Bayou Judgment

by Robin Caroll

“I know you’re upset, but I need to ask you a few questions.”

  Felicia stared around the room again, but this time anger shook her hands. “Yes, I’m upset. Someone came into my house to destroy it. Threatened me.”

  His eyes widened for a moment, then he pulled the notebook from his front pocket. “Any thoughts on who might have a grievance against you?”

  “I can’t think of anyone. Except Kipp.” She tilted her head.

  “Is your deputy positive Kipp hasn’t left?”

  “He’s sure.”

  “Hmm.” She took another sip of water. Not that she was thirsty, but it gave her time to think. Who else? Who’d do such a thing? She stood and set the glass on the vanity table. “What about the loan sharks? Maybe Kipp called them and told them I had cash.” She gestured about the room. “Maybe this is a threat so I’ll give them money.”

  “Could be. We’ll keep checking into their identities.” He stared over the room. “But this looks more like something personal, Felicia. Anybody you’ve upset lately?”

  “I don’t upset people.” But she frowned. “The words…they link this to Jolie’s murder, yes?”

  He nodded. “Unless it’s a prankster.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “I don’t, either. This is too exhaustive.” He paused, holding his pencil over the notebook. “Have you upset Pastor Bertrand?”

  “What?”

  “Well, he does have a past. And he’s connected to both you and Jolie.”

  “Don’t we all have a past, Sheriff Theriot?” Why was her indignation rearing its ugly head? The sheriff was right—Spence did have a past. But he’d no more do this to her than she’d try a hula hoop. Of that, she was certain. “That’s a ridiculous idea, Sheriff.”

  “I have to check every angle, Felicia.”

  Not waiting for another question or comment, Felicia stalked down the hallway. Her gait was more pronounced. Her legs ached. It’d been a long day, and she’d about taken all she could. She’d experienced the full gamut of emotions, and her body was just plain worn out.

  The front door shoved open just as she entered the living room. Luc filled the doorway, his eyes seeking her. With his scrunched brows, chiseled chin and tensed jaw, he looked anything but happy.

  Every ounce of control she had left dissipated like fog over the bayou. He took strides to reach her, holding out his arms. She crumbled into his embrace and let her brother’s strength hold her up.

  “It’s okay. You’re safe. I’m taking you home.”

  Had she the energy, she’d have argued the point. But right then, all she felt was secure.

  TWELVE

  How had she allowed herself to be so weak when she needed her backbone so badly? Felicia sat at the kitchen table in the Trahan homestead. The notes from Luc’s sax drifted down the stairs. His playing usually brought her comfort, but not today. No, today she was mad at herself for allowing her brother to pack her up and bring her home.

  “Hello?” CoCo stuck her head in the kitchen door.

  Despite her irritation, Felicia smiled. “C’mon in, girl.”

  Her brother’s fiancée gave her a quick hug. “Heard you had a rough time yesterday. I’m so sorry.”

  CoCo didn’t know the half of it. Felicia mustered another smile. “It’s okay.”

  “The sheriff pulled in the driveway behind me.”

  “Lovely.” Felicia rose and poured herself another cup of strong chicory coffee. The aroma filled the kitchen. “Want a cup?”

  “Sure.”

  A loud knock sounded.

  “I’ll get it,” Luc hollered as he bolted down the stairs, saxophone still in hand.

  Felicia rolled her eyes and handed CoCo a mug of steaming java. Both sat at the table as Luc and the sheriff wandered into the kitchen.

  “CoCo, Felicia.” The sheriff nodded in their direction.

  “Let me get you a cup of coffee, Bubba. Just have a seat.” Luc made his way to the coffeepot.

  “We ran some tests on your apartment last night,” the sheriff told Felicia. “We have the statistical report back on what kind of knife was used to slice up your place.”

  Great. Knives and sickos, the breakfast of champions. Felicia waited.

  “According to the preliminary reports, the knife used at your apartment is the same style as the one used to murder Jolie.”

  Did that mean it was the same person? The killer, come back to take her out? Felicia tensed her shoulders to ward off the shiver.

  “We’re working every angle that connects you and Jolie.”

  “She was my best friend. We lived together, worked at the same place, went to the same church—your church, too…there are connections everywhere.”

  “And we’re checking all of them.” Bubba accepted the cup from Luc, took a sip and stared into Felicia’s eyes. “We’ll stay on top of this until we get a break. In the meantime, I think it’s smart for you to stay here.”

  Luc laid his hand on Felicia’s shoulder. It was her undoing.

  “I appreciate your concern, Sheriff, but I need to get back to my home and put things in order.”

  “No.” Luc said but a single word, yet it was adamant.

  Felicia stood and faced her brother. “Yes. I need to call my insurance company, take pictures and such.” She glanced at the sheriff. “Are you finished gathering whatever evidence you need?”

  His eyes met Luc’s for a second. “Well, uh, technically…”

  “Then I can start my process, yes?”

  “Boo, I think you should let me take care of it.” Luc tightened his grip on her shoulder.

  “It’s nice of you, but I can handle this myself. It’s my home, my things, my life that’s been plundered. I can take care of it.”

  The sheriff shifted his weight uncomfortably. “I’ve got to get going.” He set his cup on the counter. “I’ll see y’all later.”

  The kitchen screen door shut with a slam.

  “We know you can handle this yourself, but why don’t you let Luc do it?” CoCo’s eyes were soft and gentle.

  Felicia shrugged out of Luc’s hold. “Look, I appreciate what y’all are trying to do, I really do, but I have to do this.” She faced her brother. “I’m a grown woman and would’ve been married by now had…had circumstances been different. I’m quite capable of handling this situation.”

  “But you shouldn’t have to. Besides, I want you to stay here where I know you’re safe.” Luc smiled.

  “I know you do. But I can’t keep running back here every time something happens.”

  “Why not? This is your home.”

  She gave a soft smile and touched her brother’s hand. “No, Luc, it isn’t. Not anymore.” She ran a hand over her hair. “I need you to understand this. I love living at my apartment and doing things by myself. Even grocery shopping is a blessing because it’s me buying food for me.”

  “You can do the grocery shopping here.”

  Felicia shook her head. “You don’t get it. I have to take charge of my life. For years, I sat on the sidelines and didn’t take part in the game of life. I sat in that stupid wheelchair for way too many years, all because Grandfather didn’t want me to try a new medical procedure.” She held up her hand when Luc opened his mouth.

  “I didn’t marry Frank as soon as he asked because he was a suspect in Grandfather’s murder. I should’ve trusted my own heart, but he wanted to wait until he’d officially been cleared. By that time, it was too late.”

  “Fel—”

  “No, Luc, I need you to listen. To grasp what I’m trying to tell you.” She flipped her hair over her shoulder. “I stayed here longer than I should have after my surgery because it was easier to let you and Mom take care of me. You didn’t want me to have to worry about falling or getting hurt. And while that’s sweet of you, and I know you only act like this because you love me, it’s not what’s best for me.”

  “I’m only trying to help you.”

  “I know that. But li
fe’s about falling and getting hurt. I can’t be sheltered my entire life, Luc. I’ve let the men in my life control my actions since before I can remember. Grandfather, Frank, you—”

  “I don’t control you.” Luc’s eyes hardened.

  “Listen to her.” CoCo stood and grabbed Luc’s hand.

  “She’s right. You need to understand how she feels.”

  Felicia smiled at her friend. “I’m not saying you do anything with bad intentions. It’s just that I have to make my own choices, my own decisions. Right or wrong, they’re mine to make. Fail or succeed, I want it to be my doing.”

  “But I’m your big brother. I’m supposed to watch out for you.”

  She laid a hand on his arm. “You do, and I love you for it. But you have to let me live my own life. Whether you like it or not, I have to do things on my own. Try to understand.”

  Long seconds hung in the air as murky as swamp water. Finally, Luc pulled her into a tight hug. “I understand. I’ll try to keep quiet. No promises, but I’ll do my best.”

  Felicia eased back and smiled. “That’s all I can ask, yes?”

  The cleanup process went much quicker than Felicia could’ve ever hoped. CoCo and Tara had come with her to the apartment, sleeves rolled up and ready to work. Four hours later, the living room and kitchen were put back to order. Well, as much as they could be. The trash had been bagged and salvageable furniture righted. They might not look as nice as they had before, but at least it looked like her home again. The list of items to be replaced had run over to a second page. Good thing she didn’t have to worry about money on top of everything else since her family was well-off.

  “Mark’s on the phone.” Tara held out the cordless they’d found buried under the upturned garbage can.

  Oh, no. She’d forgotten to call and cancel her physical therapy this morning. She lodged the phone against her shoulder and cheek. “Hey, Mark. I’m so sorry.”

  “Standing me up, are ya?”

  “I had a break-in at my place again last night.”

  “Heard about that. I was really just calling to check on you.”

  “That’s sweet.” She paused as his words sank in. “Wait a minute. How’d you hear about it?”

  “Sheriff came by, questioning everyone you work with down here.”

  Now, that was barking up the wrong tree.

  “So, are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “I’ll take you at your word. We still on for tomorrow morning?”

  “Nine o’clock sharp. I’ll be there. I’m really sorry about flaking out today.”

  “You’re entitled. I’ll just work you double hard tomorrow.”

  She groaned, then laughed. “Thanks, Mark.” She tossed the phone onto the couch missing two of the three cushions. Something else she’d have to order.

  Couch cushions. The Queen Anne wasn’t salvageable and had to be thrown out. Ninety percent of her dishes. Mattress. Curtains. Pillows. All had to be replaced. The enormity of it all staggered her. She dropped to the single couch cushion.

  “Hey, we’ll get it done. Stop looking defeated.” Tara propped her hands on her hips, glaring.

  Just what she needed—a kick in the behind. Felicia giggled and mustered to her feet. “Right. I’m going to take another load to the Dumpster.”

  Tara nodded. “Good. I’m going to tackle the bathroom.”

  Smiling to herself, Felicia grabbed two trash bags and dragged them out the door. She lifted one and trekked down the sidewalk. Soon though, her legs protested with cramps and spasms. Felicia dropped the bag and leaned against a support pole.

  A young woman, one Felicia had seen around the complex lately, wandered down the walkway. “Need some help?”

  Her voice was familiar. Had she talked to Felicia before? Maybe in the laundry room? Felicia couldn’t remember. “No, thanks. I’m just a little sore.”

  “Didn’t you used to be in a wheelchair?”

  “Yes. I’m up to walking with a cane now.”

  “Well, congratulations. See ya.” The young woman rushed down the walk and turned the corner to the parking lot.

  Felicia stared after her for a long minute. Something wasn’t right. She couldn’t put her finger on what was amiss, but something about the woman definitely rang bells in Felicia’s head.

  But why?

  Miracle upon miracles, not a single employee quit, running from the center in disgust or fear.

  Spencer dismissed the meeting with his operators. None condemned him for his past. Amazingly, they seemed to understand and accept. They’d exhibited nothing but grace. Grace that could only have been extended through God. He stared heavenward and mouthed thank you.

  Had he misjudged his congregation and the citizens of Lagniappe, as well?

  Felicia?

  He’d pushed her hard last night. Been too aggressive. Got in her face. Hurt her. The tears weren’t just for show, not with Felicia.

  Shame and regret had tormented him all night. His sleep had been fitful at best, nightmarish at worst. He owed her an apology. Then he’d leave her alone. He’d broken his own boundary where she was concerned, and now she’d been hurt. It was all his fault.

  It must be his cross to bear—the women he cared about were destined to be hurt. Carrie. Mom. Felicia.

  Michael’s voice vibrated over the intercom. “Felicia on line two for you, boss.”

  Unnerving. He snatched up the receiver. “Hello, Felicia.”

  “Uh, hi.” Her voice came out breathy, as if she’d been lifting weights. “I’m just calling to let you know I won’t be in tonight.”

  “Are you okay? Everything all right?”

  “I’m fine. I just need a break.”

  From work, or him? “I see. No problem. You have plenty of personal days you haven’t used.”

  “Yeah.” She hesitated. He didn’t know whether to say anything else or not. She deserved his apology in person, not on the phone. Her sigh filled the connection. “Look, I might as well give you a heads-up. My apartment was broken into again last night.”

  His heart stalled. “Kipp?”

  “No. He was under surveillance. Anyway, the sheriff is making rounds and questioning everybody I know. Just wanted to let you know he’d probably show up at the center to ask questions, if he hasn’t already.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. Cleaning up.”

  “Do you need any help?” He ran a hand over his face. As if she’d want help from him after last night.

  “CoCo and Tara are helping. Luc’ll be by after he gets off work to carry away the stuff we can’t save.”

  “Is it bad?”

  “It’ll be all right. Gotta go, just wanted to let you know not to expect me at work. Bye.”

  She hung up before he had a chance to say anything else. Guess that told him a lot. She didn’t want his help. Didn’t want to see him. Didn’t really sound like she wanted to even talk to him.

  What did he expect? He’d known she was too good for him—had tried to keep his distance from her in the months she’d worked for him. Yet, he hadn’t been able to stop falling in love with her.

  He brought himself up, taking stock of his emotions.

  Oh, no. He was in love with her.

  And there wasn’t a thing he could do to make things right with her. Not now.

  Except pray.

  THIRTEEN

  “Wesley Ellender’s been arrested for the murder of Jolie Landry.”

  Felicia stared at the television. Wes? Charged with Jolie’s murder? No way. She turned up the volume on the remote and inched to the edge of her seat.

  Sheriff Theriot fielded questions from the media on the steps of the courthouse. Reporters flocked around him like ants at a picnic. Microphones grappled for better placement. “We recovered the murder weapon from Mr. Ellender’s possession,” he announced.

  Felicia gasped and sank back against the new chair Luc had delivered earlier. Wes had the murder weap
on? No, it couldn’t be. She couldn’t have been that wrong about him! If so, she’d all but pushed Jolie into the arms of her killer. Guilt dropped over her and settled between her shoulder blades.

  The television cut to a commercial.

  Why hadn’t Sheriff Theriot called her? She hated being excluded from the case.

  She rose to her feet and on shaky legs went to the kitchen. Grabbing a bottle of water from the refrigerator, she sucked in a big gulp right as the phone rang, startling her. She flinched and leaked the last remaining bit of water onto the counter before grabbing the phone and tossing a towel over the spill. “Hello.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me there was a threat left in your apartment?” Spence sounded more angry than annoyed.

  “It wasn’t important. Have you seen the news?”

  “Of course it’s important. Felicia, someone directly threatened you.”

  “Who told you, anyway?”

  “The sheriff. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “It was implied. Nothing major. Have you seen the news?”

  “Not this afternoon. Why?”

  “They’ve arrested Wes.”

  “Jolie’s boyfriend?”

  “Yes. I can’t believe this.”

  “They must be pretty sure he’s guilty if they arrested him, Felicia.”

  She bit her tongue against the sharp retort burning there. “They say they found the murder weapon in his possession.”

  He sucked in air. “I’m coming over.”

  “No, I don—” But he’d already hung up.

  Felicia rushed to her bathroom, one of the two rooms still in disarray. She stared at herself in the bathroom mirror, startled at what she saw. Yes, her hair was a mess and her face smudged from all the cleaning she’d done, but it was the words that drew her attention.

  The words that Tara had scrubbed off the mirror. Yet, Felicia could still see them.

  Had Wes destroyed her apartment and left her such a message?

  Her reflection blinked back at her. Wes couldn’t have done such a thing. Why, even if he had killed Jolie, what would be his motive in coming after Felicia?

  It made no sense.

  She grabbed a washcloth, saturated it with cool water, and scrubbed her face free of the grime and sweat. Once that task was completed, she ran a brush through her hair. Catching her expression in the mirror, Felicia tossed the brush into the basket.