by Emery, Lynn
Another deputy tapped on the glass window that made up half of the front wall of the Sheriff’s office. Lonnie stepped out and spent several minutes in muted conversation with him. LaShaun twisted around to watch them.
“He’s here, Sheriff,” Lonnie said as he came back through the door.
Quentin came in accompanied by another deputy. Arguing loudly, he resisted attempts to lead him into an office opposite the Sheriff’s with mini-blinds that were closed. Whirling around, he snatched his arm from the deputy.
“How dare you come to my home at this time of the day and interrupt my dinner. Dragging me here as though I were some criminal. Where is Sheriff Triche? I’ll see he doesn’t get elected street sweeper come next election. Ah, there you—” Quentin stopped dead upon seeing LaShaun with the Sheriff.
“Stay right here with Miss Rousselle, Lonnie.” Sheriff Triche walked briskly out to Quentin. “Well now, thanks for comin’ in, Mr. Quentin.”
“What the hell is the meaning of this?” Quentin’s voice had lost some of its intensity. He peered over the Sheriff’s shoulder to his office and LaShaun.
“Why don’t we step in here. Right here.” Sheriff Triche pointed to the office. He moved directly in front of him, effectively blocking Quentin’s view.
“Why am I here?” Quentin sat on the edge of a metal folding chair.
“Well, sir, we need to corroborate some information we’ve received.” Sheriff Triche sat heavily in a brown vinyl chair next to him.
“Information about what?”
“You know Miss Rousselle, don’t you.”
“What lies have you been listening to?”
“We know you do, Mr. Quentin. We know she’s been livin’ high since she’s been… seein’ you.”
“What the hell has any of this got to do with my grandfather’s death?”
“Mr. Claude found out what you was up to, givin’ her money, stock tips. Putting his business interests second.”
“My grandfather could care less about what woman I happened to be sleeping with at the moment. And the money was nothing.” Quentin visibly relaxed as his arrogant look returned.
“Is that a fact?” Sheriff Triche brows drew together in puzzlement at his reaction.
“Where is he? Take me to him. Quentin, where are you?” Annadine’s voice rang through the station.
“Miss Annadine, come on now. Let’s go on home,” Jim, the gardener who doubled as a chauffeur, pleaded with her.
“No. I’ve got to find out what they’ve done to him. Sheriff, listen to me. He didn’t do anything. She’s lying, Quentin wasn’t anywhere near Claude’s office that night.”
“Now now, Miz Trosclair. You oughten get yourself worked up like this. Why don’t you let Jim take you on back home.” Sheriff Triche pulled the office door closed behind him. He spoke in a soothing tone.
“But you’re wrong to hold him here. Please, listen to me.”
“Miz Trosclair, we got to question everybody. We—”
“I killed him. I killed Claude. I did. He was a vile, mean man. We argued, I picked up a letter opener and stabbed him. He fell dead. It was me.” Annadine swayed on her feet.
“Grandmother, don’t say anymore until I contact our attorneys. She’s obviously in an unstable mental state. She doesn’t know what she’s saying.”
“Ain’t dis one big mess!” Sheriff Triche said as he looked around his office.
“Sheriff, can I talk to you a minute?” Lonnie stepped forward.
“Lonnie I got somethin’ on my hands right now. You s’pose to stay with that Rousselle woman.” Sheriff Triche shouted over the voices of Quentin, Annadine, and the other deputy.
“You got to see this, Sheriff.” Lonnie waved a sheet of paper high in the air.
“Quiet!” Sheriff Triche boomed everyone into silence. “Floyd, you take Miz Trosclair into that office down the hall. And let her call her lawyer. You,” he barked to another deputy, “take him back in there. Now who is with—”
“Myrtle.” Lonnie stepped back so that the Sheriff could see the female deputy standing in his office.
“What is so damn important that I got to stop hearin’ a confession?”
“Look at this report from the private investigator. Seems Mr. Trosclair checked up on several people.”
“My, my, my,” Sheriff Triche said as he scanned the first few sentences.
*****
“Paul? Claude Trosclair’s grandson?” Savannah leaned against her father for support as they stood in the shop. “I can’t believe this.”
“Seems Paul’s grandmother and Trosclair had an affair years ago. She got pregnant and left town. It was all hushed up. Her son, and Claude’s, is Paul’s father.,” Gralin said. He had come over to the shop after hearing the news from a friend working at the Sheriff’s office.
“That was nothin’ but a rumor,” Tante Marie snorted.
“You knew? You actually knew who he was and didn’t say anything to me.” Savannah turned on her aunt accusingly.
“Wait now, missy. I didn’t know who his grandmother was. Even if I had, I wasn’t gone say nothin’ like that. How was I to know if that lady and her husband wasn’t still alive. And if she wasn’t, they got kin people still livin’ here.”
“I knew.” Antoine took a deep breath when Savannah gave him a wounded look. “I felt like Marie, it was just old gossip that I didn’t think was right to be repeatin’. Besides, I figured it was his place to tell you.”
“I’ll be— Sam never said a thing to me.” Charice stood open-mouthed, a stunned look matching Savannah’s.
“Poppy, it doesn’t matter what you thought about it being just gossip. You knew I had suspicions about Paul and his dealings with Claude Trosclair. You should have said something.” Savannah shook with emotion. “He lied to me, deceived me and you helped him.”
“You wait until I see Sam tonight. He is going to get the cussin’ out of his sleazy life!” Charice placed her hands on her hips.
“Savannah, I was kinda suspicious of Paul when he first come to town. But he was always straight forward with us ‘bout what was happenin’ at Big River and how he felt. I got a lot of respect for the way he carried himself.”
“He’s a liar. You don’t know what kind of dirty deal he secretly cut with Trosclair. Paul was out to get anything he could, probably used his relationship to get that contract.”
“Sheriff Triche has issued a warrant for his arrest. Seems the theory is Paul was trying blackmail, or had blackmailed, Trosclair in some way. They argued, maybe Trosclair refused to his demands for more, and Paul killed him.” Gralin blinked behind his bifocals.
“That don’t make no sense to me. Paul been a successful engineer for five years. I mean makin’ good money, a lot of money, not just gettin’ by. No sir, that don’t sound like the Paul I know.” Antoine slapped the counter top.
“You don’t know him, Poppy. None of us did, especially me.” Savannah brushed her eyes quickly.
“Then there’s the question of why he left the country so suddenly. And they say he had a violent argument with Claude before he left. It looks very bad, Antoine,” Gralin said.
“I been on this earth a long time, and I been judgin’ people a long time, too. He may have been wrong not to say somethin’ to you, cher, but I’d swear that boy ain’t no blackmailer. And he ain’t no killer, either,” Tante Marie pronounced firmly.
“He kept who he was a secret. He put on a good show and I fell for it. Everything he ever said was a lie, everything he ever did was only an act.” Savannah’s voice choked as she rushed into the office. Charice followed her.
“Sugar, come on now. It’s okay to cry. That dirty dog.” Charice hugged Savannah.
“God, Charice. I feel like such a fool. He used me. It was nothing but a damn game to him.” Unable to hold back any longer, she let go. Tears coursed down her cheeks.
“I know, babe. I know.”
“Pretending every time he touched me.” Savannah
shook with agony. Now even the beautiful memories of their nights of passion seemed sordid, empty of real meaning.
Charice patted her back. Seeing Antoine enter the office, she released her hold. Nodding to him over Savannah’s bowed head, she pulled back.
“Cher?” Antoine reached for Savannah. When she did not rebuff him, he folded her in his arms against his chest. Her cries were muffled in his shirt front.
“I’m going home now, sugar. Sam is coming over and I wouldn’t want to miss this evening for the world,” Charice said, her eyes glittering with outrage. “I’ll call you later, okay?”
“O—kay,” Savannah hiccupped her reply. She stepped away from her father wiping her eyes and nose. “I’m all right.”
“Go on home, cher. Me and Marie gone be here. Take some time to yourself.” Antoine stroked her hair.
“I’d just go nuts thinking. No, keeping busy is what I need. Here, I’ve got to figure up our taxes, make some journal entries, and look at this filing that’s piled up.” Savannah busied herself moving papers around.
Antoine kissed her cheek before going back into the shop. Savannah stared at the papers before her until they became blurred by her tears.
Chapter 15
“LaMar, man, tell Charice what you’ve been telling me.” Sam sounded desperate.
Charice stood, legs apart, fists on her hips. Examining LaMar from head to toe, her whole expression said she was not impressed. Dressed in a huge t-shirt, baggy pants worn low on his hips without a belt, and expensive high top athletic shoes, LaMar grinned at her. He wore long dred locks.
“Hey, mama. Whuz up.”
“Who is this?” Charice spoke to Sam without taking her eyes off Lamar.
“My man, LaMar Zeno. Best Black private cop in the U S of A.” Sam tapped fists with Lamar to punctuate his statement.
“Thanks, brother.” LaMar dipped one shoulder low to assume a “I’m too cool” stance.
“Excuse us, please.” Charice took him by the arm dragging him into her kitchen. “Is this a joke?”
“No, baby. I swear, LaMar is a licensed private investigator. He worked for Pinkerton close to six years before striking out on his own. He’s got some information that will clear Paul.”
“Uh-huh.” Charice pressed her lips together.
“Look when you agreed to see me, you promised to listen. LaMar has sources all over south Louisiana. He really could clear Paul.” Sam put a hand on her arm pleading his case.
“What’s going to clear him with Savannah? He lied to her and you lied to me.” Charice shook her finger close to his nose.
“Now, baby, I couldn’t betray the confidence of my best friend. I told you, his daddy didn’t want anybody to know. Paul was just curious about the Trosclairs. Mr. Honorè had a series of mild strokes, then a more serious one only a few weeks ago. Mr. Honorè was real upset that all kinds of ugly things were going to be said about his mama. He made Paul swear not to ever let anyone find out. Paul wouldn’t do anything to hurt his daddy, and definitely not for money.”
“But you got that contract because of Trosclair.”
“We didn’t know that! Look, look, Trosclair pulled strings because he already knew who Paul was before he even got to town. Now why would Paul blackmail him? That doesn’t make any sense. Paul told me Trosclair had known who he was from the start. LaMar found out the private investigator he’d hired was only updating a thick file. Trosclair had been keeping up with Paul’s father and grandmother for years.”
“I don’t know—”
“Ten minutes, just ten minutes. Come on, Charice.”
“Ten minutes, that’s all. Can’t believe I’m doing this.” She walked ahead of him back to the living room.
“Go on, LaMar. Tell her.” Sam sat next to Charice on the love seat.
“Uh-umm, let me see here.” LaMar dug deep into a pocket of his oversized pants and brought out a tiny wire bound note pad. “Claude Trosclair has been using Crescent City Security since the late fifties for various jobs. They do okay, but they kinda weak when it comes to the tricky cases. Anyways, they didn’t have much trouble finding Marguerite Ricard and keeping him informed of her situation. Seems the old man kinda flipped out when he found out she was married to Henry Honorè, got stinking drunk. Anyways, he had them offer her money. He also wanted to see ‘em both. She told ‘em hell no and to stay out of her life. He got messed up again but he didn’t try to contact her after that. Now we fast forward to four years ago. He started using his contacts to refer clients to you two for business, done very discreetly of course.” Speaking in a factual tone, he had only briefly glanced at his notes during his narrative.
“See, now do you believe me?” Sam asked hopefully.
Charice did not answer but squinted thoughtfully. LaMar put the pad back into his pocket, sat down and crossed his legs.
“Something funny is going on with the business, Big River Company, I mean. Seems grandson Quentin has been making substantial investments,” LaMar said.
“So what? He’s a rich boy.” Charice shrugged.
“But he doesn’t have that kind of money to draw from his trust fund or his stocks. He’s put up several million with no decrease in his assets.” LaMar paused to let that sink in.
“And he didn’t get the money from grandpapa.” Charice sat forward, now intrigued.
“You got it. Another thing, though I haven’t pinned this down for sure, I think this Kyle Singleton knows about Quentin’s transactions and is blackmailing him. My sources tell me suddenly, the guy is calling the shots at Batton Chemical. Why would greedy little Quentin allow that?” LaMar lifted an eyebrow at them.
“But how does this prove that Paul didn’t have a reason to kill Trosclair? I mean, the Sheriff can say all that has nothing to do with Paul having motive, means, and opportunity.” Charice sat back.
“Wait, it gets even more interesting. A reliable source inside the drug trade says Master Quentin was earning those large amounts of cash moving cocaine. I also think Quentin found about Paul about a month ago.”
“Wow!” Charice’s eyes opened wide.
“Now, so far we’ve got two possible scenarios. One, Claude found out about Quentin’s embezzling and drug deals, they fight and the old man gets capped. Two, Quentin finds out Claude has plans to give some of his estate to Paul and his father, they fight, ba-dam! The old man gets it.”
“My Lord.” Charice lets out a long puff.
“There’s more, but I need to check out a few more details,” LaMar said.
“More?”
“Look, I’m on my way.“LaMar stood up. “I got some work to do on another case. I’ll be in touch later, home boy.” With a bouncy walk, he went out to a low riding, electric blue small pickup truck parked in front of Charice’s house. The rhythmic thumping of a reggae rap tune blared as he started the engine. Head bobbing to the music, he drove off.
“Savannah should hear this, babe.” Sam returned to the living room after locking the door behind LaMar.
“She’s not going to talk to you. Poor thing is numb. She’s trying to pretend she doesn’t care, but it’s obvious she’s still crazy for Paul. Now she’s convinced that she didn’t mean anything to him but a temporary good time while he got next to the family fortune.”
“She’ll listen to you. At least try,” Sam said.
“I’ve got to admit, I’m not so sure as I was before hearing all this.” Charice drummed her fingers rapidly on her knee.
“So, you’ll try?” Sam put an arm around her.
“Okay, but don’t get your hopes up. Like I said, Savannah is pretty bitter.”
*****
“That no good son of a bitch!” Quentin paced the floor of the apartment.
“Idiot, he’s watching us and you bring me here?” LaShaun peered through the drawn drapes at the street below.
“He already knows. I hardly think sneaking around will work at this point,” Quentin snapped.
“Singleton didn’t ment
ion anything about the drugs?” LaShaun gulped down a swallow of expensive cognac.
“No, but it’s only a matter of time. You can bet he’s snooping around for more dirt to use so he can sink his hooks in me even deeper.” Quentin started to light a joint.
“Put that down, damn it. This is no time to get stoned.” LaShaun snatched it from his lips.
“You’re having a drink,” Quentin protested.
“Unlike you, I don’t drink until I pass out. Now shut up so I can think.” LaShaun tapped a long, multicolored fingernail on the side of her glass. “Tell me again exactly what he said.”
“He wants me to announce at the next board meeting that I’m stepping aside to let him assume the CEO position. The reason I’m to give is that I need some time off to deal with grandfather’s death and to look after my grandmother. Filthy bastard.”
“If you had been more careful this wouldn’t have happened. Do you know how much money I’ll lose because of your stupid carelessness?” LaShaun put down the glass with a bang splashing cognac on the coffee table.
“Why the hell didn’t you come up with some brilliant ideas before now, huh? You’ve been in on this thing from the start so don’t give me that crap!”
“Okay, let’s cool it. We won’t get anywhere fighting each other. We need to spend our time coming up with a plan to handle this.” She stared straight ahead for several minutes. “When is the next board meeting?”
“Not for three and a half weeks.”
“Your contact Juan Carlos, when are you supposed to give him an answer about going in on another deal?”
“About two weeks from now. He says he won’t know all the details until then. The Colombian government’s latest crackdown has been very effective in putting a real kink in his plans. His partners in Bogota are lying low. What’s that got to do with this?”
“So he’ll have time on his hands. And he won’t be happy to know that someone is threatening his operation here as well.”