by Robin Caroll
“Look at this bay window.” She crossed her arms, hugging herself. “I want to get one of those big wooden rockers to put right here, so I can look out over the bayou whenever I want. It’s so peaceful.”
“Monique.”
She spun and faced him, wearing a frown. “What’s wrong? Don’t you like the house?”
“I like the house.”
“Then what?”
He felt like bayou scum. “It’s getting dark in here. Let’s go back outside.”
“Okay.” She followed him in silence.
Gary hated to spoil this for her, would do anything not to have to say anything, but he didn’t have a choice. She had a right to know. She needed to know.
Once out on the porch, she planted her feet. “You’re scaring me. What’s wrong?”
“This house. Do you know who the original owner was?”
“No.” She sucked in air. “Who?”
“Justin Trahan, your father.”
THIRTEEN
The world tilted backward on its axis, and she swayed.
This couldn’t be happening.
Gary grabbed and steadied her in his strong arms. “Are you okay?”
“A-are you sure this was his house?”
“Positive. He tried to kill Luc in the backyard near the bayou.”
Oh, just great. She was going to be sick any minute now.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have just blurted that out.” He tightened his embrace, pulling her closer to him.
She could hear—no, feel—his heartbeat. The clean scent of aftershave and deodorant wrapped around her as tangible as his arms. She relaxed, drawing on his strength.
He smoothed her hair and slowly rocked with her back and forth.
Laying her head against his chest, she sighed, letting go of her concerns. Her worries. Her fears.
His lips grazed the top of her head.
She jerked out of his hold. What had she been thinking? Allowing herself to get too comfortable. Too dependent on his security. She had to handle things on her own. She ran a hand over her hair. “I can’t believe I bought his house. He wasn’t listed as the seller.”
“No, he wouldn’t be.” He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and led her toward the vehicles. “Luc and Felicia sold his house to a young family as soon as he was convicted and imprisoned. Everything he owned returned to the Trahan estate, which as the only legal heirs, they manage.” He leaned against the hood of the vehicle. “Well, I imagine you’re an heir now, too.”
“How ironic, huh? That I bought his house when, had I known he was my father a couple of years ago, I could have inherited it.”
“Yeah.”
“What am I going to do?” Dismay shrouded her heart like the overgrown grapevines covering the gazebo. “I can’t live here.”
“Why not?”
Was he crazy? Hadn’t he just told her about her father trying to kill Luc in the backyard? “I don’t know. It’s creepy.”
“You told me today it felt like home.”
She shuddered. Had this been yet another sign she’d missed? “But now, knowing the truth…”
“The house doesn’t look like it did when Justin lived here. The two families that lived here since did a lot of renovating.”
“That’s what Parker said.” But still…
“And you could do what you want with the place. Make it really yours. Put your mark on it.”
“What will Felicia and Luc think, though?” She cared what her family thought. Even if she’d just met them.
“That you bought a house you liked.”
“Even though Luc was almost killed here?”
“He knows you had nothing to do with that.”
“But it might still bother him. Be a reminder and all that.” And she’d hoped to connect with Luc and his wife as she had with Felicia and Spence. She’d had visions of cookouts in the backyard, visiting around the flower gardens—what would Hattie think?
“I know them. If anything, they’ll both be upset you actually had to pay for the property.”
She glanced at the house. She did love it. Had felt a kinship to it as soon as she’d laid eyes on it. Now she knew why. Was this God’s ironic joke on her?
Gary took hold of her hands. “Look, the decision is yours, but you’ve paid good money for this house. I think you should talk to Felicia if it’ll make you feel better. Get her reaction. Then, if you feel okay about staying, go ahead and move in. See if it works for you.”
Did he have to be so logical as well as handsome? And considerate? And strong? She tucked her hands in her pockets.
“I’m sorry. Did I hurt your sores?”
What? “Oh. No. They’re practically healed. And my feet are almost as good.”
“Just wanted to make sure.” He tucked his thumbs into his belt loops. “I have a feeling it’s all gonna be fine, but I thought you would want to know.”
“Oh, most definitely. I’ll call Felicia tonight. I can’t believe…of all the houses, I had to p—”
“Well, in case you haven’t noticed, Lagniappe isn’t exactly a hoppin’ real estate market.”
“Parker only had three houses to show me.”
“And you picked this one. Call Felicia. I guarantee she’ll be okay with this.”
Maybe he was right. It could even be that she needed to be in this house. Put the past to rest. Really start over, once and for all. “I’ll do that.” She glanced up at him from beneath her eyelashes. “Thanks for telling me. And for before. I got rather dizzy.”
“No problem.”
An odd silence covered the space between them. But she couldn’t admit that him holding her had felt good. Too good.
“Hey, I called the Monroe Police Department today.”
That grabbed her attention. “Did you now?” Interesting.
“Talked to Investigator Walkin.”
“What were you being punished for?”
He chuckled. “I wanted to know more about your husband’s murder.”
She hesitated. “Why?”
“Because what you told me about the case didn’t make sense.”
“What part?”
“Everything came together rather quickly with all the loose ends tied up.”
Relief flooded her. “So you think I’m onto something?”
He held up a finger. “I’m only checking all possible scenarios.”
No promises. That wasn’t a surprise. “What’d you think of Walkin?”
“Honestly? He came across as very arrogant and defensive.”
“That’s pretty much the way he is in person, too. Did you find out anything useful?”
“There are a lot of things that are too neat.” He stared out over the bayou. “I requested the case file.”
“Really?” So she’d been right—it did seem fishy. Finally, someone who understood.
“I wanted you to know. In case you heard about it. I wanted you to know why I ordered it.”
Guilt washed over her. “I’m sorry for chewing you out about my background check. I know you were only doing your job.”
“Let’s forget about it.”
She smiled, his easy manner making her want him to hold her again.
No, she shouldn’t even think this way. Here they were, discussing Kent’s murder, and the next minute she thought about being in his arms? What kind of woman was she?
A very confused one.
His cell phone rang. “Anderson.”
She stared back at the house again. Despite what she knew, she really did love it.
“She’s here with me. We’re on our way.” He snapped the phone shut and slipped it back into his belt clip. “That was Mom, worried about you. And she didn’t want you to think she was checking up on you, so didn’t call your cell.”
“I should’ve told her I’d be late. I’m such a horrible houseguest.”
“No. You just aren’t used to being a houseguest. She has supper ready.” He nudged her shoulder wit
h his. “Come on, she made étouffée. And she’s a mean cook.”
Her stomach rumbled. Appalled, she covered her mouth with her hand. Gary burst out laughing.
“Let’s go. Obviously, you’re as hungry as I am.”
“I’ll follow you.” She slipped into her SUV and turned around, waited for him to do the same, then followed him down the gravel driveway. She caught sight of her house in the rearview mirror.
If Felicia didn’t have a problem with her staying in the house, she’d start ordering furniture tomorrow. She’d do as Gary suggested—make it hers.
Despite its original owner.
Was he overstepping his bounds?
On the drive home, he’d called his mother and asked if he could invite two more for supper. Of course, she’d been enthusiastic about more guests. Then he’d called Felicia and Spence and asked them. They’d been more than happy to agree.
Now, turning onto the road to his mother’s house, little shards of doubt nudged against his mind. Maybe he should have waited and asked Monique what she wanted. He’d just seen her total excitement, then her abject disappointment. He knew Felicia would encourage her to keep the house and make her feel comfortable with that decision, and he wanted to ease her mind as soon as possible.
But would she be upset over his meddling in her personal business? Again?
He pulled into his mother’s driveway and parked. He’d better warn Monique about what he’d done, or she might really blow up at him—and he’d deserve it.
She still wore the uncertain expression she’d had back at the house, the complete opposite of the exhilaration she’d had before he’d crushed her with the news. Yeah, he’d made the right decision in inviting Felicia over to reassure her, even if Monique didn’t see it that way yet.
“Before we go in, I need to tell you something.”
Hesitation coated her like moss on the cypress trees. “I don’t know if I’m up for more revelations right now.”
Uh-oh. Again he doubted his actions. No, his heart had been in the right place. “I know you’re very uncertain, unsure what to do.”
“Yeah, I am.”
“I know you said you’d call Felicia tonight and talk to her about it.”
“I think that’s really the best thing, don’t you? She and Luc would be the ones who could be most hurt by memories surrounding the house.”
“I do think it’s a good idea, which is why I called and invited her and Spence over for supper.” He waited for the explosion.
“Tonight?” Her amazing green eyes grew wider than lily pads. Darkness crept into the edges of the irises.
He’d better start explaining. Quick. “I think the conversation will go better in person. So you can read her body language, yes? Since you’ve just met, you might not be able to pick up subtleties over the phone that you can in person.”
She leaned against the side of her truck, remaining silent. Seconds fell off the clock. Minutes. Finally, she let out a heavy sigh. “I want to be angry with you for interfering, I really do, but it’s hard when you use logic on me.”
He held his breath.
“I’m irritated you act without checking with me first, but you’re right, the conversation really should take place in person.”
At least she wasn’t going to erupt. Good thing, because Spence’s SUV whipped into the driveway moments later. Felicia burst from the car and hugged Monique. “I’m so tickled Gary called. I’ve been thinking about you all day, cher. How’re you?”
Monique smiled, the cloud of insecurity lifting from her expression. “I have so much to tell you, but let’s go in and eat. Della must be wondering what’s keeping us.”
Gary let the ladies enter first, then Spence. His steps quickened as the enticing aroma of his mother’s special étouffée teased his senses, making his taste buds tingle in anticipation.
After everyone washed up and took a seat at the table, his mother asked Spence to offer grace. He took Monique’s hand, noticing the slight tremor against his palm as Spence gave praises to God.
Soon, bowls were filled to overflowing and the compliments flew to Della. In her element, his mother patted her hair and beamed.
Monique took a big spoonful, chewed, then turned red in the face. Her eyes watered. She swallowed. Coughing followed.
Spence, sitting beside her, slapped her back. “Go down the wrong pipe?”
She shook her head, reaching for the glass of iced tea. She gulped it down without taking a breath before blowing slowly. “Wow, that’s spicy.”
A collective laugh rose from the table. Della shook her head. “Oh, honey, this is the mild recipe.”
“Mild?” Her voice squeaked.
Felicia patted her hand. “Don’t worry, we’ll turn you into a pepper-belly real quick, yes?” She reached for her own tea. “So, tell me what’s going on.”
“Well…” Monique dabbed her mouth and the corners of her eyes with her napkin. She looked around the table, ending her focus on her cousin. “I bought a house today.”
Everyone spoke at once—
“Awesome. Where?”
“When can we see it?”
“You didn’t have to rush into anything. You can stay here for as long as you like.”
Gary shook his head. This was becoming quite common around Monique.
She giggled. “Hang on, I’ll tell you everything.” The darkness returned to her eyes, which sought him out.
He winked, clenching his fist to squelch the urge to reach across the table and hold her hand. But she had to do this by herself.
Her words tumbled over each other as she told them everything—falling in love with a house on sight, buying it in one day, taking Gary to see the house and then learning it’d been Justin’s. When she finished, she was out of breath.
Silence prevailed but for only a short moment.
Felicia’s eyes filled with moisture. “This is perfect. A new way to build positive memories, yes? But as soon as Luc gets home tomorrow, we’ll contact the estate attorney. You should not pay for what should be yours to begin with. The trust will reimburse you for the selling price.”
He’d been right. The relief marched across Monique’s face.
Gary wasn’t able to explain why his heart thrummed over her being reassured. Well, he probably could, but wouldn’t. Not yet.
FOURTEEN
“It’s a match.”
Gary looked up from his computer and stared at Bob Costigan, standing in the sheriff’s office doorway. “Huh?”
Bob shot him a look of disgust. “The samples from Fenton’s place? It’s a match to the accelerant used in the Harris fire.”
“Then we need to talk to Mr. Fenton. Get information on who he’s selling to.”
“Why do you think I’m here? Fenton stonewalled me—said he didn’t have to give me information. Maybe your badge will change his mind. Get off your duff, and let’s go.”
“Hang on, let me see if his background check has come back yet.” He lifted the phone and buzzed the intercom. “Missy, have you gotten the report on Fenton yet?”
The sound of shuffling papers drowned out her humming. “Yep, came in this morning with the FedEx deliveries.”
He wanted to sigh. She should’ve sent that report to his office as soon as it came in. “I’ll come get it.” He dropped the phone back to its cradle and nodded at Bob. “Just a second. We got the report in.”
Making fast tracks down the hall to the front reception area, Gary took the folder from Missy’s outstretched hand. He flipped through pages as he walked back to the office. No outstandings. No priors, unless you counted the DUI eight years ago.
“Anything?” Bob asked as Gary returned to the office.
“Nothing useful.” He passed the folder to Bob, who perused it.
“Worthless. Let’s go talk to him.”
Gary logged off his system, told Mike where he would be and followed Bob out the door. “Let’s take the cruiser, looks more official.”
&nb
sp; Bob nodded and headed to the car. “I hope he’s more cooperative with you along.”
“I’d hate to have to hunt down a judge to get a warrant to look over his client list.”
Bob only grunted as Gary spun the cruiser toward Un-Bio-Believable. “I still think there’s an angle between father, son and Ms. Harris.”
Discord filled Gary’s senses. He’d tried to disregard Parker because of that uncommon feeling of jealousy, but what if his cop’s instinct caused his dislike of the guy? What were the odds that Monique’s Realtor was the son of the man who sold the accelerant used to burn down her first house in Lagniappe? He kept reminding himself that she’d been the one to contact Parker, based on Hattie’s recommendation, not the other way around. Still…
“I guess we’ll find out more when we talk to Terrence Fenton.” Gary pushed down his personal feelings and turned onto the dead-end road on the edge of town Bob had indicated.
“Well, here we are.” The arson investigator pointed at a corner lot just ahead. “That’s the place.”
A big warehouse stood alone on the property, with two large holding tanks, approximately six feet tall and eight feet in diameter. Together, they probably held about a thousand gallons of the fuel.
Gary whipped the car into the lot, then he and Bob headed into the office. The room reeked, like walking into a bring-aburger joint and sidling up to the deep fryers.
A freestanding counter divided the small space. Two metal folding chairs leaned against the wall by the door with a single window sporting dirty panes, while a desk and a small computer setup stood on the other side. A lone, ancient copier occupied the corner.
A man with thinning gray hair and skin the texture of leather sat behind the desk. He glanced up, recognized Bob and stood. Apprehension jumped in his body language. “Can I help you?”
“We’ve matched your biodiesel fuel to that used as an accelerant in an arson,” Bob said.
Although in uniform, Gary flashed his badge for good measure. “We’d like to look over your client list. You do keep track of who you sell the fuel to, yes?”
“I keep records. Have to, for tax purposes.” The balding man with eyes entirely too close together hedged. “But my clients like their privacy.”