by Lynn Emery
* * *
In the space of less than two weeks, St. Augustine Church was the site of another high profile funeral. Two deputies stood outside in the sunshine near their motorcycles, ready to lead the funeral procession. Inside every pew was full. The church musician played soft music on the organ. LaShaun stood in a corner with Father Metoyer observing the crowd. She was aware of every movement and murmur rippling around her. The sound of clicking made Father Metoyer glared at a news photographer.
“Excuse me, child.”
Father Metoyer disappeared through a door behind the altar. Moments later two strapping adolescent boys dressed in cassocks over dark suits politely, yet firmly escorted the photographer outside. Reporters remained in seats near the church entrance, trying to be invisible so they could get every detail. Monmon Odette no doubt would have laughed long and hard at the show. LaShaun sat down on the front pew of the family section next to her Uncle Albert and Uncle Leo. Moments later a rising tide of whispers caused all three of them to turn around. Aunt Leah made a dramatic entrance with Azalei supported between her and her husband. Aunt Leah wore dress made of delicate lace black. Azalei wore a dark gray skirt and matching jacket. She seemed dazed and unaware of her surroundings. They made their way up the center aisle. Father Metoyer met them halfway. After a muted exchange, he led the trio to far end of the first pew away from LaShaun. Aunt Leah gave her brothers a look that could have melted steel, but said nothing.
“Can’t believe she brought Azalei out here in that condition. Going to a funeral could push her over the edge,” Uncle Albert whispered to Uncle Leo.
“Look at her, Al. That girl’s over the edge and at the bottom already.”
Uncle Albert nodded slowly. The host of relatives on the rows behind them exchanged similar thoughts. LaShaun ignored the background noise and focused on Azalei. Her cousin had scratches on one side of her face, but they did not look deep. One arm was in a sling. Yet, her vacant expression chilled LaShaun the most. The serious damage seemed to be to her mind instead of her body. When Aunt Leah noticed LaShaun staring at them, she pulled Azalei closer to her protectively. The gesture caused more murmuring until Father Metoyer spoke.
“Peace be unto you all,” he boomed.
His strong voice and formidable gaze clearly communicated that meant they should shut up. A hush followed his words. Satisfied he’d gotten his message across the priest proceeded with the funeral mass.
Monmon Odette lay in the open white coffin with shiny brass hardware. LaShaun gazed ahead at her grandmother with dry eyes. She had shed her tears in private. For now, she was calm, conscious of the curious gazes from the others. Old lessons from her grandmother lingered. Monmon Odette had always said, “If you show emotion before your enemies let it be for a purpose. When it’s time to show folks you’re not to be played with, let them see your wrath. When you need to soften someone to your will, let them see you cry. Control is the key to power.”
LaShaun had no need to prove to others that she felt a loss. Rita’s mother came into the church through a side door. When she walked toward LaShaun the crowd seemed to take in another collective deep breath. Aunt Shirl ignored them. Her husband walked beside her, a protective arm around her waist. LaShaun motioned to a male cousin who made sure they found a place in the family section.
LaShaun went through the motions of the Funeral Rites, reciting the prayers on autopilot. Her grandmother lived on in many ways, her spirit too strong to simply wisp away. And somehow, LaShaun didn’t believe Monmon Odette was through with her family. She loved being in control too much to simply float into the next life; not with so much left undone in this one. Monmon Odette had said as much before she closed her eyes for the final time.
“Cher, it’s time we leave for the cemetery,” Father Metoyer said quietly.
LaShaun blinked out of her reverie. “Yes, Father.”
Father Metoyer took LaShaun’s hand and led her out ahead of the others behind the casket. Outside the church LaShaun blinked in the bright sunshine. She put on sunglasses then got into the white limo. There was a brief commotion as Aunt Leah loudly announced she would not ride in the limo as “that she-devil.” A funeral home employee quickly led her away to the second of four family cars LaShaun had arranged. Uncle Leo helped Monmon Odette’s eighty-nine year old elder sister, Emerald, get settled onto the seat of the limo. Uncle Albert assisted Great Aunt Geraldine, a sprightly seventy-seven year old. He slipped in and sat next to LaShaun. Great Aunt Emerald studied LaShaun for a few moments.
“May my sister rest in peace at last.” Great Aunt Emerald looked away. Then she and Aunt Geraldine spoke quietly in Creole French.
Two motorcycle deputies revved their motors ready to lead the procession to the Rousselle Family Cemetery seven miles away. Uncle Albert’s wife came to the window and looked at her husband a few second then climbed into the vehicle. Uncle Theo’s wife dared to sit on the seat next to LaShaun. She gave LaShaun a nervous smile then looked away. Uncle Theo stood just at the door still talking to people, accepting handshakes and condolences.
“Come on, Theo. You’re holding everybody up,” Uncle Albert grumbled to his brother.
“Right, right,” Uncle Theo replied. Still he took another few moments to slap a few backs before he got in.
“I see we got two extra escorts from the sheriff’s department,” Uncle Albert said. He frowned. “That’s gonna cost us a fortune.”
His wife tapped his knee. “Shush, LaShaun wants to give her grandmother a grand send off. Money isn’t important at a time like this.”
“Money is always important,” Uncle Albert replied in a lecturing tone. “LaShaun, you need to be careful with mama’s estate now. Matter of fact we need to talk about the management of her assets.”
“We can talk about it later, Al. Poor kid has enough on her plate right,” Uncle Leo said in a properly solemn tone.
“I didn’t arrange for extra deputies,” LaShaun murmured. She recognized Chase behind the tinted glass of his windshield and dark sunglasses. The other cruiser took off behind the two motorcycles before she could see the driver.
“Then I wonder why they’re here then,” Uncle Leo’s wife in an uneasy tone. She exchanged a look with Uncle Albert’s wife.
“Maybe they’re protecting Azalei. I mean that crazy killer is still on the loose,” Uncle Albert’s wife blurted out. Then blushed at the looks the other women gave her. “I didn’t mean to imply…”
“The thing we need to be concerned about is the will. Now LaShaun,” Uncle Albert huffed.
“It ain’t proper to bring up such matters at my sister’s funeral,” Great Aunt Geraldine admonished.
“Not now, Albert,” Uncle Leo said in a quiet firm tone.
“Humph.” Uncle Albert hunched his shoulders as though in pain, sat back in his seat and stared out the window.
The ride to the cemetery took only a few minutes. Cars turned off the paved road down a gravel one leading to the cemetery. Oak and pine trees lined up on either side as they slowly made their way to clearing. The soft crunch of tires on the broken rocks seemed like a signal they were leaving the modern, ordinary world behind them. Limos lined up side-by-side, and family members got out. The other cars parked in haphazard rows. Father Metoyer recited prayers as they eased Monmon Odette’s coffin from the hearse. Then the procession went to the graveside. Father Metoyer waited for the family to be seated in a row of folding chairs under a green tent. Most of the crowd from the church spread out behind them. They seemed eager not to miss one second of the infamous Odette Rousselle’s farewell.
Once again, LaShaun observed from a distance inside herself. She forgot about her surroundings. Like a slideshow images from her past flashed in her mind: Monmon Odette standing outside in her garden gathering herbs, sunshine making her brown skin glisten; Monmon Odette taking LaShaun to her first day at school; Monmon Odette laughing at reactions of townspeople when she passed them on the street downtown. How she would miss her. La
Shaun wondered if anyone other than her felt the loss. Chase stood at the edge of the crowd staring at her. His concern bridged the space separating them.
Father Metoyer performed the brief Rite of Final Commendation. And it was over. The crowd should have dispersed but few left. They seemed to be waiting for the next episode in the Rousselle family drama. As though on cue Brad Gautreau hitched up his holster like a lawman from a B-rated western movie.
Uncle Leo strode out to meet him. “How ya doin, deputy. It was nice of you to come out and give condolences to the family.”
Deputy Gautreau looked resolute behind his mirrored sunglasses. “I’m on official business.”
“At my mother’s funeral services?” Uncle Leo affected an appalled grimace on his broad face. “Sheriff Triche wouldn’t allow this kind of disrespect.”
“Sheriff Triche ain’t in charge, sir.” Deputy Gautreau turned to LaShaun. “You need to come down to the station, ma’am.”
Savannah made her way through the crowd quickly. “Anything wrong, deputy?”
“Something is about to be set right.” Gautreau went over to LaShaun. “You’re under arrest for the murder of Rita Rousselle.”
Chapter 11
The scene at the sheriff’s station had started out routine, at least LaShaun thought so. Everyone else was in an uproar. But LaShaun had faced this kind of questioning in the past. Being plucked from the graveside of her dead grandmother was a creative touch by Deputy Gautreau, but otherwise LaShaun stayed calm. Aunt Leah allowed the private health aide she’d hired to take Azalei home, and gleefully followed the sheriff’s department cruisers to the station. Her loud voice could be heard from the lobby proclaiming justice would finally be done. Uncle Leo came in about ten minutes later and Aunt Leah greeted him with a tirade.
“You money grubbing swamp rat,” Aunt Leah shouted. “Don’t think I haven’t figured out why you and Albert are sticking to that girl like glue. You’re kissing her butt to get at mama’s money.” She launched into a string of profanity that turned the air blue.
“Ma’am, you’re going to stop kind of talk or I’ll personally lock you up for disturbing the peace,” Deputy Myrtle Arceneaux said in a measured voice that carried even though she didn’t shout.
“I just want to see that murdering little witch locked away so she can’t hurt my baby again.” Aunt Leah began to bawl and fell against her husband for support.
“Sir, take your wife home,” Deputy Arceneaux said to Aunt Leah’s husband.
“No, I’m staying right here. This is a public place, and I’m a victim.” Aunt Leah shoved her husband away.
“Honey, maybe we ought to leave like the deputy…” He blinked hard and stopped talking when his wife’s fiery gaze blistered him.
“I’m not leaving, Henry,” Aunt Leah said through clenched teeth.
“Then keep it down. If I hear another outburst you’re outta here.” Deputy Arceneaux looked at Aunt Leah.
“Yes, ma’am. I have evidence against that heathen,” Aunt Leah said. She dramatically pointed at LaShaun.
“Deputy Vincent, take Mrs. Shropshire to an interview room and record her statement.” Deputy Arceneaux nodded to a colleague.
“This way, ma’am.” The deputy led Aunt Leah and her husband down a hall.
“You come with me.” Deputy Gautreau pulled LaShaun by the right arm.
Chase stepped forward. He was on duty and in uniform. “Wait a minute.”
“No, you wait a minute. Your judgment in this matter is suspect. So back off. I’m acting chief and that’s an order. Or you can be suspended if you like,” Gautreau glared at him.
“You have a warrant for her arrest? I haven’t seen one yet,” Savannah said.
“If she doesn’t have anything to hide Miss Rousselle shouldn’t mind answering more questions,” Gautreau shot back.
“In other words she’s not under arrest; which means she can choose not to answer questions. Given the outrageous manner in which she was ‘invited’ my client will exercise her right to leave. This isn’t anything close to what I’d call a reasonable detention.” Savannah spoke in a calm tone despite the way the acting sheriff’s face grew red with indignation.
District Attorney Hazelton pushed through the glass entrance doors. “What’s going on here?”
Tommie Savoie, the mayor, came with him. The town council president brought up the rear. Both politicians frowned at the scene before them. The mayor owned a large grocery store in town. He hated public drama and bad press.
“There are cameras and reporters crawling all over my office saying you went to a funeral to arrest some mourners.” The mayor glared at Deputy Gautreau.
“We agreed to handle this situation quietly, with no grandstanding,” the council president added. “Remember that discussion when we appointed you to this temporary position of authority.”
“I’m taking control and getting things done,” Acting Chief Gautreau shot back.
“You arrested the woman at her grandmother’s funeral in front of three reporters.” The council president glared at Gautreau.
“Deputy Arceneaux, please take over while we talk to Brad,” The mayor said. He marched off toward the chief’s office. The DA nodded for Brad to follow him, and the men disappeared.
“Come to an interview room, if you don’t mind,” Deputy Arceneaux said to Savannah.
“Thirty minutes, at most, and if the questions aren’t new we leave.” Savannah nodded to LaShaun who then followed the deputy.
Deputy Arceneaux shook her head at Chase when he started to join them. “We don’t want to cause more trouble for this investigation than we’ve already got.”
“Yeah.” Chase looked unhappy, but he complied.
After a short walk down two hallways, they settled in the same cheerless interview room LaShaun had been in before. Deputy Arceneaux sat patiently and flipped through a few pages in a thick file. A round clock on the wall loudly ticked off the minutes. Savannah leaned forward and was about to speak when Deputy Arceneaux beat her to it.
“Your cousin Azalei Shropshire hasn’t been able to give us much to explain what happened to her or Rita. She does seem terrified when your name is mentioned.” Deputy Arceneaux looked at LaShaun steadily. She did not turn when the DA slipped in and quietly shut the interview room door.
“Did she say my client attacked her?” Savannah said.
“No, but the victim’s behavior could mean your client was somehow involved.”
“She’s a traumatized woman whose reactions could mean anything. She didn’t act terrified at the funeral with she saw my client. Interview a few people who were there. You can believe I’ll get statements.” Savannah rested her hands on the top of the metal table between them. “Has Ms. Shropshire been examined by a psychiatrist, and has the psychiatrist made a determination about her mental state?”
Deputy Arceneaux pursed her lips for a few moments. “Yes. She’s suffering from posttraumatic stress disorder and memory loss. She could only write notes saying she and Rita went out. Then she veers off into disjointed rambling.”
Savannah nodded, and looked at the DA. “I thought so. If you’re through harassing my client, we’ll bid the Vermillion Parish Sheriff’s Office and its acting boss anything but a fond farewell.”
Gautreau pushed through the door and brushed past the DA. He held up a cell phone showing a photo. “You wanna explain this?”
“What?” Savannah stared at the phone.
“It’s a photo of your client taking a swing at our murder victim.” Gautreau squinted at Savannah. “Ms. Shropshire took it, and her mother brought it in.”
LaShaun stared at the smart phone’s clear picture of her with one hand drawn back to slap Rita. They’d been arguing at Monmon Odette’s house only days before Rita and Azalei disappeared.
“We weren’t exactly in agreement on the way she handled my grandmother’s money, but I didn’t kill her.” LaShaun stood. For the first time she felt trapped, as though
she might lose her freedom.
“This is the smoking gun if you ask me. Shows your client had a violent altercation with our victim, and her alibi is flaky. You’re under arrest on suspicion of murder, Miss Rousselle.”
“Don’t say anything,” Savannah said to LaShaun. Then she faced Gautreau. “This so-called smoking gun won’t hold up in court.”
“You better not count on that,” Gautreau shot back. “The jury will be made up of folks with good old common sense. They’ll be able to put two and two together, and get a conviction for your client.”
Savannah turned to the DA. “You and the mayor better get a grip on your acting Sheriff, or he’ll have you in deep legal trouble.”
.” Gautreau spun to face Hazelton. “We have enough probable cause to detain her
“The evidence is mounting.” Hazelton did not look pleased, or very convinced of his own words.
“C’mon.” Gautreau pulled LaShaun from the room.
Savanna followed them out with Hazelton. “You’re going to be very sorry you wasted time. Gautreau is not acting rationally, and you know it.”
“Our investigation is on-going, but you know very well that your client has the strongest motive.” Hazelton replied in a dead tone.
“Very sorry,” Savannah repeated with force.
Despite the objections of her attorney, LaShaun was charged and placed in a holding cell. Even Gautreau knew that her bond would be posted quickly. The judge on duty set the amount at a modest fifty thousand dollars. Uncle Leo made the arrangements, and by ten o’clock that night LaShaun was home. Tired, shaken, but at least out of the kind of cell Gautreau wished could be her permanent home. Her uncles wanted to linger and talk, but she managed to get rid of them. Savannah stayed behind.
“God, I’m glad they’re gone.” LaShaun said when she came back to the living room after locking the front door.
“They’re trying to help.” Savannah shrugged at the look LaShaun gave her. “Yeah, they really wanted to talk about the estate.”