the phone with me. He obviously is worried that I heard something and can identify him.”
Reilly didn’t say a word. Buford sat still, his eyes on Christy, as if he were weighing her words. Then he sat up straight. “All right. I think that’s all for now, Ms. Moser.” He reached for the tape recorder.
“What?” Christy stared at him. “That’s all? Are you saying you don’t believe me?”
Buford punched the off button on the recorder, ejected the tape and stuck it into his shirt pocket. Then he pushed his chair back. Its legs screeched along the floor. He stood with a grunt.
“Why, no, ma’am. I’m not saying that at all. I am at a loss to explain how this man who you think killed your sister found you, watched you and followed you, when you’d only been in town for around twenty-four hours.”
Christy didn’t stand. “You’re at a loss? I don’t see how it could be any clearer, Officer. My father’s arrest and arraignment were in all the papers. If my father is right about my sister’s death, and I believe he is, then the man who killed her is the married man she was seeing.” She stopped long enough to take a breath.
“He knew she had a sister. Even if he didn’t know who she was talking to on the phone, her phone is missing. Isn’t it logical to infer that he took her phone and saw my number? Naturally, he would expect me to show up at the courthouse. It would be simple for him to spot me there and follow me. Wouldn’t it?” She addressed that question to Reilly before turning her icy gaze back to Buford Watts.
“I have to agree, Buford,” Reilly said. “It’s a theory.”
Buford nodded his head. “It coulda happened that way. I just can’t make a case for it.”
Reilly thought of something. “What about her clothes?” he asked.
Buford had picked up his pencil and was studying the end of it. He frowned at Reilly.
“Her clothes. The skirt, jacket and blouse. Did CSI test her clothes?” Reilly asked him.
The older officer picked up the manila folder and paged through the sheets. “I don’t reckon they did.”
“Nobody thought about testing her clothes?”
Buford sent Reilly a narrow gaze. “You were there, and being so all-fired helpful. Why didn’t you think of it? Hell, you coulda hired somebody to do it for you.”
Reilly didn’t bother answering him. The resentment had been bound to surface sooner or later. He and Ryker both caught a lot of flak because of their infamous, wealthy grandparents. It was no secret that the Delancey grandkids weren’t hurting for money, or that a lot of that money had been made in Louisiana politics, off the backs of citizens.
“I put the skirt and stockings in the trash,” Christy interjected. “In the bathroom.”
“Buford, call them now. Before Ella Bardin puts out the trash. Get the skirt and stockings. Her blouse and jacket too.”
Buford nodded irritably and left the room.
Reilly looked at Christy and gave her a rueful shrug.
She sniffed. “Why do you think I left Louisiana?” she said archly.
“It’s not the place,” he said. “It’s the people. There are good people and bad people everywhere.”
When she winced, he realized that his words had hit too close to home.
IT WAS AFTER ONE O’CLOCK before Deputy Watts was done with questioning Christy and forcing her to read her transcribed statements. She’d slowly and meticulously made changes to the transcription using her left hand.
To his credit, the deputy had ordered in po’ boy sandwiches and iced tea for lunch. To his discredit, the po’ boys weren’t seafood. They were piled high with ham and cheese and mustard—loads of mustard. Christy had picked at hers, tearing off bits of the delicious French bread and washing it down with sweet tea.
Reilly stayed with her the whole time. She didn’t want him to know how much that meant to her. She didn’t want anyone to know that. It bothered her that in two days Reilly Delancey had become the one constant in her suddenly out-of-control life.
She’d heard of the Delanceys. Everyone who’d grown up in Louisiana had. Because of their infamous grandfather, they were all stinking rich. Didn’t have to work a day if they didn’t want to. So why had Reilly and his brother become cops? She assessed Reilly. He looked sincere and genuinely delighted with his sandwich. But she didn’t know him. She couldn’t take the risk of depending on him.
She’d never allowed herself to depend on anyone—never looked to a man for validation—except her father. She wasn’t happy that Reilly Delancey had appointed himself her protector. Even if she had no idea how she’d have gotten through last night and this morning without him.
“Are you sure you don’t want something else to eat?” he asked for the third time as he drove her to the hospital to see her father.
“I’m positive,” she responded shortly. Her stomach was growling, but she was about to see her father for the first time since he’d been admitted to the cardiac care unit. Even if she could have eaten, she was pretty sure she wouldn’t have been able to hold it down.
Reilly placed his hand at the small of her back as they walked through the halls to the doors of the CCU.
“Thanks for bringing me here,” she said dismissively. “What time will you pick me up?”
Reilly looked at his watch, then at a sign beside the door. It listed visiting hours as twenty minutes every hour between 7:00 a.m. and 7:00 p.m.
“I’ve got a few things to do. What if I pick you up at four-thirty? Then you can have three visits with him.”
She nodded. “That’ll be good. The nurse told me yesterday that if it wasn’t too busy this afternoon, I could stay a little longer.” She took a shaky breath and sighed.
“Christy? You’re sure you’re okay? I can get back here earlier if you need me to.”
She shook her head. “No. I need to be with my dad as much as I can, before—”
Reilly gave her a searching look before nodding. “I’ll see you at four-thirty then.” He turned and headed back toward the front of the building.
She knew what Reilly was thinking, as clearly as if he’d spoken aloud. How could she sit there at her father’s bedside, knowing he’d killed four young women? How could she still view him as her dad, as the man who’d reared her and taught her the values she now embraced?
“I don’t know,” she whispered as she pressed the automatic door opener and showed the nurse her visitor’s badge. She braced herself for the woman’s reaction when she said, “I’m here to see Albert Moser. I’m his daughter.”
Chapter Four
While Christy visited with her father, Reilly searched out Ryker in his office.
“Hey, old man,” he greeted his older-by-seven-minutes brother. “How’s Nicole?”
His brother’s normally solemn face lit up at the mention of his fiancée. “She’s fine. The burns on her hands are almost healed.”
“Thank God they were only first-degree.”
“Thank God I got there before Moser shot her,” Ryker said hoarsely.
Reilly had never seen him so passionate about anything or anyone. Things had always come easy for his brother. Ryker had excelled at everything. And beaten Reilly. In high school, Ryker was quarterback, leaving Reilly to settle for wide receiver. Ryker had graduated top of his class. Reilly was second.
Both had joined the St. Tammany