The Accused

by Jana DeLeon

  “Ketchup or Tabasco?” Connie asked.

  “No, thank you,” Alaina said as Carter shook his head.

  “If you don’t mind,” he said, “I’m going to eat my breakfast with the fishermen. I need to talk to them about some vandalism at the shrimp house.”

  He slid his plate off the counter and headed across the café before she could even formulate a response. Which was probably just as well because she was having trouble coming up with anything that didn’t imply he was a coward for avoiding her question. It seemed the good sheriff liked information only when he was receiving it, not giving it.

  “I’m sorry for the interruption,” Connie said, “but things looked a little intense.”

  Alaina watched as Carter greeted the men at a table near the front of the café, then turned back to face Connie. “I should be the one apologizing. The last thing you need to deal with at work is two adults who can’t keep their tempers in check.”

  Connie glanced over at Carter, then looked back at Alaina. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him that flustered before. His blood pressure is usually so low that I sometime want to hold a mirror in front of his mouth to see if he’s still breathing.”

  “It seems to be a talent of mine,” Alaina said, recalling her conversation with Everett that precipitated her resignation. “I have the unique ability to find the exact words to tick men off.”

  “Hmm, you know, if it makes them mad, it’s only because you’ve struck a nerve.”

  “Perhaps, but Sheriff Trahan’s nerves are none of my concern, much less striking them.”

  Connie gave her a mischievous grin. “I don’t know. You could do a lot worse than setting off some nerve endings in that man. He looks very...capable.”

  “No, thank you.”

  “What? You don’t like capable men?”

  “Capable but inflexible men have been my downfall recently—professionally and personally. I’m on hiatus until I do a better job with discernment.”

  Connie sighed and nodded. “I completely understand.”

  She told herself not to do it, but Alaina couldn’t seem to stop herself from glancing back once more. At that exact moment, Carter turned his head and their eyes locked. She held his gaze, refusing to be the first to look away, then he winked. She jerked her head back around and stabbed her eggs with her fork.

  Darn it. She’d been the first to flinch.

  Chapter Nine

  Alaina watched as a nice teen boy loaded the third and last box of supplies into her SUV. She tried to hand him some money after he closed the car door, but he shook his head.

  “We can’t take tips, Ms. LeBeau, but I appreciate the thought. Is there anything else I can help you with?”

  “Not today, Sam. But I reserve the right to have you load more of those cheesecakes if I really like the one I bought today.”

  The dark-haired teen gave her a shy smile. “It would be my pleasure. You have a nice day now.”

  “You, too.” She jumped into her SUV and backed out of the parking space in front of the general store. When she reached the end of town and turned onto the first of the three roads that would carry her away from civilization and back into the depths of the swamp, her cell phone rang.

  She pulled it out of the side pocket of her purse and frowned at the display when she saw the number for the law firm. It was highly unlikely they were calling to beg her to return to her position and impossible that they would offer her the partnership, so she started to toss the phone onto the passenger’s seat without answering. More likely, they wanted her to answer a question about one of the cases she’d been assisting on so they could avoid doing any actual research themselves.

  Finally, curiosity won out and she answered the call.

  “Alaina.” Everett’s voice sounded agitated and somewhat surprised. “I wasn’t sure I’d be able to reach you given the remote location.”

  “Service seems to come and go, so you may want to get anything important out as soon as possible.” And if she didn’t deem it important, she’d just end the call and pretend it was bad service.

  “There’s been a situation here, and the police felt I should alert you.”

  “The police... What kind of situation?” All of her current cases had been boring business lawsuits. Nothing dangerous about them.

  “There was some vandalism.”

  “At the firm?”

  “No, to my car.”

  Alaina held in a sigh. “So why do the police think I need to know about that?”

  “Because of the note left on the windshield. It said ‘All of you will pay.’ There were no fingerprints.”

  Alaina clenched the steering wheel as she drew up to the stop sign. “You think it has something to do with the Warren case?”

  “It’s possible. The police think that for someone to make that kind of threat, the situation had to be serious. I can’t think of anything else the firm has handled lately that would have warranted that sort of attack.”

  Mentally, she ran through the cases the firm had handled the past twelve months, trying to come up with another alternative, but she couldn’t think of a single option where emotions had run beyond irritated. Certainly no one had left court angry enough to issue threats.

  “The police are investigating?” she asked.

  “Yes, but short of checking alibis for the most logical perpetrators, there’s not much else they can do with the limited amount of evidence available.”

  “Then what do they recommend I do?”

  “They seem to think remaining in your current situation is the most logical choice. Very few people know where you are, and we’ve already alerted everyone at the firm as to the importance of keeping your whereabouts a secret.”

  “Okay. As soon as you get more information—”

  “I’ll contact you as soon as I know more.”

  “The cell service is questionable at best when I’m at the house, and nonexistent in storms, which I’ve been informed are quite common here. If you can’t reach me, will you please contact the sheriff, Carter Trahan?”

  “Making friends with law enforcement already?”

  “As part of the rules of the estate, Carter will check in with me daily. And if trouble is coming my way, he’d need to know anyway.”

  “Fine, then. I’ll be in touch as soon as I know more.”

  A horn sounded behind Alaina and she jumped. Then she realized she’d been sitting still at the stop sign during the entire call. She tossed her cell phone on the passenger’s seat and waved an apology before turning right to head toward the house.

  The road narrowed almost immediately and the trees seemed to crowd the thin path into the swamp. She took a deep breath and blew it out, trying to process this latest turn of events. The last thing she needed was something else to worry about—something else that would have her looking over her shoulder all the time.

  Why now?

  The trial was over a year ago and the...other...happened right after. If the people who blamed her for the situation were going to come after her and Everett, wouldn’t they have done it right after the murder?

  She forced the last word into her mind. It was time to call it like it was and stop shading it with gray. That case was one of the things she’d promised herself she would deal with during this break. Facing it head-on was long overdue and was a requirement if she planned to have any future at all in criminal law.

  Murder.

  Saying the word—even silently—made her stomach roll.

  If one silently repeated word made her feel so sick, how must the parents feel? How much did they hate her? How much did they blame her for what happened? The girl’s mother had turned up at the law office a week after, accosting Alaina as she walked from the high-rise parking and into the building. She’d called her names and spit on her.

  Alaina had reported the incident to Everett and the police, but she’d refused to file charges. It was hard to blame the woman for her anger, especially wh
en part of her agreed with the things the woman had said.

  As she pulled through the overgrown driveway of the house, she took it in again with a critical eye. It was a wreck, which certainly didn’t help to create feelings of comfort and ease, and the remote location, spectacular storms and questionable security all piled on to create mild paranoia. It would be easy to go over the edge of paranoia and into panic.

  That was what had happened to her last night, but she was determined that it wouldn’t happen again.

  She parked directly in front of the front doors and unlocked them before lugging the refrigerated groceries, stepladder and wallpaper-removal supplies inside. First up was a cleaning spree. It would take months to get it all clean and far longer to make all the necessary repairs, but if her sisters were located and agreed to the terms of the will, then this property would become theirs. The work needed to be done and she needed the distraction. Not to mention, the house might not appear so spooky if it wasn’t so dismal.

  The cold items went directly to the refrigerator—one of the rare clean places in the house—but she left the rest of the supplies in the entry along with the cleaning supplies she’d unloaded the night before. The kitchen was first on her cleaning list and the fewer things in the way, the easier the task would be.

  Once the refrigerated items were stored away, she lugged the heavy box of cleaning supplies into the kitchen and then hurried upstairs to change. The bedroom was a mess from her dramatic night and departure. Papers from the case file had slid off the bed and scattered across the floor. Her yoga pants and sleeping shirt hung from the bedpost, and the paper plate and cup from her dinner were still perched on the nightstand.

  She took the time to pick up the papers from the floor and lay them on the unmade bed, but anything else would wait. The kitchen was her first priority. She wanted at least one place in the house where she could sit and not feel as dreary as the room. The bedroom wasn’t a good choice. If another room had been as secure, she would never have chosen her childhood room. Likely, memories trickling in were a big part of the reason she felt so much uneasiness.

  She shrugged off her jeans and polo shirt and pulled on the old sweats and T-shirt she kept for dirty projects. The humidity already had her hair clinging to the back of her neck, so she unzipped a pocket on her purse and dug for one of the hair bands she usually kept in the pocket with her flash drive. Feeling around, her fingers brushed against the bands, but the case for the flash drive wasn’t there.

  She placed her purse on the bed and opened it up wide to peer inside. She scooped everything out of the pocket but the flash drive was nowhere in sight. Panicked, she turned the purse upside down and dumped all the contents onto the bed. Her entire life was stored on that flash drive—account numbers, passwords, contacts—it was her portable backup and she never went anywhere without it.

  She pushed the pile of objects around on the blanket to spread it out, scanning for the flash drive. When she brushed her wallet out of the way, a pink rubber case gleamed, and she let out a breath she’d been holding. She pulled the tab off the case and peered inside. The flash drive was tucked inside as always.

  Shaking her head, she scooped up everything and dumped it back into her purse but continued to hold the flash drive, trying to remember everything from the day before. Prior to leaving Baton Rouge, she’d backed up her laptop onto the flash drive, then put it back in her purse. She was certain she’d zipped it into the pocket as usual. It was as ingrained in her movement as breathing.

  Had she removed the drive after arriving at the house?

  No, that couldn’t be the case. Her laptop was still zipped in its case, closed in her shoulder bag and sitting on top of the dresser. She’d had no reason to remove the flash drive and certainly not to relocate it in her purse.

  The anxiety she’d worked so hard at putting to rest hit her again with full force. Had the person who’d vandalized Everett’s car found her? Instead of a blatant display, were they choosing instead to keep her on edge until—what? The “what?” part bothered her a lot.

  Still clutching the flash drive, she flopped onto the bed. She should pack her bags, leave this house and forget she’d ever heard of William Duhon and Calais, Louisiana. All of this was way more than she’d bargained for. When she’d agreed to come to Calais, her worst fear was of being bored. Now her fears were much more vivid and a much bigger threat to her physically.

  She stared out the bedroom door and down the hallway, and the dust began to fade away.

  A gold runner with embroidered roses ran down the hallway, the perfect complement to the oak-paneled walls. A decorator table with beautiful ornate legs held a crystal vase that was shaped like a tulip on top. The rustle of a skirt tickled her ears and she saw her mother step into the hallway from the landing, her long, pale pink skirt swishing around her slender legs as she walked.

  Her mother looked into their bedroom and smiled at them, her pleasure in her children clearly shown in her expression.

  And then the vision was gone.

  A single tear slid out of Alaina’s eye and down her face. How could she have forgotten how beautiful her mother was? Granted, she didn’t have even so much as a locket photo of her, but why couldn’t she remember her so vividly before now?

  She swiped the tear from her cheek and sighed. Everyone who’d known her mother said Alaina looked like her, but they were just being nice. Her mother had the kind of looks men fought wars over. Certainly men responded to Alaina’s looks, but none had even had so much as a scuffle, much less a war.

  You’ve forgotten me.

  Her mother seemed to speak to her, and she felt a rush of guilt pass over her and began to cry.

  “No,” she said, looking down the dirty hallway, “I haven’t forgotten. I pushed you back—far back in my mind so that the hurt would go away—but I never forgot you. I never stopped loving you.”

  Wiping the tears from her face with her hand, she rose from the bed, certain of what she had to do. Her mother had loved this home and cherished her family. No way was someone going to scare Alaina away from the only thing she had left of the childhood she’d loved.

  She zipped the flash drive back in its purse pocket and headed downstairs. A lot of work lay before her if she wanted to restore this house to how it used to be. And even though the logical part of her didn’t believe in spirits and haunts, she could feel her mother’s smile upon her.

  * * *

  CARTER TIMED HIS ROUNDS so that he was back on Main Street when Jack got off from work at the café. The widow he’d taken up with had two little girls and the last thing Carter wanted to do was confront Jack in front of any of them. Certainly, the widow knew he was drinking, but there was no point in dragging innocent children into adult business. Not if it could be helped.

  He parked at the end of Main Street, then walked around behind the buildings to catch Jack in the alley. His timing was perfect because just as he walked up to the back of the café, the door swung open and Jack walked out.

  The cook drew up short when he saw Carter standing there, then frowned. “Something wrong back here?” he asked.

  “I was hoping you could tell me that,” Carter said.

  “Everything’s right as rain with me,” Jack said, but the scowl on his face and the fact that he wouldn’t meet Carter’s eyes said otherwise.

  “Then why are you drinking again?”

  Jack raised his head and glared at Carter. “Ain’t no business of yours what a man does in his free time.”

  “It is if that man’s driving drunk. If I’d have tested you this morning when you arrived at the café, I bet I would have had to haul you in.”

  “I wasn’t drunk and you can’t prove it.”

  Carter sighed. “What the hell are you doing, Jack? I thought you wanted to turn your life around for that woman and her girls. Drunk is no example to set for kids. You, of all people, ought to know that.”

  “My dad ain’t got nothing to do with this either.
”

  “Doesn’t he? Remember how your dad looked to you? Do you really want to look that way to those girls?”

  A flush crept up Jack’s neck. “Who are you to talk with your perfect parents and perfect life? I’ve had to scrape for everything my whole life. All my problems shoulda been solved when that bastard Purcell died, but he lied, and you’re helping that woman get what should have been mine.”

  Carter sighed. “Purcell promised that you’d inherit, didn’t he?”

  “Damn right he did. Told me that my family would be set for life. Paid me peanuts all those years, running up and down these roads like a courier, then he died and I got nothing. That broad gets everything and she never once took care of the old man.”

  “That woman was cast away from here by Purcell when her mother died—separated from her sisters and sent to live with strangers. At seven years old, she hardly had a choice, and I’m of the opinion that those girls got screwed worse than you. Bottom line is that Purcell lied to you. He knew that the estate would go to Ophelia’s children when he died.”

  “You think I don’t know that now? But what good does it do me? Ophelia’s daughters will get everything and my daughter will still be sick in her bed because I can’t afford the specialist in New Orleans she needs to see.”

  Carter frowned. He’d heard that one of the children had respiratory problems, but he hadn’t known how serious it was. Apparently, Jack had been counting on money from Purcell’s estate to pay for the treatment. No wonder he was livid.

  “I’m sorry, Jack. What Purcell did to you was wrong, but Ophelia’s children aren’t to blame for that. Only Purcell is.”

  “Whatever.”

  “And drinking isn’t going to solve any of your problems. That girl and her mother need you to be strong, now more than ever.”

  Jack glared. “I’m plenty strong. You’ll see.”