mind searched frantically for some association with the name. “Who was she?”
“Depends on who you ask. Some say she was a New Orleans socialite, a woman who was famous for her Garden District dinner parties and entertainments. Others say she was the madam for a ring of very high-class prostitutes. Sort of a Mayflower Madam, if you get the connection.”
Liza got it, loud and clear. “And she was killed?”
“Her body was found the day Masonne disappeared. She was killed in her home.”
“And Duke is a suspect in her murder?”
“Yes.”
“Why? Why would he kill this woman? I’ve never heard of her.”
Trent motioned for her to sip her wine and waited until she’d done so.
“This isn’t pleasant for me, please believe that.”
Liza wanted to scream. “Just finish it. Please,” she said, forcing her voice to remain calm, controlled. If Trent suspected how close to the breaking point she actually was, he’d quit talking and insist on taking her home. As it was, the buzz of activity around the restaurant sounded like white noise. She was totally focused on the man who sat across from her.
“There was some evidence that Masonne used Marcelle Ricco’s services.”
“What?” The one word escaped from Liza’s lips in a rush of air.
“Not as a client himself, but as a…bonus for some of the men he did business with.”
“He sent his business associates to a madam?” Liza understood what Trent was saying, but it was so farfetched that she was having difficulty comprehending it.
“That would appear to be the case.”
“There were records, documents? How come no one told me?”
“There was no hard proof, but enough circumstantial evidence to lead the investigation in that direction.”
Liza took another sip of wine, knowing that Trent was watching her closely. She had to keep her composure. And she had to ask the right questions.
“What kind of evidence?”
“The Ricco murder and Masonne’s disappearance were two separate investigations. But the same people kept popping up in both. When the detectives began to question Masonne’s business associates, Marcelle’s name came up. More than once.”
“But even if that were true, why would Duke kill her?”
“This is ugly, but it seems Marcelle was also running a small side business. Blackmail.”
Liza digested that for a moment. “Even so, what could she blackmail Duke about? Even if he was using…sex as an incentive…” She faltered. It was so ugly. So dirty. And so untrue. The man she’d loved would never participate in that kind of business practice. That it was done by many other businesses she didn’t doubt. But not Duke. He wasn’t the kind of man who would trade in flesh for any reason. Her first impulse was to protest, but she realized instantly that to do so would cause Trent to stop talking.
“Masonne’s business was based largely on his reputation as a keen businessman, a person of integrity and discretion. A scandal such as Marcelle could create would cause a lot of problems for him.”
“No doubt,” Liza said, unable to keep the sarcasm out of her voice. “But to think he’d kill her. That’s a stretch.”
Trent once again reached across the table for her hand. “I know this is hard for you to hear. But it’s time you faced the truth about the past, Liza. If you don’t, you’ll forever remain a prisoner of it. I suppose I’m being selfish, but I want you to step into the present. The future. A future with me in it. And I’m not so stupid as to believe that I can share you, not even with a ghost.”
Liza had to force herself not to get up and flee. Her gut reaction was to run, to put as much distance between herself and Trent as she could. Her reaction wasn’t fair, though. She wasn’t running away from the man; she was trying to escape a view of the past that she found completely unacceptable.
How many hours had she spent in Duke Masonne’s arms? She knew the most intimate facts about him. She knew how he reacted to her lightest touch, the feel of her lips on his skin. And he’d learned the secrets of her body. And each encounter had been special, a union of body and spirit that could never have been possible with a man who viewed a woman as something that could be bought and sold.
Images from the past spun in her head. Duke leaning over her in bed. Duke smiling at her as she woke up in the morning. Duke with a cup of fresh coffee and a kiss.
“I have to go home,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.
“I knew this wasn’t a good idea.” Trent stood immediately, tossing money on the table for the wine. “My car isn’t far from here. I’ll get it.”
“No, I’d like to walk,” Liza insisted. “Would you just walk me home?”
For an answer, he took her arm and supported her as they stepped out into the darkened New Orleans street.
“I am sorry, Liza. But you had to—”
“Don’t apologize. You didn’t make up the past,” Liza said. She tightened her grip on his arm for just a moment. “This has shaken me, but I had to hear it. I only wish someone had told me five years ago. Why didn’t they?”
Trent turned her toward St. Ann Street. “Masonne disappeared and there wasn’t enough conclusive evidence to pin the murder on him.”
“Marcelle’s murder was never solved?”
“Never.”
“And her family? They still don’t have an answer?” The thought of that was horrible. She knew what it was like to suffer in limbo.
“No one was ever arrested. And because Masonne wasn’t officially a suspect, the department made certain not to trade in speculation or gossip. It wouldn’t have been right.”
“How did you find out about this?”
“I met one of the detectives in the gym last month. When you began seeing Masonne behind every bush and lamppost, I asked a few questions.”
Liza kept walking. It was the only thing she could do.
“I know right now you don’t believe any of this. That’s a normal reaction. But think about it. Masonne’s body was never found. There was no indication of foul play in his disappearance. Nothing disturbed at his business, no hint of a threat of any kind against him. The logical conclusion is that he disappeared because he wanted to, Liza.”
“But—”
“Let me finish. I don’t think any of this negates the way he felt about you. I’ve come to know you fairly well. If you say the two of you were deeply in love, I believe that. One thing I’ve learned in police work is that people aren’t black or white, good or evil. Masonne could have loved you with all his heart and still been involved with Marcelle. Smart people are always the most complex, and one thing we both agree on is that Duke Masonne was one highly intelligent man.”
Liza knew it was futile to argue. Trent was a man trained to draw conclusions from facts. That was one of the things about him that attracted her. He looked at real evidence and followed it in a straight line. He lived in a world of solid fact, unlike her own, which was founded on emotion, intuition and a strong belief in what she felt to be true.
Right now what she felt was at total odds with the facts Trent had laid out before her. The best policy, though, was to remain silent. If there was a grain of truth in Trent’s allegations, she would think it through and decide for herself.
Trent stopped at the front door of LaTique Gallery and waited for her to unlock it. Liza knew he expected to follow her inside. Part of her wanted to have