by Mary Ellis
Nicki approached the entrance cautiously. The front door was open, the screen door closed but not latched. Drone from the TV indicated somebody was home, yet no one answered when she knocked or called out a friendly greeting. No way did she want to enter the home of someone who had worn a gun on his hip throughout his career. However, peeking in the window wasn’t beneath her dignity.
Clutter covered every surface of the room. Apparently, when the sheriff ran out of surfaces, he began stacking things in corners—DVDs, books, magazines, and crates of old board games. Someone in the household must have loved garage sales, perhaps bargaining for “one price buys the lot” merchandise. Nicki suspected nothing had been thrown out since the man’s wife had passed.
With no sheriff in sight, Nicki crept around to the back of the house and discovered a very different world indeed. An oyster shell path led through the manicured lawn down to a broad bayou, where not a single bullrush or cattail grew along the bank. Unlike the interior of his home, Sheriff Latanier maintained a Better Homes and Gardens backyard. Matching Adirondack chairs provided comfortable spots for two anglers. A fishing pole rested in an aluminum bracket, while the world’s largest tackle box sat at the feet of the dock’s sole occupant.
“Sheriff Latanier?” Nicki approached cautiously.
“Miss Price, I presume.”
“Yes, sir. I hope I’m not interrupting you.”
“Not at all. I’ve been expecting you since Sophie Godrey called.” He finally pivoted enough to meet her gaze.
Nicki choked back a gasp. If forced to venture a guess, she would surmise the sheriff was a radiation or chemo patient of the strongest potency. His skin was tightly drawn over his facial bones, his eyes deeply set within the sockets. “I’m grateful you were willing to see me, sir.”
“Have a seat, Miss Price.” Latanier pointed at the other chair. “I don’t know what help I can be. You’ve read my report, which I reviewed again recently in anticipation of this visit, and I have no further information to add. No new leads, if that’s why you’re here.”
Nicki sat primly and crossed her legs. “I realize you didn’t have the same forensic capabilities back when you first investigated my father’s death that you would now, sir. Perhaps new evidence would lead to his killer.”
He studied her for a moment. Then he said, not unkindly, “We did our job, Miss Price. None of the guns on the premises had been recently discharged. No one in the cabin tested positive for gunshot residue. Nobody heard a shot. There was no blood on the dock or by the water’s edge. I agree that your daddy’s death was no accident, but I can’t arrest somebody without hard evidence—not back then and not now.”
Nicki dug her fingernails into the wood. “If you could have arrested somebody that night, who would it have been?”
Latanier grinned but shook his head. “You’re a professional now, Miss Price, so act like it.”
“You’re retired now, sir, and I’m Kermit Price’s daughter. This conversation is off the record.”
The sheriff gazed at the water, where fish jumped at low-flying insects twenty feet away. “Those Cheval brothers had rap sheets longer than your arm. Junior Cheval wouldn’t like somebody cheating him at cards, but I had nothing to arrest him on. Nobody saw Junior or Terrence or Louis with blood or anything else on them. I interviewed those witnesses on Saturday and then came back the next morning to talk to everybody again, including that little boy.”
Nicki’s breath caught in her throat. “What little boy? Your report doesn’t mention a child.”
Latanier shrugged. “Probably because he wasn’t a witness. The kid was asleep during the poker game and whatever took place afterward. I saw no reason to put his name in my official report.”
Nicki pulled her water bottle from her purse, her throat suddenly dry. “Who was he?”
Latanier’s brows knit together. “Don’t recall his name, but he was the son of the guy who owned the cabin. The kid went to bed before the craziness started.”
“How old?” she gasped. “How old would you say he was?” Nicki suddenly remembered Nate’s warning about turning over rocks.
The sheriff rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Can’t say for sure, but probably around seven or eight.”
Nicki released her death grip on the chair and struggled to stand. “I appreciate your seeing me today, Sheriff. At least I know which direction to head in. Lovely place you have here, by the way. I’ll see myself out.”
Seven or eight? Nicki placed one foot in front of the other and forced herself to walk away from the dock. Not Nate. It had been Sean, his younger brother.
THIRTY-SIX
St. Landry Parish, home of the retired sheriff, was only a couple of hours from Natchez. But Nicki wouldn’t have cared if it were a thousand miles. She wasn’t going back to New Orleans until she talked to Sean. Seventeen years was long enough to wait—she wouldn’t let one more night go by. She punched in Nate’s number as soon as her phone found a signal.
He answered on the first ring. “Hey, Nicki, where are you?”
“I’m on my way to Natchez. I should say none of your business.”
“Don’t get huffy. I ask only because Hunter is looking for you.”
“I’ll call him later. Right now I need Sean’s address. Could you give that to me?”
“Why would you need his address?”
“I heard he’s moving in with that sweet girlfriend of his without first marrying her. I intend to do my womanly duty and set that boy straight.”
Nate was silent for a few moments. Then he said, “Okay, why do you really want to know? I doubt you would poke your nose into my brother’s business. You haven’t seen him in over a year. Me, on the other hand—”
“Just give me his address, Nate. Why do I have to tell you everything? Can’t I have a little privacy?”
He had no answer to that. He recited an address on a street just east of the city limits. “What should I tell Hunter?”
“Tell him nothing. I’ll call him the first chance I get.” She hung up before her cousin decided to resume his questions.
When she pulled into the driveway of a duplex on a quiet street, Sean opened the front door before Nicki could ring the bell.
“I take it your brother warned you I was on my way,” she said in greeting as she stepped past him into a tidy living room.
“Nate called, but apparently he has no idea as to why you would want to see me.” Sean met and held her gaze.
“But you do, don’t you, cousin?” Nicki’s hands balled into fists.
“Yeah. I’ve been waiting for this visit for ten years, ever since my dad died.” Sean pushed the door shut against the evening air.
Nicki shrugged off a prickle on the back of her neck. “Is your girlfriend home?”
“I sent Angela to the mall for extra memory sticks even though I have several in my desk drawer.” Sean lowered himself to the couch much slower than a man of twenty-five, the same age as her, should.
“Sounds like you have something you need to get off your chest. Something that’s long overdue.” Nicki didn’t hide her wounded disappointment.
He lowered his face into his hands, muffling his words. “I prayed this day would never come. Even after my dad died I was too ashamed to face you…or the rest of my family.”
With the realization she was about to get the answers she’d been waiting for, Nicki grabbed the back of a chair for support. “You saw what happened to my dad at the cabin?”
He nodded mutely.
“You saw my dad’s murder but said nothing?” Nicki’s trepidation gave way to rage. “You’d better start talking now, Sean Price, or I will beat it out of you!”
A ridiculous threat, to be sure, but effective just the same. He peered up at her with a pale, stricken face. “I wasn’t sleeping that night like everybody thought. The argument during the card game woke me up. It sounded mean, hateful, with foul language I’d never heard in that cabin before. I lay in bed listening to
them for a while. One of those Chevals brought out a bottle of whiskey to pass around. And your dad kept raising the stakes, fattening the pot. They’d never played for stakes that high. I had a bad feeling the louder those brothers got. Then Junior called your dad a cheat and a liar and a whole lot of other things I’d never repeat. Uncle Kermit denied dealing from the bottom and tried to calm Junior down; everybody did. But there was no talking to Junior Cheval. Your dad said he was going to smoke a cigarette and stormed outside, furious. Those three brothers went after him.”
Tears began to leak from his eyes, but he kept talking. “My dad tried to follow them down the path, but the biggest guy, I think his name was Louis, punched him in the gut. He told Dad to get back inside if he knew what was good for him. Junior told Louis to make sure nobody interrupted the friendly little chat he was going to have with Kermit.” Sean pulled out a handkerchief to wipe his face. “I crawled out of my bedroom window and hid in the bushes. I knew how to reach the water without being seen.”
Nicki forced herself to take a deep breath. “Did my dad paddle away in the pirogue?”
Sean nodded. “He tried to, but Junior caught up with him on the dock. They argued. Uncle Kermit said that he won fair and square and they were just sore losers. Junior said nobody had that kind of luck. Then your dad said he had a good luck charm and showed them his alligator belt with the fancy buckle. ‘These Texas cowgirls never let me down.’ ”
Sean actually sounded like her father, a fact that sent a chill up Nicki’s spine.
“That made Junior even madder and he pulled out a gun. It was down by his ankle under his pant leg. I didn’t know what to do, Nicki. I thought about going back for help, but I was scared they would catch me spying on them. So like a coward I just sat there, motionless.”
“You were only eight years old. Don’t beat yourself up.” Nicki wasn’t sure where her sudden empathy was coming from.
An incongruous cuckoo clock nearly jarred them both from their seats. “I hate that clock, but Angela insisted on hanging it on the wall.”
Nicki looked at it and then turned her gaze back to her cousin, waiting for the rest of the painful story with damp palms.
“When Uncle Kermit saw the gun, he took out his money clip and held it out to Junior. ‘Fine,’ he said. ‘Take everything I won tonight. Me having a little fun is no cause for people to get hurt.’ He tried to make a joke out of it.”
“ ‘You cheated us, Price. You invited us into this bug-ridden swamp and tried to rip us off.’ Terrence tried to calm his brother down, but Junior wouldn’t have it. ‘I’ll take your money along with that gator belt. From now on those cowgirls are my good luck charm.’ ”
“ ‘No way,’ said Uncle Kermit. ‘Keep the money, even what I started the night with, but you ain’t getting my belt.’ He tossed the cash down on the dock and spit on it. Then Uncle Kermit climbed into the pirogue.”
“Junior said, ‘You stinkin’ thief! I’d say your luck just ran out.’ ”
Sean covered his face again with his hands. “Are you sure you want to hear this? Maybe it’s better if you don’t know every detail.”
Nicki moved to sit next to him on the couch. “I’ve waited so long. There’s nothing you can say that would be worse than my imagination.”
Nodding, Sean focused on the floor. “Junior pulled a piece of PVC pipe from his pocket, some kind of homemade silencer. What kind of man carries one of those to go fishing?”
The rhetorical question required no answer.
“Before Uncle Kermit could push away from the dock, Junior shot him in the head. Your dad fell back, half in the water and half out. Junior picked up the money and tossed the gun into the pirogue. He told Terrence to tie our old pirogue—the one with a slow leak—onto the back of Kermit’s. Terrence was to paddle far up the channel and come back with nothing but that fancy belt.”
Nicki closed her eyes as her father’s final minutes on earth played out in her mind. Had the bullet killed him instantly? Or had he drowned when Terrence swamped the boat once he reached a strong current. “What happened next?” she prodded.
“Terrence asked how he was supposed to get back. Junior said to paddle back in the small boat, swamp it a hundred yards out, and swim the rest of the way. Terrence said, ‘Swim? There’re gators in that bayou.’ Junior said, ‘Then I suggest you swim fast.’ Junior went back to the cabin mad as a hornet. He told the men that Kermit took off with their money and Terrence went after him in the other pirogue.”
Sean wiped away his tears. “Andre, Eugene, and Louis went to bed, but my dad stayed up with Junior. I think Dad was afraid to go to sleep. Once I figured out what Terrence planned to do, I prayed that gators would eat him. But a few hours later he walked in dripping wet. Terrence said dad’s boat sunk and he had to swim back.”
“Terrence said he never caught up with my dad?”
Sean nodded. “I stayed in that tree a long time, too afraid to come down. But when I finally crawled through my window, Dad was sitting on the bed, waiting for me.”
“You didn’t tell Uncle Charles what happened?” Nicki croaked, her voice raspy.
“I told him everything, but Dad made me promise to keep quiet. He said the Chevals were bad blood. No telling what they might do. Junior might hurt me or my mom or Nate. He said nothing would bring Uncle Kermit back, so no good would come from ever telling the truth.”
Nicki jumped to her feet and began to pace “And nobody found the gun or either pirogue?”
“Do you have any idea how many busted up boats sit on the bottom of the Atchafalaya? And guns, for that matter.”
“What about the belt? Didn’t Junior order Terrence to bring it back with him?”
“Terrence didn’t walk in wearing it, if that’s what you mean. And nobody called the police until late the next day. When the sheriff arrived, he had no grounds to strip-search people. The Chevals had a full day to hide it.”
Nicki stood and hiked her purse to her shoulder, but she paused on her way to the door. She couldn’t leave with one question hanging over her head like a cloud. “Why didn’t you tell after Uncle Charles died? Are you still afraid of the Chevals?”
Sean shook his head. “No, I don’t care what those river rats do. I was ashamed to face you…and my brother. I’d passed a point of no return years ago without knowing it.”
“Nate doesn’t know any of this?”
“He knows nothing. My dad wouldn’t let me tell him either. When you called today, I felt only relief that the nightmare was finally over.” He wiped his face with the handkerchief again and said, “I’m sorry, Nicki. Can you ever forgive me?”
“I already have, Sean.” She offered her cousin a small but genuine smile. “But the nightmare may not be over. With what you told me, I plan to go back to the St. Landry Sheriff’s Department. Sheriff Latanier had a bad feeling about Junior Cheval. We have probable cause to reopen the investigation if you’re willing to make a statement.”
“You don’t think seventeen years is too late?”
“There’s no statute of limitations on murder, but if there’s enough evidence for the prosecutor to indict, you’ll have to testify in court. So don’t say you’re willing if you’re not one hundred percent sure.”
“I’m in, Nicki. I’ll do whatever it takes.”
“Good. Keep your phone turned on.” She strode out the door toward her car.
“Wait, it’s too late to drive to New Orleans tonight. Sleep in our guest room and go home tomorrow. Then you’ll be able to meet my fiancée.”
“Thanks, but I plan to sleep on my mom’s couch. Considering everything you told me, she and I have a little catching up to do.” Nicki slipped behind the steering wheel and lowered the window. “I’ll mention that Angela inhabits the guest room until the big day. That tidbit will get back to Aunt Rose and she can relax.”
“I owe you, cousin. If there’s anything I can do between now and the day you die, just say the word.”
“I’
ll keep that in mind.” Giving him a final wave, Nicki backed down his driveway and headed across town. Sean wasn’t the only one who would sleep better tonight. Somehow knowing the truth made all the difference in the world.
By the time she’d walked in the door of her mom’s apartment and seen her sweet face, the last bit of her anger was gone. Her mother wrapped her arms around her and welcomed her home. Home. Maybe it wasn’t as chic at Hunter’s Rue Royale address, but it was tidy and comfortable and had everything a person needed.
THIRTY-SEVEN
An employer could always count on getting their money’s worth from Nicki Price. Hadn’t she filled all the saltshakers and catsup bottles after her restaurant shift even though officially off the clock? Hadn’t she straightened the stacks of T-shirts in Chic Chicks at the mall before heading home? Hunter Galen deserved at least as much in exchange for four hundred a week plus expenses.
Hunter. An ache filled her heart remembering his tender words and his sweet kisses. But that’s where she went wrong. She’d filled her head with what-ifs and maybe-some-days instead of what she had come to town for. Did all women fall into the same rut? Let an attractive man treat them decently, and suddenly they were hearing church bells and picking out wallpaper for the nursery. Hunter was a nice guy, no doubt about it. And he was a good man to work for, but he wasn’t the right man for her. Even if he liked her, even if he found her reasonably attractive, one day he would wake up and realize she didn’t belong in his world.
Unfortunately, unlike Dorothy from Kansas, Nicki couldn’t go home anymore, not permanently. She came to New Orleans to earn a living and send money to her mother. Nate had given her a chance, and in return she’d spent her time with stars in her eyes dreaming about Hunter Galen. Knowing what she needed to do, Nicki took a long, hard look at the silly woman in the mirror. She was smart, well trained, and well motivated. Bridesmaids, picket fences, and playgroups would have to wait.
