Sins For Truths (The Case Files of Logan St. Martin Book 2)

by S. L. Hebert

  “What is it?”

  “Hold on, Michael, it’s going to take me a minute to wedge it out of the hole.”

  Gliding my fingertips around on the smooth surface, I outline the sides and locate one of the corners. Digging my fingernails into the soil and tree dust, I start working on getting the container out. With limited space to shift my hand around, it ends up taking me a few minutes.

  Finally, with my fingers bleeding from all the scratches, I get the shiny metal box out of the hole. It appears to be about the size of a small shoebox. I can tell it was handmade by someone with welding or fitting skills. Carefully, I turn the box around in my hand while it’s still inside the hole. Finding the front of the box, I notice there’s a tiny padlock; it’s a little bigger than the ones you’d see on a girl’s diary.

  Knowing now I’ll have to wait until I’m down to open it, I yell out to Michael, “I’ve got it. I’m going to head down in a minute.”

  I lean back against my little branch and finally figure out a way to slide it into my backpack. I return my focus to the gaping hole and finish running my fingers through the bottom, making sure not to miss anything else. Once I’m certain there’s nothing left in the tree, I begin to make my way back down to the bottom. I take every effort not to look down any more than necessary, deciding only to glance at the pegs when needed, relying mainly on my memory for their location.

  I’m about halfway when one of the pegs gives way and leaves me clinging onto the tree. I release a squealing sound, and then somehow, I manage to collect my composure. Michael surprisingly doesn’t utter a sound.

  Not long after my near accident, I regain my footing, continuing down to the bottom, where Grasso is silently holding his breath.

  Michael

  As I’m watching her climb up in this old ass tree, I silently pray she makes it back down without falling. No matter how much of a front I put on, I’m always secretly trying to watch out for her. It’s become part of my nature in these last few months. I keep asking myself if it’s possible for us to go back to the way we were before this case fell into our laps and turned both our lives upside down.

  The more I stand here and think about it, I painstakingly realize it would be extremely hard for me to forget about all that’s happened between us. Besides, after her off-hand comment in the car this morning, along with her decision to meet with my brother, I’m beginning to understand maybe we don’t feel the same about each other.

  Suddenly, Logan breaks my train of thought, yelling about how she’s found something. I hope it’s not something like a child who’s managed to climb up in the tree and got left out here. Then again, what child in their right mind would dare to climb a tree this high? No, this must be something an adult would want to hide. I begin to feel instant excitement, causing me to forget all the negative thoughts that were just flowing through my mind.

  Unable to control myself, I quickly ask her what it is, but she claims to have to get it unstuck. This leaves me patiently waiting at the base of the tree, then cowardly watching as she scales down, bracing her body by using both sides of the tree. She seems to be managing well until her foot presses on one of the pegs midway down and it crumbles from under her feet. I listen as she lets out a spontaneous yelp, then I begin to hold my breath. It’s taking everything in me to stay quiet, trying my best not to spook her or break her concentration. It works, and she finishes the rest of her way down without incident.

  Once she’s standing on solid ground, I go to open my mouth and speak when we hear another shot ring out. This time, it sounds closer. I instantly look to Logan, who’s studying the direction from which the sound came. As she turns in my direction, I put my index finger over my mouth, signaling for her to remain silent. I begin to use hand gestures to communicate with her, the same motions and movements used by all military personnel, so I know she’ll understand them, making it easy to navigate our way out of the woods in silence.

  Using our markers on the trees, we backtrack our way out of the woods. Keeping our eyes peeled for anyone or anything unusual, we proceed to move methodically and fluidly through the area.

  While trekking out of the woods, I damn near stepped on a snake. Logan identifies it as a non-poisonous egg-eater, and we carry on. The pace we are maintaining is much faster heading out than when we first entered the woods. We’re about halfway back towards the entrance when out of nowhere a foul stench starts lingering in the air. Off in the bushes, I hear a scattering of leaves as I see a skunk trying to hide. The damn skunk attempted to spray us! The smell ends up staying with us the rest of the way. At one point, I look to check on Logan and see she’s lifted her shirt to signal it may have landed on our clothing. All I can do is shake my head and keep on walking. I want to make sure we exit the woods before the sun sets on us. Knowing we aren’t alone out here’s enough for me not to waste any more time.

  In record time, we’re approaching the clearing of the field and head towards the house. I check my watch, noticing it took us almost an hour to get out of the woods. As we start walking, my thoughts turn towards the contents in the box, and I start to wonder if we should call for the locals to come out here. After a few moments of thinking on the subject, I mutely decide it will depend on what we find in the box to determine if we’ll bring more officers in with us on this, or if there’s even going to be a next time that we come back out here. No one’s ever fired shots before today while we were in the woods, and something about it doesn’t sit well with me.

  Without having to say a word, Logan and I both know we’re sitting ducks if someone wants to pick us off from the woods using a high-powered rifle. Trying not to become paranoid, I divert my attention to her, and in a whisper, I start a conversation.

  “Logan, did you hurt yourself coming down the tree?”

  Keeping her swift pace, she answers, “No, I’ll be okay. I’m just glad I was wearing my jeans and boots. Otherwise, my legs would be torn up with scratches. Either way, it was worth me going up in the old tree, since we found the box.”

  “Hopefully, it will contain something of use for our case.” I pause for a moment, then add, “By the way, Logan, nice work up there.”

  “Thanks, but I don’t like the fact that someone’s in the woods with us. I told you when we arrived at lunch, Michael, that I felt like we weren’t alone.”

  “I know. Do me a favor? From now on when you get your intuitions, make sure we follow what they tell you.”

  “If we would’ve stayed out of the woods, we wouldn’t have found the box in the tree.”

  With a little laughter in my voice, I inform her, “The only reason we found the box, Logan, is because you wanted to follow the gunshot.”

  Flatly, she says, “I was listening to my gut, Grasso. It’s usually right about steering me in the right direction. Anyways, I’m sure there’s something in the barn or the house we can use to pop this lock off. It doesn’t seem to be holding up too well from being left out in the weather.”

  “Okay, but for the rest of our time here, make sure to keep your eyes and ears open.”

  We walk the last bit of the way in silence, looking around the area as we approach the barn. It appears to be deserted, the same as all the days before today. If it wasn’t for the sound of shots being fired, I wouldn’t have imagined anyone else was out here.

  Entering the barn, my phone starts to vibrate in my pocket. The movement against my leg startles me for a second. As I pull it out of my pocket, I notice it’s a text message from Det. Wyatt Richard in Houma. I stop walking and take a moment to read it.

  It states, When you have free time give me a call. I will catch you up on the case from our end. We’ve been busy, and I have some good news for you and Logan.

  Lifting my head from the phone, I see Logan is eyeing me. I tell her about the text from Richards, and she says, “Oh, I’ve been wondering how he’s doing.”

  “Apparently not bad, if he says he has good news for us. Now, let’s find something to pop thi
s lock. It shouldn’t be too hard.”

  As I begin to dig around on one side of the barn, I observe Logan heading towards the spot where she once laid on the cold, dusty ground, beaten and waiting to die. I notice the wooden trunk my father kept his toys in. It’s still in the exact same spot. I know it’s been searched for evidence already, so I’m not concerned with anything being disturbed with it. I’m more worried about Logan’s mental state in this moment. I wish there was a way for me to help bring her fully back to her old self before that traumatizing night ever happened.

  Casting my worries aside, I simply say, “Logan, the box is empty. Everything that was in it is being tested at the lab.”

  “I know, Grasso, don’t try to pacify me; I’m fine.”

  Without another word, I get back to looking around for anything to pry open the box. I decide I should check the old stalls, hoping something went unnoticed or cast aside as trash.

  With a little luck, I manage to come across an old, rusted flathead screwdriver. It’s stuck inside the planks of the wall, looking as if someone jammed it in and forgot about it.

  Walking back out into the thruway, I find Logan still standing by the box.

  Figuring it’s best not to ask any questions, I try to play as if I’m not seeing what I’m seeing. “Logan, I found this flathead. Bring me the metal box, and I can try to open it.”

  Snapping out of her daze, she finally leaves from the spot I had left her in and meets me in the middle of the barn. Dreadfully remembering we aren’t alone on the property and seeing how pale her face has become, I instantly change my mind, saying, “You know, Logan? We should take the box and head out of here. We can wait to open it back at the room. I’d feel safer if we just got off the property for today.”

  “Sounds good to me. I hate this place. It makes me feel like I’m visiting hell every time we come out here.”

  I fully understand her sentiment, and her comparison isn’t far from the truth. She did, in fact, experience hell here once. The mental damage, along with the physical, is something no human being should ever have to go through.

  Not saying another word, I simply turn, and we start heading towards the car. If I’m honest with myself, I want to get her out of this area for other reasons besides just someone being in the woods. I’m hoping she’ll be able to think clearer if we aren’t at the crime scene.

  I’ve already had to put my plan to talk to her about our personal business on hold today. The metal box is now the priority. Maybe later I’ll find the time to open the conversation about us.

  As we settle in the car, I take another glance around. It seems peaceful. The land is comparable to the old farms a tourist would come across on a postcard, with the open fields, an old barn, and a little wooden house. Hell, the barb wired fence even plays its part, adding to the rustic view as it runs along the side of the long dirt road.

  Now heading out, I find myself listening to Logan playing with the radio. I know it’s her way to avoid talking or at least starting a conversation with me. Silently, she’ll wait to see what I want to talk about, or even if I want to talk at all.

  As I’m driving down the dirt road, traveling towards the highway, I allow myself to let all the doubts run through my mind. There are so many unanswered questions pertaining to this case and with us, I’m starting to feel like a hamster running around and around on a damn wheel. The case against my brother is open and shut. We’ve managed to fill in most of the blanks pertaining to the murder of our father, his mother, his sister, Bria, and Heather Townsend.

  He claims to have more bodies out there for us to find. If it wasn’t for the families of the victims, I could almost live with putting him away on the five counts of first degree murder. We have enough piled against him that he should never set foot out of prison ever again. In the meantime, I just hope he doesn’t try to take the cowards way out and kill himself.

  Now easing onto the highway, my thoughts decide to abandon my brother and usher in Logan. I’ve wanted her since the first day I saw her; coincidentally, it seems to be the same for my brother. She’s captivating and mysterious, with an edginess I find attractive. Knowing I need to talk to her, I decide to approach the topic and see if she responds.

  I thought I could wait till later, but we’ll be dealing with the contents in the box when we get back to the bed and breakfast, and patience isn’t one of my strong suits.

  Seeing that she’s watching out of the window, I cautiously say, “Logan, you mind if I ask you something?”

  Turning her head to face me, she answers in a tired voice, “Sure, what’s up?”

  “When we arrived at the house this morning, you seemed agitated. Is there a problem between us I need to know about?”

  “Grasso, do you really want to have this talk right now?”

  Trying to remain calm, I say, “Now is as good a time as any. Whatever it is you need to tell me, Logan, I can handle it.”

  “Okay. I’d like to know, what makes you think you have any say in what I do with or in my life?”

  Finding myself a little taken aback and caught off guard by her question, I pause for a moment and it hits me. I get what this is about; it’s my half-brother. Trying not to get frustrated by her dying need to meet with him, knowing now where this conversation is going, I decide to play dumb.

  “What are you talking about, Logan? When have I ever tried to tell you what to do with your life? I’ve only given you my opinion when I felt you needed it, as any friend would do.”

  “Really, Michael? Is that how you see it? Not only did you put your two cents in on me visiting your brother in prison, you went as far as trying to forbid it, like I’m some type of child.”

  Thinking like any man would, the image of this morning flashes through my mind as I sarcastically say, “I know full well you aren’t a child, Logan. You proved that to me once again earlier today.”

  “Don’t play coy with me, Michael. I’m being serious. I want to know when you decided I need someone in my life telling me what to do?”

  “You don’t, Logan. I was under the impression we were getting closer. In my mind, I look at us as if we’re a couple, and couples tend to look out for each other. I can tell by your attitude on the subject now, we’re strictly friends and partners with benefits.”

  The look on her face from what I just said is one of shock. I’m not sure if it’s from my remark about us being a couple or the friends with benefits part. Whichever one makes no difference to me. This is how I feel, and she needs to let me know where I stand at this point.

  “I warned you from the beginning, I take issue with twisting my personal life and work together; this is precisely why. We’ve slept together twice, and you’re already putting the couples label on us. You’re trying to rush things, and it’s not an attractive look for you. I’ve told you before, I don’t do clingy, Grasso, nor needy, and I damn sure don’t want a babysitter. You’re going to have to get a grip, or whatever this is going on between us has to end.”

  In true Logan fashion, she throws down the gauntlet and puts up her wall. I realize it’s her defense mechanism. Instead of talking about it and letting me in, she’d rather push me away and not deal with any of it.

  Now she’s gone back to staring out the window, expecting me not to dwell on the subject any longer. This is fine by me; I wanted to know where I stand, and now I do.

  I continue, driving in silence the rest of the way back to the bed and breakfast. Logan starts fiddling with the radio, and I pay her no mind. I deliberately tune out everything and decide it’s time to make a change in our sleeping arrangements.

  Logan

  The nerve of him, to automatically think we’re a couple. I knew sharing a damn room with him was going to cause problems. I could kick myself for letting it get this far in the first place. I don’t have the time to pacify him or deal with his overbearing tendencies. We have a case to finish, and once we’re done, I won’t have to worry about us being partners every day. Until then
, I’ll have to suck it up and tread lightly. This case is too important, and I won’t allow anything to get in the way of us closing it.

  For the rest of the ride back, I allow every single event that has taken place in the last two months to replay over and over in my mind, telling myself we only have a day or two left, and then we’re going home. Honestly, I can’t wait to be back sleeping in my bed, engulfed in the privacy of my apartment. Maybe I can convince Grasso to let us leave tomorrow. I guess it’ll depend on what’s in the treasure trove we found today.

  Our drive back to the bed breakfast has passed rather quickly as we pull into the rear parking lot behind the plantation, causing me to check the time. The evening is starting to fall on us, and I see it’s after five o’clock. Looking around on the plantation grounds, I notice it’s rather peaceful. All the workers have gone in for the day, and the guests must be inside lounging around or off the premises.

  While Grasso is shutting off the engine to the car, I don’t procrastinate. Making sure I have the box with me, I abruptly exit the vehicle, not even bothering to wait for him. All I care about right now is getting up to our room and seeing what exactly we’ve found.

  Upon entering the lobby, I don’t waste time looking around, making a bee-line for the stairs. For all I know, Miss Messana may have been in the hallway and I could have walked right past her, not paying anyone or anything any mind. Oh well; I’ll just apologize later for my rudeness when I have more time to talk.

  I’m about halfway up the staircase when I hear heavy footsteps coming up from behind me. Without turning around, I instantly know it’s Grasso, and from the titter-tatter of his feet, he’s trying to catch up with me. Sarcastically, I think, now he can see how it feels to be left behind. Hopefully, the same way he made me feel back at the house when we first arrived.

  As I approach the door to our room, I begin to try and find my room key. Having to fumble around in my pockets, I try not to drop the metal box. It’s not that the box is heavy; I just refuse to put it down to free up my hand. Unconsciously, I find myself holding on to it like a prized possession.