Showdown in Mudbug Page 13

  “Why are you shaking your head?” Zach asked.

  “That’s not right.”

  “What part?”

  “That Melissa wasn’t ever sick. Once a month, her mother took her to a specialist who has an office across from my shop. They usually stopped in my shop and bought Melissa candles.”

  “You’re certain?”

  “Of course, I’m certain. I’ve seen them once a month for probably six months or more. That’s why I was so upset when I saw the details of the kidnapping on the news. This one was almost personal in a way, because I knew the victim.”

  “Why would the father lie?”

  “I have no idea. Maybe we should ask?”

  “If he’s lying, he’s not likely to tell the truth just because I ask him to.”

  Raissa shook her head. “Not him. The doctor.”

  Zach frowned and started to speak and she waved a hand to cut him off. “I know doctor privilege and all that, but this is the mayor’s daughter who’s been kidnapped. If the doctor knows something, he might tell us.”

  “No way. You’re not going anywhere near your shop. One of Sonny’s guys is probably watching it, not to mention the Agent Fields problem.”

  “I can handle Fields, and the FBI can’t make me do anything. I’m not under arrest.”

  “Sonny’s guys can probably make you do plenty, starting with giving up breathing.”

  Raissa turned in her seat to face him. “Who do you think stands a better chance against them—me or Melissa Franco?”

  Zach rolled the options around in his mind for half a second. “Shit.” He turned at the next red light and headed toward Raissa’s shop. Raissa pulled off the wig and tried to fluff her hair into some semblance of normal.

  A couple of cars were parked on the street outside of Raissa’s shop, but none was a black Cadillac. She pointed across the street. “That’s the office.”

  Zach pulled over close to the building and parked at the curb. A man in his sixties with black and silver hair stepped outside the door and turned to lock it. “That’s him,” Raissa said, pointing at the man locking the door. She checked the street, then jumped out of the car.

  “Dr. Spencer,” Raissa called as the doctor slipped the keys in his pocket. He turned around and gave her a wave.

  “Hello, Raissa. I haven’t seen you in a while. Did you finally take a vacation?”

  Raissa walked over to the doctor, Zach close behind. “Hardly,” she replied. “But a friend did—her honeymoon, in fact—so I’m filling in at her shop.”

  The doctor smiled. “That’s nice.” He gave Zach a curious look, then looked back at Raissa. “Well, my wife has dinner on the table, so I better run.”

  “Actually,” Raissa said and pointed to Zach, “this is Detective Blanchard with the New Orleans Police Department. He’d like to speak with you about Melissa Franco.”

  Dr. Spencer’s eyes widened. “The kidnapped girl? Why would you want to speak to me?”

  “Because,” Zach said, “you treated her, but her father clearly stated to police that his daughter had never been sick. I want to know why he would think that.”

  Dr. Spencer shook his head. “You’re mistaken. Melissa Franco was never a patient of mine.”

  “I saw her here,” Raissa said. “Once a month. She and her mother always stopped in my shop after they left your office.”

  Dr. Spencer appeared flustered. “I’m sure if you check my rec ords, you’ll see I’m telling the truth. I’ve never treated Melissa Franco. I didn’t even know the name until it was on the news.”

  Zach narrowed his eyes at the man. It was so clear he was lying, but about what part? “Dr. Spencer, there are other eyewitnesses who put Susannah Franco and her daughter in your office,” he lied, “so you can either tell me what’s going on now, or I can drag you down to the station, and we’ll take all night to go over it.” Zach pulled the handcuffs from his waist. “Your choice.”

  Dr. Spencer paled. “You don’t understand.”

  “That’s exactly my point,” Zach said. “And I need to understand. Rest assured that I don’t care what you were doing here as long as it had nothing to do with Melissa Franco’s kidnapping, but I do have to know what you were doing. So what was it—were you having an affair with Susannah Franco?”

  “Good Lord, no,” Dr. Spencer said. “I’m a happily married man, and Susannah is young enough to be my daughter.”

  “That’s never stopped ’em before,” Raissa said dryly.

  Zach shot her a warning look and turned back to the doctor. “Good. See, this isn’t so hard, is it? So you weren’t sleeping with Susannah Franco. Were you treating her?”

  Dr. Spencer sighed. “No. I was treating Melissa, but I swear I didn’t know that was the child’s name until I saw her on the news. Her mother gave a fake last name. Paid cash.”

  “Isn’t that unusual?”

  “Yes and no. Susannah said their church took up a collection each week for Melissa’s visits. It’s not that uncommon among some of the churches here.”

  “And you never noticed that their clothes or jewelry didn’t match the charity claims?” Zach asked.

  “Well, no. They were always clean and tidy, but never overdressed or even dressed fancy. The mother always had on jeans and a top. The child had on the type of cotton clothes that children wear. I never saw any expensive rings or other jewelry.”

  Zach looked over at Raissa for confirmation and she nodded. The doctor was right. There was nothing about them that automatically made one think “wealthy.” Even Raissa had never caught onto their status during the shop visits.

  “I apologize, Detective,” Dr. Spencer said, “but the reality is, if Ms. Franco was carrying an eight-hundred-dollar handbag or wearing a two-hundred-dollar polo shirt, I’d be the last to know. My wife does all the shopping for our household.”

  “So let’s just say you didn’t know,” Zach said. “Melissa’s picture has been plastered all over the news. Why didn’t you come forward then?”

  “What could I possibly know that could help the police?”

  “I find all this secrecy disturbing. You’ve never met Peter Franco?”

  “No. Ms. Franco claimed she was a single mother. She didn’t wear a wedding ring, so I had no reason until recently to suspect otherwise.”

  Raissa stared at the doctor. “But, Doctor, this is the part that I don’t understand. It’s one thing for Susannah Franco to hide her identity, but Peter Franco told the police that his daughter has never been sick. Are you trying to tell us the man doesn’t know his own daughter is ill? How can that be? Why wouldn’t Melissa tell him about the treatment herself?”

  A hint of red crept up Dr. Spencer’s neck. “Because we didn’t tell her what was really wrong with her.”

  Zach threw his hands in the air. “Well, why the hell not?”

  Dr. Spencer took one step back, clearly unnerved by Zach’s obvious exasperation. “Her case was mild. Even the treatments weren’t making her sick. Her mother said as long as the disease remained that way there was no use scaring her.”

  “So what, exactly,” Zach asked, “did you claim you were treating her for?”

  “Allergies. It’s something that requires some blood drawn, regular care, and daily medication.”

  “And it doesn’t bother you in the least that this woman obviously used you for her own purposes?”

  Dr. Spencer gave Zach an apologetic look. “I wasn’t trying to create a smoke screen for a crime spree, Detective. I only wanted to save a little girl a lot of worry, if it wasn’t necessary. I know it’s not the most ethical thing to do, but the mother really had the final word on the matter since Melissa is a minor. I was certainly unaware of all the other subterfuge.”

  “You said she takes medicine daily,” Raissa said. “How much damage will be caused by her going without it?”

  Dr. Spencer shook his head. “There’s no way to know for sure, but the medication seemed to curb newly developing symptom
s and relieve previously developed others. The longer she goes without the medication, the greater the chance she’ll suffer a lot for it.” Dr. Spencer pulled a card from his wallet and handed it to Zach, clearly worried. “If you need anything else, or when you find her, please call me. She’ll need special care.”

  Raissa shot Zach a grim look. No further explanation was necessary.

  Maryse flipped through the photos at the drugstore counter, then shoved them back into the envelope. “They look great,” she told the woman behind the counter, who scanned the envelope to ring her up. Maryse passed the woman some money, picked up the envelope, and headed to the back of the store for the restroom. Helena was already waiting inside.

  “Well?” Maryse asked.

  “There’s a black sedan parked across the street. Dark tint on the windows, but no bullet holes.”

  “Shit.” Maryse said. “I was hoping Raissa was being melodramatic worrying about me, but apparently she wasn’t. And the film counter is in clear view of the street. I’ll bet black-sedan guy knows exactly why I’m here, even if he can’t figure out how I managed to take the pictures.”

  Helena nodded. “It would be too much of a coincidence for him to ignore.”

  “Okay, so he probably won’t kill me right there in the street, right? I mean, it’s the pictures he wants, and the negatives.”

  “I guess,” Helena said, but didn’t look completely convinced.

  “We’ll go with that for now.” Maryse pulled the photos out of the envelope and pulled out the spare copies. “I had duplicates made. I guess I was expecting trouble of some sort.”

  “God knows why, since your life has been a cakewalk for over a month now.”

  “Oh, you mean since you showed up?”

  “You can’t blame all this on me. Hell, if I had that much power and control, I’d run the world.”

  “There’s a frightening thought.” Maryse handed Helena the duplicate photos. “Hold on to those and do not lose them. Regardless of how scary things might be, remember that the bad guy can’t see you. Keep those photos under your clothes, and try not to crease the heck out of them.”

  Maryse stuck the other set of photos back into the envelope along with the negatives and closed the flap. She looked at Helena and blew out a breath. “Okay, I’m going to leave the store and get mugged or jacked or rolled—whatever the hip, trendy term is for getting your butt kicked by a picture-stealing thug. You are going to get in the car and wait for me.”

  Helena raised her eyebrows. “You sure about this?”

  “No, which is why we have to leave now. Otherwise, I’ll spend the night in this restroom.” Maryse opened the door and stepped outside. “Get ahead of me and let me know if the car’s still there. It might have been a fluke.”

  Helena hurried out the drugstore ahead of Maryse, then rushed back inside. “The car’s still there, but it’s pulled up right behind your car now. Are you sure you want to do this? We can call Raissa and Zach—have them pick us up.”

  “That just puts Raissa in his line of fire and Zach on his radar. I don’t think he’ll shoot me. The street’s well lit and lots of people are there. Besides, if this goes as planned, he’ll think he got what he wanted and go away, right?”

  Helena gave her a skeptical look. “Okay, but just in case things don’t go as planned—which always seems to happen, by the way—why don’t you give me your cell phone? I can call Raissa if something goes wrong.”

  Maryse frowned. “Do you think she would be able to hear you through the phone?”

  Helena shrugged. “She heard me when I was putting the bug in Sonny’s house.”

  Maryse’s expression brightened. “You’re right. I’d forgotten about that.” She pulled her cell phone from her pocket and handed it to Helena. “Raissa’s number is the fourth one on the favorites list.”

  Helena slipped the phone in her pocket. “Are you ready to do this?”

  Maryse took a deep breath and blew it out. “As ready as I’m getting.” Helena walked out of the drugstore ahead of her. Maryse said a silent prayer and followed the ghost onto the sidewalk.

  The black Cadillac was parked ten feet or so behind Maryse’s car just as Helena had reported. It looked like the car that had been in Mudbug that morning, but Maryse had no way of knowing for sure. She tried to appear nonchalant as she walked to her car, clutching the photos in her hand. No use making them harder to steal, or she’d likely show more bruises for her effort than necessary.

  She pulled her keys from her pocket and unlocked the car door, then stepped to the driver’s side and reached for the door handle. So far, there was no movement from the black car, and Maryse was beginning to think they’d made a mistake. After all, Sonny and his men couldn’t be the only drivers of black Cadillacs, or there wouldn’t be a reason to manufacture them.

  She peered into the car to make sure it was empty, but she only saw Helena inside, clutching the cell phone with one finger poised on top, ready to dial at any moment. Letting out a sigh of relief, she pulled up on the door handle, and that’s when she felt a hand on her shoulder and something cold and hard press into her back. Serious miscalculation. The man must have been hiding in the alley next to the cars.

  “Give me the photos,” the man whispered, “and you can drive off with all your body parts intact.”

  Maryse felt a rush of fear like a tidal wave, and then did what she always did at the wrong time—she got sarcastic. “Well, when you put it that way. I’m hungry and could really use my stomach.” She lifted the envelope of photos above her shoulder. “I’ll probably need my colon later.”

  The man removed his hand from her shoulder and grabbed the photos. “Smart-ass bitch,” he said, and clocked her in the back of the head with his gun. Maryse remembered yelling once before she fell against the side of the car and slumped down on the sidewalk.

  Maryse had no idea how long she’d been sitting on the sidewalk next to her car, but when she opened her eyes, she saw three people hovering above her.

  An older lady bent over and peered down at her. “Are you all right, dear? Do you need us to call an ambulance?”

  Maryse struggled to rise, feeling a bit dizzy. “No, I think I’m okay. Just a little woozy.”

  “Did that man steal your purse?”

  “No. Just the things I bought at the drugstore. I wasn’t even carrying a purse.”

  “A smart idea, with all the tomfoolery that’s going on these days. Shall I call the police, then?”

  “No, don’t bother. They’re busy with much worse things than this, and it seems there’s never enough of them to go around.”

  “That is so true. You should still go downtown when you’re feeling better and file a report. Likely they won’t be able to do anything about your purchases, but they do keep a record of problem areas and try to patrol more often.”

  “I’ll do that,” Maryse said. “Thank you for stopping. I think I’ll drive home now and soak in a hot bath.”

  The lady nodded. “Excellent plan. Lord only knows what kind of grime is on that sidewalk. Are you okay to drive, dear? Can I call someone to come get you?”

  “No. I think I’ll be fine. I’ll just sit here for a minute, then drive. If I have any problems, I’ll call my friend to come get me.”

  “Well, okay. You be careful, now.” The lady gave her a nod walked down the sidewalk, the other pedestrians trailing behind her now that the show was over.

  Maryse slid into the car and clutched the steering wheel, trying to steady herself. The dizziness was mostly gone, but the fear still raged. “Holy shit!”

  “Are you okay?” Helena leaned over, peering anxiously at her. “I didn’t know what to do. It all happened so fast.”

  “I’ll be fine as long as I don’t have a heart attack.” She ran her fingers lightly over the bump that was already forming on the back of her head. “Did you call Raissa?”

  Helena nodded. “As soon as I saw him put a gun in your back. She could hear me fine
. She and Zach are on the way, but we should get outta here, just in case that guy’s still around.”

  “Good idea.” Maryse started the car. “There’s a restaurant a couple of blocks over, Wally’s Seafood Place. It’s well lit and probably crowded. Text Raissa to meet us there.”

  “I grew up with manual typewriters. What in the world makes you think I know how to send a text message? I was doing good to make the phone call.”

  “Never mind,” Maryse said, and took her phone from Helena’s hand. She sent the text, then pulled away from the curb.

  “I wonder how Raissa’s explaining my call to Zach,” Helena mused.

  “Probably the same way she explained my taking pictures of the man to begin with.”

  Helena’s eyes widened. “I hadn’t even thought about that. So what are you going to say if he asks?”

  “Damned good question.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Zach looked across the restaurant table at Maryse and wondered what she was hiding. Ever since Raissa told him there “might” be photos, he’d wondered how on earth someone had managed to take a picture of the guy without him noticing. Obviously, the answer was she hadn’t gotten away with it, or she wouldn’t have been attacked. But how she’d gotten all the way to New Orleans to have them developed was another mystery. It seemed to Zach that the guy could have run her over in the street right there in Mudbug and saved himself the trouble.

  Which meant something wasn’t exactly right about her story. The only thing Zach could come up with that made sense is that it wasn’t Maryse who had taken the pictures. But whom was she protecting? Obviously someone close to her, or no one would have followed her to New Orleans to begin with. And someone with a death wish, assuming they’d walked up to the car of a potential killer and snapped a photo. Whoever it was, it appeared to him that Raissa was also in on the secret. She’d maintained a fairly straight face, but Zach got the feeling Raissa was reading information between the lines in Maryse’s story.

  “And then I came to on the sidewalk,” Maryse finished up her story, “with some lady looking down at me. I couldn’t have been out for long, but the guy was long gone.”