Jasmine found it odd but admirable that she’d remain loyal to Romain despite their estrangement. “Just tell me where I can get a copy of the tape.”
Susan stared at her. Then she disappeared and returned a few minutes later with a disk in her hand. “Here you go,” she said and walked out, taking her husband with her.
When their footsteps had receded down the hall, Jasmine circled the desk and perched on the edge of the chair. “What a Christmas,” she muttered and since everything was already sliding downhill, she called her father.
Chapter 15
“Romain Fornier lives in Portsville?” Gruber asked.
The gruff old Cajun at the motel gave a single nod. “Yes, sir. Like I said, he’s out on de bayou. Your sister was here just a day or two ago, lookin’ for him.”
Of course. That made sense. Jasmine had already connected the note she’d received with the way he’d written Adele’s name on that wall, or she wouldn’t have gone snooping around the Moreaus. But how had she found Romain when he couldn’t?
She was good. He had to hand her that.
“How long has he been here?”
“Coupla years, I guess.”
“Does he have an address?” Gruber had sent several messages to his family, who’d been much easier to locate. He enjoyed the torment he knew it would cause Romain to realize Adele’s killer had gotten away, after all.
“No.”
“He doesn’t have an address?”
“Nope. D’ere’s no mail service out d’ere.”
No wonder Gruber hadn’t been able to find him. Romain had been living out on the bayou without services.
Suddenly, Gruber felt very powerful. He’d done that to Fornier. He’d leveled a Reconnaissance Marine, stripped him of everything….
“You know Romain?” the man said.
“We’re old acquaintances. Can you tell me how to get to his house?”
The hotel manager tapped his fingers on the counter. “What’d you say your name was?”
“Mike Smith.”
There was a slight hesitation, then he said, “Sorry, Mike. I’ve only been out d’ere once or twice myself, and it was dark at de time. I don’t t’ink I could find it again. But if you’ll give me your number, I’ll pass it along when I see Romain.”
He was lying. Gruber could tell. The brief hesitation told him that. People who didn’t customarily lie were never very good at it. “What about Jasmine? Is she still in town? Is she staying here?”
“No, sir. She checked out a coupla days ago. I haven’t seen her since.”
He’d spoken far more stridently. But because he was lying about Fornier, Gruber couldn’t believe him about Jasmine, either. “Right.”
“Would you like to book a room for de night?”
“No.” Now that he’d made some inquiries, he needed to disappear, lie low.
But he wouldn’t go far. Someone had to know where Romain lived. He’d figure it out eventually. Then he’d wait.
Timing was everything.
Jasmine’s conversation with her father was tense but polite and lasted all of five minutes, about a minute longer than her conversation with her mother. How are you?…Fine…Are you having a nice Christmas?…Wonderful, you?…Definitely.
Her conversation with her mother differed significantly in one regard. “Did you like the dress I sent you?” Gauri had wanted to know. Jasmine had claimed she loved it, but she hadn’t even opened it. It was at home with her other presents, waiting for her return—whenever that would be.
“Did you receive the basket I sent you?” Jasmine had asked.
“I did. We’re eating the summer sausage and some of the French cheese today.”
She could’ve taped herself with one parent and merely replayed it for the other, except that her father hadn’t sent her a gift and didn’t say anything about the basket of wine, fruit and cheese she’d shipped him. She kept quiet about her presence in Louisiana and, of course, no one mentioned Kimberly. It was as if Kimberly had never existed—except that she was standing between them.
Slipping the note she’d found into the pocket of her jeans, Jasmine started for the dining room. She could hear Romain talking about the game but didn’t catch his father’s response. A second later, beaters whirred in the kitchen—Alicia making the whipped cream for the pecan pie. Judging by their shrieks and laughter, the kids were wrestling in the living room, where Romain and his father were trying to watch TV, but Jasmine had no idea where Tom and Susan had gone. She hoped they’d taken a nice long walk so they could have a chat about saving their marriage.
She was about to step into the kitchen to see if she could help serve the pie when she noticed an open door—and glimpsed a room decorated in blue and cluttered with trophies. Romain’s old room.
She had no reason to be so interested in the memorabilia she noticed inside, but her steps slowed as she passed it, and she eventually turned back. The opportunity to get a glimpse of what Romain had been like before grief had made such a dramatic impact on his life was too tempting to resist.
There were sleeping bags and suitcases strewn across the floor—evidence that Susan’s kids were spending their nights here, which was probably what’d piqued Travis’s interest in all the trophies. There were certainly enough of them. Jasmine noted several MVP awards, a few signed baseballs, a wooden bat with July 1984 etched on it. But she already knew he’d been successful in sports. Then there was his military service. She read a letter from his commanding officer displayed, along with a couple of medals, inside a shadow box on the nightstand. It said he’d saved the life of a helicopter pilot who’d crashed in enemy territory; he’d gone in and carried the injured man out. That letter ended by saying, “You can be proud of your son. He’s a damn fine marine.”
Jasmine smiled and read that part twice, but it was the pictures gracing his dresser that ultimately caught her attention. They were of Romain at various high school dances—prom, senior ball, turnabout—always with the same leggy blonde she’d seen in the family photo at his bayou shack.
“Very pretty,” Jasmine murmured as she picked up one that showed them in matching T-shirts.
“You’re missing dessert.”
At the sound of Romain’s voice, Jasmine straightened. She felt a little awkward at being found in his room but decided to act as though it wasn’t a big deal.