Bayou Betrayal (10 page)

P
arker 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 opposite 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.

“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.

Gary went back to his notes. If Monique had made noise about not believing the shooter acted alone, maybe he
did
have an accomplice, and that accomplice needed her taken out of the equation.

Which meant someone was serious about harming her.

He logged onto the law enforcement database for Monroe, Louisiana, searching for the branch that handled murders. Once he found the number, he lifted the phone and dialed. Then waited.

“Monroe Police Department, how may I direct your call?”

“This is acting sheriff Gary Anderson, from Lagniappe, Louisiana. I'd like to speak to the officer who handled the Kent Harris murder case eleven months ago.”

“Hold, please.”

Classical music hummed against his ear. He found himself typing the report to the beat of Beethoven.

“This is Investigator Walkin. How may I help you?”

Gary launched into his spiel of who he was and where he was from. “I'd like to ask you a couple of questions regarding the Kent Harris case.”

“Yeah, I was in charge of the investigation. Closed case, though.”

“I know it's closed, but I had a few questions, if you don't mind?”

“Shoot.” The guy's arrogance seeped over the connection.

“I've been reviewing some of the facts and wonder if you ever considered whether the murderer had an accomplice.”

“Look, I don't know who you've been talking to, but George Knight confessed to shooting Kent Harris.” Indignation blared not only from Walkin's words, but from his tone, as well.

“But doesn't it seem odd that he drove himself and pulled the trigger?”

“Forensics backed up his claim. Gunpowder residue on his right hand. Coroner said the angle of the shot fired jived with what Knight told us in his confession. Open-and-shut case.”

“Isn't more than one person normally in the vehicle during a drive-by?”

“What're you trying to say?” Walkin's tone dropped to almost a growl. “Look, we investigated the case by the book. Confession. Murder weapon found. Forensics match. All lined up.”

“Sounds very neat and tidy.”

“Buddy, I don't know where you're going with this, but I don't have time to talk about what-ifs in a closed case. Knight's in jail. End of story.”