Connor's Gamble (17 page)

“We've had a witness step forward, stating they saw you return to Mrs. Spencer's room several hours after dinner—alone.”

“No!  That's not right!  I didn't . . . we didn't . . .”

“Ma'am, you were seen coming out of her room at ten thirty with something clutched in your hand.  Do you deny it?”  Taglier's voice deepened, the accusation clear in his tone.  His policewoman partner stood solid and stoic behind him, silently condemning her.

“I didn't go to her room after dinner.  No, wait, I can explain.”

“Go ahead, ma'am.  Explain how you were the last person seen leaving the deceased's hotel room late at night, with something clasped in your hand, and the next morning Mrs. Spencer is found dead.  I'd like to hear your explanation.”

“I . . . it wasn't like that.  That's not what happened, I swear.”

“Mrs. Miller, I'd like your permission to search your room.”

“My room . . . search . . . okay, sure.”  Trudy's mind whirled with thoughts of everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours.  Yes, she'd argued with Abby, both she and Esther had, but she'd been alive when they'd left.  Esther had pushed her and Abby fell, but she'd been fine.

Trudy watched as the detective and his sidekick started going through the bureau drawers, then moved to the night stand between the two queen-sized beds.  Esther's stood precise and neat, while hers looked a crumpled mess.  She'd been sitting there worrying when the police showed up.

Still looking, the policewoman pulled out Trudy's suitcase and unzipped it, pawing through the inside compartments.  Within seconds she stopped and motioned for Detective Taglier to join her.  The uniformed officer pulled out a plastic bag and wrote on the front before folding it back and using the bag itself, picking up something from one of the side pockets of her suitcase.  She zipped the bag closed and handed it to the detective.

“Mrs. Miller, does this look familiar?”

Trudy stared at the gold and diamond necklace in the plastic bag.  She'd know that necklace anywhere.

“Wait, that's Abby's necklace.  She always wears it, I mean wore it.  How'd it get into my suitcase?”  Trudy might be slow but she was quick enough to realize she was in a lot of trouble.

“No, I didn't do it.  I swear.  I need to talk to Esther.  Esther can tell you . . .”

“Mrs. Miller, I'm placing you under arrest for the murder of Abigail Spencer.  You have the right to remain silent.”  He continued on, reading her the Miranda rights, as the policewoman placed handcuffs on her wrists, cuffing her hands behind her back.

With as little fanfare as possible, the three people left the room and headed downtown to the police station.

# # # # #

Esther watched from down the hall as her roommate was led away in handcuffs.  What perfect irony, she thought.  Trudy the simpleton, the fat cow, was being arrested, and Esther would get off Scott free.

Feeling light as air and with a spring in her step, Esther strolled down the hall and entered their room.  She frowned at the mess left behind.  Damn, she'd have to do a spot of cleaning to put things to rights, but that was okay.  After all, she'd been the one to point the good detective in her friend's direction after planting Abigail's necklace in Trudy's bag.

She'd hated giving up Abby's necklace, had wanted to keep it, but sometimes sacrifices made meant long term gains in the end.  Abigail wouldn't be horning in on her plans, and Trudy, poor fat, dumb Trudy, with her neediness and slovenly ways would soon be out of her life for good.

Things were definitely looking up for Esther.

Smiling, she straightened her temporary living quarters, knowing all hell was about to break loose for their little group from Whispering Pines Senior Living Center.  She'd stay in the background, play the poor unknowing friend who couldn't believe her roommate was a murderer.  Nobody would ever know the truth.

Esther had pushed Abigail Spencer and now she was dead.  No matter how you looked at it, dressing it up in a pretty package, there was no denying the truth.  She, Esther Shapiro, who'd never physically hurt anybody in her life, was a killer.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Sunday

A
lyssa grabbed her e-reader and room key before taking the elevator down to the lobby.  The hotel sported a great gym and she planned to utilize it, to work some of the tension from her muscles and do some running.

Grabbing up a towel from the stack beside the gym doorway, she stepped onto the treadmill and programmed in the speed and incline.  Starting out slow, she built a steady pace, letting the last couple of days play through her mind.  At least they'd finally reached New Orleans.  Most of the group hit the casinos running, or at least as fast as their age and conditions permitted.

She'd put Mary in charge of the seniors while she dealt with Detective Taglier.  They'd barely checked into the hotel when he'd shown up, a uniformed New Orleans police officer in tow, with more questions.  Hopefully he'd gotten answers to his remaining questions, and the case was closed.

So here she was with at least an hour of blessed quiet time to herself.  Her feet pounded out a rhythm as the treadmill rolled along.  Running helped.  She tried getting in at least a brief run every day when home.  It kept her body occupied and most times her mind, too.  Not so much today.  All she could think about was Connor.

Alyssa glanced up when she saw movement by the door.  Bethany Banks strolled in, dressed in workout gear.  A smile crossed her lips as she spotted Alyssa, and walked toward the treadmill beside hers.

“Mind if I run here?”

“Go ahead.”  What was she going to say, hell no, bitch, take a hike?  Something about the reporter goaded her.  Well aware of what it was, Alyssa purposefully ignored it.  Yeah, right.  Ignore the fact the skank constantly flirted with Connor every chance she got.  Batting her eyes, flaunting her big boobs at her man.

Whoa!  Do not go there, Lyssa.  He's not your man.  Not anymore
.

“Reading anything good?”  Bethany nodded toward the e-reader Alyssa had propped up on the treadmill console.  The screen was on, there were words on the page, but she hadn't read a single one.

“Not really; can't concentrate.”  She closed the screen, powering off the reader.

“How is the group handling being here in New Orleans?”

Great.  She wants to chat
.

“They're doing well, all things considered.”

“Well, it has been an eventful trip.  A crash, a death.  Not your average run-of-the-mill bus trip.”  Bethany smiled as she kept pace on her own machine.

“True.”

They ran in silence for a couple of minutes and Alyssa thought about cutting her workout short.  She really couldn't get past Bethany's obvious interest in her ex.  Better to leave than say something she might regret.

“Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?”  Bethany's long blonde ponytail swung behind her and she glanced toward Alyssa.

“Depends on the question.”

“Connor, your ex.  Are you two still . . . involved?”

Alyssa cringed inwardly at Bethany's question.  She'd seen it coming like a torpedo with no way to avoid being directly in its path.

“Involved how?  We're still friends.”

Bethany's gaze bored into Alyssa as she upped the speed on her treadmill.  “Okay, let me be blunt.  I like Connor—a lot.  But I don't poach on another woman's man.  If you and he still have a thing . . .”

“We don't,” Alyssa shot back, while her heart cried at her lie.

“That's good.  So you wouldn't have a problem if I got to know him better.  A lot better?”

Alyssa frowned at Bethany's tone.  It sounded a little too much like gloating, but that couldn't be.  Bethany barely knew Connor, and he'd shown no interest in her either.  Except he did have dinner with her the other night.  And she'd seen them sitting together at the coffee shop, too.

“I don't have any say in who Connor dates just as he has no say in my love life, either.”

“Excellent.  Baton Rouge isn't that far away from New Orleans and I'm often here covering stories.  With him living here, it shouldn't be a problem if we get a whole lot closer.”

“Sure.  Take your best shot.”  Alyssa couldn't take any more and stopped her machine, wiping down the treadmill and heading for the door.  Halfway there she heard Bethany's machine halt. 
Damn it, don’t let her follow me.  One more word about Connor and I'll claw her eyes ou
t.

“Alyssa, wait.”

She wanted to pretend she hadn't heard Bethany's call, but they were the only two people in the gym area, and she didn’t have the excuse of there being too much noise.  She froze, waiting for Bethany to catch up.

Bethany walked toward Alyssa, and her statuesque body made her feel small and insignificant in comparison.  Why wouldn't Connor want to be with Bethany?  She was beautiful, vivacious, and available.  Could life get any more unfair?

Alyssa noted a small tattoo as Bethany stopped beside her.  The stylized drawing rode along the outside of Bethany's right thigh.  The bottom edge of her bright red gym shorts slid higher as Bethany rubbed the towel down her legs, and bent forward to reach down to her feet.

A stylish capital “J” swirled in a gothic style surrounded by intricate scrollwork.  Green-shaded ivy and tiny white flowers surrounded the capital letter.  The colors were bold and vivid against her pale skin.  Strikingly beautiful and distinctive.  Also achingly familiar.  The design was one Alyssa saw nearly every night in her nightmares.  Exact in every detail, it was identical to the tattoo in the photograph of the woman with Connor.

“That's beautiful, Bethany.”  Alyssa struggled to keep her voice from cracking as she addressed the statuesque woman across from her.   She felt as though a knife had been wedged between her ribs, a direct blow to her heart.  Bethany?  Could Bethany be the woman from the pictures?  That didn't make sense—did it?  Alyssa struggled to make sense of the woman standing before her and the evidence of the distinctive tattoo. 
Could it possibly be a coincidence?

Bethany glanced down at her thigh, then back at Alyssa.  Her smile displayed even white teeth, although her expression reminded Alyssa more of a shark circling wounded prey right before darting in for the kill.

“Thanks.”

“Is it significant?  The 'J' I mean?”

Bethany hesitated, still staring at Alyssa.  “Yes.  The J is for somebody very special to me.  His name was . . . Jeff.”

“You must have loved him very much.”

“Yes, I did.”

Bethany reached onto the wooden bench in front of the locker and picked up her sweatshirt, shrugging her shoulders into the bulky cloth and sliding it downward.  Reaching underneath, she pulled off the red shorts, slid her legs into matching sweatpants, yanking them up to her waist.  The stare she gave Alyssa froze her deep to her core.  Pure unadulterated hatred gleamed in her gaze.  The fine hairs on the back Alyssa's neck stood on end.  Something definitely wasn't right.

“See you later, Alyssa.”  Bethany's voice floated back toward Alyssa as she moved toward the door leading from the indoor locker room and through the gym, back into the interior of the hotel.

“Not if I see you first,”  Alyssa murmured to Bethany's retreating back.  The towel she'd draped around her neck got tossed into the hamper as she grabbed up her e-reader from the bench she'd laid it on while she changed.

Sprinting toward the bank of elevators, her heart raced, beating a mile a minute in her chest. 
I have to be wrong.  It's not the same tattoo. 
There couldn't be two tattoos exactly the same.  No, it was just her imagination playing tricks on her.

Connor swore he'd never cheated, even when confronted with the full color five-by-seven proof staring him in the face.  Acted like he'd never met Bethany before when she'd shown up with her cameraman, too. 
Was it all an act?

The elevator dinged and she barreled down the hallway.  Hands clammy and shaking she inserted her card key.  The green light flashed and she threw the door open, flinging her belongings onto the bed, her focus solely on the tiny closet.  She grabbed her suitcase and threw it onto the bed, the snick of the locks opening before it had even stopped bouncing.  Desperation made her paw through the contents, clothes and underwear tossed haphazardly onto the bed as she searched, not caring when several pieces hit the floor.

Her hands scrambled frantically through the elasticized side pockets of the suitcase, the taut fabric lining stretching.  Shaking as adrenaline spiked through her system, the crinkly feel of paper met her touch and she pulled free the tattered envelope. 
The pictures
.  These damning pictures had ruined her life.  Broken her marriage.  Cost her the love of her life.   She'd impulsively stuck them in the suitcase when she'd found out Connor would be coming on the trip.  A tangible reminder of why he couldn't be trusted.

Why she'd kept them she really didn't know.  Couldn't quite bring herself to throw them away, even though it eroded at her heart like acid every time she looked at them.  Maybe she needed them as a reminder not to fall for Connor's web of lies again.

No, I can't lie to myself anymore.  I kept them because they're the only link I have left to him.  I . . . I still love him.  Always have, always will.

The envelope tore as Alyssa pulled the photos loose.  Four five-by-seven photos in bright vivid color.  Connor seated in a chair.  His blue, button-front shirt was open, peeled back to show his naked chest.  Head thrown back, his eyes closed.  A woman straddled his lap, her hands in his hair as she leaned down.  Totally nude, long reddish-gold hair trailed down her back and curled around her naked breasts just inches from Connor's chest.  His hands were clasped against the small of her back.  The photo was taken from behind the woman angled slightly to the side so Connor's face and body were fully highlighted while her face was hidden behind her fall of hair.

Alyssa flipped from one photo to the next, each more damning than the one before.  Then on the last photo, there it was. 
The tattoo
.  This photo was taken from a slightly different angle than the rest.  She could tell the woman wasn't nude but had on a nude-colored lacy thong, the thin scarlet-edged ribbon riding along her hip.  Below the edge of the thong on her outer thigh, in vivid color was a stylized capital J surrounded by green ivy and white flowers.  Identical in every way to the tattoo she'd seen less than five minutes ago on Bethany Banks's leg.