Blown Away (13 page)

“You aren’t alone. You have Joe.”

Lance shrugged. “But he doesn’t count. I mean…
he lives in Savannah. I live on my own here at Morgan’s Reach. When you’re healed up a little more, why don’t you drive down? Spend…the weekend? It would do us both some good.”

Cari stifled a snort. He
was
trying to hit on her. Suddenly she got it. He’d gotten himself into hot water with the loan shark. He was looking for a way to branch out and maybe recoup some of his losses, even though Joe had bailed him out this time. Her family’s land wasn’t as vast as the Morgans’, but it was some of the richest farmland in the parish.

“Go away, Lance,” Cari said, and leaned back and closed her eyes.

“But—”

“You heard the lady. Make yourself scarce.”

Cari’s heart leaped. Mike was back and, once again, fighting her battles. If he wasn’t careful, he was likely to make himself so useful she wasn’t going to want to give him up.

Lance thought about arguing, but there was a glint in Michael Boudreaux’s eyes that warned him otherwise. Still, he wasn’t going to leave Susan without a toe in the door to her inheritance. Joe might own Morgan’s Reach now, but there was still all of Frank North’s fallow bottomland. If he played his cards right, he might become a landowner once again, as the husband of the North heir.

Mike could see Lance waffling about obeying.
Despite his business acumen and his boardroom skills, there was just enough of his days on the street and his Cajun father’s hot temper in him to make him dangerous. While he would have liked to punch the man square in the face, he opted for making him nervous, instead.

“Have you seen the police chief?” Mike asked. “He was looking for you a little while ago.”

Lance looked like someone had just shoved a broomstick up his ass. He cast a nervous glance around the room, then left Cari with a parting shot.

“I’ll call you when you’re feeling better,” he said, and made himself scarce.

Mike was still frowning as he slid the glass of iced tea in front of her.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

Cari stifled a grin. “That was absolutely brilliant. You just scared Lance Morgan out of a year of his miserable life.”

“I’d like to do more than scare him,” Mike muttered, then sat down beside her.

“You and me both,” Cari said. “You will not believe what he just did. He made a pass. An honest to God pass at me…and at the family funeral. I swear, that man has no conscience whatsoever.”

“Besides being beautiful, you have something he covets.”

She was still trying to get over the fact that Mike had called her beautiful when she asked, “Like what?”

“Land. You’re the sole heir to land that abuts Morgan’s Reach, right?”

Cari sighed. Mike had come to the same conclusion she had. “Yes, and you’re absolutely right on. He would think like that. Little does he know, but we’ve already had this dance.”

Mike glanced at the dark circles under her eyes and knew she was in serious need of some rest.

“Don’t you think you’ve stayed long enough to please your hosts?” Mike asked.

“Yes, but I need to thank the ladies of the church for the dinner. Give me a couple of minutes to say my goodbyes and I’ll be ready to leave.”

“Here,” Mike said, and slipped a hundred-dollar bill in her hand. “Since Susan isn’t an ‘official’ member of the church, I think a donation for their charity toward you is in order.”

Cari sighed, then reached out and laid the palm of her hand on Mike’s chest.

“Did anyone ever tell you what a good man you are?” she asked softly, then walked away before he could answer.

They left within minutes, and before they’d reached the city limits, Cari had fallen asleep.

Mike made himself focus on driving, but it wasn’t easy. He snuck quick looks at her several times on the way back to Baton Rouge, telling himself it was just to make sure she wasn’t getting a crick in her neck, or that the sun wasn’t shining in her eyes. But
the truth was, it was getting more and more difficult to deny his growing feelings.

Lance bolted from the church, carrying a box of desserts that one of the women had handed him as he’d taken his leave. He needed to find Joe and get home before Hershel Porter found him. But when he searched the parking lot, he soon realized it was too late. His brother was already head-to-head with the chief beside their car.

“Son of a bitch,” Lance muttered. “I do not need this.”

At least there was no way anyone could put Ball in his house, although he couldn’t deny his own connection to the man’s boss. He still believed that the tornado had been God’s way of cleaning the slate for him, and that all he had to do was live a virtuous life to pay for it. He was perfectly willing to comply. He just needed people to back off and butt out.

For that to happen, he had a part to play, and he told himself no one could do it better. He made a mental shift from aggravation to concern, combed his fingers through his hair because he knew the tousled look added to his boyish charm, and strode toward the two men with purpose in every step.

“Joe. Here you are. I’ve been looking all over for you. I need to get home and tend to the animals.” Then he smiled at the chief. “Chief. It was kind of you to come pay your respects.”

Hershel Porter responded as Lance had expected, right down to the nod and handshake before taking off his uniform hat and scratching his head.

“So, you know we were out on your property today.”

Lance cupped the box of desserts against his belly as he leaned against the car. He looked like he was settling in for a friendly visit.

“Yes, Joe said you’d called.”

“Here’s the deal,” Hershel said. “We got a report from the Chicago Police Department about a man named Austin Ball who went missing on his way to Morgan’s Reach.”

Lance frowned. “Joe mentioned something about that, although I don’t believe I know anyone by that name. Did they say what he was doing down here?”

“He was on business for a man named Dominic Martinelli.”

“Oh! I do know Mr. Martinelli.”

“As we learned,” Hershel said. He wondered how Lance Morgan had managed to go through the family fortune in such a short time, but when he saw the angry look on Joe Morgan’s face, he kept his comments to himself. “At any rate, when he didn’t come home, his wife filed a missing person’s report.”

Lance hoped he was nodding in all the appropriate places. He wouldn’t look at Joe. No, he
couldn’t
look at Joe. Joe had always known when he was lying.

“But why were you looking for him at Morgan’s Reach, if he never arrived?”

“Well, that’s not exactly true,” Hershel said.

Lance’s heart skipped a beat. Before he could think what to say next, Joe filled in the blanks.

“That car they found on the back side of the place, the one that got dumped in a tree by the tornado…they think it’s Mr. Ball’s rental car.”

Lance straightened immediately, hoping the look on his face showed concern and not shock.

“Do they think he got caught by the storm?”

“Well, we don’t know anything for sure,” Hershel said. “There wasn’t a body in the car, so it’s hard to say for sure what happened. But this is one step closer to the truth for his wife. She’s about to give birth to their first child. It’s all a damned shame.”

“How awful for her,” Lance said, and then glanced at Joe. “Do we need to cut a fence or something to give the wrecker access to the vehicle?”

Joe shrugged and glanced at Hershel. “I don’t know. I didn’t ask.”

Lance smiled at Hershel, as if excusing his brother for his lack of manners. “I’m sorry if you’ve been inconvenienced. Joe isn’t used to dealing with such matters. Is there any way we can be of service?”

“No. No. We’re already through. We were able to tow it out, but we did have to cut down a couple of the trees it had been caught in to get to it.”

Lance nodded approvingly. “Well, that’s fine, then. So…if there’s nothing else we can do for you, I really need to get home.”

“The Chicago detective mentioned Morgan’s Reach was being foreclosed on,” Hershel added.

Joe interrupted. “That’s not true. Money was owed, but it’s been paid in full.”

Hershel didn’t bother to hide his disgust. It figured Joe would bail Lance out, just like their father had done before him.

“Well, that’s good to hear,” he said, then settled his hat back on his head. “Just touching base to let you know what we found.”

“Understood,” Lance said, and then jingled the car keys to let Hershel know that the conversation was over. To his relief, the chief took the hint.

“If I have any further questions, I’ll be in touch.”

“That’s fine,” Lance said. “Joe? You ready?”

“Yeah, sure,” Joe said, and got in on the passenger side, while Lance slid behind the wheel.

“I had a text message from the office,” Joe said, as Lance started up the car. “I need to be back in Savannah early in the morning, so as soon as we get back to Morgan’s Reach, I’m going to pack. There’s a late flight going out of Baton Rouge tonight. It’ll get me back to Savannah around midnight. Not ideal, but it is what it is.”

“Sure, no problem,” Lance said.

Joe frowned. “That’s not exactly true. This whole trip home has been a problem. In fact, it’s been a nightmare in more ways than you can imagine. Yes, we’ve just buried our best friends. But then there’s
you. You’ve disappointed me a thousand times in our lives, but this last stunt was the worst. And talk about embarrassment… Even the police chief knew what you’d done. My God, Lance, do you even care?”

“It’s over. Just shut up, will you?” Lance muttered.

But Joe wasn’t through. “No, you’re the one who needs to shut up…and listen. Morgan’s Reach is safe now. But you’re not. There’s operating money in the account, enough to keep the place up and running, but nothing more. You want more money, get a job. And don’t forget what I told you. I have bailed your ass out of trouble for the last fucking time.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Lance said, as he sped out of Bordelaise. As far as he was concerned, Joe couldn’t be gone fast enough.

Detective Sandy Smith had been nursing a tooth-ache all day and was in a terrible mood. She’d been unable to get an appointment with her dentist until tomorrow morning, and while the dentist had offered to prescribe something, she couldn’t take drugs on the job, even painkillers for a very real pain, and she was neck-deep in paperwork so taking the day off wasn’t an option. All she could do was tough it out.

It was five minutes to seven when she printed out the last report she’d been working on and slipped it in the file. She pulled her purse from the bottom drawer of her desk and slung the strap across her shoulder. Thank God she was off tomorrow. As soon
as she got done at the dentist’s, she was going home and going to bed to sleep all day.

She was leaning across the desk to turn off the lamp when her phone began to ring.

“Not now,” she muttered, and for a second she thought about letting it ring, then her conscience pricked and she picked it up. “Missing Persons—Detective Smith.”

“Detective. It’s Hershel Porter, Bordelaise P.D.”

Sandy recognized the Southern drawl of the man she’d talked to before, and picked up a pen and paper as she sat back down in her chair.

“Yes, Chief. What can I do for you?” she asked.

“Nothing, ma’am,” Hershel said. “It’s what I can do for you. I have some information. We found your missing man’s rental car today in a grove of trees on Morgan’s Reach, the property he was going down to foreclose on.”

Suddenly Sandy was all ears. “Austin Ball? You found him?”

“No, ma’am. Just the car. We checked the tag, and it was his rental, all right. And I have to tell you, the car looks like hell, and it was about twenty feet up in the air, caught in a stand of trees.”

“Oh Lord,” Sandy said, then rubbed at the new pain that shot up between her eyebrows. “This doesn’t look good for my missing man, does it?”

“No, ma’am, it does not. Like I said, we don’t
have a body, but the car was turned over to the state police’s forensics lab.”

“I would appreciate a copy of any reports,” she said.

“Absolutely,” Hershel said. “I’ll be in touch. You take care, now.”

“Yes. Thank you,” Sandy said, and hung up.

Then she leaned back in her chair and groaned. Now she was going to have to make a detour before she could go home. She could call Marcey Ball and tell her what she’d learned, but this was pretty brutal news to break over the phone.

No. She was going to have to do this face-to-face.

With a weary sigh, she pushed herself out of the chair and headed for the parking lot.

T
en days ago, Marcey Ball would have said her world was perfect. Her husband was an amazing, loving man, just as excited as she was that they were about to become parents. They’d known for several months that the baby she was carrying was a girl, so every day since, and before he left for work, Austin first kissed Marcey, then her belly, goodbye, telling both his girls that he loved them.

Then he’d left home, just like every other work-day, and disappeared. She still couldn’t believe that such a perfect life could have taken such a horrible turn. She’d known almost from the start that Austin was in trouble. He’d decided to take the trip on Sunday, his normal day off, just so he’d be free to go with her to her doctor’s appointment on Monday. It was supposed to have been a simple trip—down and back on the same day to deliver some papers for a client. No big deal. But when noon had come and
gone, and he hadn’t called, she’d felt uneasy. Austin always called.

She’d told herself any number of things could have come up while traveling. But when five o’clock came and he still hadn’t called, and then he didn’t come home, she couldn’t come up with any more excuses. She’d started calling his cell—every thirty minutes—until midnight. At that point, she’d panicked and called his law partner, Paul Meacham, praying that he would know what was going on. He’d had no idea what was going on and had suggested he and his wife come over and wait with her, but she’d thanked him and turned down the offer. It wasn’t until after that call was over that she’d cried. Then she’d sat in their house, in the dark, waiting for a miracle or daylight—whichever came first.

Morning had come but Austin had not, and she’d made the dreaded call to the police. She’d cried all the way through the call, as if the simple act of making it was the final proof that her husband was in trouble.

Her parents arrived the day after she reported him missing, but the longer they stayed, the more she wished they would go home. With each passing day without news, the sympathy on their faces was becoming intolerable to bear.

This morning she’d woken up to the smell of bacon frying. It only made her weep. Austin used to
surprise her with breakfast in bed on the weekends. It had taken every ounce of energy she had to get up and go about the day as if it mattered, reminding herself that, if for no other reason, she had to hold on to her sanity for the baby—their baby.

And so this day, like all the others since Austin’s disappearance, slowly passed. Her parents had offered to take her out for dinner, but she’d asked them to order in, instead. She was in the kitchen, making a cup of herbal tea, when the doorbell rang.

That will be dinner. God, help me to eat enough for the baby.

“I’ll get it,” her mother called.

Marcey went about pouring the hot water into her cup. She was about to stir in a dollop of honey when her mother appeared in the doorway.

“Um, Marcey…”

Marcey turned around. “Yes, Mom?” Then her heart sank. She could tell from her mother’s expression that whoever was at the door was not the delivery boy from Wong’s Canton Cuisine.

“What’s wrong?”

Her mother sighed. “There’s a Detective Smith from Missing Persons to talk to you.”

All of a sudden the baby kicked. Hard. As if warning her that this wasn’t going to be good news.

A wave of terror washed through Marcey. She wanted to run—to hide and never come out—because if she didn’t hear the words, then the news couldn’t
be real. But her mother kept waiting for her to move, and finally Marcey lifted her chin, laid a protective hand over her belly and went to face her visitor.

As Marcey entered the living room, she saw Detective Smith standing at the fireplace, looking at one of the family photos on the mantel. From the back, she looked like any slim blonde in a gray pantsuit. But Marcey knew the badge the detective wore at her waist changed the picture drastically.

“That picture was taken on the beach in Oahu on our honeymoon,” Marcey offered.

Sandy turned, then swallowed a sigh. The look on Marcey Ball’s face was one she’d seen too many times, and no matter how often she delivered this news, it never got easier.

“Can we sit for a minute?” Sandy asked.

Aware of her parents standing stoically nearby, Marcey refused to move. Instinctively she squared her shoulders, readying herself for the blow.

“Just tell me. Have you found Austin?”

“No, ma’am. But the police in Bordelaise, Louisiana, found his rental car today.”

Marcey moaned softly, unaware that she’d paled as she clutched at her belly. “Where?”

“On the property of the man he’d been going to see.”

Marcey’s heart thumped rapidly. “Then you have to talk to that man. He must have seen Austin. If he denies it, then he’s hiding something.”

Sandy hesitated, then said, wanting to get this
over with, “Not necessarily, Mrs. Ball. Remember I told you earlier that part of the state had a tornado the day of your husband’s trip? From where the car was found, it seems obvious it was picked up by the tornado.” Sandy took a deep breath. Damn, but she hated this part of the job. “It was in the tops of some trees, about twenty feet off the ground.”

Marcey’s face crumpled. “Oh my God. I knew it! I knew something awful had happened. What are they going to do? They have to keep looking. He could be hurt, too hurt to go get help.”

“They’ll keep looking,” Sandy promised.

“Until they find his body,” Marcey wailed, then covered her face and collapsed on the sofa, weeping loudly.

“I’m so sorry,” Sandy said. “If I hear anything else, I’ll let you know. Once again, I’m sorry my news wasn’t better.”

“I’ll see you out,” Marcey’s mother said, and ushered Sandy out the door before rushing back to her daughter’s side.

Sandy paused on the stoop long enough to dig out her car keys, then strode through the dark to her car.

“Son of a bitch,” she muttered. Then, blinking tears from her eyes, she shoved the keys into the ignition and drove herself home.

Lance was glad to see the taillights of Joe’s rental car as he headed back to Baton Rouge to catch his
flight. He’d heard more preaching from Joe during this trip than he’d ever heard in church on Sunday.

But the relief of Joe’s absence didn’t last. Lance did evening chores without the usual amount of satisfaction. Knowing he no longer had a vested interest in Morgan’s Reach had somehow changed the charm of feeding the few head of livestock and chickens into a thankless job. Harvesting the peanut and soybean crops later in the year would be nothing but hard, dusty work, since he knew there would be no financial gain for him at the end. He imagined himself no better than the slaves that had once lived and worked this land. Though he had no one but himself to blame, he was still bitter.

By the time he had finished and returned to the house, it was almost dark. As was his habit, he stood on the back porch, watching the stars appearing, and noted that it was going to be a full moon. Once he began hearing the distant grunts of bull gators and the call of the night birds, he went inside. But his bad mood continued to grow, and by the time he’d rummaged through the fridge for something to eat, he was beyond pissed. This just wasn’t fair. Joe couldn’t take this place away from him. He would find a way to get back in his brother’s good graces, and when he did, he would talk him into returning his share of their birthright. Having decided life was somehow going to accommodate him again, his mood shifted. He reheated some shrimp etouffee that he and Joe
had made earlier in the week and sat down to enjoy his meal.

As he ate, he had to admit that he missed having company at mealtime and was sorry Joe had left in such a huff. Outside, the wind began to rise, and he immediately thought of another storm. He reached for the TV remote on the sideboard and turned on the set, just to make sure that no threatening weather was coming his way. By the time he was through eating, the broadcast of the weather had come and gone, assuring Lance that the only thing approaching was a line of thunderstorms with a promise of rain. No tornado watches or warnings for the night.

He carried his dishes to the sink and put them to soak before looking for something sweet. The Morgan family had grown up with the notion that a meal wasn’t over until dessert had been served, and Lance still held to the practice. And, he knew just what he was going to eat. The church ladies who’d served dinner today had packed up two pieces of pie and a cinnamon roll for him to bring home.

He dug the cinnamon roll out of the box, put it on a plate and popped it in the microwave to reheat as he made himself some coffee. Soon, the warm, homey scent of sweet spice began to drift throughout the kitchen, along with the aroma of fresh brewing coffee. Once the microwave dinged, he carried his sweet roll and coffee into the library. He had yet to go through the day’s mail.

Three unpaid bills and two sympathy cards later, he reached for the sweet roll and took a big bite. The scent of cinnamon and the crunch of sugar glaze were as near to an aphrodisiac as any food Lance could think of.

“Um, good stuff,” he said, as he licked a dollop of icing from his finger.

He was reaching for his coffee when something slid through the back of his mind so fast he almost missed it. His brows began to knit as he looked down at the sweet roll and the stripe of butter, sugar and cinnamon running through the dough. He kept seeing himself putting a roll just like this in front of Susan earlier today, and her abrupt refusal afterward.

I’m allergic to cinnamon.

His heart slammed hard against his rib cage, making his next breath short and shallow.

That wasn’t right!

Susan wasn’t allergic to cinnamon.

But Cari was.

He stood up, then turned in a circle, as if the answer to his quandary was somewhere close but still out of reach. The longer he thought about it, the more nervous he became. Maybe he was just forgetting. Maybe Susan was allergic, too, and he’d just forgotten. It stood to reason that if one family member was allergic, another could be, too. Especially since their mothers were identical twins and they’d looked so much alike. But he couldn’t let go
of the niggle of worry, and before long, he was going back over the entire day, from the time he’d seen her in the funeral home to the moment Mike Boudreaux had sent him packing.

He’d known both women all their lives. He knew the differences between Cari and Susan. Hell, he’d seen all there was to see of Carolina North. Cari and Susan both had long dark hair, but Cari’s eyes were rounder than Susan’s. The curve of Susan’s chin wasn’t as definitive as Cari’s.

He snorted beneath his breath, reminding himself that he could tell them apart. He was just making a big deal out of nothing. Then he thought about the new hairstyle that had taken him aback, as well as the bandages all over her face. He’d been expecting to see Susan, so he had.

She’d been a bit standoffish in the viewing room, but it was obvious she’d been crying, and she’d worn dark glasses a good portion of the day. It wasn’t supposed to be like old home week. She was in mourning. But when he’d started to hug her, she’d retaliated with a—

Don’t touch me!

Again, he yo-yoed himself into a plausible explanation. Her reticence had been understandable. She had staples in her head and bandages everywhere. That remark could easily be explained away. As far as holding a grudge against him, Susan would do so in defense of Cari. She would certainly have known
why his engagement to Cari had ended. And, he hadn’t seen Susan alone in over two years, and even then, just from a distance. Getting caught with that stripper had put a damper on their family holiday visits.

He sat down, trying to remember if he’d ever heard anyone refer to Susan’s allergy, and flashed on a moment from their childhood when he’d caused all kinds of havoc.

The four of them—he and Joe, Cari and Susan—had been playing on the grounds of Morgan’s Reach. He’d just beaten Susan in a foot race, and she’d been so irked that she’d called him a cheater, then stuck her tongue out at him. It had been so red he’d thought her mouth was bleeding. He’d run screaming into the house to tell everyone Susan was dying.

His heart started beating erratically as he remembered Susan’s dismay at the fuss, then her disgust as she’d pulled a box of Red Hots out of her pocket and called him a tattletale for ratting her out for eating candy.

Lance began to panic. Red Hots were truly red and truly hot. But hot with what?

“How…do I find out?” he muttered, as he paced the floor. Then all of a sudden he got it. The Internet! He would run a Google search for it. Everything was on the Internet.

He dashed into the library, past the place where he’d beaten Austin Ball to death and slid into the chair to boot up the computer, Susan’s voice still ringing in his ears.

I’m allergic to cinnamon.

“This doesn’t make sense,” Lance muttered, as he waited for the computer to load. “I’m the one who found the bodies, and I damn well knew Cari better than most. I know what I saw at the scene. I saw her body. She was still wearing the same clothes she’d had on when—” all of a sudden, the hair stood up on the back of his neck “—when she saw me burying Ball’s body in the woods.” He swallowed past the knot in his throat, afraid to let himself consider what he was thinking, but the fear wouldn’t go away.

What if Susan had been at the Norths’ that weekend? What if it had been Susan who’d died and not Cari? He’d been the one to make the identification, based solely on those clothes and the expectation that Cari would have been there. God knows a facial identification would have been impossible.—

At that point he realized he was online. He hit the Google icon, then typed in Red Hot Candies. A couple of clicks later, he was reading the history of Red Hots, skimming past the fact that they had been created in the 1930s to the phrase “cinnamon hard candy,” which threw him into shock.

Sweet Jesus.
He shuddered.
I am so fucked.

Susan couldn’t have been allergic to cinnamon and have eaten that candy!