Bayou Judgment

by Robin Caroll

  Sirens blared close. No more than a block away.

  Think. Think. Think.

  “I tried to warn him she was bad news. But, nooo. He had to fall in love with her.” Winnie’s voice drew closer. “She had to pay. And when he wouldn’t give me the time of day after she’d died, well, I had no other choice but to set him up. He’ll spend the rest of his miserable life in jail.”

  The shattering of glass echoed in the storm, but Felicia didn’t hear the sound of a single shard falling to the floor of her room.

  “I had no intention of hurting you. I even made that hussy take off that sweater you’re wearing before I killed her. See, I didn’t want to hurt you. I brought the sweater back when you were moving and snuck inside your old apartment and hung it up in the closet. Worried you might not find it, but you did. I know it’s expensive. She had no business wearing your stuff. Trying to make herself look like something she wasn’t. Always using your expensive stuff to lure Wesley. And then you go and thank me like you did….”

  Footfalls off the rug, to the floor and onto the carpet. Heading toward the bathroom.

  Felicia tightened her fist. Something lay inside. The lighter! She’d forgotten she’d held it.

  “You had to go looking into those knives. Anna Beth mentioned the sheriff had come by and pulled her list. He’s been questioning people who ordered them. Wanting to see their sets to make sure one isn’t missing. I couldn’t have that, now could I?”

  Barely able to reach the edge of the counter with her fingertips, Felicia grabbed the aerosol can of hairspray.

  The footsteps came closer. Almost to the bathroom.

  Felicia fumbled to find the hole on the nozzle with her fingernail. She pointed it at the doorway, the lighter in position in her other hand.

  Soles hitting the tiles with a squeak.

  “I’m not in the mood for hide and seek, princess.”

  Felicia flicked the lighter and pressed the nozzle.

  From his position outside the window, Spencer watched as orange illumination lit up Felicia’s bedroom like a fireworks show.

  A woman shrieked in pain.

  Worrisome chills raced down his spine. Spencer hammered harder with the rock, freeing the glass from the window. A piece of wood was wedged against the inside of the frame. He stood on tiptoe and shoved. Hard.

  The orange light disappeared.

  Sirens screamed close. The splashing of tires against water rang out, followed by the slamming of car doors.

  The woman hollered again. Louder. Then the cry trailed off and silence prevailed. Not even a whimper.

  Spencer knocked the wood from the window. “Felicia!”

  “I’m okay.” Her voice sounded weak.

  “Sheriff. Open up!” They could hear Sheriff Theriot’s voice at the front door.

  “Spence, I’m okay, but I can’t make it to the front door.”

  “I can climb in through the window. Hang on.”

  He gripped the sill, ignored the glass cutting into his palms, and pulled his weight up and over the ledge. He crashed to the bed, rolling as he landed. The stench of burnt hair and something else vile filled the room.

  The lights shot on with a hum. Illumination chased the corners of the apartment. Windows in neighboring apartments glowed.

  Bolting to the floor, he spied Felicia crumpled against the bathroom wall.

  A woman, he couldn’t guess her age, lay on her back on the threshold. She writhed and moaned, her hands to her head.

  Her eyebrows were gone, her flesh bore scorch marks.

  TWENTY-TWO

  Spencer’s mouth gaped. His eyes widened to the size of silver dollars. He stood rooted to the spot.

  Felicia dropped the lighter and can of hairspray. “Spence.”

  No response. He didn’t even look at her.

  Felicia pulled to standing using the bathroom door. “Spencer!” She slapped her palm against the wood.

  He gave a shake and met her stare.

  “I’m okay. Go let the sheriff in the front door before he busts it down. Tell him to call for an ambulance.”

  He nodded but didn’t move.

  “Go!”

  Her yell broke him from his trance, and he ran toward the living room. Felicia knelt beside Winnie. She grabbed the woman’s hands, not letting her touch her burnt face again. “Shh. An ambulance will be here in a minute. Just be still.”

  Winnie moaned and cried. “You did this.”

  “I had no choice.” Regret nearly choked Felicia. She’d never harmed another human being in her life. Tears welled in her eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

  The sheriff and Deputy Anderson stormed into the room, guns drawn. They took in the sight before them and holstered their weapons. The deputy took hold of Winnie’s hands.

  Spence returned to Felicia’s side, pulling her into a hug. “I was so scared for you.”

  “I’m okay. It’s Winnie I’m worried about.”

  “Winnie?” He cast his gaze to the woman lying on the floor, still writhing and bucking against the pain.

  Felicia smoothed the singed hair from the woman’s face. “Yes. This is Winnie.”

  Sheriff Theriot, with his notebook in hand, squatted beside them. His movements were slow. “Want to tell me what’s going on here?”

  “She needs an ambulance. Did you call for one?” Felicia asked.

  He nodded. “They’ll be here in less than three minutes, now that the roads are cleared.” He touched Winnie’s shoulder. “Ma’am, try to be still. Paramedics are on their way.”

  Winnie rolled and curled into the fetal position. She struggled against the deputy’s hold on her wrists.

  The sheriff stood, nodding at Spence and Felicia to stand as well. Spence lifted Felicia easily with his arm around her waist.

  “I need some answers here, Felicia.” The sheriff waited.

  Felicia licked her lips. They felt cracked and chapped.

  “This is Winnie, the woman who’s been calling me at the center. The one we told you about.”

  “Go on,” he instructed.

  Spence tightened his hold around Felicia. She leaned against his muscular body, drawing strength. “She’s also the woman who killed Jolie and broke into my house.”

  A siren’s shriek drowned out the sheriff’s and Spence’s combined gasp.

  Once the paramedics had taken Winnie into the ambulance, the sheriff led Felicia and Spence into the living room. He prompted Felicia to give an action-by-action replay of the night’s events. Then he asked more questions. “Who, exactly, is this woman?”

  “Winnie. She’s Wes’s ex-girlfriend. The one he broke up with before he began dating Jolie.”

  Spence laced his fingers with hers and squeezed. “Now it makes sense.”

  “So, you’re telling me that young woman killed Jolie because of a man?” The sheriff wore a skeptical scowl.

  “Felicia?”

  “Yes. She was jealous of Jolie because Wes had become serious with her. Winnie couldn’t take it.”

  He grunted and made notes in his little book. “And she just told you this? Confessed to everything, just like that?”

  “Not exactly. I figured it out because she knew the murder weapon was a knife, and no one knew that.”

  Spence scooted closer to her on the couch until his outer thigh pressed against hers. She squeezed his hand. “I called her on it, and she admitted the truth. Then she told me I’d made more problems for her by telling you about the knife sets at Miller’s. Anna Beth told her you’d pulled the order list for the past six months and were questioning everyone who bought one.”

  The sheriff’s cheeks flamed. “You made a good argument.”

  Despite the heaviness of her heart, Felicia smiled. “And that pushed Winnie to come after me. I guess she thought I’d brought the law down on her.” She shook her head, toying with imaginary lint on her pants. “She didn’t make a lot of sense. Very irrational. And her moods were back and forth. I believe she’s bipolar o
r has some mental illness.”

  “And she’s the one who put the knife in Wesley’s car, then called us with an anonymous tip?” Sheriff Theriot scraped the pencil against the paper.

  “Yes. After she’d k-killed Jolie, she believed Wes would run back to her. When he didn’t, she felt even more betrayed. That’s when she decided to set him up for the murder.”

  Spence shook his head. “But did she call the center and ask for Jolie? To warn her?”

  Felicia shook her head. “No. She says her friend called, but it was already too late.”

  “What about breaking in here, to your place?” the sheriff asked.

  Felicia tightened her grip on Spence’s hand. “She felt like I betrayed her by reporting the calls she made to the center to you. She needs psychiatric help, Sheriff.”

  He stood, pocketing his notebook. “We’ll let the doctors decide that. Is there anything else?”

  “Will she be okay? Her face, I mean?” She still couldn’t believe she’d scarred someone else. Even if it was her best friend’s murderer.

  “I don’t know. I’m heading to the hospital now.” He let out a breath. “Are you sure you don’t want to go to the hospital and have them check you out?”

  “I’m fine, merci.”

  “It’s an obvious case of self-defense, Felicia, but I’ll need you to come by the station in the morning and sign your statement.” Sheriff Theriot tossed a knowing look at Spence. “Take care of her. I didn’t phone Luc.” He glanced back at Felicia.

  “That’s your call to make.”

  Spence stood and walked the sheriff and deputy to the door. The three men spoke in hushed tones for a few moments before the door shut. Then Spence was beside her on the couch, drawing her into his arms.

  She snuggled against him, finally letting the tears fall. He held her tighter, patting her back and planting feathery kisses against her forehead and temple. “Shh. It’s okay. It’s all over now.”

  “Is it?” She lifted her head and stared into his eyes. “For the rest of my life, I’ll always see Winnie’s face as I burned it. And I’ll never forget the stench.” She pinched her eyes shut, but the memory wouldn’t dissipate.

  “Don’t do that.” Spence’s harsh voice snapped her eyes open. He gripped her shoulders tight. “You can’t blame yourself for this.”

  “But I lit the lighter. I sprayed the hairspray.”

  “And if you hadn’t, Winnie would’ve killed you. She’d already killed Jolie.”

  “I know.” Her voice cracked, and she trembled. “But the flames just shot out. Her hair burned immediately.”

  “Don’t do this, Felicia. Take it from me, you can’t take the blame for this. Guilt will eat you up inside until you can’t breathe. I know from experience.”

  “This isn’t the same. I’ve scarred that woman for life.”

  “Yes, and you did what you had to in order to save your life. Self-defense. My life wasn’t at stake.” His fingers dug into her shoulders. “We were both dealing with murderers. Killers. People who took the lives of our loved ones. Horribly and viciously.”

  He spoke the truth, but she knew she wouldn’t ever forget Winnie’s face. “What happened to him? The guy who killed your sister?”

  “He died in another bar fight while I was in prison.”

  She swallowed hard and stared at the floor.

  Spence took her face in his gentle hands. “I won’t let you allow guilt to swallow you. It will if you let it.”

  She stared into the depths of his eyes, registering the layers of emotions lurking there. Her throat felt as if someone had it in a vise.

  Seconds ticked off the clock as he dipped his head and teased her lips with his. Her heart scrambled into overdrive. Tingles shook her hands.

  He deepened the kiss, his thumbs caressing her jawline. All images of Winnie raced from her head.

  Ending the kiss, Spence kept hold of her face. “I refuse to lose you. I already thought I had tonight.”

  Before she could reply, his lips covered hers again.

  “Oh, I wish I was in the land of cotton…” The musical notes interrupted their embrace.

  Spencer reluctantly released Felicia and snatched his cell phone from his hip.

  “Old times there are not forgotten…” the stanza continued.

  He flipped open the phone. “Yes.”

  “Pastor? It’s Luc. I’ve been trying to call Felicia but keep getting her voice mail. Are you with her?”

  Staring into her flushed face, Spencer’s heart twisted. “Yes. I’m with her.” Permanently. Even his conscience wouldn’t keep him away from her any longer.

  “How’s she feeling? Pain medication still have her knocked out?”

  Spencer covered the mouthpiece. “It’s Luc. He wants to know how you’re feeling.”

  Suspicion shot into her eyes. “The sheriff said he wouldn’t tell him.”

  “He didn’t. He’s asking about your leg and the pain medication.”

  “Oh.”

  “Why don’t you talk to him? Tell him what happened before he hears it from somebody else.”

  She hesitated, then held out her hand.

  “Luc? Here she is.” He passed her the phone before moving into the kitchen to give her some privacy.

  Once he hit the tile around the corner, Spencer dropped to his knees.

  Thank You, Father God. For Your grace and mercy, and keeping her safe. And for letting my heart know she’s the one for me.

  TWENTY-THREE

  Spencer wiped his palms against his slacks as he smiled and nodded at the members of his congregation filing into the sanctuary. For February, it sure felt hot inside the church. He tugged at the collar cutting into his Adam’s apple. Forget butterflies—nerves were sending June bugs bouncing about his gut.

  The organist struck the first notes of the call to worship song, and Spencer took his place at the podium. His fingers left smear marks on the onion-paper pages of his Bible.

  Lord, prepare their hearts and mine. Your will, Father, not my own.

  His lips moved with the lyrics to the song, but his voice knotted before it reached his mouth. He locked gazes with the elders of the church, sitting in their regular front-left pew. Mr. Fontenot nodded and smiled. Spencer tried to smile back, but his facial muscles felt frozen.

  From the front-right pew, Luc and CoCo beamed at him, but it was the woman who sat next to Luc that drew his attention. Felicia. Here to support him as he gave the most difficult sermon of his life. Her smile reached her eyes, warming him to his toes.

  The past few days had been hectic, not allowing any time for the two of them to sit down and talk alone. Now that Winnie had been moved from intensive care into a regular room, she’d received a mental evaluation. They found out that Winnie suffered from bipolar disease. Had been diagnosed more than a year ago. When she was on her medication, she’d call the center and talk to Felicia. When she stopped taking her pills, she’d act on her irrational feelings. Now she was in a state hospital, where taking her medication was mandatory. Felicia had stopped wallowing in guilt and regret. The time had come to profess his love and his intentions.

  But he had another confession to make first.

  The last note of the song hung in the church, lingering like a bad cough after a cold. Spencer took a deep breath and gazed at Felicia.

  She gave him a heartfelt smile and slight nod.

  Spencer lifted his Bible and asked his congregation to join him in prayer. He asked for blessings for each member, grace and mercy for all and praised God for His guidance and love. At the “amen,” every person’s gaze glued on him.

  He set down the Bible, silently prayed for courage and stepped out from behind the pulpit, placing a large goblet of grape juice on the stand.

  “Today, I’ll be referring to 1 Kings, when Solomon had built God a temple so that He might have a perpetual dwelling place. In chapter eight, Solomon dedicated the temple, praying God would forgive each person as they brought the
ir sacrifice into the temple for the forgiveness of sins. Now, we all know that Jesus made that sacrifice for us so God could have a perpetual dwelling place in us, made clean by the sacrifice of the cross. Then He would deal with us according to our hearts and not our deeds.

  “I’m going to tell you a little story this morning about God’s grace and love.” His gaze met Felicia’s for but a minute, yet he could feel her encouragement. “Once there was a young man who lived with his mother and sister until he went off to college in another town.”

  He straightened his stark white shirt. Every eye was focused on him. “He came home on weekends to help out around the house, do things for his mother and sister.” He paused, praying for the courage to continue. “This particular weekend, his sister had to work late at a local fast-food restaurant. The time for her to arrive home came and went. He and his mother were worried her car had broken down, so he went to look for her.”

  He met Felicia’s stare, saw the moisture pooling in her amazing eyes. Spencer swallowed but continued. “He arrived at her job to find the place closed down, the lights dark. Then he saw her car in the back parking lot. When he reached her vehicle, he found her dead in the backseat.”

  A collective gasp rose from the members of his congregation. A couple of elderly ladies pressed their fingers against their mouths.

  “During the mourning process, the police arrested the man who raped and killed this young man’s sister. He and his mother prepared for the trial as best they could.” He locked his hands in front of him to stop the shakes. “The district attorney called his mother one day just before the trial date and informed her that due to an improper search warrant, they had to release the man they’d arrested.”

  Several people shuffled in the pews. Discomfort draped the members like a too-thick wool blanket on a Louisiana August night.

  “But this young man found the man they’d arrested. Oh, he didn’t go out looking for him, but he ran into the murderer quite by accident. The freed man said a few unwise words about the young man’s sister, and the man…snapped.”