Murder in the Irish Channel (Chanse MacLeod Mysteries) (30 page)

Mona’s eyes narrowed. “Watch your tongue, girl.”

“Why do you think she wanted the overnight shift at St. Anselm’s?” Abby went on. “It wasn’t because she was oh-so-worried about her church being closed—that was a good thing, as far as she was concerned. She was worried about it, but not for the reasons she gave everyone.” Abby walked over to Mona. “She was afraid there were records there—records that might, someday, come to light and cause a whole lot of embarrassment for her and her family, and might just cut off her gravy train.”

“Shut up!”

“No one ever questioned the age difference between Mona’s kids,” Abby went on. “No one but me, that is. People would remark on it, sure, but to me, it just seemed weird, you know? I mean, it happens, but it’s not as commonplace as people think. And all that stuff about Robby telling Jonny he wasn’t Danny’s son—that was all true, wasn’t it? But most people would assume
Mona
had an affair, rather than what was the
real
truth, right?”

And it hit me—right between the eyes.

Why would the Verlaines
themselves
pay out over Danny O’Neill’s death rather than their insurance company?

They wouldn’t.

Who else had lied, over and over, to me?

“Jonny is Lorelle’s son, isn’t he?” I said slowly. “She slept with one of the Verlaines, didn’t she, and got pregnant, and as a good Catholic, she couldn’t have an abortion, could she?”

Mona’s face crumpled, and she buried her face in her hands.

“They sent her away, and Mona pretended to be pregnant, raised Jonny as her own son,” Abby went on. “Then Lorelle came home, and everything went on as before except there was a new baby in the house. Everything would have been fine, wouldn’t it, except what? Did Danny get greedy?”

“Danny.” Mona’s voice sounded broken. “He didn’t want money. He just thought Percy Verlaine should know that he had a grandchild out there, what his son had done. He’d raped her, you know. It wasn’t an affair. We kept it from Danny—we didn’t want him to know, you know? I faked my pregnancy—I pretended that because of my age, I needed lots of bed rest, and no sex, everything. I didn’t think we could pull it off—and we probably couldn’t have if not for the help of Father Shannon.”

I bit my lower lip.
Of course they enlisted their priest.

“Father Shannon arranged for her to go away to a home for Catholic girls—he took care of everything. We told Danny she was going to work at a summer camp.”

“I don’t understand how you got away with the birth—”

Mona closed her eyes. “After Lorelle had the baby, she came back home and stayed at St. Anselm’s with Father Tom. When Danny went off to work, we faked me going into labor.” She moistened her lips. “Our doctor was also a parishioner at St. Anselm’s, and Father Tom had recruited him to help us. No one knew. Danny came home and thought Jonny was his child.”

“So, how did Danny find out the truth? That Jonny was really his grandson, not his son?” I asked.

“Lorelle slipped.” She stared out the window at the pouring rain. “They’d gotten into a huge fight, and she screamed the truth at him. That was how Robby found out the truth, too.”

And Lorelle had lied, lied when she’d told me about Robby thinking their mother had an affair that produced Jonny. Why not? Robby was dead and couldn’t contradict her. Mona was gone, and if she turned up, wasn’t going to talk.

“Danny was furious.” Mona’s voice sounded distant, as though she were reliving the whole thing. “He was so angry. He wanted to know why we hadn’t called the cops, pressed charges.” She laughed bitterly. “Like the cops would take Lorelle’s side? Like they would believe a teenaged girl over one of the high-and-mighty Verlaines? I knew damned well what would happen—Lorelle’s reputation and life would be ruined and nothing would come of it. Nothing good, anyway. I was damned if she was going to spend the rest of her life being the girl who cried rape.” She shook her head vehemently. “But Danny—Danny was out for blood. He stormed out of the house and went to talk to old man Percy.”

I didn’t say anything. I knew she was right. Percy Verlaine would have never allowed a member of his family to go to jail—and what was more, he might have tried to take the child away.

“Danny died that night.” Her voice broke. “They found him the next morning, you know, on the docks. How the hell did he get down there?
Why
did he go down there? But some fancy lawyer showed up while the police were talking to me…I never believed it was an accident, but the lawyer—oh, he was a smooth one.”

I had no doubt about that.

“He told me there was no reason to push anything about Danny—Danny went down to the docks and was killed, and we’d never know the reason why he went down there, or how those crates crushed him. But I knew.” Her eyes narrowed. “But the Verlaines’ fancy lawyer, Mr. Pennycuff, he had it all worked out.”

I’ll just bet he did
, I thought.

“They paid me all that money, arranged the trusts, and it was all contingent on my silence,” she went on.

“That’s why they worded the trust settlement that way—the children of Danny O’Neill—Jonny would lose any claim to any of the money if the truth came out,” I said.

“Exactly. There wasn’t a damned thing I could do. If anyone ever told, we’d lose everything.” Mona nodded. “If the truth ever came out, if Lorelle and I ever said anything, we had to pay back every cent.” Her eyes filled with tears. “And the money was gone, you know. Most of it. I would have to sell my house, give up everything.”

“So, that was why you signed Jonny with Barras,” I said. “You had to give Robby the money to shut him up.”

“We would have been homeless, we would have lost everything,” Mona sobbed. “Selling Jonny out to Barras was the lesser of two evils. I got him to give me the money in two different checks—one I’d give to Robby, and the other for Jonny. That way Jonny would get something.”

“But Robby wanted more money, didn’t he?”

She nodded. “I gave him the fifty thousand, and he wanted more. He wanted all of it. I didn’t know what to do—and then Jonny told me what he’d said. He’d already spilled part of it to Jonny.” She shook her head. “And—”

“And you killed him to keep his mouth shut once and for all.” Abby cut her off. “You didn’t hit him over the head. You shot him, and you got blood all over yourself and all over your car.” She turned to me. “This all happened in the early evening. She went home and cleaned herself up, hid the other check away.”

“No, that isn’t what happened.” I smiled at Mona. “Mona’s not a killer, are you, Mona?”

“She’s kept me here against my will—” Abby started, but I cut her off.

“You got the money out of Barras, but he also made you change your testimony, didn’t he, in the Cypress Gardens case, right?” I smiled at her. “And you planned all along to disappear, didn’t you? So you wouldn’t have to go into court and tell lies against Luke Marino.”

She nodded. “Yes. I intended to disappear all along—at least until after the trial was over.”

“But Robby wasn’t just trying to get money out of you, was he?”

She hung her head and didn’t say anything.

“He was also trying to get money out of
Lorelle
.”

“He was desperate,” she whispered, barely audible.

“You went there, to his house, that night to give him the money—but Lorelle was already there, wasn’t she?” I went on. It was all falling into place. “She shot her brother. That’s why when you went back to the Riverside, you were so shook up. You’d called Barney, right, and he told you to come down there.”

She nodded. “He told me that it would all work, you know, with the disappearance and everything already set up. They wouldn’t find Robby’s body right away—God only knew when Celia would come back from Sandestin—and by then, we could fix things. I told Lorelle to leave, I would take care of everything.”

“And Barney wanted the money, didn’t he?”

“It was the least I could do,” Mona replied sharply. “I went by the church, and then Barney came by after he closed the bar. We drove back over to Robby’s and got some of his blood to smear all over the driver’s seat—that way, you know, no one would even think about Lorelle. We left my car in the Irish Channel, in a bad neighborhood—and then Barney drove me out here.”

“And you hid the other check, right?”

She nodded. “That check was for Jonny.”

“Hiding that check was the smartest thing you ever did,” I replied grimly. “That’s why you’re still alive.”

“What?”
Her face drained of color.

Abby laughed. “Yeah. Now I get it.”

“Barney’s been playing you for quite some time now, Mona.” I sat down, still keeping my gun leveled at her. “Did you know that Heather was his daughter?”

Her mouth opened and closed.

“I don’t know if Heather was part of his plan all along, but when Jonny got her pregnant and married her, it played into his hands, all right. He’s been wanting to get his hands on Jonny’s trust for quite a while now. He was way behind in his mortgage on the bar and on his other bills—Robby’s turning to crime came at a very opportune time for him. He took the money you gave him and paid off everything.” I grimaced. “And Heather’s been looking for that other check, you know. If she’d found it—”

“Barney would have killed you and you would have never turned up again.” Abby finished for me. “I’m sure the murder weapon would have turned up, so the police would think
you
killed your son. Jonny and Heather would move into your place and sell theirs, more money for Heather—and Barney would have kept the other fifty grand.”

“He kept asking me where I put it,” she whispered, her voice shaking. “I—”

“Shh,” Abby whispered, cutting her off. “Did you hear that?”

I hadn’t—but in the silence that followed her holding up her hand, I could hear it—over the rain drumming down on the tin roof.

Footsteps, sloshing down the muddy drive.

It had to be Barney.

I went over to the window and saw him, wearing a rain slicker, come out into the clearing.

He had a shotgun.

He raised it and fired at the window.

I leaped out of the way as the glass shattered.

I rolled across the floor to the other window, reaching over and grabbing the door. It swung open and another shotgun blast roared through it.

I held my gun up and fired.

I dropped Barney Hogan with that one shot, and that was the end of him.

Mona begged us to pin Robby’s murder on him, and I couldn’t think of any reason not to—except of course for that nagging sense that justice wasn’t being served. But Lorelle came forward herself and confessed—taking the decision out of my hands.

Heather gave birth to a baby boy, whom they named Daniel Chanse O’Neill. With Barney dead, there was no proof that Heather had anything to do with any of his crimes, and she denied everything. The only thing she would confess to was not telling anyone she was Barney’s daughter—and that wasn’t a crime. Jonny apparently forgave her, and they stayed together.

Mona, however, told me she was keeping an eye on her daughter-in-law.

Lorelle was represented by none other than Loren McKeithen himself, and he managed to plea her out for manslaughter. The judge was compassionate—after all, Lorelle was a rape survivor, and rather than jail time he gave her probation with a requirement that she get therapy. Mona says she is doing well with it.

Mona also apologized to Luke Marino, who completely understood the pressures she was under, and forgave her—although I suspect had Global Insurance not finally given in and settled, forgiveness might not have come so easily.

Jonny’s fight career continues to rise—I saw him fight on ESPN the other day, and he just mauled a former world champion, knocking him out in the first round. He has a title shot scheduled and has signed some major endorsement deals. He recently moved his little family into a spacious apartment in Poydras Tower and sold the run-down place on Constance Street.

Archbishop Pugh also was reassigned, and we got a new archbishop in New Orleans, one who isn’t quite so determined to close the two endangered parishes.

I had some trouble sleeping myself—it’s not easy to kill someone, and I hope I never reach the point where I’m able to just go to sleep after shooting someone—but I’m doing well with it. It helps when you have a great support system, the way I do.

Rory and I are talking about moving in together—but we’ll see how that turns out. I suspect we’re both a little too stubborn as yet to make that work.

We’ll see how it goes, right?

Greg Herren is the award-winning author of two mystery series set in New Orleans featuring gay detectives Chanse MacLeod and Scotty Bradley. He has also published two young adult novels,
Sorceress
and
Sleeping Angel,
and co-edited the critically acclaimed anthologies
Men of the Mean Streets
and
Women of the Mean Streets
with the award-winning author of the Mickey Knight mystery series, J. M. Redmann. He has also published several novels and short stories under various pseudonyms, as well as over fifty short stories in markets as varied as
Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine
and the acclaimed anthology
New Orleans Noir
. He works as an editor for Liberty Editions of Bold Strokes Books and lives in the lower Garden District of New Orleans.