Chapter 10

When we walkedinto the Bayou Inn, Mannie was behind the counter with Shadow Chaser, who looked relieved to see us. I barely kept from laughing because if Shadow was happy I had walked in the door, then he must be terrified of Mannie. Mannie gave us all a big smile.

“Are you ladies here to harass my manager?” he asked.

“That’s never what we set out to do,” Gertie said. “But sometimes, there’s unintended consequences.”

He chuckled. “Well, I’ll get out of here and leave you to it. Shadow, get those reports to me. I’d like to get started on the room updates next month if possible.”

Shadow’s head bobbed up and down and a single bead of sweat ran down his face even though it was easily sixty-five degrees in the office. Mannie winked at us and headed out.

“So Mannie’s your boss now,” I said. “That’s cool.”

Shadow sank into his chair, looking as though he was about to pass out. “It figures you’re friends. He looks like he kills people for a living.”

“Not since he left the Navy. I mean, he’s killed people since then, but as far as I know, he hasn’t been paid to do it.”

He paled. “So what murderer have I rented a room to this time?”

“Well, it was ten years ago, so unless you were working the desk in middle school, I think you’re off the hook on this one.”

“Thank the baby Jesus. Then I’m almost afraid to ask what you want.”

“This one will be easy. That room in the back with the fifty million dusty boxes… I don’t suppose those are records from when the old manager was here.”

“You mean the guy who fought computers like they were the Germans in World War II? Yeah, that’s exactly what it is. I started trying to clear them out, but there’s credit card numbers written on a lot of it and I’m having to go sheet by sheet. When the serial killer you’re friends with found out, he told me to find a company to pick the whole lot up and shred it. They’ll be here next week.”

“Looks like we’re just in time. I don’t suppose you mind if we go through the papers then?”

He waved a hand at the door to the back room.

“You don’t want to know why we want to see them?”

“Absolutely not. The less I know about the things you do, the better.”

I nodded. “I get that a lot.”

“I can’t imagine why. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to put those numbers together for my boss. I don’t want to be found lacking in case he gets the urge to kill someone for free again.”

We managed to wait until we were in the back room before we started laughing.

“This whole businessman thing that Mannie has going is kind of sexy,” Gertie said. “It’s nice if a man can get your engine revving, protect you from an assailant, and do your taxes.”

“I’ll stick to doing my own protecting and taxes,” Ida Belle said.

Gertie raised her eyebrows. “But you caved on that engine thing, or you wouldn’t have married Walter.”

“Why are you assuming I waited until I was married for engine work?” Ida Belle said. “You don’t assume that about Fortune.”

Gertie hooted. “Do tell?”

Ida Belle shook her head. “Not now. Not the last time you asked. Not the next time you ask. What exactly are we looking for in this mess?”

“Receipts for the night that Lindsay was murdered. If we can find someone who used their real name, I’m hoping to find a witness who saw someone other than Ryan toss that knife in that dumpster.”

“That’s a long shot,” Ida Belle said. “But I guess it’s an angle we should cover.”

“You never know,” Gertie said. “This motel has given us some good leads before.”

She grabbed a box with the correct year on it and plopped down on the floor with it between her legs. As soon as the box hit the floor, a cloud of dust went up in the air and she started coughing.

“We should have brought masks,” Ida Belle said and sighed as she hefted another box off the stack.

Thirty minutes later, we were all coughing and sneezing. Gertie threw her hands in the air.

“It’s amazing how many famous people stayed here that night,” she said. “JFK, John Wayne, heck, even Elvis. I’m surprised the paparazzi weren’t camped in the parking lot.”

“If those three were here that night, the paparazzi, ten priests, and at least eighty of those ghost-hunting YouTubers would have been in the parking lot,” Ida Belle said.

Gertie shook her head as she looked at the last sheet. “And they put John Lennon in the room next to Elvis. That’s just rude.”

I sighed and grabbed another handful of invoices from my box. “Hey, these are from the right night at least.”

I dug through the box and pulled out everything with the date, then divvied them up. “Pull out anyone who looks like a real person.”

We’d pulled out six receipts that seemed normal, including Ryan’s, when Ida Belle whistled. “Guess who was staying here that night?”

“Who?” Gertie and I both asked at the same time.

“Kenny Bertrand.”

“Cool,” I said. “Get a pic of that receipt in case he needs reminding, but I’m guessing he’ll remember given what happened while he was here.”

“Why would Kenny be staying at the motel?” Gertie asked. “He has a house.”

Ida Belle shrugged. “Maybe he ordered a new bed and sold the mattresses the day it was supposed to be delivered and the furniture company totally screwed him on delivery.”

Since her description was very specific, I had to assume it had happened to her before, but given her tone, I wasn’t about to ask. Kenny staying here that night was a good find. It might amount to absolutely nothing, but on the plus side, he was trustworthy and not overly dramatic.

“I found one too!” Gertie said, waving a receipt in the air. “Father Michael stayed here that night. I’m not sure I even want to know why.”

“I think our best bet is to avoid asking why and just see if they saw anything,” I said. “If either one of them was up to no good, then us asking about it might make them clam up on everything.”

“I’m more concerned that Father Michael drove all the way out here,” Ida Belle said. “The last time I saw him sober was about fifteen years ago, and he’d had surgery, so that one was forced on him.”

I flipped over the last of my receipts and wiped my hands on my jeans. “That’s all of mine.”

“Me too,” Gertie said.

Ida Belle nodded. “How did we do?”

“Five real names total, but three are common. Only two that we know.”

“To be honest, that’s better than I thought we’d do,” Ida Belle said.

We dumped the receipts back into the boxes, stacked them up, then headed for the front desk. Shadow Chaser looked up and wrinkled his nose. We probably smelled like an attic that hadn’t been touched in a couple decades.

“Did you find your murderer?” he asked.

“Oh, the accused is already in prison,” I said. “We’re trying to get him out.”

His look of dismay was priceless. “Why would you—you know what, I don’t even want to know.”

“Relax. He’s innocent or I wouldn’t even be here.”

“How can you be sure?”

I raised one eyebrow, and he waved a hand at me. “You’re right. Sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. Well, I hope you free the innocent and catch the guilty and all of that. Now, if you don’t mind, I have to get on these spreadsheets before I become the next reason for police tape around here.”

We headed out smiling, and when we hopped in the SUV, Ida Belle laughed. “That kid is going to have a heart attack working with Mannie.”

“Fortune didn’t help matters with all those killing people jokes,” Gertie said.

“Those weren’t jokes,” I said. “They were accurate statements. Besides, a little fear might have him doing a better job rather than playing video games on his shift. I want Mannie to succeed. I know he’s still associated with the Heberts since it’s their properties he’s managing, but it looks better for him to have a visible and socially acceptable job, especially in regard to his relationship with Ally.”

Gertie smiled. “You old softy. You’re a good friend, Fortune.”

Ida Belle nodded. “So what now? Are we headed back to Stepford Pass?”

“Ha,” I said. “Accurate. And yes. I want to talk to Lindsay’s brother and sister.”

“You think they’ll agree to that?” Gertie asked.

I shrugged. “Only one way to find out. But if they refuse to talk to someone who says their sister’s killer is still out there, I’d have to wonder why.”

“Have you heard anything from Kelsey’s husband?” Ida Belle asked as she pulled away.

“No,” I said.

I’d left Brett Spalding a message the day before, telling him I’d been retained by Kelsey and would like to speak with him, but so far, he hadn’t returned the call. I hadn’t heard anything from Kelsey either in regard to Brett, so I assumed he was mulling the whole thing over.

“If I don’t hear from him by this evening, I’ll call again,” I said. “If he refuses my calls, then we’ll just dip over to NOLA and track him down.”

Gertie sighed. “I get that he’s mad over Ben not being his biological son, but he raised the boy. And if another man—who never meant anything to Kelsey anyway—could save the boy’s life, why hasn’t he returned your call?”

“He’s rich,” Ida Belle said. “Rich people often assume money can solve everything. And he’s a man. He wants to think he can fix this.”

“You think he’d try to buy the boy an organ on the black market?” I asked.

“It’s crossed my mind,” Ida Belle said. “He wouldn’t be the first to do so.”

It was an angle I hadn’t considered yet, but it made perfect sense for someone like Brett—plenty of money and issues relinquishing control. Add that to desperate parent and you had a combination ripe for illegal activity. And that might be why he was avoiding me.

Magnolia Pass looked as if it had been polished and vacuumed ahead of our arrival. I stared at the sidewalk as we drove down Main Street, trying to find a crack or a piece of gum, but couldn’t find so much as a wayward leaf.

“Do they not have wind in this town?” I asked. “Seriously. Nothing is out of place. It looks like a painted Hollywood set.”

“It gives me the creeps,” Gertie said.

I nodded. While I wasn’t necessarily creeped out by the place, I definitely thought it was all a carefully crafted facade. I directed Ida Belle to the Beech estate—and it was a real estate, not one of those neighborhoods calling themselves such. I’d gotten all the pertinent information online. The main house looked like a palace and there were five other residences on the fifty acres the Beeches called home. I figured the homes were occupied by staff and maybe older relatives, or perhaps they’d been intended for the kids when they got older and wanted more independence.

Their mother had died in a car accident when Holly, the youngest, was only five. Lindsay was the oldest and nine years older than Holly. Jared was in the middle and two years younger than Lindsay, so Holly had been a late baby. Their father, Raymond, had died five years ago. Jared and Holly both lived in the main home.

Jared and Holly were now thirty-two and twenty-five, and neither appeared to be married or even have significant others. The only other people listed as living on the estate were household employees. I’d found a good amount of information on Jared as he was the head of the Beech’s investment firm and was a regular at charity events, but I’d found very little on Holly. She didn’t seem to be enamored—or perhaps, tasked—with fulfilling charitable obligations like her older brother, and the few pictures I found of her were as a girl and she always appeared to be avoiding the camera. Socially awkward perhaps.

Jared had attended Yale and acquired a business degree, but I couldn’t find any reference to Holly having attended college or public schools. I assumed she’d been in private schools. There was also very little online about Lindsay. I knew she’d graduated with top honor from Yale with dual degrees in finance and mathematics but couldn’t find anything else. None of the Beeches had social media.

An enormous wrought iron fence with spiked top and stone columns surrounded the estate and the entrance was a couple miles from downtown. As we pulled up in front of the gate, a security guard stepped out of a stone building next to the gate and approached the vehicle.

Early forties. Five foot ten. A hundred ninety pounds. Good body tone and no flaws except that he worked security for the Beeches. He was strapped and didn’t look overly friendly, so I’d keep my guard up. So to speak.

“Name and appointment time, please,” he said as he flipped a sheet on a clipboard. I saw a list of names on the paper.

“We don’t have an appointment,” I said and passed him a business card. “I’m a private investigator and have information about Lindsay Beech’s death that I think would interest her siblings. I’d like to speak to them.”

He frowned. “The Beeches only see people by appointment. You’ll need to call Mr. Beech’s assistant to get on his schedule.”

“There is an emergency that makes this conversation time critical. A young boy’s life depends on it. I’m not trying to be dramatic, but that is the crux of the matter.”

He flickered his gaze over to Ida Belle and Gertie, clearly confused by the combination of the three of us and what I was presenting to him.

“If you could just call Mr. Beech and ask him if he’ll see me?” I asked. “I promise I won’t take up much of his time.”

He was clearly reluctant to make the call, but he must have finally decided that I wasn’t going to go away easily.

“Give me a minute,” he said and stepped back in the building. Through the window, I saw him make a phone call and talk to someone. I hoped it was Jared and not another staff member and that Jared was either curious enough or afraid enough to let me in. I saw him put the phone down and stand there, staring out the back window, then after a minute or so, he picked up the phone again. A couple seconds later, he headed back to the SUV.

“You have ten minutes with Mr. Beech. He has other appointments today and that’s the only time he can spare. Follow the road directly to the main house. The butler will let you in.”

He pivoted and headed back into the building, and the gate began to open. As we drove past, he stared straight ahead, his jaw set, and never even glanced our way.

“Mr. Personality,” Gertie said.

“He looks pissed off that Jared agreed to see us,” Ida Belle said.

“Maybe he got his butt chewed out for calling,” Gertie said.

Ida Belle parked on one side of a porte cochere that was so big it could have easily covered six vehicles beneath it, and we headed for the door. I rang the bell and took in the absolutely massive wood and iron structure. It was a double door, and each side stood at least twelve feet high and five feet wide.

“Maybe they were planning on parking cars in the foyer,” Gertie said, noticing my scrutiny.

“Or moving in their beds fully assembled,” Ida Belle said. “These doors probably cost as much as a new boat motor.”

“They are rather impressive,” I said, and then the door swung open.

Seventy if he was a day. Six foot four. Maybe a hundred forty pounds. Weak wrists peeking out from under the heavily starched dress shirt. No threat in a physical way, but he still represented the troll at the bridge.

“Hello,” I said. “I’m Fortune Redding. Mr. Beech agreed to see me.”

He lifted his head so that he had a better view of me looking down his nose, and I knew it was intentional. I’m sure I didn’t look appropriate or important enough to speak to a Beech, and I probably smelled a little dusty. Well, he’d get over it.

Without a word, he turned around and I took that as an order to follow him. He walked across the entry and opened a door and stepped back, gesturing with one gloved hand for us to enter. Then without speaking, he closed the door behind us.

“He was actually wearing gloves?” Gertie said. “It’s like no one has a calendar. People don’t wear gloves in the house anymore.”

“Clearly, Jeeves thinks we’re beneath him,” Ida Belle said. “Is this a drawing room?”

I looked around. “I don’t see any art supplies.”

“No. It’s an old term,” Ida Belle said. “It’s where you’d put company to meet. Usually a room at the front of the house that you only used when speaking to someone you didn’t know well enough to let into your personal spaces.”

“So this is the lobby,” I said. “Got it.”

It was a nice room. Big with tall ceilings, lots of bookcases, and walls of wood with ornate patterns and scrolling. The furniture looked uncomfortable, and I walked over and plopped down on one to test it out.

Yep. Definitely uncomfortable.

“Let me guess,” I said. “If your butt goes to sleep, you won’t stay as long.”

“You’ve got it,” Ida Belle said.

The door opened, and I stood back up as a younger man walked in.

Early thirties. Six foot two. A hundred ninety pounds. Good muscle tone. Nice tan. Perfect fingernails and not a sign of a callous. Definitely not a guy who worked outdoors even though he spent plenty of time there. He wouldn’t last two seconds with me in a fight, but his name and money were clearly a threat to the people of Magnolia Pass.

He scrutinized the three of us as he approached, but he showed no sign of apprehension, just confusion. “I’m Jared Beech. Security told me you want to speak to me about Lindsay.”

“That’s correct.” I gave him my business card. “I’m representing a client who was with Ryan Comeaux on the night Lindsay was murdered. She was with him the entire night.”

He shook his head, clearly skeptical, and I honestly couldn’t blame him. “I don’t see how that’s possible. I think you’ve been duped. Obviously Ryan is attempting a retrial and has paid someone to come forth as a witness.”

“I can see why you might think that, but I’d like to tell you why I believe her, and why I believe that whoever murdered your sister is still out there while an innocent man is in prison.”