The Whispering Room

Evangeline sighed. “It’s a nice thought, but I have too many ties here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Not to Houston, anyway. It was hotter than hell in Houston, just like in New Orleans.

If I move anywhere, it’ll be to someplace with snow, she thought wistfully as sweat trickled down her back.

“Just give it some thought is all I’m saying.”

“You’re like a dog with a bone,” she grumbled.

“I’m trying to look out for you, kiddo. A city like Houston has a lot to offer a smart gal like you. Might be a good place for you and J.D. to start over.”

“J.D. is barely five months old. He doesn’t care where we live.”

“Yeah, but police work’s not such a hot profession for a single parent. With Johnny gone, you’re all that boy has left.”

And just like that, with his name spoken aloud, Evangeline’s dead husband was right there with them on the dilapidated porch.

She couldn’t see him, of course, but for a moment, his presence seemed so strong, she was tempted to reach out and grab him, hold on for all she was worth.

She knew only too well, though, that her fingers would clutch nothing but air.

Still, Johnny was beside her as she stepped into that chamber of horrors. The chill at her nape felt like the whisper of his breath; the gooseflesh that prickled along her arms was the brush of his ghostly fingers.

Whether she could see him or not, Johnny was there.

He was always there.

Inside the house, the techs were already hard at work. Two uniforms stood just inside the door talking to Tony Vincent, the coroner’s investigator, and Evangeline acknowledged them with a brief nod before she quickly scanned the litter-strewn room.

A few years ago, the squalor would have appalled her because the house she grew up in had always been spotless. Now the filth barely registered as her gaze came to rest on the victim lying facedown on the floor.

She took note of his size—average height, average build, but the suit he wore looked expensive and she would bet a paycheck his loafers were Italian. This was no derelict. This was a guy who’d had access to money, and judging by the flash of the gold Rolex on his left wrist, plenty of it.

“Do we know who he is?”

“His name’s Paul Courtland. We found his wallet,” one of the officers explained when she raised a questioning brow. “Still had cash in it, too.”

“Looks like we can eliminate robbery as a motive,” Mitchell muttered.

“He has a Garden District address,” another officer piped in. “One of the historic places on Prytania.”

Mitchell whistled. “Old house, old money.”

“Paul Courtland,” Evangeline murmured. “Why does that name sound so familiar?”

“He was all over the news last fall,” Mitchell said. “Sonny Betts’s attorney?”

“Oh, right.”

Sonny Betts. As slimy and vicious as they came and that was saying a lot for New Orleans.

Betts was one of the new breed of drug thugs that had flocked back to the city after Katrina. More ambitious and more brutal than their predecessors, guys like Betts no longer hid in the shadows to conduct their nefarious business practices because the city’s corrupt legal system and lawlessness allowed them to operate with brazen impunity in broad daylight.

“The feds put a lot of resources into building a case against Betts, and then Mr. Big-Shot-Attorney here goes and gets him off without even a slap on the wrist,” Mitchell said. “I think it’s fair to say they were more than a little pissed.”

“No kidding.”

He nodded toward the victim. “You think Betts had a hand in this?”

Evangeline shrugged. “Seems a poor way to thank a guy for keeping your ass out of a federal pen, but I wouldn’t put it past him.”

Tony Vincent walked up just then and Mitchell clapped him on the back. “Anthony! How goes the morgue business these days?”

He grinned. “Clients ain’t complaining.”

His gaze drifted to Evangeline, and she pretended she didn’t notice the lingering glance he gave her. She didn’t like the way he’d started looking at her lately. He was an attractive guy and he had a lot going for him, but she wasn’t ready to date. Not even close.

She couldn’t imagine herself going out to a movie or to dinner with anyone but Johnny. She couldn’t imagine another man’s lips on her mouth, another man’s hands on her body. She got lonely at times, sure, but never enough to betray the memory of her husband.

Which was not a very realistic or even sane way to spend the rest of her life, she freely acknowledged. But it was how she chose to live it at the moment.

Tony was still watching her. “Y’all ready to get this show on the road?”

Evangeline tried to ignore him, but, damn, the man really was something to look at. Almost too handsome in her book. She didn’t go for the pretty-boy types.

Never in a million years would Johnny have been considered a pretty boy. Or even conventionally handsome. Not with his broken nose and crooked smile. But right up until the day he died, his boy-next-door looks had made Evangeline’s heart pound.