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Bayou Justice
Robin Caroll
A body in the bayou. Alligator conservationist Coco LeBlanc knew real fear when she found a body in the clutches of her beloved beasts. Fear turned to horror when she saw that it was one of the Trahan clan–and he'd been shot in the back.Her ex-boyfriend, Luc Trahan, had dumped Coco two years ago when she refused to give up her family's centuries-old voodoo traditions, and he didn't know about her newfound faith. Now, as they and their families become prime suspects in the grisly crime, they'll have to work together to clear their names before the Cajun killer strikes again.
Bayou Justice
Robin Caroll
To Case…
for believing
for supporting
for encouraging
for loving.
Love Always,
RC
CONTENTS
ACKNOWLEDGMENT
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Acknowledgment
A book is a wonderful collaboration of many people. My heartfelt thanks to my editor, Krista Stroever, who used brilliant insight to make this book shine, and to my agent, Kelly Mortimer, who pained over each word with me and used up all her red pens in editing. Thank you both for giving me the chance to attain my heart’s desire and believing in this story.
My eternal gratitude to Colleen Coble. Without you, I wouldn’t have had the endurance and the “p” word to keep on. Your brainstorming, support, love, encouragement, and opening of doors in the publishing world for me kept me on the straight and narrow. I love ya!
I thank my wonderful critique partners for their help—Dineen Miller, Heather Diane Tipton, Ron Estrada, Camy Tang of the Story Sensei, and Ronie Kendig. The book wouldn’t make sense without these “slice and dicers”! Y’all are the absolute best! Thanks to Cheryl Wyatt for walking the journey with me.
Special thanks to my bestest bud, Tracey Aaron, and my sister-in-law, Lisa Burroughs, for reading every single word I write and not being afraid to tell me it’s not working. I love you!
Without the love and support of my family, I wouldn’t even be writing. My love and thanks to my parents, Joyce and Chuck Bridges—for all the times you’ve watched the grands so I could go to writing conferences, and for your encouragement; my sisters and brother, Cindy Pittman, Rebecca Harden, and Charles Burroughs—for commiserating with me and celebrating my successes; Krystina, Brandon, and Rachel—for thinking it’s cool their aunt talks to the voices in her head. I love you all so much and I thank y’all for coming on this ride with me.
A very special thanks to some of the most awesome prayer partners in the world, who have lifted up my writing and my life before the throne so many times. You ladies bless me daily! Big thanks to the members of ACFW, whose support and encouragement is the absolute best!
Finally, my most humble thanks to my daughters—Emily Carol, Remington Case, and Isabella Co-Ceaux—you girls are the reason I get up every morning and write. Each of you inspire me with your love and personality. I love each one of you so much—you are my most precious blessings from God.
All glory to my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.
ONE
Humidity, the South’s great oppressor, seized the Louisiana bayou firmly by the throat. Late afternoon heat washed through the air in waves, turning and mixing to make the region downright sticky. CoCo LeBlanc wiped her brow and squinted, scanning the grassy shores. A living bulk shifted on the lush embankment, then the alligator stretched its mouth, his jagged teeth glistening in the late afternoon sun. Moodoo appeared healthy. CoCo stared, smiling at the twelve-foot reptile. She let out a long sigh. It’d been a rough couple of weeks, nursing the prehistoric beast back from the brink of death. Stupid poachers—would they never learn they couldn’t hunt alligators anytime they got the notion? If she ever caught them…
Moodoo waddled along the banks, then surged his large body into the bayou. CoCo marked his location on her tracking sheet and then fired up the airboat’s engine. She settled into the single seat before turning the steering wheel to head back to the house. Picking up speed, the airboat skimmed over the murky bayou. Drops of water jetted up, spraying CoCo’s face and arms. She leaned closer to the edge of the boat, welcoming the cool mist. July in Lagniappe meant misery, no matter how you chopped it.
She banked the airboat and tied off on the knotty root of a live oak tree that had survived for several centuries. Stepping to the ground, she let the air pockets bubble up around her feet before striding toward the house with sure steps. Her hair was plastered to the nape of her neck, and her thin cotton tank top clung to her back. Too bad her tan lines were so messed up because she couldn’t wear the same style shirt to work every day.
A man’s angry voice burst through the cicadas’ chirped song. “You get out or I’ll have the sheriff force you out.”
“You get on, now, Beau Trahan. Before I put a gris-gris on you,” her grandmother replied, her voice quivering.
CoCo recognized that tone and quickened her pace. What now? She rounded the corner of the old plantation home to find Mr. Beau and Grandmere facing off on the veranda. She took the stairs two at a time, the wood creaking in protest. “What’s going on here?”
The businessman in slacks and shirt, complete with powerred tie, faced her and glared. “Your grandmother seems to think she’s above the law. As usual.”
“Get off my land, you old goat.” Grandmere’s deep green eyes narrowed to slits and she took a step in his direction.
“It’s not your land, vielle.” He wagged his finger in front of Grandmere’s face.
Not a good move on his part to call her an old woman, not good at all. CoCo shifted between the dueling elders, popping her hands on her hips. “What’s this all about, Grandmere?” She turned to her grandmother, but kept track of Mr. Beau from the corner of her eye.
“He says he owns this house.” Her grandmother waved a crumpled piece of paper. “Says he’s evicting us. Just threats. All little men like him can do is threaten.”
“Read the notice, you bat. Marcel signed this land over to me years ago when he couldn’t pay his gambling debt. It’s all legal—I drew up the papers myself.” Beau Trahan, tall and distinguished as a retired politician should look, crossed his arms over his puffed-up chest.
Sounded like something her late grandfather would have done.
CoCo and her sisters had moved in with their grandparents thirteen years ago when their parents had died in a car accident. Grandpere died five years ago, after CoCo had returned to Lagniappe from college. The last years of his life had been littered with gambling and depression.
CoCo pried the paper from her grandmother’s fist and scanned the eviction notice, chewing her bottom lip. Thirty days, that’s all they had to save their home. She squared her shoulders and set her jaw, piercing him with her stare. “You’ve served your notice, Mr. Trahan. I’ll contact my attorney immediately, and he’ll get back to you regarding this matter.”
“Not going to do you any good, young lady. The law’s on my side.” He directed his words to CoCo, but his eyes remained locked on Grandmere. Even in the stifling heat, not a single strand of gray hair moved out of place.
“The spirits are on mine.” Grandmere wore that hazy expression she got when riled to the point of pulling out her voodoo paraphernalia.
Oh no, not the spirits again. CoCo let out a deep sigh and gripped her grandmother’s shoulder, digging her fingers into Grandmere’s bony frame. “Please leave, Mr. Trahan.”
“Thirty days, Marie. That’s it. And only because the law stipulates I have to give you that much time.” Beau spun around and stomped to his pristine red Cadillac. He slammed the door, revved the engine, then peeled out down the dirt-and-gravel driveway.
CoCo waited until the rooster tails of dust disappeared before turning back to her grandmother. “Did Grandpere sign over the deed to this house?”
Grandmere’s eyebrows shot up over her fading green eyes. “Not that he ever told me. Beau Trahan, that cooyon is only trying to cause trouble, ma chère. I’ll handle him.” Her arthritis-gnarled hands grabbed the handle of the screen door.
Shoving her foot against the base of the door, CoCo tapped her grandmother’s shoulder. The blue veins were apparent under Grandmere’s thin skin. “No voodoo, Grandmere. I mean it.”
“Just because you’ve turned your back on the old ways, doesn’t mean the rest of us have.” Grandmere shot a look that could freeze fireballs, her jade eyes turning into icicles. “You’ll see. You were wrong to drop your training, CoCo. You’re a natural.”
Biting her tongue, CoCo moved her foot and let her grandmother enter. The argument stayed as constant as the bayou’s summers. Ever since she’d come to Christ two years ago, she’d walked away cold from voodoo, black magic and all that her grandmother had been teaching her. Why couldn’t—no, wouldn’t—her family open their eyes and see the truth? Didn’t they realize their eternal lives were at stake?
A breeze stirred the hot air, teasing the edges of the eviction notice. CoCo shook off her guilty conscience and marched inside the house. She’d deal with her family’s salvation later. Right now, she had to find an attorney. Preferably a great one.
For a moment she considered calling her middle sister, Alyssa, up in Shreveport. Just as suddenly as the thought scampered across her mind, she disregarded the idea. Alyssa wasn’t interested in the pressing issues happening in Lagniappe. As usual, the responsibility fell to CoCo.
The kitchen had always before been a place of soothing with its bright yellow paint on the walls and cabinets adding a sunny glow to the room. Despite the lack of updated appliances, the kitchen welcomed. She glanced at the clock—4:10. She needed to hurry before businesses closed for the day. She grabbed the Vermilion parish phone book, dropped into the kitchen chair and flipped through the business pages. Not much choice of attorneys. All the last names looked familiar, but none of the first names rang any bells. CoCo closed her eyes and jabbed her finger on the middle of the page.
Trahan Law Firm
Oh, but no. This wouldn’t do.
Lord, could You give me a little direction here? She flipped to the other side of the page and repeated her random-selection process.
Dwayne Williams, Attorney
That sounded promising. A whole lot better than anything to do with a Trahan. She pushed back her chair and lifted the cordless phone off the counter. Punching with more force than necessary, CoCo dialed the number listed in the phone book.
On the second ring, a chipper female voice answered. “Law offices of Dwayne Williams. How may I help you?”
“My name is CoCo LeBlanc and I need to speak with an attorney as soon as possible.” CoCo chewed the inside of her mouth.
“Yes, ma’am. Just a moment, and I’ll connect you with Mr. Williams.”
Elevator music sounded over the line. Pretty slick, getting to talk to a lawyer on the first call. Maybe because it was so close to quitting time?
“Dwayne Williams.” His voice sounded deep, full of timbre.
“Mr. Williams, my name is CoCo LeBlanc and I need a lawyer. A man, Beau Trahan, has just served my grandmother and me, with an eviction notice on our home.”
“Did you say Beau Trahan?”
“Yes.” She pushed the bangs from her forehead. “Is that a problem?” Great, leave it to her to pick out an attorney who probably sat in Mr. Beau’s back politician pocket.
“No, not at all.” The sound of papers crinkling rustled in the background. “I can work you in tomorrow morning at nine to discuss your case. Is that a good time for you?”
Fast appointment, too. “That’ll be perfect. I’ll see you then.” She hung up the phone, staring at it, hard and long. Jumbled thoughts bounced off the edges of her mind as she worried her bottom lip.
Did she dare call him? It’d been two years since they’d spoken. Did she want to open up all that hurt and anger? Yet, maybe he could talk some sense into his grandfather.
Jerking the phone up again before she could change her mind, she punched the number she knew by heart, still knew as well as her own. Would Luc Trahan answer?
Luc Trahan strode up and down the length of the front porch, glancing down the long driveway lined with oak trees and then back to the wood planks beneath him.
“You’re going to wear out the veranda if you don’t stop pacing,” Felicia said.
He glanced at his younger sister, sitting properly in her wheelchair. “I’m just ready to get this over with.”
“He’s gonna blow, you know that, yes?”
“I do. That’s why I need to get it over with as soon as he gets here.” Luc turned and began the next lap. How could he break the news gently to his grandfather? He shook his head. There was no easy way. Felicia had hit the nail on the head— Beau Trahan would blow a gasket when Luc told him that he had no intention of taking over the managerial reins of D’Queue Casino. Luc enjoyed his job as a freelance consultant for an accounting firm and had no desire to go elsewhere.
“Luc, look at me.” His sister’s soft voice never failed to calm him.
He did. Her big blue eyes twisted his heart.
“You’re doing the right thing, no matter what Grandfather and Mom think.”
“I know. I just hate to disappoint either of them.” He dropped onto the porch swing adjacent to her wheelchair. “He wants this so badly for me.”
