by Jana DeLeon
Carter’s cell phone rang and he pulled it from his pocket and answered it. The conversation was brief, but Zach could tell he was frustrated.
“That was the state police. They want me to meet them at the crime scene and answer some questions. I tried to keep them out of this, but with the potential connection to Alaina’s attack, I couldn’t. I’ve got to run but you go ahead and meet with William. Tell him everything.”
“Good luck,” Zach said.
Carter lifted one hand as he hurried away.
Zach watched him for a couple of seconds, delaying the inevitable. The last thing he wanted was to tell another person how he’d lied—tell another person that he suspected his father had been involved in something sordid. But it had to be done.
He’d opened Pandora’s box by coming here. Now more people than just him were awaiting answers.
And if it was the last thing he did, he was going to see that they got them.
* * *
WILLAMINA TRAHAN LIVED at the end of a dead-end road, in a beautifully maintained farmhouse on five acres of cleared land, surrounded by the swamp. Her nearest neighbor was Carter, who lived a mile up the road from his mother. Danae drove slowly down the road to Willamina’s house, trying to get a grip before she had to face the older woman. Willamina was one of the most observant and compassionate people Danae had ever met. One look at her right now, and Willamina would immediately know something was wrong. The last thing Danae wanted to do was dump her problems on Willamina when she already had her hands full caring for Cherise.
As she pulled into the driveway and parked next to Doc Broussard’s car, she took a deep breath and practiced a smile. It looked more like a grimace, but maybe Willamina would be too distracted by everything else to notice. She gathered the food containers and made her way to the front door.
Not wanting to awaken Cherise if she was sleeping, she balanced the containers on her leg and rapped lightly with one hand. Footsteps sounded on the hardwood floors inside, and a couple of seconds later, Willamina opened the door and gave her a smile.
“Connie, come in.” Willamina held the door open for her to enter.
“I’m sorry,” Willamina said as she pointed to the kitchen. “I should be calling you Danae. With everything going on, it slipped my mind.”
“That’s all right,” Danae said as she slid the containers onto the kitchen counter. “It will probably take everyone some time to get used to it all. How is Cherise?”
Willamina frowned. “Doc Broussard is in with her now. She seems physically okay, but I think she’s in shock. Doc is going to try to talk to her. The state police are pushing for an interview. I know the sooner they get information, the more likely they are to catch whoever did this, but she’s so fragile.”
“I can’t imagine finding Jack that way....”
“I can’t, either. Would you like something to drink? I just brewed some sweet tea. I’m coffee’d out.”
“That would be nice. Thank you.”
Willamina prepared two glasses of sweet tea and pointed to the patio doors. “Let’s take it outside. I could use some fresh air, and Doc Broussard may be in there awhile. Johnny said you burned yourself. How bad is it?”
Danae followed Willamina onto the patio and sank into one of the cushioned lawn chairs. “It’s not bad at all. Johnny is just stressed over everything. He wants to do something, which is why he prepared the food, but I don’t think he could face bringing it over himself.”
“So he made an excuse to send you. Sounds like a typical male.”
“I don’t mind. I would have offered anyway. I talked Johnny into closing the café, and I don’t really feel like sinking back into my own work at the moment.”
Willamina handed her a glass of tea and sat in the chair next to her. “So are you going to tell me what’s wrong or do I have to guess?”
Danae sighed. “I should have known I couldn’t hide anything from you.”
“I don’t know why you tried. You know I’m always here for anyone who needs to talk things out. Talking is my second-best skill.”
“What’s first?”
“Well, that depends on who you ask. I say listening is first, but Carter says it’s giving unsolicited advice.”
“Typical male.” They both said it at the same time and Danae smiled.
“Carter’s a good man,” Danae said. “Whatever you did worked.”
“A mother’s work is never done, but at least I have Alaina to pull some of the weight. Now, why don’t you tell me what man’s got you riled?”
Danae shook her head, amazed again at Willamina’s perception. “With everything going on in my life, how do you know it’s man problems?”
Willamina patted her hand. “Oh, honey, I saw that look on your face when I opened the door. Only a man can cause that particular look of anger, frustration and heartbreak all at the same time.”
“When you’re right, you’re right.” She took a deep breath and started telling Willamina about Zach. It was easier than she’d thought it would be, and once she got started, she didn’t stop until she’d laid the whole sordid mess at Willamina’s feet.
Willamina listened intently the entire time, never interrupting, but Danae could tell by her expression what she was thinking. When she finally ran out of words, Willamina leaned over and hugged her.
“The two of you are breaking my heart,” she said.
“The two of us?”
Willamina released her and nodded. “Here you are with a stolen childhood and that wall of steel you put up around yourself, then the one man who managed to scale it is at the precipice of having everything he thought he knew about his childhood destroyed.”
Danae frowned. She hadn’t really thought about Zach that way, but what Willamina said made sense. He must be horribly worried that the father he loved and thought he knew wasn’t the man Zach thought he was.
“I’m struggling to find my identity,” Danae said, “and he’s struggling not to lose his.”
Willamina looked pleased. “That’s it exactly. Now, you and I both know that even if Zach’s father was involved in something nefarious all those years ago, that’s no reflection on the man Zach is today. Nor is it, in my opinion, a reflection on what kind of father he was to Zach, but he’s not likely to see it that way. Not yet.”
“He’s just thinking it’s all a lie.”
“Yes, but it’s more than that.”
“What do you mean?”
“Now he’s also afraid that his father was involved in the worst thing that ever happened to the woman he loves.”
Danae stared at Willamina. “Loves? No, he doesn’t... He can’t... I barely know him.”
“I knew an hour after I met Carter’s father that he was the one.”
Her mind raced, trying to process Willamina’s words. “Even if that’s true and his father did something wrong, that doesn’t have anything to do with Zach. I would never hold that against him.”
Willamina gave her a sad smile. “I know that, dear, but he doesn’t. So he got scared and made a foolish mistake—he hid the truth from you. I don’t agree with his method, but I do understand the thought process behind it.”
Danae reached over to squeeze Willamina’s hand, as the older woman had done to her earlier. “How did you get so smart?”
“My mama was a pistol. I got it all from her. She would have loved you.”
Tears welled up in Danae’s eyes, and before she could get control of them, they spilled over onto her face.
Willamina rose from her chair and leaned over to kiss the top of Danae’s head. “You sit here for a while with your thoughts. I’ve got to run into Calais real quick and drop off the church keys to Celia. Someone else is going to have to run the bake sale this afternoon. I’m needed here.”
Danae sniffed and wiped the tears from her face with her hand. “Thank you. For everything.”
“I’ll tell Doc Broussard you need to see him before he leaves. I’ll be back in fif
teen minutes or so.” She gave Danae’s shoulder a squeeze before walking away.
Willamina’s car started up a minute later, and Danae heard it pull away. She stared into the swamp, wondering how her previously simple life had gotten so complicated. A minute later, she rose and strolled across the backyard, taking in the layers of texture and color that Willamina had worked into her landscape. The woman had a real gift for design.
As she neared the side of the house, she heard a tinkling sound from the front yard, like the sound of glass breaking. Without thinking, she rushed around the side of the house and almost collided with the man standing next to her car and holding a crowbar.
Chapter Eighteen
William must have been watching for him, because he opened the front door of the law office as Zach approached.
“Carter had to go meet the state police,” Zach explained, “but I’m supposed to bring you up to speed.”
“Of course, come in.” William waved a hand toward his office. “I’m going to lock this so that no one interrupts us. I’m not really open on Saturdays, but it doesn’t stop people from dropping by if they think I’m here.”
“No, I guess it wouldn’t.” The attorney was one of those likable father-figure types. Zach could imagine that most of Calais’s residents had probably stopped in at some time or another for advice.
Zach slid into a chair in front of William’s antique desk as the attorney took a seat behind it. Deciding it was best to simply lay everything out on the table, Zach told William everything—his father’s deathbed confession and Zach’s real reason for coming to Calais. Then he showed the attorney Purcell’s journals and explained the entry matching the time line and amount of the deposit his father made.
“I can’t think of any legitimate reason,” Zach said, “that my father would have been paid by Purcell.”
The grave look on the attorney’s face let Zach know the older man thought the situation looked as dire as Zach did.
“Yes, well,” William said, “I can see why you’d find that troubling. You said your father was a funeral director. Did he deal with the preparation of the bodies?”
“No, but he knew a lot about it. I guess you pick up things after so many years.”
William nodded. “Quite so, I’m sure, but would it be enough for him to notice if something weren’t appropriate?”
“You mean something the embalmer didn’t notice?”
“Not necessarily. We’ve already found evidence of Purcell paying different people for less-than-desirable services. It could be that he paid off the embalmer as well as your father.”
“That hadn’t occurred to me,” Zach said, the one sliver of hope that his father hadn’t involved himself in something horrible completely slipping away.
“The only thing,” Zach continued, “worth paying an embalmer and funeral director to lie about is murder. You, me, Carter...we’ve all danced around the word, but we’re all thinking it.”
The sympathy on the attorney’s face was clear. “Yes, I’m afraid you’re right.”
“Carter wanted you to get a copy of the autopsy. I guess he’s hoping we could find something the medical examiner missed.”
“An autopsy wasn’t performed.”
Zach stared. “What? Why not?”
“There was no suspicion of foul play. Ophelia had been to see a doctor in New Orleans just two days before, complaining of chest pains and being short of breath. The doctor did a cursory exam and concluded she had pneumonia and requested she come back for further testing after the pneumonia had run its course.”
“So everyone assumed she died from the pneumonia.”
“That or she had an underlying heart condition that was exacerbated by the pneumonia.”
Zach shook his head, something about it all still not adding up. “But Ophelia was a young woman. I still can’t imagine a coroner making such a leap.”
“It wasn’t the coroner who made it,” William said. “The only coroner back then was in New Orleans.”
“Then who would have called the death?”
“The local doctor.”
A wave of panic ran through Zach. “Doc Broussard?”
William’s eyes widened and he nodded. “He’s been the only doctor here for a good forty years. Oh, my...I never thought...”
Zach jumped up from his chair. “Call Carter and tell him to get to his mother’s house. Danae is there...with Doc Broussard.”
William’s face paled as he reached for the phone. Zach tore out of the office and jumped into his truck, cursing himself for putting the box of papers in Danae’s car. Killing Jack had already given away his level of desperation. He wouldn’t stop at killing again to keep his secret hidden.
* * *
GLASS FROM THE BROKEN car window glinted in the gravel driveway, leaving her no doubt as to what had happened, but she was floored by the man himself, former sheriff Roger Martin.
“You?” She took a step back from him, but he grabbed her arm, preventing her from escaping. “But why?”
“You meddling little bitch.” He pulled a pistol from his waistband and opened the car door. “Give me the keys and get in.”
Danae scrambled to come up with an alternative escape. If she cried out, Doc Broussard might hear her, but Martin had a clear shot at him when he came out of the house. Her cell phone was sitting on the back patio, of no use to her, and her pistol was in her purse, sitting on Willamina’s kitchen counter.
A glance around the lawn didn’t reveal Martin’s car, but the bayou ran behind Willamina’s house, just past the cleared land. He could have easily taken his boat here in order to gain entry to the property unobserved.
“I don’t have the keys,” she lied, trying to stall. “They’re inside.”
“I see them in your pocket. Give them to me, or I shoot you here.”
One look at the pure hatred and rage in his expression, and Danae knew he wasn’t joking. If she fought back, Doc Broussard and Cherise might hear, or Willamina might return. The only way she could ensure their safety was to leave with the man she was certain had killed Jack.
She pulled the keys from her pocket and handed them to him before sliding into the car, her tennis shoes crunching on the broken glass on the floorboard. Martin hurried around the front of the car, keeping his pistol trained on her, and climbed into the driver’s side. As he backed up, Willamina’s front door opened and Doc Broussard looked out.
“Get down!” Martin yelled before Danae could signal for help.
He grabbed her hair and yanked her down in the seat. At the same time, he punched the accelerator, and the car launched forward, the spray of gravel pinging against the car’s undercarriage and sides.
Danae crouched on the floorboard, her head pounding where Martin had yanked her hair. “Where are you taking me?”
“Home to the LeBeau estate. Where it all began and where it’s all going to end.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Something I should have done as soon as Purcell died. Burn it to the ground.”
“What you’re looking for is in that box in the backseat.”
He looked down at her and sneered. “That’s not all I was looking for, and I’m not about to risk that you found everything implicating me. Purcell was crazy. Who knows what kind of scribbled ramblings he has shoved into that mountain of crap in that house.”
“You’re not going to get away with this.”
He laughed. “Of course I am. I’ve gotten away with it all this time. If that idiot Jack had done his job properly, you wouldn’t be in this position. Blame him for your early demise. But when everyone hears the sad and damaged heiress burned herself down in the house, they’re not going to blink.”
Danae’s stomach turned. Martin wasn’t even on the list of their suspects. No one would have any reason to connect him with the fire. Except for the remote chance that Doc Broussard got a glimpse of him as he drove away, Martin was right—he was going to get away with everyt
hing.
“Purcell killed my mother, didn’t he? And you covered it up. You and the coroner and the funeral director and God only knows who else.”
“You’ll never know, and neither will anyone else when I’m done. I should have known better than to trust Purcell. He’s managed to screw us all from the grave.”
The car dropped down into a rut and her head slammed into the center console, blurring her vision. She closed her eyes, hoping the blurring cleared before they got to the house. The last thing she intended to do was go quietly inside to be lit on fire.
If she was going down, she was going down with a fight.
Sitting on the patio with Willamina, Danae had felt cheated by life once more, sad and angry over what she’d viewed as betrayal by Zach. But Willamina had put things in perspective...reminded her that most people tried to hide the parts of their past they weren’t proud of.
Despite all his suspicions, Zach had helped her continue her search of the records. He’d put himself at risk to protect her, knowing all the while that what she was doing might lead to the worst possible information about his own father. Last night had been real. Someone who’d been faking her entire life recognized the difference. It was thrilling and frightening, but more than anything, she didn’t want it to be over.
At any other time, the drive from Calais to the estate would have seemed to take forever, but this time, it felt like only a few minutes. When the car screeched to a halt, Danae started to rise, but Martin pointed the gun back at her.
“Not so quick, sweetheart.” He reached into his pocket with his free hand and tossed a set of handcuffs onto the floorboard. “Put those on.”
Her heart sank as she clicked the metal around her wrists, eliminating any possibility of gaining the upper hand in a fight. Even her ability to run was seriously compromised. There was nothing left to do but go along with him for the time being and watch closely for an opportunity to escape.
And pray.