The Whispering Room

“It meant something to me, too, but I don’t expect anything. And you shouldn’t expect anything from me, either. I’m not ready for a relationship. It’s too soon, and I have my son to think about and a career that also takes a huge commitment, just like yours. I don’t have a lot of energy left over for anything else.”

“You had plenty of energy earlier,” he teased.

She felt her face heat. “I’m just trying to tell you, you don’t need to worry about me. We had a nice night. I’m cool with leaving it at that.”

She reached for her robe, slipped it on and walked him out. Locking the door behind him, she moved to the window and watched him leave. He strode down the walkway to his car and climbed in, but he didn’t start the engine right away. Instead he sat there for so long that she wondered if he meant to come back inside. Then she decided that he must be watching the house. She was a cop, so a part of her resented the intrusion while another part felt touched by his concern.

Surely he would leave in a minute, she thought. Surely he knew that she could take care of herself.

She left the window and took her time washing out the wineglasses and tidying up the kitchen.

Before she turned in, she glanced out the window again.

Nash was still out there.

Twenty-Eight

It was a fairly simple matter to locate an address for Mike and Nella Blanchard. They lived in one of the subdivisions out by the lake, and as soon as Evangeline could get away from the station the next morning, she grabbed a car from the motor pool and took a run out there.

The air was cooler away from the city, and as Evangeline rolled down her window, she could smell brine and sand and flowers. The lake was slate-gray and glistening with diamonds, though farther out, a dark cloud had formed, and where the sunlight hit water droplets, a rainbow arced over the surface. The scenery was almost dreamlike, a prism of soft colors that blurred and melted into the horizon.

She found the Blanchard house tucked neatly into a landscaped cul-de-sac. It was similar to the other modest ranch-style homes in the neighborhood. A chain-link fence enclosed the backyard, and a black mutt had already started to howl by the time she climbed out of the car.

A woman in a straw hat sat on the front porch snapping pole beans into a plastic bowl. “Hush, Maggie!” she hollered at the dog, then watched Evangeline suspiciously from beneath the brim of her hat.

Evangeline came to the bottom of the steps and stopped. “Good morning.”

The woman nodded and smiled. “Morning.”

She was probably in her late fifties or early sixties, but her high cheekbones and dewy complexion gave her the kind of timeless beauty that only softened with age. Her fingers continued snapping the beans, but her hazel eyes never left Evangeline.

“I’m looking for a Mrs. Blanchard. Nella Blanchard.”

“Well, you’ve found her. And who are you?”

“I’m Detective Theroux.” Evangeline opened her ID and held it up.

The woman squinted as she read aloud, “New Orleans Police Department.” She looked a little taken aback. “Now what in the world would the New Orleans Police Department want with me?”

“I’m hoping you can answer some questions for me,” Evangeline said. “I was down in Torrence yesterday. The sheriff there told me that you’re related to Mary Alice Lemay. A cousin, I believe he said.”

The hazel eyes flickered as the silence stretched out like a thin, quivering wire.

“He said you’re the one who made the call to the station that morning.”

A subtle change came over the woman’s features then. It was like watching a storm cloud sweep across the sun. “I don’t like thinking about that day, much less talking about it.”

“I can understand that,” Evangeline said softly.

“Not many days go by that I don’t think about it, though.”

“It must be a painful memory for you.”

“You have no idea.” She glanced down the steps, her eyes wary beneath the brim of her hat.

“All that happened a long time ago,” she said.

“I know. But the murder of those little boys may be connected to a more recent homicide here in New Orleans.”

She tried not to react, but Evangeline could see the shock in her eyes, and then the confusion. “I don’t see how that could be.”

“There were two little girls left alive that day.”

“Ruth and Rebecca.”

“That’s right.”

Nella looked out over the yard. Evangeline could see her eyes moving along the sidewalk, lifting to the sky, watching the dark cloud coming ashore. A few drops splattered against the porch steps and on Evangeline’s bare arms. The rain was cool and bracing and, closing her eyes, she turned her own face to the sky.

When she glanced at the porch again, Nella was staring back at her. She had the strangest look on her face, as if something had caught her by surprise.

“Can you tell me about them?” Evangeline asked.

Nella’s eyes searched her face. “They were beautiful,” she said. “Like angels.”

“Could you walk me through what you saw that day? I know it’s been a long time, but just tell me what you remember.”