by Alison Kent
Bear wouldn’t be able to climb the stairs or haul himself through the narrow opening into the top of the house if the place were on fire and his life at stake. He was too wide, too old, too dependent on the cane he swore was a decorative accessory like the cigars he never smoked, his only vice being his nightcap.
Well, the scotch, and Lorna Savoy. Why the old man was still keeping company with that woman was beyond Terrill’s grasp. She was young enough to be Bear’s daughter, though his relationship with her had never been paternal. It was strictly business, with sex thrown in for good measure—a fact that made Terrill question Lorna’s motives more than Bear’s.
What either of them got out of their association—and such a long-running one at that—was something he’d never understand. He remembered Lorna being at the house off and on when he was in high school, and more than a few times when he came home on leave.
He’d chalked that up to the secretarial work she’d done for Bear, work that had started out as a part-time job during a vocational program her senior year. She’d stayed on with him at the courthouse after graduation, had never done more than a few hours at South Louisiana Community College in Lafayette that Terrill could remember.
Yet, for some reason, she and Bear had never parted ways. Terrill knew that her real estate business kept her plenty busy even in the small town of Bayou Allain, and that his father had helped her get started.
She handled a lot of seasonal rentals, folks wanting to tour the swamps before hunting season, others taken in by the bald cypress, the alligators, and the snowy egrets that made the bayou their home.
Her brokerage also held the contracts for a lot of the storefront leases in the small town, and she was the Realtor anyone wanting to sell looked to. She was a pro when it came to turning over private property.
And then Terrill got to wondering what was at the root of Bear and Lorna living in each other’s back pockets the last few days and if it had anything to do with his father being such an asshole last night.
Not that he really cared; he was just curious. All he had time to care about right now was his wife. He would’ve thought Bear would’ve felt the same.
Today had been shot to hell as far as making any headway in finding Lisa. He hadn’t even made it to Bear’s for the promised meeting this morning with the P.I. The car that had gone off the bridge and the subsequent search for the driver had eaten up all of his day.
He was only taking the break now to do something with the boxes in his trunk. Keeping them in his patrol car as long as he had wasn’t smart, but last night he’d grabbed them without thinking things through.
It had been close on midnight when he’d made it home, and he didn’t want to be seen that late carting the boxes inside. He had neighbors who’d been friends of the judge since before Terrill had been born, and he wouldn’t put it past any of them to slip that tidbit of info to Bear.
He’d thought about transferring them to his personal vehicle, but the Jeep didn’t have enough hidden storage space to accommodate his haul, and it made no more sense to keep them there than in his patrol car.
What he needed was privacy and space to dig through the contents of them all. With his father stopping by unannounced the way he often did before going to Red’s in the evenings, laying them out in the spare bedroom wouldn’t work.
He’d finally thought of a solution when he’d seen his father and Lorna out on the town at lunch and had wondered how long Paschelle Sonnier had been holding down the fort. She lived right across the street from Terrill, and her cottage had a detached garage with an office built into one corner.
The CPA who had lived there before had used it. Terrill knew from Lisa that Paschelle did not. When he’d called her late this afternoon, she’d told him he was welcome to store anything he needed to in the space.
Her Mustang was sitting in her driveway. He pulled into his and backed across the street, angling his car so that his open trunk would act as a shield. He hit the latch to release the lid, then climbed from the car just as Paschelle opened the office door on the side of the garage.
“I set up the folding table so you could stack the boxes there instead of on the floor,” she said, walking toward him, her long skirt swinging around her ankles, her black hair swinging against her chin, her earrings dangling from her earlobes to her shoulders like wind chimes.
“Appreciate it.” He hefted up the biggest box. She grabbed a smaller one and led the way. “And if anyone asks, can you tell them these are some things friends found from your place after it was wiped by Katrina?”
“Sure. You got a story to explain how you wound up with them?” Once inside the garage, she set down her box, turned to face him, a smile on her face that told him how much he sucked at telling lies.
He scrubbed a hand over his head, scratched a spot at his nape. “Here’s the deal. I don’t want Bear to find out I have these. Lisa was going through them for her genealogy project. She wanted to surprise him on his birthday with a photo album. I thought I’d try to work on it some. In case, for some reason, she’s not back in time to finish it.”
Paschelle didn’t say anything right away, and Terrill was glad. It was hard enough dealing with the things he was feeling. He didn’t want to have to answer questions or share his thoughts.
Bear getting in his face last night had been bad enough. Paschelle and Lisa being friends…he knew whatever she might want to know would require he dig too deep. He just wasn’t ready.
But when she spoke, it was only to offer a solution. “If anyone asks, these are some things my folks sent me. They don’t have my address, so they sent them to your office because I’d mentioned we were neighbors. How’s that?”
He stood, nodding, finally found his voice. “Do your parents really not have your address?”
She shook her head, set her hair swinging. He missed Lisa’s hair, the soft blond strands slipping between his fingers, tickling his chest….
“Not the house number, the street, the city, or the zip. They don’t even know that I’m still in the state, much less that I have a peace officer for a neighbor.”
“Why don’t they know? Why haven’t you told them?”
“I’ll tell you”—she arched a brow—“if you tell me what you’re really hiding from the judge.”
Smart girl. “You didn’t buy my genealogy story?”
“Not so much. I mean, I do know about the photo album. Lisa told me. But she also told me she’d picked out all the pictures she wanted to use and had them stored in Tupper-ware at home.”
He called her bluff. “You first. Let’s hear about your parents.”
She paused a minute, and then she laughed, her earrings jangling along. “Why don’t we just grab the rest of your boxes and admit that our secrets are safe?”
Sounded like a plan to him. He motioned for her to go ahead, then followed her back to the car. “You’re good with me coming and going, then?”
“Not a problem. The key’s hanging on a nail inside the door.”
“Is it going to be a problem for King?”
“Shouldn’t be,” she said, once they’d hauled in another load. “I don’t anticipate he’ll be here much anymore.”
“Sorry to hear that.” It seemed like the thing to say when he didn’t have an opinion one way or the other. Lisa had always thought King too old and hard for a girl like Paschelle. But since Terrill had never known how he himself had won Lisa’s heart, he kept his mouth shut.
“Thanks, but it feels like the right thing to do. That’s not to say I won’t weaken and have him back, but he’ll never know the boxes are here. If he does see them, he won’t give them a second thought.”
“I just need to be sure they’re safe. I’m hoping to find a clue about what happened to Lisa.” And after all that effort to make up a story, here comes the truth.
“What do you mean?”
He’d said too much, but that didn’t stop him from saying more. Some things were hard to keep bottled
up. And Chelle, well, she was Lisa’s friend. He trusted her. “Maybe something got her curiosity up. She could have mentioned it to someone, or gone asking questions.”
“And asked something she shouldn’t have.”
“Or talked to someone who didn’t want her talking.” He felt his jaw go tight. Even thinking that might be the case was enough to make breathing hard. He backed toward the door. “I’ve got to go.”
“If you want help looking through things, just knock, okay? Or if you’d just like the company, or a pot of coffee.” She smiled, shrugged as if she knew there was really nothing more to say. “Anything, just let me know.”
“Thanks.” He started to make a joke about giving the neighbors more gossip to chew on, but he couldn’t find the words.
All he could think about was how much Paschelle’s generosity reminded him of Lisa. And how very much he missed—and feared for—his wife.
Sixteen
W hen Simon finally climbed the stairs, long after Micky had turned in for the night, he walked the length of the hallway quietly, hoping to find her asleep. She wasn’t, of course, though she was doing her best to pretend otherwise, and he saw no reason to rain on her parade.
Since she had both of his sleeping bags on the bed, he dug a sweatshirt from his duffel, used the pack for a pillow, the shirt for a blanket, and stretched out on the floor.
He would have camped out in his truck; the seat was a lot more comfortable than the floor’s worn hardwood, but he didn’t want Micky wandering around in the middle of the night making sure he hadn’t left her alone.
That was part of it. The rest was that he didn’t want to. Leave her alone. She’d been through a lot. She needed a long and good night’s sleep. By staying close, he could make sure she got it. Or at least make sure that she tried, that she had no reason not to stay put.
“I talked to Jane,” she said, her voice coming out of the darkness like a beacon.
That didn’t make sense. He wasn’t lost, didn’t need a guiding light to show him the way. He’d known that she was awake; that didn’t surprise him. He was surprised that he was glad, that he had wanted her to be. That hearing her voice pleased him the way it did.
This had been the longest, strangest day he’d ever spent on what was supposed to be a vacation, but was reminding him too much of work. “What did she say?”
“That the rental company did call looking for an emergency contact and was surprised to reach her instead.”
“She followed your script?”
“She told them that she hadn’t made the reservation. That she was alive and well and in Manhattan. She’s very good at doing her job.”
He hadn’t thought anyone in her position would be otherwise. “And at lying by omission?”
“If that’s what it takes to cover both her ass and mine.”
He let all of that digest. “That may have worked to put off the rental company for now, but it won’t satisfy Terrill and crew so easily.”
“I was thinking the same thing.” She took a deep breath, tugged at the sleeping bag. He heard the zipper teeth scrape the mattress ticking. “She’ll be screening her calls until she hears from me again. I suggested that this would be the perfect time for her to take a week off. And that it would be a good idea for her to pay cash for any shopping or traveling or sightseeing she does.”
So no one could trace her by her credit cards. “You and your crime TV.”
“I imagine they’ll eventually want to talk to me. Papi and Jane both know I went to visit a friend. When Terrill realizes who it is Jane works for, he should easily be able to put two and two together. He won’t buy that he’s looking at identity theft. He’ll know I was behind the rental’s wheel.”
He liked her mind. She was sharp. It made him appreciate the rest of her that much more. “Hopefully, he’s good enough to do the rest of the math and realize it’s too much of a coincidence that both his wife and her good friend are nowhere to be found.”
She shifted on the bed, the frame squeaking. “And if he learns that there were only two people who knew that I was here to see Lisa, his father and your cousin, well, case solved, yes?”
“Your case, anyway. Or at least the right questions raised, the list of suspects narrowed down.”
“Like was it his father who came after me, or was it King Trahan? Who had the motive and who had the means?”
Simon couldn’t see King having either. Bear, on the other hand…“Assuming they determine the car was run off the road and you didn’t fall asleep at the wheel and drive yourself off the bridge.”
She snorted. He noticed she did that a lot, noticed it made him smile.
“Do they even have investigators here with the tools and the training to tell the difference by looking at the car?” Again with the squeaking bed. “God, it makes my head hurt to think about all of it.”
“Then don’t. Not now, anyway. Not until you get some sleep.”
“Do you think they’ll bring in the state police? Do they have state police in Louisiana?”
A dog with a bone. “Sleep, Micky. We’ll get back into all of this tomorrow. After we get you to the doctor and your arm stitched up.”
He heard the catch in her breath. “You want to take me out in public? Is that safe?”
He’d been thinking about that off and on all afternoon. About keeping her hidden or using her as bait. Luring out the bad guys, letting them know she hadn’t been the main course for any alligator picnic might make them nervous. And careless. Enough so to come after her again.
He didn’t have to tell her that was the plan, or that such situations were where he did his best work. But he did need to tell her something, she being the crime-solving millionaire heiress that she was.
He rolled to his side, tucked the duffel beneath his arm, and rested his head in his hand. She turned toward him in a similar position, the light shining through the window reminding him that he was looking not only at the face from his billboard but at the face of that heiress, at the face of a woman used to being in the public eye.
He wondered if she’d ever been threatened before, if she’d ever been in danger. If it came with her job, as it did with his. “You’ll be safe. I’ll be with you.”
Her expression wasn’t exactly dubious, but her eyes did question what he’d said.
“You don’t believe me?”
“It’s not that I don’t. It’s just that I have no reason to. Besides your word.”
“Then you doubt me?”
“I don’t know you. You say all the right things….” Shepaused, searching, as if she didn’t want to insult the only person she had on her side. “But I don’t know why you say them. Because they sound good, or because you know what you’re talking about.”
Ouch. Okay. How to ease her mind without giving himself away. “As far as keeping you safe, I know what I’m talking about. I did private security for a while after the service.”
“Like a bodyguard?”
“In a way. But think Afghanistan and automatic weapons. Not men in black behind tinted shades.”
“I think I’m feeling better already.”
A smile. Good. “Now you can relax and get some sleep.”
She was quiet for a minute, then, “Since I’m going out in the public eye as myself, then there’s no reason I can’t use my credit cards, right?”
“You didn’t lose them when the car went under?”
“I was wearing the strap of my purse across my body. The purse stayed put, but I lost all the things I’d bought the day before in New Orleans. And as much as I appreciate the loan of the clothes, I’ve learned my lesson about what’s appropriate to wear, or not wear, in public.”
Now this he needed to hear. “I must have missed this one. What did you not wear and when?”
She flopped onto her back. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Consider it rent. Your story for the use of the house as a hideout.”
“If you want rent,
find me an ATM tomorrow and I’ll pay you in cash.”
Uh-uh. He wasn’t that easy. “I’ve got cash. I don’t need cash. I’m more interested in what drove the Ferrer heiress off her Manhattan mountain and into the swamp.”
“Why would that interest you at all?”
“I told you. I look at your face every day out my window, though you’re not quite who I imagined that woman to be.”
“Oh, I’m definitely her. You’re just seeing her on a very bad day. I’d like to see that Hilton chick drag her ass out of the swamp and look any better.”
She didn’t get it. He didn’t know if he should explain. “It’s not about the way you look.”
A puff of breath. A chuckle. “Since I can’t do anything about that with what I have here to work with, that’s good to know.”
“That’s what I’m saying.” Did he know what he was saying? “You blow it off like it’s nothing. That’s not what I thought that woman would do.”
“You fantasize about that woman a lot, do you?”
“Let’s just say that she and I have a lot of interesting conversations,” he said after weighing full disclosure against keeping his big mouth shut.
“One-sided, I hope. Or have you been putting words into my mouth?”
Putting things into her mouth. Nope. He wasn’t going there. “What can I say? You looked like you’d make a good listener. And like you might have a thing or two to say.”
“And what did I tell you?”
Well, hell. This wasn’t where he’d planned to go, either. “One night you told me that I’d had too much to drink. To put down the bottle, take a cold shower, and get into bed.”
“And did you?”
“Two out of three. The shower started to sober me up, so I took the bottle to bed.” Since I couldn’t take you….
“Why were you drinking?”
Tit for tat. “Why were you running around half dressed?”
“I was fully dressed when I went out. I just got rid of my underpants on the dance floor at Slick Velvet.”
Underpants. That didn’t seem like a Michelina Ferrer word. But dancing bare-assed in public? Yeah, that he could see. That he would like to see.
