The Whispering Room

Don hadn’t set out to hurt her. She was still his wife, the mother of his grown children, and he would always care about her. But he was sick and tired of the pretense. Maybe if Deanne hadn’t come along, he could have muddled through the rest of his life without thinking too much about what he was missing. But now he didn’t see how he could ever go back.

Shoving some paperwork aside, he got up and walked out to Deanne’s desk. She looked up with a ready smile, the same one she had for everyone, but there was a little knowing glitter in her eyes that she reserved just for Don.

How had he gotten so damn lucky?

“Hey,” she said softly.

“Hey.” He could see just the barest hint of cleavage from where he stood. Deanne was a curvaceous woman, and even the conservative clothes she wore couldn’t disguise the lush body beneath. Lynette was thinner and firmer and a much better dresser, but there was something so…earthy and maternal about Deanne’s softness.

“Is everything okay at home? Lynette sounded pretty upset.”

“I don’t know. I need to drive out there and see what’s going on.”

“Of course. If there’s anything I can do…” She slid her hand over his and squeezed.

Don waited a moment, then slipped his hand away. They’d been careful to keep their relationship private. He didn’t want word to get out until he’d had a chance to talk to Lynette.

Coward, a little voice in the back of his head goaded him.

He’d had plenty of chances to talk to his wife. It wasn’t like it would come as a total shock or anything. Lynette had to know things weren’t right between them. It might even come as a relief.

Of course, Evangeline wouldn’t take the news well. Not that it was any of her business. He’d had reservations about her marriage to Johnny, but she hadn’t been of a mind to listen so now she could just damn well sit back and bite her tongue the way he’d had to do for so long.

Vaughn would be okay. He was a lot less judgmental than his sister. He might not be thrilled by the news, but at least he’d be supportive.

“I don’t know how long this will take. I might not make it back in time to have dinner with you,” he warned.

A little frown puckered Deanne’s brow as she pouted her full lips. “I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you, too.”

Her voice lowered and her eyes deepened. “What about…later?”

“I’ll get away if I can. You know that.”

“Don?”

He’d started toward the door, but now he turned back. “Yes?”

She glanced around as if making sure they were all alone. “Come back to me,” she whispered.

His heart melted and he nodded.

He thought about Deanne all the way home, and it was only when he pulled into his driveway that his conscience started to act up again.

What was he doing? What the hell was he doing?

Men his age didn’t have affairs. This was just crazy. Men his age gardened and golfed and took fishing trips with their buddies.

Men like him didn’t cheat on their wives or turn their backs on a forty-year marriage. They didn’t attract the attention and the affection of a woman almost half their age.

Except…miracle of miracles, he had.

And as he sat in his car and stared at the one-story ranch he and Lynette had shared for nearly as long as they’d been married, it hit him suddenly that this house was no longer his home. He didn’t belong here anymore.

The only place he felt truly at peace was in Deanne’s soft, warm embrace.

He was so preoccupied with getting back there, he didn’t even notice the blond woman who watched the house from across the street.

Thirteen

Evangeline was driving back from the lab late that afternoon when she got a call from Lapierre. As usual, the captain got right to the point.

“Did you hear from a woman named Lena Saunders today?”

“Yeah, I did,” Evangeline said. “She called you, too?”

“A little while ago. What did she tell you?”

“She said she had information that might help catch Paul Courtland’s killer and she wanted to meet in person to talk about it. I told her I was no longer working that case. When I tried to redirect her to Mitchell, she hung up. I figured she was just some crackpot having a little fun.”

“She’s not a crackpot,” Lapierre said. “At least, not the kind that we usually hear from on investigations of this nature.”

“Who is she, then?”

“She’s a writer.”

“You mean like a reporter?”

“No, she writes books about true crime, mostly sensational murder cases in Louisiana. Turns out she’s published several books over the past ten years or so.”

“So she’s working on a book about the Courtland case already?” Evangeline’s tone was skeptical.

“I don’t know about that,” Lapierre said. “All I know is that she dropped some pretty big names during our phone conversation. By the sound of it, she’s cultivated an impressive roster of sources in local law enforcement, including an NOPD deputy chief.”

“Which one?”

“Doesn’t matter. What does matter is that the woman is well-connected.”

“Okay. So she’s well-connected.” Evangeline was puzzled by the phone call. Why was Lapierre telling her all this? “Is she coming in to give a statement?”