Passion In The First Degree

by Carla Cassidy

  “Pardon me?”

  “You heard me. I don’t want you working on this anymore. Pack your bags and go back where you belong.” His tone was curt, harsh, and evoked in Shelby an anger that overwhelmed her battered exhaustion.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” she snapped. “I’m not about to allow some coward hiding in the bushes with a gun to scare me off.”

  He shut off the engine, then twisted in his seat to confront her, his face stern and forbidding in the play of shadows from the dim lighting. “You don’t understand. I’m firing you. I don’t want your help any longer.”

  “I really don’t care what you want,” Shelby returned. “This has gone beyond you and become something personal. I’m not quitting this case and I’m certainly not leaving town.”

  She opened the car door and started to step out, but gasped as he grabbed her, his fingers curling around her wrist in a tight grip. He pulled her toward him, close enough that she could see the wicked flare of his pupils, smell the odor of soap and male sweat that emanated from him.

  “I don’t want you here,” he whispered. “It was a mistake for me to call you, a mistake to drag you into this mess. Go home, Shelby. Go back to Shreveport where you belong.”

  “I’ve been pawed by a drunk, thrown down to the ground and shot all in a single night.” She wrenched her wrist out of his grasp. “The last thing I need right now is for you to give me crap.” She got out of the truck and glared back in at him. “If and when I decide to go back to Shreveport, it will be my decision, not yours. I’m finished running, Billy Royce. I ran from here years ago feeling powerless and alone. Nobody, not you, not my dysfunctional family and not some fool hiding in the brush is going to make me run again.”

  She bit her bottom lip, having said much more than she had intended. Realizing her emotions were at a fever pitch and veering dangerously out of control, she slammed the door and got into her car, thankful that Billy didn’t get out of the truck and try to continue the argument.

  As she drove home, her shoulder throbbed, a constant reminder that something was dreadfully wrong in Black Bayou. She was more determined than ever to get to the bottom of it. Fayrene and Tyler were dead, and if Billy went to prison for that crime it would be an enormous miscarriage of justice.

  People were being stabbed, their bodies left to rot in the swamp that was their home, and the public outcry was but a whisper.

  She frowned, remembering the nightmare she’d been suffering while in the darkness of her faint. Parts of it had the disturbing elements of a distant memory, and yet other pieces had been absurdly nightmarish. Crazy, obviously a mixture of her outrage over the swamp murders and a lingering disquiet about Gator and his colorful rendition of his war with Maybelline.

  Still, there was no doubt about it. There was a core of rot here that far surpassed dirty politics or good-ole-boy networking. Black Bayou harbored a couple of monsters. One had killed Fayrene Whitney and Tyler LaJune. And somebody horribly disturbed was killing innocent people. Shelby knew she wouldn’t be satisfied until the monsters had a face, until she knew the monsters’ names.

  Chapter Nine

  “What happened to you?” Michael arose from the dining table as Shelby entered the room the next morning, her shoulder bandage apparent beneath the light cotton blouse she wore.

  “An evening with Billy.” She grinned wryly, then winced as she sank into the chair opposite where he’d been sitting. “It seems Billy isn’t very popular, and I got in the way of somebody’s bullet.”

  “My God, Shelby.” Michael moved to the sideboard and motioned to the coffee. Shelby nodded and he refilled his own cup, then poured hers and returned to the table. “I assume you’ve seen a doctor?”

  “Dr. Cashwell fixed me right up.” After she explained the previous evening’s events, she looked at her brother curiously. “What are you doing here so early?”

  “Twice a week I volunteer my time at the community center. I stop by here for coffee before I go. My coffee always tastes like tar sludge.”

  “What do you do at the community center?”

  “Whatever needs to be done. It’s been one of Big John’s pet projects since its inception.”

  Sipping her coffee, Shelby raised an eyebrow. “Father has never been particularly interested in projects that don’t benefit him.”

  Michael nodded, a wicked grin curling one corner of his mouth. “It benefits Junior, who receives positive publicity every time Big John gives a check or one of us volunteers time there. Even Mother spends one afternoon a week there reading to the children. It’s all part of the major campaign to make the Longsford family look like they care about the ‘little people.’”

  “I should have known Big John never does anything that doesn’t reap him large rewards.” She smiled. “Tell me, Father Michael, is there a place in Heaven for a man like him?”

  The smile fell from Michael’s face. “I think there’s probably a special place in Hell for Big John.” He grinned again. “But even there, I imagine Big John will be running the show.”

  They fell into silence. Shelby sipped her coffee slowly, discovering that the simple act of swallowing caused sore muscles and bruised ribs to ache. She’d slept poorly, haunted by disturbing visions of the swamp and dreams of Billy. The throbbing heat of her shoulder had awakened her several times, and each time she’d been grateful for the interruption of those dreams.

  “Are you going back to Shreveport?” Michael interrupted her thoughts.

  “You think I should?”

  He looked into his coffee cup with a rueful smile. “Shelby, I’m not our father. I would never tell you what you should or shouldn’t do. I want you to stay here, but I want you to be safe, and it’s obvious those two things might not be possible.”

  Shelby touched her shoulder thoughtfully. “Billy told me to leave, to go back to Shreveport. He tried to fire me.”

  “He’s obviously concerned for your safety, too.”

  It was her turn to smile ruefully. “Billy is concerned with Billy. He knows if I’m accidentally killed, he’ll be skinned alive.” She frowned and sipped her coffee once again. “I’m not leaving, and I’m not going to stop digging into Fayrene’s and Tyler’s deaths. I know Billy is innocent.”

  Michael reached across the table and covered one of her hands with his. “I’m glad, Shelby. I’m glad you’re going to stay. God help me if something happens to you, but I want you here. You give me strength.”

  She grasped the warmth of his hand lovingly. “I’ve always thought of you as the strong one.”

  Michael laughed ruefully. “Why? Because I didn’t do as Big John wanted and go into politics?” He released her hand and touched the collar around his neck. “I’m not strong, Shelby. We have become a family of professional hiders.” He looked at her, his blue eyes darkened in thought. “You’re the only one who didn’t find a place to hide.”

  “Yes, I did,” Shelby countered. “While I was living here, I hid at Mama Royce’s shanty and then I ran away and hid in Shreveport.” She stared down reflectively into her coffee cup. “I realized last night that my life in Shreveport isn’t real. I wasn’t really living…I’ve been biding time, waiting to come back here where I belong.”

  “Why did you leave, Shelby? What drove you away so suddenly?”

  She frowned, wondering exactly how to answer. She couldn’t tell him that the depth of her passion for Billy had frightened her away, although that had certainly played into her decision to leave. Nor could she tell him grief for Mama Royce had caused her to run. Although both those things had been partially responsible, there had been something else…a fear…an undefinable need to escape. How could she explain what she still didn’t understand? She looked at Michael helplessly and shrugged. “It’s too complicated to explain. Let’s just say I knew it was time for me to leave, give myself a chance to see something of the world beyond Black Bayou. But now it’s time to stay here where I belong.”

  Michael’s hand cover
ed hers once again. “I’m just glad you’re back, Shelby.” He finished his coffee and stood. “Why don’t you come with me to the community center? Let me show you some of the good things that are being accomplished there.”

  “I’d like that,” Shelby agreed, also rising from the table. “Besides, I promised Bob I’d stop by the police station and give him a statement.”

  They decided Shelby would drive her own car and follow Michael. Minutes later as Shelby rolled down her car window to allow in the warm morning air, her thoughts turned to Billy and the kiss they’d shared in the bar the night before.

  It was still there. Whatever powerful force had exploded between them on the night of Mama Royce’s death was still there, simmering with intensity, volatile and unpredictable. She wished it wasn’t. She could pretend it didn’t exist, deny it to Billy, but she couldn’t fool herself.

  He touched her like no other man, but she knew it would be foolish to follow through on the attraction. He needed her legal prowess, nothing else. She’d survived one bout with Billy; she wasn’t at all sure she could survive another.

  She would keep their relationship firmly on a professional level. Although she knew there were times when lawyers got intimately involved with their clients, she’d never considered it a smart move. She smiled and reminded herself that as of last night, according to Billy, she no longer worked for him.

  She’d sort that particular detail out later. As far as she was concerned she wasn’t off his case until she decided. Pulling in to a parking space next to Michael’s car, she turned her attention to the building before her.

  The community center was a large, nondescript, onestory building. On one side a fence surrounded a playground full of colorful playground equipment and on the other side was a basketball court. Behind the building the edges of the swamp encroached, filling the air with the scent of exotic flowers, dense greenery and always the underlying scent of something rotten.

  Michael met her as she got out of her car. “It’s not much to look at, but it’s a beginning,” he said. “We provide before- and after-school care for the kids around the area, we’ve got a teen program and are working now to provide some services for the elderly.” His gaze went toward the dark marshlands. “At least this is one place the people from the swamp can come and be safe.” Michael shook his head sadly. “There isn’t a family in that swamp that hasn’t been touched by the serpent murders. They say at night you can hear the mournful cries of the bereaved.”

  Shelby shivered at the haunting image his words evoked. “Bob says there have been no clues, nothing to indicate who might be responsible.”

  “No clues, no pattern to the timing of the murders, no motive tying them all together. I have little faith the killer will ever be found. Whoever is responsible for the crime is smart and evil.”

  “And so people will just continue to die? What a horrifying thought. And the worst part is that nobody seems to care.”

  Michael smiled at her. “Your Don Quixote syndrome is showing.” He took her arm as they walked toward the front door. “You always did joust at windmills. Honey, you aren’t going to change the prejudices of this town overnight. We’re making a start here, but we’ve got a long way to go.”

  He opened the front door and together they walked into a room filled with chaos. More than a dozen children were seated at tables on one side of the room, uncooked elbow macaroni, bottles of glue and colorful construction paper providing their entertainment.

  “Father Mike.” Several of them left their table and ran toward him, their arms outstretched. Michael bent and embraced each one, laughing as they chattered, each vying for his attention. It was easy to tell these were children from the swamp. Although clean, their clothes were faded and ill fitting. The children were thin, their faces already weathered by nature’s elements, poverty and a hint of distrust.

  Michael patted them each on the back, then sent them back to their places at the table. He straightened and smiled at Shelby. “The young ones are the purest. Their hearts haven’t been hardened yet by their circumstances and this town’s hatred.”

  “Father Mike, you should have married, had children of your own,” Shelby observed, noting the loving expression on his face as he watched the children at work.

  He shook his head. “No. I knew from a very early age that marriage wasn’t for me.” He grinned ruefully. “We didn’t exactly have the best example of a healthy marriage with Mother and Father. Mother had her bottle, and Father had his other women.”

  Shelby looked at him sharply. “Big John had affairs?”

  Michael grimaced. “Sorry, I just figured you knew.”

  She smiled ruefully. “Ah, another ideal shattered beneath reality.”

  “I remember one spring night years ago when I overhead Mom and Dad fighting about his latest mistress. It scared me because I was certain he was going to leave all of us for her. Funny, I think it was the year you left home.”

  “I’m really not surprised,” she replied thoughtfully. “Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?”

  “Wonder what?” he asked curiously.

  Shelby grinned. “How we turned out so normal and well adjusted.”

  They both turned as the door opened and in walked a tall, dark-haired woman and a young boy. “There’s Angelique and Parker Royce,” Michael murmured, then went to greet the two.

  Shelby would have known Billy’s son in any place, among any crowd. His paternal stamp was all over the child, in the shiny dark hair that covered the boy’s head, in the stubborn thrust of his chin and in the overwhelming darkness of his eyes. He had his father’s eyes, only in Parker’s there was still a wealth of hope, a childish trust that had yet to be betrayed.

  He smiled at her, a shy, sweet smile that arrowed right through to her heart. Shelby knew if Billy went to prison it wouldn’t be the memory of Mama Royce’s eyes that haunted her dreams. It would be Parker’s.

  Her gaze moved from the child to the woman. Whoever she was, she was beautiful, with the proud carriage of a queen. Her multicolored skirt and blouse only added to her exotic allure. She spoke with Michael only a moment, then released her hold on Parker’s hand and gently pushed him toward the other children. She headed for the front door, then hesitated and turned, her gaze locking with Shelby’s.

  Shelby’s breath caught in her chest as she fought an impulse to step back, to escape the powerful hostility that radiated from the woman’s eyes. It was there only a moment, then masked beneath passivity. Shelby didn’t breathe until the woman went through the doorway and disappeared from sight. She exhaled and turned to Michael, who’d rejoined her. “Who’s that woman?”

  “That’s Angelique Boujoulais. She’s a friend of Billy’s and supposed to be a powerful woman in the swamp community.”

  “Powerful how?” Shelby wrapped her arms around herself, warding off a chill as she thought of the brief eye contact.

  “She’s reputed to be a powerful healer. Even Doc goes to her for help in herbal cures. Some say she dabbles in magic.”

  The chill that Shelby had tried to ward off shivered up her spine as she once again remembered that moment when their eyes had locked and Angelique’s had radiated malevolence. Terrific—as if she didn’t have enough to worry about, she’d somehow managed to garner the gypsy woman’s animosity.

  She wondered if Angelique and Billy were lovers, and was surprised when the thought brought with it a tinge of jealousy. Once again her head filled with the memory of his kiss, so seductive, so provocative.

  “Shelby, you okay?”

  She jumped when Michael touched her arm. “I’m fine.” She shoved thoughts of Billy aside and smiled at her brother. “Why don’t you show me the rest of this place and introduce me to the children?”

  IT WAS NEARLY NOON when Shelby left the community center and drove to the nearby police station, anxious to give Bob a statement about the shooting the night before, then get back home for a nap. Her shoulder throbbed, and her restless night was
catching up with her.

  “Shelby, I was just going to send my deputy after you,” Bob greeted her as she walked into the station. “Jonathon LaJune is in the back.” He gestured toward a closed door. “He’s spilling his guts. He’s the one who shot you last night.”

  “Tyler’s father?” Shelby looked at him in surprise.

  Bob nodded. “He’s convinced Billy is responsible for Tyler’s death. He decided to mete out his own brand of justice last night, but his aim isn’t as good as it used to be. I’ll need your statement so we can press charges.”

  “I want to speak with him before I give a statement.”

  Bob hesitated, then shrugged. “I suppose it would be all right.” He ushered her through the door, down a hallway and into a small interrogation room.

  “I’d like to speak to him alone,” she said before going in.

  Again Bob paused, then nodded. “Okay, I’ll give you five minutes. He’s grieving, Shelby, but he’s also a very angry man.”

  Shelby had childhood memories of Tyler’s father, memories of a man as vivid, as powerful as Big John. But the man who was seated at the table in the small interrogation room held little resemblance to the man of her memories. He seemed to have shrunk, his shoulders slumped forward as he rested his head between his hands.

  He looked up when she closed the door behind her, and his eyes filled with tears. “Shelby, I’m a foolish old man,” he said, his voice full of the tears his eyes couldn’t hold. “I could have killed you.”

  “Yes, you could have,” she agreed, and sat down across from him at the table.

  He swiped at the tears angrily and glared at her. “I wish I’d hit him. I wish I’d killed him. I’ll dance on his grave when he’s gone.”

  Shelby sucked in her breath at the intensity of his hatred for Billy. “Mr. LaJune, I don’t believe Billy is responsible for Tyler’s death.”

  He leaned back in his chair and studied her for a long moment, his expression alternating between profound loss and simmering rage. “I heard you came all the way here from Shreveport just to defend that killer.” He leaned forward, allowing Shelby to smell the scent of cigar smoke and grief that clung to him. “You were Tyler’s friend. How can you let yourself be taken in by Billy Royce?”