by Robin Caroll
The Scripture…as if the preacher spoke directly to Jackson’s heart with God’s word. No matter how uncertain things in this life—his attraction to Alyssa, the attack on Bubba, the case itself—one thing was sure: God would never leave him.
The praise and worship this small church had could compete with any Jackson had ever experienced. He’d definitely be back next week. Maybe they had a Wednesday night service, as well.
Situated in the back of the church, Jackson was one of the first to exit and shake Spencer Bertrand’s hand. “Wonderful service.”
The man who couldn’t be much older than Jackson smiled and gripped his hand tighter. “Glad you enjoyed it.”
Jackson intended to rush to his vehicle and get away before Alyssa could catch sight of him. He didn’t need to avoid her, but he wanted to go home and read the Scripture in his own Bible before he went to check on Bubba. Let the words soak into his very soul.
“Good morning, Mr. Devereaux.”
Too late. Alyssa’s sister called out to him.
He turned and planted a smile. “Morning, Ms. LeBlanc.”
CoCo and what had to be her boyfriend descended the stairs, Alyssa following with her head ducked.
“Allow me to introduce you to Luc Trahan.”
Jackson took the man’s hand. “Pleasure to meet you.”
“Likewise.” Luc had a sincerity about him, yet he also seemed to be sizing up Jackson.
Alyssa stood beside her sister. “Good morning.”
Her voice sounded as beautiful to Jackson as the final chorus of “Amazing Grace.” He steeled his thoughts. “Morning, Alyssa.”
CoCo’s attention darted between them while the silence hung in the sharp air. “Mr. Devereaux, our grandmother is coming home from the hospital this afternoon. We’re planning a late celebratory lunch around two. I wonder if you’d like to join us.”
What could he say? Alyssa stared at him with those solemn eyes of hers, and he was sunk. Done for. Over and out.
“That’ll give me plenty of time to go to the hospital and visit Bubba for a while, so sure, I’d love to. Can I bring anything?”
“Not a thing. Just yourself.” CoCo looped her hand through the crook at Luc’s elbow. “We’ll see you at two, then.”
He nodded, but his gaze rested on Alyssa. CoCo and Luc wandered toward the parking lot. Alyssa gave a shrug. “If you don’t want to come, we understand.”
What? And not be in her presence? Was she joking?
“No, I’m looking forward to it.” Alyssa raised her eyebrow, so he backpedaled. He patted his flat stomach. “Been a while since I had a home-cooked meal.”
A flash of something akin to disappointment flared in her eyes. “Then you’re in for a treat. CoCo’s one of the best cooks in the parish.” She marched to her sister’s vehicle.
What was that all about? Jackson moved to his truck, pondering what had caused Alyssa’s shortness. He slammed the door and started the engine.
Now, more than ever, he needed to get into his Bible and listen to God.
TEN
The smoke alarm sounded with an eardrum-splitting shriek.
Smoke puffed out of the oven. Boiling water spilled over the pot, sloshing onto the stove’s electric burner and sizzling.
Tears welled in Alyssa’s eyes as she twisted the knob to turn the burner down on the stove. Why couldn’t she do something as simple as boiling the pasta and keeping an eye on the bread without turning the kitchen into a danger zone?
Tara rushed into the kitchen, grabbed a pot holder, opened the oven door, then yanked the baking stone free to set on the counter. She closed the oven with her hip. “Good gravy, Al, can’t you tell when bread’s burning?”
Sure enough, the garlic-cheese loaves were a crunchy shade of black. Scorched and seared beyond redemption. Just like her ego.
“I told CoCo I couldn’t cook,” Alyssa hollered. The constant shrill beeping ripped against her mind.
Shaking her head, Tara grabbed the trash can and tossed the bread inside. “She didn’t ask you to cook—she just asked you to take the bread out of the oven and keep an eye on the pasta.” She leaned over and peeked into the bubbling pot. “I think the pasta’s okay. Salvageable, anyway.”
“Can I be of any help?” a deep voice asked from the kitchen doorway.
Alyssa dropped the glass lid to the spaghetti sauce jar. The top cracked, shattered shards pirouetting across the floor.
Jackson lifted his hands in front of him. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“Can you get that thing to shut up?” Tara jerked her head toward the hallway.
He disappeared while Alyssa grabbed the broom and dustpan. “You could’ve mentioned our guest was here,” she whispered to her sister as she bent and passed the broom over the floor.
Taking the spoon and stirring the simmering sauce, Tara shrugged. “He knocked on the door. Guess you couldn’t have heard him over the smoke alarm.”
Which, blessedly, went silent at that moment.
Her baby sister pulled two more loaves of bread from the freezer, cut them open and laid them on the baking stone. She set the oven’s timer before putting them under the broiler.
Jackson returned as Alyssa emptied the glass into the trash. “I took the battery out.”
Tara laid the back of her hand against her forehead in an exaggerated gesture. “My hero.” She giggled and straightened, then threw a scathing glare at Alyssa. “I’m going to get Grandmere’s chair ready before they get here. Try not to burn the bread this time.” As she passed Jackson, she added in a stage whisper, “If the timer goes off, save the bread from Emeril there, okay?”
Heat crept up Alyssa’s neck and into her cheeks, and not because of the over-warm temperature in the kitchen. Jackson stared at her with such pity in his eyes. Now her humiliation was complete. Perfect.
“Can I help with anything else?” At least he didn’t smile like an indulgent parent to a pouting toddler.
“Don’t want to leave me alone to burn more bread?”
He locked his gaze on hers, as if trying to gauge her mood. Actually, that should’ve been pretty simple to do—she hovered as near to boiling as the pasta pot.
“Can I put ice in the glasses or something?”
Could he really be that dense? Probably not. Most likely, his charm worked to worm his way out of sticky situations. At least he didn’t dignify her question with an answer. “Sure.”
He moved with the grace of being comfortable in a kitchen. Figured. He fit into any given situation. Like at the Times-Picayune.
Gravel crunched in the driveway, followed by a horn honking.
“They’re here.” Alyssa grabbed the stacks of plates and carried them to the kitchen table. She glanced out the window. Luc and CoCo assisted Grandmere from the Jeep.
Her grandmother looked better, less fragile than in the hospital. Maybe CoCo’d been right and the doctors here knew something about medicine. Still, Alyssa planned to watch Grandmere and call a cardiologist in Shreveport at the first sign of trouble.
“Welcome home, Grandmere,” Tara shouted from the front door.
Alyssa bit back a groan and moved into the doorway. “Give her some room, Tara.”
Her younger sister rolled her eyes and pushed open the screen door. Grandmere had no sooner crossed the threshold than Tara engulfed her in a hug. “Oh, I missed you.”
“I missed you, too, ma chère.” Grandmere released Tara and hobbled farther into the house. “My, but it’s good to be home.” Her gaze danced to Alyssa. “I’m glad you’re still here, ma chère.”
“Of course I’m still here, Grandmere.” She leaned and planted a kiss on her grandmother’s cheek. “I wouldn’t leave until I knew you were okay.”
As the words came out of her mouth, she realized they were one hundred percent true. Despite all she hated about Lagniappe and all she’d suffered over her grandmother’s profession, she loved Grandmere more than anyone else. Sad that it had t
aken this situation to make her realize where her heart belonged.
Grandmere smiled knowingly, as if she understood the reckoning Alyssa had just uncovered. “What you got cooking, girl?”
Naturally, her grandmother would look straight at her. The smell of burnt bread still perfumed the air.
“Spaghetti and bread, if Alyssa didn’t mess it up again,” Tara interjected.
Alyssa wanted to throttle her. Seriously hurt her baby sister.
“And who’s this handsome young man?”
Jackson extended his hand, took Grandmere’s and planted a kiss over her knuckles. “Jackson Devereaux at your service, Mrs. LeBlanc.”
“Oh, my. You’re as handsome as my Marcel, Mr. Devereaux, back in the day.”
“Let’s get to the table, Grandmere,” CoCo said as their grandmother’s eyes shifted into that long-ago-vacant look.
Jackson brought the glasses while Alyssa helped Grandmere into the chair at the head of the table, opposite the window. CoCo and Luc worked side by side in bringing the pasta and sauce, while Tara turned off the timer and pulled the bread from the oven.
Once they were all seated, Luc cleared his throat. “May I bless the food, Mrs. LeBlanc?”
Grandmere hesitated only a second before slightly tilting her head.
Luc’s deep voice offered up thanks for the food, for Grandmere’s recovering health and for the importance of fellowship among loved ones. Alyssa struggled not to recall Luc worshipping strangely this morning alongside CoCo, his hands raised along with his voice.
As they passed bowls and piled plates to heaping, Alyssa noticed Jackson’s continuing stare. Heat rose up her neck all over again. But in a good way.
“How’s the sheriff today, Mr. Devereaux?” CoCo asked.
“The same.”
“I went by and saw him this morning before church.” Luc broke a piece of bread from the loaf. “The nurses said there’s been no change. The doctors don’t seem too optimistic.”
Jackson stared at his plate. “I’m praying for a miracle.”
“We’re all praying for one.” CoCo laid her hand over his.
Alyssa thought she caught a glimpse of tears in Jackson’s eyes.
Why did he have to be so interesting? He could penetrate deep into the dark recesses of her spirit, to the point where she wanted to share all her secrets with him. She gave herself a mental shake. He was her competition. The man who held her job. She’d do well to remember that.
If only her fickle heart would pay attention.
The celebratory luncheon had been a smashing success. At least, that’s how Jackson saw it. Alyssa’s grandmother, a charming lady, kept the conversation lively with amusing tales from her hospital stay. Yet, he’d noticed Alyssa’s intentional, not-so-subtle avoidance of his gaze. What could be going on in that head of hers?
After the meal, Tara escorted Mrs. LeBlanc to her room to rest. That Tara, she certainly was a handful. Full of mischievousness but with an intelligent wit beyond her years, she made Jackson laugh. Now that they’d washed the dishes, and Tara had gone to work, he sat on the front porch with Alyssa, CoCo and Luc.
A gentle breeze rustled the hydrangea bushes lining the front flower beds, lifting the hint of magnolias and swamp water. Smelled like home to Jackson. He glanced over to CoCo and Luc snuggling in the double swing. His heart twisted. A longing for something similar pressed against his chest, suffocating him. He forced himself to look away. Jackson Devereaux wasn’t the type of man to want a happily ever after. No, siree. He wanted to be free as the wind picking up over the bayou. Free to follow any breaking story happening anywhere in the world.
“How’s your little sister, Luc?” Alyssa asked.
“Doing great. Felicia’s beau finally popped the question a few weeks ago.”
“Really?” She faced Jackson. “Felicia has cerebral palsy and is confined to a wheelchair.” She brushed the jagged bangs from her eyes. “Who’s the lucky man?”
“Frank Thibodeaux. He’s somewhat immature, but I think he genuinely loves Fel.” Luc’s expression bespoke of his seriousness in protecting his sister. “A couple of years ago, his uncle got him a job that pays well.”
Jackson nearly swallowed his tongue. Lucky for him, no one seemed to notice his recognition of the name.
“Must be a good man for Felicia to love him.” Alyssa’s voice took on an almost wistful tone.
“I hope so.” Luc laced his fingers with CoCo’s. “Love can make an ordinary man do extraordinary things.”
CoCo’s blush caused Jackson to look away. Discomfort wove around him over witnessing such pure and unselfish love.
“I’d heard he was a suspect in your grandfather’s murder. For a time,” Alyssa said.
Luc nodded, pain etching deep into his face. “As were many of us.”
“I need to make my afternoon run before Grandmere gets up.” CoCo stood and stretched before smiling down at her boyfriend. “Want to go with?”
“Oui, of course.”
Again, their apparent affection made Jackson more than uncomfortable. He’d seen people in love before, why did this bother him so much now?
The couple headed to CoCo’s airboat. Jackson turned to Alyssa. “Have you heard anything from the FBI?”
She snorted. “Of course not. Like they’d tell me anything.”
He didn’t reply, instead, he watched CoCo and Luc in the boat. Luc planted a kiss against CoCo’s temple, and the two seemed to lose themselves in each other’s gaze.
“How long do you think it’ll be before he pops the question?”
“What?”
He nodded toward the couple backing away in the boat. “Luc. How long do you think it’ll be before he proposes to your sister?”
“I—I…hmm. I guess I never really thought about it. They were engaged before and just got back together a couple of months ago. It’ll probably take some time.”
“If the looks they were throwing each other are any indication, I’d bet she’ll be sporting an engagement ring by Christmas.”
She dusted her hands on her slacks. “Have you given any thought to those numbers on the cloth?”
She could jump from one subject to the other so fast, he needed a map to keep up.
“I’ve ruled out dates and times, based on the times Bubba noted he’d found the money.” He pushed to his feet and leaned against the porch railing. “I still think we need to figure out who were the two deputies working the case.”
“Too bad we don’t have any ins on the force.”
An image danced in front of his mind’s eye. Platinum blonde. Early thirties. Gum popping. Very interested looks in his direction.
Missy.
“Well, I might be able to rustle up someone.”
Alyssa tilted her head and stared at him. The sun caught the golden highlights in her crown, creating an aurora. Something in his gut tightened. Sure wasn’t the spicy spaghetti from lunch.
“Who?”
“What?” He’d forgotten what they were talking about.
“Someone, who?” Alyssa put her hands on her hips.
“The dispatcher. Missy.”
“The woman who couldn’t stop staring at you?”
He swallowed the satisfying grin. Could that be jealousy he detected? “Yeah. I think maybe she could be our in.”
Her nostrils flared.
She was jealous. “I figure if I ask her out to lunch or something, she might be more apt to fill me in on some juicy details of the case.” He crossed his ankles and wrapped an arm around the porch post. “Everybody needs to eat and it’d get her out of the office.”
She snorted and chewed on her bottom lip, right above that little mark.
At this close range, the dot looked like a burn mark. Surely not.
“Maybe.” She spoke low, as if talking to herself.
Did he dare to think her truly disappointed?
“I feel useless just sitting around here waiting,” she said.
�
�Why don’t you look on the Internet and see if you can find a program for codes or something. Maybe we can figure out what those numbers mean.”
“I suppose.”
Jackson fought the urge to lean over and graze a kiss on her temple, much like Luc had done to CoCo. He needed to get away from Alyssa—clear his thoughts before he did something stupid, like show his attraction when he wasn’t sure of her spiritual status. Besides, all her signals made it clear she wasn’t interested in him.
The realization left him cold.
ELEVEN
Monday mornings were high on the list of things Alyssa would like to eliminate from the world. This Monday was no different. She’d gotten a run in her stocking when she’d stopped at the only gas station in Lagniappe. Knowing she couldn’t show up at the senator’s house with marred stockings, she’d run into the little grocery store to buy another pair, only to find they didn’t carry her brand. What she wouldn’t do for a Dillard’s.
Changing into the off-brand hose in the small bathroom stall at the convenience store, she’d hopped on one foot and snapped the heel off her black pumps. About to cry over fate’s laughter at her predicament, Alyssa remembered the pair of gray heels in her trunk. Sure, they pinched her toes and threw her off balance, but at least they’d match her suit skirt.
She’d awoke from another nightmare this morning. This time, of the crash itself. Were her dreams regressing? They’d started as soon as she’d returned to Lagniappe, but seemed to be moving backward in time. First waking up in the hospital. Then, being burned and in the car. Now, the crash itself. What could they mean?
Finally presentable enough for her personal satisfaction, Alyssa jerked the Honda in gear and gunned the engine, keeping an eye on the digital dashboard clock. She would not—could not—be late. Alyssa pressed the accelerator harder, peering at street signs. Come on, LaRue Avenue.
Flashing red and blue lights filled her rearview mirror. The piercing wail of a siren followed.
