The Whispering Room

The door was opened by a young man in linen pants, leather sandals and a thin cotton shirt. His light brown hair was stylishly cut, and behind the thick black frames of his glasses, green eyes twinkled with good humor.

“You must be Detective Theroux,” he said, stepping back from the door so that she could enter. “Come on in. Lena is expecting you.”

He led her from the light-flooded foyer into a large room decorated in gray and black with punches of red. The layout of the house reminded Evangeline of the Courtland home, but the clean, minimalist furnishings were a far cry from Meredith Courtland’s lush, eclectic style.

But the view from the French doors was exactly the same—a sun-drenched courtyard and sparkling pool.

“I’m Josh, by the way.” He waved toward a spec-tacular leather sofa in silver. “Make yourself at home. I’ll go tell Lena you’re here.”

After he left the room, Evangeline wandered over to the French doors and stood admiring the garden. She and Johnny had always talked about landscap-ing the tiny backyard of their home, but there’d never been enough time or money and neither of them had much of a green thumb anyway.

Johnny.

She closed her eyes.

How she hated this. Hated having doubts about a man she’d once trusted more than anyone. Hated having her memories of their time together now stained with a terrible suspicion.

“You must be Evangeline.”

She glimpsed the woman’s reflection in the glass a split second before she spoke.

Evangeline turned.

“I’m sorry,” the woman said. “I should call you Detective Theroux. It’s just…you look so young!”

Thin, blond and elegant, Lena Saunders was dressed in snug black pants and a sleeveless black sweater that gave her a chic, artsy flair. Evangeline put her age at somewhere around forty, though she wasn’t sure why. The woman’s face was still smooth and taut and as pale as alabaster.

When she took Evangeline’s hand, her skin was cold, as if she’d just come indoors from a brisk, wintry day.

“Let’s sit,” she said and, leading the way, she perched on the silver sofa while Evangeline took the matching chair to her right. As they settled in, Josh appeared quietly in the doorway.

“Can I get you ladies something to drink? Coffee, tea?”

“Nothing for me, thanks,” Evangeline said.

“I’ll have coffee, black,” Lena told him.

He cocked a brow. “Decaffeinated, I assume. Otherwise, you’ll be climbing the walls by noon and that won’t be pleasant for either of us.”

She waved a dismissive hand. “Stop fussing. You’re getting on my last nerve.”

“What else is new?” he said with a grin before vanishing down the hallway.

Lena turned back to Evangeline. “Josh is my assistant, but sometimes he acts as if he’s my guardian.”

“I heard that!” he yelled from down the hallway.

Lena ignored him. “You must be curious as to why I was so insistent on speaking only with you today.”

“I am,” Evangeline said. “Captain Lapierre mentioned that you knew my late husband.”

“Johnny, yes.” She smiled faintly. “A lovely man. Such wonderful manners. A true Southern gentle-man.”

“He had his moments,” Evangeline murmured, feeling an all-too-familiar pang of loneliness.

“He was very helpful and so patient. Never acted as though my calls were an inconvenience, although I’m sure my questions got to be tedious for him after a while.”

“When was the last time you talked to him?” Evangeline asked curiously.

“Oh, it’s been a few years. I was so sorry to hear about what happened. You must have been devastated.”

“It’s been a rough time,” Evangeline admitted.

“I can imagine. He always spoke so highly of you. I could tell he was very much in love.”

Evangeline’s heart gave a painful thud as she glanced down at her hands.

“I’m sorry,” Lena said. “I don’t mean to bring up painful memories.”

“No, it’s fine.”

They both fell silent for a moment as Lena busied herself with the coffee service Josh had brought in.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like some coffee?”

“No, I’m good.” Evangeline was fascinated by the woman’s hands. They were smooth and pale with the long, elegant fingers of a pianist.

“How did you know Paul Courtland?” she asked when Lena had settled back against the leather sofa with her coffee.

“I didn’t know him. In fact, I never met the man, although I spoke with him once on the phone. I tried to explain why I thought his life might be in danger, but unfortunately, he didn’t believe me. You may not, either,” she warned.

“I’m here to listen to whatever you want to tell me,” Evangeline said. “But if you know who killed Paul Courtland, we can just skip to the chase as far as I’m concerned.”

“I can give you a name,” Lena said slowly, “but it won’t mean much unless I give you a bit of background information. Without context, nothing I say will sound the least bit credible.”

“Fine. Start wherever you like.”

Lena leaned forward and placed her cup and saucer on the coffee table. “Are you familiar with the concept of an evil gene?”

Evangeline frowned. “I’ve read some research about the criminal brain. Is that what you mean?”