by Emery, Lynn
“Ms. Rousselle, I’m Candy Wilkinson from WFTK Television in Lafayette. I’d like to talk to you about…”
“I didn’t invite you here, so please leave my property. Now.” LaShaun crossed her arms and gazed at them through the glass top half of the storm door. The young man raised a compact video camera with a microphone attached in one hand. “And you don’t have permission to take my picture.”
The young man wore a grin. “Don’t need it.”
LaShaun shut the door. She would have favored them a long list of colorful words, but LaShaun didn’t want the little creep to be rewarded with audio they could use. After ten minutes LaShaun heard the rumble of a car engine. She looked out the window in time to see a dark red Chevy Traverse back up, turn around, and head down her driveway.
“Better not come back either,” LaShaun muttered as she watched the car disappear.
Determined not to let them rule or ruin her plans, LaShaun went out to the garden and fertilized the three beds of roses her grandmother had planted some thirty years before. As usual, being out in the sunshine and surrounded by the lovely Louisiana countryside improved LaShaun’s mood. Two hours later she’d not only finished with the roses, but she completed a few indoor chores as well. By eleven thirty, LaShaun participated in a video conference with her accountant about the assets and investments her grandmother had left her. The accountant had LaShaun’s attorney, and friend, Savannah Honoré join them online. Savannah delivered the unwelcome news that LaShaun did indeed have to attend the board meetings of three local companies.
“We’ll need to talk later,” Savannah said from her office in Beau Chene.
“Why? I mean, it’ll be boring, but I’ll do it. The rest of the family will squeal like little piglets if they even think the money faucet will turn off.” LaShaun said.
She let out a humorless laugh as she gazed at her business advisors through the webcam. Monmon Odette had not only left LaShaun a substantial legacy, but did her the favor of leaving her in charge of doling out profits to her aunt and uncles. Calling it a thankless job was a laughable understatement. Monmon Odette’s children had fully expected to spend time fighting each other for control of her money. They constantly complained about “going to LaShaun hat-in-hand” for what was rightfully theirs. Never mind that they got enough money to fund their expensive tastes and those of their greedy adult children.
Savannah raised an eyebrow. “Quentin Trosclair is also a major shareholder in Southwest Louisiana Bancorp. He’s started attending the quarterly meetings.”
“When the hell did that happen?” LaShaun blurted out.
Quentin Trosclair, LaShaun’s former lover during her wild days, was once again bad news. The man had gotten her involved in two murders, and suspected of being the killer in both cases. Rich, handsome, and used to getting his way, Quentin had escaped paying for his sins too many times. Now it seemed Quentin had turned up to poison her life once more. LaShaun thought back to what her cousin Azalei had told her. Quentin wanted to get back at LaShaun, and most likely hurt Chase as icing on the cake. Despicable weasel, she thought darkly. LaShaun would just have to spoil his payback party. The accountant’s monotone voice broke into her daydream of slapping Quentin around.
“His uncle died, and the uncle’s daughter sold her shares to Quentin. He knows you’re likely to attend the meeting. I don’t see a problem,” Clarence Baker, the accountant, blinked through his black-framed eyeglasses. “Let’s see, Katherine Trosclair Worthington did sell her shares to her cousins. They haven’t taken an active role in the company, not since her father became too ill to travel fifteen years ago. The Trosclairs have managed two hugely successful businesses for three generations at least. I can only see them becoming majority stockholders as a good thing.”
“I don’t like the sound of that one damn bit, Clarence,” LaShaun said sharply. She looked at Savannah. “What can we do about it?”
“You could sell your shares and cut ties with the company,” Clarence said promptly. “I wouldn’t advise it. Word on the street is Quentin is courting Mrs. Veronique Delacroix.”
Savannah glanced at LaShaun. “She owns fifteen percent of stock in the company. He wants her to sell, to him of course.”
“Typical Quentin strategy then,” LaShaun retorted. “Charm her into bed because she’s of use to him.”
Clarence looked embarrassed. “I don’t usually listen to gossip unless it relates to business, but the talk is they’re having an affair.”
“What about his second wife? Or is she his third? Hell, I can’t keep up,” Savannah said.
“Being married doesn’t stop Quentin from seeing other people,” LaShaun quipped.
“He’ll own a big part of a company you have an interest in if his plan succeeds. If there’s history between you two, some bad blood… That could be a problem.” Clarence rubbed his chin and blinked behind his eyeglasses. “Of course you could have me attend as a proxy. I have business in Houston, so it wouldn’t be a problem at all.”
“Skip it, just sell the damn stock. I’ll invest in something else,” LaShaun said. She wanted no connection with Quentin Trosclair, not even a remote one.
“I’ll look into it and get back to you. Goodbye, ladies.” Clarence gave a nod and signed off as though eager to get to other business.
Savannah remained online. “How are you doing?”
“Missing Chase, and ticked off that a reporter showed up on my porch this morning. I hope that’s not a trend. Could I get away with shooting one of ‘em? Well, shoot at them. That should put the word out not to come on my property.” LaShaun said.
“Hell to the double hell no. But on private property, they do have to leave when you ask them to.”
“Okay, let me put a reminder in my smartphone; don’t shoot the damn reporters. At least until after Chase is elected Sheriff.” LaShaun laughed out loud when Savannah rolled her eyes.
“I’m not going to be your lawyer in a criminal matter again, LaShaun. So stay out of trouble. I have an appointment in twenty minutes and I need to prepare.”
“Let’s do lunch next week sometime if you have a break in your schedule,” LaShaun said. The friends agreed to firm up meeting on Tuesday and signed off just as LaShaun’s doorbell rang again. “That reporter is about to test my self-control.”
LaShaun marched to the door and yanked it open. Instead of the reporter, a tall slender blonde stood on her front porch. She wore a yellow sweater twin set and brown tweed skirt. Pearl stud earrings completed the wholesome look. The conservative outfit didn’t disguise a great figure. Her only indulgence seemed to be her hair, which she still wore long as she probably had when she was in high school and college.
“I’m Allison Graham,” she blurted out and blushed a deep pink.
“Hello Mrs. Graham,” LaShaun said.
“Good morning. Well, it’s almost afternoon now, isn’t it? I’m sorry for showing up here without calling, but it’s so hard for me to get away. I mean I’m so busy these days, and I just wanted to…” Her voice trailed off and she looked around at the azaleas and rose bushes. “You have a beautiful yard.”
“Thank you. Mrs. Graham, I—”
“Call me Allison. The police and district attorney say that over and over when they call. ‘Mrs. Graham’ this and ‘Mrs. Graham’ that. My husband is no help. He seems to think this is some passing phase and he just won’t listen. He’s as bad as Greg, and what about Sherri? That’s my ten year old. And…” Allison burst into tears. She cried so hard her body shook.
LaShaun quickly unlocked the storm door and opened it. “Mrs. Grah— Allison, you need to calm down.”
“I can’t do this anymore. I-I just can’t,” Allison wailed and covered her face with both hands.
“Come in so we can talk. I’m sure it can’t be that bad.”
LaShaun gazed at her in dismay and wished Savannah was there to help. LaShaun had no skill dealing with emotionally over-wrought soccer moms. Not even those who sus
pected one of their kids was possessed by Satan. She led the weeping woman into her living room and sat her down on the sofa. Allison continued to cry, though not as loudly. Fumbling with her purse, she finally managed to find a few tissues, but those became a sodden mess in no time. After a few seconds of patting her shoulder, LaShaun tossed out the gentle approach. She went to her bedroom and came back quickly with a box of tissues. LaShaun snatched a wad from the box and handed them to her.
“Allison, snap out of it,” LaShaun said sharply. “Falling apart won’t help you or your family. If your son is out of control and your husband is out of touch they need you more than ever.”
After a series of rapid gasps for air, Allison nodded. She dropped her purse on the floor and put a hand to her throat. Her mouth worked as though she wanted to speak but couldn’t. LaShaun went to the kitchen, filled a glass of water and came back in a matter of seconds. She sat next to Allison and handed it to her.
“Thanks,” Allison said in a scratchy voice. She sipped the water. After a few seconds more she put the glass down on the coffee table. “I’m sorry for getting hysterical like that. I’ve been on edge for so long it just… came out.”
“You’ve been through hell,” LaShaun said quietly.
“I’m still there. To my husband’s family appearance is everything. I mean look at me. I’m the picture of a wholesome small town wife with a perfect small town family. I even dress like a clone mass produced from a factory.” Allison wore a grimace of distaste as she glanced down at her skirt and blouse. “Sometimes I think there’s a label somewhere on my body that says, ‘white female, blonde, model number 81WF’.”
“Are you okay?” LaShaun eyed her closely for signs of more hysterics.
Allison stared at LaShaun wide-eyed. “Lord, I can’t believe I’m talking to you like this. Are you psychic like they say, you know, have special powers?”
“Sometimes it’s easier to talk to strangers, and you’ve pent up your feelings for weeks.”
Allison gave a bitter laugh. “No, for years. I thought Jonathan and I were holding it together well enough. Our marriage is… problematic. I suppose it was foolish to think the kids wouldn’t notice.”
LaShaun felt a flush of heat on the back of her neck. Her arms tingled. She could clearly “see” the true picture of what those few words meant. The Graham’s “problematic marriage” meant both had had several affairs over the years. Harsh accusations, shouting matches and slamming doors played out like a weird stage play inside LaShaun’s head. Allison startled her back to the parlor and the present by touching her hand.
“I’ve tried taking Greg to several therapists over the last two years. He won’t talk to them. Now they’re saying he killed that boy Elliot and he raped Rebecca. It’s all lies of course,” Allison’s protest sounded mechanical, rehearsed even. She twisted the tissue in her hands to pieces.
“Greg has been keeping secrets from you, getting in trouble at school. Do you believe he’s innocent?” LaShaun cut her off with the second question when Allison opened her mouth to speak.
A tear slid down Allison’s face. “I didn’t want to get pregnant. Jonathan kept at me until I gave in. I wanted to consider having a baby, but after I finished college. Greg was an irritable baby, and I’m afraid I wasn’t very patient. I never hurt him,” she added quickly and glanced at LaShaun.
“Go on,” LaShaun said.
“He always pulled in the opposite direction on everything. Always rebelled on anything I tried to do for him. It was like he knew I didn’t want a baby. That made me feel even more guilty.”
LaShaun studied her for a time. “You indulged him.”
“Yes, but not as much as Jonathan. He loves having a son, a little mini-Jonathan. Greg looks a lot like his father.” Allison shrugged as if that was a mystery to her.
“I think Greg looks a lot like you.”
Allison smiled. “When he was five, I realized how much I loved that boy. I guess our battles kind of drew me to him. Greg likes to go his own way no matter what anyone else says. He didn’t get that kind of independence from me, I can tell you that.”
“So what do you want from me?” LaShaun asked.
“I’d like you to talk to Greg. He’s willing,” Allison said quickly when LaShaun frowned.
“What does your husband say about it?” LaShaun waited. She knew the answer when Allison glanced away.
“We’ll tell him later maybe.”
LaShaun looked through a window at the expanse of freshly mown grass of her front yard. Beyond a set of three magnolia trees she could see a car or two drive past on Rougon Road. The Graham family seemed a potent mix of pent up emotions, and none of them healthy. LaShaun knew what Chase would say. Stay out of it, especially because of the criminal investigation. When LaShaun turned around, Allison looked at her expectantly.
“No, Mrs. Graham. I won’t talk to Greg. I’m sure your son’s lawyer advises against it. My fiancé is a police officer investigating the case. I can’t promise confidentiality or anything close to it.”
“You talk it over with Deputy Broussard. With our help he could break the case, and get elected. Our family has a wide circle of influential friends. Some other person is responsible.” Allison Graham’s voice lost its trembling weepy quality. The tortured mother seemed to be replaced by a cold realist, one more than willing to point the finger at someone else.
“I’m sure the Sheriff’s Department intends to follow wherever the evidence leads,” LaShaun replied quietly.
“Thanks for your time.” Allison Graham gave her a controlled smile and walked out.
Surprised at the odd twists and turns of the woman’s behavior, LaShaun followed her to the front door. She watched Allison walk to her tan Volvo SUV and get in. She turned the vehicle around and drove off. LaShaun shook her head and went back inside. For hours later, she replayed the odd conversation in her mind.
At eight o’clock that night, Chase called to say he’d be at LaShaun’s house in twenty minutes. LaShaun smiled when she ended the call and hummed a love song. She got busy. The late February weather had continued to be cold and damp. She took out a container of catfish couvillion she’d made earlier that day, one of Chase’s favorite dishes. After she put rice in the steamer, LaShaun sliced up a half loaf of French bread. Soon she had Zydeco playing on the sound system and the house smelling of the savory dish. Chase arrived an hour later. He’d pulled his truck down the driveway to the back yard and came through the kitchen door using his key.
“Hey, cher. Don’t shoot, it’s me,” he called out as he hung his brown felt cowboy hat on a peg near the door.
LaShaun crossed from the stove quickly and wrapped her arms around him. She ruffled his dark hair and gave him a long, passionate kiss. When they came up for air finally, both sighed. “I’m so happy to see you.”
“Well, damn, if I’m gonna get this reception, maybe I better stay away more often,” Chase said and claimed another quick kiss.
“Don’t you dare,” LaShaun replied with a scowl. “Missing you is a miserable feeling, even if I know you’re only a few miles away. Now get comfortable so we can forget the rest of the world exists outside these walls. I’ll fix you a plate.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said with a grin. Chase gave her bottom a pat and walked past the stove, but doubled back. He lifted the pot. “Hmm, my favorite. You’re spoiling me, girl.”
“Yes, and get used to it,” LaShaun quipped and winked at him.
Her reward was the wonderful sound of his deep, rumbling laughter as he continued on to the master bedroom. Moments later she heard him singing off key in the shower. LaShaun smiled with affection. Soon she’d be able to hear that lovably discordant music more often. The thought of their wedding brought on a flash of jitters. Katie and Adrianna had already scheduled another preparation session… As though LaShaun’s thought had reached out to her, the phone rang and it was Katie. Chase’s sister briskly ran through their agenda for Friday. Then she dropped a hint
about where Chase and LaShaun would live later on. LaShaun managed to distract her by changing the subject back to the reception, urging Katie to follow-up with the bed and breakfast again.
“Yes, Katie. I promise I won’t skip out on you this time. I’ve been looking at the catalogs you left from the florist. I’ll give you my choices Friday.” LaShaun rolled her eyes and pointed to the cordless phone when Chase came back into the kitchen. “You’re brother is here. Say hi.”
He took the phone with a comedic grimace. “Hey, baby sis. How ya doin’? Oh yeah, you whipping the bride into shape, huh? Keeping her on task. Good job.”
LaShaun turned from spooning rice onto a plate and hissed at him. “Hey!”
Chase laughed. “Yeah, LaShaun is giving me a dirty look. Okay. Tell Dale I said hey, and kiss my baby nephew and my niece for me. Bye.”
LaShaun finished filling both plates and put them on the table. She turned to face Chase. “I’m thinking we need to skip the wedding and just get married.”
“Okay, baby.” Chase nuzzled her neck. Her words became muffled as his lips grazed the line of her chin.
“I sorta let Savannah, Adrianna, and Katie talk me into making it fancy.” LaShaun rubbed his shoulders as she tilted her head. She pressed against him and sighed. “We’re already like one soul and body.”
Chase tugged her long sleeved dark red t-shirt over her head. “Uh-huh.”
He clearly wasn’t paying attention to her complaints. In seconds he peeled off her lacy bra. Chase kissed her so deliciously hard that LaShaun forgot everything else as well. By the time he’d taken off his shirt, she felt hungrier for him than anything she’d cooked for supper. Chase pulled her to the sofa in the open den adjacent to the kitchen. He removed her soft yoga pants and moaned at the sight of the pink lace panties she wore. In minutes his clothes were off. LaShaun pushed him down to a seated position and straddled him. Slowly, still kissing him, she moaned as he filled her. They both shuddered at the flash fire of being physically united.
