Not One of Us

by Debbie Herbert

  Unlike the violent and early deaths of Deacon and his parents. They’d been cheated out of years and years. Who had killed them? Why had they done it? But the questions came and went, my anger sparked and then was extinguished by a drowning grief. Tonight, at least, I mourned for what could have—should have—been.

  Be careful what you wish for. Mimi’s words whispered in my mind. All these years, I’d hoped and prayed their bodies would be discovered, their killers sent to prison, and the unfounded, unsavory rumors of their fleeing the country finally put to rest. But I’d been wrong. All of the above would provide me closure, but not comfort.

  I returned to my room and picked up the photographs Dana had tucked in the yearbook, stared at Deacon grinning at the camera, an arm possessively slung over my shoulders. Through a film of tears, I couldn’t help smiling as I remembered the moment. I set the photo aside and looked through the others. I frowned as I laid each one out on the bedspread. I could have sworn there were several more photos. Shifting back through the memory of our visit, I recalled seeing at least a couple of pictures where a group of us—Deacon, Dana, myself, and others—had sat together on the bleachers after the game, passing around a flask of whiskey.

  Those photos were gone.

  Chapter 18

  TEGAN

  The excitement of discovering the Cormier bones was tempered by my sympathy for Jori. But as sad as this day must be for her, I believed that finally finding answers and eventually getting justice for that family would be the best thing for Jori in the long run. When Oliver buzzed me into his office later that day, I’d already forgotten we were scheduled to meet the new narcotics officer. I hurried into his office just in time to be seated before Carter Holt arrived.

  Disheveled, sporting a scraggly beard and mustache, an oversize army coat, scuffed boots, and a ratty T-shirt, he indeed appeared as if he’d seamlessly blend into the underbelly drug culture he’d been hired to infiltrate.

  “Thanks for meeting with us this afternoon,” Oliver said, motioning to the extra chair beside me.

  It was 3:45 p.m., but Agent Holt looked like he’d just rolled out of bed, bleary eyed as though he’d been up all night.

  “Next time let’s make it later in the day, ’kay?” he grunted, dropping his ungainly, tall body into the chair. His legs sprawled in front of him in a manner that suggested irritation without being insubordinate. He frowned at me. “Who are you?” he demanded.

  “Deputy Blackwell,” I answered, matching his unfriendly tone.

  Holt had a surly attitude to match the grungy attire. Was this guy a for-real cop or a junkie who’d found a way to get high and get paid for it?

  I bit the inside of my mouth to keep from saying anything I’d regret. This was my first encounter with a narcotics agent. What did I know of their protocol and methods? Oliver had reviewed Holt’s work record and was pleased with what he’d found.

  “Whatcha got?” Oliver asked, getting right down to business. “Any progress discovering who’s distributing in town?”

  “Absolutely. I’m the best at this work,” Holt boasted. “I’ve been meeting with your informant. Shouldn’t take too long to bring down this two-bit ring.”

  “Two bit or not, I thought Enigma was too small to have an organized operation,” I said.

  “I told you there’d be one,” Oliver said. “If I didn’t believe there was, I wouldn’t have bothered hiring an agent.”

  My face heated with embarrassment. Yeah, he’d told me that, but I’d been skeptical. “Right,” I muttered, averting my head and fiddling with my cell phone. Damned if I’d say another word.

  “Strange thing is, my leads indicate that the drug drop in Enigma isn’t coming from Mobile’s port,” Holt said.

  My head jerked up. “What do you mean?” So much for keeping my mouth shut. I’d never been one to refrain from asking questions.

  Holt ignored me and kept his gaze focused on Oliver. “Enigma’s drug pipeline appears to be sourced from a minor distributor. Now, when I say minor, keep in mind that it’s still big money, more money than any of us will ever earn in our lifetimes, but it’s not a major operation with a platoon of boats. My guess is it’s one or two people who have a smaller boat delivering the merchandise directly in the bayou backwaters.”

  “And that way they avoid the larger, riskier Port of Mobile,” Oliver noted.

  “What kinds of drugs?” I asked, tired of being ignored. “Because for the past couple of years, pot and meth were the drugs found on most people here who were convicted of possession. Both of which, unfortunately, can be homegrown.”

  “Cocaine and heroin use are still common,” Holt said, with barely a glance in my direction.

  Oliver leaned back in his chair, stroking his chin. “Good thing we have a strong informant, because our arrest records don’t provide you many leads. The few trafficking possession cases we’ve had weren’t because the arrestee had a large volume of drugs. But the fact they were in possession within a few miles of a school zone automatically triggered a stiffer trafficking penalty.”

  Holt shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. I’m working my way closer to the distributor. The last major trafficking bust was seven years ago, when Dr. Russell Crosby was arrested for prescription fraud. Since then, someone else has taken over delivery of heroin and synthetic, illegal pain medications. And I’m going to find him—or her—or them.”

  I still didn’t care for Holt’s arrogance, but I had to admit he’d done his research and wasn’t lacking confidence in taking on the seamier side of the bayou folk.

  “What new leads have you got?” Oliver asked.

  “I never reveal my sources,” he answered smugly. “Last thing I need is some overzealous cop homing in on one of my informers. Once trust is blown, any leads will dry up fast.” He ambled to his feet and ran a hand through his unkempt hair. “This meeting’s adjourned. Don’t be calling me in for any more either. Too risky. If I have something to report, I’ll get word to you.”

  Oliver’s jaw worked, probably swallowing back an angry retort. But the fact was, we needed Holt. And the man knew it.

  Holt left the office, and neither of us spoke for a minute.

  “Guy’s quite a character,” I said at last.

  “That wasn’t the word I had in mind.”

  “More like, cocky son of a bitch?” I suggested.

  “Nailed it.”

  “Maybe he can cut through the enigma of Enigma’s drug operation.”

  Oliver winced at my corny attempt to lighten the mood. “Don’t ever quit your day job to strike out as a comedian.”

  “And miss all this fun? Wouldn’t dream of it.” I turned serious. “Who’s the strong informant you mentioned?”

  “Like Holt, I don’t reveal sources. If it pans out, you’ll discover their identity soon enough.”

  His phone rang, and I took it as my cue to leave. As he reached for it, I rose and headed for the door.

  “Oliver speaking. Hey there. Whatcha got for me?” A fist banged on the desk. “Are you fucking kidding me?” he demanded.

  I turned and faced him. Oliver waved me over to return to my seat.

  “Email me the report. Thanks for the heads-up. I owe you one.”

  Oliver set his phone down, and I raised a brow expectantly.

  “That woman you said Trahern spoke with last week—Grace Lee Fairhope?”

  My heart dropped to my stomach. “What about her?”

  “She’s dead. Died of a heroin overdose last night. Her body was found by a neighbor early this morning.”

  “Do they think—”

  “It’s been ruled accidental. No sign of foul play, and nothing to indicate it might have been a suicide.” He drummed his fingers against the battered surface of his desk. “Probably only a weird coincidence. She was a known addict.”

  “Who’d been clean for almost five months,” I pointed out. “Jori Trahern said she seemed happy with sobriety and had moved on with her life.”

>   “Could be Trahern stirred up the past and made her feel guilty about giving up her son. The reminder could have been doing a number on her mind, and she turned to drugs, her old friend, to cope.”

  “Maybe,” I answered doubtfully. “Or maybe it wasn’t a coincidence at all.”

  Chapter 19

  JORI

  I stared at the old photos, willing them to help me make sense of what had gone so horribly wrong. Some clue as to what was soon to befall us. We’d been so young, so carefree. What kind of evil had been lurking in the background of our lives?

  The front door banged open and shut. I started, the photos in my hand dropping onto the bed. How long had I been sitting like this, lost in old memories?

  Heavy footsteps stomped across the den.

  “Eat!” Zach called out by way of greeting. Same thing he always said when he walked in the door from his day program. I smiled ruefully and headed out to meet him. You could always depend on Zach to bring you back to the present with his familiar routine.

  Dana waved and gave me a snappy salute as I entered the living room. “Found and delivered,” she announced. “Mission accomplished.”

  “I really appreciate this. Staff didn’t give you a hard time, did they? I called and told them you were coming and had permission to pick him up.”

  “Nah.” She waved off my concern. “I know Janelle, remember? She used to date my brother way back when.”

  “Right. I’d forgotten about that.”

  Janelle Evans, the day program director, had dated Dana’s brother in high school. They’d been a steady item for nearly four years, and we all thought they’d get married and be together forever. Instead, they’d attended different colleges and had drifted apart almost immediately.

  Dana gave me a searching look. “You holding up okay?”

  “Eat!” Zach insisted, impatient with my chitchat.

  I held my palms up in a whatcha-gonna-do gesture and rushed to the kitchen, Dana trailing behind me. “We’ll talk in here. The Zach must be fed,” I explained. “If not, he’ll just keep yelling louder.”

  “I remember. Just like the old days.”

  “How was your day, Zach?”

  “Mm,” he answered noncommittally.

  I got out his special green bowl and filled it with mint chocolate chip ice cream. No other flavor would do. Zach settled into his chair and pointed at the fridge. Dutifully, I retrieved the caramel syrup and set it on the table. Zach squirted a large dollop into the bowl and dived into his late-afternoon snack.

  “If I ate like that every day, I’d be too huge to walk through the door,” Dana said. “Mimi still asleep?”

  “Yeah. I’ll wake her shortly if she doesn’t get up. Otherwise, she’ll have a restless night.”

  “Y’all need anything from the store or whatever?”

  I shook my head. “No, go on home.”

  Dana folded her arms and leaned against the counter. “Did you find out anything else about”—she cast a quick glance at Zach and then back to me—“you know?”

  “It was confirmed,” I said slowly.

  One hand flew to her throat. “They found Deacon’s bones!”

  I shook my head in warning, not wanting Zach to pick up on the word bones and start repeating it. I cocked my head toward the den, and we left Zach in the kitchen.

  “Where? Are they sure it’s him?” Dana asked as soon as we were out of earshot.

  “Black Bottom Creek. And yeah, pretty sure. His parents too. A fisherman got an unexpected surprise when he pulled up a human skull instead of a catfish.”

  Visualizing that scene made bile burn at the back of my throat.

  Dana covered her face with her hands. “I’d hoped it was a mistake,” she whimpered. “I wanted Deacon to still be alive. After all these years—stupid, I know.”

  She was hurting too.

  “I wished the same thing,” I whispered. Was it really better to know the truth? That his life had been gruesomely cut short? It might give me closure in the long term, but for now the wound was fresh and raw.

  “Deacon was such a terrific guy,” I continued. “I’ve never known anyone else like him.”

  Dana removed her hands from her face, and I was shocked at the wild fury and grief that savagely twisted her angular features. “There you go again,” she spat. “Romanticizing Deacon. You never really knew him. Not like I did.”

  Not this again. “Maybe you should leave,” I said stiffly.

  “Leave? That’s the most Jori thing ever.”

  I backed away from the venom in her eyes, but she wasn’t finished.

  “You always run,” she continued, the green arrows in her voice buzzing about my ears. “Always turn a blind eye to anything that doesn’t fit into the neat, perfect little world you make up in your head.”

  I’d had enough. “That’s bullshit. Where the hell do you get this crap? Perfect little world?” I scoffed. “On what planet? I watched my mom suffer from brain cancer and now . . .” I swept my hand to encompass the house where I took care of Mimi and Zach. “And now this.”

  “Everyone’s shocked you came back to the bayou. Your grandmother took care of your mother while you were all wrapped up playing girlfriend to your perfect boyfriend.”

  That stung. “You know nothing about me. Obviously you never did. I sure as hell didn’t know the real you. Get out of our house.”

  Dana acted as though I hadn’t just ordered her off my property.

  “Maybe your Deacon wasn’t such a swell guy. Ever think of that, Jori? We used to meet up at least once a week to smoke pot and drink.”

  Dana and Deacon? It couldn’t be. He wouldn’t.

  “Liar,” I said through clenched teeth, suppressing the urge to clamp my hands over my ears. None of this was true. Dana was only trying to hurt me.

  “You were such a damn goody-goody. No one could possibly live up to your expectations. And look at you now.” Her hot gaze swept over me in blazing scorn. “I bet you’re single because you’ve romanticized Deacon as this perfect guy and no other man compares to him. Why would they even try?”

  That zing hit home like a punch in the gut. Because maybe there was at least a small kernel of truth in her accusations. Is that why I never formed long-lasting relationships? Was I subconsciously comparing them to what I had with Deacon? It very well could be, and the truth left me breathless. But even if it were true, who needed a frenemy like Dana? I was over her.

  I lifted my chin, walked to the front door, and held it open. “Don’t ever come back,” I said with as much dignity and calmness as I could muster.

  She dug in her heels and opened her mouth to say more.

  “Get out!” Zach said, rushing into the room. He tugged at Dana’s arm. “Get out. Go home.”

  I laughed shakily and teared up at the unexpected sibling loyalty. “You heard my brother. Get out. Unless you want me to call the cops.”

  Dana’s lips compressed into an angry white line, but she headed to the door. What else could she do?

  “Don’t expect any more help from me,” she said with a hiss, stepping over the threshold.

  “We don’t need your help.” I slammed the door shut and then leaned against it as adrenaline ebbed out of my body.

  “What’s all this racket?”

  Mimi walked down the hallway, smoothing her hair back from her face. “Was that Dana you were arguing with?”

  “Yeah. She’s gone.”

  “Gone,” Zach repeated with a happy grin.

  Mimi pulled her robe closer and gave a disdainful sniff. “Never did like that girl.”

  Chapter 20

  JORI

  Grace Lee Fairhope was dead.

  Tegan’s unexpected phone call announcing the news came on top of the already upsetting news about the discovery of Deacon’s bones and the argument with Dana. I shut off my phone, and a bone-chilling numbness settled over me. Tegan had insisted the death had been ruled an accidental drug overdose, but I couldn’t
shake the suspicion that an unknown menace was stalking my every move, destroying anyone I knew.

  Had I driven Grace over some kind of mental ledge by reminding her of the baby she’d given up long ago? It was possible I’d stirred her curiosity about Jackson, and she’d discovered his murder.

  “Bad news?” Mimi asked as soon as I hung up the phone, her eyes as sharp as ever.

  “Deputy Blackwell called to tell me Grace Lee Fairhope died from a drug overdose last night.” I watched Mimi closely for a sign of recognition at the name.

  Her forehead scrunched. “Never heard of her.”

  “She’s—she was—Jackson’s biological mother.”

  “Jackson!” The sharp eyes narrowed on me accusingly. “Why are the cops calling you about that woman? She’s no relation to the family.”

  Zach picked up on the anger in Mimi’s voice. He turned away from the television, his gaze sliding back and forth between us, assessing the sudden tension in the air.

  “I was curious about Jackson’s parentage, so I went to talk with Grace.”

  Mimi scowled and raked her eyes over me. “So where’s your badge? Since when did you become a detective?”

  I couldn’t explain my obsession to solve Deacon’s murder since I didn’t understand it myself. I shrugged. “I didn’t see how it could do any harm.”

  “And now she’s dead.”

  Mimi’s words echoed my own misgivings and hit like an accusation. “It’s not my fault,” I protested defensively, trying to convince myself.

  Mimi scraped a trembling hand across her face, then regarded me wearily. “When did you talk to her? Was it before you got that threatening note?”

  “Yes,” I admitted. “I went to Mobile.”

  “And everyone knows everyone else’s business here in the bayou. Let this be a lesson to mind your own business.”