Behind the Mask - Joanna Wayne

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Brigit. When I looked up again, there was nothing where the window had been. Nothing but blackness. That’s the last thing I remember.”

      Graham stepped closer. “Rounded window on the Minerva route. Neutral ground and ancient oaks,” he muttered, as if to himself. “Uptown. Maybe St. Charles or Napoleon. We’ll check it out, see what we can find. We’ll probably need to get back to you on this, though, when you’re feeling stronger.”

      Lindsey jerked to a sitting position, temporarily forgetting her state of undress. She couldn’t believe his lack of concern. She had seen a murder, and she was not going to just stand by while the murderer walked away.

      “What do you mean, you’ll get back to me?” she demanded. “No wonder the crime rate’s rising so fast around here! I’m the only one who can recognize that house.” She swung her feet over the side of the bed. “And I’m going with you to look for it!”

      “Don’t be ridiculous. You know what the doctor said. You need your rest.” He moved toward the door. “Besides, your description is adequate. I’m sure I can find the house even without your personal assistance.”

      She pushed the call button and slid to the floor, careful to keep her back and the open hospital gown toward the wall.

      The voice on the intercom wasted no time in responding. “What can we get for you, Miss Latham?”

      “Clothes. And I need them now.”

      “But the doctor said you needed rest, and your friend Brigit—”

      “It doesn’t matter what the doctor or my friend Brigit said. I’m telling you that I’m walking out of here in the next five minutes with this police officer. It would look a whole lot better for everyone concerned if I did it with my clothes on.”

      “Yes, Miss Latham. We’ll bring them at once.”

      Graham’s eyes captured her, his dark eyes flashing threateningly. “Clothes or not, Lindsey, you are not going with me.”

      “Listen, Graham. I’m not any more excited about spending time with you than you are with me, but we don’t have a choice. I can find that house. You can’t turn down my help. If you do, I’ll call your supervisor, the district attorney, the governor if I have to.”

      “And if that doesn’t work, you can always call Daddy.”

      Anger fueled Lindsey’s resolve. Daddy. Ten years, and the argument was still the same. “It doesn’t matter what you think of me, Graham. I’m the one who can recognize that house, and one way or another, I am going with you.”

      “Suit yourself. I won’t spoil your chance of playing policewoman. But just remember,” he said, stepping out of the way as the nurse entered with her clothes. “Murderers don’t always listen to Daddy.”

      Chapter Three

      Lindsey stared out the window as she’d done for the past two hours, studying each house, each identifying detail, with the eye of a practiced researcher. She’d been so sure she would recognize the house and the window. But her memories were clouded by the sights and sounds of a Mardi Gras parade.

      Everything looked different in the stark light of day. Houses that had appeared magical in the soft glow of artificial lighting now showed signs of cracked and fading paint. Cozy porches and balconies alive with eager spectators were now lonely and imposing. Except for the few stray beads that dangled haphazardly from barren tree limbs and whitewashed porch railings, there was no way to tell that the Krewe of Minerva had ever passed this way.

      Maybe she wouldn’t know the house at all. They had passed several with turrets and rounded windows that swung open, but nothing about them had reached out to her. There was always something missing. The problem was, she wasn’t sure what that something was. Only that it had been in the picture last night and wasn’t there today.

      Graham pulled the unmarked police car to the curb and slowed to a dead stop. He reached for the parade guide and opened it again to the map of the route Minerva had followed last night.

      “We’ve been down St. Charles twice, Lindsey. I say we break for lunch. We’re getting nowhere with this. Besides, that last police report confirmed the earlier one. No bodies of blondes found. No young women admitted to the hospital with dagger wounds. Not even a missing-persons report that fits your description.”

      Stuffing her hands in her jacket pockets, she glared out the window. There was nothing to back up her claim, and now she couldn’t even locate the house. A truce of sorts had existed between Graham and her ever since they had left the hospital, but she could tell his patience was wearing thin.

      “So, do you want to stop for lunch, or can I drop you off somewhere?”

      “Not yet, Graham,” she insisted. “Let’s try once more. And drive slowly. The neutral ground, the trees, even the houses, look right. But something’s different.”

      He shook his head in annoyance and spun the car around, heading back up the street.

      Lindsey resumed her searching. The house couldn’t have moved overnight. She tried to peer through the tree branches, imagining how things had looked from her perch above the crowd.

      “Stop here! In front of the brown brick!”

      Graham pulled off the street and parked at the beginning of the driveway. “We studied this house earlier. You said it couldn’t be, that it wasn’t quite right,” he reminded her, his irritation no longer masked.

      She jumped from the car, letting the door slam behind her. Graham followed.

      “Where do you think you’re going?”

      She ignored him, walking under and past a towering tree, her eyes following the lines of the house, beyond the wraparound balcony on the second floor, to the third-level turret. Her breath caught. This was the image haunting her mind. The perfect couple in an imperfect frame.

      “This is the house.”

      “You’re sure?”

      “Dead sure.” She shuddered at her choice of words. “It was the angle. That’s why I didn’t recognize it before. See? The top of the right shutter is broken off. It was hidden by the tree when we were riding in the car, but from here you can see it clearly, just like I saw it last night.”

      “You never mentioned a shutter before.”

      “No, I’d forgotten about it. Or maybe it had never registered, except in my mind’s eye.”

      “Of course. How could I forget? That photographic memory of yours let you ace every test in high school, while I struggled for Cs.”

      Lindsey walked ahead of him, scrutinizing every detail of the house. It stretched out in all directions, almost Gothic in appearance. Vines of ivy climbed the steep walls, and untrimmed branches hung low around the windows.

      A sudden gust of wind stirred, chilling her to the bone. But it was more than the temperature that raised goose bumps on her flesh. It was the cold feeling of doom. She took a deep breath and started up the walk.

      “Hold on, Lindsey. Where do you think you’re going? We can’t just knock on the door and ask them if they happened to notice any bodies lying around. I’m a detective. These people have rights.”

      “Fine. You’re a cop. I’m not. So just get back in your car and you won’t have to worry about your little policeman rules.”

      Lindsey took a deep breath and glanced over her shoulder. Graham was a few feet behind her, glaring threateningly. But this was the house. She was sure of it. She walked to the door and pressed her finger firmly against the cold bronze button. By the time the melodic chimes finished their performance, Graham was right behind her.

      “Looks like no one’s home,” he offered in the long silence that followed.

      Lindsey

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