Bayou Corruption

by Robin Caroll

  “Follow you home, of course.”

  Goosebumps of joy raced up her arm. “Okay.”

  Remembering to keep her speed under the limit, Alyssa kept checking in her rearview mirror. Jackson’s truck stayed on her tail. That could be a good thing.

  Or bad.

  Couldn’t the woman drive any faster?

  She was going as slowly as if she were out on a Sunday afternoon drive. Jackson tapped his fingers on the steering wheel and offered up thanksgiving for Bubba’s healing.

  The ringing of his BlackBerry interrupted his prayer.

  “Jackson Devereaux.”

  “Hey, there. It’s Mac.”

  “How’re things back in the room?” The old newshound had bestowed the nickname on the newsroom two decades ago, and everyone still used the moniker.

  “Good. Listen, I went back and pulled everything we had on what Claire LeBlanc was working on at the time of her death. You have no idea how dusty it is in the storage room. You owe me.”

  “You got it. What’d you find?”

  “There’s nothing official here, but I did find her handwritten notes from her desk calendar. They were stuffed in a box marked her articles. Can you believe they kept all this?”

  “Mac,” Jackson ground out.

  “Right. Well, according to her notes, she was following up on an old interview with the mayor of N’Orleans and also planned to head to her hometown to work on something undercover.”

  Jackson’s heart leaped into his mouth. “Are there any notes on the undercover assignment?”

  “Looks like she’d jotted down random phrases. None of it makes sense to me.”

  “What are the phrases?”

  “Rice plant, then the name Kevin Arnold under that.” Rustling of papers sounded over Mac’s hoarse breathing, indicative of his many years smoking. “The name Roger is on the next page with a circle around it.”

  Bull’s-eye.

  Mac coughed. “There’s a little rectangle on the side with the name Edmond in it. Has a question mark beside his name.”

  Oh, no. Lewis might be right.

  “That’s it. Any of this helpful?”

  “All of it. Thanks, Mac. Can you fax it to me, here? I owe you one.”

  “You owe me more than that, boy.” Mac harked out a wheeze before asking for the fax number.

  Jackson tossed the BlackBerry into the truck’s console and followed Alyssa into her driveway.

  How would he find the words to tell her that she’d been right?

  Her parents had been murdered.

  She waited for him on the veranda. He dragged his feet as he trudged up the stairs. When he finally met her gaze, a sense of foreboding clawed its way into her chest.

  “What?”

  “I got a call on the way over.”

  “The sheriff?” Her heart thudded.

  “No.” Jackson nodded to the big rockers. “Sit down. I have something to tell you.”

  She dropped into a chair. “What?”

  “I heard back from my man at the paper.”

  Oh, no. Her mother.

  Alyssa dove her hand into her pocket for her lip balm. “What’d you find out?”

  He ran a hand over his hair.

  “Just say it.”

  He twisted his hands. “You were right. Your mother was working on something involving all this. Her handwritten notes are jumbled, but basically she wrote the words: rice plant, Kevin Arnold, Roger and Edmond. The notes are being faxed to Bubba’s house.”

  She swallowed. Why hadn’t she made the connection sooner? Lewis had told her Kevin Arnold had contacted a reporter at the Times-Picayune to help him expose the discrepancies at the rice plant. Of course, he’d contacted her mother. She hadn’t picked up on the reference because her mother’d been a photojournalist, but to a layman, journalist and photojournalist were close enough. Hadn’t Senator Mouton made the same implication?

  Senator Mouton. Her mother had implied his involvement with his name in her notes. But how? Why? He’d helped build her mother’s career. He spoke at her funeral. Surely he couldn’t be involved. Dismay nearly choked her.

  “Are you okay?” Jackson’s gentle touch on her hand softened the heartache.

  “She was murdered.”

  “We don’t know that, but it looks like a definite possibility.” His hand grasped hers.

  “So this Kevin Arnold called her and asked for help.” She closed her eyes, drawing strength from Jackson’s touch. “Knowing Momee, she’d agree to help. She probably made some connections like we did—Roger Thibodeaux to the rice plant.”

  “Chère, you can let this drop if it’s too painful.”

  She jerked her gaze to his face. Such concern and…what other emotion shone so brightly in his face? She shook her head. “No, I need to know. I have to know the truth.”

  “I understand.”

  “I need to figure out the link between the Senator and this smuggling.” She stood, immediately missing the warmth of his touch as she did. “I still find it hard to believe he would be involved with anything that hurt my mother.”

  “I hope he wasn’t.” Jackson stood and laid a hand on her shoulder.

  “But I have to know.”

  His gaze drifted from her eyes to her lips.

  Her scar tingled.

  As if he knew, he cupped her face in his hands. His thumb gently caressed her scar. She closed her eyes.

  “I’m going to kiss you again, chère.” His voice came out husky, but she didn’t have time to think about that before his lips were on hers. Moving softly, caressing her. She wound her arms around his neck, responding.

  He ended the kiss well before she would have liked. He planted light feathery pecks against her cheeks, eyes and forehead before kissing her scar. She stared into his eyes.

  “Now’s not the time to have the discussion I wanted to, so I’ll save it for later.” He planted a final kiss on the end of her nose. “But we will eventually talk about this thing between us.”

  Alyssa watched him get into his truck and pull away. Her heartbeat raced as if she’d just been chased through the bayou.

  Inside, CoCo sat on the couch beside Grandmere and Tara. She glanced up as Alyssa shut the front door. “Did you hear anything more about the sheriff’s condition?”

  She brought them up to speed on the sheriff’s communicating with Jackson.

  “So you were right?”

  “Not only about that.” She glanced at her grandmother, taking notice of her skin tone. Rosy, not the pallor she’d exhibited in the hospital.

  “What else, ma chère?”

  “Someone did set out to murder Momee.” The tears she’d held back when Jackson had revealed what he learned sprang forth and made tracks down her cheeks.

  “What are you talking about?” Tara asked.

  Between sniffles, she filled her baby sister in on her memory and what she suspected. Then she told them about Momee’s handwritten notes. “That’s why they killed Momee and Papa.”

  “You don’t know that for sure, Al,” CoCo said.

  “It sounds pretty definite to me.” Tara jumped to her feet. “Why didn’t anyone tell me about your dream?”

  “I’m sorry. I should have. It’s just been so…hectic.”

  “I can’t believe you didn’t say anything. You found the time to tell CoCo. Just because I’m the youngest doesn’t mean you sh—”

  “Enough, child.” Grandmere shifted on the old floral couch. “Do you believe Senator Mouton could really be involved in something that would have harmed Claire?”

  “Of course, he couldn’t,” CoCo interrupted. “He was her friend. Remember the lovely things he said at the funeral?”

  “Aside from that.” Grandmere peered into Alyssa’s face. “You do think it’s possible, don’t you, ma chère?”

  “I hope I’m wrong, but I do.” Alyssa twisted her hands in her lap.

  “How do we find out?” Tara asked.

  “We can’t.
We don’t. We leave it in the hands of the police.” CoCo glanced at Alyssa. “The FBI and now the ATF are involved. We let them handle it.”

  “Like you let the police handle the investigation into Beau Trahan’s death?” Tara spat out.

  “Well, we certainly can’t just go up to the senator and accuse him,” CoCo retorted.

  Alyssa felt all the blood drain from her face, leaving her chilled.

  “Child, what’s wrong?” Grandmere laid her hand over Alyssa’s.

  “That’s it.” Alyssa shoved to her feet so fast, her equilibrium faltered and dizziness washed over her.

  “What’re you talking about?” Tara asked.

  “That’s what Momee would’ve done. If she thought her friend, someone she cared about, could be involved in something like this, she would have confronted him.”

  CoCo’s eyes widened. “She wouldn’t have confronted the senator.”

  “Mai, ma chère, I think Alyssa may be right. Claire probably would have.”

  “And once the senator knew she was hot on his trail, he what? Denied it?” CoCo planted her hands on her hips.

  “Or ordered her to be taken care of,” Alyssa whispered. “Told someone to murder her and make it look like an accident.”

  TWENTY-THREE

  “We’ve taken Martin Gocheaux into custody since Sheriff Theriot confirmed his involvement in the assault to me. We’ve also detained Roger Thibodeaux.” Agent Lockwood glanced at his notes on the table before looking back at Jackson. “This is Garrett Olson from ATF.”

  The young man shook Jackson’s hand. Jackson’s head swam with information overload. Five days had passed since Bubba had come out of a coma. Five short days in which the government officials had followed up on Jackson and Alyssa’s investigation like lightning.

  “We’re still working on getting the name of the other assailant from Roger and Martin, but so far, they aren’t giving anybody up,” said Agent Lockwood.

  “But you’ll keep trying?”

  “Certainly.” Olson grinned. Something told Jackson the ATF would like a crack at the old politician.

  “Any luck on finding out details about Claire LeBlanc’s accident?”

  Lockwood nodded. “We’re looking into it. I think Roger will break down and spill his guts once we get him to crack.”

  “With the information we’ve processed so far, we believe Gocheaux was the man who chased Ms. LeBlanc in the bayou.”

  “And shot at her,” Jackson reminded them. The memory gave him chills. “What about the dock manager, Burl?” Did the man know Jackson had been instrumental in implicating him?

  “He claims Roger paid him not to inspect certain shipments. Says he had no clue what was in the crates,” the FBI agent answered.

  “We’ll keep looking into his story. Right now,” Olson popped his knuckles, “we’re checking each and every connection to Roger and Martin. A couple of names have come up on both lists, so we’ll start looking at them. Starting with the pilot they both apparently know.”

  “Ah, the money drops in the bayou.”

  Olson nodded. “Right. We figure if we get him, he’ll tell us who else was involved, even if Roger and Martin never sing.”

  “Sounds like this is all wrapping up.” Jackson made a final memo in his notebook and closed it. “And the senator?”

  “We’ve tried to reach him for questioning, but his wife says he’s out of town the rest of the week.” Olson heaved to his feet. “We’ll stay on it until we get the truth, Mr. Devereaux. And that includes the senator’s involvement.”

  “Looks like we’ll be done by the end of the month.” Lockwood stood.

  “Heard the sheriff will be just fine,” Olson said.

  Jackson smiled. “They moved him to a regular room yesterday. He’ll start his physical therapy in a couple of weeks, but he should be able to come home before then.”

  “That’s really good.” Lockwood slapped his thigh. “Well, just wanted to come by and give you an update. Felt like we kind of owed you an exclusive.”

  Kind of? Yeah, right. But Jackson kept his mouth closed and shook the agents’ hands. “I appreciate it. Anything else I can do to help, let me know.”

  “Oh, one more thing,” Lockwood said. “Will you tell Ms. LeBlanc we appreciate her assistance, too?”

  Alyssa hung up the phone and stared at the picture of her parents. The call had been one of the hardest she’d ever made, but peace now flooded her. Right or wrong, she’d made her decision and there’d be no turning back.

  I’m sorry, Momee, but I have to listen to my heart now.

  She smoothed her white shirt before squeezing into the bathroom.

  “You look pretty,” CoCo told her. “You do, too, Tara.”

  The three sisters crowded into the bathroom, each putting final touches on their hair or makeup.

  “Is Felicia over-the-moon excited?” Tara coated her lips with a mocha shade lipstick.

  “She is.” CoCo sprayed perfume on her wrist and rubbed. “They set Thanksgiving Day as the wedding date.”

  “Aw, how romantic.” Tara sighed.

  “I think it is.” CoCo stepped into the hallway. “Come on, we’re going to be late. Luc and Fels will kill me if I’m not there on time. Somebody has to run interference with Hattie.”

  “How is the mother of the bride-to-be?” Alyssa asked.

  “Driving Fels crazy, of course.” CoCo giggled and clapped her hands. “Come on, we need to get.”

  “I still have to finish my hair,” Tara complained.

  Alyssa laughed. Their cutting up while getting ready for a big to-do brought back so many memories. Picking on each other and their taste in dresses before proms and homecomings. Dates waiting in the living room, having to listen to Grandmere and voodoo. A knot wedged in Alyssa’s stomach. No, she wouldn’t let bad memories spoil her happiness with her sisters. Not tonight.

  “Come on,” CoCo coaxed.

  “Why don’t you go on? Tara and I will be along shortly.”

  “Are you sure?” CoCo popped her hands on her hips.

  Alyssa and Tara burst out laughing.

  “What?” their oldest sister asked.

  “You always did that.” Alyssa waved toward CoCo. “Putting those hands on your hips and giving us orders.”

  “I did not.”

  “Yes, you did,” Tara quipped. “Still do, apparently.”

  “Oh, you two.” CoCo stuck her tongue out at them. “You’d better be right behind me.”

  Alyssa and Tara laughed while she strode away.

  “You know, I understand why you cut and highlighted your hair.”

  Alyssa stared at her little sister in the mirror. “You do?”

  “Yep.” Tara blotted her lips on a tissue. “I’ve always lived in CoCo’s shadow, too.”

  “That’s not exactly it.”

  “Then explain it to me.”

  With her hip cocked, digging into the side of the counter, Tara had no idea how much she looked like CoCo. Alyssa bet she wouldn’t appreciate the comparison.

  “Al?”

  “I wanted to change when I left Lagniappe. Be somebody different. Totally make myself over.”

  “Because you hate this place so much.”

  “Yes. No.” Alyssa shook her head. She wasn’t doing this right. “I did.”

  “And now?”

  Alyssa shrugged. “I don’t hate it so much.”

  Tara smiled. She really was a beautiful young woman. “Does that have anything to do with Jackson Devereaux being here?”

  Heat washed over her face. “He’s from New Orleans. Not Lagniappe.”

  “But he’s here now.”

  Her little sister had a point. “Yes, he is.”

  “What do you plan to do about that?”

  “What?”

  Tara sighed and shook her head. “You know, you and CoCo are the big sisters—you’re supposed to have a clue about what’s going on. But neither one of you can figure out what’s righ
t in front of your faces.”

  “Well, please don’t keep me in suspense. Tell me what I’m not seeing.” This was fun, connecting with her sister.

  “You’re in love with him.”

  That wiped the smile off Alyssa’s face. She grabbed the comb and picked at her bangs. “I can’t be in love with someone I’ve only known for weeks.” But she had a strong hunch her sister was dead-on right.

  “Really?” Tara laughed. “Who do you think you’re fooling?”

  She set the comb on the counter. “Is it that obvious?”

  Tara laughed again. “Only to those of us who know you.” She wrapped an arm around Alyssa’s shoulders. “Have you told him?”

  “Mercy, no. I couldn’t do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “I just couldn’t.”

  Tara made a clucking sound.

  “What?”

  “Well, it shouldn’t be that big of a deal.”

  “How’s that?”

  Tara shrugged. “He’s in love with you, too.”

  He knew the moment she walked into the Trahan house. He sensed her presence as he had that day in church.

  Alyssa’s smile lit up the foyer as Luc took her purse and directed her to the dining room for refreshments. Jackson noticed the other men in the room focusing on her as well. Something burned in his gut. He made quick strides to reach her. “Hi, there.”

  She looked at him, a laugh teasing her lips. The lips he wanted to kiss so badly he ached. “Hi, yourself.”

  “You look lovely.” What an understatement. In black slacks and a white tuxedo-style shirt that accented every curve, she wasn’t lovely. More like breathtaking.

  “You clean up nice, too.”

  If he kept this up, he’d be drooling at her feet any second. “Let me get you a drink?”

  “A cola would be nice. Thank you.” Why did she seem so shy all of a sudden?

  He headed to the set-up bar, grabbed a soft drink and returned to her. “Here ya go, chère.”

  “Thanks.” She took a sip, her eyes touching his soul over the rim.

  “Agent Lockwood and the agent from ATF came by this afternoon.”

  “Really?”

  He gave her a brief update. Brief because his tongue felt as if it had swollen to three times its natural size, and words were hard to form.