by Jana DeLeon
“Look,” he said, “everyone gets to decide their own life. I’m not into kids. I leave that to the churchgoers and the people with political aspirations. All that image stuff.”
“Like your coworker, Cory. He didn’t seem to think much of you when I spoke with him earlier.”
He shrugged. “Nobody at the firm likes me. My parents own the place. They all know that no matter what they do, they’ll never to get to sit in the big chair. It’s all coming to me.”
“Didn’t sound like jealousy,” I said. “More like disdain.”
Drew’s jaw tightened and I saw his expression shift. The previously cocky look vanished as if a steel door had closed on top of it, and it was replaced with anger.
“Cory should watch what he says about other people. He’s not the angel he makes himself out to be. Now, if you ladies are done with your worrying-about-Ashley routine, I’ve got people waiting on me. I don’t know where Ashley is, nor do I care. She wasn’t anyone to me but a bit of fun. Don’t try to make it more.”
He stood up and walked away.
“You think he’s telling the truth?” Ida Belle asked.
“Unfortunately, yes,” I said. “I think he’s too in love with himself to lie.”
“That’s a shame,” Gertie said. “Because I really wanted to shoot him.”
“Me too,” I agreed.
“Let’s get out of here before one of us changes our mind,” Ida Belle said.
“None of this makes sense,” Gertie said as we headed back to the SUV. “The emails to Cooke came from Bayou South Investments and Drew admitted to partying with Ashley. If he’s not the father, then who is? Is it possible that two different men from the same company were sleeping with her? And if so, who’s the other one? Drew and Cory were the only two that fit the profile and it doesn’t appear to be either of them.”
“She’s right,” Ida Belle said. “We followed the logical trail and found all the pieces but they appear to belong to two different puzzles.”
“Maybe Drew is the father and his parents found out and hired Cooke,” Gertie said. “I know he says they’d disinherit him but it would be their grandchild. Some people get crazy over their bloodline.”
“That’s a better theory than what I’ve come up with,” I said.
“What did you come up with?” Gertie asked.
I sighed. “Nothing.”
“Gertie’s got me beat on this one too, I’m afraid,” Ida Belle said, and looked over at me. “You didn’t get a sense of something off or wrong or anything from either of them?”
“I’ve gotten a sense that something wasn’t completely right with everyone we’ve interviewed,” I said. “None of them were lying but I doubt any of them were giving the full story, either.”
“Of course not,” Gertie said. “People rarely offer up personal business when it’s embarrassing, much less illegal.”
“And I’m sure they all have things they’d rather not become public knowledge,” Ida Belle said. “Everyone does.”
“Not me,” Gertie said. “My life is an open book.”
“Your life is a YouTube video,” Ida Belle said. “But you still don’t want anyone looking in your purse.”
“True,” Gertie said. “So what now? We start looking in handbags? Metaphorically speaking?”
I shook my head. “I think we head back to Sinful, wrap gifts, and see if we can make a dent in baked goods.”
“You’re giving up?” Gertie asked.
“No,” I said. “I’m giving myself time to sort everything out and decide on a next course of action. And I need to check in with our clients. They might be ready to call it quits since it appears Cooke wasn’t killed by a Sinful resident.”
“But we’ve still got a baby in danger,” Gertie said. “And Ashley missing.”
“I know,” I said. “I’m not saying we won’t keep poking around. I’m just saying I probably shouldn’t be charging the Heberts for it.”
Ida Belle nodded. “We’ve had a lot to process in a short while. I think a break to get it all in order is a good idea. Sometimes when I’m stuck on how to proceed, I wash my vehicle or pressure-wash the driveway…things that require motion but not a lot of thinking. It seems to loosen up my mind.”
“Or shooting things,” Gertie said. “I always think better when I’m shooting.”
“Well, thank God for that,” Ida Belle said. “It’s hardly the time to let your mind wander. But she does have a point. We could load up some ammo and guns and head out in the boat for a shooting session. Might get rid of some frustration, anyway.”
“Can we put a picture of Celia on an old pier post and let ’em rip?” Gertie said.
“It’s a requirement,” Ida Belle said.
I smiled. “Then I suppose we have an activity planned. At least there won’t be any loose livestock, and we can’t catch anything on fire.”
Gertie shook her head. “Never underestimate me.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
We relaxed over a snack and then made several trips from my supersecret closet to the boat to load up weapons and rounds. There were a couple of guns that I had inherited with the house that I hadn’t tried yet, and I was looking forward to giving them a whirl. We headed back inside to fill up the cooler and grab our phones, and that’s when we realized we all had text messages, and voice mail, and a million missed calls.
All from Walter.
“What the heck is that man up to?” Ida Belle asked. “He better not think marrying me means he gets to keep tabs. I’ll rescind my ‘yes’ if that’s the case.”
I figured this was all Ida Belle’s business and Gertie must have as well, because neither of us made a move to return the call. Ida Belle didn’t even hesitate. She poked in his number, put it on speaker, then started in as soon as he answered.
“Why are you blowing up our phones?” she asked. “Is Celia dead? Did Christ return? This better be good.”
“If you’d shut up a minute, I’ll tell you,” he said. “Myrna got a call from the Mudbug police. Becca’s alarm was going off but she’s not answering her phone. She called here asking if I’d seen her. I’d no more than hung up with her when a man I’d never seen before walked into the store, asking how to find FM 614.”
Ida Belle sucked in a breath. “That’s where the Prejeans live.”
“Myrna said Becca was supposed to take more pictures there sometime today,” Walter said. “Said they got a puppy and wanted some with the baby. But no one’s answering at the Prejeans’ either. Now, maybe they’re all busy with the picture taking.”
“What did the man look like?” I asked.
“City slicker. Expensive suit. Bad attitude.”
My back stiffened. “Call Carter and send him to the Prejeans’ house.”
“Already did,” Walter said. “But he’s on a call at the Swamp Bar and can’t get away and I’ve got a store full of people. That’s why I’m calling you.”
“How long ago did the man leave?” I asked.
“Fifteen minutes.”
“We’ve got to hurry,” I said, and started for the front door.
“Wait!” Ida Belle yelled. “There’s a bayou that dips down just off the back of the house. We’ll get there faster in the boat.”
“And the weapons are already loaded,” Gertie said.
We all ran out the back door and I could still hear Walter yelling on the phone as I shoved the boat off the bank and jumped inside. Ida Belle passed me her phone and I told Walter we were on it before disconnecting. Ida Belle fired the boat up and we took off at warp speed. I clutched the arms of my chair and squinted into the blasting air, wishing I’d grabbed sunglasses before I left. I looked down at the stack of weapons in the bottom of the boat and said a quick prayer that we wouldn’t need them.
But I had a feeling things had gone seriously south. And my chat with Cory Guillory had set it all into motion. How had I missed this? I would have sworn that Cory was telling the truth when he said he di
dn’t know Ashley but apparently, he was the best actor ever. And by handing him a business card with my address and telling him I represented her sister, I’d sent him right to her front door.
I wondered why Cooke hadn’t made the familial connection, but then remembered what the bartender had said—that she hadn’t even known Ashley had a sister until I’d mentioned it. No one was looking for a sister and since Megan was married and didn’t share the same name, there was nothing to connect them. Until my visit.
Given what Cory got from me, a PI could have tracked Megan down in a matter of minutes with simple record searches—birth, marriage, property deeds. Still, it seemed a gross oversight that Cooke didn’t bother to trace Ashley’s family more thoroughly. But maybe he preferred roughing people up for information rather than cruising computer files.
The part that really confused me was why Cooke hadn’t gotten that information out of Abshire. Was the attorney really that strong? He’d seemed to remember Ashley’s baby had been adopted by her sister when I talked to him. Had Cooke literally knocked the information clean out of his mind and he was only now able to recall it? But then I remembered the payments—ten grand per town. Maybe Cooke had deliberately kept the information on Megan from Cory so that he could collect the payment for Mudbug as well as Sinful.
I shook my head. Too many things still didn’t make sense.
I glanced over at Ida Belle and took in the grim look on her face. I knew her well enough to guess what was going through her mind, and it was the same thing that was going through mine. I’d already labeled Cory a narcissist and now we knew he’d hired Cooke. That made him an unknown quantity when it came to violence. Certainly, he wasn’t above paying someone else for it. The question was, had his desperation reached a level where he’d get his own hands dirty?
Either way, this was a confrontation that we’d been hoping to avoid. If Cory insisted on making a play for his son, then I’d hoped he’d hire an attorney and file the proper paperwork…make his case through the legal system. Confronting the Prejeans, who didn’t appear to be part of a conspiracy to keep the biological father from his child, wasn’t the way to go. It was reckless and it had the potential to be dangerous given how high emotions were running.
Ida Belle made a hard right when we reached the lake and skirted the edge for a bit before making another hard right into a narrow bayou. The boat flew across the top of the water, the sides brushing the grass on the banks at time due to the limited width. I could see Gertie clenching the edges of her custom-made seat cushion and knew she was feeling the pressure as badly as I was. The fact that she wasn’t hooting at the top of her lungs was also an indication of just how worried she was about what we were going to find at the Prejeans’ house.
It was probably only a couple minutes that Ida Belle navigated the tiny channel, but it seemed like forever before she cut the throttle and pulled up against the bank.
“The house is through that tree line,” she said and pointed to a grouping of trees about fifty yards away.
I jumped off my chair and Gertie hefted the duffle bag of weaponry onto the bench. I already had my nine-millimeter on me but I pulled out a scope and a sniper rifle. Ida Belle gave me a hard look.
“Just in case,” I said.
She gave me a single nod and grabbed another rifle. Neither of us wanted things to go down that way, but if it was a choice between Cory and one of the others, then my allegiance was definitely with the others. I already knew what kind of person Cory was. I just hoped he elected to cause a scene by mouthing off and didn’t take things to the level Cooke had.
We ran to the tree line then paused at the edge to assess our approach to the house. Becca’s car was in the driveway and a BMW was parked behind it. That had to be Cory. A later model Accord was parked next to Becca’s car, and I wondered if it belonged to Myrna or even Ashley. Either way, that meant we had at least four adults and one child inside…and Cory Guillory.
A storage building stood in the backyard and, if we angled in behind it, blocked the view from any of the house’s windows. I pointed to the shed and took off, Ida Belle and Gertie trailing behind me. When we got to the shed, I peeked around the corner with my scope. The window to the kitchen was open and I could see inside, but no one occupied the kitchen or breakfast nook. They must all be in the living room, which was at the front of the house.
“The kitchen is clear,” I said. “I’m going to sneak in the back door. Gertie, you cover me on the rear. Ida Belle, you take the front so we can flank him.”
They both nodded and I hurried across the lawn to the back of the house and pressed myself against the side, under the kitchen window. Gertie was only seconds behind me, which surprised me a bit, but then she wasn’t carrying her handbag which probably weighed her down significantly.
“I’m going to enter through the back door,” I whispered. “Hang back at the door until I motion for you to enter.”
The point of that setup was that if Cory, by some miracle of extreme luck, happened to take me out, Gertie had cover and time to take aim and shoot. But mostly, I wanted her out of the potential line of fire. Ida Belle was a sharpshooter and had taken a rifle with her for that reason. I knew she’d hang back rather than charging in, which was why I’d sent her around front. I crept onto the porch and tried the back door, happy to find it was unlocked. I eased the doorknob around and inched the door open, praying the hinges didn’t squeak. Then I slipped inside.
I could hear the angry voices in the living room as soon as I entered, and when I peered around the corner into the living room, the worst possible scenario was splayed out in front of me.
Cory Guillory stood near the front door, Caleb clutched in one arm and a pistol in his other hand. Megan, Seth, Becca, and Myrna were across from him, all of them wearing horrified expressions. Megan was staring at Caleb, crying, as the baby wailed and stretched his arms out in her direction. A puppy whined in a crate next to the Christmas tree.
I could have shot Cory, but not without risking injury to Caleb. And besides, if I fired a shot right then, one of the others might have a heart attack. They were already perched on the thin edge of sanity. Add to that, I had no reason to suspect that Cory was going to harm the baby, just take him, and that left me with a thin defense for killing the man. Especially as he was trying to leave with his own child.
I saw no other option but to force Cory into relinquishing the baby. If he knew he wasn’t going to get away, then maybe he’d come to his senses and no one would get hurt. I leaned my rifle against the wall and pulled out my pistol, then stepped around the corner, gun leveled at Cory’s head.
“This isn’t going to work out the way you think it is,” I said.
Cory looked at me and sneered. “You think I’m scared of some broad with a gun?”
“You should be,” I said. “I’m a former CIA operative. My job title was classified. You know what that’s code for?”
I shook my pistol and he smiled.
“You’re just another lying whore,” he said.
“The only reason you’re not already dead is because you’re holding that baby,” I said. “I understand you’re angry. Ashley went through with an adoption without telling you. But this is not the way to exercise your parental rights. You need to let the courts work it out.”
I hoped appealing to his rational side would get him to turn over the baby, but when he looked at me, with those cold, dead snake eyes, I knew he was too far gone to care anymore. Why, I had no idea. He’d claimed Ashley was beneath him. He’d married the well-connected woman he thought he needed to get him ahead. It still didn’t make sense.
“I told you I didn’t dally with cheap women,” he said. “This has nothing to do with Ashley and everything to do with that whore right there.”
He pointed the gun at Becca and Myrna gasped.
Becca’s eyes filled with tears and her entire body started shaking.
“You thought you could take my son from me and give h
im to these peasants?” Cory ranted. “Raised in this hick town in squalor? That’s no life for anyone with my blood. My son is going to have the best of everything available to him. He’s going to carry on my name and my legacy.”
I looked between Becca and Cory, so confused, and then with Becca’s next words, all of Cooke’s perceived inconsistencies in his investigation made sense.
“Our baby died!” Becca yelled, choking as she spoke.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Everyone stared at Becca in disbelief.
“You’re lying,” he said. “That’s all women know how to do.”
Becca burst into tears. “Do you think I like saying that? That our baby died? Reliving the most horrible moment of my life? I showed you the death certificate. It’s on file with the state. That is not your son!”
“If he’s not my son, then why did you run?” Cory asked. “You gave up my son and disappeared, hoping I wouldn’t find you. But you weren’t as smart as you thought. And now, it’s all over. I’m taking my son and you’re going to prison for this. And there’s nothing you can do about it.”
Myrna wrapped one arm around her clearly distraught daughter and grabbed a baby brush from a nearby table. She tossed it on the chair next to Cory.
“This has gone far enough,” Myrna said. “Get that hair tested. While you’re sitting in prison, you can do so without plotting your next act of violence against these people.”
Cory glanced down at the brush and I saw a tiny flicker of doubt cross his face. I thought that would be it. That he’d give Megan the baby and have the tests run. That everything could be settled by judges and with no guns. But then his expression hardened again and I saw his jaw flex.
“You’ve already wasted too much of my time,” he said. “Time my wife and I could have been bonding with our son. Time we could have spent presenting him to the press. You won’t take another minute from me and what’s mine.”