False Pretenses (8 page)

“Whoa, girl. Slow down. You don’t even know for certain that there
was
an intruder. You said the sheriff’s deputies didn’t find anything to suggest it.”

Vanessa blew the bangs off her forehead. “I know. It’s perplexing. But the man Carter described is obviously African-American. And now a white man is lynched right next door to Langley Manor. How can that be just a coincidence?”

“Sweetie, your imagination’s on tilt. You need to take a deep breath and think about this.”

“I haven’t
stopped
thinking about it. Something happened I haven’t had a chance to tell you yet. I drove out to the manor house yesterday when Carter was in preschool. I didn’t go in. I just sat in the car with the windows rolled down. I heard a twig crack somewhere close by. I called out and no one answered. But I felt someone watching me. It made my skin crawl, so I left.”

“But you didn’t see anyone?”

“No. That’s what made it so creepy. I knew someone was there, but whoever it was didn’t answer me.”

“It could’ve been an animal. The woods are full of them.”

Vanessa grabbed a lock of her dark, shiny hair and began twirling it. “Maybe I’m overreacting. But it’s frightening that someone was murdered so close to Langley Manor. It makes Carter’s story about the man in the closet all the more unsettling.”

“I’m sure it does. But don’t jump to conclusions. There’s probably a logical explanation.”

“I’m not so sure. There’s something else you don’t know. We found a lemon drop on the floor at the manor house.”

“You’re kidding. When?”

“When you and Pierce were out there and Carter took you on a tour.”

“Why didn’t you tell us?”

Vanessa tucked her hair behind her ear. “We were a little freaked out and didn’t want to say anything about it in front of Carter. But we’re also trying to keep any more ghost stories from circulating.”

“Pierce and I wouldn’t have told anyone. I can’t believe you didn’t trust us.”

Vanessa sighed. “I’m sorry. We should have. We were trying not to add to the gossip about paranormal activity at Langley Manor. Even one of the deputies who did the trespassing report questioned whether Ethan and I might have planted the lemon drop because a good ghost story could be great for B-and-B business.”

“After what you just told me, you have to pursue this. At least tell the sheriff your concern that there could be a connection between the black man Carter saw and the hanging.”

Vanessa arched her eyebrows, her clear blue eyes the color of her tank top. “I’m sure he’s already thought of it. My mom’s mind works like that. But I think I will call and express my concerns. I need to get back upstairs before number-one son gets into mischief. Thanks for listening. I needed to talk to someone and didn’t want to bother Ethan at work.”

“I’ll be upstairs after five,” Zoe said. “Knock on our door and let me know how it went.”

CHAPTER 7

Zoe walked into the dining room at the eatery and saw Savannah replacing candles in preparation for the dinner hour. She took a slow, deep breath and then walked over to her.

“How’s it coming?”

“Almost done. I’m ready to get off my feet.”

“I see you put daisies in the bud vases, too. Looks nice.”

“They’re really fresh today,” Savannah said flatly.

An awkward moment of silence prodded Zoe to do what she came to do.

“I owe you an apology, Savannah. I probably sounded as if I were scolding you this morning about Hebert and the guys needing more coffee. Actually I was upset and preoccupied about something totally unrelated. I’m sorry I was short with you.”

“You don’t have to apologize.”

“Why, because I’m the boss?” She reached over and squeezed Savannah’s hand. “That’s not the way we do things around here. I didn’t want you to go home for the day without my having explained myself.”

“It’s okay. I could tell something wasn’t right.” Savannah put a fresh candle in the glass holder. “Actually nothing about this day seemed right. Everyone who came in was talking about the lynching, even the tourists. I’ve grown up here and heard stories about the way things
used
to be. I never thought it would happen now. And never to a white man.”

“Are the authorities actually calling it a lynching?”

“Of course not.” Savannah rolled her eyes. “But the sheriff didn’t deny that someone left a note on a deputy’s car that suggested it was. He just won’t comment on it.”

“Have the authorities released the name of the victim?”

“Not yet. Everyone’s wondering who it is, but they have to notify the next of kin first.”

“I wonder what’s taking so long.” Zoe smoothed a wrinkle out of the tablecloth. “Wasn’t the body found early this morning?”

“Yes. And I’m pretty sure the call came in when the sheriff was sitting right here with two deputies. They left without ordering and said they needed to go take care of something. That was at sunup.”

“I can’t imagine why they haven’t released the victim’s name.”

“I sure hope it’s not someone I know.”

“And who would that be?” Zoe said. “You know just about everybody in town.”

Vanessa sat with Sheriff Jude Prejean and Deputy Stone Castille at the kitchen table in her apartment.

“Sheriff, I never expected you to come over here personally,” Vanessa said. “I just felt compelled to report my concern about the hanging—and the fact that it happened on the property adjacent to Langley Manor. Do you have any leads?”

“We can’t discuss the details of the investigation,” Jude said. “We haven’t even released the victim’s name yet.”

“Are you aware that just a few minutes ago, a man called the radio station again, this time revealing exactly what was in the note?”

“What he
claims
was in the note.”

“So there was a note?” Vanessa studied the sheriff’s expressionless face. “Look, I understand you can’t give details, but can’t you just say whether or not this was racially motivated?”

“We can’t rule it out.”

“Then shouldn’t we rethink the validity of my son’s story,” Vanessa said, “now that there’s been a murder in close proximity—one that might’ve been racially motivated?”

“Yes, I think we should.” Sheriff Prejean cleared his throat and seemed to be thinking. “For starters I’d like to go ahead and run DNA testing on the lemon drop. It’s a bit of a long shot that we’ll get viable DNA, but the sugar coating is gone, which suggests it had been in someone’s mouth before it ended up on your floor.” Jude rubbed the sandpaper shadow on his chin. “If your son really did see a man in the closet, we need to discover who that individual is and if he was also at the scene of the hanging. It’s certainly suspicious.”

Vanessa brushed the hair out of her eyes. “I’m just so confused why your deputies didn’t find any evidence that the man broke in.”

“That was baffling to us, too,” Jude said. “Have you noticed anything that suggests this intruder might have come back?”

“I haven’t gone inside the house since your deputies did the trespassing report. Something did happen yesterday morning that didn’t feel right, but I almost feel foolish mentioning it.”

Vanessa told the sheriff and the deputy about hearing a twig crack while she sat in the car, outside the house.

“It could have been a stranger lurking about,” Vanessa said. “Or it could’ve been a deer or something. But I didn’t imagine it. I felt as if someone were watching me. It was creepy. I finally left.”

“Gave you the
freesôns
, did it?” Jude seemed to read her blank look, then quickly added. “That’s what folks around here call the goose bumps. What time was that?”

“Around ten o’clock.”

Stone wrote something on his tablet. “Why didn’t you report it?”

“Report what—that I heard a twig snap? I didn’t actually see anything. And it’s not like I knew there was going to be a lynching next door.”

“Of course you didn’t, ma’am. Just don’t hesitate to call next time something doesn’t feel right. It could be important.”

Vanessa moved her gaze to the sheriff, who looked to her like an older version of Matt Damon. “So do hate crimes happen often around here?”

Jude pursed his lips. “There hasn’t been a lynching in this parish since 1975. And as far as I know, it’s never happened to a white man.”

“But you
do
have racial problems.”

“Some racial
tension
, I suppose. But problems?” Jude shook his head. “Not that I can see. Whites and blacks have learned to respect each other, including in the workplace. Just haven’t had problems on my watch.”

Vanessa looked at Stone and then at Jude. “I keep wondering what it is you’re not saying.”

“Excuse me?” Jude shifted in his chair and scratched his ear.

“Look,” Vanessa said, “my mother was on the Memphis police force the whole time I was growing up, and now she’s the police chief in Sophie Trace. I know that authorities typically withhold something vital to a case, something only the guilty person could know. Since I’m in the middle of this, Sheriff, I think I have a right to know if my family is in some sort of danger.”

“If we thought you were”—Jude’s round, hazel eyes were truthful—“we would say so. We released all the information the public needs to know.”

“Do you have any suspects?”

“Not yet. But after what you just told me, I’d like to go back to the manor house and inspect the grounds and the closet for trace evidence. If anything matches what we found at the murder scene, then we can assume your intruder was involved. And if he’s in the system, we’ll know who he is.”

Vanessa nodded and rose to her feet. “I’ll get you the key.”

Zoe walked across
rue Madeline
and down a block to Cypress Park. She sat by herself on a wrought-iron bench, her body finally thawing out from the air-conditioning. Would they ever be able to regulate the temperature in their building so that the office wasn’t freezing?

She set her gaze on a Louisiana heron that high-stepped ever so slowly in the shallow water along the bank of the pond, watching for an unsuspecting minnow. Some of its blue-gray plumage had a peachy cast and looked almost iridescent in the bright sunlight.

A flock of white ibis squawked overhead and then landed on the grassy terrain on the other side of the pond and began the dinner march across the grounds, foraging for insects or frogs or whatever else could be stirred up.

The bells of Saint Catherine’s started to toll. Zoe glanced at her watch and smiled. Five o’clock straight up. She closed her eyes, the resonant sound still stirring her soul after all these years. How she loved Les Barbes! It was here, as a young entrepreneur, that she finally tasted the American dream—so palatable after the bland years that were seasoned only with the salt of her own tears. Every ingredient that went into making her new life pleasant was carefully chosen. She broke a few rules getting what she needed, but no harm had come to anyone because of it.

She would have been content just to own Zoe B’s. Falling for Pierce had been both an inconvenience and a gift. Never had she imagined she could trust a man, let alone love one. Yet hadn’t the past five years been the best of her life? Wasn’t she secure enough with Pierce to want to have his children?

I know what you did
. Fear gripped her as she considered again the implication of the notes. Was someone about to wreck everything she’d worked for? What did he or she want from her—a confession? Retribution? Hush money?

Even if she could scrape up the money, was she willing to be blackmailed? A demand for money would likely result in another and another. And how long could she keep it from Pierce?

God, I know what I did was wrong. But what choice did I have? I would never have gotten out any other way. How else was I supposed to support myself?

Maybe she should just tell Pierce the truth and trust that his love for her was stronger than the shock and disappointment he would feel. But was it? How would he react when he found out that she wasn’t the person he thought she was? Would he doubt that her feelings for him were authentic when everything else about her had been fabricated, including her happy childhood and the death of her parents? Would he still want to start a family when he found out she didn’t have a drop of Cajun blood in her ancestry—and what her family was
really
like …?

The sound of fist hitting flesh and her mother’s crying sent terror through her.

“Shelby! Michael! I know you can hear me!” Her father’s voice was earsplitting, his speech slurred. “This is your mom’s fault! She brought it on herself! I didn’t want to hurt her! You know that!”

Her father ranted for quite some time. Then things got quiet. Too quiet. Was he coming for her now?

Shelby pulled the covers over her head and hugged her doll. She learned early on it was useless to fight him. She just closed her eyes and hoped he would pass out.

Why couldn’t she have been born in a different family …?

“Excuse me, ma’am. Are you Zoe Broussard?”

The young male voice startled her. She looked up and saw a freckled boy of about ten or eleven, holding a skateboard under his arm.

“Yes. Who are you?”

“Jacob Millet. I’m supposed to give this to you.” The boy handed her an envelope with her name typed on the front.

Zoe felt as if her heart were falling down a well. “Who’s this from?”

“The man didn’t tell me his name,” Jacob said. “He was in a hurry. He gave me ten dollars to bring it to you.”

“How did you know where to find me?”

“He pointed to you from the parking lot.”

Zoe’s heart sank. The guy had been following her? “What did he look like?”

“I couldn’t really tell. He was on a motorcycle and wore a helmet with an eye shield. He said you were expecting this envelope—that it was very important and you would
know
who it was from.”

“Where is he now?”

“He had to leave. He said he’d be in touch.”

“How long ago was that?”