Bayou Betrayal Page 4
“I told you yesterday, maybe my new relatives found out who I am and that I’m in town and didn’t like it.” She lifted what she hoped looked like a casual shoulder.
He shook his head. “I can’t believe Luc or Felicia would do such a thing.”
“You won’t even talk to them about this?” Monroe, Louisiana, wasn’t exactly a metropolis, but at least they followed through on leads. In contrast, this small town policing left a lot to be desired. What had she gotten into by coming here?
“Sure, I’ll talk to them, but I’m almost positive they aren’t involved. Probably don’t even know you exist. I’m asking if you can think of anyone else.”
Great. He’d talk to them. She could only imagine how that questioning would play out.
“Is there someone in your life from Monroe who could be threatening you?”
“The accomplice to my husband’s murder.”
The pen dropped from his fingers to roll on the table. “Your husband was murdered?”
Time for the whole story now. She’d hoped not to have to tell this tale yet again, but knew that was just wishful thinking. Her mouth went dry. She took a sip of the now-cooled coffee. “Yes. Killed in a drive-by shooting.”
His eyes softened with his tone. “Would you mind elaborating, if you can?”
“Kent was a private investigator, one of the best in the parish. He’d even been hired a couple of times by the Monroe Police Department to work a cold case when they had nothing. He was that good.” Tears burned in her throat. When would she be able to tell the story without having her heart ripped from her chest? Maybe when she felt justice had been served. Real justice.
Gary laid his hand over hers. “I don’t mean to pry. I’m just trying to do my job and figure out what’s going on. Do my best to keep you safe.”
“It’s okay.” She pulled her hand into her lap. “He was leaving work one night and was shot and killed.”
“Is that common in Monroe?”
She forced a weak smile. “Not so much.”
“Did the police ever catch the shooter?”
She nodded. “Someone’s in prison for murdering Kent, yes.”
“But? I detect a bit of hesitation there.”
Pausing, she inhaled and exhaled slowly. “I think he had an accomplice who was never charged. I think one guy took the fall.”
“Why?”
“Because the guy in jail confessed to being both the driver and the shooter. His prints were on the gun, his hand had gunpowder residue.”
“Did he admit to having an accomplice?”
“No. He testified that he acted alone.”
“You don’t buy it?”
“The driver and the shooter being the same person? No, I don’t think so.”
“Why would he confess to acting alone? Protecting someone, maybe?”
“I don’t know. I begged the Monroe Police Department to look into that angle, but they didn’t bother.”
“What was the reason he gave for shooting your husband?”
She swallowed against the lump in her throat. “He said it was random, that he didn’t even know who Kent was. He claimed he was high.”
“Did the tox screens confirm that?”
“Yes, but he was always high. A lot of drug usage in his history. Coke, meth, pot, pills…you name it, this guy had tried it.”
“But you don’t believe he acted alone?”
“Not for one minute. It’s too tidy.” She ran her finger around the rim of the plastic cup. “You’re a cop—you tell me, how convenient is it that he hadn’t gotten rid of the gun he shot Kent with, didn’t even bother to wipe his prints off it and that he was caught before he took a shower and washed away the gunpowder?” She tossed her hair over her shoulder. “It smacks of having a patsy so the police wouldn’t look any further.”
“If he was high then mayb—”
She shook her head. “You know better. Those guys—the ones who do drugs daily, the career criminals—they know how to cover their tracks. Why didn’t he? And why’d he confess so quickly? According to the detectives, they didn’t have a single clue before an anonymous tip led them straight to this guy.”
“Why would this guy take the full heat? Confess to acting alone?”
Exactly. “That’s what I hounded the police to ask themselves.”
“And?”
“And they told me that sometimes bad things happen to good people. End of story. Case closed. They never even uncovered who that anonymous tipster was.”
He rolled the pen between his forefinger and thumb. “So why would someone tied into your husband’s murder threaten you here? How do you figure a connection?”
“Maybe because they know I’m not going to give up on finding everyone involved in Kent’s death. I won’t stop until I get to the truth.” Her heart raced. She couldn’t. She owed it to Kent. And herself. “I just needed to take a break from everything. Clear my head.”
“That still has no bearing on you being in Lagniappe.”
He had a point. “No, but I can’t think of anyone else who would want me to leave. I just got here. Maybe they’re trying to scare me—period. Or distract me from the truth so I don’t think it’s connected.”
“Have you spoken to anyone here? Someone who maybe acted strangely toward you?”
“No.” She rubbed her thumb against the bandages on her hand. “But it could be linked to Kent’s murder. They’ll do anything to make me stop, even burning down my house with me inside.”
“We don’t know the cause of the fire yet.”
She did. “I smelled something strange. I know it was set, I know it.”
“We’ll have to wait for the official report before we can treat it as arson. Until then, I need to ask you a few more questions.”
Didn’t the police always have a few more questions? “Of course.”
“Walk me through what you did last night before retiring.”
She picked at the gauze on her hands. “I grabbed a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich for supper, so I know nothing was left on in the kitchen. I haven’t used the stove or oven at all since moving in.” She met his stare with a tilt of her chin. No way were they going to tell her the fire was a result of her actions.
“Then what?”
“I cleaned up the kitchen and took a shower.”
“That would be in the master bathroom?”
“Yes.” No, she’d walked up the stairs and used the bathroom there. What kind of question was that?
“And after your shower?”
“I crawled into bed and went to sleep.”
He scratched notes. “And you heard nothing? Saw nothing until you were awakened?”
“Nothing.” She shook her head. If only she had seen or heard something. “I woke up to the smell of smoke and the sound of crackling.” Monique shivered. She’d never forget those sounds for as long as she lived. They’d haunt her dreams.
“About what time did you go to bed?”
She let out a deep breath, trying to recall. “Best guess would be around ten-ish. I was tired, really exhausted, and just wanted to get a good night’s rest.”
He nodded as he wrote. “I’ll get the time the 9-1-1 call came into dispatch.” He set down the pen and met her gaze. “Anything else you can think of? Even something minor you think doesn’t matter. It could be important.”
As if she hadn’t been told the same thing before? The investigators handling Kent’s murder had drilled that line into her head over and over again, like a mantra. “I can’t think of anything else.”
He stood, shutting his notebook and slipping it into his shirt pocket. “Why don’t I let you get ready and then I’ll take you to get your car?”
“Sounds good.” She stood, balancing on her tiptoes to avoid putting pressure on her feet. The pain medication from the night before had long worn off, and she’d forgotten to take a pill this morning. “It shouldn’t take me longer than thirty or forty minutes to get ready.”
“No rush. I’ve got a couple of things to do. I’ll just pick you up in an hour.”
She saw him out, then leaned her back against the closed motel door. Did he believe her? He hadn’t seemed eager to entertain the notion of someone setting her house on fire. But she knew the truth. That call had been a warning. Now she knew someone didn’t want her in town and they were serious.
Even if the police blew her off, she’d figure out on her own who was behind the threat and the fire. And why they didn’t want her in Lagniappe.
Why would someone try to run Monique Harris out of town?
Gary sat in the cruiser, reviewing his notes. He’d have to make a full report sometime today, but he didn’t want to slant it toward arson if there was a logical reason her house had caught fire. And he didn’t want to mention the threatening phone call if Monique had fabricated the whole thing.
His gut told him that despite the ordeal and the trauma she’d undergone in the last year, Monique Harris wasn’t melodramatic or delusional. She seemed levelheaded and calm, even when listing her reasons to believe someone was after her, with no proof.
She was also very attractive. The type of woman who was both strong and vulnerable at the same time, making him want to protect and stand beside her. His mother had seen it, too. Still, she was a subject in an ongoing investigation. He was the lead officer. To be considered for chief deputy, he’d have to handle this case with kid gloves—do everything by the book, dotting each i and crossing each t. And not noticing things like just how pretty she looked in the morning sunlight.
His cell phone trilled.
He flipped it open. “Anderson.”
“Yes, son, I know your name. I gave birth to you, remember?”
Gary smiled at his mother’s teasing. “Your biscuits and gravy were a hit. So were the clothes.”
“Oh, good. I wanted to check on that poor girl. How is she?”
Beautiful? Admirable? “She’s getting ready now, then I’ll take her to get her car.”
“Gary Anderson, you aren’t in that motel room while she’s getting ready, are you? What will people say? If you aren’t considering your reputation, think about that poor girl’s.”
He chuckled. “Mom, I’m sitting in my car outside the motel, doing some paperwork.”
“Well, good thing. That poor child doesn’t need anything else poured on top of her. She just lost everything she has.”
“Don’t worry about it. You raised me better than that.”
“I’d hope so.”
He swallowed another laugh. “I need to finish up some stuff before she comes out. I’ll call you later.”
“Why don’t you invite her to join us for supper tonight?”
“Mom, I already told you that I won’t be able to come over this week. Not with the sheriff on vacation.”
“But that young lady needs some TLC. Surely you can manage for supper? Where’s your compassion? It’s the Christian thing to do.”
But would doing so put him in an awkward position with respect to the case? He couldn’t afford to cause any raised eyebrows. “I’ll see what I can do and let you know.”
“By noon, son, so I know how much to cook.”
As if his mother ever cooked less than enough to feed an army. “Love you.”
He closed the phone and dropped it into the console, then went back to his thoughts on Monique’s allegations. No, Monique wasn’t a crackpot. She’d endured a very hard and trying situation, but she wasn’t a loon.
First things first, though. He’d call Felicia Trahan Bertrand and see if she even knew about Monique’s connection to Justin Trahan. Monique’s accusing Felicia or Luc of making the threatening phone call still made him chuckle. Once she met them, she’d see how outlandish the notion was herself.
The police radio squawked to life. “Deputy Anderson, come in.”
He smiled at the dispatcher’s twang as he lifted his mic. “Go ahead, Missy.”
“Need you back at the station. Fire chief’s here, needing to talk to you pronto.”
Gary glanced at his watch, then back at the motel door. Forty minutes remained on the hour he’d given Monique. “Roger that. On my way.”
He put the car in gear and steered toward the sheriff’s station. No traffic slowed the straight shot into downtown. He parked in the sheriff’s space and sauntered into the station, heading back to the sheriff’s office.
The older man stood just inside the office. “Deputy Anderson.”
Gary moved past him and sat behind the desk, waving him to the chairs. The faint remnants of smoke and ash clogged the air surrounding the fire chief. Gary cleared his throat. “Thanks for coming by.”
The man shook his head. “No problem. Just wanted to let you know that we’ve determined the fire was arson. A form of diesel fuel was used as the accelerant.”
So Monique had been right. “Any clues?”
“Not yet. We’ve called in the arson investigation unit. They’ll send an investigator down this way tomorrow. We’ll know more once he gets here and does his initial walk-through.”
Gary stood and offered his hand. “I appreciate the heads-up.”
The older man shuffled from the office, leaving Gary alone with his thoughts. Again his logic and emotions were at war. On the one hand, he had the utmost sympathy and compassion for Monique and what she’d endured and would have to continue to face in the coming weeks and months. But on the flip side, excitement filled him. A real case. One that needed solving. And if he managed to pull that off before the sheriff returned, he’d be a shoe-in for the chief deputy position. Add to that the concern for Monique. Now there was proof positive her house had been burned down on purpose. What if someone was intent on finishing the job they’d started? Was it just a scare tactic, or was Monique really in danger?
But it wasn’t just that he felt he’d earned the promotion. No, the new position also came with a raise. With the extra money, he could do more for his mother. Buy her some of the nice things she’d never had. With all the sacrifices she’d made for him over the years, he wanted to make her life easier, help her out more financially.
The minutes ticked by as he weighed his dilemma. He prayed for guidance, then pushed to his feet. He needed to get back to the motel to pick up Monique.
She was standing in the doorway when he pulled into the parking lot. Decked out in a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt of his mother’s, she looked barely eighteen. The urge to protect and shield her sparked in him again. Especially when she smiled at him as she hobbled to the car.
He jumped out and opened the passenger door for her, then shut it firmly after she was tucked safely inside.
“I really appreciate the ride. I called the front desk and booked the room for a couple of weeks. I need to call my insurance company Monday. I don’t suppose they’re open on Sunday.” She let out a heavy sigh. “So much to do that I almost don’t know where to start.”
He turned the car toward her place. “Monique, the fire chief has made his preliminary report.”
“And?”
“Arson.”
“I knew it.” She nodded, but more to herself than him.
“They’ve called in an arson investigator.”
“Good. I’ll need to let my insurance company know.”
Did she realize she’d be the first person they looked into? With arson, they always investigated the person who owned the property, who stood to gain from a loss. Especially when it was heavily insured. Did she have a big policy? “Who’s your insurance with?”
“Bayou Insurance.” She let out a chuckle, and his heart skipped. Throaty and deep, her laugh did strange things to his insides. “Isn’t that just a fitting name?”
He filed away the information and joined her chuckle. “I guess so.”
“So, I’m going to have to look for a rental or something until I can find another place to buy. Know any good rentals?”
“You aren’t going to pack it up and go home?”
She cocked her head. “And let someone run me off with my tail between my legs? Not hardly. I’ve had quite enough of other people wreaking havoc in my life, thank you very much. I won’t let myself become a victim again. Besides, I sold my house in Monroe—I have no family there. This is my home now.”
She exuded a quiet strength, one he had to respect. If only she didn’t look so young and exposed. “Sure, I can recommend a couple of rental places.”
“I’d appreciate that.”
He steered the car into her driveway and felt rather than heard her gasp. She opened the door as soon as the cruiser came to a stop.
“Oh, my.”
The air still reeked of smoke, but at least his eyes didn’t burn. He followed her toward her car, holding her elbow as she picked her way over the rocks and loose gravel.
She stared at the still smoldering embers that had once been her home. “There’s nothing to salvage.” She swallowed hard. “Everything’s gone. My wedding album, the china Kent and I got for a wedding present…It’s almost as if my life is slowly being erased.”
“I’m sorry.” And he truly was.
She met his stare. “I’ll find out who did this, and see justice served.”
Her tone left no question as to whether or not she was serious. “This is a police matter now. You need to let us handle it.”
She turned her gaze back to the rubble, and didn’t reply.
FIVE
Why was she so nervous?
Monique fumbled with the buttons to the dress she’d bought yesterday. Her hands felt better, to the point where she hadn’t needed as much gauze this morning. Her feet, however, were still an issue. No way would she be able to wear dress shoes to church this morning. She’d have to make do with the slip-on Crocs Ms. Della had given her.
Studying her reflection in the mirror, she again questioned her nervousness. Going to a new church for the first time always put people a bit on edge. But it was more than that for Monique. She hadn’t darkened the door of a sanctuary since Kent’s funeral. And today her reasons for attending weren’t to mend the rift between her and God, although she knew she’d have to deal with that relationship later. Today, her main reason—her only reason, to be honest—was to check out Felicia Trahan Bertrand, the pastor’s wife and Monique’s cousin.