Quarter to Midnight (A New Orleans Novel Book 1)

“ARE YOU SURE I can’t get you anything else?” Gabe asked, hovering in the kitchen archway.

Molly smiled at him from her seat at the table. “I’ll be fine. You gave me sheets and a pillow and a blanket that I’m sure I won’t need.” The house had fans but no air-conditioning, and it was still hotter than Hades, despite being after midnight. “You head to bed. I’m going to sort through your father’s papers and then I’ll go to sleep.”

But not until Burke arrived. They’d spell each other tonight, so that at least one person was awake in case the would-be dog poisoner returned.

“All right,” Gabe said. “There’s water in the electric kettle and the tea is —”

“In the drawer next to the sink,” she interrupted, as kindly as she could.

She needed him out of her field of vision because Gabe Hebert, shirtless and in his pajama bottoms, was wreaking havoc on her concentration. His chest was every bit as nice as she’d thought it would be. He wasn’t cut like Burke because he didn’t spend hours in the gym every week, but he was broad and muscled, his chest covered with fine red hair that she wanted to pet. He was every inch her fantasy.

She’d bet dollars to beignets that he slept nude, too, the thought of which was even more of a distraction. His pajama bottoms still had the price tag hanging from the waistband, but she was not going to bring that to his attention.

She shouldn’t have been looking. Sure, when he was the handsome chef and she was his paying customer it hadn’t felt wrong to ogle him a little bit.

Or a lot.

But this was different. He was her client, for God’s sake.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t the deterrent she’d hoped it would be. It was enough, though. She wasn’t going to ogle him. Not tonight. She had work to do.

Work he was paying her to do.

Besides, he’d had a series of shocks today and that was the nudge she’d needed to look away. She would take care of him until this was over. And then maybe she could ogle him again in good conscience.

“Go to sleep, Gabe. You need to recharge if you’re going to keep up with me tomorrow.” She softened the command with a wink.

He nodded once. “All right. I’ll go to bed now. If you’re sure you don’t need—”

“Gabe?” She lifted her brows. “Go. To. Bed. Please.”

He grimaced. “I’m sorry. I’m . . . nervous.”

“You have a right to be. A good night’s sleep will help that.”

“It’s not that. Well, yes, it is that, too, but . . . I haven’t had anyone stay over here.”

She stared at him. “Ever?”

“No, not ever.”

“Not a girlfriend? A friend-friend? Not even Patty?”

He laughed, some of the tension leaving his face. “Patty demands A/C.

She says she can’t sleep in this heat.” His laughter faded. “And I’ve been busy with the restaurant.”

Molly put down the pen she held. He needed to talk right now, it would seem. So she’d listen. “No girlfriends, huh?”

“None that stuck around long enough.” He leaned his shoulder into the doorframe, loosely crossing his arms over his chest. “They all thought that dating a TV celebrity chef would be cool, I guess.”

“But the hours are harsh on a relationship.”

“Yeah.” He exhaled quietly. “My father kept telling me to slow down, that life was too short to work all the time. I didn’t listen. And now he’s gone.”

Any lingering desire to ogle him faded at the pain in his voice. She understood that pain. Had felt it herself. “So often we don’t listen,” she murmured, thinking of her own life before that night that her brother-in-law had murdered her father. “I was busy working for the longest time. Working my way up the ladder at the SBI.”

“State Bureau of Investigation,” he said with a nod. “And then?”

“And then my father was gone. He’d asked me to come over that night.

And I was on my way, but I was late.”

His face fell as comprehension filled his eyes. “Oh, Molly. I’m sorry.”

Her chest hurt and she realized she’d pressed the heel of her hand to her sternum to alleviate the pressure. Carefully she folded her hands on the table because they trembled. “Thank you. I had one more lead to follow. One more phone call to make. And so I left Raleigh later than I’d planned that night.

Later than I’d promised. Dad must have decided to approach Jake on his own.

Or maybe Jake made his move and Dad couldn’t wait any longer.”

“You blame yourself.”

She mustered a smile. “Of course I do. For that and for being too busy to notice what my father had—that Harper had changed. She’d withdrawn. She was wetting the bed, throwing tantrums when she never had before. All the signs that something was wrong.”

“How often did you see her?”

“Every other weekend or so. I’d started out with the SBI in Charlotte, but got transferred to the Raleigh office after a year, so my apartment was there.

Chelsea and Harper—and Jake—still lived in the farmhouse with Dad. Jake liked not having to pay rent. Said he was saving for their own place, but we found out later that he’d been gambling. Chelsea didn’t fight him over his being gone all the time because he was abusive to her, too. I don’t know if Dad knew that. I didn’t, not until it was too late to help her.”

Gabe hesitated. “Did your niece see what happened? The night her father died? Or her grandfather?”

“No to both. That might be the only thing we had to be grateful about.

Dad had her sleeping in another room that night. Pitched a pup tent and told her that she could ‘camp out.’ She heard the shot, but she didn’t see anything.

And then, when Jake came after Chelsea—and I shot him—she was in the bedroom. But she heard that, too, and the arguing that happened beforehand.”

She sighed. “She said she was glad her father was dead. That she’d wished she could kill him herself, but that she was too little.”

Gabe’s face constricted in a combination of anger and sympathy. “I can understand her point of view.”

“So can I. It still haunts me, though.”

“Why didn’t your father tell you what he suspected about your brother-in-law?”

“I don’t know. Maybe he tried. I wasn’t mentally with them, even when I was physically there.”

“Always thinking about your job?”

“Yep. And I have so many regrets, but I can’t change the past. I can only be there for Chelsea and Harper now. Working for Burke allows me to set my own schedule most of the time.”

He frowned. “I’m keeping you from your family. I should have allowed Burke to assign someone else to this job.”

“No, you shouldn’t have. Burke put Lucien on guard duty at our apartment tonight.”

“I met him earlier today. He seems like a good guy.”

“He is. And I’m there with them six nights out of seven. Sometimes more often. I think they need a break from me every now and again. It’s hard not to hover over Harper, but we’re getting better. My sister had a job interview today and it went really well.”

He smiled. “I heard you talking to her. I’m glad for her. Sounds like she’s getting her life on track.”

Molly had called several times that day to check up on her sister and niece, until Chelsea had basically told her to stop. Kind of like Molly had told Gabe to stop a few minutes before. “She is. She’s finally able to leave Harper with a sitter for a few hours at a time. The first time was rough, even though it was our office manager’s daughter. We knew Louisa and we trust her, but it took Harper a while to trust, and she was the most important person in the situation. But it’s better now. We all can take a little time for ourselves.”

“Did you have plans with Harper this week? Am I keeping you from anything important?”

“We ride a few times a week.”

“On Ginger and Shelley, right? Rescue mustang and a quarter horse.”

She smiled up at him. “Right. I’m surprised you remembered. That was kind of a stressful few moments there in the truck.” As she’d managed to break away from the unmarked NOPD car that had been following them. She hadn’t told him that their tail had been NOPD. Only Burke and his team knew. No reason to make Gabe even more agitated.

He stared at her for a long moment, his expression suddenly unreadable, and she wondered if he could see the truth on her face. She didn’t think so, but . . . “You handled it well,” he said.

“I was in the military. You learned fast to handle things well. But I’ve always managed calm in a crisis, ever since Chelsea and I were kids.” She shrugged, growing uneasy under his unfaltering gaze. “I’m the big sister.

Kind of goes with the territory.”

“I was impressed,” he said gruffly. “And I’m sorry I didn’t trust you from the start.”

“You didn’t know me. It’s fine, Gabe. Really. I’ve already forgotten it.”

“I haven’t. I won’t. Thank you, Molly.”

She expected him to turn for his room, but he didn’t. He didn’t look tired anymore, either. So she picked up her pen and gestured to the empty chair beside her. “You want to help me go through these papers?”

His shoulders sagged, his relief clear. “Yes. Please. I don’t want to close my eyes right now.”

“I get it. But . . .” Desire had returned, making her cheeks heat. “Maybe put on a shirt first, though?”

He grinned suddenly, the effect on his face breathtaking. “Why?”

She rolled her eyes, because his chest had puffed out in pride. “Just do it, Gabe.”

He saluted crisply. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll be right back.”

He disappeared, and she called after him, “Cut the price tag off your sleep pants.”

His laugh rolled through the house. “Yes, ma’am.”

The Garden District, New Orleans, Louisiana

TUESDAY, JULY 26, 4:45 A.M.

Lamont rarely smoked at home because Joelle didn’t like it and it was easier to simply smoke on breaks at work than to listen to her bitch. He was afraid of what he’d do to her one day. She’d bitch and he’d just be done and then he’d slap her or maybe even strangle her.

It was a nice fantasy. But one that would ruin his plans for the future if he ever acted on it.

But Joelle was sleeping off last night’s bender, so he lit up and inhaled, exhaling with a contented sigh.

Beside him in bed, Ashley still slept. She’d tuckered herself right out. She was a flexible little thing on an average night, but tonight had been exemplary because she’d been very horny. Something that Joelle wasn’t.

Ever. Well, not since she’d married him. Beforehand, she’d been every bit as interested and willing as Ashley.

It was an interview, he knew. His mistresses were usually his office administrators who wanted to be his next wife. They’d throw themselves at him, usually growing sullen and disinterested when he didn’t immediately divorce his wife and marry them. The ones who hung on the longest, who showed their loyalty, were the ones he’d weigh against the bother of getting rid of his current wife.

Ashley was getting close. Were the timing right, he’d have gotten rid of Joelle a long time ago. But people were watching him, he knew. And while being married several times wasn’t a political dealbreaker, being under investigation for murder certainly was.

So he was biding his time. If Ashley stuck around long enough, he’d marry her once Joelle was history. He’d have to wait and see.

He’d never fucked Ashley here before. In his home. He knew she’d take that as a positive sign, but he couldn’t help that. It wasn’t like they were in his bed. He wasn’t stupid, after all. He kept a bed in the room adjoining his home office, for nights when he worked too late. Or that was his excuse to Joelle. Lately, he just didn’t want to share a bed with her.

He reached to his nightstand to tap his cigarette over the ashtray. It was antique decorative glassware and one of Joelle’s favorite pieces, so he used it as an ashtray whenever he could. It was petty, but he didn’t care. He brought the cigarette back to his lips and checked his cell phone, hoping for a text from either Tyson Whitley or Cornell Eckert.

There were none.

He tried not to be too anxious. Whitley lived in Dallas and even if he’d left the instant Lamont had ended their call, he’d only be arriving in Houston about now. And Eckert was a finicky motherfucker. He’d contact Lamont when he was good and ready and not before.

If Eckert failed in killing Xavier . . .

Well, he wasn’t going to worry about that right now. He was going to wake Ashley up, have one more round of sex, then send her on her way.

He had a breakfast meeting with the DA.

Mont Belvieu, Houston, Texas

TUESDAY, JULY 26, 7:05 A.M. 

“He’s here,” Manny said with a yawn. He handed his burner phone over the seat to Xavier, who sat with Carlos in the back seat. They were parked at the H-E-B grocery store near Manny’s place, Manny not wanting Rocky’s lawyer to have his home address. Which was totally fair and very smart. They’d arrived at H-E-B an hour ago, wanting to avoid any possibility of being late.

Plus, none of them had really been sleeping anyway. They’d crashed at Manny’s apartment for a few hours, but Xavier hadn’t closed his eyes. He kept thinking about the man he’d shot. Was he alive? Dead?

Would he come back?

And what about his mother? She couldn’t go home, either. There might be a dead man in her spare bedroom. If the man was still alive, he might come after his mom.

He hadn’t called her yet, because she was safe with her best friend Willa Mae in the city, hopefully still pleasantly buzzed from all the wine the women had consumed at book club. But he’d have to call her soon.

He dreaded it. Because she’d dreaded this for years.

Both of their worst nightmares had come true.

Gingerly, he took the flip phone from Manny, part of him wishing that Rocky Hebert had never found him all those years ago. If the man had stayed away, he might still be safe.

Then again, if the man had stayed away, Xavier would have been unaware that there was any danger. He would have been a lamb being led to slaughter.

He forced himself to focus on Manny’s phone screen. The text from Paul Lott was simple. Here. Where r u?

With friends. Which is your car?

The reply was immediate. White SUV. BMW. Parked under lamppost,

C1.

On my way.

“He’s in the white Beemer SUV over there.” Xavier pointed to the sign for the C1 section of the H-E-B parking lot. It was a popular place and lots of people came and went. Way better than waiting somewhere isolated.

“You ready, cuate?” Carlos murmured.

Xavier’s throat grew tight at the nickname. Some brother I am, dragging Carlos into this. “No. But Lott came like he promised. Hopefully he’ll be able to help. Or at least give me legal advice.”

Carlos rolled his head, making his neck crack. His friend hadn’t slept much, either. “Let’s go, then. Manny, you gonna keep watch?”

“Absolutely. And do not get in his car until I meet him. Got it?”

Again, totally fair and very smart. “Got it,” Xavier promised. Because this wasn’t Carlos’s problem, and he didn’t want his best friend to be hurt. Or worse.

Manny started his old junker, the engine coughing and wheezing and knocking before it finally turned over.

They rolled to a stop next to the white BMW and Xavier held his breath while a middle-aged white man exited the vehicle, standing tall, if tired.

“That must be him,” Xavier whispered.

Carlos got out first. “Mr. Lott? Can I see your ID?”

Manny snorted. “He should be a cop instead of an engineer.”

Xavier smiled weakly. “He really should. Thanks, Manny. For everything.”

“No problem. Let’s go meet your pal.”

Xavier got out on wobbly legs. He had to hold on to the car door for a moment, until he could stand on his own.

Carlos turned to him. “His ID matches. I took a picture of it.”

I love you, man. And he did. He couldn’t have asked for a better best-friend-slash-brother than Carlos Hernandez. Swallowing hard, he nodded at the lawyer. “Mr. Lott. Thank you for coming.”

“You’re welcome. You’ve had a rough night.”

Xavier had to swallow again. “Yes, sir.”

“Are you calling the cops?” Carlos asked abruptly.

Lott smiled. “Nope. I’m going to take you somewhere safe.”

Xavier shook his head. “I can’t just leave. My mom’s here. She wasn’t at home last night, but she’ll go home later today and see . . .” He trailed off, because he wasn’t sure what his mother would see. Blood? A dead body?

“What if the guy’s still there? Alive? Waiting for her?”

Mr. Lott’s brows shot up. “Alive? What did you do?”

Xavier glanced at Carlos, then back at Mr. Lott. “I’m not sure.”

Lott frowned, but nodded. “All right, then. We’ll go by your house and check. If he’s still there in any capacity, we’ll call the cops on an intruder. If not, you can pack a bag. And then we’ll go talk to your mother.”

Carlos relaxed. “That sounds like a good plan. I like that his mama is in the loop.”

Xavier nodded. “Me, too. Who was that guy, Mr. Lott? What does he want with me?”

Although Xavier already knew the answer to the second question. He wants to kill me.

“I don’t know who he was,” Mr. Lott answered, and he seemed sincere.

“But you know why he wants you.”

“Because he saw a murder,” Carlos whispered.

Mr. Lott met Xavier’s gaze, steady and kind. “It’s all right, son. We’ll figure this out. You were important to Rocky, and he was like a brother to me.”

Carlos put his arm around Xavier’s shoulders. “Where he goes, I go. He’s like a brother to me, too.”

Mr. Lott gave them a nod. “I would be surprised if you didn’t. How would you like to do this, Xavier? We can go to your house first or talk to your mother first. Your call.”

“My house first. I need to know what to tell my mama to expect.”

Manny spoke up. “Is it really safe to go to Xavier’s place? What if that guy is still there and he’s alive? He tried to kill these guys. He’s not going to just give up.”

Xavier gave Manny a grateful look. “I’ve got a—” He stopped himself before he said gun. Not that it was a huge deal to be carrying in Texas.

Texans didn’t even need a license to carry anymore, but he didn’t want to announce his gun to the whole world. “I’m prepared.”

Manny’s jaw tightened. “I don’t know about this, X.”

“I’m prepared as well,” the lawyer said quietly. “Would you prefer he call the cops?”

Manny blew out a breath. “No, sir. But I still don’t like this. At all.”

Carlos looked undecided. “We stay together.”

“Together,” Xavier echoed, praying that he was doing the right thing.

Mid-City, New Orleans, Louisiana

TUESDAY, JULY 26, 7:15 A.M.

Coffee. Molly had made coffee, bless her.

Gabe opened his eyes to darkness, as he did every day, thanks to the miracle of room-darkening window shades. He normally didn’t get home from the Choux until two in the morning and had learned early on that the east-facing window in his bedroom was not his friend.

But coffee was his friend, especially at—He squinted at the clock on his nightstand. Shit. Seven a.m.? He never woke up at seven a.m.

You’ve never hired a PI to investigate your father’s murder, either. He sat up in bed, scrubbing his palms over his face, trying to wake up. He’d gone to sleep sometime around three, unable to keep his eyes open another moment longer. But Molly had still been working then, still organizing his father’s papers.

He wondered if she’d gone to sleep at all.

Of course, it could be Burke making the coffee. He still hadn’t arrived as of three a.m., staying at his father’s house to make sure the sheriffs did their jobs correctly. But Burke hadn’t expected to find any prints. If the intruders had been smart enough to fake his father’s suicide, they probably had worn gloves.

Still, one could hope.

Gabe pulled on the sleep pants from the night before—sans price tag—

and made his way to the kitchen, but stopped just shy of the archway when he heard worry in Burke’s voice.

“Are you sure?” Burke asked insistently.

“Am I sure that Rocky was making regular payments to someone for at least the past six years?” Molly asked. “Yes.”

What the hell? No way. Gabe took another step, then froze.

“Am I sure that it was a woman in Houston?” Molly went on. “Pretty sure, yes. Do I think that Rocky was keeping a woman there? I don’t know the answer to that.”

No. Gabe shook his head hard, unwilling to accept that his father had kept a secret like that from him.

He didn’t tell you he had cancer.

That’s different.

Is it? And maybe he thought you’d object.

But six years . . . Mom was still alive six years ago.

“No!” The word burst from him as he barreled into the kitchen. “You’re wrong. My father wouldn’t have done that to my mom.”

Burke and Molly sat at the table, Molly at the head and Burke on her right. She went very still at his outburst, a piece of paper in her gloved hand.

“Good morning, Gabe.”

“No, it’s not a good morning,” he hissed. “You’re making accusations against my father. You’re wrong. Burke, tell her that she’s wrong.”

Burke pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’ve only had two hours’ sleep, Gabe. I’m tired and cranky and I need some of that coffee before I can think clearly. Have a cup with me while we let Molly explain what she found.”

Gabe shook his head. “Not if she’s going to say that my father had a mistress. While my mother was still alive and dying from cancer. Because that didn’t happen. ”

Molly set the piece of paper on the table. “I didn’t say that,” she said calmly.

So calmly that he wanted to scream. Until he saw the way her hand trembled.

And then he remembered how she’d comforted him the night before when he’d seen the destruction in his father’s house. He remembered her compassion.

She was just doing her job. That I asked her to do.

So, he pulled out the chair on her left and sat, turning to face her. “What is it that you think you’ve found?”

She exhaled quietly, a flicker of relief in her blue-green eyes. Angling an inch-high stack of papers his way, she showed him the top sheet. “Automated deductions, same amount every month. This is the earliest that I’ve found, from six years ago. He kept records going back seven years, and there was no such activity during the first year of records, so I think it’s safe to assume it started six years ago.”

Gabe frowned. “Three hundred and fifty dollars,” he read. “Where did it go?”

“To John Alan Industries.” She pointed her gloved finger at the transaction.

“John Alan?” Gabe flinched, his gut twisting as a harsh shiver shook him.

“That’s . . . impossible.”

But that was the name on the paper.

“Why?” Molly asked softly. “Why is it impossible?”

Gabe started to speak, but the word came out a croak. He cleared his throat. “My mother got pregnant when I was twenty. She was forty-four.”

Molly’s brows furrowed, her lips moving silently as she counted. “She was older than your father, then.”

“Yes, by five years.”

Molly’s expression grew sad. “She lost the baby?”

He nodded. “I didn’t even know she was pregnant until she lost the baby.

She was waiting until she was out of her first trimester to tell anyone.” His jaw clenched. “Because chances of miscarriage were higher due to her age.

Turns out she was right. I remember the night it happened. We were staying with Patty’s parents because our house was flooded.”

Molly’s startled gaze flew up to meet his. “Oh. During Katrina?”

He nodded again. “Dad was working. Every cop who could work back then, did. We couldn’t take Mom to the hospital because so many of the roads were closed. She wouldn’t even let me call my father. Said that there wasn’t anything he could do, and he’d just worry. She didn’t want him to be distracted during the storm and its aftermath. There was no . . . Well, there wasn’t a body to bury. She just sat in one of my aunt’s rocking chairs and cried. When Dad finally joined us after working rescue, he was devastated by all he’d seen. I’d never seen him look like that before then. But he knew, as soon as he saw Mom’s face, that something was wrong. She had to tell him and he . . . broke. I’d never seen my dad cry before that night.”

Molly’s eyes grew shiny. “I’m sorry.”

“Thank you. I felt so helpless. Nothing I could do but sit and watch and hug them.”

“I think that’s all you can do in those circumstances,” she murmured.

“They named the child John Alan,” Burke said gruffly.

Gabe stared at him. “He told you?”

“Long time ago,” Burke confirmed. “We were on a stakeout, had been sitting in the car for hours. And the conversation happened to turn that direction. He told me, but I think he immediately wished he hadn’t. I never would have mentioned it to a soul. I’d forgotten about it, in fact. Until just now.”

Molly stared at the bank record. “So, he paid three hundred fifty dollars a month for six years to a company named after his dead son? But why?”

“Why did you say it was a woman?” Gabe asked, trying to keep the anger from his voice. She’d jumped to a conclusion that just wasn’t true. Something was odd, but he’d never believe that his father had a woman on the side. Not when his mom had still been alive. Six years ago, she’d been battling cancer.

Going to chemo. There was no way his father had cheated. Never.

That was not who Rocky Hebert had been.

“Because there’s a check to a Cicely Morrow, same amount.” She shuffled papers, bringing one from the bottom of the pile to the top. “It was written one month before the payments started to John Alan.”

“His second son,” Burke said softly.

Gabe’s fists were clenched before he realized it. Flattening his palms on the table, he made himself breathe. “What are you insinuating, Burke?”

“I don’t know.” He met Gabe’s gaze, his turbulent but mostly sad. “The man I knew wouldn’t have had a secret child.”

“No,” Gabe snapped. “He wouldn’t have.”

“But it means something,” Molly insisted. “These payments continue up until his death. They’re the only mysterious thing in all of his bank records.”

She was right about that, at least. “Who is Cicely Morrow?” he asked.

“I don’t know a hundred percent for certain yet. But there is a Cicely Morrow who lives in Houston and the day he wrote the first check, he bought gas in Houston with his bank card. I ran a background check on her and she’s a nurse at one of the Houston hospitals.” She turned her laptop so that he could see the screen. “This is a photo of her, taken for a newspaper story about the hospital. She lives in Mont Belvieu, a Houston suburb.”

A lovely Black woman was smiling at whoever had taken her picture. “I don’t know her,” he whispered. But his father clearly had. “Why?”

“That’s one of the things we need to find out,” Molly said gently. “Don’t jump to a conclusion, Gabe. Your father gave money to a lot of different charities. Maybe she runs one.”

He looked up at her, hopeful. “He did?”

Her smile was as gentle as her voice had been. “He really did.” She pulled out several sheets of paper, lining them up, side by side. “Boys & Girls Clubs of America, Meals on Wheels, the American Cancer Society. Just to name a few. He gave away a lot of money. He was a very generous man.”

Gabe found that he could smile, too. “He always said he was gonna give it all away when he died because I didn’t need it, so I shouldn’t count on an inheritance.” He took the tissue she pressed into his hand, surprised. Then realized he’d been crying, so he wiped his face. “Some people would have thought that made him a bad person, y’know, not leaving me anything, but I knew different. There wasn’t a lot left, other than his house and the truck. He really had given it all away, according to his lawyer.”

“The same one you mentioned last night?” she asked. “Paul Lott?”

“The same. Dad always said his life insurance through NOPD would go to me so that I could pay for his funeral, but that didn’t happen because of the

‘suicide.’ ” He used air quotes, the very word making him angry all over again. “Whatever someone was looking for when they trashed his house, it wasn’t money, because there wasn’t any.”

“Maybe Mr. Lott can help us,” Molly said, straightening all the papers back into a tidy stack. “I’d planned to call his office at nine.”

It suddenly occurred to him that she’d organized and combed through a shit ton of papers in the hours that he’d been asleep. “Have you slept at all?”

“No, but I’m okay. I’ll catch a short nap now and set my alarm for nine.

Then we can pay Mr. Lott a visit.” She cast a quick glance at Burke. “You okay to stay awake for an hour and a half or so?”

“Now that I can have coffee? Yes.” Burke made a shooing gesture. “Go and sleep. We’ll be fine.”

She slid the stack of papers into a large envelope with the Burke Investigations logo printed on the top corner, then peeled off the gloves. “I think I’ll take you up on the offer of the spare bedroom. If I sleep through my alarm, wake me up.”

She walked as far as the archway before turning. “And Shoe is okay. I called the vet at six to check on him. He’s snoring like a log and all of his bloodwork came back normal.”

Gratitude mixed with shame. “I’m sorry I snapped at you.”

She just smiled. “It’s stressful, Gabe. And I know why you were upset. I’d have been the same way if someone told me that my father had been paying a strange woman for years. We’ll figure this out. I promise.”

Then she was gone. A few seconds later, he heard the creak of the bifold doors to her room.

Burke moved the envelope to his briefcase, then poured Gabe a cup of coffee. “Cream and sugar?”

“Please and thank you.”

Burke served them both, then took the seat where Molly had been sitting.

“For what it’s worth, I don’t believe your father cheated on your mother.”

Relief left him feeling lighter. “Thank you. I don’t think I realized how much I needed to hear that.”

Burke sighed. “But this whole thing has me stumped.”

“Maybe the Morrow woman runs a charity, like Molly said.”

Burke shook his head. “Maybe, but I don’t think so. How would she have known to name a charity after your brother? At a minimum, Rocky and this Cicely Morrow were close enough that she knew of John Alan.”

“Whose name is the company in?”

Burke opened his own laptop. “John Alan Industries LLC lists . . . Okay.

It’s owned by another corporation. And that corporation is owned by . . .” He exhaled impatiently. “Another corporation.” He was quiet for a few minutes, typing and scowling, then typing some more. Finally, he leaned back in his seat. “Your father buried this deep. I finally have an actual name. Gigi Gauthier.”

Gabe blinked. “Aunt Gigi?”

Burke perked up. “You have an aunt Gigi?”

“My mother’s sister. She lives in Montreal. That’s where Mom was born and raised.”

“Montreal’s not the address provided. The address on Gigi’s LLC is in Baton Rouge. Let me do a search . . .” He looked up and shrugged. “It’s a box in a UPS store.”

Gabe rubbed his temples. “Of course it is. Let me get my phone. We can call her.” He took a bracing gulp of coffee before rising. “Not bad. Not as good as my coffee, but not bad.”

“Thank you,” Burke said mildly.

Gabe got his phone, then paused outside of the spare room on his way back to the kitchen. He cocked his head, listening. Then nodded when he heard a soft snore.

Good. She was getting some rest.

He found Burke peering into the fridge. “Can I help you find something?”

Gabe asked.

Burke looked over his shoulder. “I’m starving.”

Gabe held up his phone. “Can we call my aunt Gigi first?”

Burke heaved a put-upon sigh. “I suppose I’ll survive. Maybe.”

Gabe rolled his eyes. “Maybe, indeed.” He found Gigi’s name in his favorites list, called her, and put it on speaker. Then rolled his eyes again when he got her voice mail greeting.

“Si vous entendez ce message, ça veux dire que je fais quelques chose de plus intéressant que de vous parler. Laisser un message. Je pourrais vous rappeler.”

“Salut, Tante Gigi,” Gabe said. “Rappelle-moi, s’il te plaît. C’est très important. ” He ended the call and shook his head. “My aunt is a character, but I love her.”

“My French is rusty. Did she say she was doing something more interesting than talking to you?”

“She did, indeed.” He motioned Burke away from the open refrigerator.

“Then she said to leave her a message and ‘I might call you back.’ ”

Burke chuckled. “I like her already.”

“Most people do. She taught me how to make pâte à choux when I was ten. I still use that pastry recipe for my cream puffs at the Choux. That—and the fact that my dad called my mom his petit chou—is how we named the restaurant.”

“Mmmm. I love those cream puffs. Yours are some of the best I’ve ever eaten.”

“I’ll tell her that you said so.”

Burke leaned against the counter as Gabe pulled out eggs, ham, and vegetables for omelets. “I didn’t realize that your mother came from Montreal.”

“She did. She’d come to New Orleans for Mardi Gras and asked a

‘handsome police officer’ for directions. Her English was not so good, and she was so frustrated that she started to cry. But then he spoke French to her, helped her find what she was looking for, then asked her out for dinner. She said that his French was so heavily Cajun that she had trouble understanding him. But they managed, apparently. It was love at first sight.”

“Your dad told me that she’d come for Mardi Gras and stayed for love. He loved her so much, Gabe. He was destroyed when she died. I can’t believe that there was ever another woman for him, as long as she was breathing.”

“I know.” Gabe focused on whipping the eggs for the omelets. Keeping his hands busy had always been his go-to method for handling stress. “I know that there’s another explanation.”

“And we won’t rest until we find it.”

And then Gabe remembered the question he hadn’t yet asked. Second son.

Gabe flinched, then stared at the omelet pan. “Does Cicely Morrow have a son? Molly didn’t say.”

Burke hesitated. “I don’t know, and that’s the truth. Let me finish my coffee and I’ll look up the woman myself.”