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“I know. I’m sorry, Gabe.”
He nodded once. “You’ll find them?”
“I will do everything in my power.”
“Thank you.” He looked away, but not before she saw the tear that rolled down his cheek. “My mother painted those.” He laughed, but it sounded more like a sob. “She was an awful artist, but Dad loved them. I should have taken them with me.”
That they’d slashed the paintings was a definite “fuck you.” They hadn’t needed to do that. This was cruelty, plain and simple. This was personal.
Whoever had come back and done this had been angry and frustrated and full of hate. Which would hopefully be useful in tracking them down.
Whoever had come back and done this might have been the police, so calling 911 wasn’t an option, just like it hadn’t been when tonight’s intruder had tried to poison Shoe.
At least she knew the answer to what they’d planned to do with the alarm. They’d entered Rocky’s house without setting it off. Almost certainly they knew the code.
Which meant that, at the very least, they knew enough to guess that it was the late Mrs. Hebert’s birthday. Again, personal.
Burke reappeared, expression grim. “They tossed his office, his bedroom, and the kitchen. Papers are everywhere in the office and the kitchen is a mess. Flour and sugar and spices on the floor.” His shoulders sagged. “Dirt, too. They yanked out all the herbs in the window planters. I’d been watering them once a week or so, until you decided what you wanted done with them. I thought you might want to use them for your cooking. They were fine last week, so this was done recently.”
Gabe closed his eyes and drew deep breaths. His lips were tight, and the tears flowed freely. He made no move to dry his face and Molly didn’t offer.
Gabe Hebert had earned his tears.
She understood that as well.
“Those were my mother’s herbs. She planted them all with her own hands. Dad—” Gabe broke off, choking on a sob. “Dad tended them like they were gold.”
“They were gold,” Molly said quietly. She exhaled and squared her shoulders. “I’ll call Antoine. He’s our IT guy, but he’s also a forensic investigator,” she explained when Gabe looked at her blankly. “We can process the crime scene ourselves, and then call the cops. Do you think André can help us?” she asked Burke.
André Holmes was Antoine’s older brother, a captain in the NOPD, and a very good man.
Burke shook his head. “Not his jurisdiction, but maybe he’ll know someone we can trust. You call Antoine, I’ll start taking photos. I’ll call André when we’re done.” He looked around the devastation, then dragged an undamaged rocking chair from the corner of the room. “Gabe, have a seat. Let us take care of things.”
Gabe just stared at the chair. “This was my mom’s chair,” he said numbly. “I can’t.”
“She’d want you to be okay.” Molly stroked his upper arm, trying to give some comfort and feeling like she was failing completely. How could anyone give comfort in this situation? So she channeled her own father, remembering his words after her mother had died. “Sit in her chair, Gabe, and let her memory hug you.”
Gabe shot her a look so full of gratitude that she had trouble holding back her own tears.
Okay, she failed at that, too. Quickly she wiped them away and pulled out her phone. She had work to do. “Antoine? Sorry to call so late. We need you here at Rocky Hebert’s house.”
