by Robin Caroll
Heat crept up the back of his neck, and his cheeks burned. He focused on the road. “Well, my mom gave up everything for me. Not many mothers are willing to make so many sacrifices for their kids nowadays.”
“That’s true.” Monique was quiet for a moment, as if caught in the past. “My mom was like that. She raised me on her own, going without so I didn’t have to.”
“Then you understand.”
“I do. You’re lucky to still have your mom.” Her voice was thick with emotion.
“And I cherish her.”
Monique twisted to face him. “You’re a good man, Deputy Gary Anderson. I’m glad that I got to meet you. And your mother.”
Now heat really scorched his cheeks. “I’m glad I got to meet you, too.” He pulled the cruiser into the parking lot of the motel. “If you’ll get your stuff together, I’ll load it into the back of your vehicle.”
“I’d appreciate that. I’ll settle up with the front desk and then follow you. I’m assuming you know where Hattie lives?”
They got out of the car, and he looked at her over the hood.
“Everybody knows where everybody lives in Lagniappe, Monique.” He loved saying her name. How it felt on his tongue.
“I’m learning that. I mean, Monroe isn’t all that big, but you don’t know every person in the city.”
“City?” He chuckled. “Lagniappe barely qualifies as a town. Most people around these parts call it a community.”
“But it’s nice.” She unlocked the door to her motel room.
“I guess. It’s home.”
She turned and glanced around, smiling almost to herself. “It is home, isn’t it?”
EIGHT
Monday mornings were normally the pits all around. But not this one.
Awakening to the sun streaming in past the drapes in the Trahan home—make that mansion—Monique stretched against the smooth, Egyptian cotton sheets. She’d slept soundly, a rare occurrence these days.
Shifting to the side of the bed, she tested her feet. Almost no pain, even when she stood straight and put all her weight down evenly. Nice. She’d left her hands unwrapped last night after her shower. The angry red welts had diminished to pink spots. She fisted and unfisted her hands. No pain at all. Healing, what a wonderful thing.
Tweedle, tweedle, tweedle.
Monique jumped. What in the world?
Tweedle, tweedle, tweedle.
It was coming from her purse on the armoire. Her cell phone. She rushed over and dug it out. “Hello.”
“Good morning, it’s Gary. How’d you sleep?” The smile in his voice caused butterflies to dance in her stomach.
“Wonderful.”
“Good. Listen, I’m meeting with the arson investigator who arrived in town. He has some questions for you, and we wondered if you could meet us out at your property in about thirty minutes?”
“Sure. I’ll be there.” She closed the phone and headed to the bathroom.
Twenty minutes and a lot of specialty vanilla-scented soap later, Monique bid Hattie goodbye and headed toward her place. No, it wasn’t hers. Never had been. To everyone in town it was the old Pittman place. When she bought a new house, she’d make sure there wasn’t already a name attached to it. She wanted it to be hers, people knowing she belonged here. She smiled into the sun and tapped her fingernails against the steering wheel.
She pulled into the gravel driveway, her heart clenching. The embers no longer smoldered, yet the air still held the stench of smoke. Gary leaned against the back of his cruiser, talking to another man.
Must be the arson investigator. Monique appraised him as she coasted onto the edge of the grass. He was taller than Gary, who had to be a couple of inches on the upside of six feet, but his shoulders weren’t as wide. He shifted to face her as she stepped slowly from the SUV. A full beard and mustache decorated his rugged face. Even from a distance, she could tell that his skin was as coarse as tanned leather.
“Morning. Thanks for meeting us.” Gary approached her. While he smiled, the usual warmth was absent. Ah…business mode. She knew it well, having dealt with enough police officers back in Monroe. “This is Bob Costigan, the arson investigator.” He nodded at the man. “Mr. Costigan, this is Monique Harris.”
She shoved her car keys into her jeans pocket and faced the arson investigator, swallowing back her disappointment at Gary’s lack of enthusiasm. “Nice to meet you. How can I help?”
“Let’s walk through the site. I need you to tell me what room was where.” He picked his way through the rubble, stopping near what was once the living room. Bending, he ran his fingers through the soot, coating the tips, then sniffed his fingers. He straightened. “This is most likely where the fire began. Heavy accelerant was used here.”
Was he talking to her, or himself? Maybe he sought confirmation. “When I came into the hall, this part of the house was already in flames.”
He glanced over his shoulder at her, then went back to the ruins.
She’d been dismissed. Monique decided right then and there she didn’t like Bob Costigan. Not one little bit.
He crept forward and checked the ashes. “No accelerant here.”
“That’s the hallway.”
Nodding, he mumbled, “Interior.” He kept moving, turning toward the kitchen, and did his routine once more. “Accelerant present here, as well.”
She crossed her arms, tired of following him through the mess. “Exterior wall.”
He jerked his attention to her.
“Kitchen.”
“I’ll get the crew in here, and we’ll analyze all the findings.” He led the way toward their vehicles, but kept looking back to the rubble. “Accelerant used wasn’t graded fuel.”
“What does that mean?” Gary asked, finally jumping into the conversation.
“Means it’s not regular fuel you can just buy from the gas station.” Mr. Costigan reached for a disposable wipe and swiped his hand.
“Then what?” Monique interjected.
The arson investigator pocketed the dirty wipe and stared at her with lowered brows. “I don’t know just yet. I’ll know once we get some samples to the lab.” He reached into his pocket and whipped out a cell phone. Flipping it open, he turned his back to them and took several steps away.
Dismissed again.
“What do you think?” she asked Gary.
“He’s the expert. Guess we’ll have to wait for test results to come back.”
She glanced at the man’s back. “I hope he’s good.”
“I’m sure he is. The fire chief called him in.”
“Oh.” Continuing to scrutinize him, Monique fingered the sores on her hands. She hoped he would keep digging until the truth came out. She really needed answers.
“Hey, no bandages?” Gary reached for her hands and inspected them. “They look really good.”
She trembled at his gentle touch, then pulled her hands free. “They feel much better. And I should be able to stop with the bandages on my feet in another day or so.”
“I noticed you weren’t hobbling today.”
“I think we can go back now.” Mr. Costigan had closed and pocketed his phone and approached them. “I’ve ordered the samples to be taken, talked to the lab about the tests I want run. I need to start my report.”
“So what happens now?” Monique wondered about the man’s matter-of-fact assessment.
“We wait until the tests come back. Until then, I work on someone’s motive to burn down the house.”
“Do I need to answer any questions?”
“Not necessary. Deputy Anderson filed his report this morning, and that’s all I need for now.”
Dismissed yet again. She really disliked this abrupt man.
“Okay, then.” She glanced at Gary. “I’ll go get some of my stuff done. If you need anything, you have my number.”
He opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something, but cut his eyes to the man beside him and clamped his lips together.
Business. All business. She’d dealt with enough cops to know they tried to soften you up with their sweet talk, but then went in for the kill. She should’ve known he wouldn’t be any different, no matter how his clear eyes made her pulse jump.
No, she wouldn’t think of him as a man. Just the lawman who handled her case.
Too bad her subconscious wouldn’t listen. It kept reminding her of the gentleness in his tone. His subtle laugh lines. How nice he was to his mother.
She slammed the door to her Expedition. Kent was her husband. She’d vowed to love him forever.
But Kent was dead, and she was very much alive.
She glanced at the pile of ash and embers as she started the car.
Alive for now anyway.
“She seemed a bit chummy with you.”
Gary snapped up his head to meet Bob Costigan’s stare as he leaned against his temporary desk. “What?”
The sheriff’s office seemed too small and close with the arson investigator taking up space.
“Ms. Harris. She acted really friendly toward you.”
He hadn’t seen it, but whatever. “She’s new in town and the first week here, her house burns down. I handled the report and saw to it that she found alternate lodging.”
“Going out of your way because she’s so pretty?”
Heat smeared against the back of his neck. “No, just doing my job.”
Bob huffed. “In my experience, when they’re really friendly toward you, it’s because they’re trying to manipulate the investigation.”
This guy was a class-A jerk. “Ms. Harris isn’t like that. She’s had a tough time and moved here to rebuild her life, and what happens? Her house burns down.” Although he didn’t owe this guy any explanation, he filled Bob in on why Monique had come to Lagniappe, her connections to the area, and how rough she’d had it since arriving.
“Rebuilding her life, huh? She’ll need some cash flow for that.” Bob scratched his beard. “Doesn’t it seem strange to you that she moves in and only days later, she has a house fire that’s a total loss of real estate value? On top of that, it’s arson. Seems fishy to me.”
Indignation on her behalf swelled in Gary’s chest. “She received a threatening phone call days before the fire, warning her to leave town.”
“So your report says.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Bob let out a sarcastic chuckle. “There’s no proof that call ever happened, is there? The phone had recently been turned on, and there are no phone records for at least twenty-four hours after the activation. There were no witnesses to the call.” He shrugged and tossed the case file onto Gary’s desk. “Seems mighty convenient to me.”
Sure, it looked that way, but Monique wouldn’t make up the story. Would she?
“Anyhoo, I’ve signed the paperwork for you to run her background check and inquiries into her finances. Once you get those back, we’ll take it from there.”
Gary swallowed hard. “You don’t run those yourself?”
“Not in law enforcement. I sign the requests, you order them run.” Bob gathered his things and stood. “Don’t you know what you’re doing?”
Anger stiffened Gary’s spine. “I’ve never had to work with an arson investigator before. Lagniappe doesn’t have many fires, and none that were ruled arson that I recall.”
Bob huffed. “Well, you pull the background check and financials and give me a copy of those reports. I determine whether to pursue her as an arson suspect or not.”
“You really think she could’ve done this? Burn down her own home? She was inside the house.”
“Happens all the time. People need money. Did you notice that SUV she’s driving? Newest model. Those things are pricey. People do crazy things. They think if they’re inside the house when it catches on fire and they escape, then they’re no longer a suspect.”
Not Monique. She’d come to start her life over. She’d gotten a threatening phone call, warning her to leave town. No, no way.
“I’m going to check and make sure the samples were taken and shipped to the lab. I’ve requested they identify the accelerant used ASAP. I’ll let you know when I get results.” He passed his card to Gary. “Call me when you have those reports.”
Gary stared after him. Could the man be right?
No, that was just talk.
But Costigan was a seasoned arson investigator. He’d been around this particular block many times. Maybe he could pick up on more than Gary could.
The image of Monique’s wide, green eyes with almost invisible eyelashes flashed before him. The pain hidden in the lines of her jaw. The torment etched into the tiny creases around her mouth.
Nope, Monique didn’t set her house on fire.
He turned and accessed the sheriff’s computer. She’d said she’d been warned, that the fire had been set—which had been confirmed. So far, she’d been nothing but honest and upfront. The old investigator was wrong this time. The sooner he pulled those stupid reports, the sooner Costigan would start looking for the real arsonist.
The one with a grudge of some sort against Monique.
Great. She’d have to wait until the arson investigator completed his business for the insurance company to pay her claim.
Monique shut the phone and stared out the kitchen window, thinking. She hadn’t considered that the insurance wouldn’t pay out until the arson investigation had closed—she should’ve known better, but stress had kept her from thinking clearly. What happened if Costigan never found out who set the fire? Would the insurance company keep her wrapped up in red tape and never pay?
“Everything okay, honey?” Hattie poured after-lunch coffee from the sterling silver coffee service.
Monique smiled at her hostess. “It will be. Once we figure out who set my house on fire.” She added sugar and cream to her cup.
“Don’t you worry about that a’tall. That deputy’s a good man. He’ll figure it out.”
If only Gary were in charge of the investigation. But Bob Costigan seemed to be the one running the show now, and his arrogance had certainly rubbed her the wrong way.
She took a sip of the strong coffee. Really strong. Yet another difference between north and south Louisiana. “I was wondering, Hattie, could you recommend a good real estate agent?”
“Of course, I’d be delighted. But why wouldn’t you use the one who sold you the old Pittman place?”
“I used my agent in Monroe. I had no clue who the agent down here even was.”
“Well, let’s see. There’s Amanda Sue Parsons, and Leslie Ann Miliken. Oh, and Barbara Jo Kelly. All of those girls are nice.”
And all had double names. Something else that made her feel like she’d moved into a foreign land. “Anybody else?”
“Oh, that nice young man, Parker Fenton.”
“Can you get me his number, please? I’d like to get him started in finding me a place.”
“Now, honey, you know you don’t have to rush outta here. We just found you.” Hattie smiled.
“I know. And I really appreciate you letting me stay here.” Monique offered a shaky smile. “I really need to get a place of my own, even though I love it here. It’s a beautiful home. And the gardens are just gorgeous. I bet they’re breathtaking in the summer.”
“From spring on, actually. Our designer did a marvelous job with the landscaping. Color-coordinated every flower.”
Monique nodded. “I love to work in the yard. That’s another reason why I’d really like to get the ball moving on finding my own place. I want to plant some perennials.” Hattie’s face fell. Better backpedal, double speed. “Of course, seeing how beautiful your yard is, I’ll want your opinion and advice.”
That got a full smile. “Let me go find his number for you.”
Dodged a big one. Monique stood, leaving her coffee on the table, and stared out the window. She’d love to just move on toward the future, start living again. On her terms, not in response to someone else’
s uninvited influence in her life.
The phone rang, echoing across the hallway. Hattie’s heels tapped on the freshly polished wood floors as she crossed to answer the phone in the parlor just off the dining room. “Hello.”
Monique hesitated, hoping this wouldn’t be a long call. She’d really like to contact the real estate agent and meet with him later today, if possible.
“Who is this?” The sharp tone of Hattie’s voice forced Monique into the hall.
Hattie’s free hand hung in a tight fist beside her body. “Who are you?”
“What?” Monique asked as Hattie slammed the phone to its cradle. “Who was that?”
“Prank call.” But her hands trembled.
“Hattie, you’re upset. Come, sit down.” She led the woman to the chaise in the foyer and sat. “Now, who was that?”
“I don’t know.”
“Man or woman?”
“Man.” Hattie shivered.
Monique put her arm around the woman’s shoulders. Dread crept up her spine. “What’d he say?”
Hattie shook her head.
“Come on, Hattie, you have to tell me. What did he say?”
“H-he said if I didn’t want my house to go up in a puff of smoke, you should leave town.”
NINE
Could traffic move any slower?
Gary sighed at the car in front of him that puttered along as if the family were out for a Sunday-afternoon drive. The temptation to turn on his siren hit him strong. He couldn’t do that. Monique’s call wasn’t an emergency. But the fact that the caller had tracked her down and phoned again, threatening Hattie…well, this certainly seemed to indicate Monique wasn’t lying about the threatening call from before.
The afternoon sun warmed the crisp January air, lifting the temperature into the sixties at least. Nothing abnormal for the Deep South. Sweat slicked his palms, but it didn’t have a thing to do with the mercury level and everything to do with the call he’d taken from Monique.
The old Chevy in front of him finally turned off, and Gary gunned the cruiser’s engine, racing toward the Trahan home. He tried to tone down his panic, reminding himself that Monique hadn’t sounded stressed when she’d called. Instead, she had sounded calm and collected. He imagined she had to be to keep Hattie in check. The woman certainly had a flair for the dramatic. And the bottle. Monique had said she would call Felicia and Spence to come over, as well.
