Gage (Texas Boudreau Brotherhood #16)

Chapter Nine

CHAPTER NINE

T he porch swing moved gently beneath Suzanna, as she sat with one leg curled beneath her, the other gently propelling her backward and forward with an almost hypnotic rhythm. She loved the simplicity and peace of sitting on the Boudreau’s front porch, looking out at the expanse of lone oak trees and the velvety, lush green lawn. The Boudreau’s home reminded her of what she’d pictured in her mind when she’d thought about the kind of place she’d wanted to live in when she’d first been old enough to think about what she’d wanted from life. She’d never wanted the huge mansions filled with expensive material possessions or fancy cars. Status symbols of the rice and famous had never appealed. Probably because she’d grown up surrounded by those things, yet she’d never felt like the big house with its marble floors and giant staircases were home.

A childish fantasy, she realized now, of a simpler life with horses and chickens, a few goats and maybe a dog or two. Instead, she’d fallen into the trap of corporate wife with the big house, chauffeur-driven cars, and chairing fund-raising events had been thrust upon her even before she’d met Steven.

Steven. How she missed him. He’d become her best friend, her salvation from a life that hadn’t been any kind of life at all. Now he was gone and everyone thought she’d killed him. Gentle, sweet, kind Steven. The man who wouldn’t hurt a fly, murdered in his own bed. When she closed her eyes at night, she could still see him beside her, his eyes open, blood covering his neck and chest. Could feel the cold, sticky blood coating her hands and arms and the front of her pajamas.

“Stop it, don’t think about it,” she whispered, fighting the picture that formed in her mind. She didn’t want to think about anything to do with that horrible night. But she had to. She needed to remember, because there had to be something, some detail, some thing that she’d missed. Because there was one fact she was sure of—she had not killed her husband.

“Mind some company?”

She looked up at the female voice and saw Nica, the Boudreaus’ daughter. She’d arrived home late the prior night, and Suzanna hadn’t gotten a chance to talk with her yet. From what she’d been told, Nica had just graduated with two degrees, and was doing some extracurricular work for the school before she headed home permanently, which would be in a couple of weeks.

“Sure.” She scooted over on the swing, and Nica joined her.

“Momma had to run into town, but she’ll be back before dinnertime. One of her realtors is pregnant, and it looks like she’s going into labor a couple of weeks early, so Momma’s having to head into the office to help rearrange her showings and get them assigned to a couple of other realtors to cover.” Nica smiled while she said it, like it was nothing new for her mother to have to drop everything to rearrange somebody’s schedule.

“Sounds like it’s a pretty busy place.” There, small talk. She could handle that, she was a pro at chitchat.

“You have no idea. Momma has one of the best real estate offices in the state. She’s won awards, been featured in magazines, and has even been interviewed by both Dallas-Fort Worth and Houston area news broadcasts. Anybody with half a brain in their heads uses her when they are looking to buy or sell their places.”

“You sound very proud of her.”

Nica grinned. “I am. She’s amazing. I hope I have half her energy when I’m her age. Plus, she’s the best mother you could imagine. I mean, look at this place. Her and Dad took in foster kids for years, raising them, teaching them, but most importantly loving them. That’s why so many of them stayed. You do know I’m the only biological child, right?”

“Actually, no, I didn’t know that.”

“Oh, yeah,” Nica shifted around to face Suzanna. “Everybody in town knows the stories. Momma and Dad first took in Rafe when he was going to have to go into foster care. His mother was killed in a car accident, and Rafe was injured. His biological father caused the accident, because he was chasing them and caused their car to wreck. Dad was one of the volunteer firemen who arrived at the scene, and Rafe latched onto him, begging him not to leave him. Dad went with him to the hospital, and spent the night by his side, stayed there the whole night. When Momma showed up the next morning, Dad said they were gonna keep Rafe. That’s how he ended up being the first. But he was hardly the last one. This house has always been filled with boys. Sometimes preteens and some teenagers, but always the hard cases. The ones folks didn’t think would make it.”

Suzanna felt a stirring deep in her chest at Nica’s words. She’d always had a soft spot for orphans and kids in the foster system. Chaired several fundraisers to raise money to help build and maintain centers and recreational areas and try to help however she could. She’d even approached Steven once about possibly having a foster child, but he’d said he wasn’t ready for anything like that. The thought of children out in the world needing somebody to care, somebody to love them and give them a chance broke her heart. Hearing about the Boudreaus, what they’d done, going above and beyond mere words proved they walked the walk and talked the talk, which was a lot more than most people ever did.

“What they’ve done is amazing. I noticed almost all of the men carry the Boudreau name. Is that by choice?”

Nica grinned. “Rafe started that tradition too. Like I said, he lived here ever since he was a kid. My folks wanted to adopt him legally, but his dad wouldn’t allow it. He went to prison for causing the death of his wife, but he was a…I’m not supposed to use the language I need to to describe the jackass…but he wouldn’t relinquish his rights to Rafe and allow my folks to legally adopt. So, when Rafe turned eighteen, he legally changed his name to Boudreau. Did it as a surprise and it’s become a tradition for the foster kids to legally change their name to Boudreau, at least the ones that weren’t legally adopted. If they were able, my parents took the step to claim those boys in every way they could. Ended up, the only one who didn’t change his name was Lucas, and there was a reason for that. It’s a bit of a story, but it all worked out in the end. He offered to change it, but my parents told him they knew he loved them, no matter what his last name might be. So, we are a mixed bag, but it works. And I ended up with more big brothers than you can shake a stick at.” Her laughter accompanied the statement, letting Suzanna know that Nica loved her brothers.

“Can I ask…never mind.”

“What? You can ask me anything. If I don’t want to answer, I’ll flat out tell you so.”

Suzanna bit her lip, almost deciding it was better not to ask, but she really wanted to know about Gage. He fascinated her, something she hadn’t realized until they’d gotten to the Boudreau ranch. The man was an enigma to her, and she wanted to know more.

“Um, about Gage. He’s not a Boudreau, or at least he doesn’t have the last name. If it’s a tradition…” She trailed off, not sure how to come out and ask about his past. It seemed like each one of the Boudreau sons had a difficult past, or they wouldn’t have ended up in the foster care system. If Gage had come to live on the ranch, he must have had a rough patch at some point, though he was definitely his own person now.

“Now that’s a story. Gage is one of Momma’s ‘Lost Boys.’”

“Lost Boys? You mean like in Peter Pan?”

“I’m not sure how the nickname started. It refers to the boys who came to live here for short periods of time and then left. Sometimes it was because they were returned to their families. Sometimes they went back into the system. It was never by my parents’ choice, because they never turned their backs on any of the children in their care. Anyway, the ones that Child Protective Services took back—I know how heartless that sounds, but it’s what happened—they became known as the Lost Boys.” Nica’s voice trailed off and she stared off into space, as if she was remembering or perhaps reliving what happened. Her expression saddened and Suzanna felt bad for even bringing it up, but she still wanted—needed—to know about Gage.

“Gage was one of the Lost Boys?”

She nodded, reaching up and twirling a strand of her long blonde hair that had come loose from her high ponytail. “He was. You have to understand, the ones who didn’t get to stay, my folks tried to get them back. Went after CPS, got lawyers, did everything, because sometimes these boys that they loved were going back into nightmarish situations. Of course, sometimes, only in a few cases, mind you, there was simply no helping. But nobody could say my folks didn’t try everything to make sure these kids got the best lives possible. But, Gage, well, he’ll have to tell you the details of his life story. It’s definitely an interesting one. Suffice it to say, we thought he went to live with an uncle who’d stepped forward to claim him. Turns out that was a lie.”

Suzanna’s interest was definitely piqued at Nica’s words. She couldn’t leave it at that, could she?

“A lie?”

“Yeah. You want to know more, you’re going to have to ask him.”

Suzanna leaned back against pillows, thinking about what Nica had told her. Her respect for Douglas and Ms. Patti, already high for taking in a complete stranger, and one who might be a murder suspect, grew by leaps and bounds as she realized the extent of their generosity and caring.

Before she could ask Nica any further questions about Gage, she spotted his car coming up the long drive toward the house. He and Ranger had headed into Shiloh Springs to talk with Chance. From what she’d heard, he was the lawyer in the family. When she’d suggested going into town with them, the idea had been shot down. She knew Bas was around someplace, doing his bodyguard thing, but at least he’d stayed away, keeping his distance and giving her some privacy. But she knew he was close enough if anything happened. The knowledge made her feel a little better, especially after what happened in New Orleans.

“Looks like Gage is back. I’ve got to head into town. I’m volunteering at the clinic today. As Momma says, me staying busy is a good thing, otherwise I tend to get into mischief.” She pointed to herself, going for an innocent expression. “Do I look like a troublemaker to you?” The words were accompanied by a giggle. “I swear I don’t go looking for trouble, but it seems to find me anyway.”

“Me too,” Suzanna confessed.

With a quick grin, Nica bolted down the steps and jogged to her pickup, with a quick wave to Gage and Ranger as they climbed from the sedan. Within a minute she was driving toward town, leaving Suzanna with the two men. Without a word, Ranger continued inside the Big House, leaving her alone with Gage. Her palms grew sweaty and she wiped then down the front of her jeans, hoping he didn’t notice.

“How did it go?”

“Okay. Chance had copies of your husband’s autopsy report and the death certificate.”

Those simple words stabbed at Suzanna like a knife through the heart. She’d never imagined those words in the same sentence—autopsy and husband. It brought back the finality that Steven was never coming back and she was alone.

“Did he find anything unusual in it, other than what we already talked about?” Gage had told her while they were in New Orleans that he’d seen a copy of her late husband’s report, and the discrepancy with the date and time, the brief amount of time spent on performing the autopsy.

“No. But he does have a few questions. I said that I’d ask.”

“Okay. I want to figure out who killed Steven because they deserve to go to prison.”

“And keep you for being arrested and convicted.”

“That too.” She moved over and patted the seat beside her. “Go ahead, ask your questions. I’ll tell you everything I know.”

“I need you to think back to the night your husband was killed. You said you had Blackthorn and his wife over for dinner. That Steven was alone with him, while you entertained his wife.”

“That’s right. There was nothing unusual about that. It was pretty much the same every time they came over.”

Gage paused for a moment before asking, “Was this something that happened frequently, them coming to dinner? Weekly, biweekly, monthly? How close were Blackthorn and your husband?”

“Steven and Donald were good friends. They went to school together. When Steven’s company started taking off, he brought Donald on, first as the director of recruitment, and he worked his way up to becoming Steven’s partner and a co-owner of Dawkins, Inc., although Steven maintained controlling interest in the company. Donald was the one who brought onboard a lot of the software designers and engineers who were an integral part of the company’s success. He’s an invaluable member of the company. You could say he was Steven’s right hand man.”

“You didn’t answer the question. How often were they at your home, whether on a social basis or for business?”

She closed her eyes, thinking. “I guess two or three times a month maybe? I mean, it wasn’t like a regular thing. Why?”

“Simply trying to get a read on all the key players. Plus they were at the house, and other than you they were the last people to see your husband alive.”

“That’s true. What else do you want to know?”

“After Blackthorn and his wife left, how long was it before you retired for the evening? Did you go to bed first, or did your husband?” He paused before meeting her gaze. “I know these questions might get uncomfortable and personal, but it’s something we need to address, because it is germane to the investigation. I’d be remiss if I didn’t ask, because I guarantee any prosecuting attorney will want these same answers, and they might not be as diplomatic about asking them as I trying to be.”

“I understand, Gage, and I appreciate you’re explaining why you’re asking. Yes, it’s personal, but I don’t have anything to hide. I went to bed first. It was about half an hour after they left. Steven was still in the study. I stopped by there long enough to say goodnight, and went to my room.”

Gage nodded his head, one sharp jerk up and down, and she bit her lips to keep from smiling. The movement epitomized him; simple, brief, efficient. Right now, he seemed all business, not like the man in New Orleans, the one who’d shown concern and empathy and even friendship when she’d almost been kidnapped. She wanted that man back, not this stiff, formal automaton.

“How long after you went to bed did Steven retire to his room?”

“Not long after me. Can you just get to the point?”

“I need to be thorough. You want me to find out who killed your husband, you need to let me work the way I’m used to. Which means covering every minute detail, every angle, no matter how small or insignificant it might seem.”

She lowered her gaze to stare at her hands. “I’m sorry, you’re right. Steven went to his room about ten minutes or so after I climbed into bed, so it was maybe twenty minutes.”

“I know this next part is a bit sensitive, but I have to ask. You mentioned you and your husband slept in separate beds, separate rooms. That night he asked you to come and sleep with him.”

“Yes.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “When we first met, I told you my husband suffered from night terrors, which caused him to thrash about violently in his sleep. It’s why he asked me to sleep in a different room. The might Steven…died, he came to my room. There was something different, though I’ve tried every day since then to figure out what made him ask me to sleep with him. He said he wanted to hold me until he fell asleep.”

“This was unusual?”

Suzanna sighed before slowly nodding. “Neither my husband nor I were overly demonstrative people. There weren’t any public displays of affection, other than holding hands going into an event, and the occasional kiss on the cheek. Please understand, I loved my husband and he loved me. But we were not—intimate. From time to time, my husband would ask me to be with him, sleep with him. On those occasions, he’d pull my close and hold me in his arms. There was something about hugging me close that seemed to, I don’t know, soothe him. This didn’t happen often, because of the night terrors. I know they were getting worse. He’d been seeing a psychologist, trying to figure out what caused them. They think it was some type of posttraumatic stress disorder, but that’s something Steven didn’t discuss with me. Whenever he had the events, they’d last anywhere from a few minutes to half an hour or so, and he’d never remember anything that happened during one. He rarely drank because alcohol could trigger a night terror episode.”

Gage slowly began moving the porch swing, the motion slow and almost hypnotic, as though he wasn’t aware he was even doing it, and she could almost see him mulling over the things she’d said in his head. She wanted to give him the answers he needed, she was tired of waking up every day with a sword hanging over her head, wondering when the police were going to show up on her doorstep to arrest her. Sometimes she’d wake in the middle of the night, wondering if the killer would show up and finish the job, and kill her too.

“So you went to Steven’s room. Spent the night in his arms.”

“Yes.”

“Did he have a night terror episode the night he died?”

“No, he didn’t. As far as I know, he slept through the night.”

“As far as you know?”

“Well, yeah. I mean, I was asleep the entire night.” Suzanna stopped, realizing something she hadn’t even considered before. “I’m normally a fairly light sleeper, which was another reason Steven wanted to sleep alone. Because he was so restless, it often either kept me awake, or would constantly wake me up throughout the night. But the night he died, I don’t remember ever waking up throughout the entire night. I just remembered that.”

“Did you have anything to drink that night?” Gage had turned to fully face here, the motion of the porch swing slowing to a stop.

“I had a glass of wine with dinner. I barely drank more than a couple of sips. I don’t like the taste of alcohol, so I rarely have any. I only had that because Donald and Elizabeth brought it to go with dinner.” She scrunched up her nose. “I didn’t care for it, but I didn’t want to be rude.”

“Did everyone drink the wine?”

“I think so?” The way she answered made it sound more like a question, because she couldn’t remember if everybody drank the wine. “I know Steven poured glasses for each of us, but I didn’t really pay attention to whether everybody drank it. But I would think we all had at least a sip of two.”

“Did you feel stranger or different after drinking the wine?”

“No, I didn’t like how it tasted, but I don’t remember feeling any different.” She didn’t like the direction his questions seemed to be heading, but she’d wait for another few minutes. Maybe there was a method to his madness, as they say.

“Was it usual for them to bring wine when they visited?”

Again with the wine?

“Not really. Why are you asking about the wine?”

“Just getting all the facts about the night your husband was killed. Every detail, no matter how big or small, adds to the picture. It’s the way I work. It’s like a jigsaw puzzle, and each clue, each piece is carefully put into place until I see the whole picture.”

“I hope you’re seeing more of the picture than I am, because I don’t have any idea who wanted Steven dead.”

“We’ll figure it out. I have to ask, when Steven went to bed, did he usually take any kind of sleep aid or medication to help him relax?”

“No…well, if he did, I didn’t know about it. It’s possible his psychiatrist prescribed something, but we’d have to ask her.”

Gage nodded and pulled out his phone, typing rapidly on the screen. “I’ll need the name of his psychiatrist.”

“Dr. Joanna O’Dell. Her office is in University Park.” He quickly made the note on his phone and put it back in his pocket.

“One last thing. On the morning of Steven’s death, you woke up when the maid screamed, right?” At her slow nod, he continued. “Do you remember how you felt? Other than the shock. Were you lightheaded, woozy, disoriented? Anything that might indicate you’d been given any kind of sedative or drug?”

She opened and closed her mouth several times, bombarded with memories of that morning. Remembering her dry throat, the groggy feeling, the disorientation that seemed to linger. Everything had seemed to move in slow motion. It had taken her several prolonged seconds to realize her hands and arms were covered with Steven’s blood. That wasn’t normal, and she’d always wondered why the whole scenario had felt odd, muffled and she’d been befuddled.

“I…yes…I was groggy when I woke up, and disoriented. I couldn’t remember where I was or what I was doing in Steven’s room. I remember having a dry mouth and throat, my head felt like it was stuffed with cotton. Are you—do you think—was I drugged?”

“I think it’s a strong possibility. I found it unusual that you could sleep through the person beside you being stabbed repeatedly and you didn’t wake up. The maid’s statement will tell me a lot, but if you were drugged it could explain a lot. I also need to talk with the medical examiner’s office and see what drugs they checked for on the tox screen. I have a lot of questions and no answers. If you were drugged, was Steven drugged too? I want to talk to the medical examiner that did the autopsy. See if they noticed any defensive wounds on your husband. He would have fought back if he was attacked—unless he was drugged too.”

“You think Donald or Elizabeth drugged the wine? But why? They don’t have a reason to kill Steven.”

Gage grabbed her hand, squeezing it. “That you know of. Right now in my book everybody is a suspect. I know it’s a longshot, but do you still have the bottle of wine from that night?”

She shook her head. “I doubt it. The bottle was empty, so it would have gone in the recycling bin and emptied the next time the truck was due.” Dragging in a ragged breath, she asked, “You really think somebody drugged us?”

“It would explain a lot. It would keep you knocked out while your husband was killed. It would keep him from fighting back. Even if you’d been in your own room, you wouldn’t have heard anything, seen anything. But it would have been smart to give you both something, that way there’s no chance of a witness.”

“It seems so calculated and cold.”

“Premeditated murder is cold. It’s unemotional and heartless and usually well thought out. Otherwise, mistakes are made.”

“I could understand it if Steven had walked in on somebody robbing us and been killed, or he was shot by an intruder. But this? For someone to deliberately drug us and walk into our home and stab him over and over? That doesn’t seem random, it seems—personal.”

“Exactly. Now it’s my job to figure out who had a reason to want your husband dead and you out of the picture. You make the perfect scapegoat, the younger wife looking to be free of an intolerable marriage. Killing your husband is the easy way out.”

“But…” She realized Gage was right. She was the perfect patsy.

“I’m going to Dallas and meet with Detective Jansen, and then I’m going to talk to the medical examiner. Ranger will be here, if you need anything—”

“I’m going with you.”

“No. You’re staying here where it’s safe and nobody knows where you are.”

She stood and bunched her fists on her hips, ready to go toe-to-toe with him if she needed to. This was her life on the line, and she wasn’t going to sit on the sidelines while other people decided what was going to happen to her.

“I’m going. If you try to stop me, I’ll simply follow you.”

“Jansen probably won’t talk to me if you’re there.”

“Blah. That man will spill more information if I am there. He always thinks he’s got the upper hand when he’s talking to me. Thinks I’m the dumb gold-digger blonde who got her hooks into a rich sugar daddy and that I don’t have a brain in my head. He tends to spit and sputter and talk down to me. All you’ll have to do is stand by and catch the clues I’m sure he’ll toss out.”

Gage tossed his head back as though looking for divine intervention before finally shaking a finger at her. “Fine. But you’ll follow my rules and do everything I tell you. And Bas is coming with us, to keep an eye on you, because we still don’t know who tried to kidnap you in New Orleans. Understand?”

“Yes, sir.” She gave him a saucy salute and hid her grin. Getting under his skin might be fun. And it would take her mind off the fact she could end up arrested if Jansen had his way.

“Grab you stuff and let’s go.”