Vincent Kossak.
“I still can’t believe Francesca’s dead.”
“It’s true,” Cole told his sister Holly as he set her bag down inside of her apartment. After learning from Aaron about Francesca’s murder, he’d driven to the casino resort on the Gulf Coast where he’d sent Holly the previous night. He had thought that getting Holly out of New Orleans would be the best way to ensure his sister didn’t do something foolish—like crashing J.P.’s wedding—and making matters worse for herself. But once he’d learned of Francesca’s death, he’d known he had to act quickly. Holly had always been fragile emotionally and he hadn’t wanted her to hear the news over the phone. Nor did he want her to learn about it from the media. He’d wanted to break the news to her in person.
After the initial shock, she’d grown quiet. She’d remained quiet while she packed her bags and checked out of the resort hotel. And she had barely said ten words during the ninety-minute drive back to New Orleans. He eyed her carefully as she stood staring out of the picture window that offered a view of the Mississippi River and the night sky.
Unsure whether to be relieved or concerned by his sister’s silence, Cole took off his leather jacket and laid it on the chair beside Holly’s. He wasn’t blind to his sister’s faults, he admitted. Holly was spoiled, often unpredictable and gullible. Her emotions ran high—be they happy or sad. She also had the most tender, generous heart of anyone he knew. And despite the angry scene with Francesca the previous night, he didn’t doubt for a moment that she was already regretting the ugly words that had passed between them. She was probably also feeling a loss. After all, she and Francesca had been good friends at one time.
Until J.P. had come along.
The selfish bastard. He had ruined the friendship between his own daughter and her friend simply to satisfy his own twisted ego. He hadn’t been concerned about how his actions would affect Holly or anyone else. But then, J.P. Stratton had never cared about anyone other than himself. He’d learned that lesson firsthand a long time ago. What he didn’t understand and never would was why Holly continued to love J.P. after everything he had put her through. But then, he’d never understood why his mother had continued to love the man who’d used and abandoned her, either. Maybe he hadn’t been able to help his mother all those years ago, but he could help his sister now.
Walking over to the window, he stood beside Holly and stared out into the night. The rain that had come through earlier in the day had washed away the clouds. Stars glistened against a black velvet sky with a crescent-shaped moon that looked as though it was suspended above the river. It was a quiet, peaceful scene, but he knew the woman beside him was not at peace. “You want to talk about it?”
“No.” Turning around she said, “What I want is a drink.”
When she started toward the bar, Cole blocked her path. “I don’t think that’s a good idea right now,” he told her firmly, knowing his sister had used alcohol as a crutch in the past and worried at her dependence on the stuff.
“Well, I think it’s a great idea,” she argued. “My nerves are shot. I need it to calm me down.”
“No, you don’t,” he insisted and caught her hands in his. “The booze is a crutch and you don’t need a crutch. You’re stronger than that.”
“No, I’m not,” she countered and tried to pull her hands free. “Ask anyone. They’ll tell you I’m just a spoiled little rich girl who gets herself into one mess after another and has to have her daddy or big brother bail her out,” she said, her self-loathing evident.
“You are so much more than that, Holly. Why can’t you see that?” he asked, pained to see his sister in such distress.
“Because I can’t see what isn’t there. I’m not like you, Cole. I’m weak. I always have been. You’re the one who can’t see it.”
He tipped up her chin with his fingers. “What I see is a brave, beautiful and compassionate woman who is a lot stronger than she thinks.”
“I certainly don’t feel brave or strong.”
“That’s because you’ve been dealt some hard blows in the past few days. Why don’t you come sit down and try to relax. I’ll get us both some tea.”
“I don’t have any tea,” she said as she took a seat on the couch.
“What about coffee?”
“I have some instant.”
He hated instant coffee, had never understood how people could drink the stuff. But if it would help Holly, he’d drink dishwater. “Instant’s fine. You relax and I’ll go fix us each a cup.”
“It’s in the kitchen cabinet beside the stove.”
“I’ll find it,” he assured her.
He found it. Fifteen minutes later, neither one of them had taken more than a few sips of the horrible-tasting brew. But his sister had been able to listen without falling apart as he tried to prepare her for what would be coming. He’d had several messages already from a Detective Le Blanc, wanting to question him. It wouldn’t be long before they made their way to Holly. “The news about the wedding being cancelled has already made it on the local TV stations. By morning the news of Francesca’s murder will probably be out, too. I’m guessing word about your run-in with Francesca at the rehearsal dinner last night has already reached the police.” And he didn’t doubt that his sister violating the restraining order by showing up at the dinner and throwing a glass of wine in Francesca’s face would make her a prime suspect. Needing to prepare her, he said, “They’re probably going to want to question you.”
“What am I going to tell them?”
“The truth. That you were unhappy about the wedding and the two of you had an argument, but that you didn’t kill her.”
“It’s true, Cole. I didn’t,” she said.
“I know, kiddo. And you have nothing to worry about. You were nearly a hundred miles from here when she was killed and can prove it.” At least that was in her favor, he reasoned. Also in her favor was the fact that he had waited until Holly had called to say she was at the resort before going to see Francesca and the woman had still been alive when he’d gone to see her. “Once the police check with the resort and confirm you were there, you’ll be in the clear.”
“What if they don’t remember me or know exactly when I arrived?”
He smiled. “Trust me. They’ll remember a beautiful redhead and the time you checked in will be on your receipt and in the reservation system.”
“But I didn’t check in right away,” she told him. “I mean, there was a line at the desk, so I played the slot machines for a while.”
“That’s okay. They’ll just check the surveillance tapes. CS Securities installed the system there. There are cameras capturing every angle of the casino and recording the dates and times. The tapes will put you in the clear,” he explained.
“No they won’t,” she said and her eyes filled with tears.
“Why not?” he asked, a sinking feeling in his gut.
“Because I wasn’t at the casino when I called you last night. I called and said I was because I didn’t want you to worry. But I didn’t get there until later that night.”
“Then where were you?”
“In New Orleans. I was more than half-way to Biloxi when I turned around and came back. I went to see Francesca, to apologize and try to convince her not to file the charges.”
“What time did you go see her?” he demanded.
“I don’t know. Late. She told me that you’d already been there, pleading my case and that she’d turned you down. Then she said she wasn’t going to wait until morning, that she was calling the police now and telling them I’d violated the restraining