The Whispering Room

“I’m listening,” Evangeline said, though she refused to get too excited. Phone calls like this were a dime a dozen, especially in high-profile cases. The publicity brought the crackpots out of the woodwork.

“I’d rather not get into it over the phone,” Lena Saunders said. Her voice was soft and cultured. It reminded Evangeline of Meredith Courtland’s. “Could we meet in person?”

“That’s a bit of a problem for me. I’m no longer working that case. You’ll need to talk to Detective Hebert or Captain Lapierre….” Evangeline trailed off when she realized she was talking to a dead phone.

“What’s going on?” Mitchell asked as he came around the corner.

“Does the name Lena Saunders ring a bell for you?”

“Can’t say that it does. Why?”

“She claims she can help us find Courtland’s killer. When I tried to give her your name and number, she hung up.”

He grinned as he shifted the toothpick in his mouth to the other side. “Obviously a crank if she didn’t want to talk to me.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought, too, but she didn’t sound like the typical nut-job. I can’t say why, exactly, but I think I know her. Her voice sounded kind of familiar.”

“Maybe she’ll call back, then.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“Oh, say, I almost forgot to tell you. Lorraine talked to Nathan’s sister last night. She said he’s driving up here sometime today.”

“Did she happen to say where he’ll be staying?”

“No, but it seems there’s a place he always visits when he comes to town. I don’t think you’re going to like it, though.” He took the toothpick out of his mouth and flicked it toward a nearby trash can.

“What is it, a strip joint?”

“It’s a cemetery. Mount Olive.”

“But that’s where—”

“Yeah, I know. It’s also where his first wife was laid to rest.”

A shiver prickled along Evangeline’s spine. She hadn’t been out to Mount Olive since the day of Johnny’s funeral. Somehow she just couldn’t bring herself to visit his vault. Seeing his name engraved in the plaque would make his death all too real and all too final.

“I hear anything else, I’ll let you know.”

“Thanks, Mitchell.”

“You bet.” Giving her a little salute, he turned and disappeared down the street.

Evangeline stood in the shade for a moment as a feeling of being watched came over her. Instead of glancing around, though, she closed her eyes.

Her husband’s presence was so strong at that moment, he might have been standing on the sidewalk beside her.

The breeze picked up a strand of her hair and lifted it up off her neck. But Evangeline told herself the touch of ghostly lips against her skin was probably nothing more than her imagination.

Twelve

Late that same afternoon, Lynette was in the kitchen rolling out pie dough when she experienced a strange feeling that something was wrong in the house.

She couldn’t put her finger on the trouble. It was nothing concrete. No rhyme or reason for it. She hadn’t heard a noise or seen movement out of the corner of her eye. Nothing like that at all.

It was more the sixth-sense type of sensation she got about the weather, although those premonitions were also rooted in science.

This feeling was just plain weird.

She tried to ignore it, but the impression grew so strong, she dreaded looking over her shoulder for fear of what she would see in the doorway.

She turned anyway, and of course, nothing was behind her.

J.D. was in his high chair at the table, banging a wooden block against the plastic tray. He seemed oblivious to whatever had raised his grandmother’s hackles.

Drying her hands on her apron, Lynette walked calmly to the back door and checked the lock. Then grabbing the rolling pin, she marched through the house to the front door and checked that lock, too. Naturally both doors were secured. She’d always been cautious about that sort of thing, but especially since Katrina.

Moving over to the window, she looked out on the street. After a brief rainstorm earlier, the sun was back out, but Lynette wondered if another front might be brewing over the gulf. Maybe that was why she felt so uneasy.

She spotted Peggy Ann Grainger across the street sitting on Janet Tilson’s front porch steps. The two women were having drinks, and she saw Peggy Ann gesture toward Lynette’s house with her glass. At first, Lynette thought Peggy Ann was waving at her, but then she realized that the woman wasn’t even looking her way.

They were probably talking about her, Lynette thought peevishly. For all she knew, her marital problems were already fodder for the neighborhood gossips, Janet being one of the biggest motormouths on the block. Her son, Ronnie, worked at the auto parts warehouse that Lynette’s husband owned, and God only knew what Don might have let slip.