Bayou Betrayal (3 page)

Luc Trahan making anonymous, threatening phone calls? Felicia Trahan Bertrand? Just the notion of either of them doing anything like that made Gary laugh to himself. Ludicrous.

Needing fresh air, he stepped through the automatic double doors into the crisp night. He radioed an update to the dispatcher, then wondered how he'd get out of here. He'd ridden in the ambulance with Monique, leaving his cruiser at her place. Not that there would be much of a place now. He'd be surprised if anything remained after the fire.

Gary grabbed his cell phone from his belt clip, flipped it open and pressed the speed-dial number for his mother. He hated to wake her at this hour, but Deputy Marsh was off for the New Year's holiday, leaving only Deputy Mike Fontenot to cover the office. She answered without a trace of grogginess—probably up late working on those crossword puzzles she was addicted to. After asking her to come to the hospital to pick him up, it occurred to him that Monique had nowhere to go, and no way to get there. Knowing her sad recent past made him want to protect her even more. Especially in light of that phone call.

But about that menacing call…could she just be paranoid, making it up? He could certainly understand that, given how difficult this last year must've been for her. If she wasn't, then who called and threatened her? He shook his head. She sure seemed positive that someone had set her house on fire.

He had to admit, her story sounded plausible. From what he saw, the fire looked like it had been helped along. Accidental fires didn't burn that fast. If that was the case, it certainly brought on more questions.

Who didn't want her in Lagniappe? Who would be willing to turn to arson to get her to leave?

I
t looked like she was wearing fingerless gloves, like something out of the eighties.

Monique stared at her gauze-covered palms as she sat in the wheelchair waiting for the nurse to bring her discharge papers. She couldn't allow herself to wallow in self-pity. She wouldn't. She had to be strong, take charge. If she didn't, she'd crawl into a bed, pull the covers over her head and never emerge again.

She grabbed her purse from the foot of the ER bed, where the paramedic had placed it when he'd brought her in. At least she still had her cell phone and her wallet. Better call a cab to take her…where?

Despair circled her heart. Her home was gone—that much she could ascertain. Had she made a terrible mistake in selling her house and moving here? It'd been so hard to list the home she'd shared with Kent. But she'd needed a fresh start, a place to lick her wounds and build a new life. Start the New Year off in a new place. Lagniappe, where her relatives lived, had sounded like a good idea at the time. But now?

No, she wouldn't allow herself to be chased out of town. Not by threatening phone calls or even someone burning down her house. Kent had told her time and again that she was the strongest woman he knew. She wouldn't disappoint his memory of her inner strength. She'd find out who was behind all this, just as she'd been doing with his murderer. She'd see justice served, and this time, it would be total justice. Monique would do what she had to do.

And maybe find some sort of peace.

She fumbled in her purse for her cell. She'd have to find a hotel or motel and book a room. For an extended stay. She'd also have to buy clothes and toiletries. But right now, all she wanted to do was huddle under the covers and sleep. Her fingers grazed the worn pocket Bible Kent had loved so dearly. Fresh tears burned against her raw eyes.

So much for her inner strength and resolve.

“Mind if I disturb you again?” The deputy's smile was wide, engaging his entire face, as he stuck his head past the curtain.

“I'm really not up for more questions, Deputy. I'm tired, they gave me a shot of pain medication and I have to find someplace to stay for the night.” She held up her phone to prove her claim.

“No more questions tonight, Mrs. Harris. I can finish my report tomorrow.”

“Thank you.” She ran her thumb over the raised buttons. “Could you possibly recommend a hotel or motel? One that's fairly close?”

Laughter flashed in his eyes. “Well, we only have one motel, and it's not even five minutes away.”

Only one? “I wonder if they still have a room vacant.”

He laughed aloud. “Are you kidding? They probably have all their rooms available. Lagniappe isn't exactly a tourist mecca.”

Even being here only a week, she knew that. Or should've, if she'd been thinking clearly. “Oh. Well, guess I'd better call a cab.” She paused, staring at him. “The town does have a taxi service, doesn't it?”

“We do, but I have a better idea. Why don't you let me take you to the motel?”

A lump lodged in her throat. She wasn't sure she was comfortable with that idea. Especially since she found him so unaccountably attractive. “I appreciate the thought, but I can call a cab. I don't want to be a bother.”

“No bother. Hey, it reads on our cruisers ‘to serve and protect.'” He winked. “Don't worry, I won't be driving.”

She tilted her head against the pain medication beginning to take effect, making her feel as gauzy as the bandages on her hands and feet.

“I rode here with you, remember?”

“Oh. Right. So, how…?”

“My mother came to get me. She'd love to give you a ride.”

His mother? Surely it'd be safe to let the nice lawman and his mother take her to the motel. Besides, she was so tired. Drained. And her mind just went totally blank.

“I promise we'll drive you straight to the motel, get you checked in and let you get some rest.”

She offered a shaky smile. “Okay. Thank you.”

“Good. I'll tell Mom to bring the car around.” He left with a whoosh of the curtain.

Nice man. At least he seemed to be. Having spent time around the police during the investigation into Kent's murder, she knew not all cops were as nice and concerned. The lead detective in Kent's case had been more interested in getting a conviction and closing the case than in finding the truth.

She still didn't buy the murderer's testimony. Mainly that he drove the car
and
fired the gun that killed Kent. She was well trained and quite good with handguns. For a man high on drugs to fire a gun from the driver's seat, through the open passenger window of a moving car, and hit his target so accurately? It just didn't seem plausible to her. Hadn't back then, and didn't now.

“Here are your discharge papers and instructions.” The nurse passed her several papers. “I just need your signature on the top copy.”

Trying to sign her name using only the tips of her fingers was a challenge, but she managed to get a scrawl across the bottom of the form.

The nurse inspected it, nodded and passed her a little brown paper bag. “This is your antibiotic cream and gauze. I included several pairs of latex gloves to wear when you wash so you won't saturate your hands. I also put a couple of pairs of surgical booties in there. I'd suggest you wear them over the bandages on your feet when you bathe. And take baths, not showers. Prop your feet up so the bandages don't get wet. Change the dressings twice a day and if you see the wounds getting red or swollen, call us immediately.”

Monique took the bag and set it in her lap. Not exactly the way she thought she'd be spending New Year's.

“Do you have someone coming to get you?” asked the nurse.

“Yes. He's having the car brought around.” Whatever that meant.

“Good. Let me just wheel you out.”

Nerves bunched in Monique's gut. She recognized it as coming down from an adrenaline rush. At times, she'd assisted Kent in his private-investigating business, and when they'd uncovered something vital, she'd experienced the adrenaline spike. She recognized the signs now—she'd crash soon.

A blast of cold air slammed into her as the double doors automatically whooshed open at the Emergency Room entrance. She shivered, missing the blanket she'd had to leave back in the examining area. With only flannel pajamas to protect her, Monique gripped her purse and paper bag tighter.

“What kind of car does he drive, honey?” The nurse engaged the locking mechanism on the wheelchair.

“Um…”

She was saved from having to respond by an older-model Ford sedan pulling up to the curb. Deputy Anderson jumped from the front seat on the passenger's side. “Sorry it took a minute. Mom had me clean out the backseat for you, so you could prop up your feet and all.”

Monique smiled, grateful for the deputy and his mother.

He helped the nurse transfer Monique from the wheelchair into the car with her feet propped up on the worn vinyl, then returned to the passenger's seat. “Monique Harris, this is my mother, Della Anderson. Mom, this is Monique.”

“Thank you so much for the ride, Mrs. Anderson.”

“Oh,
ma chére,
it's Della. We're not too formal around here.” The woman with eyes as soft as her son's slipped the car into gear and gunned the engine. “I'm just so sorry for what happened to you. I can't imagine. Must've been horrifying.”

Monique smiled despite her exhaustion. It'd been a long time since someone had fussed over her so.

“Are those the only clothes you've got?” Della didn't wait for a reply before popping the deputy softly on the arm. “You need to get the girl some clothes. She can't run around in pajamas.”

“Yes, ma'am.” But he winked at Monique when his mother turned her attention back to the road.

“Crying shame, losing everything in a fire. I declare, it's a downright tragedy.” Della glanced at Monique in her rearview mirror. “Don't you fret none, sweetie. I'll see that my boy gets you something to wear until you can go shopping.”

They passed through downtown Lagniappe. Monique had been immediately attracted to its quaint charm. Didn't seem so quaint now, what with someone trying to run her out of town.

“Are you hungry? Would you like to get something to eat?”

Monique smiled at the woman's reflection. “No, ma'am. I'm just tired and want to get some sleep.”

“Bless your heart. I understand. You'll be ready to eat in the morning.” Della tossed her son a knowing look.

Grinning at their interplay, Monique leaned her head against the seat and closed her eyes. Fatigue overcame every muscle in her body.

The car came to a stop.

Monique opened her eyes and sat straight. They were parked outside the front office of the Lagniappe Motel. Deputy Anderson climbed out of the car. “I'll be right back.”

She shifted her purse and bag. Oh, no. She'd forgotten to give him money to pay for the room. Well, he was the town deputy, after all. He'd probably tell them she'd settle up in the morning. Monique hid a yawn behind her hand.

He returned, brandishing a key. “Pull up there, Mom.” He nodded toward the room closest to the office. “I asked that you be given a room up front. Just in case you needed anything.”

“Thanks.” She hid another yawn.

Quicker than she thought would be possible, he'd opened the motel room door for her, helped her inside and promised to come check on her in the morning and finish taking her statement. He took her cell number, gave her his, then he was gone.

Alone in the motel room, Monique hobbled toward the bed. So, so tired. She set her purse on the nightstand, grabbed the bag and tottered to the bathroom. At the sink, she bent to rinse out her mouth. Her hair fanned her face, and the smell of smoke overtook her. She almost retched. No, she couldn't go to sleep yet. She needed to bathe and wash her hair. But she'd make it quick.

She opened the paper bag and withdrew the gloves and surgical booties, then caught her reflection. She looked awful. Like something the cat drug up. But her eyes were the worst. Oh, not from the smoke and fire. Her eyes looked haunted, as if she'd seen too much for them to take.

Technically, she had.

She crumbled to the floor and let the sobs overtake her. Despite her resolution to stay strong, it was all too much. So she gave in to the tears. Tears of grief over losing Kent, tears of pain, and tears of frustration that she seemed helpless to stop the hurricane her life had become.

 

Saturday morning dawned bright and beautiful with the sun slipping through the live oaks surrounding the bayou. Gary took a sip of coffee as he stood on the balcony of his apartment. Even though he hadn't hit the hay until well after one in the morning, his internal clock had awoken him at six sharp. Now, a shower and two hours later, he readied for work.

His cell phone chirped.

Very few people called him so early, especially on the weekend. Had to be work. He snatched the phone from the dinette table. “Anderson.”

“Good morning. Glad I caught you before you left. I called the ladies at church and rounded up some clothes for Monique. She can't go shopping in pajamas, for goodness' sake. And I've just put in a pan of biscuits and I'm making the sausage gravy now. You come on and swing by here for the clothes, and I'll have a plate ready for you to take to her.”

Gary couldn't help smiling. His mother, though never having much herself, always thought of other people's needs. No one could ever say Della Anderson wasn't a generous and giving woman. “Yes, ma'am. I'll be there inside of twenty minutes.”

He dressed in his uniform straight from the dry cleaners and headed to the cruiser. After they'd dropped Monique off at the motel last night, his mother had taken him to get the car. And they'd seen the damage left by the fire.

It wasn't pretty.

The porcelain bathtub was the only thing left standing. That, and a portion of the toilet. An SUV had been parked under one of the oak trees kitty-corner to the house. It'd been saved from the fire, luckily. The air breezing over the bayou had been filled with the stench of burning wood. His mother had felt even more for Monique after seeing the total devastation.

Della met him at the door. “What took you so long? The gravy's gonna get thick.” She presented her cheek for a peck.

Gary obliged, kissing her softly.

“Take those bags out to your car while I fix her plate.” She nodded to three paper sacks sitting by the door.

“Um, don't I get a plate?” he teased.

His mother smiled and swatted him with a hand towel. “I'm making two plates for y'all. Figured you could eat with her and see how she's getting on.”

He lifted the sacks with a grin and carried them to his car. Once he returned, his mother met him with two big containers as well as a thermos. “Two biscuits and gravy plates and some good coffee.”