by Robin Caroll
“I can understand that.” Bubba glanced over his shoulder. He leaned down even more and stared into Luc’s face. “Look, I shouldn’t even be telling you this, but Luc, I don’t think you had anything to do with your grandfather’s death.”
Icy chills held Luc captive. He nodded, but didn’t speak a word.
“However, the results came back today. The gun we found in the bayou? It’s Beau’s. And its butt matches the imprint from the gun cabinet.”
Could his day get any worse? “What’s that mean?”
Bubba’s eyes dimmed. “It means I’ll have to officially bring you in for questioning on Monday.”
Luc’s heart crashed at his feet. “Question me about what? I’ve already answered all your questions. What more is there to tell?”
“It’ll be an official questioning regarding your possible involvement in Beau’s murder.”
The words vibrated against Luc’s chest, pressing so tight against his lungs he couldn’t breathe.
“I thought I should give you a heads-up.”
“I—I appreciate that.”
“If you can think of anything that will help you, Luc, you need to find it before Monday morning. The judge will be available to sign the paperwork at nine.”
Nine. Paperwork. Official questioning. Murder.
“You okay, Luc?”
“Yeah. Merci, Bubba.”
“Just find something to clear your name, okay?” Bubba clapped him on the shoulder and then sauntered back to his cruiser.
Luc sat still, every muscle in his body tensed to the point of a too-tight spring. His head echoed the blood pulsating through his veins.
A short burst of a horn behind him shook him from his fearful thoughts. He glanced in the side mirror. Bubba had turned off the twirling, flashing light, but flashed his high beams at him. Letting out a long breath, Luc put the vehicle in gear and edged back onto the road.
Should he tell CoCo? They’d racked their brains trying to find the answers. He didn’t think they could do any more than what they’d already done. Maybe Uncle Justin could provide some answers. He’d definitely track him down, tomorrow at the latest. He had a deadline now. And didn’t like it one bit.
He pulled into her driveway and noticed CoCo waiting on the front porch. He rushed to her, anxious to just be near her. As if that would make all his worries take flight.
“Luc, what’s wrong?”
There she went again, reading his mind. He should have known he couldn’t keep something from her. It was probably for the best. If he was going to win her back, he didn’t want to keep secrets. Not from her, not anymore. “I got pulled over on my way here.”
“Speeding?” She made a grimace.
“Yeah, but I didn’t get a ticket.”
“You caught a break. Good. You need one.”
“Bubba pulled me over and gave me a bit of information.”
Her eyes probed his. “What kind of information?”
“The results came back on the gun you found in the bayou. It’s Grandfather’s and it matches the missing one from my house.”
Her almond eyes widened, and she grabbed his hands. “Oh, no!”
Might as well get it all out and over with. “Come Monday, they’ll be hauling me in for official questioning.”
Her bottom lip caught between her teeth and tears filled her eyes. “I’m so sorry, Luc. If I hadn’t found the stupid gun…”
“It’s okay.” He pulled her against his chest to comfort her, but he drew strength from the embrace. “Bubba said if I could find anything to prove my innocence, I’d better hurry.”
She looked up at him, and pushed away from his embrace. “The letters aren’t enough?”
“Obviously not.”
“I may have something that can help. It will definitely give rise to some uncomfortable questions.”
His heart smashed against his gut. “What have you found?”
She pulled something from her shorts pocket. She glanced at it for a moment, seeming to battle something within herself before handing it to him. “If you want to use it, that is.”
“As if I wouldn’t?” He took the object. A photo.
He ran a hand over his hair. Another picture. What heartache would it cause this time? He sucked in air and then let it all out at once. No sense in avoiding now—his own freedom was at stake.
Luc stared at the photo and the notation. A queasy sensation roiled in his gut, stomach acid churning. Uncle Justin and Marcel LeBlanc…hanged a man?
He lifted his gaze to CoCo’s and saw the same concerns reflecting in her eyes. While their grandfathers were dead, Justin wasn’t. What would happen to him if this picture got out? Was this the proof referred to in the letter they’d found of his grandfather’s things? If so, how did whoever wrote the letter know about this picture? A worse scenario pushed against his mind—what if this wasn’t the proof? What if the proof was actually much worse?
What could be worse than a racially motivated murder?
TWENTY-ONE
Sure would be nice to know what clicked behind his eyes. CoCo could detect the shock and hurt, naturally, but the rest of what he felt stayed hidden. She touched his elbow. “Luc?”
His Adam’s apple bobbed. “I just…I just can’t believe it.” He shook his head, his gaze dropping back to the photograph. “I’m looking at it, it’s real, but I can’t believe it.”
“I know,” she whispered. Her heart ached to take away the pain in his face, yet she swallowed the pity. “What do you want to do?”
He leaned against the porch railing. “I haven’t a clue. This just—it just floors me.”
She glanced out into the darkness. Why, God? Why is this so hard? All we keep finding, all the decisions…what’re we supposed to do?
“Okay, let’s try to think about this logically.”
“All right.” She dropped to one of the rockers. “Let’s hear it.”
“We know Grandfather got a threatening letter from your lawyer.”
“Right, but I don’t think he’s involved with any of this. It’s all about his sister. I don’t think he’d have killed Beau over that.” She thought about Dwayne, his actions and his motivations. “I think he would have rather exposed Beau if he’d found out anything.”
“That brings us to the next letter, but we don’t know who wrote it.”
“Someone who knew that picture was in my house. Knew the coins were here.” She tapped her finger against her bottom lip. Think. Concentrate.
“Who?”
“The only people who have access to the attic are me, Grandmere and Tara. Today was the first time Tara had been up there, and the first time I’d been up was with you. I don’t think Grandmere could even climb those rickety steps.”
“Someone has to know.” He raked his hand over his face, a scratch sounding when his fingers brushed his five o’clock shadow. “Could your grandfather have told someone before he died?”
CoCo considered the idea. Then immediately ruled it out. “Why? From the entry we found, he felt horrible about it later. Begged for forgiveness. Would punish himself by looking at the pictures. I can’t see him telling anyone. I think he’d be too ashamed.”
Luc nodded. “I think so, too.” He rubbed his head, fast and rough. “That leaves Uncle Justin. I can’t see him telling anyone, either. I mean, he’s kept it secret for all these years, why spill the beans now?”
“Right.” Confusion clouded her thoughts. “No one else could know.”
He snapped his fingers. “Except the person who took the picture.”
Her heart jumped. “We have no clue who that is.”
“Yes, but at least three people know the picture exists. One is dead, so that leaves two. Uncle Justin and the photographer.”
Another thought forced itself to the forefront of her mind. “Luc, how does that person know the picture still exists?” She stood and leaned against him, using his strength to fortify herself. “Most of the people who were active i
n the Klan burned all their stuff years ago, back when it became an embarrassment to have ties to the KKK.”
“You’re right.”
She took a step backward and stared into his face. “So, what do we do?”
“Beats me.” He took one of her hands in his and refused to let go even when she tugged. “We’ll just pray and see where God directs us.”
“Speaking of God, do you want to go to my church with me tomorrow?”
“You don’t want to go with me?”
How could she explain? “I thought maybe you’d like a break from being on display. With your grandfather’s death and funeral and all.” Besides, she wanted him to meet her preacher and her small church community.
“I think I’d like that.” He smiled. “What time should I pick you up?”
“Nine.”
“Then I guess I’d better go.” He turned, keeping hold of her hand and pulling her to him.
With a slowness she thought would kill her, he lowered his head to rub his lips against hers. Soft…sweet…and entirely too brief. Before she could say or do anything else stupid, she shoved him back a space.
He smiled at her. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
She watched him walk away, pressing her fingers against her mouth, recalling his lips on hers. With a sigh she turned and headed into the house, already knowing her dreams would be filled with images of Luc Trahan. So much for a restful night’s sleep.
The morning church service had been nice. CoCo’s preacher gave a good sermon. Luc had enjoyed himself, which surprised him. Sure, the church was located farther out of town than his, but the service fed his spirit. Maybe he should consider changing.
CoCo gasped as he turned into her driveway. An old Lincoln sat parked behind her Jeep. “Whose car is that?”
“My lawyer’s. Dwayne’s.” Her face registered several emotions, but surprise carried the load. She opened her door and hopped out before Luc had a chance to turn off the engine.
Luc rushed to catch up with her as she stopped in front of the tall dark man leaning against the front of his car. “Dwayne, what’re you doing here?” She tilted her head to the side, that cute way she had of sizing up someone. He moved to stand next to her.
The attorney didn’t look too happy to see Luc with her. Too bad. He’d just have to cope with it. Luc was in her life and had no intention of going anywhere.
“I realized I was a bit rude with you on the phone yesterday.” Dwayne straightened, his gaze right on CoCo.
“That’s okay.”
When had she talked to Dwayne? Luc turned to gape at her. Had she told her lawyer about the picture?
She must have felt his stare because she gave a brief shake of her head. Just enough to let him know she hadn’t said anything. There she went again, reading his thoughts before he could voice them.
“There’s, uh, a reason I was short with you.” Dwayne stared at the tips of his shoes.
CoCo’s tone softened considerably. “You can tell me, Dwayne.”
“The thing is, my sister’s diary…”
Luc held his own breath, not wanting to draw attention to himself.
“Her diary?” CoCo prompted.
“My sister came back to Lagniappe with one goal in mind—to find out what happened to our grandfather.”
CoCo shook her head. “I’m not following you.”
“She moved here from California to find out what happened to our mother’s father.” He lifted his gaze to stare at CoCo. “Remember I told you my mother’s people were from here? My grandfather was a civil rights attorney and he was here, in this town, when he disappeared back in the mid-1950s.”
“Disappeared?”
“Without a trace.”
“And your sister was trying to find out what happened to him?”
“Right. She’d made some progress. At least, according to the diary she had.”
CoCo softened her tone. “What kind of progress?”
“She’d discovered Justin Trahan and your grandfather were linked to the KKK.” His face screamed that he didn’t want to accuse her grandfather of such nastiness.
The strong woman that she was, CoCo took it in stride. “She had proof of this?” Her voice didn’t waver. Even lifted her chin a bit. Pride rose in Luc’s chest.
“She wrote in her diary that she’d gotten proof.” Dwayne’s voice lowered so much that it was hard to hear him over the ruckus of the crickets and tree frogs singing for more rain. “When she quit her job, I…I told you she became a drug addict.” His face tightened. “I think one of the men she was involved with got her hooked. She was too proud to ask for help. Even from me. Maybe it was stubbornness.”
If it were possible for the earth to swallow a person whole, Luc imagined the person would look pretty much like Dwayne did at that exact moment.
Both Luc and CoCo remained silent. Luc sure didn’t want to rush the man. He could only imagine how he’d feel if it’d been Felicia in Dwayne’s sister’s place.
“According to her diary, Beulah was seeing two men. One she referred to as her ‘Friday Night Special.’ One night after one too many whiskeys, he let it slip that he’d had ties to the Klan back in the day.” Dwayne scuffed the ground with the toe of his loafer. “Said he knew of some members who had gone rogue, hanging the men they caught.”
Luc’s heart skidded to his knees. He gulped in air.
“Go on.” CoCo’s voice came out calm, although Luc knew she had to be thinking the same thing.
Dwayne cast a glance at her. “She was following up on that lead, searching this man’s house when he’d pass out cold. She recorded everything in her diary at night.”
“And?” Luc couldn’t stop the question.
The lawyer tossed him a glare, but continued his tale anyway. “Near the end of her diary, she wrote that she’d caught the SAM character she’d been involved with at the casino reading her research notes about our grandfather, which she kept in a spiral notebook. She’d gotten mad and he’d ended up smacking her upside the head. She fell to the ground and must’ve hit her head because she lost time. When she came to, the SAM guy was gone. Along with her spiral notebook.”
“This SAM knew the man she saw on Friday nights was aware of the rogue Klan members years ago?”
“Not only that, she believed he was one himself.” Dwayne shifted his weight from one leg to the other. “She writes about going to her ‘Friday Night Special’ man and telling him what she’d written in her notebook about him.”
CoCo gasped. “What happened?”
“She only made one entry after that. Wrote she was scared. She knew one of the men was going to kill her. All her evidence was gone so she was putting her diary in the mail to me.” His last word carried out on a sob. Dwayne sniffed, then cleared his throat. “Beulah was dead four days from the date of her last entry.”
“I’m sorry.” CoCo’s words were as soft as the edges of the bayou.
“Thank you.” Dwayne lifted his gaze again. “That’s what made me decide to stay here and open my practice. To find out what happened to my sister. They said she’d injected too much meth, but I know better. She would’ve never done that— she was terrified of needles.” He jerked his stare to Luc.
The stare felt hard enough that Luc fought the urge to squirm.
“I didn’t hurt your grandfather. I just wanted to get him to confess to encouraging my sister to quit, which started the downhill spiral that led to her death. I truly believe he was one of the men seeing her and wanted to protect himself. I think he gave her cash, which would explain why she could afford the drugs. Had I found any solid evidence, I would have taken it to the police.” The man’s eyes were honest. “I think your grandfather and SAM were one and the same man.”
Luc offered his hand. “I have a little sister, so I can understand your pain. I’m very sorry for your loss, but SAM can’t be my grandfather. He abhorred violence, so there’s no way he would have hit a woman.”
The la
wyer gripped his hand, firm and solid, like an honest man’s handshake.
“Dwayne,” CoCo interrupted, “I’m wondering if your sister’s diary implied that these two men in your sister’s life knew each other, or of each other.”
“By the contents, I think the SAM guy knew about the Friday Night Special, but I don’t know about vice versa.”
She laid a hand on his. “Thank you for coming by and telling me all this.” Her smile spoke volumes of compassion and empathy. “I have to ask, though. Why didn’t you take her diary to the police?”
Good question, thought Luc, and waited for the answer.
“Come on, CoCo. We may be in the twenty-first century and all, but do you really think the police were that concerned about the supposed drug overdose of a barmaid?”
“I guess not.” CoCo’s face enflamed in a blush.
“What do you think?” CoCo faced Luc, having waited until Dwayne left and they were comfortable in the rockers on the porch before she asked.
He ran a hand over his face. His smooth face—no whiskers darkened his chin today. “I don’t know. It’s a lot to take in. Especially considering the photos we’ve found.”
“Any idea who the men are—code names SAM and Friday Night Special?” He rested his elbows on his knees. “I know Dwayne thinks SAM is Grandfather, but I just have trouble picturing it. He would never have hit a woman. Ever.”
“I’d have to say this Friday Night Special could be our photographer. The man who took our grandfathers’ pictures.”
“I was thinking the same thing. Could that man have been the one writing Beau and threatening to expose Justin’s involvement?”
“Probably.”
She recognized the agony in his expression. Knowing what was right, yet wanting to protect his family. She cast a glance over her shoulder at the open door. She could understand; she wanted to protect her family, too. “Luc…”
He pulled the barrette from her hair, letting all the curls tumble against her face. “Shh…don’t ask.”
“We need to decide what we’re going to do with the pic—”