She glanced through the glass door. “Lisa’s stronger than she looks. As for Mary…” She flicked a hand. “She’s not on the hook for a crime. She’ll be fine.”
“She’s at Pascoe’s as we speak.”
Eden recognized the name of the trendy Caribbean lounge. “There you go, then,” she said. “Mary’s coping as always.”
“You call drinking martinis at 1:00 a.m. coping?”
Eden found it interesting that his amusement didn’t annoy her. “It’s her way, Detective, not mine.” She switched gears to inquire, “This witness of yours, is he by any chance connected to Maxwell Burgoyne?”
Armand’s expression told her nothing, and of course he’d discovered another shadow in which to conceal himself. That the shadow happened to be less than a foot from where Eden stood didn’t improve her mood.
“Before the lineup, one of our computer artists put together a composite based on the witness’s description of the murderer. That picture could be of you or your sister.”
“Which proves…?”
“Nothing on its own.” His lashes lowered. “Tell me, is your sister right-handed or left?”
“Right. Why?”
“You signed your name with your left hand tonight.”
“I sign with my left, but I promise you, I can inflict pain with either. You’re not very subtle, Detective LaMorte. I take it Maxwell Burgoyne was struck by a right-handed person.”
He didn’t answer, and a second later the door across the hall opened.
Lisa emerged looking edgy and drawn. “Thanks for waiting, Eden.” The blackness under her eyes had grown more pronounced. “Lieutenant Owen says we can leave.” She rubbed her forehead. “Who were you talking to when I came out?”
Eden glanced back. Somehow, it didn’t surprise her that Armand had vanished. “A man, a detective on the case. He asks questions, but doesn’t answer many.” She regarded Lisa. “Are you all right?”
“I want to get out of here.”
Eden checked out the shadows one last time. “They’re so elusive,” she said softly.
Lisa blinked. “What?”
Unsure what to make of the entire bizarre encounter, Eden shook her head. “I’m either incredibly perceptive, or—” she released a weary breath “—I’m headed for a whole lot of trouble.”
ARMAND WATCHED HER GO. She was more than he’d anticipated and not like her sister at all.
He had his cell phone out and the number punched. As she left the building with Lisa, he pressed the button to make the call.
“Is it done then?” his father demanded over a static-filled line.
“For the moment.” Armand took care not to lose his cover of darkness. Eden owned a sporty, black car, similar to both her sisters’, and she had the sexiest walk of any woman in New Orleans.
“Are you napping, Detective LaMorte?”
He smiled a little. “Observing. How did you know it was me?”
“Who else would phone so late? You understand your job?”
Armand’s gaze hardened. “I only need to be told once. Are you sure this is how you want it to be? It’s more complicated than you thought.”
“There we agree,” his father said. “But more complicated doesn’t mean we can walk away. You made me a promise, and I mean to hold you to it.”
“I’ll keep my word.” Armand followed Eden’s movements as she disengaged her alarm. “They’re leaving now, probably to pick up their other sister.”
“You sound displeased. You should be happy.”
“Why, because Maxwell Burgoyne is dead? I’m supposed to extract justice for death, not applaud it.”
“We both know what kind of snake Maxwell Burgoyne was while he lived. Now he’s gone, and I need your help, father to son. Don’t disappoint me.”
“Have I ever?”
“In the important ways, no. Just remember what’s at stake here, and if you have to, lock your conscience away. It’ll only be a burden to you in this case.”
This case, Armand thought as he disconnected. This skewed and twisted case into which he had been plunged with next to no warning.
Like it or not, however, he was in deep and stuck there. Whether that would prove to be good or bad depended entirely on how the victim’s murder was viewed.
“STOP AT LUCILLE’S CLUB,” Lisa pleaded with Eden. “She’s part of our lives. We should tell her what’s happening.”
“I didn’t drink enough if I’m hearing this.” From the back, Mary used her knee to poke Lisa’s seat. “Although she conveniently neglected to mention it to us, Lucille was married to Maxwell Burgoyne. She knows he’s dead. The rest of it has nothing to do with her.”
Lisa faced her sister. “Why do you hate her so much? Because she runs a nightclub?”
“No, because nightclub’s just a polite name for the business she really runs.”
Nonconfrontational by nature, Lisa appealed to Eden. “Can you talk to her, please? Oh, and turn left here.”
Eden had fought this battle with herself back at the police station. “Ten minutes, Mary,” she said. “You can wait in the car.” Which was the last thing Mary would do.
Lucille’s club, called Nona, was situated on the fringe of the Vieux Carre. The sign over the door didn’t flash or shine so the club didn’t appeal to the masses. That was exactly as Lucille wanted it. Her other business ventures—and she had more than a few, Eden had discovered over the years—did that. Nona was understated and personal. It was also the place where Lucille could be found six nights out of seven.
“I still haven’t figured out how someone as cool as Dolores could have given birth to a tarantula,” Mary muttered. “Too bad the family curse didn’t strike Lucille.”
“It couldn’t. She wasn’t the oldest,” Lisa reminded. “Lucille’s brother died from the curse twenty years ago. He drove off a cliff or something.”
Mary folded her arms. “Yeah, well, Dolores has a few things to answer for if you ask me.”
“Like what?”
Eden glanced in the rearview mirror for the fifth time in two minutes and saw Mary roll her eyes. “Like why she never mentioned that Lucille’s ex-husband—”
“Our biological father,” Mary inserted.
“Was alive,” Eden finished. “Lucille lied, Lisa, and Dolores went along with her.”
But Lisa was always ready to defend other people. “Of course Lucille lied. You’d have lied, too, in her position. You didn’t meet Maxwell. He was—awful.”
It was a huge comment coming from Lisa.
Bright headlights in the rearview mirror diverted Eden’s attention. She noticed a faint blue tinge around the edges. Was someone following them? Out loud, she asked, “Awful how? Was he obnoxious, abrasive, sloppy, rude?”
“He wasn’t sloppy.” Lisa indicated the curb lane. “There’s a parking spot. He was obnoxious and rude, and I didn’t like him at all. I’m sure you heard, I met him twice.”
Eden wedged her car between two monster SUVs. “Why a second meeting if he was so bad?”
“Because after our first disastrous outing last Wednesday, I figured I must have misjudged him. No