~ April Fools ~

by

A. C. Mason

My heart skipped a beat as I turned onto Royal Street. An NOPD unit with lights flashing partially blocked the street, right in front of Lisa’s gallery. A uniformed officer stood at attention outside like a military guard to keep the half dozen spectators at bay.

I managed to find a parking spot and rushed over to the door. The extremely young-looking officer stationed there ordered me to stop and state my business. His Ray-Bans hid his eyes so I couldn’t read him. He reminded me of a ten-year-old playing cop.

“I’m Susan Foret, a friend of Lisa, the gallery owner. We were going to have lunch. Is she okay?” Perspiration beaded up inside my blouse.

He hesitated.

I started to drop my husband’s name, but apparently he decided to give me a tidbit.

“We answered an alarm for a break-in.” He swaggered a little, placing his hand on his gun. “Nobody’s hurt.”

A sigh of relief escaped my mouth. “Thanks.”

In my peripheral vision I caught a glimpse of a person walking by. Most likely just another rubbernecker curious to see what had happened, but my inner voice told me to turn and check.

Trey Williamson, Amanda’s other half, strolled by, trying to be nonchalant and not doing a very good job of it. Our eyes met for a split second. He quickly made his way to the opposite side of the street. His presence in the area seemed out of place to me.

I peered through the gallery window and spotted my lunch partner in conversation with another officer. Lisa turned in my direction, acknowledging my presence with a wave. A short time later, she accompanied the officer to the door.

Once the police left, I followed Lisa back inside. Scanning the gallery, I noticed a couple of damaged paintings and the small sculpture of a cat that resembled my Katy smashed to pieces on the floor. I hoped this wasn’t an omen. The image terrified me.

“What in the world happened?”

“Something really odd,” Lisa said, frowning.

“How so?” I eyed her with curiosity. “This looks like vandalism, maybe by some street kids. Is anything missing?”

“Yes, and this is what’s so strange. The only missing item is the list of people I prepared for you.”

My mouth gaped open. “You mean the names of people who attended your party?”

She nodded. “I wrote up the list down here and left it on the desk while I ran to the market to buy food for our lunch.”

“That is odd about the list.” My heartbeat revved up. “Did you mention this to the cops?”

“No, I couldn’t bring myself to tell them. It seemed so silly. I can’t imagine why anyone would go to such extremes for a list of names.”

“Maybe to make sure his or her name was or wasn’t on the list,” I said, remembering Trey’s appearance outside the shop.

She stared at me with surprise. “Who would know I planned to prepare the list?”

“Several women who attended the party last night could have overheard our conversation.”

Lisa considered the idea. “You might be right.”

“I could kick myself for discussing murder at such a gathering.” How could I have been so stupid? I heaved a sigh of exasperation. “It’s basically my fault your artwork has been damaged. Let me pay for some of this.”

She brushed off my offer with a wave of her hand. “Don’t worry about it. My insurance will cover everything. You could be right about who broke in. If we can find out who trashed my artwork, we just might discover Anne’s killer. I want to help you.”

Looks like I had acquired a partner. “You’re on.”

“Luckily, the break-in took place as I left the market so I did manage to get lunch for us. And since today is Good Friday I consider myself lucky to have scored a pound of gorgeous shrimp.” She grabbed a brown paper bag with a loaf of French bread protruding from the top from a nearby table. “Let’s go upstairs to my apartment. We can think better with full stomachs.”

I followed her up a flight of stairs concealed in an adjacent storage room, reflecting on her mention of today’s observance of Good Friday. At that moment several blocks away the church bells of St. Louis Cathedral rang out announcing the occasion of Christ’s death on the cross and provided a solemn reminder of my lapsed Catholic faith. I glanced at my watch…exactly twelve noon.

Lisa’s home exhibited her artistic talents in the décor; an amazing collection of antiques, and of course, the wall art. An enchanting swamp scene complete with moss-draped cypress trees and white egrets, hung over the mantle.

Cream colored candles sat on a wrought iron grate in the fireplace in lieu of a fire which generally isn’t necessary during April in New Orleans. This year may be an exception. We’ve had some pretty chilly days, freezing to be exact, in March. Judging by today’s mild temperature, warmer times may be slow in coming. I’d better enjoy this weather while it lasts. Summer heat tends to wilt everything in sight.

My attention moved back to the swamp scene. “This painting is gorgeous.”

“Thanks, it’s one of my favorites.”

“I can tell by the way you have it displayed so prominently. This one deserves a place of honor.” I continued to stare at the painting, engrossed in the mystique of a Louisiana swamp, dark and quiet, yet so full of life.

After lunch we started compiling the list of invited guests and divided the names into two categories; those who made an appearance and those who didn’t. There were several surprises. Mary Catherine Durand turned out to be a no show, but her husband John arrived late.

“I did a lot of thinking about the whole scene and the demeanor of the guests. As I recall, John Durand seemed kind of agitated the whole time,” Lisa said.

“How interesting. Do you remember if he made excuses for Mary Catherine?”

“I think he said she wasn’t feeling well.”

“Maybe his wife’s absence had something to do with his manner.” I shrugged. “Or maybe I’m reading more into his moodiness than I should.”

Lisa glanced over the list. “There is another missing spouse.”

I checked the two member no-show column again. “You’re right.”

Amanda Williamson attended without her husband. The earlier sighting of Trey Williamson outside Lisa’s studio came to mind. Did he have an interest in the list of party guests? If so, why?

“Melanie came with Michael, but they left early because Mel wasn’t feeling well,” I remembered.

“Yes but Michael returned about an hour later,” Lisa added.

“He did come back.” I thought for a moment. “If Melanie went home sick, maybe there could have been a bug going around and Mary Catherine truly was sick.”

“Possibly, but she and Trey were the only ones who didn’t attend the party at all.”

“I spotted Trey lurking around outside while the police were investigating your break-in,” I said.

Lisa arched an eyebrow. “Really?” She paused briefly as if contemplating the possibilities. “Although his home isn’t far from here, it’s a long way to walk and I’m sure his office is also.”

“It’s out in Metairie. He could have come home for lunch, and then stopped to check out the police presence.”

“That seems plausible.” She didn’t look convinced. Neither was I.

“Well, this session only added other possible suspects,” I said, frustrated. “I honestly believed the list would direct us to one person.”

“Any particular person?”

By compiling the list, Lisa helped narrow down a few suspects and she honestly wanted to aid me in my investigation if for no other aim than to learn who trashed her galley. How fair would it be for me to name Mary Catherine as a suspect? What if she was innocent?

“I hope you won’t be offended, but I’d rather not point the finger yet without more proof.”

Lisa brushed off my admission with a slight wave. “No offense taken.”

“Good. I promise to keep you in the loop. For now, I think I should go home and mull over all the crazy events of the day.”

On the drive home I reviewed the information we gleaned from the compilation of the guest list. Who would commit a criminal act like breaking and entering only to steal a list of names? Vandalizing Lisa’s artwork made the crime even riskier for whoever broke in. This idiot took a big chance and could thank his or her lucky stars no one caught them in the act.

A savvy burglar with knowledge of electronics could have by-passed the alarm system. No telling what would have happened if Lisa surprised the intruder when she returned home from shopping. Thinking about the result of such an encounter made me queasy.

This must be my day for surprises. One awaited me when I arrived home. Jim sat in his favorite chair, a black leather recliner; only today he wasn’t reclining. His stern expression reminded me of a father confronting his teenage son or daughter who had stayed out past curfew. I felt like one. In my defense, I hadn’t broken a curfew, but I did tell a lie—a lie of omission about the purpose of my lunch with Lisa.

“We need to talk,” he said.

“You sound serious.”

“Serious as a heart attack.”