24. Twenty-Four #2
She shrugged. “Twice what I would have made in another house,” Marie-Thérèse replied.
“Enough that I didn’t really care how obnoxious he was.
He wasn’t here all that often, and when he was he was in his private suite.
Nobody is allowed in there except for a deep cleaning once a month. That’s the only rule we must follow.”
I pictured the space and nodded. “What about Brett?” I asked. “Is he allowed in there?”
“Definitely not.” Marie-Thérèse almost laughed. “Mr. Hayes couldn’t stand his son. He really hated him.”
“But Brett lives here,” I pointed out. “I saw him the other day.”
Marie-Thérèse’s brow wrinkled. “Wait … you’re the stripper.” She seemed surprised at the revelation. “And you’re the other stripper.” She pointed at Charlie. “And you’re the third stripper,” she said to Jack.
“I can’t believe you fell for that,” Charlie complained. “I could never pass for a stripper. My body is … not a stripper’s body.”
“Hey,” Jack admonished. “It feels weird to be arguing this point, but you’re putting yourself down and I don’t like it.” He turned to Marie-Thérèse. “It is weird you think I was a stripper.”
Marie-Thérèse snorted. “Are you kidding me? Pull that hair down, and you could make a grand a night in tips.”
Jack, floored, worked his jaw.
“She’s right,” I interjected. “When I first met you guys I wondered what you did for a living because you have one of those faces.”
“I think I’m done with this conversation.” Jack looked pained. He covered his face.
Under different circumstances I would have been amused. There was no room for that now. “Did Archie have any health concerns?” I asked. “Did he have a heart problem or anything?”
“Not that I’m aware of.” Marie-Thérèse held out her palms. “He would not have talked to me about that. I cleaned his private parlor once a month but never saw anything out of the ordinary.”
“What about father and son?” Knox asked. “How did they get along?”
“Mr. Hayes said that Brett was lazy and all Brett wanted to do was play with his band, even though he’s terrible.”
“He is terrible,” I agreed. “We saw him at the battle of the bands. No one is as bad a singer as Brett.”
“No one,” Knox agreed. “I drank way too much that night to drown out the sound of his voice.”
“Where is Brett?” I asked. “His father is dead upstairs — and has been for days. No one thinks it’s weird that he hasn’t been in contact in that time?”
“It’s not weird if you know the family,” Marie-Thérèse hedged. “Mr. Hayes doesn’t want to talk to his son. He hates him. I’m not exaggerating.”
“Okay.” I adjusted my thinking. “If he hates him, why does he allow him to live here?”
“Because of his mother,” Marie-Thérèse, now sad, replied. “She was a good woman, Miss Sabine. Cancer took her three years ago. After that, everything in the house changed.”
She appeared to be searching for the right words, then sighed.
“Brett was never a good boy,” she said. “I didn’t know him as a boy, but his mother, when she was sick, admitted to me that he was cruel.
But he was still her baby. She made Mr. Hayes promise on her deathbed that he would always take care of Brett.
He doesn’t want to — his greatest joy would be kicking Brett out of the house — but he loved his wife too much. ”
I thought about the goddess paintings upstairs. “The paintings in the parlor, did they belong to Mrs. Hayes?”
“Yes.” Marie-Thérèse said. “She was looking for inspiration to fight her cancer at the end. She found solace in the paintings. Her husband doted on her, and she still doted on the boy. I loved her and didn’t want her to die.
I was close when it happened. I was always by her side, and I wanted to be.
She knew the boy was lost, and forcing Mr. Hayes to take care of him was her last-ditch effort to save him. ”
“I don’t think that worked,” I said. “You weren’t surprised at all when you thought three strippers showed up to entertain him.”
“He’s a rotten apple.” Marie-Thérèse frowned. “He shouldn’t be as bad as he is when his mother was an angel. But he was born rotten. His mama knew it, but refused to accept it. She constantly wanted to save him, but he was already lost.”
“Where is Brett now?” Barry asked.
“I don’t know.” Marie-Thérèse clutched her hands. “I haven’t seen him since last night. He said he was going out. I don’t keep tabs on him. I don’t want to. Sometimes he finds women who know he’s rich and will sleep with him. That’s probably what happened last night.”
“We have to find him,” I said to Knox.
He nodded.
“We also need to find that statue,” I added. “What happened to the new statue?” I asked Marie-Thérèse. “It was of some sort of goddess. I was told it was delivered here, but I can’t find it upstairs.”
“Statue?” Marie-Thérèse looked confused. “I would have handled any delivery. No statue came here.”
“It’s still at the office,” I guessed.
“What is it with you and this statue?” Barry demanded. “I need to know.”
“It feels important,” I replied. I couldn’t explain it beyond that. “I need to see it.”
Barry was quiet a moment before nodding. “Okay. Body first, then we’ll find your statue.”
I wanted to tell him I didn’t need his help. “Body first,” I agreed. “We need to know how he died. It could be natural causes.”
“Could be,” Knox agreed, “but it’s not.”
I was right there with him.