Black Silk

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 order twice that night. When she picked up the phone, I rushed out, got in my car and went to the resort. I’m so sorry, Cole. I’ve made a mess of everything, haven’t I?”

“We’ll work it out,” he said, but he was worried. He didn’t believe for a second that Holly had killed Francesca. But she had motive and no alibi—something that the police would latch on to quickly.

“How? What are we going to do?”

“The first thing I’m going to do is call Margee Jardine and let her know what’s happened. Then I’m going to find out who else visited Francesca last night.” He’d seen the bottle of champagne chilling and two glasses when he’d gone to see her. So he knew she’d been expecting someone.

“What can I do?”

“You can stay calm and trust me to take care of this.”

“I do trust you, Cole,” she said, her expression somber. “Whenever I’ve needed someone, you’ve always been there for me. You’re the one person who’s never let me down.”

Only Holly was wrong. He hadn’t always been there when she’d needed him, Cole thought as he hugged her close. Eight years ago when she’d been a pregnant sixteen-year-old and J.P. had forced her to have an abortion, he had been thousands of miles away. She’d gone through that nightmare all alone because he’d been on a Special Ops assignment, because he had chosen to re-up for another tour of duty instead of coming home where he was needed. While he hated J.P. for putting Holly through that, he hated himself more for not being there to protect her. He intended to protect her now.

He looked up at the television as the crime show in progress was interrupted by the sound of a breaking news report. At last, he thought and set aside the papers he had stopped by his office to pick up. He’d been disappointed when the media had failed to report Francesca’s murder on the six o’clock evening news. Although phone calls had been made and favors called in by the Stratton family to handle the situation with discretion, he’d hated that no one was acknowledging his work. Instead, everyone seemed to have focused on the cancelled wedding—which didn’t deserve even the fifteen minutes of attention it had already garnered. No, the real story was him and what he had done.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we interrupt this program to bring you this breaking news story,” Bill Capo, the WWL-TV Channel 4 News anchor and reporter began. “Francesca Hill, thefiancée of real estate mogul J. P. Stratton, is dead, the victim of a robbery turned homicide. As reported early today, guests who were invited to the wedding of the former casino hostess and the multimillionaire began receiving phone calls shortly before the scheduled ceremony, notifying them that the wedding had been cancelled. At the home of J. P. Stratton, here is Anne Le Blanc with more on the story.”

The television screen switched to a view in front of the Stratton home where a flock of reporters and news truckswere gathered outside the wrought iron gates. Although it was nearly nine o’clock at night, the area was lit up like a Christmas tree thanks to the news crews. And standing there bundled in a fitted red leather coat that tied at the waist and fell just above the knee was the perky blond reporter who had been the first to report the cancellation of the wedding.

He’d recognized the name, of course, and had found it amusing to have Emily Le Blanc’s baby sister reporting on his latest accomplishment. But the one who had truly intrigued him was the older sister—Charlotte Le Blanc. In the few weeks he’d known Emily, he’d heard all about her two sisters—especially about Charlotte, the smart and serious one who was studying to be a lawyer. He hadn’t realized that she’d abandoned her plans to become a lawyer and become a cop instead. Smiling, he couldn’t help wondering if he had been the one to influence her change of career. He also wondered if she would put up more of a fight than Emily had. She would, he decided and found himself growing excited by the idea.

“Anne, what can you tell us?” Bill asked.

Holding the microphone in front of her, she touched her earpiece and stared directly into the camera. “Bill, I’m standing outside the palatial home of J.P. Stratton, who as you know, was scheduled to be married this afternoon and whose wedding was abruptly cancelled without explanation. Although we have not been able to speak with Mr. Stratton, his publicist and a member of the immediate family has confirmed that Ms. Hill is dead. Her body was found early today by the maid who had come to help her prepare for her wedding.”

“Anne, do we know how she was killed?” Bill asked as the screen split in two, giving views of the TV studio and of the reporter outside the mansion.

“Bill, the police have not released any details about how Ms. Hill died. But what we have been told is that cash and jewelry were missing from Ms. Hill’s apartment. And the case is being treated as a robbery turned homicide.”

Robbery turned homicide his ass, he thought, irritated. He didn’t know who the prick was that had stolen Francesca’s wallet and jewelry, but he had been the one who’d killed her. And the damn police better not screw up his plans. They should be looking for a murderer—not some petty thief.

Charlotte Le Blanc would be looking for a murderer, he told himself, growing calmer.