Bayou Judgment (13 page)

“Yeah. That knife. What kind was it again?”

“One of those fancy-smancey handled numbers that you get over at Miller's.”

The one ritzy store in town. Interesting.

Smiling, she opened the door to the station. “Thanks so much.” She couldn't resist giving a finger wave to Missy on her way out.

So, someone had called in a tip about the knife. In Felicia's opinion, it was an obvious plant. Only the murderer could have planted the knife because the police hadn't found it on the site or discarded.

But who had planted it?

W
hat now?

Spencer froze as Sheriff Theriot made his way across the center to the office. The operators followed him with their gaze. Probably expecting another revelation into Spencer's past. He couldn't blame them. Not really. Felicia stood, her stare never leaving the sheriff's movements.

The sheriff rapped on the door. “Pastor?”

“Come on in, Sheriff.” Spencer waved at the chair in front of his desk.

The lawman shook his head. “I won't be here that long. Just came by to tell you we've officially closed our investigation into the center.” He paused. “And you.”

Spencer let out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. “Oh. Good.”

“And I wanted to apologize for just blurting out your past in front of your staff. That was rude of me.”

Rude? Hardly. Humiliating, yes. “That's okay.”

“No, it's not. I followed up with Jon Garrison this morning.”

Spencer tried not to fidget. “And?”

“He speaks highly of you. For a Yankee and all.” Sheriff Theriot smiled.

Spencer grinned. “Yeah. It was a little difficult to understand him when I first started reporting to him. I've gotten used to it now.”

The sheriff glanced around, pink darkening his cheeks. “So, are we good?” He extended his hand.

Spencer accepted the olive branch. “We're good.”

Sheriff Theriot gave a half cough. “Guess I'd better be on my way, then. Just wanted to come by and tell you in person.”

“I appreciate that.” It took a big man to make the gesture the sheriff had made.

Felicia barged into his office. “What's going on?”

Despite his heart aching just at the sight of her, Spencer smiled. “Nothing. Sheriff Theriot just wanted to tell me they've closed the investigation into the center.”

“Oh.” She seemed flustered, her fingers tapping the handle of her cane. “That's good.”

The sheriff nodded. “Now that we have the murder weapon and the suspect behind bars, y'all can start putting your lives back together. Get some closure.”

Felicia licked her lips. Not necessarily a good sign. Sometimes that meant she was about to step out on a boat with no life jacket. “I heard the knife came from a set you can order over at Miller's. A little unusual, don't you think, Sheriff, that a bachelor would have such a set?”

Sheriff Theriot's brows crunched into a single line. “How do you know what kind of knife it was?”

“And did you check it for fingerprints?”

“The handle was wiped clean, as we expected. Probably wore gloves.” He shook his head. “Felicia Trahan, I told you to stay out of this investigation.”

“Just wondering.” She lifted a single shoulder. “Seemed a little odd to me.”

The sheriff pointed at her, his eyes narrowing behind his glasses. “You keep your nose out of this. We're following up on the knives, and everything else on the case.”

She turned and fingered a sheet of paper on the edge of Spencer's desk. A good man would try to ease her discomfort. The time had come for him to be that man. “Thanks again for coming by, Sheriff. I really appreciate it.”

Sheriff Theriot nodded, cast a final glare at Felicia and ambled out of the office.

“Want to tell me what's with all the questions?” Spencer leaned against his desk. A slight movement, but one that put him in closer proximity to her. If he inhaled deeply, he could even smell the flowery shampoo she used. Is that what he'd been reduced to—stealing whiffs of her perfume, making unnecessary movements just to be closer to her?

A heavy silence hung between them. Felicia glanced to the floor. “I've been mulling over everything and still can't believe Wes killed Jolie. Even the way they knew about the knife reeks of a setup.”

“What're you talking about?”

“Uh…well, um, I understand they got an anonymous tip about the knife being in Wes's car. That's how they were able to get a warrant. On a Saturday and all.” Her cheeks were tinged a flattering shade of pink.

“And you know this how?”

“Deputy Anderson told me.”

“When was this?” A funny feeling fluttered in his gut.

“Yesterday.”

“Where'd you see Deputy Anderson on Sunday?” The good lawman didn't attend Felicia's church. Anderson was a member of Spencer's congregation.

She finally met his gaze before glancing over her shoulder. “I should get back to my station.”

“Felicia, what are you doing?”

A look fell across her face that indicated she wanted to spill her guts and his question had just granted her permission. “Why would Wesley Ellender have such an expensive and fancy knife set? Most bachelors grab anything. Luc would, except he's at home and uses Mom's.” She tossed him a questioning look. “What about you? Do you have a nice set of knives?”

He laughed, picturing his utensil drawer. “Mine don't even match.”

“Exactly.” She tapped a finger against her chin. “I just think the sheriff is too easily satisfied with the notion of Wes being the killer. And he's not. Wes had no reason to trash my place, and I don't think he could've gotten cleaned up quickly enough.”

Words froze on his tongue. She was so beautiful, so determined-looking, it nearly broke his heart. “Felicia, can we talk? About you and me?”

Her eyes widened, and she took a step backward. “This isn't the place.”

“Can I drive you home, then? We can stop and get a cup of coffee.”

“I don't kn—”

“Please?”

“Well…”

“Just one cup? Please?” Yeah, he was begging, but he was also beyond caring. Desperate situations called for desperate measures. “You can tell me more about these knives.”

“Okay.” With that, she left his office and returned to her station.

A cup of coffee. Who'd have thought his heart would race over a date for a single cup of coffee?

The clock's hands moved as fast as a fan's blades on high.

Why had she agreed to let Spence drive her home? And to talk to him over coffee? She must be losing her mind. She had no idea what to say. How to act. She didn't even know what she felt for him.

Another ten minutes fell off the clock.

Calls trickled in, most of them easy to handle. Someone just wanting an ear to listen. Felicia could provide that, even if her mind wasn't on the caller's problems.

More notices of the upcoming Masquerade Mardi Gras Ball hung around the center. Would Spence still want her to go with him? If so, did she still want to?

Fifteen more minutes gone.

Okay, God, I need something. Some direction, some guidance. Soon I'll face Spence. What do You want me to do?

Only the phone ringing sounded.

“Vermilion Parish Community Christian Hotline. This is Felicia.”

“Recording me? Gonna turn me over to the police again?”

Felicia's heartbeat pounded in her head. Winnie! She stood and waved at Spence, who stared at her from the window in his office. “Winnie?”

“Yeah. Didn't think you'd hear from me again, did ya?”

“I'm glad you called back.”

Spence appeared at her side and silently plugged in another set of headphones.

“Bet you are.”

“How are you? Not trying to plot revenge on your ex, are you?”

“As if I'd tell you if I were. You're a snitch.”

Felicia pressed her lips tight and glared at Spence. “I'm sorry you feel that way.”

“Yeah, well. My ex got his, I made skippy sure of that.”

Apprehension stole her breath. “What'd you do, Winnie?”

“Like I'm gonna tell you? Puhleeze.” The laugh over the phone was more of a cackle.

“I'm trying to help you.”

“Sure you are. You can't even help yourself. Limping around with that cane, riding in that fancy limo of yours with a spiffy driver. Yeah, you're really trying to help little ole me.”

Ice settled in the pit of her stomach. Spence grabbed her hand and moved to activate his microphone. Felicia shook her head. “You know who I am?”

A snort followed by laughter. “I've known who you were since the first time you answered the phone. You think you're so high and mighty and above the rest of us, don't ya? Well, all your money didn't stop that quack from breaking into your place, did it?”

“How did you—”

“That's right, princess, you aren't untouchable. I think I've had enough of
your
help. I won't be calling again.”

The click echoed over the line. Felicia slammed the receiver back to its cradle while Spence laid down his headset. She stood slowly.

“Felicia?”

She spun and faced him. “Nobody knew about my break-ins. The sheriff gagged the press from even mentioning it, hoping it'd lure Kipp to contact the loan sharks.” Fear slithered around her like moss on a tree. “How'd she know?”

“I don't know, but we'll find out.” He laid an arm around her shoulders.

Warmth seeped into her bones. “How?”

“We'll figure it out. I'll order a tap on the phones.”

“You can't do that. That'd be in violation of what we advertise—no caller ID, no star 69, no traces. Besides, she said she wasn't calling again.”

“And she's said that before.”

Felicia dropped her gaze to the floor. This Winnie knew too much about her personal business. It left her cold.

Spence hugged her tighter. “We'll figure it out.”

She lifted her gaze. “Can I have a rain check for tonight? I don't feel much like coffee or talking. If you don't mind, I'd just as soon have my driver take me on home.”

Disappointment crept into his eyes. “Do you think that's a good idea? After Winnie's call and all?”

“She didn't threaten me or anything. And even when she did threaten her ex's girlfriend, she let that go.” She moved away from him and glanced at the clock. “I forgot to call my driver to tell him you'd be taking me home, anyway. He should be here by now.”

“Let me walk you out, at least.”

She didn't have the will to resist. His hand was steady under her elbow, something she could get way too dependent upon. He helped her inside the car after the driver opened the door. She leaned back against the seat, rolling her head to stare at him.

“I'll call you later.”

She blinked blindly at him, as if she couldn't focus. “I'll talk to you tomorrow. I'm going to take a shower and go to bed.” She hesitated a moment. “Don't call Luc, either.”

“Okay. If that's what you want.”

It didn't matter what she wanted anymore. It just was what it was. She nodded, and he shut the door.

What she wanted was to escape from it all. Maybe she should pack up and move, not tell anyone where she was headed. Start a new life somewhere far away.

But she couldn't run from her problems. As much as she wanted to, she had to face the music.

However horrible the chorus.

A
pregnant silence filled the church office. Sunlight trickled in through the windows. It was a dark morning, but Spencer couldn't breathe in the scenery. He glanced at the faces of the elders seated before his desk, his heartbeat thumping. What if they asked him to step down?

Your will, Father, not mine.

Mr. Paul Fontenot, the leader of the elders, adjusted his glasses and pinned Spencer to his chair with his stare. “I don't see how anything's changed, Pastor.” He nodded to the five men sitting to his right. “We told you that we'd allow you to tell the congregation when you were ready.”

Sweat glued the shirt to Spencer's back. “Sir, it's all starting to come out. The sheriff knows, his deputies, my operators…it's only a matter of time before the church members find out.”

“And what do you intend to do about that?” Mr. Fontenot quirked a bushy brow.

“I want to be the one to tell them.”

“Then I'd suggest you plan to do so.” Mr. Fontenot glanced at the calendar in front of him. “We have a guest pastor speaking this Sunday. How about next Sunday?”

“You realize you could have demands to replace me when I do.”

Samuel Boudreaux snickered behind his mustache. “Wouldn't be the first time.”

Oh, that was just what he wanted to hear.

Mr. Fontenot cast a glare at his congregant before returning his focus to Spencer. “I think you'll be quite surprised at the reaction you'll receive.” He held up his hand to ward off any comments. “But if it happens, we'll handle the situation as we feel is in the best interest of the church as a whole.”

Which would mean the call for his resignation.

He refused to let disappointment curdle in his gut. It was all in God's hands, where it should've been all along.

Spencer swallowed and pushed to his feet. “Thank y'all for meeting with me this morning. Let me just say now that it's been a blessing to work with each of you.”

“Sounds like you've already got it in your mind what the outcome will be.”

Giving the lovable elder a smile, Spencer nodded.

Mr. Fontenot wagged a bony finger at him. “Don't second-guess God's will, boy.”

“Yes, sir.” He headed down the hall.

Spencer waved at the church secretary as he slipped into his private office. He'd prefer to be checking up on what Felicia was up to but he had a date he couldn't miss. Circled in red on his desk calendar read the words “wedding planning session—Luc & CoCo.” No way would he push this appointment to the back burner.

Luc and CoCo had overcome so much adversity and problems. To see them now, happy and so in love, filled Spencer's heart with pure joy. Who knew, maybe if those two could make it despite the odds stacked against them, there might be hope for him and Felicia.

He cut off his thoughts and stared out the window. The sun had faded, and now dark clouds loomed heavy in the southern sky. The hint of rain whispered on the wind blustering over the bayou. A sign? Spencer shook off the ominous sensation settling over him.

Your will, Father God. I'd rather be asked to resign and be in Your will than to do what I love and be out of it. Forgive me for not trusting You.

Miller's had two fancy knife sets in butcher blocks. Felicia stared at them both, taking out a knife from each set and examining them. Too bad she didn't know what the knife found in Wes's car looked like. Still, either one of these sets was entirely too elaborate for a bachelor.

“Hey, Felicia. May I help you?”

Felicia glanced over her shoulder to find Anna Beth hovering. One of the drawbacks of living in such a small town—everybody knew everybody and their business. Made it a little difficult to do any sleuthing. Or, maybe not. She held up the knives. “Hi, Anna Beth. These are lovely. What can you tell me about them?”

“These are both nice sets.” Anna Beth pulled one out from the butcher block. “This one in particular is a good seller. See the detail on the handle? Very nice touch.”

“A good seller, huh?” Felicia sheathed the other knife with a scrape as it slipped into the wood. “But I don't want it to be so popular that everyone has this set, yes?”

“Oh, no. I don't think you have to worry about that. Most of these sets are ordered for special occasions, like weddings or anniversaries. Besides, we only started carrying them three months ago.”

“Ordered?”

“My, we don't stock those expensive things. Both of those are special orders only. Were you looking for a wedding gift for your brother and CoCo?”

Well, she hadn't considered that, but maybe…. “Do they take a long time to come in?”

“Most times we get them within a week of ordering.” Anna Beth replaced the knife into the block. “Would you like me to order you a set?”

“You just order it, and what, call me when it comes in?”

Anna Beth nodded. “Most times we have to fill out paperwork and have the customer pre-pay. So we don't get stuck with something we can't sell off the shelf, you understand. But I know you, so I can just order.”

Paperwork! “You know what, Anna Beth? I think I will order a set. And it'd be so much easier on me to go ahead and do your paperwork and pay for it. Then I can just have someone come pick it up for me, yes?”

“Perfect. Do you know which set you prefer?”

Felicia tapped her chin. “Actually, is there any way you can check and see how many have been ordered in the past few months? I'd want to order the one that's ordered the least. Wouldn't want CoCo to have a set that matches any of her friends.”

Anna Beth nodded. “Good idea. Yes, we keep the record orders.
Allons
back to my desk, and we'll access the computer.”

Missy popped her gum and stared as Felicia entered the station. “Need to see the sheriff?”

Felicia nodded. Better not to say anything. Everybody in Lagniappe knew the old saying—telephone, telegraph, tell Missy.

Sheriff Theriot arrived momentarily, his face scrunched into a disapproving stare. “What can I help you with, Felicia?”

“I need to talk to you.” She tossed a nod toward Missy. “In your office, please.”

He let out a sigh and opened the swinging door for her. “Come on back.”

Once in his office, she dropped into a chair. “I'd like to talk to you about your arrest of Wes.”

“As I've already explained, I'm not at liberty to discuss the case with you or anybody else.”

“But about the knife.”

He jerked his stare to hers. His held a sternness that darkened his eyes. “Let it go. We've done the investigating. The prosecutor's taking this to trial.”

“Have you looked into the possibility that Wes may have been set up?”

The sheriff let out a groan. “C'mon, Felicia. You've watched too much television. Setups rarely occur. We have him on motive, means and opportunity. Don't forget we found the murder weapon in his car.”

“His
unlocked
car. And where'd he get that knife, huh? Why's a bachelor have such an expensive knife? He didn't have the rest of the set when you searched his house, did he?”

“Probably got rid of them.”

Felicia snorted. “But he kept the one with blood under the seat of his car? Please. And those things are pricey. I just ordered one for Luc and CoCo. Those sets are more than a hundred dollars.”

“The Ellenders aren't exactly hurting for money.”

“And, only Miller's carries them, and they have to be special-ordered and they only started carrying them three months ago. Anna Beth over there told me none of the Ellenders have bought a set.”

The sheriff shook his head and scowled. “Didn't I warn you not to interfere in this investigation?”

“Interfere?” Felicia let out a half groan, half snort. “If you were doing your job, I wouldn't have to.”

Sheriff Theriot tossed his glasses onto the desk. “Listen to me, Felicia Trahan. I'm doing my job, and you're interfering.” He shoved to his feet. “This is it. No more. If you do so much as make a phone call about this case, I'll arrest you quicker than a frog snaps a fly off a lily pad.” He fisted his hands against the desk and leaned over, daunting and domineering. “Do I make myself clear?”

“I just can't stand that you have the wrong man behind bars.”

He pointed a finger in her face. “That's not for you to decide. I'm telling you a final time, back off. We've got it handled.”

She clenched her jaw, grinding her teeth. “Fine.” She stood. “Just know you have the wrong man. The real killer's still out there. Live with that.”

Felicia didn't even look at Missy as she left the station and slipped into the back seat of her car. Her driver remained silent as well. Probably texting and reporting her visit to Luc. She didn't care anymore. Right was right.

She didn't bother to say anything to the driver as she made her way into the physical therapy clinic. Today was a good day to work out. She needed to release some of her frustrations. Moving to the stationary bike, Felicia dumped her cane and went straight to warming up, not even waiting on Mark.

How dare the sheriff threaten her? She'd offered up good, sound investigative work. The
cooyon!
Maybe he was upset because she was doing his job for him? And better.

“Slow down and take it easy,” Mark chided as he approached her.

Felicia wiped the sweat from her brow on her shirtsleeve. “Can't. Luc's wedding is coming up, and I'm determined to walk without that stupid cane.” At least she had their wedding present taken care of. She shifted to the leg-press machine.

“You've skipped a couple of days, girl. You keep this pace up and you'll rip something.”

He'd no sooner got the words out than a pop sounded in Felicia's left calf, followed by a sharp, searing pain. Dots of color danced before her eyes. She cried out and let the leg-press weight clank back to the base. Her eyes crossed as hot stabs spread throughout her lower leg.

Mark knelt at her feet and took her leg in his hands.

Even his gentle touch brought agony. The gasp/groan escaped from her lips.

He ran his hands over her skin, his fingers probing the muscles.

Felicia laid back against the bench, crying as the pain threatened to make her pass out. Even the recovery after surgery hadn't hurt this badly.

He frowned. “I think you snapped a tendon.”

She shoved to sitting. “One of the ones they operated on?” Please, not that. They'd have to go back in and reconnect it to the muscle if she had.

“I honestly don't know. We need to get you to the doctor.”

The flatness of his voice scared her. All the warnings her physician had preached rang in her ears—
slow and steady, Felicia, and you'll have a complete recovery.
Now look what she'd gone and done.

“Can you stand?”

Mark helped her into a standing position. She kept all her weight on her right leg. “Try putting some pressure on the left leg.”

As soon as just the tip of her toes made contact with the floor, throbbing pain shot around her calf, twice as intense as before. She cried and clung to Mark, who supported her entire weight as he led her to his car.

He sped toward the hospital, frequently glancing in his rearview mirror to meet Felicia's tear-filled stare. She clenched her jaw. The pain didn't subside. She inhaled deeply through her nose and exhaled slowly through her mouth. The sting just increased. She let out a whimper.

“Just try to keep it still. Your doctor said he'd meet you at the emergency room.”

“Thanks.” Through gritted teeth, Felicia tried to be strong, but the ache weakened her. The dancing spots returned. Beads of sweat popped up on her upper lip, feeling as if they weighed as much as a twelve-foot gator. Nausea stirred in her stomach. Numbing tingles spread across her chest. Darkness engulfed her.

Stabbing pain brought her upright.

Bright lights nearly blinded her as she blinked into awareness. Clattering and clanking echoed. She tried to move, but warm, gentle hands gripped her shoulders. “It's okay, Felicia.”

Spence? How…what? She blinked faster, fighting for orientation.

“Shh. Relax. The doctor's looking at your X ray. You're supposed to keep still.” His voice was as smooth as molasses syrup.

It all came back to her—overdoing it, the popping, the pain, Mark driving her here.

She blinked a final time, and Spence finally came into focus. “Wh-what are you doing here? Where's Mark?” Her mouth felt as if cotton had been jammed down her throat.

“He had to get back to work. He called me. You passed out on the drive.” Spence smoothed her hair from her face. “Gave him quite a scare, too.”