What She Doesn't Know (16 page)

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Authors: Beverly Barton

Tags: #Suspense, #Contemporary romance, #Fiction

BOOK: What She Doesn't Know
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“And while Philip Devereaux was still alive.”
“No, the affair began after Philip died.”
“How do you know?”
“Mother and Louis told me that their affair began after Philip’s death.”
“And you believed them?”
“Yes. Louis never lied to me. Not ever.”
“He lied to my mother, every time he betrayed her with Georgette.”
Jolie rose from her chair, leaving it rocking. She walked to the edge of the porch and leaned against one of the white columns bracing the upstairs balcony. All the anger and pain and the terrible sense of betrayal she had felt that day when she’d watched through the dirty windowpanes of the cottage in the woods overwhelmed her. It was as fresh and raw as the moment it happened, as vivid in her memory—the sight of her father’s naked butt moving up and down as he pumped into Georgette Devereaux.
“I saw them,” she said, her voice whispery with emotion.
“Who?” Max asked.
“Your mother and my father. In the old cottage, deep in the woods. You know, where you used to take Felicia. Sandy said Felicia told her about the cottage.”
Max rose from his chair and came up behind Jolie. She felt his heat, his overpowering masculine presence.
“You saw Louis and my mother making love?” he asked.
“Yes. I saw them. I saw them fucking…the day of the Belle Rose massacre. And when I regained consciousness at the hospital, I told Daddy that I’d seen them.”
His big hands clamped over her shoulders, but his touch was unbelievably gentle. “And you were how old—fourteen? And had never even been kissed. You must have been shocked senseless by what you saw.” His grip tightened ever so slightly as he drew her backward toward his body. “And you went straight home to…to do what? Tell your mother? And that’s when you found the bodies. That’s when you were shot and left for dead.”
His warm breath grazed her neck, making her unbearably aware of his presence. So near. So very near.
Tears lodged in her throat, threatening to choke her. She sucked in air between her clenched teeth.
“It was a Saturday,” she said. “He should have been home—home with
my
mother, not hiding away in some shack screwing
your
mother!” Jolie whirled around, her actions releasing her from his tentative hold. She glared at him. “If my father had been home with his wife that day, home where he belonged, he could have stopped the murderer. He could have saved Mama and Aunt Lisette and—”
Max grabbed her upper arms with brutal force, his fingers biting into her flesh. “You’ve blamed them all these years, blamed them for what happened that day here at Belle Rose.”
“Yes, I blamed them. If they hadn’t been together, if Daddy had been here…If Georgette had stayed away from him, if she’d left him alone, Daddy would never…He loved my mama.”
Max’s gaze collided with Jolie’s. She found that she could not break eye contact, could not look away. His hot gaze held her spellbound, trapped with no means of escape.
“I’m sure he loved your mother when he married her,” Max said, his voice taking on an oddly sensual quality. “But things happen in a marriage. People change. Feelings change.”
“They’re not supposed to. If you truly love someone—”
“Louis didn’t love Audrey Desmond the way he loved my mother. I’ve never seen two people more passionately in love than Louis and Mother. She once told me that they were as essential to each other as the very air they breathed. Do you have any idea how that feels? Do you know what a man and woman with that type of hunger would do to be together?”
“No.” Every nerve in Jolie’s body shrilled a warning. “Do you know? Was that the way it was with you and Felicia?”
“God, no! That bitch never loved anyone except herself.” Max ran his hands up and down Jolie’s naked arms.
Heat exploded inside her as she swayed toward Max, her body just barely touching his. Her hand lifted of its own volition and came down in the center of Max’s chest, directly over his thundering heart. A low growl escaped his lips. They glared at each other. He lowered his head.
A telephone rang. Max froze. Jolie held her breath. The phone kept ringing.
“It’s the phone in the house,” Max said. “I’d better get it.”
She managed to nod her head. He released her, turned, and hurried into the house through the open French doors leading into the front parlor. Jolie gasped huge mouthfuls of air the minute he was out of sight.
Dear God, what just happened?
she asked herself.
Had Max been about to kiss her? And more important, had she wanted him to kiss her?
“Jolie!” Max called from the doorway.
She forced herself to face him. “Yes?”
“That was Yvonne. She was nearly hysterical. It seems Theron has been in an accident. The police just notified her.”
“Oh, dear God, no!”
“I told Yvonne that she was in no condition to drive herself, that you and I would be right over to get her and take her to the hospital.”
“Yes, of course.” Jolie lifted her jacket off the chair, then moved toward Max as if she were in a trance. Indeed she felt as if she were.
She stood just inside the front parlor, watching him hurriedly slip on the socks and shoes he must have discarded there earlier before he went outside on the porch. He buttoned his shirt and stuck the ends inside his jeans, then grabbed Jolie’s arm, pulling her farther into the room before he closed and locked the French doors. She staggered slightly when he released her.
“We’ll take your SUV,” he told her, while he opened the mahogany secretary, removed pen and paper, and began writing furiously.
“What are you doing?”
“Writing a note for Mother and Mallory and Aunt Clarice, to let them know where we’ve gone.”
She nodded. Leaving the note lying on the open secretary, Max manacled Jolie’s wrist and pulled her with him, through the parlor and out into the foyer.
“Give me your keys,” he demanded.
“Why?”
“Don’t argue, just give me the damn keys. We’re wasting time.”
She pulled the keys out of her jacket pocket and handed them to him. “Was it a car wreck?”
“What?” Max punched in the security code on the pad by the front door, then shoved Jolie out onto the porch. He closed and, using her keys, locked the double doors behind them.
“Theron’s accident—was he in a car wreck?”
“No.” Max paused long enough to look directly at her. “Yvonne said the police told her that it appears Theron was beaten…beaten almost to death.”
Chapter 15
 
Jolie hated hospitals and had religiously avoided them since she’d spent over a month here at Desmond County General twenty years ago. Hospitals had their own unique scents and sounds, and a special atmosphere, except on the maternity floor, that projected visions of suffering and death. She would rather be just about anywhere else on earth. Although the facility had been modernized, enough of the original remained to give Jolie an eerie feeling of familiarity.
While Max parked the Escalade, Jolie and Yvonne rushed into the ER, only to be told that Theron had been taken to surgery moments after arrival. By the time they absorbed the information, Max was there, taking charge, leading them into the hospital corridor and straight to the nearest elevator.
“Max, please, find out what happened.” Yvonne clutched Jolie’s hand. “The person who called—I can’t remember his name—said that Theron had been badly beaten.” With her facial features pinched in a mother’s agony, Yvonne moaned, an obvious effort to keep herself from becoming hysterical.
“I’ll handle everything,” Max assured her. “As soon as we get to the surgery waiting room, I’ll speak to the nurse in charge and find out how extensive Theron’s injuries are.” He reached out and curled his big hand over Yvonne’s shoulder, patting her comfortingly. “And I’ll contact Chief Harper and get a report on exactly what happened to Theron.”
“Thank you.” Yvonne whispered, her voice racked with emotion.
The elevator doors swung open. Jolie moved swiftly to keep up with Yvonne’s urgent pace as she followed Max’s lead down the hall and into the small dark waiting area. He flipped the wall switch and overhead lighting illuminated the room. A pair of twin sofas flanked the walls to the right and left of the entrance and a couple of chairs, with a table positioned between them, occupied the back wall, directly beneath a wide window covered with aluminum blinds.
“Y’all stay here,” Max said. “I’ll see what I can find out.”
No sooner had Max spoken than a policeman appeared in the doorway. “Mrs. Carter?” the young black officer asked.
Yvonne jerked around to face him. “Yes, I’m Mrs. Carter.”
“I’m sorry about your son,” he said.
Jolie read the officer’s name tag: T. CURRY. “Could you tell us what happened? Was Theron really beaten? Where did it happen? Who would have done something so—”
“Let Officer Curry speak.” Max placed his hand in the small of Jolie’s back.
His casual touch should have set off alarm bells inside her, but it didn’t. For some peculiar reason his hand resting gently on her back seemed quite natural, as if they were old friends. Or old lovers.
Curry shook his head, avoiding eye contact with Yvonne, then he looked directly at Max. “We received a call from Dr. Jardien at eleven-twenty-five—”
“Amy Jardien?” Yvonne asked.
“Yes, ma’am,” Officer Curry replied. “Mr. Carter had called her on his cell phone and they were still connected when it happened. He told her to call the police immediately but didn’t tell her what was wrong. Then she heard a scuffle, heard some rather explicit language, a few racial slurs…she’s pretty sure there were several voices. At least two, maybe three, other than Mr. Carter’s.”
“Oh, dear Lord.” Yvonne entwined her hands in front of her face in a prayer-like gesture.
Max inclined his head toward the door. “Why don’t we step outside, officer.”
“No!” Yvonne grabbed Max’s arm. “I want to hear the rest. I want to know what happened.”
“Are you sure?” Max asked. “I could—”
“Yes, I’m sure,” she replied.
Curry swiped his hand across his mouth and down over his chin. “When we arrived, we found Mr. Carter lying on the ground in front of his apartment. At first we thought he was de”—Curry cleared his throat—“but he was only unconscious. We saw right away that he’d been beaten. He was bloody and…The ambulance arrived a few minutes after we did and they rushed him here to Desmond County.”
“What about the men who attacked him?” Max asked. “Did you apprehend them?”
Curry shook his head. “No, sir. There was no sign of anybody when we arrived, just the woman who lives in the other duplex. She’d heard a racket and looked out her window. She said she saw three white men running to a car parked by the curb. She couldn’t give us a description of the men or of the car. The streetlight is across the street on the corner, so her vision was limited. And Mrs. Fredericks wears glasses and didn’t have them on. She’d just gotten out of bed to check on the noise.”
“I was afraid something like this would happen,” Yvonne said. “I told him”—she glared at Jolie—“I told both of you the risk you’d be taking.”
“What were you afraid would happen?” Max asked. “What did Theron and Jolie do to put themselves at risk?”
“Yvonne, you can’t be sure there’s any connection,” Jolie said.
“Of course there is!” Yvonne told her. “I just didn’t think it would happen this soon.”
“Would you mind telling me what you’re talking about?” Officer Curry asked. “It might help us in our investigation.”
Yvonne walked away, across the room, and sat down in one of the chairs by the window. She closed her eyes, laid her hands in her lap, and moved her lips silently.
She’s praying
, Jolie thought.
Jolie looked directly at Curry. “Theron is convinced that his uncle, Lemar Fuqua, was not the Belle Rose massacre killer. He intends to prove that someone else killed my mother and aunt… and Lemar, too.”
Max groaned, Slanting her gaze sideways, Jolie offered him a searing glance.
“Are you Ms. Royale?” Curry asked. “Jolie Royale, the only survivor of the Belle Rose massacre?”
“Yes, I am. And I agree with Theron that Lemar Fuqua wasn’t a murderer. Theron and I both want the old case reopened. We want the real murderer found and punished and Lemar’s name cleared. Yesterday afternoon, D.A. Newman gave us permission to look at all the files pertaining to the Belle Rose case. Theron and I worked together until after eleven last night in the basement of the sheriff’s department, going through all the old files.”
“Are you saying that there’s a connection between the Belle Rose massacre and what happened to Theron Carter?” Curry asked.
“I can’t say for sure,” Jolie said. “But there very well could be.”
“Why do you think there could be a connection?” Max asked. “Did y’all find something in those files that would prove Lemar innocent?”
Jolie snapped her head around and glowered at Max. “We didn’t find the files. They weren’t there. But maybe you already knew that.”
“Damn, how could I have known?” Max squinched his eyes to mere slits.
Like two gunfighters in an old Western movie, Max and Jolie squared off, bodies tense, gazes riveted.
“Look, Ms. Royale, we’ll probably need a statement from you.” Curry’s comment momentarily reduced the tension radiating between Max and her. “I’ll pass the information you gave me along to the chief and see what he thinks. In the meantime, I’d like to check with the officers who went over the crime scene. I’m hoping they found something that will lead us to Mr. Carter’s attackers.” Curry turned to leave, paused, and glanced over his shoulder. Nodding sideways to indicate Yvonne, he spoke to Max. “Tell Mrs. Carter that we’ll do everything we can to find the”—he glanced toward Jolie—“the bastards who attacked her son.”
The minute Curry disappeared down the hall, Jolie rushed to Max, grabbed his arm, then gave him a non-too-gentle shove toward the door. “I want to talk to you. Out in the hall.”
Max obliged her without comment. Once they were in the corridor, several feet away from the surgery waiting area, he stopped, leaned back against the wall, and casually crossed his arms over his chest.
“Let’s have it,” he said.
“Theron and I found out two things today. One: somebody is pulling Larry Newman’s strings. Two: somebody stole all the files pertaining to the Belle Rose massacre case.”
“And just what does this information have to do with me?”
“Only two men in Desmond County have the power to control the D.A. and make those files disappear.”
Max shrugged.
“Damn you!” Jolie glowered at him. “Those two men are Roscoe Wells and Maximillian Devereaux.”
Max’s expression didn’t change, didn’t reveal the least bit of emotion. But there was a glimmer of something in his eyes. Something sinister? Or was it simply controlled rage?
“I didn’t even vote for Newman in the last election. And I don’t know anything about your missing files.”
“Do you expect me to believe you?”
“I don’t expect you to do anything except cause trouble. That seems to be the one thing you’re good at doing. Dredging up old memories, stirring up a stink, putting people through the misery of reliving a past better left forgotten.”
She took a tentative step toward him, pausing when only a few inches separated their bodies. “Do you honestly think that anyone involved could ever forget about those brutal murders? If you’d been shot and left for dead beside your mother’s lifeless body, would you ever be able to forget?”
“Probably not,” Max admitted. “But you have no proof that the snooping you and Theron were doing is in any way connected to those men attacking Theron.”
“I don’t need proof. I know in here”—she slapped her clenched fist on her belly—“that somebody wanted Theron stopped before he unearthed any information that might force the D.A. to reopen the Belle Rose case. And so help me God, I’m going to find out who the son of a bitch is. Theron might not be able to continue searching, to keep digging for the truth, but I can. And I will.”
Max uncrossed his arms and eased away from the wall. “If what you believe is true, then you could wind up getting yourself hurt, maybe even killed.”
“Is that a threat?”
Groaning, Max rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. Then before Jolie realized what he intended, he grabbed her upper arms, whirled her around, and pushed her up against the wall. Her heartbeat accelerated. Wide-eyed and mouth parted on a shocked gasp, she shivered as he splayed his big hands on either side of her head.
“I don’t make threats. I learned from Louis to make promises and to always keep those promises.”
“What else did you learn from my father? Did you learn to lie and cheat and betray people who loved and trusted you? Did he teach you how to manipulate the law and to keep the truth hidden?”
That’s it, Jolie, keep staring right into those cold blue eyes. Show him that he can’t intimidate you
.
“My God, listen to yourself.” Max’s scowl fixed menacingly on Jolie’s face. “You’re implying that Louis was somehow involved in the Belle Rose massacre.”
“Only indirectly. He would have protected Georgette. If your mother had hired someone…or if she had persuaded you to—” The fiery wrath burning in Max’s eyes silenced her. She suddenly felt as if she were trapped at the summit of a volcano that was on the verge of erupting.
Without saying a word, Max lifted his hands from the wall and moved away, then strode down the corridor. Not until he turned the corner and was completely out of sight did Jolie breathe again. Heaven help her, she had goaded a fire-breathing dragon. Now, she couldn’t help wondering if it were only a matter of time before his searing anger burned her alive.
Even Aunt Clarice had been unable to persuade Yvonne to leave the hospital, so they had banded together and set up a flexible schedule for themselves to make sure she would never be alone. Aunt Clarice took the day shift; Amy Jardien took the evening shift; and Jolie took the night shift. Nowell Landers kept Aunt Clarice company and watched over Clarice and Yvonne like a guardian angel. The more Jolie got to know Nowell, the better she liked him. If he wasn’t in love with Clarice, then he deserved an Academy Award for his performance. Members of Yvonne’s church—the Freewill Baptist Church—visited regularly, checking on Yvonne, joining Reverend Chapman in several prayer vigils and bringing meals to the hospital for Yvonne and Clarice.
Sandy Wells had agreed to be on call in the evenings so that Amy didn’t have to deal with patients during her shift at Yvonne’s side. Ike Denton came by around eight every evening and had stayed until midnight the past couple of nights, not leaving until Yvonne and Jolie bedded down on the sofas in the ICU waiting room. The first night Ike came by, Jolie had told him that she planned to continue the investigation into the Belle Rose case, but after seeing how upset her declaration made Yvonne, she made sure that Yvonne didn’t hear her future conversations with Ike.
The police had come up with a big fat zero as far as identifying Theron’s attackers. Chief Harper swore that the Sumarville Police Department would, in his own words, “leave no rock unturned, because surely the men who had brutalized Theron must have crawled out from under a rock somewhere.” The local papers gave the case front page headlines daily and the local TV station was running a piece about racial hate crimes on their ten o’clock broadcast every night. A representative of the NAACP had dropped by the hospital to see Yvonne on two separate occasions. And Morris Dees, founder of the Southern Poverty Law Center, had phoned Yvonne.

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