Bayou Corruption

by Robin Caroll

  “Tell me about your friendship with the sheriff.”

  “We went to college together. Old frat buddies.”

  “Keep in touch?”

  “Pretty much. E-mail’s made it easy. Bubba’s not too big on that, though. He prefers the phone.”

  “I see.”

  Did she? Probably not. She had no way of knowing Bubba’d been the one who pulled him out of his downward spiral of drinking and drug use. No one knew Bubba had saved him, in more ways than one. He’d been the one to introduce Jackson to Christ. Months after Jackson had dried out, he’d made the decision to dedicate his life to Jesus. He hadn’t looked back on his old lifestyle since.

  “Where’s a good place to eat where we can have some privacy?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t live here.” Her tone grated against his sensibilities.

  “But you used to. For several years.”

  “It’s changed. I’ve changed. The only places I went when I lived here were high school hangouts.”

  Something aside from snappiness crept into her tone. Almost…pain. He took his gaze off the road. She’d turned her head to stare out the window. O-kay. Topic off-limits. He’d let that go. For now. “Bubba told me the Crawfish Café has pretty good grub.”

  “All right.” She still wouldn’t look at him.

  He pulled into Bubba’s driveway. “Won’t take me but a minute to grab my notes.” He left the truck running while he darted inside.

  He grabbed the notebook and file, his heart pounding. But his erratic heartbeat had nothing to do with the heat or the fast pace with which he headed back to the truck—it had everything to do with the woman waiting for him.

  EIGHT

  The perky young waitress stopped at their table, pen poised over her notepad. “Have y’all decided what you want?” She popped her gum as often as Missy, the police dispatcher.

  “I’ll have the boiled crawfish platter and iced tea.”

  Alyssa glanced at the waitress. “The same, please.”

  The teenybopper in a standard waitress apron swiped the menus and bounded toward the kitchen.

  Jackson passed her a plain manila folder once the waitress had disappeared behind the swinging door. “This is a copy of the police file Bubba gave me. I made notes from conversations with him and my own observations.”

  She glanced at the notes written in neat scrawl, her mind reeling. “Okay, the sheriff found the first bag of money three weeks ago where CoCo took us in the bayou.”

  “Right.”

  She ran her finger down the page. “He found another one last week at the same place.”

  “When he called me.”

  Turning the page, she detected a different handwriting. She raised her gaze to Jackson and quirked a brow.

  “Those are Bubba’s notes detailing his investigation for two weeks.”

  “Ah.” She scanned the information quicker than her mind could process the data. One line stuck out at her. “Says here he found one of those pieces of cloth tied to the money bag. Both times.” She squinted to make out the rough handwriting. “0418 and 1121.”

  “What do you make of that?”

  “Says he checked and the number wasn’t a boat identifier.” Her eyes widened. “He contacted DEA, and they told him unless he found proof of drugs, they couldn’t help him?”

  “That’s our government dollars at work, chère.”

  “It’s outrageous.” Disappointment hung in her voice and heart more than shock.

  “Does it surprise you?”

  “Unfortunately, no. He asked two of his deputies to assist in the investigation. He officially opened a case and logged the money into evidence.”

  Jackson started to speak, but the waitress chose that moment to deliver their plates. He waited until she’d left and he’d said grace before he nodded at the folder. “We didn’t get to discuss which two deputies.”

  “He never said?” She pushed the file to the side and lifted a mudbug.

  “I didn’t think it important to ask. Now I’m wondering if one of those men was somehow involved in his attack.”

  “Maybe their names are on the case record?”

  “Like I can see it now that the FBI thinks I’m an official suspect?”

  She snapped off the head of a crawfish and sucked. Cayenne pepper and Tony Chachere’s Seasoning tingled her taste buds. Even though Shreveport was in the same state, nobody cooked spicy food like deep South Louisianans.

  “So, why leave the cloths?”

  “Maybe the person retrieving got rushed? Or maybe it was dark outside and they didn’t realize it’d fallen off.”

  “Could be, but that doesn’t make a whole lot of sense.”

  “Nothing about this is exactly logical.” She took a sip of her drink. “I just don’t see how it’s all linked.”

  “Okay, here’s my stab at the scenario.” Jackson wiped his hands on his napkin, then laced his fingers over his plate. “It’s drug smuggling. Bubba finds the money, opens a file. He assigns two deputies to the case. He follows standard procedure on the investigation.”

  “Sounds right. Keep going.”

  “But one or both of the deputies are dirty. Or maybe involved in the drug deals in some offhand way. He tells the smugglers what Bubba found.”

  Her mind pounded with the possibilities. “So they decided to take the sheriff out.” She shook her head. “But why leave him alive?”

  “To teach him a lesson? Besides, killing an officer would attract even more attention.”

  “This is getting complicated.” Yet, the situation had all the earmarks of a big story—drugs, police corruption, attempted murder. Simon was wrong; the entire state would be interested in this story.

  “You know, maybe you could try and find out something more.”

  She dropped the carcass of a crawfish to her plate. “From whom?”

  “The deputies? That Gary Anderson seemed interested in you.”

  Snorting, she wiped her fingers, now coated bright red, on the wet towelette. “Yeah. Right.”

  “One of those Fed boys looked attractive enough to think all women doted on him.”

  “You mean the guy from the Federal Bureau of Intimidation?”

  Jackson laughed, nearly sputtering the iced tea he’d just sipped. “Haven’t heard that one before.”

  She smiled, choosing to ignore his asinine suggestion. “What do you think these numbers mean?”

  “Could be a code to indicate what the payment’s for. Or a date or time.”

  “Sounds plausible.” Alyssa wiped her mouth, pushing away her plate. “How do we break it?”

  “We just keep digging.”

  She liked the way he thought. Slick. “What’re we waiting for?”

  Rain had lessened the humidity, but moisture was still heavy in the air. Even the inside of Bubba’s house felt damp. Sticky.

  “I made copies of the bills of lading at the dock, but I can’t retrieve them until Monday night when I go back to work.”

  She pressed her lips together in a fine line, making that little pink circle more prominent against her pale face. He had the sudden urge to touch it. He clenched his fists in response. “Alyssa, if you want to stop investigating with me, I’ll understand. This reeks of danger. Bubba’s barely hanging on.”

  “No. I want to know what’s happening.” She shivered and hugged herself. “I’m already in danger.”

  He took a step closer to her, the instinct to protect so strong. “How’s that?”

  “If a cop is involved, then they know I heard someone’s voice the night they dumped the sheriff.”

  Chills crept up his spine. How could he have missed the connection? He gave in to instinct and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

  Did she have to be so logical? He didn’t like the idea of her being in danger. He’d seen what they did to Bubba.

  She ran her fingers through her spiky bangs and shook her head. “No, I have to follow through on this.”


  “I understand, but we need to be careful.” He stared at her, picturing Bubba’s injuries on her.

  “Very careful.”

  NINE

  Spinning out of control. Hot, so hot. Metal grinding.

  Screaming—was it hers?

  So hot.

  Pain on her face, under her lip.

  Crying.

  So hot. So painful.

  Alyssa bolted out of bed, ignoring the tears wetting her cheeks, and headed to the window. Stupid nightmares. Worse now that she was here in Lagniappe. In Shreveport, she could ignore the nightmares, memories and the past. But not here. Never in Lagniappe. She sucked in air, forcing her breathing to steady.

  Bright streaks of yellow and orange zigzagged through the cloudless sky as the sun ushered in Sunday morning. She watched CoCo bank and tie off the airboat. The past couple of times she’d been back in Lagniappe, Alyssa had noticed a subtle change in her older sister. Not so emotional, calmer, more at peace with life in general. Maybe CoCo’s relationship with Luc made the difference. Well, not quite. This was the first time Alyssa had returned to Lagniappe since the two had gotten back together. What had brought about the transformation in her sister? Maturity, perhaps? Nah. CoCo was only two years older than Alyssa’s twenty-seven.

  The front screen door slammed, jarring Alyssa from her musings. She’d been so deep in thought she hadn’t even noticed her sister leaving the boat. Alyssa took a final glance at the morning. The sun had crested over the tree line, throwing a warm glow into the sky. If she were anywhere but the bayou, she would’ve been impressed by the beauty and grace of nature. She’d always begun her day by checking out the window. Funny how she’d forgotten her ritual.

  “Al? You up?” CoCo hollered from the bottom of the stairs.

  Tightening the sash of her robe, Alyssa moved to the landing at the top of the staircase. “Yes.”

  “I thought we could have breakfast together before church.”

  Church? Oh, yes, right. CoCo attended the community church sitting outside Lagniappe town limits. She’d invited Alyssa to attend the last time Alyssa had visited. She hadn’t been able to then as she’d been anxious to head back to Shreveport. Today held no such timetable.

  “Sure. Sounds like a plan.”

  “I’ll put the biscuits in the oven before I hop in the shower. Coffee’s ready whenever you are.”

  Alyssa dressed quickly, not sure what these hicks wore to worship services. After all, they’d never attended as girls. Why, the ceiling would fall if voodoo priestess Marie LeBlanc set foot inside a church. Alyssa chose a simple black skirt with a white silk blouse. After applying her makeup with a light hand, she checked her appearance in the mirror. Her hair had once been as long and wavy as CoCo’s. As dark, too.

  Determined to shed the spawn of a voodoo queen persona when she escaped the bayou, she’d embraced a drastic haircut and coloring job. Alyssa LeBlanc had recreated herself, inside and out. As she surveyed her reflection, a sense of pride filled her. She no longer resembled that mousy little girl, and she’d masterminded the conversion all by herself.

  “Bacon’s on,” CoCo called out.

  How did the woman shower and dress in the time Alyssa took to put on her makeup?

  Alyssa entered the kitchen amid the mouth-watering smell of pepper bacon and chicory blend coffee. Her stomach rumbled in appreciation. CoCo stood at the stove dressed in a pair of khaki slacks and basic cotton T-shirt. Surely she wasn’t wearing that to church services?

  CoCo nodded as Alyssa poured a cup of coffee. “Sit down. It’s all done.”

  Not only had her sister showered and dressed, she’d also cooked breakfast. Alyssa swallowed back her prickliness, taking note of her own feelings of inadequacy. That’s what this was—that old sensation of never measuring up, plain and simple. The bayou brought out the worst in her. Always had.

  CoCo offered up a quick prayer over the food, then pulled back the kitchen curtains. “Looks like it’s going to be a glorious day.” The smile made her eyes glow.

  Alyssa didn’t reply. She sliced open the buttermilk biscuit and slipped a pat of butter inside the flaky layers. The amazing mix melted in her mouth. How come she couldn’t bake like this? Yet another screaming declaration of her inferiority. Now her nerves truly rankled.

  She cast her gaze to her sister’s attire again. “Are you wearing that to church?”

  “Oui. Why?”

  “Isn’t it a bit, um, casual?” Alyssa bit a hunk off a slice of bacon to avoid adding any more censure to her tone. She chewed slowly, biding time.

  “Boo, God doesn’t care what I wear.”

  “But people do.”

  “Al, when are you going to get it that I don’t answer to others? None of us do. We simply have to please God, and I’m pretty certain what I put on my body matters not to Him.”

  “When are you going to understand that appearances are important?”

  “Not to me.”

  “It matters to me.”

  Those words bounced around in her mind, settling in her chest. Appearances did matter. People judged how you looked and presented yourself. Alyssa had fought too hard to elevate herself to an acceptable level. She wouldn’t let anyone or anything knock her down.

  CoCo let out a heavy sigh. “If it bothers you so much, I’ll change into a skirt.”

  “Thank you.” The last bite of biscuit stuck in her throat. Alyssa gulped down the rest of her coffee, thankfully now warm and not scalding. She shoved back her chair and lifted her plate. “I’ll do the dishes while you change.”

  She finished the dishes before CoCo met her at the front door.

  “Luc’s meeting us there.” CoCo grabbed her keys from the hook.

  Great. Now she’d get to see the happy couple up close and personal. Just something else she’d managed to fail to do—have a decent love life. Who was she kidding? She didn’t even have a love life, decent or otherwise. Dismay tugged against her heart.

  “Tara called earlier,” CoCo said as she headed to the Jeep. “Grandmere will be released early this afternoon.”

  Alyssa slipped into the passenger’s seat. “Do you think she’s well enough to come home so soon?”

  “Her doctors think so.” CoCo put the Jeep in gear and gunned the engine.

  “I don’t know. I think I’d feel better if we got a second opinion.”

  “I trust them.” CoCo steered the Jeep down the dirt road. “Besides, Grandmere’s chomping at the bit to get out.”

  “I bet. Probably wants to concoct some potion or something.”

  CoCo laughed. “More than likely.”

  “You know, we could clean out her shed before she gets home, and she wouldn’t be able to do that voodoo business.”

  “That would only upset her, and she’d simply go out and get more herbs.”

  “Why haven’t you put a stop to all this nonsense?”

  “I’d like to, Al. I really would, but I can’t just put my foot down. This is all Grandmere has ever known, and breaking her of it takes time. And finesse.”

  “It’s a disgrace.”

  “It may be, but I’m praying the Holy Spirit will continue to work on Grandmere.”

  Alyssa swallowed a snort.

  “You know you were asking me about that island in the bayou?” CoCo asked, then continued without a response. “That’s Milo Point Road right there. You’d follow the pavement until it dead-ends, then walk out to the outlying point.”

  Interesting. She should go check that out.

  CoCo whipped into the parking lot of a small white church. Paint peeled off the worn wood. The steeple leaned to the side just a tad. Lovely. Worshipping in a broken-down, skimpy church. No velvet-padded pews would await them. No state-of-the-art sound system would saturate the sanctuary with music. Alyssa pressed her lips together and followed her sister up the rickety wood steps.

  A young man in jeans and a T-shirt extended his hand. “Good morning. I’m Pastor Spencer Bertrand, but everyone
calls me Spence.” He shook her hand with a firm grip. “Welcome.”

  This young man was the preacher? With his dark hair all shaggy, he looked more like a hippie than a pastor. Mercy, what could he know about preaching? “Uh, thank you.”

  At the second pew from the front, CoCo slipped in beside her boyfriend, who stood as they approached.

  “Morning, Alyssa. Nice to see you again.” Luc Trahan’s smile danced in his eyes.

  “You, too.”

  Luc’s arm was draped behind her sister’s shoulders. Alyssa studied them from the corner of her eye. They made a handsome couple. Luc, with his tall form and broad shoulders, not to mention his extraordinary good looks, complemented CoCo’s small features. Next to him, CoCo looked delicate and fragile.

  Why couldn’t Alyssa find someone who accepted her for who she was like Luc did CoCo?

  The first chords from the organ filled the church. The congregation rose to its feet and followed along in the hymnal.

  Never had worship music sounded so beautiful. She closed her eyes, letting the words wash over her. How long had it been since she felt like this? Ever?

  Alyssa studied CoCo’s face. Eyes closed, her sister sang with a smile void of any worry or stress. The picture snagged Alyssa’s heart.

  Could this be the source of CoCo’s peace?

  Alyssa had captured his attention before she’d even entered the church, as if he had radar tuned in exclusively to her coordinates.

  Jackson sat in the back pew, studying the clean lines of her back. He groaned silently. He hadn’t come for this. He’d chosen to attend the small church on the outskirts of town to avoid seeing any of the Lagniappe locals. Yet, there sat the source of his discord, jarring his thoughts from communion with God.

  Her presence here, did that confirm her a Christian? Jackson had known a lot of people in his life who’d attended church faithfully but had never given their hearts to Jesus Christ. He personally didn’t get that.

  The preacher took his place behind the pulpit and read a Scripture from the Book of Psalms. The forty-sixth, to be exact.

  “God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear. Though the earth give way and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea, though its waters roar and foam and the mountains quake with their surging.”