False Pretenses (7 page)

Vanessa set the well-read copy of
The Velveteen Rabbit
on the nightstand, kissed Carter on the forehead, and whispered, “Mommy loves you. Sleep tight.”

She turned off the lamp and tiptoed out of Carter’s room, through the living room, and out onto the gallery, where Ethan stood leaning on the ornate wrought-iron railing.

“That didn’t take long,” he said.

“I think preschool wears him out.” Vanessa linked arms with Ethan, noting that the muggy air hadn’t cooled much since the sun went down. He seems to love it.”

“So … the men in your life are adjusting well. You haven’t said much about your day. Did you do anything special?”

“Not really. I drove out to the manor house. I had no intention of going inside,” she quickly added. “I was just feeling a little lost with Carter in school and was trying to get revved up about the renovation.” Vanessa held her gaze on a man in a blue ball cap walking by himself. “A weird thing happened. I was sitting in the car, listening to the quiet, and I heard a twig snap. I called out, but no one answered. I had the creepiest feeling I was being watched, so I started the car and made sure the windows were up and the doors locked. It was probably a deer or something. I didn’t wait around to find out. I just wish I felt safe going in the house. I need to get in there and make some notes.”

“I’d change the locks again if I thought it would do any good,” Ethan said. “But the sheriff’s deputies didn’t see any sign the locks had been tampered with.”

Vanessa felt her skin turn to gooseflesh. “We know Carter didn’t see a ghost. So how did the man get in?”

“Maybe there was no man, except in Carter’s imagination.”

“Why are you hedging? We can’t just blow off the lemon drop.”

Ethan pushed his glasses up higher on his nose, his dark hair curlier from the night’s humidity. “I’ve been thinking a lot about this, honey. A number of people have been in the house. Any one of them could’ve set down a package of lemon drops and not remembered where. Isn’t it possible that Carter found them and incorporated them into his imaginary story?”

“Ethan, if you really believed that, you wouldn’t care if I went out there alone.”

“The truth is I don’t know what to believe, other than it’s not smart to take chances.”

“I didn’t. But how long are we supposed to live like this?”

CHAPTER 6

Sheriff Jude Prejean folded Wednesday’s edition of the
Les Barbes Ledger
under his arm and pushed open the door at Zoe B’s, the jingling of the bell causing a number of folks to look up. He recognized most of the faces. Too early for tourists.

Jude nodded a few hellos while he waited for Savannah to come seat him. The healthy green plant hanging from the ceiling above the window gave the eatery a homey touch.

“Hey, Sheriff. Table for one?”

Jude smiled. “Not today. Two of my deputies will be joining me.”

Savannah picked up three menus. “Right this way.”

He followed her to an empty table in the corner. Outside, the glowing pink sky formed a worthy backdrop for the row of historic buildings across the street. No clouds. It was going to be another scorcher.

“I’ll bring your coffee,” Savannah said. “Are you going to wait to order until your deputies arrive?”

“Yeah, thanks. Shouldn’t be long.”

Jude turned over his cup. Half a minute later Savannah came back to the table and filled it with coffee.

“Pierce is cranking out the beignets this morning,” she said. “Why don’t I bring you some—on the house? You can enjoy them while you’re waiting.”

“That’d be great. Thanks.”

Jude blew on his coffee and took a sip. Best coffee in Saint Catherine Parish. And he’d probably tried them all.

He glanced over at Hebert Lanoux, who was having breakfast with his cronies. Had it really been thirty years since this sweet old gentleman had given him a job stocking shelves at the corner grocery after school? Monsieur Lanoux had outlived his wife and his son and lived a fuller life than a lot of guys twenty years his junior.

Savannah hurried past his table, her brown ponytail swaying, her right hand balancing a large round platter filled with orders. How did such a tiny woman do that? She couldn’t weigh more than a hundred pounds.

The door opened, and Deputy Chief Aimee Rivette and Chief Detective Gil Marcel came inside.

Jude raised his hand, and the two walked in his direction, their boots clicking on the wood floor.

“Good morning, Sheriff,” Aimee said. “That’s some sunrise.”

“Yep. Enjoy it. Once that sun’s up high, the thermometer will follow.”

Savannah came over to the table and set down a white carafe of coffee and a plate of beignets. “That should get y’all started. I’ll be back to take your order in a few minutes.”

“Help yourselves,” Jude said. “A little
lagniappe
on the house.”

Gil rubbed his hands together. “Nothing can compare with homemade beignets.”

Aimee laughed. “Is that why you spend half your paycheck on Krispy Kremes?”

Gil tore off a piece of beignet and stuffed it into his smile, powdered sugar falling on his chin. “These are too messy for the squad car. I’d eat them every day if I could. Justine makes them on holidays, but that’s about it.”

“Judging by that roll hanging over your belt,” Jude said, “she’s doing you a favor.”

Gil wiped his mouth with the napkin. “We only go around once, Sheriff. Gotta grab a little gusto.”

“Oh, I see. You grab the gusto”—Jude winked at Aimee—“so Justine can grab those love handles.”

“Aw, come on.” Gil tried to look hurt, but his smiling eyes betrayed him. “I passed my physical agility test in spades. Surely you called this meeting for some reason, other than to harass me about my doughnut addiction?”

“Actually I did. I wanted to commend you two for the way you handled the investigation of illegal dumping. You got the local stations behind us and raised awareness. Thanks to your efforts we’re finally going to get the support we need to get this parish cleaned up. That’s no small feat.”

“I was just the mouthpiece.” Aimee’s twinkling blue eyes drew attention away from her dark roots, which seemed to beg for a touch-up. “It was Gil who rattled the chains out there and kept the pressure on.”

“Don’t forget it took the whole team to rummage through the garbage and figure out who’s doing the dumping,” Gil said. “Prosecuting those responsible and naming names will make people think twice before trashing the parish.”

Jude took a sip of coffee. “Mayor Blanchard is so encouraged by the progress that he called a meeting with the other mayors in Saint Catherine Parish. He wants us to show them what we did here. The governor got wind of it and is really impressed. I wouldn’t be surprised if all the parishes end up following our lead.”

Aimee smiled. “Makes all that hard work seem worthwhile.”

Gil took another bite of beignet. “I never considered that what we did would catch on.”

“I’m proud of the job you did,” Jude said. “I’m going to recommend you both for a Distinguished Service award and wouldn’t be surprised if—” His phone vibrated. He glanced at the screen. Why was Stone Castille calling his cell phone so early? “Excuse me. I’d better take this … Sheriff Prejean.”

“We’ve got a problem,” Stone said.

“I’m holding a breakfast meeting with Aimee and Gil. Can’t it wait?”

“No, sir. I’m looking at a dead body. And y’all need to see this one before I call it in. I don’t think you’ll want the media all over it.”

“Where are you?”

“At the old Vincent farm—just down the bayou from Langley Manor.”

“Nobody’s lived out there in years.”

“Nobody’s
living
here now. Trust me, sir. Y’all need to see this.”

Jude sighed. “We’ll be right there.”

Jude drove his squad car across a rickety wooden bridge and turned left at the faded mailbox marked
Vincent
onto a gravel road. He glanced in his rearview mirror at the cloud of white dust and the blazing red ball that hung in the eastern sky. He passed by a row of cypress trees draped with Spanish moss and spotted the stained roof of the dilapidated farmhouse about fifty yards ahead.

He slowed and pulled up behind Stone Castille’s squad car. He got out and stretched his lower back. The dawn air was warm and heavy and smelled like wet earth.

Half a minute later Aimee and Gil pulled in behind him, and the three of them trudged through the weeds toward the house.

Stone waved and met them half way. “That was quick. This way. Get ready for a jolt. You’re not going to believe who it is.”

Jude followed Stone through the high weeds toward a row of massive trees on the edge of the sugarcane fields. There it was.

Jude stopped, sickened at the sight of a Caucasian male, noose around his neck, hanging from a live oak. And even sicker when he recognized the man’s face—and the red ball cap on the ground. “Aw, Remy. Why? Why’d you do it?”

“Sheriff, this wasn’t suicide,” Stone said. “I believe he may have been lynched. Someone left a note under my wiper blade when I was in Crawfish Corner, having a cup of coffee. The exact words were, ‘A white man is hanging from a tree at the old Vincent farm. How does it feel?’ The word
white
was underlined.”

“How long ago was that?” Jude said.

“Less than thirty minutes. When I found the note, I drove out here to look around. I didn’t bother calling for backup. I figured it was another hoax.”

“Where’s the note?” Jude said.

“I bagged it and put it into evidence. It’s just a sheet of white paper with the message in bold type printed off a computer. I’m hoping we’ll get fingerprints off it.”

Jude took out his handkerchief and wiped the perspiration off the back of his neck. “Why would anyone want to hurt Remy Jarvis?”

“Remy was an easy target. They probably grabbed him while he was out delivering newspapers. I found at least three sets of shoe prints. Come take a look.”

Jude followed Stone to where the body dangled and saw overlapping shoe prints in the mud beneath.

“Make casts,” Jude said. “That’ll give us something to go on. People will be screaming for justice when they find out a white man was lynched.”

“Especially someone as gentle and trusting as Remy,” Aimee said. “So much for racial harmony.”

Jude folded his arms across his chest. “There’s no proof that whoever did this is African-American. Anyone could’ve written that note.”

“That’s true,” Stone said. “But we can’t afford to blow off the Langley boy’s allegation that he saw a black man in the manor house. That’s less than two hundred yards from here.”

“But you didn’t find any evidence of forced entry—or any entry.”

“Maybe we should take a closer look,” Aimee said.

“Maybe we will. But for now let’s keep the note confidential. Let’s just call this in and investigate it by the book. When the media finds out, our investigation will be under a microscope. The whole country will be watching. Let’s make sure we don’t miss a step.”

Zoe sat in her office and downed a cup of lukewarm coffee she didn’t remember pouring. It wasn’t even noon, and she’d already talked herself out of doing anything about the notes. Why act in haste and admit to something that would have life-changing consequences?

She needed to wait. To see if things escalated. Wasn’t it possible someone was playing a joke on her? Was that any more far-fetched than the notion that someone had figured out what she’d done?

There was a knock on the door, and then a muffled female voice.

“Zoe, it’s Vanessa. Can I talk to you?”

“Hang on. I’m coming.”

Zoe walked over to the door and looked through the peephole, then unlocked the dead bolt.

“Sorry. We keep this door locked for security reasons. Few people even know this is the office. Come in.”

“I can’t.” Vanessa glanced up the stairs. “Carter’s watching cartoons. I need to be within earshot. I just wanted to know if you heard about the lynching.”

“Pierce mentioned something about a murder, but I was a little preoccupied at the time. What happened?”

“Early this morning a man was found hanging from a live oak on the property adjacent to Langley Manor. Can you believe it?”

“Good heavens!” Zoe paused to let the gravity of the situation sink in. “Do they know who it was?”

“His name hasn’t been released yet.”

“Pierce and I have black friends,” Zoe said. “I sure hope it wasn’t someone we know. This is horrible. I didn’t even know lynchings happened anymore. I can only imagine how upset and scared the black community must be. I should probably make some calls and see what I can find out.”

“Zoe, the victim was white.”

“White? I’ve never heard of a white man being lynched.”

“The authorities aren’t calling it a lynching, but someone phoned the radio station and claimed that a note was left on a deputy’s windshield that proves it was racially motivated. The sheriff didn’t deny it, but he can’t comment during an open investigation.”

“He’s going to have to tell us something! It’s not like murders happen here every day. I’m sure people are scared.”

“He really can’t, Zoe. I’ve been through this with my mother. She’s a police chief, remember? She never talks about cases when an investigation’s in progress.” Vanessa glanced up at the open door to her apartment and then dropped her voice to just above a whisper. “I have a bad feeling about this. What if the black man Carter saw in the closet was involved? What if he was hiding at our place, planning the whole thing? The timing fits.”