"I am so tired, I could sleep for a week," thought Conway as she set her suitcases down in her room at Foxcroft. Then she noticed the answering machine blinking and steeled herself for all the condolences she knew she would be hearing. The first five messages were condolence calls, but the next one was an unfamiliar male voice demanding that she call him back as soon as possible.
"I’ll get back to you when I feel like it, Detective Aucoin," she thought, annoyed by his tone. Then, she remembered that he was probably trying to solve Francis’ murder and felt guilty.
The next call was from Kathryn, and it brought Conway the realization that she had not given their scheme to catch the stalker a thought since she had begun dancing with Francis.
"Conway, honey, I’m so sorry about Francis," said Kathryn. "You and your family must be devastated. As soon as you get back, please call me. I have to tell you what happened to me at the ball when I came face to face with your stalker. And, Conway, he’s still out there. Please be careful!"
Conway was about to reach for the phone to call Kathryn back when the next message started to play.
"So you thought you could fool me," said the high-pitched, nasal voice that Conway had come to dread. "You will pay for that. You will pay."
She sank into a nearby chair and slammed the phone down just before it rang again. Willing herself not to be afraid, she answered it.
"H-hello?" she quavered.
"Ms. Kelson?" said the arrogant male voice she’d heard before.
"Yes?" she answered with a little more confidence.
"My name is Detective Phillip Aucoin. I’m investigating your brother’s – the shooting at the Mardi Gras ball. May I come by and ask you a few questions?"
"Uh, well, I just got home and I haven’t even unpacked. It’s really not a good –"
"It will just take a few minutes, Ms. Kelson," said the detective. "I can’t make much progress in solving the case until I can start interviewing the principal witnesses, most of whom have been out of town since the shooting."
"Yes, Detective Aucoin. We have been mourning my brother," Conway answered with quiet dignity.
The grief in her voice caused Phillip to soften his tone. "Of course, Ms. Kelson. I didn’t mean to be so insensitive. If you prefer, I’ll wait until tomorrow to interview you."
"No, you can come over now if you wish. I’ll try to answer your questions as best I can."
"Thanks, Ms. Kelson. I’ll be there in about 15 minutes."
As Conway began to unpack, she wondered why she had allowed Detective Aucoin to come over tonight. Maybe it was her fear of the stalker. Maybe she didn’t want to be alone with her thoughts. Maybe she just wanted to show that arrogant detective that she wasn’t some spoiled little rich girl. Whatever the reason, she combed her hair, freshened up her makeup, and tried to recover some of the elan for which she was usually known. She had just changed into slim, white slacks and a striped navy sweater set when the doorbell rang. Checking through the peephole for the badge he held up, Conway forced a smile and opened the door to let Detective Phillip Aucoin enter.
"Hi, Ms. Kelson," he said. "I’m Detective Phillip Aucoin with the New Orleans Police Department. Thank you again for seeing me on such short notice."
"Well, I want to cooperate in any way I can to help you catch the person who sh-shot my brother," Conway answered.
Seeing sympathy in the man’s ice blue eyes, she decided to rethink her first impression of Detective Aucoin. "Let’s talk in here," she said, leading Phillip into her home office.
As he took a seat at one end of the brown leather sofa, he noted that the décor was tasteful, but not at all fussy or overly ornate. There was a Mission style desk with a laptop computer on it and a comfortable chair behind it. On the wall was a vintage poster with muted colors. Silver-framed photos of family members lined the credenza. The contents of a built-in bookcase on the far wall indicated an orderly mind with a wide range of interests, although several shelves contained cookbooks from all over the world. It was the kind of office a man could think in. It was an office for doing business, not writing thank-you notes. And that surprised him about Conway Kelson.
As Conway seated herself in the club chair facing him, he began by saying, "You’re a chef, I understand."
"Yes," she answered. "I trained at the Cordon Bleu in Paris."
"I’ve been told that you’re quite good," Phillip continued. "Your creativity and dedication to excellence at your age have surprised people."
"Why, thank you," she answered, surprised that he should be trying to flatter her. He didn’t seem to be the kind of man who went in for that very much.
‘Nor would he need to," Conway mused to herself. "He’s gorgeous!"
"If you are up to it," Phillip continued. "tell me everything you remember about the night your brother was killed."
Conway looked down at her hands for a moment, remembering the glittering gowns, the music, the happiness she’d felt for the first time in months.
"It was by far the best Mardi Gras ball I had ever attended," she began. "Francis had spared no expense. He wanted it to be the ball everyone talked about when it was over. He wanted it to be grander than Bacchus and Endymion put together! And it was! Everyone who was anyone was there. Even Edwin Edwards and his wife Candy put in an appearance."
"Did anyone crash the party? Was there anyone there whom Francis was not happy to see?"
Conway thought for a moment. "There was a man who seemed anxious to have a private conversation with Francis. Of course, it was impossible. Francis was the host. He couldn’t just leave the party! He asked his friend to meet him at the gallery the following morning, but the man didn’t seem to be satisfied. He even tried to interrupt us while we were dancing, but Francis told him again that he couldn’t leave the party.
"You said he was Francis’ friend. Did you know this man?" Phillip asked.
"No, I’d never seen him before."
"Did Francis tell you his name?"
"No, he just mentioned that he was an artist. Or maybe I just assumed that since Francis mentioned the gallery to him. I wish I could be more helpful."
"You’ve been very helpful," Phillip assured her. "None of the other witnesses have mentioned this incident to me.
"Did you see this man again at any time during the evening?"
"No, I was just happy to be dancing with my brother and feeling free of…" Conway stopped abruptly.
"Free of what?" Phillip asked her sharply. When she didn’t answer, he asked her again. "Free of what, Ms. Kelson?"
He noticed that her face had grown paler and her hands had begun to tremble slightly.
"There is someone who has been stalking me, Detective Aucoin. He has phoned me, left me threatening notes and photos of myself taken at close range. He seems to know an awful lot about my movements, much more than I’d like a complete stranger to know.
"At first he talked about things he wanted to do to me sexually. Now, I think he wants to kill me. He is enraged because my friend, Kathryn Beckwith, disguised herself as me at the ball in an effort to catch him. He must have been there, because he knows that we tried to deceive him. He left a message on my answering machine saying I’d pay for trying to fool him."
"Do you still have the message?" Phillip asked tensely.
"I think so," she answered. She reached over and pressed the playback button, skipping to the seventh message. Phillip noticed that what color was left in her face drained away as she heard the frightening voice again.
Dropping her face into her hands, she choked out, "Why is he doing this to me? I don’t know how much more of this I can take!"
Phillip would have been less than human to resist offering her the comfort of his arm around her shoulders.
Kneeling down beside her chair, he said, "I don’t know, Ms. Kelson. But I promise you, I will personally catch the bastard who has been doing this to you.
Rising, he reached into his breast pocket and pulled out his business card. "Ms. Kelson, please call me whenever you hear from him again. If he calls, hang up. Do not talk to him. He gets his jollies by terrorizing you. How secure are you here at Foxcroft?"
"My father has a security team on duty here. I don’t think he can get in here, but he still manages to get my unlisted phone number to call me. I don’t know how he does it. And, of course, I can’t stay locked up in here forever. I have to plan and attend my brother’s memorial service."
"Ms. Kelson, please try to limit your public appearances until we catch this whack job. And if you have to go out, either hire a body guard or call me. You should be escorted wherever you go."
"You’re very kind, Detective Aucoin," Conway answered with a ghost of a smile. "But how can you find my brother’s murderer if you’re busy escorting me to charity balls?"
"You never know, Ms. Kelson. Your brother’s murderer may be attending the same ball. We think it must have been someone he knew. Besides, protection for the living is a higher priority with me than justice for the dead."
"Thank you for your concern, Detective Aucoin. I’ll see you out," said Conway graciously.
At the door Phillip hesitated and looked down at Conway. "I meant what I said, Ms. Kelson. Your safety is very important to me. Promise that you’ll call me if that weirdo contacts you in any way."
As a lock of wavy dark hair fell across his forehead, Conway felt a strange impulse to brush it back with her fingers. ‘What a time to get turned on by someone,’ she thought.
"I’ll call," she promised. As she closed and locked the door behind Phillip Aucoin, she thought to herself, ‘That won’t be a hard promise to keep.’