A Darker Shade of Midnight (2 page)

“That bag of weed has more to do with why you’re here, ma’am,” a second deputy clipped back. He fell in behind them as though assigned to LaShaun’s case.
 

“Herbs,” LaShaun
corrected mildly. She followed Broussard to another room. A scattering of three or four deputies sat at desks completing reports or talking on phones.
 

“We’ll see,” the other deputy replied.

Deputy Broussard didn’t respond to his colleague’s comments. “Have a seat, ma’am.”

LaShaun sat down and looked at the other deputy’s nametag. “I’m being arrested because I’m an old school herbalist, Deputy Gautreau?”

“Them don’t look like no Creole seasonings to me. Now you just came from the airport from Los Angeles. Lot of drugs pass through here from Texas, New Mexico and California.” Deputy Gautreau stood against the wall and crossed his arms. “I’m not saying you’re some heavy duty drug dealer. Look, you like a little recreational use, get amped up on the weekends with some Acapulco gold maybe. I mean you only have a few ounces. First offense gets you a five hundred dollar fine and maybe six months in jail, unless we find you’ve been picked up on previous drug charges.”

“You won’t. I don’t even smoke tobacco. I allow nothing and no one to take control of me, Deputy Broussard
,”
LaShaun said quietly.
 

“But you have been arrested before in this parish,” Gautreau said.

“I was questioned,” LaShaun said correcting him without a trace of anger in her tone.
 

“You were booked,” Deputy Gautreau insisted, the inflection in his voice meant to needle her into reacting.
 

LaShaun ignored the attempt. “Since you’re familiar with the case you know that the charges were dropped.”

“Suspicion of murder. Pretty serious.”

LaShaun caught Terry watching them from across the room and leaned toward Deputy Broussard. The V-neck of her red t-shirt didn’t give him much of a view, but Terry couldn’t see that from where she stood. “Lack of evidence,” she murmured then pursed her lips.
 

“Which isn’t the same as saying you were innocent of the charge,” Deputy Gautreau shot back.

“Yes it is,” LaShaun said softly. “As a law officer you must be familiar with the phrase innocent until
proven
guilty.”

“Sometimes it just takes a little longer to build the case.” Deputy Gautreau smiled at her.

. “I’ve got this one, okay?” Deputy Broussard turned in his chair sharply. He eyed the other man until Gautreau grunted, pushed off from the wall, and strolled off.

LaShaun forgot her game of driving the love struck secretary crazy. Interesting, she mused. The two men despised each other. She studied Deputy Brossard as though he were part of a police line-up, taking note of the tiny scar beneath his left eye. He had Cajun black eyes and curly black hair, his skin a light tan that was most likely from being in the sun. Back in the day she might have flirted with him. Broussard
was handsome in a ramrod straight-arrow way. She didn
’
t remember his face though. Of course eleven years had passed. Still the events that led up to her arrest played out in her dreams for years after, like a video in high definition.
 

“I didn’t kill Claude Trosclair no matter what you’ve heard,” LaShaun
said.
 

She lowered her eyes then looked at him again. Broussard stared at her in silence for a few seconds, his gaze lingering on her lips. Like a tiny electric shock. LaShaun realized she wanted him to believe her. She’d always instantly disliked any symbol of authority. But they weren’t usually this sexy. Footsteps and paper rustling broke the spell they seemed to be casting on each other.

“Here is the report from last shift on that burglary.” Terry slapped a brown folder onto the desk between LaShaun and the deputy.
 

“Thanks, but I’m kinda busy right now, Terry. Give it to Myrtle if you don’t mind.” Deputy Broussard frowned then handed it back to the woman.

“Fine.” Terry stomped off.

Deputy Broussard looked at LaShaun again. He tapped the keyboard of the computer on the desk. “You were saying.”

“That I’m innocent.” LaShaun said.
 

“Okay,” he replied, his tone lawman neutral. “So tell me why you’re back in Vermilion Parish.”

Chapter 2

“I— ” LaShaun broke off
 
when Deputy Broussard’s boss strode in.
 

Sheriff Roman
“
Romey
”
Triche
’
s hair was silvery white. When she’d left nine years ago, he still had traces of brunette mixed with the gray. At five feet eleven inches, he looked short next to Broussard. Still he had an air of authority that made him seem taller. He came straight toward them without looking left or right. The room got quiet. Even the phones stopped ringing. Darlene had abandoned her reception duties to watch the scene. Terry stayed to watch also, the scowl on her face directed at LaShaun. Deputy Arceneaux, followed Sheriff Triche. Deputy Gautreau joined them again as well.

“Evenin
’,
LaShaun.” Sheriff Triche nodded to her. “Sorry to hear ‘bout your grandmother bein’ so sick and all.”

“Thank you, Sheriff,” LaShaun nodded back to him. “You think I might get to see her tonight? I’ve had a long plane ride from L.A., and a long drive from New Orleans.”

Sheriff Triche blew out a gust of air and looked at Deputy Broussard. His gray eyebrows pulled together in a frown. “Well?”

“Broken taillight, but more important a suspicious substance.” Broussard
pushed the clear plastic bag on top of the desk toward Sheriff Triche.

“I stopped at a shop in the French Quarter after I got in from New Orleans. Monmon loves the way I fix my special tea.” LaShaun looked at Deputy Broussard. “I use a mixture of chamomile, mint and ginger root. I could give you the recipe if you like.”
 

“That’s one of three I found.”
 
Broussard ignored her dig.
 

“Humph.” Sheriff Triche picked up the bag and opened it, took a sniff then closed it again
 

“I say send
 
these over to the State Police lab for analysis.” Gautreau struck a self-important pose. “Then we’ll know what’s what.”

“Myrtle ain
’
t got time to run no errands,” Sheriff Triche said. “She’s working on them burglaries. Something I thought you was helping her with.”

“I will.” Deputy Gautreau
 
started to say more, but the Sheriff waved a hand at him.

 
“We can’t be usin’ up our measly budget on expensive State Police lab tests on tea leaves.” Sheriff Triche took out a pinch of dried leaves from one of the bags and put it on his tongue.

“But boss— ”

“This here ain’t nothin’ but a bunch of wild herbs from out in the swamp. My granny was a traiteur. Used to see her lay all kinds of plants out to dry. This here, use it for a tea to settle the stomach.” Sheriff Triche repeated the taste test from the other two bags. “Herbs”

Gautreau
drew himself up and his jaw muscle tightened again. “Well maybe so, but we better be sure with all the drugs coming through. We got a real problem in this parish. I’m gonna keep these.”

Sheriff Triche puffed out a long-suffering sigh. “Right, law and order to impress the voters. Them same voters find out you wastin’ their tax dollars on tea leaves and you’ll hear from ‘em. Once you find out these are just medicinal plants she’ll get her property back.”

“You’re in charge,” Gautreau replied in a dry tone.

“Yeah,” Sheriff Triche said. He looked at Gautreau until the man walked off.
 

Deputy Broussard looked at LaShaun with curiosity. She could see the wheels turning as he wondered about her, and her past. She knew he was sorting through what he’d heard about the Rousselle family, and comparing that to his boss’s behavior toward her.

“LaShaun, come talk with me a minute in my office.” Sheriff Triche gestured for her to follow. His gaze sent a silent message at Deputy Arceneaux and she followed them.

“Glad to visit with you, Sheriff.”
 

LaShaun walked between the sheriff and the female deputy. The audience sat still and quiet as though they were watching a drama unfold. When a phone rang a tall dark brown deputy swore and snatched up the receiver.
 

“Now I feel like I’m really in trouble. Or maybe I’m being treated special. Be careful, Sheriff Triche. Folks will talk when they hear about this, and I don’t want Mrs. Triche mad at me,” LaShaun joked.
 

Sheriff Triche only grunted in response. When they arrived at his office, he stood aside after opening the door. Half of one wall was glass with vinyl blinds hung to provide privacy if needed. Deputy Arceneaux nodded for LaShaun to go first.

“Thank you, ma’am. You’re safe with me, Sheriff. You don’t need Deputy Arceneaux here to protect your reputation.”

“Getting more like your grandmother I see,” Sheriff Triche retorted. He waited until Deputy Arceneaux closed the door before he went on.

“Was that meant as a compliment or insult?” LaShaun grinned at him.

“Both.” Sheriff Triche squinted at her for a few seconds then his expression relaxed. “Damn it girl, you barely crossed the parish line and already you causin’ me headaches.”

“I’m so sorry. Never mind I’ve been sitting around this grim place for almost two hours being gawked at like a zoo animal.” LaShaun crossed her arms. “Wonder who told that cute deputy to stop me?”

“Chase is doin’ his job.” Sheriff Triche gave a slight shrug when LaShaun arched an eyebrow. “You know how you left things. Not much has changed.”

“Like I believe in coincidences. The Trosclair family still running things I see.” LaShaun pressed her lips tight and gazed back at the sheriff.

Sheriff Triche looked at Deputy Arceneaux and seconds later she left quietly. The door made a soft bump as closed. The sheriff wiped a hand over his face and sighed.
 

“Don’t start with the conspiracy theories, okay? I’m betting when Deputy Broussard brought you in somebody told him about you.”

“Like Deputy Arceneaux? And I know she didn’t go very far, so I’ll keep my hands visible so she doesn’t rush in here and jump me,” LaShaun said. She didn’t smile this time.

“You know damn well Myrtle don’t gossip. One of the best officers I got. Chase ain’t bad, just a little… intense.” Sheriff Triche stood and went to a compact refrigerator on a table in one corner of the wide office. He took out two bottles and closed it again. Then he grabbed an old-fashioned bottle opener and popped off the tops. “Have some Barq’s Crème Soda. Still your favorite I bet. Got some corn chips in here, too.”

LaShaun studied him as he came back and held one of the bottles to her. After a few seconds, she took it. “If you pull out onion dip and some lace napkins I’m gonna faint.”
 

Sheriff Triche barked a gruff laugh. “We won’t need the smelling salts then.”

“So, you plan tell me who’s still got me on their list?” LaShaun took a swig of crème soda and waited.

“We don’t have that much time.” Sheriff Triche put a toothpick in his mouth and chewed it for a few seconds. “But you got it right when you mentioned the Trosclair kin. Claude’s brother and other relatives won’t come at you in the open. Because of Quentin.”

“My bad taste in men comes back to haunt me.” LaShaun turned the cold, long-necked bottle of crème soda in her hands. “Be nice if you told me Quentin has moved out of town, and the Trosclair family isn’t rich or powerful anymore.”

“Would be nice, but it would be a lie.” Sheriff Triche took out the toothpick and tossed it in the trash. “He’s a Trosclair to the bone, thinks he owns the world and nobody can touch him.”

Quentin Trosclair. LaShaun’s former undercover lover and fellow suspect in the murder of his own grandfather. The alleged motive was money of course, and lots of it.
 
“The Trosclairs may not own the world, but they sure got a big piece of Vermillion Parish. Last time I checked Quentin hasn’t spent even one minute in jail.”

“Humph.”
 
Sheriff Triche’s bushy gray eyebrows crunched until they looked like a wooly caterpillar. He rubbed his hands together. Frustration that he hadn’t been able to clamp handcuffs on Quentin radiated from him in a red-hot aura.

“As fun as this stroll down memory lane is, Sheriff, I’d rather be on my way.” LaShaun set the soda bottle down on his desk. “If y’all don’t have evidence to arrest me on something I’m leaving.”

“Everybody around town figured you’d be back because your grandmamma is real sick. But Deputy Broussard really did stop you for that broken taillight. We’ve picked up more than a few drug runners and fugitives from traffic stops.”

“If you say so.” LaShaun knew he made sense, but wasn’t ready to concede just yet. “But he did recognize my name.”

“Rousselle name carries its own unique reputation you might say. So yeah, when he called it in I’m sure somebody gave him the 411.” Sheriff Triche nodded. “Hell, I knew you were back about two minutes after Chase called in your driver’s license number.”