Chapter 5: What Gerald Voss Wanted
Ronan's hand tightened around the phone.
"Say that again."
The voice on the other end — one of his men, someone named Reyes — was controlled but fast.
"Your aunt.
Celeste Callahan.
She was supposed to be at her house in Metairie.
Her housekeeper called it in twenty minutes ago.
The door was open.
Her car is still in the drive.
She's not there."
Ronan set the phone on the counter without ending the call.
Tessa watched his face.
It was the face of someone doing rapid internal arithmetic — calculating, weighing, deciding — and underneath all of it, something raw that he was working very hard to keep contained.
"How many people know about Celeste?" he asked Briggs.
"Within our circle?
A dozen.
Outside it?" Briggs paused.
"Gerald Voss would know.
He handled your mother's estate.
Celeste was named in the original documents as secondary trustee."
"He's not after money," Ronan said.
"He's had fourteen years to take money." He picked the phone back up.
"Reyes.
Was there any sign of a struggle?"
"Her reading glasses were on the kitchen floor.
Her tea was still warm."
Ronan looked at Tessa.
She understood before he spoke.
"He knows the plan failed," she said.
"So he's changing what he wants."
"He wants the letter," Ronan said.
"And he wants to make sure I don't go to anyone with what I know." He looked at the folded paper still on the table where Briggs had placed it inside a document sleeve.
"Celeste is leverage."
Fletcher had gone to stand near the far wall.
He looked like a man who deeply regretted every decision that had led him to this kitchen on this particular evening.
"What do we do?" Tessa asked.
"We wait for him to make contact." Ronan's voice was even.
"He will.
That's how Gerald Voss operates.
He creates a problem and then he offers to solve it — for a price."
The call came eleven minutes later.
Not to Ronan's phone.
To the restaurant's main line.
Fletcher answered it because it was the restaurant's main line and Fletcher answered everything.
He went pale within the first five seconds and held the receiver out toward Ronan without a word.
Ronan took it.
"Gerald."
The voice on the other end was older.
Unhurried.
The voice of a man who had spent decades being the most comfortable person in any room.
"Ronan.
I hear dinner was eventful."
"Where is she?"
"Celeste is perfectly fine.
She's having a cup of tea and watching television, as far as I know.
Whether she continues to do so depends entirely on a conversation you and I need to have."
"Then have it."
"The letter.
The notebook.
Whatever that woman left behind for your little waitress friend." A pause.
"I want them.
All of it.
Every page.
Delivered to me by six o'clock this morning, and I walk away.
You never hear from me again.
Celeste comes home.
We all go back to our lives."
Tessa was close enough to hear both sides.
She watched Ronan's face.
"And if I don't?" Ronan said.
"Then I spend the next several days making things very complicated for a number of people you care about.
Starting with the girl." Another pause.
"She's a waitress, Ronan.
She has a sick father and a small apartment and no protection whatsoever.
It would be a shame if her life became difficult."
Ronan's eyes moved to Tessa.
She shook her head once.
Small.
Clear.
Don't.
"I'll need until morning," Ronan said.
"You have until six." The line went quiet.
Ronan set the receiver down.
The kitchen was silent for a moment.
Then Tessa said: "You're not giving him anything."
"No."
"Then we need to find Celeste before six."
"Yes."
"And we need to make sure that whatever Eda left behind is protected." She picked up the document sleeve with the letter inside.
"This is evidence of a f3lony.
It's evidence of what Gerald Voss did to your mother.
If anything happens to it—"
"It won't." Ronan looked at Briggs.
"I need copies made.
Multiple.
Off-site.
Now."
Briggs took the sleeve and left the room at a pace that was not quite running.
Tessa looked at Ronan.
"You said every chef who left this restaurant.
Every security breach.
He's been trying to reach you for fourteen years.
Why now?
Why tonight specifically?"
Ronan was quiet for a moment.
"Because I hired a private investigator eight months ago.
Someone Gerald doesn't know about.
She's been working the case quietly." He paused.
"Three days ago, she told me she had found a witness.
Someone who saw Gerald Voss leave my mother's house the night she d*ed.
Someone who had been too frightened to speak for fourteen years." He looked at Tessa steadily.
"Gerald found out about the investigator.
Tonight wasn't about food.
It was about stopping me before that witness could go on record."
Tessa thought about Eda.
About the weight of fourteen years of silence.
About a woman who had carried a secret so heavy she had encoded it in a recipe and sealed it in wax and trusted it to a girl who spent her afternoons learning how to listen to oil heat in a pan.
"Who is the witness?" she asked.
Ronan's phone buzzed.
He looked at the screen.
His expression shifted.
He turned the phone so Tessa could read the message from Reyes.
*Found her.
Celeste is at the Voss property on Magazine Street.
There's a second car in the drive.
Plates registered to a Victor Voss.*
Tessa looked up.
May you like
"Victor Voss is out of the hospital," she said.
"Apparently," Ronan said, "his recovery was faster than expected."
