Broken (The Raiford Chronicles #3 Book 1)

by Janet Taylor-Perry

  "Lydia has ballerinas all over her screen. They're pretty good for a five year old. Leah is getting the hang of holding a brush. She wants a rainbow, a leprechaun, a pot of gold, and a fairy with red hair. She aims high. Moreover, she has prophesied that we are gonna have a redheaded fairy join the family. Lacey"—Neely laughed—"Lacey has as many handprints on me as on her screen. She pointed to a picture in a book, and we are duplicating it with her handprints. This is so much fun! How is the castle coming?"

  "The castle is done. I'm making my little princesses and my beautiful Rapunzel with her hair hanging from the tower window for me to climb…"

  Raif put his hands in Neely's hair. "She was blonde. I have a lot of changes to make—pink, purple, green."

  Neely touched the old t-shirt she wore and put both hands on Raif's cheeks. "King Raif has psychedelic cheeks."

  "Neely Rivers Gautier!"

  "You need a shower!" laughed Neely as she headed to the master bedroom. "I'll get there first!"

  The Reynolds home bustled with almost as much excitement as the Gautier home. Since Christopher's graduation, it seemed Courtney and Christopher either went to Baton Rouge every Saturday or Kyle and Kimberly came to Eau Boueuse. When the trips turned into overnight excursions, Ray got antsy. Although there were many guestrooms, when the kids were at his house, Ray made sure Kyle bunked with Christopher while Kim stayed in the room with Courtney. He hoped Deanna was doing the same thing at her house.

  In August, Christopher left for LSU. His weekends at home became infrequent, but when he did come home, he was always accompanied by Kyle and Kimberly LaFontaine. Courtney's trips to Baton Rouge stopped because Ray would not allow her to drive that far from home by herself yet. Kyle was forced to drive to Eau Boueuse when he could convince his mother to let him drive that far from home alone. Kimberly stayed in Baton Rouge. Kyle's solo overnight pilgrimages prompted a Raiford-Kyle visit to the Reynolds's garage.

  The minute they walked in, Kyle preempted Ray's lecture. "Whoa! You don't have to go to your toolbox. Really, Uncle Ray! I'm not that stupid. First of all, I'm waiting like Parker. Second, Saul already gave me this lecture. Third, I'm scared to death of you. I will not be sneaking into Courtney's room."

  "Christopher told you about the toolbox, huh?"

  "So did Courtney."

  "How have I kept it a secret from Larkin all these years?"

  "You haven't." Kyle hooted. "She's checked the expiration dates and replaced them. She just let you believe you had."

  "And I thought I was the sneaky one," laughed Ray.

  "Maybe you should spend more time at home, Uncle Ray."

  "I've been thinking that too. You know, I've been a cop for thirty years. Maybe it's time to retire."

  "What would you do?"

  "I don't know. We're not quite to the point where we could just travel, thanks to Little Miss Surprise, Cherie, my little Firecracker. I guess we could home-school the way Lindsay and Dupree do when Dupree is on tour. That way Cherie, and um, Courtney could get a first-hand historical education with a year at least in Europe."

  "I think Courtney would balk. This is her senior year."

  "Yes, I know. Yours too. Where are you going to college?"

  "Where else?"

  "LSU is a great school!"

  "I know that, and I'm a legacy. Dad wasn't all bad."

  "I told you," Ray said, putting Kyle in a headlock. "Let's get inside before Larkin comes looking for us."

  After Kyle left Sunday afternoon, Ray sat down with Larkin to watch the Saints on television. "I've been thinking," he said.

  "About what?"

  "Retiring."

  "And do what? Drive me insane? Maybe you could design an even better engine. Today's hemp-oil engines are quite fuel efficient. Maybe you could give them more power."

  "That's an idea." He slapped his leg.

  "You're serious."

  "I am. I was thinking maybe at the end of the school year. You, Cherie, and I could spend a year abroad. You speak Spanish, German, and French. I can get by on my Cajun French. It would be great. You could gather intel and get Rusty embroiled in some sort of foreign intrigue. I just love Rusty Rose. He's the coolest cop ever!"

  "Ray! I haven't written a Rusty Rose Caper in several years."

  "It's time for his revival. He's been on hiatus too long."

  "I know something else that has been on hiatus for a while."

  "What's that?"

  Larkin grinned and began to count off on her fingers. "Clue one—Our daughters just went to visit their new cousins. Clue two—Our son is in Baton Rouge. Clue three—Our other son and his family are at the Johnsons' this weekend. Unless Rusty has gotten too rusty, he should be getting my drift."

  "The Saints are playing."

  "That would never hinder Rusty. Unless," Larkin said coyly, "he's too rusty at that, too."

  Ray gazed at Larkin. "As I recall, Rusty's partner in crime keeps him sharp!" He hit the pause button on the remote and grabbed Larkin's hand. "Let's go!"

  On Monday morning, Ray drafted his resignation. He brought it home for Larkin to read.

  "You really are serious," she noted. "I thought you were joking."

  "Well, I'm not. I want you to take a sabbatical from the university next year. Let's take Cherie to Europe for a year. You can home-school her for that time, and she'll get a wonderful historical baptism."

  "What about Christopher and Courtney?"

  "They'll be away at college, and Raif will take care of them when they're not. Parker will also watch out for them. It could be like a second honeymoon; only this time, you won't get pregnant."

  "Ray!"

  "Come on, Larkin! Let's live!"

  She laid the document to the side and thought for a moment. "All right. Let's do it!" she agreed with a quick nod.

  The next day, Ray handed his resignation to the mayor. "Ray, you can't do this to me," whined the mayor.

  "I'm not doing anything to you. I'm doing this for me. I don't even remember the last time I had a vacation."

  "Who can I get to replace you?"

  "Brian Baker. It's time. He's earned it, and you can probably keep him behind the desk, unlike me. I hate all the paperwork and political pressure."

  "Baker? Yes, he's very organized. The officers will respect him. Yes. Very good suggestion, Ray."

  "Well, I'm with you until the end of the year. I'm starting next year as a civilian."

  "I wish you all the best, Ray. I'm just not sure it'll last."

  "Well, if I get bored, I can always become a P.I. or open my own security business. That way I can play by my rules to a point."

  "You could. So, when do we tell Baker?"

  "Call him in. We'll need to do some working together to ensure a smooth transition anyway."

  "The city council will still have to approve him"

  "They will."

  "I'm sure." The mayor picked up the phone.

  Lead Detective Brian Baker came into the mayor's office a little concerned. He had never been summoned before. Fully recovered from his injuries in the car bombing, he walked in to find both the mayor and Ray. He felt sure something must be amiss, but he shook hands confidently with both men. He asked with a quizzical look on his face, "Mayor Richards, Ray, is something wrong?"

  "No," said Ray, "something is right."

  "Sit down, Baker," requested Mayor Richards.

  Baker sat in the chair beside Ray. The mayor handed him Ray's resignation. "Baker, Ray gave me this."

  "You're retiring?" Baker said in total disbelief.

  "I am."

  Baker cackled, "It won't last. What does this have to do with me?"

  "Brian," the mayor said, "you're my nominee to replace Ray. How do you feel about being Chief of Police?"

  "Seriously?" asked Baker. "You don't want to go looking around?"

  "No. I believe in promoting from within. You're the most logical, most qualified candidate unless you don't want it. To be honest, I'm su
rprised Ray ever took the job after Gerard retired. I'm sure Larkin influenced his decision."

  "Not want it? Honestly, I wanted it when Ray got it, but I would never have said that I thought Ray was too young at the time." He looked toward Ray.

  "Of course, you did," said Ray. "Brian, I've always respected your work, and I consider you a friend."

  "I meant no disrespect, Ray. A tad of jealousy, I'll admit. I guess it's sort of like sibling rivalry. I love you no matter what, though."

  "And I, you, Brian. Take the job."

  "Chief of Police Brian Baker. I do like the sound of it. Olivia will too. Yes, I'd like to start next year like that."

  "Then, congratulations, Chief Baker," said the mayor.

  Baker arched an eyebrow. "What if the city council doesn’t approve me?"

  "They will, Brian," Ray said with confidence.

  Ray and Brian walked out together. "Are you sure about this, Ray?" ask Brian.

  "Today I am," laughed Ray. "I'm not a good paper pusher, Brian, even if I decide to come back to work someday. I am, however, a damned good detective. You, on the other hand, will make a great chief of police. Congratulations, Chief Baker!"

  28

  Living a Lie

  Patrick Gautier woke as the birds chirped on the windowsill of his apartment's bedroom. He glanced down as the light-auburn hair of the woman who slept on his chest tickled slightly when she breathed. He looked at the Celtic cross that matched his own tattooed on her shoulder blade. Has it really been two years since that cross and fireworks display flashed before my eyes?

  Patrick closed his eyes and let the memories wash over him. He was only eighteen. College had seemed like Xanadu after the sadness of his mother's murder. Then that blasted plagiarism thing had shattered that illusion. His dad and his aunt had saved him. In celebration, several of his fraternity brothers had taken him to a gentlemen's club on Bourbon Street.

  Many of the merchants in New Orleans were lenient about checking identification. College students brought in a lot of revenue. So, he and the guys had several rounds of drinks and watched the girls dance. There had been some really fine ladies performing, all with catchy little stage-names.

  Then, the announcer had introduced a newcomer all the way from the Emerald Isle. The girl called herself Irish Spring. The wispy green frock complete with sheer gossamer wings of a fairy and the light, airy, auburn hair, crystal blue eyes, much like his own, and soft ivory skin accompanied by the lilting Celtic music had mesmerized Patrick. When the shimmering garment fell at his place at the stage and the Celtic cross and perfect breasts twirled before him, he held his breath, so captivated was he by the spell this mystical creature had cast upon him.

  When the number finished and the girl knelt to retrieve her frock, their eyes met. She smiled softly and innocently before she vanished from the stage.

  The guys left the club a while later, and Irish Spring waited at the bus stop for the city bus. Patrick held up a finger to the group. "I'll be right back."

  "Patrick, don't go over there," warned one of his comrades.

  Patrick went anyway. He introduced himself, and Irish Spring gave him a look that would have made most men turn and run. After a couple of moments of persistent talk, the girl rewarded him with a few words in an original Irish brogue before the bouncer came to her rescue and she vanished onto the bus.

  A grin on his face, Patrick returned to his room and pulled out the student directory. A student named Jenna Something-Irish. I got that much. I want the rest.

  Patrick searched until he found Jenna Thornton, and he called the next day. With a wee bit of persuasion, he got a date; and then another and another.

  Patrick went home for Thanksgiving, but could hardly wait to get back to New Orleans. So, when his phone rang during Larkin's annual Christmas-tree-decorating party and he answered to a tearful Jenna asking him to come back, he made an excuse about a project getting messed up and left.

  Jenna met him the second he pulled into a parking place.

  He pulled her into his arms. "It's all right. I'm here. Tell me what happened."

  She told him a man wanting a private dance grabbed her arms and called her a number of names before the bouncer tossed him out

  "Did he hurt you?"

  She pulled her sweater off and when Patrick saw the bruises on her arms, anger filled him. All he wanted was to protect her.

  He ran two fingers along her jawline. "I love you, Jenna. Let's elope."

  "What?"

  After a bit of coaxing, Jenna gave in, and eight hours later, she was Mrs. Patrick Gautier.

  Patrick took Jenna to work nearly every night and was there to pick her up when she got off. On one Saturday when Jenna worked the afternoon shift, Patrick made a trip to Timeless Tattoos and got a Celtic cross tattoo just like Jenna's. The next week he took her to eat at Amile's Crawfish Emporium. Neely, Colleen, and Amile had seen him with her, and he'd had the strangest feeling he was being followed at one time.

  Patrick had not taken his bride home for their first Christmas. He did not think his father could deal with that after all the other stressful things. It was enough he sprang moving off campus on Raif. He had moved in with Jenna. Patrick looked down again and grimaced. Mom's right. I am an ass. I still hate this cheap apartment and second-hand furniture, but I won't say that to Jenna.

  He had, then, decided to go to summer school, saying that he wanted to graduate early. He could not tell Raif about Jenna in addition to Trista's little surprise. Then, Raif and Neely had gotten together, and Trista had been so mean. He couldn't break the news just when Raif had some happiness. He even went for two weeks in Virginia. He couldn't believe neither Neely, Colleen, nor Amile had mentioned the girl they had seen him with. Still, he lived a lie. He even hid his wedding ring when he was around his family, but Jenna wore hers even on stage.

  His mother's ghostly words haunted him. He sighed and continued his trip down memory lane.

  Now, Raif had a new family, and here it was Thanksgiving Day, and he was expected home. After all, it was the Gautier year to host. What am I gonna do? Patrick let out a long breath.

  He looked again at the beautiful woman who slept in his arms—the woman who had never demanded anything from him although she had given him looks that melted his heart and pierced him to the quick.

  Jenna's eyes flutter open. She gazed up at her husband. "What aire ya thinkin'?" she asked.

  "It's Thanksgiving," replied Patrick.

  Jenna propped her chin on her hands on Patrick's chest as she asked, "Patrick, aire ya ashamed of me? Aire ya ashamed of the way I earn money? Is that why ya've never taken me 'ome to meet yer family when me grandmother knows all aboot ya?"

  "No!" answered Patrick too quickly.

  "Then, I put it to ya, Patrick Gautier. Either ya take me 'ome with ya this time, or I am filin' for a divorce. I'm tired of livin' a lie."

  29

  Surprise Doesn't Cover It

  Patrick opened the front door to the Gautier house. "Hello?" he called.

  In the kitchen, Neely had her hands in the stuffing mix, and Trista had just basted the turkey. "It's Patrick," squealed Trista in childlike delight. She and her brother had always been close, and she bounced on her toes at the thought of surprising him.

  "Go!" laughed Neely. "He doesn't know you and Townes have six weeks here with us."

  Patrick said to Jenna, "I'll run our luggage up. Everybody's in the kitchen, I'm sure. I'll be right back."

  As Patrick topped the stairs, Trista pranced into the foyer where Jenna stood looking around. Jenna knew Patrick's family was wealthy, but she felt intimidated by her surroundings. Hardwood floors gleamed beneath heavy linen drapes, held back by gold filigree cords that hung from the floor-to-ceiling windows. Ceiling fans with woven bamboo blades etched with a golden band near the edge stirred the air even in late November. And this was only the entry at the base of the stairs.

  "Hello," said Trista. "I'm Trista Johnson, Patrick'
s sister. I did hear his voice, didn't I?"

  "Aye," replied Jenna. "I'm Jenna, Patrick's wife."

  "Patrick's what?"

  "Trista?" Patrick said from the stairs. He leapt down the stairs three at a time and engulfed his sister. "I'm so glad you're here."

  Trista grabbed Patrick's left hand. He wore his wedding band. "So am I," she trilled. "Yes! Someone else for Dad to holler at."

  Patrick said seriously, "I don't think Dad has ever hollered at anyone in his life."

  "That's right. That would be Uncle Ray. Dad glares and speaks slowly and softly when he's totally pissed. Boy! Do you have some explaining to do!"

  "You don't know the half of it. I see you've met. Trista, don't say anything. Let me do the telling."

  "I wouldn't dream of spoiling this." She turned to Jenna. "Come on, sister. Let's go to the kitchen." She locked both arms around Jenna's left and dragged her away. "Dad and Townes have gone out to gather the foliage and flora Neely wants to use as decoration. All the little girls are upstairs in the girls' room. That's why the gate was at the top of the stairs, Patrick. You did close it back, right?"

  "I'm not an idiot," said Patrick.

  "Debatable," Trista countered. "Go find the men."

  In the kitchen, Trista said, "We have an extra guest. Patrick brought this lovely lass with him. This is Jenna."

  "Hello, Jenna. It's nice to meet you," said Neely, washing her hands. "I'm Neely. I saw you having dinner with Patrick once at Amile's. His café was next door to Timeless Tattoos, which was my business. Raif will be glad to know Patrick is actually involved with a woman."

  Trista bit her lip not to laugh or to blurt, Involved doesn't cover it. She giggled and thought, Covers? Trista busied herself peeling boiled eggs to devil.

  Jenna said sincerely, "I've seen some of yer work at Pierre's Picks. Ye're very talented."