Bayou Judgment

by Robin Caroll

  He stood as well and slung an arm around her shoulders, pulling her gently against him. “I’m sorry, Boo. I don’t mean to nag. I’ll work on it, okay?”

  She nodded. He’d work on the nagging, but he wouldn’t change his mind. And now, after talking with Wes, she was even more determined to find Jolie’s murderer. Fast.

  Spencer spent the day reviewing Jolie’s call records. Not a single violent one in the past three months. He should’ve been relieved, but he knew the sheriff would still eventually pull a background check on him. No way around it. Maybe he should just talk to Theriot when he served his warrant—lay out all his cards. But was that really such a hot idea? The sheriff hadn’t been in the most responsive frame of mind since Spencer made him get a warrant. Still, what else could he do?

  The church elders had been understanding at the time of his hiring, had promised they’d allow him to tell his parishioners himself in due time. What would his congregation think? Would they demand the pastoral committee members reconsider their decision? It’d happened at his first church appointment. The sting of rejection and condemnation still bit against his memory.

  Speaking of not putting things off, he needed to reschedule his appointment with Jon Garrison. Didn’t that thought just fill him with joy and rapture? Small courthouse office, the stench of disinfectant used to cover the smell of urine and sour whiskey and the elevator always reeking of body odor. Who wouldn’t want to visit? Only one more year, and he wouldn’t have to make these monthly appointments. Unless Sheriff Theriot caused him grief.

  Michael stuck his head into the office. “Pastor, there’s a woman calling on my line. She’s asking for Jolie and refuses to talk to anyone else.”

  Wiping his hands against his jeans, Spencer stood and strode to the door. “What’d you tell her?”

  “Just that Jolie isn’t on the schedule for tonight.” Spencer’s assistant shrugged. “That’s true.”

  “Right.” Spencer made quick strides to Michael’s desk, set off from the row of operators. He reached for the phone, wiping his hands on his jeans again. “This is Pastor Bertrand. May I help you?”

  “I want to talk to Jolie.” The woman’s voice cracked.

  Near hysteria.

  Spencer dropped into Michael’s chair. “I’m sorry, Jolie isn’t working tonight, but I’d love to help you.”

  “But I need to talk to Jolie. I need to warn her.”

  Adrenaline spiked his heartbeat. “Warn her about what?”

  “I shouldn’t even be talking to you. I need to talk to Jolie.”

  Calm. Steady. One wrong word and she’d hang up. Spencer couldn’t lose her now—this could be the clue needed in the murder investigation. “Jolie’s a wonderful young lady, but she’s not here. I can try to help you. What do you want to warn her about?”

  Silence filled the connection. Not even the sound of the woman’s breathing could be heard.

  Spencer took calming breaths. Please, don’t have hung up. “Hello?”

  “I shouldn’t have called.”

  The click vibrated against his ear, and he let the receiver fall back to its cradle. Lifting his gaze to meet Michael’s, he sighed. “I need to phone Sheriff Theriot.”

  SIX

  “Vermilion Parish Christian Counseling Hotline, this is Felicia.”

  “Uh, this is, um, Winnie.”

  Felicia stood and stared over the cubicle wall, searching for Spence. No sign of him. “Hi, Winnie. I’m glad you called back. How’re you doing?” She waved at Sally, the operator next to her, and gestured toward Spence’s door.

  “Better.”

  Sally rushed toward the office. Felicia dropped back to her chair. “That’s wonderful. You’re still not having feelings of anger or bitterness toward your ex’s new girlfriend, yes?”

  “Nope, she basically left him.”

  Where was Spence?

  “But he hasn’t come running back to me like I thought he would.”

  Finally, Spence emerged and made his way toward Felicia’s station. Sheriff Theriot dogged him. “Had he given you any indication that he would?” What was the sheriff doing behind closed doors with Spence?

  Winnie’s laugh was dry. “He should’ve.”

  Felicia pointed at the name she’d logged, then plugged in the set of training earphones and handed them to Spence. He needed to hear this conversation. The sheriff hovered behind them. “So, are you and he speaking?”

  “I tried. I went by to try to comfort him after she was gone, but he totally blew me off.” A hint of anger crept into her tone.

  “Maybe he’s just as hurt over her leaving as you were over him leaving you.”

  Winnie grunted. “I hope so. I hope the pain is ripping him up inside.”

  “You don’t mean that.”

  “I do. And I’m going to make sure he hurts more. Nobody dumps me like he did.”

  “I know you’re hurting, Winnie, but revenge isn’t the way to go.”

  “Why not? Because the Bible says so?” She laughed with a high-pitched lilt. “I play by my own rules, and that’s served me just fine all my life.”

  “But the anger and bitterness only eat you up, Winnie. It hurts you more than your ex or his new girlfriend.”

  Winnie laughed again. “I doubt that.”

  “You must have a reason for calling me. I think you want someone to listen and care about you. I do, Winnie.”

  “You don’t even know me.”

  “So why call me?” Felicia held her breath. These calls always came down to the basic question—was someone crying out for help, or did they want to brag? Winnie hadn’t exactly fallen into either category.

  “I don’t know why, really. The first time I called, I was actually looking for someone else.”

  “Who?” Had Winnie made a connection with another operator? Maybe given them a different name?

  “That’s not important anymore. You were nice, so I thought we could be friends.”

  There was that hot-and-cold mood swing again. “I’d like to be your friend, Winnie.”

  “Not anymore. He changed me. Made me act in ways I never dreamed I would. But he’ll be hurting a lot more than me before I get through with him. When I’m done, he’ll wish he was dead.”

  A knot tied in Felicia’s gut. “What are you planning?” Her gaze locked with Spence’s.

  More laughter. “Guess that’s for me to know and you not to find out.”

  “Win—”

  Too late. The call disconnected.

  “What do you think?” Felicia unplugged her phone from the system operating board.

  Spence laid the headphones on the desk. His face wrinkled into a tight mask of worry. He let out a deep breath, as if he’d been holding it for years, and tilted his head toward the sheriff.

  Felicia pushed to her feet. “Spence, may I see you in your office, please?” She glanced at Sheriff Theriot, then back to Spence. “Please.”

  He led the way to his office. She pushed the door closed behind them and stood before his desk as he took a seat. “You’re not thinking of telling the sheriff about Winnie, are you?”

  “It might be a good idea, considering all that’s happened.”

  Strange—Spence normally tried everything humanly possible to keep the center’s business private. Even when he had to push a battered woman to go to a shelter, if she gave her name, Spence wouldn’t call the police. Yet over Winnie he would? Sure, she was a ticking time bomb, but what could they tell the police? A scorned woman had threatened revenge against her ex? That went back to Old Testament times.

  “But why now? We’ve never filed reports with the police before.”

  He scrubbed his face absentmindedly. “I took a call earlier. Lady wanted to speak to Jolie.”

  She swallowed, the lump sitting sideways in her throat not budging.

  “She wanted to warn Jolie.”

  Her heart stuttered. “Warn her about what?”

  “I don’t know. She hung up on me.
I called the sheriff.” He leaned back in his chair, balancing on the back two legs. “I can’t take a chance that someone else associated with the center could be hurt.”

  “That’s silly. There’s no correlation.”

  “There isn’t?” He dropped the front two chair legs to the floor. A thud echoed off the walls covered with thank-you cards from callers helped over the past two years. “You know this how?”

  “I believe the people Kipp owed money to are the ones responsible for Jolie’s death.”

  “The sheriff’s getting a warrant for Jolie’s logs from here. We need to make sure there isn’t an association.”

  She couldn’t believe a link existed, because if one did, Luc had been right and she wasn’t safe. The lump in her throat dropped to rest in the pit of her stomach. “You really believe the center’s involved?”

  “More than you can ever know, I don’t want there to be a correlation.” His eyes dimmed, and he dropped his gaze to the desk.

  This had to be eating him up inside. Felicia knew how dedicated Spence was to the center. He’d only bring in the police if he felt that was the only option left. She laid a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

  He popped up his head and met her gaze. His piercing eyes, combined with the tingling traveling up her arm from the touch, made her dizzy. She jerked her hand back to her side. “I mean, I know how much you like to keep the center’s business private.”

  Spence hauled himself to his feet. “Trust me, if there were any other way, I’d take it. I don’t have a choice this time.” He nodded toward the office window. “Guess we’d better not keep the sheriff waiting much longer.”

  She glanced over her shoulder. Sheriff Theriot leaned against the wall, appearing nonchalant, but his steady stare never left her and Spence. She swallowed hard. “Okay. I’ll bring him up to speed on Winnie’s calls.”

  “Merci.” He touched her arm, and his gaze softened.

  Her mouth went dry. This man, her boss, couldn’t affect her this way. She gave him a slight smile before turning and opening the office door.

  Better to face an inquiring sheriff than deal with her own confusing emotions.

  Look in the dictionary under southern belle and Felicia Trahan’s picture would be beside it, Spence thought as he watched her talk to Sheriff Theriot. She brought the definition of a refined lady to life. Strong as a lightning rod, yet as gentle as Spanish moss fluttering from a cypress tree. Answering the sheriff’s questions with precision, adding no elaborations, she kept her emotions from slipping into her voice. Spencer couldn’t help but be impressed. After all she’d been through, Felicia still came across as smooth as the bayou in the morning.

  He snatched back his thoughts. He could never act on his feelings. Felicia Trahan was off limits and always would be. He’d never be worthy of her.

  Lord, could You give me some guidance on this? I know I shouldn’t be feeling the way I am around her, but these feelings keep popping up. I could use some wisdom on the situation.

  “You have anything else to add, Pastor?”

  The sheriff interrupted Spencer’s prayer, pulling him back into the conversation. “No. Nothing else.”

  The sheriff pocketed his notebook and stood. “I’ll make this report and see what I can find out. Until we get some answers, I’d encourage you to think about closing down the center.”

  “What?” Felicia cried.

  Little bursts of panic blasted against Spencer’s heart. “I don’t think we need to go that far, Sheriff.”

  “I’m just saying…the murder, these calls, the woman who wanted to warn Jolie…it all sounds connected to me.”

  No, he couldn’t close the center. Wouldn’t. Spencer stiffened his spine and squared off with the sheriff. “Until such a link is affirmed, the center will stay open.” Was that a sigh of relief from Felicia?

  The sheriff shrugged and opened the office door. “Your call, Pastor. For now. If we find proof the center’s somehow related with Jolie’s murder, then I’ll have no other option but to close it down. Officially.”

  “Sheriff,” Felicia interrupted, “is there anything new on Jolie’s case?”

  “I’m not at liberty to discuss the case with you, Felicia.” He softened his expression. “Just leave this to the police and try to get on with your life.”

  As soon as the sheriff turned the corner, Spencer dropped into his chair.

  “They haven’t the first lead, I’ll bet. You won’t let them close the center, will you?” Felicia’s eyes glistened.

  “I’ll do my best not to.”

  Michael stuck his head into the office. “Boss, we’re heading out. And, Felicia, your brother’s on line one. Sounds important.”

  Without asking permission, she yanked up Spencer’s phone. “Luc? What’s wrong?” She nibbled her bottom lip and wound the phone cord around her finger. “Oh. That’s okay. I can just call a cab.” She let out a grunt that sounded suspiciously like a growl. “I can arrange for my own ride home, Luc. I’m neither a child nor an invalid.”

  Uh-oh. That sauciness bubbled into her voice. Spencer chanced a glimpse at her face. He’d been right—she was really attractive when her eyes sparkled with anger. He knocked on the desk. “I can take you home if you need a ride.” Where’d that come from?

  She smiled. “Never mind. Spence volunteered to give me a lift home.” She unwound the cord from her finger. “Okay. Love you, too.”

  “Driver problems?”

  She replaced the phone in its cradle. “Apparently the driver’s come down with a bug of some sort, and Luc’s driving CoCo, Tara and Mrs. LeBlanc to N’Awlins.”

  “What’re they doing in New Orleans?”

  “Going to visit Alyssa and Jackson. Seems the lovebirds are eloping.” She swallowed back her personal regret. “It’s been a year. I guess that’s a long-enough engagement. Still, I’d have thought Alyssa would want a big wedding.”

  “You never know.”

  “I guess you know CoCo and Luc have set a wedding date, yes?”

  “They’ve asked me to officiate.”

  “That’ll be nice. I appreciate you giving me a ride home.”

  “No problem.” He glanced at the clock and grabbed his keys. “It’s quitting time, anyway. How about a cup of coffee before I drop you off?”

  “Oh.” Her eyes widened. “Uh, yeah. That sounds nice.”

  He picked up on the hesitation in her voice. “Unless you have other plans.”

  “No.” Splotches of pink tiptoed across her cheeks. She paused a moment before gifting him with a bright smile. “Thank you. I’d like that.”

  Funny how her blushing did strange things to his gut.

  The center sat in an eerie silence as they crossed the floor to the exit. He cut the lights, locked the doors and led her to the parking lot. She slipped into his truck as if she belonged there.

  Stop thinking such things. Could never happen.

  The tiny diner down the road had a neon Open sign blinking in its window along with the green Mardi Gras decoration. He steered the car into the lot. “This okay?”

  “Fine.”

  Nary a person sat in the diner, save the waitress and a short-order cook, grumbling in the back. The air reeked of old grease and fried okra. After selecting a booth near the front door, having their coffee cups filled and Spencer ordering a piece of pecan pie, they were left alone. “You know, what you said to Winnie was good.”

  “What?” Felicia set her cup onto the table.

  “About the bitterness eating her up, not her ex.”

  “It’s true.”

  “Personal experience talking?”

  She tugged her hand into her lap so quickly, the cup rattled against the chipped table. “What do you mean?”

  “Letting go of bitterness. Losing your fiancé.”

  “Oh.” Her gaze trailed her hand into her lap.

  Not a good sign. He lowered his voice. “Felicia, have you let go of your anger about losing Frank?
”

  She lifted her head. “I didn’t lose him. He was murdered. Shot. His life taken by the hand of another person.” Tears pooled in those hypnotically blue eyes of hers. “It’s hard to forgive a criminal, you know? Someone who cared so little about another human’s life.”

  The waitress plopped his pecan pie down in front of him. “Anything else?”

  He shook his head, swallowing against the tight lump in his throat. “We’re fine.”

  The waitress slipped the ticket under the edge of the plate and sashayed back to her post at the counter. The napkin holder scraped across the cracked Formica as she pulled it to her for refilling.

  Spencer whispered a prayer, took a bite and studied Felicia. “Sounds to me like you’re more angry than grieving.”

  “Maybe I am. Frank’s killer stole my future. My life.”

  “It’s been over a year, Felicia. If you’ve worked through the grief, don’t you think it’s time you worked through your anger and toward forgiveness?”

  “I don’t know if I can forgive Frank’s murderer.” She gave a shrug. “I don’t know if I ever can.”

  His chest tightened with her words. “But you realize that’s not healthy, right?”

  Her eyes blinked brighter, and her hand trembled slightly as she took another sip from her cup. “Do you think the sheriff will shut down the center?”

  Whoa, she shifted gears fast. He swallowed a bite of pie, the sugary texture going down slowly. “I don’t think they’ll be able to do that. At least, not now.”

  Father, please don’t let them shut me down. This center is my penance.

  “I hope not. I don’t know what I’d do.”

  “Let’s not worry about it unless it happens, okay?” He laid his hand over hers. The warmth spread deep within his spirit. Setting his fork against the remaining pie, Spencer nodded at her cup. “Want a refill?”

  “Uh, no.” She eased her hand out from under his.

  He tossed a couple of bills on the table and led her to the door. Keeping his hand under her elbow as he assisted her to the truck gave him a feeling of peace. Completeness. Happiness.