Bayou Betrayal (8 page)

“Well, let's see. There's Amanda Sue Parsons, and Leslie Ann Miliken. Oh, and Barbara Jo Kelly. All of those girls are nice.”

And all had double names. Something else that made her feel like she'd moved into a foreign land. “Anybody else?”

“Oh, that nice young man, Parker Fenton.”

“Can you get me his number, please? I'd like to get him started in finding me a place.”

“Now, honey, you know you don't have to rush outta here. We just found you.” Hattie smiled.

“I know. And I really appreciate you letting me stay here.” Monique offered a shaky smile. “I really need to get a place of my own, even though I love it here. It's a beautiful home. And the gardens are just gorgeous. I bet they're breathtaking in the summer.”

“From spring on, actually. Our designer did a marvelous job with the landscaping. Color-coordinated every flower.”

Monique nodded. “I love to work in the yard. That's another reason why I'd really like to get the ball moving on finding my own place. I want to plant some perennials.” Hattie's face fell. Better backpedal, double speed. “Of course, seeing how beautiful your yard is, I'll want your opinion and advice.”

That got a full smile. “Let me go find his number for you.”

Dodged a big one. Monique stood, leaving her coffee on the table, and stared out the window. She'd love to just move on toward the future, start living again. On her terms, not in response to someone else's uninvited influence in her life.

The phone rang, echoing across the hallway. Hattie's heels tapped on the freshly polished wood floors as she crossed to answer the phone in the parlor just off the dining room. “Hello.”

Monique hesitated, hoping this wouldn't be a long call. She'd really like to contact the real estate agent and meet with him later today, if possible.

“Who is this?” The sharp tone of Hattie's voice forced Monique into the hall.

Hattie's free hand hung in a tight fist beside her body. “Who are you?”

“What?” Monique asked as Hattie slammed the phone to its cradle. “Who was that?”

“Prank call.” But her hands trembled.

“Hattie, you're upset. Come, sit down.” She led the woman to the chaise in the foyer and sat. “Now, who was that?”

“I don't know.”

“Man or woman?”

“Man.” Hattie shivered.

Monique put her arm around the woman's shoulders. Dread crept up her spine. “What'd he say?”

Hattie shook her head.

“Come on, Hattie, you have to tell me. What did he say?”

“H-he said if I didn't want my house to go up in a puff of smoke, you should leave town.”

C
ould traffic move any slower?

Gary sighed at the car in front of him that puttered along as if the family were out for a Sunday-afternoon drive. The temptation to turn on his siren hit him strong. He couldn't do that. Monique's call wasn't an emergency. But the fact that the caller had tracked her down and phoned again, threatening Hattie…well, this certainly seemed to indicate Monique wasn't lying about the threatening call from before.

The afternoon sun warmed the crisp January air, lifting the temperature into the sixties at least. Nothing abnormal for the Deep South. Sweat slicked his palms, but it didn't have a thing to do with the mercury level and everything to do with the call he'd taken from Monique.

The old Chevy in front of him finally turned off, and Gary gunned the cruiser's engine, racing toward the Trahan home. He tried to tone down his panic, reminding himself that Monique hadn't sounded stressed when she'd called. Instead, she had sounded calm and collected. He imagined she had to be to keep Hattie in check. The woman certainly had a flair for the dramatic. And the bottle. Monique had said she would call Felicia and Spence to come over, as well.

He made a sharp left down the long driveway, gravel crunching under the tires. The sun's rays flicked shadows amid the large oak trees lining the drive. He parked behind Spence's truck. Monique and Spence met him on the veranda.

“Hattie's pretty shaken up. Felicia's with her.” Monique chewed her bottom lip. “I just got here last night. How'd he know I moved out of the motel to here?”

Her eyes were wide, filled with confusion and disbelief. She looked so slight, so frail, as if she could easily break into a million pieces.

Fighting the urge to draw her into his arms and comfort her, Gary pulled out his notebook. “Who did you tell you were coming here?”

“No one but you, Spence and Felicia knew.” She licked her lips. “And the desk clerk at the motel. I told her where I'd be because I'd reserved for two weeks and had only stayed for a couple of days. She charged me a fifty-dollar cancellation fee, too.”

“Anna Grace.” Gary shook his head.

She raised her brows.

“The clerk. Anna Grace.” Spence let out a sigh.

“What?” she asked.

Gary opened his notebook and clicked his pen. “Anna Grace's one of the biggest gossips in Vermilion parish. If you told her you were coming to stay here, it was only a matter of minutes after you left before she was on the phone, telling any-and everybody where you'd be.” And letting the person who wanted to scare her out of town know exactly where to find her.

“Oh. I didn't know. She asked why I was checking out so early, and I told her that Hattie had offered me a guest room.” She let out a sad sigh. “I keep forgetting about the whole gossip thing around these parts.”

“Better get used to it. It's a part of life in Lagniappe.” Spence reached for the screen door. “Since I'm sure you'll need to talk to Hattie, I'll go see how Felicia's coming along with her.” He ducked inside the house.

Alone with Monique, the urge to hold her grew. Gary forced himself to ignore such emotions. This was business, and he had a case to work. A job to do. A test of his abilities to pass, to prove he hadn't lost his objectivity to a pair of wide green eyes. He began asking the questions—approximately what time had the call come in, what had she heard, what did Hattie tell her the person had said—all facts he'd have to incorporate in his report. And that he'd have to verify later.

“What about the number on caller ID?”

Monique shrugged. “Hattie doesn't subscribe to caller ID.”

Not so uncommon in a small town like this. Most people in Lagniappe didn't subscribe, which in police investigations could be a big problem. Like now.

He completed his questions, then led her inside. Hattie sat on the sofa in the sitting room, flanked by Felicia and Spence. Felicia offered Gary a cup of coffee from the pot sitting on the table. He declined—this was no social call.

“Mrs. Trahan.” He took the love seat kitty-corner to the sofa. Monique inched down beside him. The gentle wisp of her flowery perfume assailed his senses, and did strange things to his gut.

Clearing his throat and wishing he could free his reactions to her as easily, he tried again. “Mrs. Trahan, I need to ask you a few questions.”

“
Oui.
I understand.” She took a sip of the coffee Felicia held out for her.

“I'd like you to tell me, in your own words, about the call. Please include an approximate time the call came in, what was said, everything you can recall.” He held the pen over his notebook, ready to write as soon as she talked.

“Well, I was heading into the office to get the Realtor's number for Monique. You know, that nice Parker Fenton. Anyway, the phone rang when I was in the hall. I opted to answer the phone in the parlor because it was closer. It was about one-ten or so.”

He nodded, not wanting to interrupt and make her lose her momentum.

“When I said hello, at first he didn't say anything. But I could hear someone breathing, so I asked who it was.” She shivered. Felicia offered her another sip of coffee while Spence wrapped an afghan around Hattie's shoulders.

She smiled at her son-in-law before returning her attention back to Gary. “I said hello again. And this time he spoke.”

Gary waited, knowing not to prompt her and praying none of the people in the room did, either.

“He said, quote,
If you don't want your house to go up in a puff of smoke, Monique should just leave town,
end quote. I asked again who he was, then the line just went dead. He hung up on me.”

No mistaking this for a prank call. Or a wrong number.

Gary finished writing and began gathering the details he'd need. “Can you describe his voice?”

“Gravelly, like a smoker's.”

He made a note. “What about the volume of his voice?”

“He wasn't whispering, that's for sure, but he wasn't yelling, either. He spoke at a normal level, much like we're talking now.”

The grandfather clock chimed two-thirty. Gary turned his head and loosened the muscles in his neck, causing a popping sound.

“What was the tone of his voice? Could you detect any emotion?”

Hattie shuddered. “Ominous. That's the word that comes to mind. He definitely intended to frighten me.”

Felicia gripped her mother's hand while Gary jotted down Hattie's impressions. Monique shifted on the love seat, almost distracting him. But he couldn't pay her any mind. Not right now. Even if her close proximity and enticing scent did stupid things to him, like nothing he'd ever experienced.

He tapped his pen against the notebook. “What about pronunciation? Did he talk with a drawl?”

“Well, he spoke with a Cajun accent, if that's what you mean.”

That was worth noting. Not many people could imitate the dialect unless they were accustomed to it and spoke it on a regular basis. They couldn't fake it enough for a native not to detect that the inflection was forced.

“Was the connection clear, like from a landline, or was it more distorted like from a cell phone?”

“Landline, if I had to guess. I could hear him very clearly.”

A landline would be much easier to track. He drew a star beside this particular note to make sure he pulled the records for the incoming calls to the house. This could be the lead he needed.

“Could you pick up anything from the background? A noise of any sort? Water running, horns, a door chime…anything?”

“You know, there was something in the background.”

“What?” He inched to the edge of the love seat. Monique leaned forward, as well.

“Let me think a minute.” Hattie closed her eyes, rocking slowly.

Silence ensued save the steady ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner. Monique rested her hand on his shoulder, sending warm jolts down his arm. He refused to let her get to him.

Hattie's eyes popped open. “A match.”

“Pardon me?”

“A match being struck, and blown out. That's what I heard in the background.”

 

She had to leave.

Now.

Monique carried the coffee service into the kitchen and set it on the counter with a clank. Tears burned the back of her eyes. She'd brought danger into the home of a sweet lady who'd gone out of her way to be nice.

What had she been thinking, agreeing to stay here? Well, she couldn't any longer. No way would she put Hattie at any more risk.

“Are you okay?” Gary asked from the doorway.

She swiped at the few tears that had managed to escape. “I'm fine.” She cleared her throat. “I'm just going to rinse these out.”

“This isn't your fault, you know.”

Self-pity had been replaced with righteous anger. She spun around to face him. “Yes, it is. That…that jerk wouldn't have bothered Hattie if I had not been here.”

“You don't know that.”

“Yes, I do. It's the arsonist. And by what Hattie described, it's the same guy who called me.”

“I agree. I do think it's the same person.”

“And he threatened to burn down this house if
I
don't leave town. Not Hattie. Not Felicia or Spence.
Me.
They were only dragged into this because he's targeting me.”

“Which is why I'm not letting you go anywhere.”

“How can I stay and put Hattie and her home in danger? I can't do that.” She lifted her chin. “I won't.”

“I'm going to stay here tonight. Sleep on the sofa.”

So what she didn't want to hear. “You shouldn't do that. Then you're putting yourself in danger, too. I can't let you.” Why couldn't she just handle things on her own for once?

“I'm a deputy. This is my job.”

“Not risking your life when it can be avoided. I can go back to the motel.” She bent her head, the tears threatening to consume her. “Or maybe I should leave. Go somewhere else and try to start all over. Again.” Running away, letting the creep win—just what she'd vowed she wouldn't allow to happen. But now, putting her new family and friends at risk…it wasn't worth it to take a stand.

“That's nonsense.” Felicia pushed past Gary and pulled her into a hug. “You'll stay with me and Spence.”

Oh, the hug felt so good. She wanted to cling to her cousin, cry on her shoulder until she was spent. But she couldn't do that. She slipped from Felicia's embrace. “I can't put y'all in danger, either.”

“Don't be silly. We've faced worse before and done just fine.”

“I can't take that chance, or the responsibility if something did happen.” Why couldn't they see that she wanted to protect them? Needed to protect them? Had to do
something
proactive?

Spence joined them in the kitchen, followed by Hattie. “Monique, I don't know about your relationship with Jesus, but there's a certain Scripture that comes to mind. It's Psalms 32, verse 7.
‘You are my hiding place; you will protect me from trouble and surround me with songs of deliverance.'
I have to tell you, Felicia and I have been through a lot, separately and together, and God is always there for us.”

A sermon she didn't need at the moment. “I appreciate your sharing the Scripture with me, I really do, but that doesn't change the situation right now.” She stared into Hattie's face. “You were threatened because of me, and I'm truly sorry.”

“That's not your fault, honey,” Hattie replied.

Monique gave a sad smile and held up her hand. “Whether or not that's true isn't the issue. If something happened to you—or your house—I'd never forgive myself.”

“But you can't go back to the motel. Who'd protect you? At least here, or at our house, you're with family, yes?” Felicia moved closer to her husband, who wound an arm around her shoulders.

Just as Kent had done numerous times.

Her heart screamed at her to absorb the family rallying around her. Yet, her head knew she couldn't. Not without putting every one of them in the line of fire, quite literally.

“I appreciate the offer, I do, but I can't accept it. I have to go.” She rushed from the room before they could see the tears, a visible sign of weakness. Running up the stairs, her feet ached for the first time in several hours. She ignored the discomfort until she reached the guest room.

Before she could let her emotions override her common sense, she grabbed her suitcase and shoved clothes and toiletries inside. She was doing the right thing.

When she finished, she barged out of the guest wing and nearly ran smack into Gary. “What're you doing standing here on the landing?”