

  “I don’t think she would want to be cremated though.”

  Anna Belle would want a grave where people could come and pay their respects to her. She’d want a permanent place to give her a somewhat state of remembrance. “I think she’d want to be buried.”

  “If you don’t mind, I think I’d like her to be buried near my family’s plot in Saint Bernard’s back in Breaux Bridge. Do you mind?”

  “Not at all.” He hadn’t even considered a final resting place for Anna Belle’s body. It seemed right that she be back from the area she came from, even though she’d done everything in her power to get away from there and pretend like it didn’t exist.

  “Do you have any requests or suggestions for the service?”

  His mind drew a complete blank. How would Anna Belle want to be remembered? How could that image correlate with reality? He hadn’t a clue, but her mother stared at him with such helplessness. The two people who should have known Anna Belle the best were apparently clueless. Yet he needed to say something. “Roses were her favorite flowers. Pink roses.”

  Monique smiled. “I remember that. She said they were the prettiest, the most delicate looking and feminine.”

  As he smiled back at Anna Belle’s mother, he took a mental note of the thinning patches of her pants around the knees, the worn places in the elbows of her blouse, and the scuffs on her slip-on shoes. “I’d like to pay for the funeral.” He’d blurted the sentence out before he gave it a second thought or considered how to frame his statement.

  “That’s kind of you, but you were divorced from Anna Belle. You shouldn’t pay for your ex-wife’s funeral.” She shook her head. “It isn’t fitting.”

  Maybe not, but it was clear Monique wasn’t in a financial situation to pay for it. “No parent should have to bury their child.” The sentence caught in his chest. Oh, the irony. “They certainly shouldn’t have to pay.”

  “Don’t you worry about that. I’ve already spoken to someone who has scheduled my appearance before a probate judge Wednesday. They tell me there should be no problem with me being named executor of her estate unless someone contests it, and the only person who could contest it would be you.”

  “Of course I’m not going to contest.” No way would he do such a thing.

  Monique nodded. “There’s plenty of money in her account to cover funeral expenses.”

  Of course there’d be plenty of money in her account. She’d gotten quite the payout in the divorce settlement. Anna Belle never had been good at investing or saving, just dumping all income into a checking account. He suddenly didn’t feel like arguing with Monique over who would pay.

  “I’ll make sure there are plenty of pink roses. What about music? Do you know of any hymns she might have mentioned liking?”

  Anna Belle and hymns didn’t exactly belong in the same sentence. He couldn’t remember the last time she’d gone to church with him. For the last several months of their marriage, she hadn’t even wanted to be in the same city as him, much less the same building. She’d been raised Catholic but hadn’t gone to Mass in—Well, he couldn’t remember the last time.

  Monique interrupted his memories. “I’ve always thought Amazing Grace was a fitting song for a funeral.”

  “I think that would be nice.”

  “Can you think of someone I could ask to present her eulogy?”

  Oh no. Someone to talk nice about Anna Belle? To say she was a wonderful person? To talk about how much she’ll be missed? He couldn’t think of a single person.

  Monique snapped her fingers. “You know, I ran into an old friend of hers at the hotel. I remembered Anna Belle having mentioned her several times. Laure Comeau. She says they were close. Do you know her?”

  Oh yes. He knew her. Laure Comeau couldn’t stand him, and the feeling was mutual. “That’s her best friend.”

  Monique nodded. “So I could ask her to write a eulogy.”

  He nodded. “You saw Laure?” He struggled to keep his voice even.

  Monique nodded. “We just passed each other
as I was leaving the hotel yesterday. She works there and stopped to offer her condolences and reminded me that she was Anna Belle’s friend.”

  He did his best not to read too much into it. He could only imagine what Laure would say about his and Anna Belle’s relationship. She always saw things through Anna Belle’s cloudy lenses.

  Monique continued. “I’m thinking of having her service on Friday. Would that work for your schedule?”

  He hadn’t considered all of this yet. Of course he would have to attend her funeral. It would be expected of him. Wouldn’t it make him look guilty to miss it? He knew the police usually attended funerals to watch their suspects. Would he provide fodder for the police’s suspicion if he skipped the service?

  “Would you like to say something at the service?”

  “No.” The word rushed out in a breath on gut response. No way did he want to speak about Anna Belle, but this was her mother. “I’m sorry.”

  “No, don’t be. I know Anna Belle could be difficult.”

  That was putting it mildly.

  “Loving her could be the hardest thing to do. I know.” The older woman let out a heavy sigh.

  They were on common and familiar ground together.

  “No one will think any less of you for not speaking at her funeral, least of all me.” Monique met his stare. “But don’t you ever doubt for one moment that she loved you. She did, Grayson, no matter what happened between the two of you. I could tell, and I knew her better than anybody.”

  His mouth went dry. “I loved her, Monique. You know I did.” Even after everything she’d done, the things she’d thrown in his face and the things he’d only recently found out, a part of him still loved her. And would forever love her.

  “Like I said, I don’t know what happened between you two, and I don’t need to know.” She plucked imaginary lint from the many snags in her slacks.

  “I’m so sorry, Monique.”

  “For what?”

  “For losing your daughter.” The knot in his chest tightened. “For not pushing to see you at holidays more often. For not putting my foot down and making Anna Belle act like … an adult.”