Chapter 12
Rachel hung up her cell phone. “That was Chris O’Malley. He asked if we could stop by his house to talk to Matt.”
They were just finishing up lunch at Emeril’s NOLA restaurant, the spot Red had been so keen to try. Rachel savored her last bite of fried chicken and bourbon–sweet potato mash. It wasn’t fun spending a half hour listening to Red complain that Madame Verdene was a fraud, but at least she was eating a delicious meal while doing it.
“What does Matt want to discuss?” Red grabbed a napkin and wiped his face.
“Chris didn’t say. Just that Matt wanted to ask us some questions.”
“Are you going to tell him about our little field trip to the voodoo place?”
“We’ll see how it goes.” Rachel wanted to change the subject from Madame Verdene. “How’s the catfish?”
“Delicious. I have to say that New Orleans has some of the best food in the South.”
After they settled up the tab, they headed toward Metairie, just west of New Orleans. “I wonder why Chris decided to give up his share of the house and live outside the big city.” Rachel plugged his address into the GPS unit.
“Maybe we’ll find out,” said Red.
Fifteen minutes later they pulled up to a spacious ranch house perched at the end of a cul-de-sac. It was of whitewashed brick and had a neatly trimmed lawn. A garden gnome sat at the corner of the flower bed, with a WELCOME sign in his stubby hands. Rachel had always thought that garden gnomes were a little creepy: small bearded men with smiles on their faces but distrust in their eyes, like they were plotting something evil. She eased the rental car next to a white Mercedes, resisting the urge to run the gnome over.
“A lot different from where Matt lives, huh?” Rachel walked up to the front door and rang the bell.
“Maybe living in a hundred-year-old mansion in the heart of New Orleans isn’t Chris’s style,” Red said.
“Obviously not,” Rachel agreed as they waited.
A beautiful blond woman opened the door. “Hello, you must be Rachel Scott?” She held the door open for them. “I’m Melinda O’Malley, Chris’s wife. Please come in.”
Melinda O’Malley looked like she had just stepped out of Vogue magazine. She had on a navy-blue pencil skirt with a crisp, white button-down shirt and a hint of lace camisole peeking through. She towered over Rachel in her four-inch heels. Her blond hair was just past shoulder length and was worn sleek and straight. Her green eyes were framed perfectly in flawless makeup that avoided being too heavy. She led them through the foyer and into a spacious living room. The smell of something wonderful baking in the oven wafted throughout the house.
“Chris and Matt are outside on the deck. I’ll go let them know you are here. Make yourself comfortable.”
The interior of the house looked like it was straight from a Pottery Barn catalog. Nothing about it seemed warm or lived-in. Two supple leather couches were clustered around a massive antique-looking leather chest that doubled as a coffee table. There was a huge, flat plasma screen mounted above the fireplace and surrounding bookcases. The open floor plan gave the home a roomy, modern feel. Rachel admired the kitchen and breakfast room that were situated behind the living room. From where she sat on the couch, Rachel could see gleaming white granite countertops, stainless steel top-of-the-line appliances, and a gorgeous dark wood table and chairs in the breakfast room.
“It’s a beautiful house,” Rachel whispered to Red. “But unlike Matt’s place, it looks like a museum. I’m afraid to sit on the couch.”
“The bail bond business must pay very well,” he said.
Rachel looked down at her jeans and tennis shoes. “I feel underdressed next to Melinda. Maybe I should’ve changed before we came here.”
“She’s a real knockout, all right,” Red said, ignoring her comment. He was clearly smitten with Melinda. “She reminds me of that lady in the movie Lost in Translation.”
“Scarlett Johansson?”
“Yeah, that’s her.”
“Hmmm…maybe a little.” Rachel wasn’t surprised that Red found Melinda attractive. She decided not to tell him that she’d taken an instant dislike to the woman, who was clearly trying too hard. Rachel knew a few women of that type back in Miami. They dressed immaculately whether they were making a quick run to the grocery store, picking up their kids from school, or running errands around town. They dressed to impress each other and to stake a claim to their position in the social chain. Money and status were of the utmost importance to these women. And Melinda seemed to fit in the same category.
Rachel picked up one of several photo albums that sat neatly arranged on the coffee table. Opening the cover, she was met by a picture of a smiling family in front of the famous garden at Disney World: Matt, his wife Erin, and two kids were standing in front of a concrete ledge. Rachel remembered taking a similar picture with her daughter when Mallory was three years old. Right before she disappeared. That trip had been their last time at Disney World together. She flipped through more of the album pages, recognizing all of the most popular places for taking pictures at the theme park. She flipped past Erin and the kids in front of Cinderella’s castle, the kids in front of the Haunted Mansion ride, Erin and the kids posing right out front of Toontown, and the kids in front of the Splash Mountain log ride. Rachel could tell that Matt was the primary photographer on this trip due to his absence in most of the photos. She laid down that album and picked up a smaller one. This one was mostly of Matt and Erin. The couple looked almost like models posing as the snapshots moved from one on a boat, to one in front of a cute bungalow, to another with a gorgeous pool in the background.
“Little Palm Island, down in the Florida Keys. I took Erin there for our ten-year anniversary,” Matt said.
Rachel turned to find Matt standing behind her. She closed the album, feeling like she’d been caught trespassing on another person’s memories. She looked up to see Matt staring at her curiously.
“Right,” she said, clearing her throat. “It looks like you had a lovely time.”
Matt shrugged. “From what I remember, we always have a good time, no matter where we go.”
Chris stepped into the room and quickly moved to shake hands with Rachel and then Red. “Thanks for coming over, guys,” he said, gesturing for them to sit back down.
Rachel observed Matt as he took a seat across from her. She thought he looked a little tired. His eyes were red rimmed and he had stubble on his face. He looked different from the way he did in the pictures she had just been looking at. He seemed to be a shell of the confident, strong man she’d seen in photos. It wasn’t unlike the look of other people she’d worked for who had lost someone close to them. Having a loved one missing had a particular way of taking a toll on someone, and Matt seemed to be feeling his loss. What made him different, Rachel thought, was that Matt claimed not to have any memory of what had happened to his family. She wished she felt more confident. But this was the first case she’d been involved in where amnesia was an issue, and she didn’t feel qualified to make any assessments. Rachel wasn’t even sure where to begin. She raised her eyebrows at Red, and thankfully, he nodded discretely and took the lead.
“How are you feeling, Matt?” Red asked.
Matt rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands. “Better. Still no memories. Chris brought over some of our family photo albums from the house, hoping we could jog my memory. I’ve been poring over them trying to recover the last couple months of my life, but it’s not working.” He motioned to the albums. “After hours of staring at photos…nothing. Well, nothing and everything. What I can remember is how much I love my wife and my kids.”
Rachel thought how strange it must be for him to look at all the pictures of him and his beautiful family and not know what happened to them. Chris cleared his throat. “In addition to being up all night looking at pictures,” he said, “I’ve been talking over the last couple of months with Matt in detail, covering work and family stuff that happened, but he doesn’t remember anything. The doctor told us it could take some time for him to get his full memory back.”
Melinda brought in a tray of drinks. “Homemade lemonade and chocolate chip cookies. Please help yourself,” she said, putting the tray down on the huge leather chest. Rachel thought she caught a look of annoyance as Melinda picked up the photo albums and carried them back to the bookshelf.
Rachel reached for a glass of lemonade, while Red grabbed a bottle of water.
“Thank you,” Rachel said. “It’s been really humid outside.”
“The calendar says it’s fall, but we all know summer isn’t over yet,” Melinda said cheerfully. She took a seat beside her husband.
“Are you and Erin close?” Red asked Melinda.
“Yes. Of course. Erin and I have known each other since high school.” She looked over at her husband and smiled. “That’s how we all met.”
“We always do things together,” Chris added. “Wednesdays were always our night to get together. We took turns having family dinner at each other’s houses.”
“Matt,” Red said, continuing with his questions. “Did anyone know your schedule? Your daily routine?”
Matt shook his head. “Just the people at the office. Our office manager and some of the employees. I always left early on Wednesdays to coach soccer practice. Everyone knew that.”
“Did Erin ever mention going to a voodoo shop in New Orleans?” Rachel asked, changing the subject.
Melinda laughed nervously. “Madame Verdene?”
Rachel nodded.
“I went with her a couple of times.”
“Erin’s interested in voodoo?” Rachel asked.
“She’s an artist and a bit of a free spirit. She’d been having trouble lately coming up with what she called her creative juices. Erin felt she was getting some bad juju or something. We went to see Madame Verdene for help. Erin got some white sage to burn in her studio and around the house. Verdene also got her to do a spiritual cleanse.”
“What does that entail?” Rachel asked.
“Verdene uses a combination of special herbs on the body and even does the purification herself. She had Erin strip down to her underwear and smeared her with this special potion. Then she burned white sage and did some weird chant while blowing the smoke from the sage all around Erin. Verdene believes that when you are stuck with negative forces and energies, you must cleanse the body to get rid of them. Erin thought it was great, even though I never understood why she felt like she needed it. She has a picture-perfect family.” Melinda gestured toward the photo albums she’d returned to the bookshelf.
Rachel thought she caught a look of irritation that Chris tossed Melinda’s way.
“After the cleanse, Erin said she could already tell a difference. She said she felt lighter and more free,” Melinda continued.
Rachel turned her attention to Chris. “You don’t believe in spiritual cleansing?”
“No. I think Madame Verdene sounds like a quack.”
Melinda punched her husband in the arm. “Madame Verdene is well-known in New Orleans as the voodoo queen. She’s helped people from all over. There are celebrities in Hollywood who have her on speed dial.”
“Did you know about the altar Erin had set up in her studio?” Rachel asked Melinda.
“That was another part of the ritual. Madame Verdene suggested she set one up and do daily prayer and meditation to complement her cleanse.”
“And Erin continued to believe it was helping her?”
“I guess so. She was back to painting before she disappeared.”
“Is there anyone you can think of that may have wanted to hurt Erin or her family?” Red asked.
“No,” Chris answered. “Erin’s the sweetest person I know. She never made an enemy.”
“That’s right,” Melinda agreed. “Erin is always the first person to volunteer at school functions and has a lot of friends. She also spends her time volunteering at local charities. It’s kind of hard to imagine anyone more perfect. And the kids, Mary Kate and Patrick, are just dolls. I love them just as if they were my own.”
She gave a little laugh, and Rachel had the fleeting thought that it wasn’t the laugh of someone grieving. Rachel was beginning to think Melinda might be a little jealous of her sister-in-law.
“Chris, what about the business? You must make some enemies,” Red speculated.
“We’ve had our fair share of problems,” said Chris, nodding. “But like I told the detective who questioned us, I can’t think of anyone who would want to hurt our family. Some people think the bond business is exotic and dangerous. The truth of the matter is that only a portion of our clients are real criminals. The rest of them are regular people who have been caught in extraordinary circumstances and need help getting out of a stressful situation. A lot of people think we deal with ‘bad’ people all the time. Generally, a person who needs to be bailed out is somebody’s sister, father, or close friend. We deal with regular people—like you and me—who have made mistakes and find themselves in a regrettable situation.”
“What about Rupert Meaux?” Melinda asked her husband. “He definitely wanted to hurt our family.”