Bayou Judgment

by Robin Caroll

  Or, had he done it for this reason alone—to use as an argument?

  “I’ve driven that car several times over, at least twice a day, since she died. That knife wasn’t in there.”

  He could be lying.

  “And then the police said there were fibers on it from some vandalism at your apartment.” He stared straight into her eyes. “I didn’t do that, Felicia. I promise, I didn’t.” He didn’t blink, didn’t break eye contact.

  And she knew. He was telling the truth.

  “When did they find the knife?”

  “Yesterday morning. Early. They showed up at my house around seven-thirty. I was still in bed when they pounded on the door.”

  “Did they have a warrant?”

  He nodded. “I’d already retained that Dwayne Williams you recommended. I called him and he came over. Said it was a duly-served warrant to check my home and my car.”

  The sheriff must’ve had a strong lead about the murder weapon to get a judge to sign a warrant on a Saturday. Hmm, she’d have to ask him about that when she got the chance. “Which did they check first?”

  “My car.”

  Sounded like someone tipped off the police. “Do you keep your car locked?”

  He hung his head. “I never saw the need.” He lifted his head and gave a casual shrug. “We live in Lagniappe. Who’d think someone would break into a car here?”

  He had a point. Then again, in the past year, Lagniappe sure seemed to be on a crime roll. It was downright disheartening.

  “I was shocked when they pulled the knife out. They held it up and asked me if it was one of mine. I assured them it wasn’t.” He rubbed absently at the handcuffs around his wrists. “They bagged it and searched the house, paying close attention to the kitchen. They couldn’t find a matching one.”

  “What kind of knife is it?”

  “One that fits in those butcher-block things. I didn’t really get to examine it closely before I was arrested.”

  From a set. “They didn’t take anything from the house?”

  “The clothes I was wearing the night Jolie was killed. Even though I’d washed them since then.”

  Deputy Anderson strode into the room. “Time’s up.” He grabbed Wesley’s elbow and tugged him to his feet.

  “I’m innocent, Felicia.”

  She believed him. “Stay strong. I’ll be praying for you.”

  “I’ll be back to get you in a minute,” Deputy Anderson said.

  Within minutes of Wesley disappearing, Anderson returned to the other door. “Allons. I’ll take you back up.”

  The elevator wasn’t as creepy as she remembered. “Deputy, can I ask you something? Since Wesley’s in jail and all.”

  “Sure.” He puffed his chest out a little. Maybe he was tired of being in Bubba’s shadow. She could use that.

  “Isn’t it difficult to get in touch with a judge on a weekend? Especially during Mardi Gras season?”

  “Sure is. I had to run over to the other side of the parish to get it signed and get back. All before the judge left for his golf match.”

  That explained the early hour. “Which judge?”

  “Leo Holtz.”

  Felicia blinked as the elevator door opened. Judge Holtz wasn’t a hanging judge. He had the reputation of being fair and just. Someone who wouldn’t be bothered signing a warrant on his golf day without very good reason.

  They turned down the last leg of the corridor. Now or never.

  She smiled sweetly and touched Anderson’s arm. “You must be very important for the sheriff to trust you with something so vital.”

  His chest stuck out a little farther. “Well, we had that anonymous tip about the murder weapon being in Wesley’s car. Bubba called the judge and caught him just in time. Holtz was worried we’d make him miss his tee time, but I raced all the way there.”

  “Yeah. That knife. What kind was it again?”

  “One of those fancy-smancey handled numbers that you get over at Miller’s.”

  The one ritzy store in town. Interesting.

  Smiling, she opened the door to the station. “Thanks so much.” She couldn’t resist giving a finger wave to Missy on her way out.

  So, someone had called in a tip about the knife. In Felicia’s opinion, it was an obvious plant. Only the murderer could have planted the knife because the police hadn’t found it on the site or discarded.

  But who had planted it?

  FIFTEEN

  What now?

  Spencer froze as Sheriff Theriot made his way across the center to the office. The operators followed him with their gaze. Probably expecting another revelation into Spencer’s past. He couldn’t blame them. Not really. Felicia stood, her stare never leaving the sheriff’s movements.

  The sheriff rapped on the door. “Pastor?”

  “Come on in, Sheriff.” Spencer waved at the chair in front of his desk.

  The lawman shook his head. “I won’t be here that long. Just came by to tell you we’ve officially closed our investigation into the center.” He paused. “And you.”

  Spencer let out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Oh. Good.”

  “And I wanted to apologize for just blurting out your past in front of your staff. That was rude of me.”

  Rude? Hardly. Humiliating, yes. “That’s okay.”

  “No, it’s not. I followed up with Jon Garrison this morning.”

  Spencer tried not to fidget. “And?”

  “He speaks highly of you. For a Yankee and all.” Sheriff Theriot smiled.

  Spencer grinned. “Yeah. It was a little difficult to understand him when I first started reporting to him. I’ve gotten used to it now.”

  The sheriff glanced around, pink darkening his cheeks. “So, are we good?” He extended his hand.

  Spencer accepted the olive branch. “We’re good.”

  Sheriff Theriot gave a half cough. “Guess I’d better be on my way, then. Just wanted to come by and tell you in person.”

  “I appreciate that.” It took a big man to make the gesture the sheriff had made.

  Felicia barged into his office. “What’s going on?”

  Despite his heart aching just at the sight of her, Spencer smiled. “Nothing. Sheriff Theriot just wanted to tell me they’ve closed the investigation into the center.”

  “Oh.” She seemed flustered, her fingers tapping the handle of her cane. “That’s good.”

  The sheriff nodded. “Now that we have the murder weapon and the suspect behind bars, y’all can start putting your lives back together. Get some closure.”

  Felicia licked her lips. Not necessarily a good sign. Sometimes that meant she was about to step out on a boat with no life jacket. “I heard the knife came from a set you can order over at Miller’s. A little unusual, don’t you think, Sheriff, that a bachelor would have such a set?”

  Sheriff Theriot’s brows crunched into a single line. “How do you know what kind of knife it was?”

  “And did you check it for fingerprints?”

  “The handle was wiped clean, as we expected. Probably wore gloves.” He shook his head. “Felicia Trahan, I told you to stay out of this investigation.”

  “Just wondering.” She lifted a single shoulder. “Seemed a little odd to me.”

  The sheriff pointed at her, his eyes narrowing behind his glasses. “You keep your nose out of this. We’re following up on the knives, and everything else on the case.”

  She turned and fingered a sheet of paper on the edge of Spencer’s desk. A good man would try to ease her discomfort. The time had come for him to be that man. “Thanks again for coming by, Sheriff. I really appreciate it.”

  Sheriff Theriot nodded, cast a final glare at Felicia and ambled out of the office.

  “Want to tell me what’s with all the questions?” Spencer leaned against his desk. A slight movement, but one that put him in closer proximity to her. If he inhaled deeply, he could even smell the flowery shampoo she used. Is that what
he’d been reduced to—stealing whiffs of her perfume, making unnecessary movements just to be closer to her?

  A heavy silence hung between them. Felicia glanced to the floor. “I’ve been mulling over everything and still can’t believe Wes killed Jolie. Even the way they knew about the knife reeks of a setup.”

  “What’re you talking about?”

  “Uh…well, um, I understand they got an anonymous tip about the knife being in Wes’s car. That’s how they were able to get a warrant. On a Saturday and all.” Her cheeks were tinged a flattering shade of pink.

  “And you know this how?”

  “Deputy Anderson told me.”

  “When was this?” A funny feeling fluttered in his gut.

  “Yesterday.”

  “Where’d you see Deputy Anderson on Sunday?” The good lawman didn’t attend Felicia’s church. Anderson was a member of Spencer’s congregation.

  She finally met his gaze before glancing over her shoulder. “I should get back to my station.”

  “Felicia, what are you doing?”

  A look fell across her face that indicated she wanted to spill her guts and his question had just granted her permission. “Why would Wesley Ellender have such an expensive and fancy knife set? Most bachelors grab anything. Luc would, except he’s at home and uses Mom’s.” She tossed him a questioning look. “What about you? Do you have a nice set of knives?”

  He laughed, picturing his utensil drawer. “Mine don’t even match.”

  “Exactly.” She tapped a finger against her chin. “I just think the sheriff is too easily satisfied with the notion of Wes being the killer. And he’s not. Wes had no reason to trash my place, and I don’t think he could’ve gotten cleaned up quickly enough.”

  Words froze on his tongue. She was so beautiful, so determined-looking, it nearly broke his heart. “Felicia, can we talk? About you and me?”

  Her eyes widened, and she took a step backward. “This isn’t the place.”

  “Can I drive you home, then? We can stop and get a cup of coffee.”

  “I don’t kn—”

  “Please?”

  “Well…”

  “Just one cup? Please?” Yeah, he was begging, but he was also beyond caring. Desperate situations called for desperate measures. “You can tell me more about these knives.”

  “Okay.” With that, she left his office and returned to her station.

  A cup of coffee. Who’d have thought his heart would race over a date for a single cup of coffee?

  The clock’s hands moved as fast as a fan’s blades on high.

  Why had she agreed to let Spence drive her home? And to talk to him over coffee? She must be losing her mind. She had no idea what to say. How to act. She didn’t even know what she felt for him.

  Another ten minutes fell off the clock.

  Calls trickled in, most of them easy to handle. Someone just wanting an ear to listen. Felicia could provide that, even if her mind wasn’t on the caller’s problems.

  More notices of the upcoming Masquerade Mardi Gras Ball hung around the center. Would Spence still want her to go with him? If so, did she still want to?

  Fifteen more minutes gone.

  Okay, God, I need something. Some direction, some guidance. Soon I’ll face Spence. What do You want me to do?

  Only the phone ringing sounded.

  “Vermilion Parish Community Christian Hotline. This is Felicia.”

  “Recording me? Gonna turn me over to the police again?”

  Felicia’s heartbeat pounded in her head. Winnie! She stood and waved at Spence, who stared at her from the window in his office. “Winnie?”

  “Yeah. Didn’t think you’d hear from me again, did ya?”

  “I’m glad you called back.”

  Spence appeared at her side and silently plugged in another set of headphones.

  “Bet you are.”

  “How are you? Not trying to plot revenge on your ex, are you?”

  “As if I’d tell you if I were. You’re a snitch.”

  Felicia pressed her lips tight and glared at Spence. “I’m sorry you feel that way.”

  “Yeah, well. My ex got his, I made skippy sure of that.”

  Apprehension stole her breath. “What’d you do, Winnie?”

  “Like I’m gonna tell you? Puhleeze.” The laugh over the phone was more of a cackle.

  “I’m trying to help you.”

  “Sure you are. You can’t even help yourself. Limping around with that cane, riding in that fancy limo of yours with a spiffy driver. Yeah, you’re really trying to help little ole me.”

  Ice settled in the pit of her stomach. Spence grabbed her hand and moved to activate his microphone. Felicia shook her head. “You know who I am?”

  A snort followed by laughter. “I’ve known who you were since the first time you answered the phone. You think you’re so high and mighty and above the rest of us, don’t ya? Well, all your money didn’t stop that quack from breaking into your place, did it?”

  “How did you—”

  “That’s right, princess, you aren’t untouchable. I think I’ve had enough of your help. I won’t be calling again.”

  The click echoed over the line. Felicia slammed the receiver back to its cradle while Spence laid down his headset. She stood slowly.

  “Felicia?”

  She spun and faced him. “Nobody knew about my break-ins. The sheriff gagged the press from even mentioning it, hoping it’d lure Kipp to contact the loan sharks.” Fear slithered around her like moss on a tree. “How’d she know?”

  “I don’t know, but we’ll find out.” He laid an arm around her shoulders.

  Warmth seeped into her bones. “How?”

  “We’ll figure it out. I’ll order a tap on the phones.”

  “You can’t do that. That’d be in violation of what we advertise—no caller ID, no star 69, no traces. Besides, she said she wasn’t calling again.”

  “And she’s said that before.”

  Felicia dropped her gaze to the floor. This Winnie knew too much about her personal business. It left her cold.

  Spence hugged her tighter. “We’ll figure it out.”

  She lifted her gaze. “Can I have a rain check for tonight? I don’t feel much like coffee or talking. If you don’t mind, I’d just as soon have my driver take me on home.”

  Disappointment crept into his eyes. “Do you think that’s a good idea? After Winnie’s call and all?”

  “She didn’t threaten me or anything. And even when she did threaten her ex’s girlfriend, she let that go.” She moved away from him and glanced at the clock. “I forgot to call my driver to tell him you’d be taking me home, anyway. He should be here by now.”

  “Let me walk you out, at least.”

  She didn’t have the will to resist. His hand was steady under her elbow, something she could get way too dependent upon. He helped her inside the car after the driver opened the door. She leaned back against the seat, rolling her head to stare at him.

  “I’ll call you later.”

  She blinked blindly at him, as if she couldn’t focus. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow. I’m going to take a shower and go to bed.” She hesitated a moment. “Don’t call Luc, either.”

  “Okay. If that’s what you want.”

  It didn’t matter what she wanted anymore. It just was what it was. She nodded, and he shut the door.

  What she wanted was to escape from it all. Maybe she should pack up and move, not tell anyone where she was headed. Start a new life somewhere far away.

  But she couldn’t run from her problems. As much as she wanted to, she had to face the music.

  However horrible the chorus.

  SIXTEEN

  A pregnant silence filled the church office. Sunlight trickled in through the windows. It was a dark morning, but Spencer couldn’t breathe in the scenery. He glanced at the faces of the elders seated before his desk, his heartbeat thumping. What if they asked him to step down?

 
; Your will, Father, not mine.

  Mr. Paul Fontenot, the leader of the elders, adjusted his glasses and pinned Spencer to his chair with his stare. “I don’t see how anything’s changed, Pastor.” He nodded to the five men sitting to his right. “We told you that we’d allow you to tell the congregation when you were ready.”

  Sweat glued the shirt to Spencer’s back. “Sir, it’s all starting to come out. The sheriff knows, his deputies, my operators…it’s only a matter of time before the church members find out.”

  “And what do you intend to do about that?” Mr. Fontenot quirked a bushy brow.

  “I want to be the one to tell them.”

  “Then I’d suggest you plan to do so.” Mr. Fontenot glanced at the calendar in front of him. “We have a guest pastor speaking this Sunday. How about next Sunday?”

  “You realize you could have demands to replace me when I do.”

  Samuel Boudreaux snickered behind his mustache. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

  Oh, that was just what he wanted to hear.

  Mr. Fontenot cast a glare at his congregant before returning his focus to Spencer. “I think you’ll be quite surprised at the reaction you’ll receive.” He held up his hand to ward off any comments. “But if it happens, we’ll handle the situation as we feel is in the best interest of the church as a whole.”

  Which would mean the call for his resignation.

  He refused to let disappointment curdle in his gut. It was all in God’s hands, where it should’ve been all along.

  Spencer swallowed and pushed to his feet. “Thank y’all for meeting with me this morning. Let me just say now that it’s been a blessing to work with each of you.”

  “Sounds like you’ve already got it in your mind what the outcome will be.”

  Giving the lovable elder a smile, Spencer nodded.

  Mr. Fontenot wagged a bony finger at him. “Don’t second-guess God’s will, boy.”

  “Yes, sir.” He headed down the hall.

  Spencer waved at the church secretary as he slipped into his private office. He’d prefer to be checking up on what Felicia was up to but he had a date he couldn’t miss. Circled in red on his desk calendar read the words “wedding planning session—Luc & CoCo.” No way would he push this appointment to the back burner.