To Write a Wrong

by Robin Caroll

  “I’ve had time to think about it, and I still don’t have any idea, and I don’t want to theorize without facts. I don’t want to put anyone through what I’ve experienced.”

  Admirable, but not the smartest thing. She couldn’t help contrasting Armand’s motives and actions against Simon Lancaster’s.

  “It’s time to go, Wilson.” The guard approached.

  Armand stood. “It’s been a pleasure talking with you, Ms. Baxter. Please give my love to Peggy and the kids. Tell them I miss them, but I’m so proud of them for being strong with you. Ask them to keep the faith for me.”

  She struggled to her feet. The guard shook his head. “Please be seated, ma’am, until the prisoner has exited.”

  Riley dropped back to the chair. “I will, Mr. Wilson. I’ll be back, too, if I can.”

  The guard led Armand from the room. Riley turned off the recorder and slipped it into the attaché case. She stared at her notes and lifted her pen. Across the bottom of the page she wrote a single word . . .

  Innocent.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Here is my servant whom I have chosen, the one I love, in whom I delight; I will put my Spirit on him, and he will proclaim justice to the nations.”

  MATTHEW 12:18

  Great. Emily’s voice trailed throughout the house.

  Riley shook her head. She shouldn’t think like that. This was Ardy’s home. Too bad her sweet disposition hadn’t been passed along to her daughter. Well, that wasn’t exactly a nice thought either. Riley just couldn’t help herself. Something about her and Emily was like the bayou mist and Mercedes-Benz.

  Maybe she should stay in her room until Emily left. She’d slept in this morning because she spent the better part of the night working on the next segment in her series and sending it to Jeremy. Armand’s interview. As she’d reviewed her notes and written the article, her belief that Armand Wilson was innocent grew stronger.

  Now what to do about it?

  Bright sunlight, a contrast to the skies of the past few days, shot past the curtains and filled the room. A glare blazed off the top of her laptop sitting on the table.

  She couldn’t sit idly by and allow an innocent man to stay in prison while his family struggled. They were genuinely nice people. Jasmine and Mikey deserved having both their parents around, working together to raise them. Riley would figure out something to do to help. Maybe she could send her series to some lawyers and ask them to work on Armand’s case pro bono. Maybe Hayden could give her some suggestions.

  After a hot shower with plenty of her favorite vanilla-scented suds, Riley felt more alert. She quickly dressed and headed into the kitchen. A cup of coffee would be the final piece of her wake-up puzzle. She’d love to go work out—it’d been over a week since she’d seen the inside of a gym. Somehow, she didn’t think Hopewell would house a chain of fitness centers. Coffee would have to do.

  “Well, well, well . . . good morning, or is it afternoon already?” Emily’s rudeness only took second place to her sarcasm.

  Riley ignored Emily hovering by the bar, keeping her focus on the coffeepot on the burner. The alluring aroma of the strong chicory scent had her mouth watering. She poured herself a cup and glanced out the kitchen window. Where was Ardy? No sign of her, but the police cruiser Hayden had assigned crept by the house. At least she felt safer.

  “Mom said to tell you she had to run to the grocery store but would be back soon.” Emily’s disdain was as apparent in her voice as the stitches on her face.

  Riley tilted her head toward the injury. “Does that hurt much?”

  “It’s fine.” Emily turned away from her, holding steady to the back of a bar stool. “And none of your business.”

  Maybe it was because she hadn’t yet finished her first cup of coffee. Maybe it was because no one was around to act as buffer. Maybe she was sick of Emily’s whining over nothing when Jasmine had nothing and didn’t whine. Or maybe Riley had merely grown weary of guarding her tongue. She wasn’t sure of the reason, but she stopped filtering her response. “Oh, I know. You’ve made that abundantly clear. Not just to me, but to your brother and your mother as well. Nothing you do is anyone else’s business, until you need something.”

  Emily spun, raw fury blazing in her eyes. “Just who do you think you are? You come up here, stay in my mother’s house, and act like you have a right to pass judgment on any and everyone? I don’t think so.”

  Riley set her cup on the counter. Perhaps it was a very good thing the kitchen bar separated them like a partition. “What is your beef with me, huh? I haven’t done a thing to you but try to be nice, and all you do is snap my head off.”

  “Why are you here?”

  “I came for a parole hearing and—”

  “No, not here in town. Here. Staying at my mother’s house.”

  Oh. “You know. You were here the night she asked me to stay.”

  “Why did you? Weren’t you staying at some hotel in Baton Rouge before your brother came?”

  “Yes. But your mother practically demanded I stay with her when I tried to leave.”

  Emily’s laugh came out only half sarcastic. “That’s just her southern manners and hospitality.”

  The coffee tasted burnt on her tongue now. “Is this what your attitude is all about? Because I’m staying here with your mom?” And then realization slammed full force against Riley. “You’re jealous.”

  Emily snorted. “Don’t be silly. Why on earth would I be jealous of you?”

  She chewed her bottom lip as she struggled with what to say. She took a deep breath and lightened her tone. “Because your mother is an amazing woman and she loves everyone. You’re afraid I’m taking some of her attention from you.”

  Emily opened her mouth, but Riley cut her off. “And I don’t blame you. I’d feel exactly the same way if I were you.”

  Snapping her mouth shut, Emily slumped to one of the bar stools. Riley leaned over the bar. “I can’t tell you how jealous I’d be of anyone who got close to my mother, if she were still alive.” She swallowed, letting the emotions she normally kept in check, flow freely. “I’ll tell you a little secret: I was always jealous of Maddie. She was the first daughter. More refined, like Mom. More interested in things Mom was interested in.”

  Emily blinked but kept quiet.

  Riley pushed past the pain simmering in her stomach. “And Rafe . . . well, you can understand how jealous I was of him.” She remembered his voice thick with emotion when he shared their mother’s last words. How she addressed her son. Tears burned Riley’s eyes. “If I’m being honest, I have to admit I’m still jealous of him. Jealous that he got to see Mom a final time. Got to hear her voice a last time. Jealous that he gets to carry the knowledge that her last words on this earth were directed entirely to him.”

  The intense pain threatened to consume her. Riley bent her head and let the tears fall. Let the ache spill out. Let the anger dissipate into grief. As she sobbed, she realized someone patted her back. Comforting. She lifted her head and, through the tears, caught Emily crying with her.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.” Emily sniffed. “I’m sorry for being so mean. I am jealous. I moved out to prove a point, but I miss Mom. I lashed out at you when I shouldn’t have. It’s my fault things aren’t right between me and Mom, not yours.”

  “It’s okay. I totally understand. But please, please know that I’d never do anything to try to drive a wedge between you and Ardy. And take it from someone who can’t just drop by to visit her mom . . . stay close. If I still had my mother, I’d be visiting all the time. Doing stuff she wanted to do, not just what I wanted.”

  Emily nodded. “I’m going to go back to the therapist and shrink. I think they need to adjust my medication again.”

  “That sounds like a good plan. But I really don’t w
ant to come between you and Ardy. Matter-of-fact, I’ll pack up and head to the hotel tonight.”

  “Don’t you dare.” Emily sniffed again and dabbed her nose with her sleeve, then laughed. “Mom would get on to me for that.”

  “I won’t tell her.” Riley wiped her face, then poured herself a fresh cup of coffee. “But seriously, I don’t mind going to the hotel.” She’d probably get a lot more work done without the distractions of food and visiting, but she’d miss Ardy.

  And Hayden dropping in as he’d started doing the past few nights.

  “Don’t be silly. Mom told me about the break-in. You’re safe here. Mom’s a crack shot with that gun of hers.” Emily grinned.

  “I don’t doubt that.”

  “And there’s Hayden.” Emily waved toward the front window. “He has that cop driving by here at least every hour.”

  Riley chuckled. “I’ve noticed.”

  Emily propped her chin in her hands, elbows dug into the counter. “Speaking of Hayden . . . were you on a date-date with my brother the night Mom called him to take me to the emergency room? A real date?”

  Heat flooded her face.

  Emily laughed. “Oh. By the color of your face, which is as red as a fire engine, I’d say it was a real date.”

  Riley laughed as well, touching her burning cheeks.

  “So, how’s that going?”

  “We’ve only gone out that once. Your brother is a perfect gentleman.” What else could she say to his little sister? That she’d never been so attracted to a man before? That he made her pulse spike when he walked into a room? That the sound of his voice caused her heartbeat to hiccup?

  “That’s it? All you can say is he’s a perfect gentleman?” Emily laughed louder. “Wow, I’ll have to talk with my brother. I didn’t think he was so boring. Maybe that’s why he’s never had a serious girlfriend before. And all this time, I thought he just had too high of standards.”

  “No! Hayden’s not boring. Not in the least. He just isn’t all hung up on himself. He’s terribly exciting. And kind. And charming. And—”

  Emily cackled. “That’s more like it.”

  Riley clamped her mouth shut. Her face burned hotter than hot.

  “Me thinks thou protests too much.” Emily laughed harder. Riley couldn’t help it, she joined her new friend. Truth be told, Emily was actually quite funny. Riley had a feeling if she had the time, she and Emily would become close friends. But she lived too far away. The thought grieved her. Not just because home meant far from Emily.

  Home meant far from Hayden.

  How many dead ends did he have to hit before they came up with something? Anything? Just one, solid lead . . . that’s all he needed, but Hayden would take whatever he could get. Any break in the case—either of them—would be more than welcome at this point. Investigative work could only take them so far.

  God, we need help.

  Hayden closed his eyes and rubbed them. He’d passed tired at least two hours ago but refused to give up and go home. The weekend loomed too close.

  Still nothing on the break-in at his mom’s. The patrols had been uneventful over the last twenty-four hours. He should be grateful for that, but they didn’t have a single thing to go on. Not a suspect. Not a motive.

  Nothing.

  Seemed like that was the MO for all his cases lately: the break-in at Mom’s. Nichols’s murder. Jason Vermillion.

  The last two were connected, Hayden still felt that way. He just had to prove it.

  “Got it.” Carrying a manila envelope, Bob stormed into the office without knocking and sat.

  “What?”

  “The other subcommittee members.”

  Hayden stretched his arms over his head. “Give ’em to me.” He turned his notepad to a blank page and grabbed a pencil.

  “Curtis Goins, deceased.”

  Name didn’t ring a bell. “Cause of death?”

  “Car accident. Hit-and-run over in Baton Rouge. Messed him up pretty bad, from the coroner’s report.”

  “When?”

  Bob flipped pages. “Four years ago.”

  “Ever catch the driver?”

  “Nope.”

  Big surprise. “Who else?”

  Bob turned to the next page. “Allen Boyce, also deceased.”

  This was getting way too obvious. “Cause of death?”

  “Stabbed. Multiple times.” Bob shook his head. “And before you ask, it was three years ago, over in New Orleans, where he retired four years ago. No arrests ever made in conjunction with the case.”

  As if he expected anything else at this point. “This is crazy.”

  “I know.” Bob scratched the stubble on his chin. “Because the times are so spread out and the crimes, while similar, are different MOs.”

  “And the last one?”

  “Lisa Manchester.”

  He hovered his pen over the paper. “Cause of death?”

  “Hayden, she’s still alive. Retired from local politics, including her work for the Louisiana Health-Care Commission about twelve years ago and dropped out of sight.”

  The blood stirred, starting to rush. “Where?”

  “Baton Rouge.”

  “Got an address for her?”

  Bob handed him a piece of paper. “Took me a while to track it down. Apparently, this woman doesn’t want to be easily located.”

  Like she was hiding from something or someone? Hayden grabbed his keys. “Come on, let’s go.”

  The drive to Ms. Manchester’s residence took less time than Hayden had to work out some theories in his mind. After years of working together, Bob understood Hayden’s methods, which included his wallowing through the facts of a case while he drove.

  He pulled the cruiser up the driveway and stared at the house at least two hundred yards down the private drive. “Are you sure this is the right address?”

  “Verified it myself.”

  “Where did she work outside of the commission?”

  “She didn’t. Her only job outside of the home was the commission.”

  Apparently Hayden was in the wrong arm of the local government, or she’d married well. “Is she married?”

  “Never married. No children.”

  Hayden parked in the circular drive in front of the house. A six-foot fountain in the center of the circle drive cascaded water over granite. Despite what Bob said, the woman definitely wasn’t keeping a low profile. “Does her family have money?”

  “No indication of that.”

  Stepping onto the red brick driveway, Hayden studied the house from over the cruiser’s roof. “Then how did she afford this place?”

  At least three stories, the house replicated Southern plantation in style and grace of days of old. Hayden half expected to see Clark Gable and Vivien Leigh spill out onto the veranda at any minute.

  “Good investments, maybe?” Bob asked.

  Hayden snorted. “If that’s the case, I need to find out who her broker is.” He led the way up the front steps. He didn’t even get a chance to ring the doorbell or use the large brass lion’s head knocker before a man swung the door open.

  Bent and gnarled, the man had to cock his head to the side to look at Hayden. “May I help you?”

  “We’re here to see Ms. Manchester.”

  “The lady doesn’t receive visitors this late. Especially gentlemen visitors.” The censorship echoed in Quasimodo’s tone.

  “It’s okay.” Hayden flashed his badge, holding it down so the hunched little man could see clearly. “We’re here in an official capacity only.”

  “Oh. Well. Madam isn’t dressed. She’s already retired to her room for the evening. You’ll have to make an appointment and come back tomorrow.”

  Hayden
checked his watch—5:45. And she’d gone to bed? “I’m afraid we have to insist. I need to speak with Ms. Manchester. Now.”

  The man hesitated, then stepped aside to let them enter. He showed them to a formal living room housing the most uncomfortable-looking chairs Hayden had ever seen.

  “Wait here. I’ll see if Madam can see you for a moment.”

  Yeah. Do that.

  “I’ll be right back.” He gave them a final stare, as if he were afraid they’d destroy the place before he returned, then disappeared, shutting the door as he left.

  “Creepy,” Bob whispered.

  Hayden nodded. Everything about Lisa Manchester was odd. Where and how she lived, hiding but flashing of wealth . . . the only subcommittee member still alive. It was time for answers.

  The blood rushed through Hayden.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “When the islanders saw the snake hanging from his hand, they said to each other, ‘This man must be a murderer; for though he escaped from the sea, the goddess Justice has not allowed him to live.’”

  ACTS 28:4

  “I thought I was clear. Did you not understand that I meant for you to stay away from all my family, and that included my husband?” Peggy leaned against the doorjamb.

  A breeze pricked the bumps on Riley’s arms. The thunderstorms from yesterday had lowered both the temperature and the humidity. The sun had already set, letting a chill seep into the air.

  The chill had nothing on the iciness of Peggy Wilson’s greeting.

  Riley’s defenses crumbled on the inside, but she couldn’t show that. She squared her shoulders. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Wilson, but I really do want to help.”

  “Help who? Me? My kids? Armand? Or do you want to help yourself, Ms. Baxter?”

  Ouch.

  But if she were in the same position . . . funny how that seemed to be a common thread in her life recently. First with Emily, now with Peggy. “I deserve that. I’m not gonna lie to you, this series has launched my career. I’m getting a weekly byline on the front page of my section, and I’ve never had that before.”