Authors: Eugenia Riley
PHANTOM IN TIME (43 page)
He shook
her hand. “You look as if you've seen a ghost.”
“In
a way, I suppose I have.”
His
gaze narrowed. “Then you know this town house at one time belonged to Jacques
LeFevre?”
As
astonished laugh escaped her. “Yes, I know.”
Peabody
glanced reverently around him. “Buying this property is what got me so
interested in Jacques in the first place. There's a lot of history buried
within these walls—a lot of drama, romance, and heartache.”
“Indeed,”
Bella murmured.
He
glanced at her intently. “Have you read my book?”
“No.”
He
raised a pale brow. “Then how can you know the history of this house?”
“That's
a long story,” replied Bella dryly. “But I did read an article describing your
book.”
He
nodded. “Ah. Well, I'm being rude.” Gesturing toward a wrought-iron table with
chairs where a tea tray was laid out, he said, “I was just going to have my
customary morning cafe au lait and beignets. Won't you join me?”
“I'd
be delighted to.”
Once
the two were settled, sipping the coffee and nibbling on doughnuts, Peabody
smiled encouragingly at Bella. “Well, young lady, for someone who wants to
learn about Jacques LeFevre, you already seem to know much.”
Bella
felt color creeping into her cheeks. “I suppose I do.”
“Then
are you aware that today is the one-hundredth anniversary of Jacques LeFevre's
death?”
Bella
released a long, shuddering sigh. “Yes, I'm aware.”
He
stirred his cafe au lait. “How can I help you?”
“Well,
as I mentioned on the phone yesterday, I'm a member of the St. Charles Opera
Company, and we've restaged
Kaleidoscope
—”
“Ah,
the production during which Jacques LeFevre was murdered?”
“Yes.”
Peabody's
gray eyes gleamed with avid interest. “You know, I've read about the restaging
in the
Herald
and have been meaning to get tickets—but as I explained,
I've spent the last several weeks with relatives in Atlanta.”
“I
do hope you will attend one of our performances,” Bella replied. “At any rate,
working in the old theater, I've taken an interest in Jacques LeFevre.”
Peabody
laughed. “You've seen his ghost?”
“Yes,”
Bella admitted warily.
“Lusty
old Jacques would certainly want to get his hands on a pretty young thing like
you.”
Bella
felt herself blushing again.
He
set down his coffee cup and regarded her contritely. “I'm sorry, young lady.
Have I offended you?”
“No,
not at all.” Bella took a delicate bite of
beignet.
Peabody
gestured about, then confided, “You know, I've never seen him here.”
“You
mean he hasn't haunted this house?” asked Bella, intrigued.
“No,
only the opera house. And why would he be interested in an old coot like me,
anyway?”
Bella
fought a smile. “Professor Peabody, do you have any idea who might have
murdered Jacques LeFevre?”
“Why,
you need to read my book,” he told her cagily, eyes twinkling.
“Oh,
I intend to,” Bella said, “but you must be aware that it's out of print.
Perhaps you could sell me a copy?”
He
laughed and waved her off. “Young lady, I have at least fifty copies of my book
languishing away in a closet, so I'll never miss out on an opportunity to
impress one of my learned colleagues.”
Bella
laughed.
“Considering
that it's not often that an old bachelor such as myself is honored by a visit
from a beautiful young lady such as you,” Peabody continued with relish, “I'd
be delighted to give you a copy of my book.”
“You
are too kind,” replied Bella, “but I must insist on reimbursing you. Also, if
you have any ideas about who might actually have murdered Jacques LeFevre . . .
Well, I've taken quite an interest in him,” she finished rather breathlessly.
“So
you have.” Peabody scowled for a long moment, stroking his goatee. “That was
such a tragedy, a brilliant young tenor cut down in the prime of his life. I'm
thinking he might have outshone Caruso.”
“Quite
so,” agreed Bella.
At
her words, a look of curiosity mingled with perplexity crossed his face, but he
did not comment directly. “Of course, some might argue that he asked for it,
being such a shameless womanizer.” Peabody sighed. “Afterward, there were any
number of suspects, as you may already be aware. All of the women of the
troupe, including the lead soprano, Maria Fortune, were thought to be in love
with him. Any number of men, both within and outside the theater group, were
wildly jealous. Why, one time, some floozy's jealous boyfriend even marched
onstage and punched Jacques out with brass knuckles. On another occasion,
someone fired a shot at him and creased his arm—”
“I
know,” put in Bella eagerly.
“Do
you?” he asked, taken aback.
“Please,
go on,” Bella urged.
He
took a sip of coffee. “As for the identity of Jacques's assassin, the police
seemed to think that a man from the audience—some woman's jealous husband or
sweetheart—may have skulked onstage in the darkness and done the foul deed. But
I'm not so sure. You know, there was a woman in the company, a mezzo named
Teresa Obregón, who kept a dairy.”
Bella
felt the color draining from her face. “You don't say!”
“Oh,
yes. Fortunately, her family gave me complete access to the journal while I was
writing my book. The account was truly invaluable, particularly the discovery
that Teresa had been desperately in love with Jacques LeFevre.”
Bella
gasped. “Good Lord!”
Peabody
continued soberly. “Teresa's infatuation with LeFevre caused her to break up
with her longtime sweetheart, Andre Delgado. But LeFevre seemed immune to Miss
Obregón’s charms. Finally, Teresa confessed her traitorous feelings to Andre,
and he accepted her back, albeit with some lingering resentment. Afterward, she
realized it was Andre she truly loved. She told Andre of her change of
heart—but after Jacques's murder, she wrote in her dairy that she always
suspected Andre might be the culprit.”
“I
see,” muttered Bella, her mind reeling with these revelations.
Peabody
set down his cup. “Well, young lady. If you'll come with me to the parlor, I'll
give you a copy of my book.”
“I
will
pay you for it,” Bella reiterated.
“Nonsense,”
he replied, standing and helping her out of her chair. “As I mentioned, how
often does a boring old man such as myself have a ravishing young woman as his
captive audience?”
Laughing,
the two crossed the patio into the living room. Bella walked around the room
while Peabody rummaged through a closet for her book. Again she felt spooked to
be in such a familiar yet strange setting. Now air-conditioned and furnished in
a contemporary style, with beige sofas, brass lamps, and wall-to-wall
carpeting, the expanse bore little resemblance to the parlor Bella had seen in
the past—
Then
she caught sight of a familiar piece of furniture standing near the fireplace. Without
thinking, she blurted, “That is Jacques's gramophone!”
Realizing
her blunder, she turned, white-faced, to Professor Peabody, who was eyeing her
in amazement. He approached her and handed her a book.
“You're
right, young lady, that
is
Jacques LeFevre's old gramophone,” he
whispered in stunned tones. “You've been with him, haven't you?”
Bella
began backing away. “But—but that would be crazy, impossible.”
The
professor only smiled, a fanatical light gleaming in his fine gray eyes.
“You've been with him, I'm sure of it. Knowing old Jacques as I do, anything is
possible. Haven't you wondered why I agreed so readily to see you?”
Slowly,
Bella nodded.
“You
asked me about my theories on the case,” he continued with excitement. “Well,
actually, I have a pet hunch—and that is that Jacques LeFevre may not have been
the actual intended victim of the murderer.”
“Heavens,
then who was?”
He
regarded her intently. “That is what I find so peculiar, young woman. You see,
it's rumored there was a young lady in the chorus named Bella, just like you.”
Bella
suddenly felt chilled. “You must be joking!”
“Not
at all. Just read my book. According to the legends, this Bella and Jacques
became lovers. After his death, she disappeared. I think Bella may have been
the actual target of the murderer, and perhaps Jacques was killed when he
stepped in and tried to save her.”
“Oh,
my God,” Bella muttered, staggered by these disclosures. “Then my fears could
be true. I could be indirectly causing his death!” She gazed earnestly at Peabody,
who now appeared astounded, his eyes enormous. “Thank you for your book and
your ideas,” she added.
“But
wait!” he cried, staring at her with frantic curiosity. “You can't just run off
this way—not when I sense that you may have the true answers to this mystery.
You must tell me who you really are!”
Bella
touched his arm. “Professor Peabody, I'm Bella De La Rosa—exactly who I said I
am. And whether or not I have the answers you seek remains to be seen. I wish I
could help you, but I can't. I must go because . . . “ With an ironic laugh,
she finished, “I'm simply out of time.”
He
nodded. “At least let me sign the book for you before you go.”
“Of
course.” She handed it back to him.
Peabody
slowly shook his head. “Whoever you are, young lady, I wish you the best of
luck.”
“Thank
you,” replied Bella. “You have no idea how much I'll need it.”
Chapter Forty
Deeply
shaken, Bella drove to Audubon Park before going home. With
Phantom of the
French Quarter
in hand, she took refuge on a park bench beneath a sweeping
oak tree.
The
morning was overcast and unseasonably cool, the perfume of flowers in the air.
Warblers, sparrows, and chickadees chattered in the trees, and in the distance a
group of exuberant children played a game of softball. But Bella's attention
was riveted on Peabody's book, which he had inscribed, “To Bella, the most
enchanting mystery lady I’ve ever met. Howard Peabody.”
She
was amazed at how much Peabody had managed to uncover on Jacques and the
troupe. Familiar names kept popping up—Etienne Ravel, Maria Fortune, Andre
Delgado—and Bella felt her heart clutching with pain as she stared at a picture
of a devilishly grinning Jacques dressed in his toreador costume—just as he had
appeared the first time she had seen him as a real man! She was electrified to
find a picture of her friend Helene, with the caption “Unnamed chorus girl,
friend of the infamous 'Bella,' who was said to have stolen Jacques LeFevre's
heart. Did Bella cause his death as well?”
Bella
groaned, her fingers trembling as she held the book. She devoured the chapter
dealing with Jacques's murder, how he was found dead onstage with a knife
protruding from his back, the police investigation afterward, and how several
among the troupe—including Claude Fortune and Andre Delgado—were at first
considered suspects, then were later exonerated. In horror and fascination, she
read:
Later efforts to nab
the culprit centered on the mysterious “Bella,” Jacques's rumored lover, who
disappeared following the murder. Did Bella precipitate Jacques's demise by
inflaming the passions of some other woman among the troupe? Was she possibly
the real target of the murderer? Did Jacques LeFevre lose his life through
trying to save her?
Or did this young
woman's disappearance signal something more sinister on her part? According to
legend, Jacques loved Bella, but he was also a notorious ladies’ man. Did
Jacques betray Bella, with homicidal results? Was her flight the sign of a guilty
conscience? The police may have suspected this. As for the rest of us, we may
never know what fascinating secrets the infamous Bella carried with her to her
grave . . .
Finishing
the passage, Bella shuddered to hear herself both maligned as “infamous” and
referred to as dead. She did feel rather taken aback that Peabody would cast
suspicion on her as the murderess. She had no part in Jacques's murder—
Or
did she? Wasn't she indeed guilty if her presence in the past precipitated
Jacques’s murder, just as she had argued to him might happen? Dear God, what an
unspeakable irony it would be if, in trying to save Jacques, she had actually
doomed him instead. Could she help him most by removing herself from the drama,
by staying here and doing nothing at all?
With
a sigh, she closed the book. The account had left her with more questions than
answers. Unfortunately, Peabody gave her no clue as to whether she had actually
been present in the theater when Jacques was killed. From references to her
disappearance afterward, she suspected she probably had been there. But she
couldn't be certain!
Bella
agonized for long moments, pondering what she should do. Ultimately, it was the
horrifying image of Jacques lying dead onstage tonight, with her a cruel
century away from him, that spurred her decision. In that moment she realized
that she must try to go back to him—she must try to save him, even if it meant
running the risk of causing his murder!
***
“Gran?
How are you feeling?”
Sitting
in her rocker near the French doors, Isabella smiled at her granddaughter, who
had just stepped into her room.
“Oh,
I'm fine. You are going back tonight?”
Bella
laughed. “How did you know?”
“I
know, darling,” said Gran. “How was the visit with Professor Peabody?”
“Most
illuminating.” Bella crossed the room and handed Gran the book. “He gave me an
autographed copy of his book, and I want you to have it.”