Bayou Betrayal Read online

  Outside of business, that was.

  But in the house he grew up in? Her sleeping in his old bed, in his room? Wasn’t that taking his job just a little too far?

  She had nowhere else to go. No place she could be safe.

  Father God, please guide me. Show me what to do. Help me be Your light in her dark world. Amen.

  He turned the car onto his mother’s road. Monique stayed right behind him. He hoped he’d done the right thing. What would the sheriff have done in the same circumstances? Would Sheriff Theriot admire him for taking responsibility for the victim, or chide him for taking her home to his momma?

  Lifting the radio, he checked in with the dispatcher and found everything quiet at the station. He put in the request to have the phone records for the Trahan home pulled. Missy assured him Mike had everything under control.

  Could Mike be a contender for chief deputy?

  Mike hadn’t been on the payroll long enough…but he did have that past military service on his resume.

  Now, more than ever, Gary needed to make sure he handled this case by the book. Even if taking Monique to his mother’s appeared to be a conflict of interest.

  He couldn’t afford to second-guess himself. This would keep her safe until they could get a lead on the arsonist.

  Easing on the brakes, he coasted into the driveway, pulling far to the side of the carport. Monique stopped in the middle of the driveway. He parked and got out, motioning for her to park behind his mother’s old Honda.

  “Here it is, home sweet home.” He moved to take her suitcase from her.

  “There you are, child.” His mother opened the kitchen door and swept Monique in her arms. “I’ve been worried sick about you. Just get on in the house, now. I’ve got a nice pot of tea ready.”

  He smiled to himself. His mother would nurture Monique until she recovered. Of that, he had no doubt. Carrying her suitcase, he followed the ladies inside.

  “You just sit right down there on the sofa and let me bring in the tea.” Della nodded at him. “Go put her suitcase in the guest room.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He spared Monique a quick wink before obeying his mother.

  He set the suitcase on the dresser, taking in the tidiness of the room. That’d never been the case when it was his, that’s for sure. His mother had put an extra blanket at the foot of the bed, and clean towels sat on the sideboard.

  “Gary, are you gonna join us for tea or not?”

  “Coming.” Like he’d risk his mother’s wrath? He headed down the hall and back into the living room.

  Monique sat on the sofa, her feet propped on a pillow on the coffee table. His mother’s doing, of course. Della sat beside her, pouring tea from the little pot he’d gotten her for Christmas two years back. “Come on and sit down, son.”

  He sat in the chair and accepted the cup from his mother.

  She turned back to Monique. “I’m just heartsick over all this nasty business, honey. Are you okay? Really?”

  Monique smiled. “I’m fine. I really appreciate you letting me stay here for a few days. I’ll call the Realtor tomorrow and start looking for a new place.”

  “Oh, phooey. Don’t you rush into anything. That awful person who set your house on fire is still out there. You shouldn’t be alone at a time like this.”

  “Mom, remember not to tell anyone, not even the ladies in your prayer groups, about Monique being here.”

  She twisted to glare at him. “Do you think I’m daft?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  Turning back to Monique, she waved him off like a pesky mosquito. “What can I do to help you?”

  “Really, letting me stay here is wonderful. I appreciate it so much. I hope it’s not too much of an imposition.”

  “Nonsense. Sometimes this house gets too quiet.”

  Gary’s cell phone chirped. He snapped it off his belt clip and flipped it open. “Anderson.”

  “It’s Mike. You got some faxes that just came through. Look to be about Monique Harris. Thought you might want to know.”

  “Thanks.” He went into the kitchen for some semblance of privacy. “Can you brief me on the content?”

  “The NCIC is clean. No history of even so much as a traffic violation. Clean as a whistle.”

  Relief rolled off him like the dew off the oak trees. “And the financials?”

  “Seems like she’s got quite a large account.”

  “Meaning?” Gary leaned against the sink, staring out the window into the backyard.

  “For starters, shows that she got almost a million dollars on a life insurance policy some six months ago.”

  Gary let out a low whistle. “A million bucks? Well, Bob Costigan can strike her name off the suspect list. She doesn’t have motive to burn down her own place for the insurance money with that kind of bank balance.”

  “And she got a cool ninety thousand from the sale of her house in Monroe. The old Pittman place only ran her two-fifty. You do the math. The woman’s loaded.”

  “Thanks, Mike. I’ll check in later.” He closed the phone and turned to the door.

  And met Monique’s hostile glare.

  “You were checking my bank balances to see if I set fire to my own house?” Anger radiated off her in waves.

  “Yes.” Gary reminded himself he had nothing to feel guilty about. He was doing his job. “The investigator requested it. This is standard procedure in an arson investigation.”

  “Did it ever occur to you to ask me? It’s no secret. I would’ve told you.”

  “This is routine. It’s how we do things.”

  “Yeah, I know all about how the police do things. I’ve had it up to here with investigations going on behind my back.” She jerked her hand toward her throat. “I’d hoped you were different from the rest. What a disappointment to find out you’re just like them. Worried about solving cases, no matter what the truth is.” She glanced at the doorway.

  “Hey, that’s unfair.”

  “Is it? What if you’d discovered I’d been destitute? Flat-out broke? I’d be at the top of the suspect list, wouldn’t I? Even though he’s called me and Hattie both, I’d still be the main suspect, right?”

  “No. I’m working on getting the phone records right now.”

  “But hey, with my bank balance, I could afford to hire someone to make those calls, right? Isn’t that what you guys think? The first suspect is always the right one?”

  “That’s uncalled for. I’m only doing my job.”

  “Well, don’t let me keep you from it.” She spun around and marched down the hall to her room.

  His room.

  “You really did it this time, didn’t you, son?”

  He met his mother’s harsh stare. She set the tray on the table and shook her head, clucking her tongue.

  “Mom, I have a job to do.”

  “I see that. Boy, I love you dearly, but you sure can be dense sometimes.” She gripped the back of a chair. “That girl’s hurting and she’s scared, although she’ll never admit it. She trusted you in her time of need. To find out you went behind her back and pulled some kind of check on her, well, it hurt her feelings.”

  “I had to do my job.”

  “Then you could’ve told her you were going to check into her personal business, that’s all I’m saying.” She carried the tray to the sink and ran water in the cups. “Ladies don’t like men prying in their personal affairs. Makes it seem like you didn’t trust her to be honest.”

  His mouth went dry as he swallowed against the fact that his mother was right.

  Once again, he’d tried to do the right thing, and had only managed to mess things up.

  ELEVEN

  Parker Fenton could turn a lady’s head.

  Monique tuned out his Realtor’s drone, taking in his appearance. His hair flowed like black silk, while his eyes were just as dark. Combined with the sharp contrast of his paler complexion and stark white teeth, she was certain he easily snagged the attention of the opposi
te sex. Since the package was topped off by his outgoing personality, strong Cajun accent and a physique that bragged of hours spent in a gym, the man could be considered irresistible.

  But there was something about him…

  “So, we have three houses I think will fit the bill as far as what you’re looking for.” His smile dazzled her with its brilliance. “Should I go through the preapproval process before we look?”

  “Oh. No. That won’t be necessary.”

  His smile slipped for a moment. “Are you sure? I don’t mind.”

  “Just show me the houses. I’ve already received preapproval.”

  “Certainly.” He nodded and grabbed a notebook filled with computer printouts. Flipping through the pages, he made a ticking noise with his tongue.

  A little nervous about buying another house already, she realized he made her even more jumpy. Yet, she had to find a place. She couldn’t keep staying with others or at the motel, putting people at risk. Sure, the arsonist would find her when she bought a new house, but at least she wouldn’t be endangering anyone else’s life. Only hers.

  “Ah, here they are.” Parker handed the book across the desk to her. “Those three pages have the listings I’m talking about. Look them over and let me know if any of them strike your fancy.” He leaned back in his chair, rolling a pencil between his fingers and staring at her in an oh-so-casual way.

  She sensed him checking her out. Discomfort seeped into her stomach. He was more interested in her than he should be. She took the listings book and pressed her back into the chair.

  The first picture was a lovely log-cabin-type home with a large wraparound porch, but it had too little square footage.

  Flipping the page, she studied the second home. It was a nice Colonial, painted a bright yellow, but the home was in a subdivision. She really didn’t want neighbors that close.

  The third listing looked like a smaller antebellum home, white with two columns on the front. The data sheet noted a nice square footage, no subdivision and the house sat on almost six acres. Monique glanced at the asking price—three hundred thousand. Not bad.

  “I’d like to see the third one.” She passed the listings book back to Parker.

  He raised a brow. “Ah, very nice.” His fingers flew over his computer keyboard. “Good, it’s vacant, so scheduling a showing shouldn’t be difficult.”

  “How long has it been on the market?”

  He punched more keys. “Looks like about six months.”

  “Does this house have a local history?”

  “All houses have histories here, ma chére. What exactly do you mean?”

  “Well, the house I bought that burned down was always referred to as the old Pittman place. Does this house have a moniker like that?”

  “Oh. Non. Not that I’m aware of.” He typed again on the computer. “The house has been owned by two different owners over the past two years, so there’s likely no family name affiliated with the place.”

  “Good.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “How soon can I see it?” While she appreciated Della’s hospitality, she really needed her own space. Besides, she constantly worried the arsonist would find her and threaten Della, or worse. She’d never be able to live with herself if something happened to the sweet lady who kept trying to wait on her hand and foot.

  And if she was going to take a stand, it had to be on her own two feet.

  “If you’ve got the time, we could head over there now.”

  She stood. “Let’s go.”

  “You can ride with me.” His smile was very attractive, but something about him made her uneasy.

  “I’d prefer to drive myself. Get a feel for the area, ya know?”

  “Sure. Follow me.” But disappointment laced his expression as he opened the realty’s front door for her. “I’m in the black Mazda there.”

  “I’ll be right behind you. I’m in the white Expedition.”

  The drive took only fifteen minutes, most of the time off the main streets. The bayou, in all her regal glory, lay on the side of the road. Weeping willows mixed with cypress and oak trees. Even in the winter, dense vegetation grew as underbrush. Monique cracked her window despite the chill. The fresh scent of water and earth drifted past her senses. Surprisingly, the smells soothed her, filled her with peace.

  Parker’s car braked before turning onto a gravel driveway against the bayou. She followed. The driveway curved, and the house came into view.

  It was spectacular. The exterior could use a fresh coat of paint and the flower beds in front of the porch would need some serious work, but the house itself was magnificent.

  She rolled to a stop behind Parker and got out, taking in the grapevine-covered gazebo off to the left side of the house. There appeared to be a little garden bench even farther beyond.

  “I know it needs to be cleared a bit, but you can see the potential.” Parker headed to the cobblestone walkway to the front porch.

  “Yes, I can.” She followed him at a much slower pace, relishing the openness and space of the area.

  He unlocked the front door with an ornate stained-glass window and allowed her to enter first. “Let me get my bearings, and I’ll give you the grand tour.”

  “Actually, I’d prefer to wander through on my own. If that’s okay?”

  “Uh, sure. Take your time. I’ll just leave my card in the kitchen for the listing Realtor and wait for you down here.”

  “Thanks.” She wandered slowly through the empty house, taking in the vaulted ceilings in the den, the windows facing the bayou on the back side of the house, the hardwood floors that begged for a good polish. The fireplace boasted a marble mantel and hearth. She could already envision curling up beside it and reading a good book on a cold day.

  Turning at the end of the hall, Monique found the master suite. And what a suite it was. A built-in armoire filled one entire wall. A large bay window with a bench inside faced the backyard and the bayou. To the right of the entrance was the master bath.

  She returned to the hall and took the stairs.

  The staircase was cut in a pine of sort, and the handrail was decorated with detailed carvings. On the second floor, there were two more bedrooms, a bathroom and a smaller room that could be used as an office or home gym.

  She retreated back down the stairs to check out the kitchen and meet up with Parker, but she already knew. This was home.

  “So, what did you think? Any questions?” Parker straightened as she entered the kitchen.

  “It’s lovely. I’m a little curious why it’s been on the market so long when it’s a good price.”

  He shrugged. “It happens sometimes. People move off and don’t care. The last family that moved out got relocated with the guy’s job. The company bought the house from him and they’re firm on the price because that’s what they paid for it.”

  Made sense. “I can see where parts of the house have been updated.”

  “Actually, according to the listing, there was a major renovation two years ago. Redid the wiring and the plumbing as well as some cosmetic work and landscaping.”

  She could tell. “Okay. I’d like to put a contract on it.”

  His eyes all but sparkled. “I’ll get back to the office right away and turn the bid in to the seller.”

  She smiled. “Good. I’ll come by this afternoon. How soon do you think we’ll hear back?”

  “I’ll call the listing Realtor myself. I know the appraisal’s already been done, as well as the inspection and title search. Everything’s waiting on a buyer. We should get an acceptance this afternoon.”

  “Good.” She turned to look around the house one last time before following Parker outside.

  Her house.

  “Here are the reports you wanted.” Gary tossed them onto Bob’s temporary desk, anxious to get rid of them. They’d already caused him enough problems.

  The arson investigator flipped through them while Gary took a sip of his coffee and settled in behind his desk.r />
  “Well, well, well…the lady has a generous cash flow. Guess she didn’t burn her house down to make some moolah.”

  No, she hadn’t. Gary hated that he’d questioned her involvement, even for a second. But that was his job. And if he got chief deputy, he’d have to continue doing such things.

  “I got some prelim reports back from the lab.”

  Gary jerked his attention back to Bob. “And?”

  Holding up a piece of paper, the arson investigator read. “Accelerant present is biodiesel.”

  “Really?”

  Bob set the paper on the desk and tented his fingers. “I’ve done some checking and you have someone locally who makes it.”

  Gary’s pulse spiked. “That narrows the field, yes?”

  “I hope so.” Bob pushed to his feet. “I’m going to go get a sample from this guy and see if it’s a match, then we can go from there.”

  “Who makes it?”

  Bob glanced at a sticky note. “Un-Bio-Believable. Owned by a Terrence Fenton.”

  “Oh, yeah. I know of him.”

  “I’ll get the sample and send it to the lab, then we’ll know if the accelerant used in the fire is from him.” He shuffled from the office, making his way down the corridor.

  Missy entered the office and handed Gary a printout. “Just came from the phone company.”

  “Merci.” He quickly scanned the information. The call to Hattie’s had been made from the pay phone on the main street in town. Anybody could’ve made that call. Another dead end.

  Gary stared at his computer. Who would try to run Monique out of town? His gaze lit on her statements about her husband’s death. She seemed convinced the shooter hadn’t acted alone. She’d brought up some good points.

  Maybe he was looking at the motive of the arsonist all wrong. Maybe, just maybe, he hadn’t wanted to scare Monique out of Lagniappe—maybe he only wanted to scare her period, and the threats for her to leave were just an attempt to throw off the investigation. It was possible someone wanted her out of the way period and didn’t want to cast suspicion on a connection to her past.