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“You’re still sweet on that oldest gal, aren’t ya?”
Luc swallowed. “The sheriff is checking out the LeBlanc family.” He rose, the long hours of the day pressing against every muscle in his body. “I’m sure Bubba will be by to talk to you.”
“That cooyon? He couldn’t find his foot in the dark with a flashlight.”
“He’s the best we have.”
His uncle snuffled. “I just can’t believe this.”
“I know.” The emotions filled his throat. He gave a cough and locked stares with his uncle. “I can tell you this, Uncle Justin—whoever did this to Grandfather will be punished.”
“Even if it’s that gator gal?”
“Even her.” Luc opened the front door and strode toward his vehicle, not ready to discuss anything more about the possibility of CoCo’s involvement. Yet, the memory of her mixing herbs to make a potion still haunted him. Could she have, would she have put a curse on his grandfather? He shook his head. It didn’t matter, he didn’t believe in all that voodoo stuff anyway. God had always been at his side. Still, Grandfather being murdered…
He steered toward home, his heart already overburdened, and he still had to tell his mother and Felicia. Sometimes being the responsible one in the family just plain wore him out.
Ten minutes and two turns later, Luc parked in the driveway. He sat in the vehicle, in the dark, staring at the house before him. Pristine white columns lined the front of the veranda, much like Twelve Oaks in Gone With the Wind.
God, this is harder than I ever imagined. Yes, I was angrywith Grandfather, and I confess the anger to You and ask for Your forgiveness. I never wanted him to die. Murdered, at that.
Better to go ahead and get his duty over with so he could go to bed and end this awful day. Luc trod up the front steps, unlocked the door and then stepped quietly over the threshold.
His mother sat at the kitchen table, a glass snifter in her hand. “You’re out late, ma chère. Everything okay?”
“Not really.” He dragged himself to the wood table and pulled out a chair. He sat with all the heaviness of the burdens in his heart. “Grandfather’s dead.”
His mother’s eyes widened and her mouth formed an O, but no sound came out.
“Before you ask, we don’t know much. Someone shot him in the back and left his body in the bayou. That’s all I know for now. I’m meeting with the sheriff in the morning to learn more.”
“What will we do? How will we live? Can we stay in the house?” A hint of liquor steeped from her breath as she gasped in drama.
“I don’t know, Mom.” He pushed back the chair; it scraped against the tile floor. “I’m going to tell Felicia and then I’m hitting the sack. It’s been a really long day.”
Luc turned and ambled down the hall, not giving his mother time to voice her panicked concerns. In the past few months, her late-night nip of brandy had become a large glass. He’d have to deal with the drinking issue later, but right now he felt beyond tired.
The hallway walls boasted photographs of him and his sister at varying times in their lives. Birth, christenings, graduations…even his college diploma hung proudly against the white wall. So much of the past stuck here in the present.
Pausing outside Felicia’s bedroom, he rapped on her door with the backs of his knuckles.
“Yes?” his sister asked.
He pushed open the door a crack. “Hey, Boo. It’s me.”
“Luc. Come on in.” Using her elbows, she pushed herself into a semisitting position. The queen-size bed seemed to swallow her, with the lightweight blue comforter and big fluffy white pillows.
She looked even more frail and fragile in bed. He sat beside her. “Got some bad news.”
Her blue eyes blinked in the half-light. “Mom?”
“No, she’s fine.” He patted her hand. “She’s drinking, but that’s another story.”
“Then what?” His sister’s angelic face wrapped in worry.
“It’s Grandfather.”
“What’s he done now?”
“Nothing. They found his body in the bayou tonight.”
“Body?” Her eyes filled with tears, reminding Luc of the Caribbean ocean, so clear in comparison to the murky waters around Lagniappe.
“He’d been shot.”
“I don’t understand.” Tears squeezed from her eyes and trickled down her gaunt cheeks.
He gripped her hand tighter, wishing he could erase the pain from her eyes.
“This is awful.”
“I know.” He planted a kiss on her forehead.
She grabbed his hand as he stood over her. “Luc, I’m mad at him, I mean I was, but I never wanted him dead.”
“I know, Boo. Me, too.”
Felicia wiped away her tears. “Where’d they find him?”
Leave it to his astute sister to ask such a pointed question. He sighed. “Near Grisson Landing.” He waited for the reaction.
She made the connection instantly. “Oh, no. Where Daddy died?”
The irony of the situation hadn’t been lost on her. The pain tightening her features strengthened his resolve to find the guilty party.
“Yes.” His vocal chords strained.
The tears spilled again. “Who found him?”
“CoCo.”
FIVE
Sleep deprived and nervous, CoCo paced the sidewalk outside the Vermilion parish sheriff’s office. She glanced at her watch, then peered down the asphalt road. What could be keeping Dwayne Williams? First thing this morning, she’d called his office and left a message. He’d returned her call before eight-thirty, assuring her he would meet her at nine-thirty for her to give her statement. According to Mickey on her wrist, nine minutes had passed since their scheduled meeting time.
Lord, I need a little help down here. I know I’m innocent, but am not so sure about Grandmere and Tara.
Wait! Did she just admit that her grandmother or sister could be involved in a murder? No way, no how. Practicing gris-gris and cunjas didn’t make one guilty of murder, did it? No, course not. Beau had been shot, not poisoned. Voodoo couldn’t pull a gun out of thin air, could it? She shook her head. She was being as illogical as Tara about superstitions.
An old Lincoln pulled into the parking lot, its tires crunching the loose gravel. Dwayne slipped from behind the wheel and marched toward her. “Sorry I’m a little late. Had to stop by the office and pick up some papers.”
She glanced at her watch. Wonderful, now they were fifteen minutes behind. What would Bubba Theriot think? She forced a smile. “That’s okay.”
He clutched a briefcase in his hand, and now that she studied him, he looked like a high-dollar attorney in his fitted suit and tie. Her smile shifted to genuine.
“This is standard and nothing to fret over.” He indicated the door with his briefcase. “Come on, allons. Might as well get it over with.”
Taking in a deep breath, she grasped the handle and jerked the glass door open. The aroma of burnt coffee reeked across the foyer of the police station, mixing with cheap aftershave. It turned her stomach. Good thing she hadn’t had breakfast.
Phones rang and people shouted, raising the noise level to a ten on the Richter scale. She fought back the instinct to clap her hands over her ears. Her soul ached for the quiet tranquility of the bayou. However, the memory that it hadn’t been so tranquil last night tapped her on the shoulder.
“Keep going, Sheriff Theriot is waving us over,” Dwayne said, his deep baritone pervading the noise around her.
She followed her attorney as he wove through the throng of police officers in the tiny station, keeping her attention focused on the floor. The cracked tile needed a good mopping. She studied the ground so intently that she nearly ran smack into Dwayne’s back when he stopped. CoCo jerked her head up.
Sheriff Bubba Theriot shook hands with Dwayne, then her. She pulled away from his sweaty, beefy clasp. She forced herself not to shudder. She certainly didn’t need to offend the lawman.
“Let’s head to the conference room,” the sheriff said. Without waiting for a reply, he herded them into a plain room, barren of any furniture save a table with four chairs, two on either side, and a single tape recorder.
She dropped into the chair Dwayne held out for her, then he sat beside her. Sheriff Theriot took a seat across the table. She glanced around the room, noticing the large mirror on one wall. CoCo gave herself a mental shake. That wasn’t an ordinary mirror—there were officers on the other side, watching her. Even though Grandmere didn’t own a television set, CoCo had seen enough movies to know.
“This is just a formality, CoCo,” the sheriff said as he reached for the tape recorder. “I’ll be recording your statement to make sure we get it right.”
Yeah, right. He just wanted to trip her up. Nerves bunched in the pit of her stomach. She’d be so embarrassed if she got sick right here in front of the sheriff. Would he automatically assume her guilty if she did?
“Ready?”
CoCo gave her recorded statement, waited for it to be typed and then signed where the sheriff indicated.
“We’ll call if we have any more questions,” the sheriff said as he showed them out.
“You can contact me directly if you have anything further to ask Ms. LeBlanc.” Dwayne passed one of his business cards to Sheriff Theriot.
CoCo and Dwayne escaped the stale air and chaotic noise of the station. Dwayne escorted her to the Jeep. “Would you like to go to the diner over there?” He nodded to the building across the street. “We can discuss what will happen now in regard to the eviction case, and you can ask me any questions you might have about the murder investigation.”
Now that her interview and statement were over, hunger pangs gripped her stomach. “That’d be nice. Merci.”
“I’ll meet you there.”
The drive across the street took but a few minutes, yet the time gave her an opportunity to compose herself and get her head on straight. She glanced at herself in the rearview mirror. Using her fingers, she combed her wavy bangs and then pulled at the bags under her eyes. A nap would definitely make it on her to do list for this afternoon.
Dwayne waited in the entry of the diner, smiling as she approached. A middle-aged waitress with a sagging mouth sat them in a booth off to the side. While casting them a curious look, she took their orders for coffee, handed them menus, then sashayed back to the counter.
“You did fine, by the way,” Dwayne said while perusing the diner’s offerings after the waitress had left.
“Merci.” She scanned the items listed on the grease-spotted bill of fare. Eggs and bacon with toast sounded mouthwatering right now. She closed the menu and studied her attorney. He had to be close to her age, twenty-nine, or just a few years older. Her gaze slid lower. No wedding band adorned his left hand. How did an African-American lawyer end up in Lagniappe?
“Is something wrong?”
She jerked her gaze to his eyes. “Pardon?”
“You’re staring at me. Is something wrong?”
Heat shot up her neck and into her cheeks. “I’m sorry. I was thinking.”
“About?”
“Beau Trahan. Who killed him?”
The waitress chose that moment to return. She filled their coffee mugs, took their orders and then hurried to another table of customers.
CoCo caught the stares from some of the people at the other tables, understanding that many wondered why a white woman sat with a black man. Even now, decades upon decades after the Civil War, some of the Cajuns in the area still held racist beliefs. Small-minded thinking drove her insane.
“You know—” Dwayne pulled her attention back to her question “—I’ve found Beau had a lot of enemies. During his time as a representative, he burned a lot of bridges. And he didn’t earn any hero worship during his stint as casino manager.”
“True, he never was a really likeable man.” She avoided the glare from the man across the way. Hillbilly redneck in Cajun country, just shoot me now. She stilled at her uncharitable train of thought. Shoot… “Have you heard what caliber weapon yet?”
He took a sip of his coffee. “While you were reading and signing your statement, I talked to one of the deputies. The autopsy will be later this morning. I’ll find out more this afternoon.”
“Do they think he was shot in the bayou?”
Setting down his mug, he shrugged. “What’re you thinking?”
“If he was killed in the bayou, it would have been farther away from where I found his body. If he’d been shot around Grisson Landing, I’d have heard the blast.”
Dwayne leaned over the table and lowered his voice. “Are you saying someone killed him elsewhere and moved him to the bayou, to that particular location? Why?”
She ran her finger along the rim of the cup. “Either to implicate my family or to hurt the Trahans.”
“Hurt them? I’m not following.”
“Two years ago, Beau Trahan’s son died in an accident.”
“I just moved here last year. What happened?”
“Caleb, Beau’s son, was out in his pirogue and hit a submerged stump. The boat capsized and somehow, Caleb broke his arm.”
“How horrible. Did he drown?”
“No.” Images of Caleb’s body threatened to choke her. Lord, make them go away. She gulped coffee, scalding her tongue, but it dulled the horror in her mind. “Best the police can guess is he started swimming toward the bank, but his broken arm slowed him down.” Another sip. “An alligator got him.”
“That’s atrocious. Did they find his body?”
She nodded, closing her eyes briefly against the memory. It didn’t block out the visuals in her head. “My grandmother heard his scream and called the police. She called me on my radio. I rushed over, arriving right before the police showed up.” She shuddered. “A gator had him in a death roll. I managed to get the gator off him, but it was too late.”
They fell silent as the waitress returned with their plates and refilled their coffee before bustling away.
“So, another family member found dead in the bayou would hurt the Trahans?”
