“And other than Junior, I think I can safely say we have all been giant disappointments.” He raised his glass once again, as if to hide the slightly bitter twist of his lips. He set the snifter down, once again a warm smile lighting his features. “Now, not that I’m one to look a gift horse in the mouth, but what brings you back here?”
“As I live and breathe,” a feminine voice said from behind them. “Baby sister has finally returned.”
Shelby swiveled on the bar stool and smiled at her sister. “Hello, Olivia.”
Olivia Longsford moved across the floor with the sensuous grace of a panther. With her sleek, dark hair shorn in a boyish cut that flattered her features and wearing a black jumpsuit that emphasized her exquisite shape, she glided across the room and sat next to Shelby. “How about a gin and tonic, Father?”
“Sure.” Michael fixed the drink as Olivia studied Shelby.
Shelby had always been ambivalent in her feelings toward Olivia. Three years older than Shelby, Olivia had been a childhood torment while they were growing up. They had never developed any kind of sisterly closeness and Shelby had learned early to be wary of Olivia’s spiteful temper and vicious tongue.
“Well, baby sister, as Michael asked before I so rudely interrupted, what brings you home?” She nodded her thanks as Michael set her drink before her.
“I got a phone call yesterday from Billy Royce,” Shelby explained.
Olivia poked an ice cube with one bloodred fingernail as a dark brow lifted elegantly. “Surely you aren’t going to defend that madman. Everyone in town knows he’s guilty as hell.”
“I don’t.” Shelby flushed beneath her sister’s scrutiny.
Olivia stared at her another long minute, then laughed. “Oh, God, this is rich. You always did have a crush on that swamp rat. And I never did understand why you spent so much time in that shanty with the old woman.”
“Mama Royce was a wonderful, wise person. I…I loved her.”
Olivia smiled knowingly. “I wonder if you’d have loved her as much if she didn’t have a grandson as sinfully attractive as Billy?”
“Billy had nothing to do with my relationship with Mama Royce,” Shelby protested. Olivia merely smiled smugly.
“Ladies, ladies.” Michael held up his hands like a football referee signaling time out. “Shelby, I suggest you think carefully before taking on Billy as a client. From what I hear, it’s a losing case.”
“He’s as guilty as the swamp is bug infested,” Olivia stated flatly. “Everyone knows it.”
“I haven’t made a decision yet,” Shelby observed.
“Big John will pop a gasket if you defend Billy Royce,” Olivia predicted.
“I’m not making any decisions until I talk to the sheriff and the prosecuting attorney. Besides, I quit making my decisions based on what Big John approves or disapproves of a long time ago.”
“Good for you,” Michael declared, covering Shelby’s hand warmly with his.
“And now I think I’ll unload my bags, then head back into town to see what I can find out about this mess.” Shelby slid off the stool.
“What you’re going to find out is that Billy Royce stabbed Fayrene and Tyler in a fit of jealousy. Fayrene and Billy’s fights were legendary. Everyone knows those swamp people are barely civilized.” Olivia stabbed at an ice cube once again. “From what I’ve heard, Billy and Fayrene’s whole marriage was volatile.”
Shelby frowned. “I still can’t believe Billy would kill Tyler. They were best friends.”
Olivia smiled thinly. “Best friends shouldn’t mess around with best friends’ wives.”
“Why don’t you see if Mother will embroider that profound statement on one of her little decorative pillows,” Michael said dryly.
Home, sweet home. Shelby sighed.
TWENTY MINUTES LATER Shelby parked in front of the Black Bayou sheriff’s office, wondering who was now in charge of law and order in the town. When she had left, it had been Raymond Clausin, a fat, lazy man who preferred to do all his police work from the comfort of his desk.
Walking into the station, she was surprised to see one of her old classmates wearing the sheriff badge. “Bob? Bob Macklinburg?”
“Shelby. Shelby Longsford.” Bob stood, walked around the desk and greeted her with an outstretched hand. “Last I heard you were up in Shreveport defending the underdogs of the world.”
“That’s right, and that’s what brings me back here.”
“Billy Royce?” As she nodded, Bob whistled beneath his breath. He motioned her to a chair in front of the desk, then resumed his seat behind it. “The crime was ugly, Shelby. Real ugly.”
“Murder usually is,” she replied dryly.
Bob shook his head. “Not this ugly. I’ve been the sheriff here for the past three years and have studied the files from the last ten years. I’ve never seen such a vicious killing.”
She leaned forward in the chair. “So, tell me what you have. Billy seems to think he’s a suspect.”
Bob frowned and raked a hand through his wheatcolored hair. “He’s our only suspect.”
“What kind of evidence?”
“Circumstantial,” Bob admitted reluctantly. “It was one of the bloodiest crime scenes I’ve ever seen…and one of the cleanest as far as evidence. We found a knife, one that Billy owned, but it wasn’t the murder weapon. Still, it’s only been forty-eight hours. We’re still putting together the case against Billy.”
“Could I get copies of all the reports as soon as possible?”
“Sure. I’ll have Linda send somebody over with what we’ve got first thing in the morning.” He leaned back in the chair, his gaze warm. “Damn, Shelby, it’s so good to see you again. You planning on being in town a while?”
“I’m not sure what my plans are right now.” She smiled at the attractive sheriff.
Bob had finally grown into the slightly protruding ears that had kept him from being a heartthrob in high school. Maturity had thinned his face to a fine-honed elegance. However, his brown eyes hadn’t changed. They radiated a lively intelligence and curiosity. Quietly handsome. Safely attractive.
“I’d better get moving.” She stood and headed for the door. Bob immediately jumped out of his chair and followed her.
“Shelby, why don’t you have dinner with me this evening?” Bob walked with her toward her car. “There’s a new little place on the outskirts of town that’s supposed to have terrific food.”
Shelby hesitated, unsure if dinner with Bob would be wise. After all, he was the sheriff and it was possible that she might be defending his number-one murder suspect.
Still, Shelby was savvy enough to know that it happened all the time—prosecuting attorneys drank with the defense team, judges golfed with both sides. An incest of sorts, where outcomes of cases were often decided at a cocktail party or over the eighth hole.
“Shelby?”
She looked back at the appealing law officer. “I’d love to, Bob.” What the hell, she could be ethical and just enjoy a pleasant dinner without any ulterior motives. Besides, she’d always liked Bob, had fond memories of him, big ears and all.
“Great.” He opened her car door, then closed it once she was settled in. “I’ll pick you up about six.”
She nodded. She started the engine, then waved to Bob as she pulled away from the curb. She made only one stop on the way back home. Running into the offices of the Black Bayou Daily News, she bought papers for the past three days, knowing details of the murders would be splashed on the pages.
Driving back home, she thought about her date that evening. Dating had never been an integral part of her life. Before leaving Black Bayou, even though she’d been eighteen, according to Big John she’d been too young to officially date. Over the years her energy and focus had been on her work, with little time left over for relationships.
Her head exploded with memories of a single night in Mama Royce’s shanty. She’d been too young to date, but that hadn’t stopped Billy
from sweeping her from the innocence of childhood into the passionate world of adulthood.
Leaning over, she flipped the air conditioner fan a notch higher, heat sweeping over her, through her as the memories of that night tumbled unbidden to her mind.
She’d loved Billy with the pureness of innocence. The memory of their explosive physical union had the power to stir her blood, dry her mouth. However, remembering that night also evoked in her an odd feeling of horror, of ugliness, of something in her peripheral vision, something she couldn’t quite see.
She tightened her grip on the steering wheel, wondering again if she should…if she could defend Billy. At this time she wasn’t sure if he was guilty of the murders of Fayrene and Tyler. But he was guilty of another murder. Twelve years before, he’d murdered her ability to love. What she had to figure out was whether she had been drawn back here by the desire to help him or the overwhelming need to pay him back.
Chapter Three
Evening shadows fell dark and long on the ground beneath Billy’s feet. He leaned against a tree trunk, his eyes narrowed as he watched the back of the mansion from his vantage point at the edge of the swamp.
He didn’t wonder what had drawn him here, had never felt the need to analyze what pull the big house had maintained on him over the years.
“You covet it,” Fayrene had often said. “You want all that they have—the money, the house, the respectability. They belong…and no matter how much you try to change, no matter how much money you make, you’ll always just be a swamp rat.”
God, Fayrene had been difficult. She’d been so unhappy, and wanted everyone around her to be equally unhappy. She’d known each and every button of his to push. One thing was certain, he didn’t covet the house, nor did he long for the respectability the Longsford family enjoyed.
In truth, the family fascinated him, had fascinated him ever since the time that Shelby was small and had escaped this beautiful home to spend all her spare time in his grandmother’s shanty.
Shelby. His muscles tightened in response to thoughts of her. Over the years he’d occasionally thought of her, wondered about her and tried to suppress the memory of their single night together. They’d been kids, and in his mind Shelby was all twisted up with his own grief over his grandmother’s death.
But she wasn’t an innocent young girl any longer. Shelby had grown up. Seeing her that morning, despite the gravity of circumstances surrounding the meeting, he’d responded to her on a physical level that had surprised him.
At the sound of tires crunching gravel, Billy instinctively took a step backward, melting into the lush, slightly cooler embrace of the brush. His eyes narrowed once again as he recognized the car that pulled around the back of the house. Bob Macklinburg. What was he doing here?
He watched as the sheriff got out of his car and knocked on the back door. He wasn’t in uniform, so Billy assumed it wasn’t a business call. Besides, had it been business, he would have pulled up front instead of driving around to this informal driveway. The door was opened and Bob disappeared inside. Minutes later he walked out, with Shelby at his side.
In a flame-colored dress, she was a vivid splash of color against the pristine backdrop of the house. Her hair was caught at the nape of her neck with a matching ribbon, much as it had been worn earlier in the day. Billy’s fingers had itched to remove the clasp that had held the dark hair so neatly, wanting her hair wild and abandoned around her face as it was in his memory.
As the couple got in the car and drove back down the driveway, rounding the side of the house and disappearing from view, Billy turned and began the short walk to the shanty.
Maneuvering easily through the forest that had been his real home and family for as long as he could remember, Billy thought of the trouble he was in.
He’d never been a stranger to trouble. Mama Royce had often told him that trouble was like a mosquito, always buzzing around his head and looking for a place to bite. “You must have sweet skin,” she’d say, “’cause trouble always bites you no matter how you try to hide.”
It had been a hell of a bite this time, he thought with a frown, one he couldn’t heal by himself. He couldn’t go to prison, not in this lifetime. And he’d always had an instinctive distrust of lawyers, defense or otherwise. It would be too easy to sell him out, plea-bargain him down the river…one less swamp rat to sully the town of Black Bayou.
He’d do anything to stay out of prison. Whatever it took. He only hoped it wouldn’t become necessary to destroy Shelby Longsford in the process.
“HOW ABOUT SOME DESSERT?” Bob urged as the waitress returned to their table. He grinned as Shelby groaned.
“I couldn’t,” she protested. “But I wouldn’t turn down a cup of coffee.”
“Two coffees,” he told the waitress. As she moved away he pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. “Do you mind?”
Shelby shook her head, then settled back in the chair with a sigh of contentment. The food had been delicious and the conversation pleasant. As they had eaten, Bob had caught her up on many of their classmates’ lives—who had married whom, who’d had children, who had moved away. As he’d talked, Shelby had fought a swift wave of nostalgia, of time lost. She’d left Black Bayou just before the end of her senior year, missing the parties and the actual ceremony of graduation.
At the time she hadn’t cared about graduation or her classmates. She’d wanted to get away, needed to get away from Billy. She couldn’t even remember now whose idea it was for her to go live with her aunt.
She now found herself wondering how different her life would have been, how different she would have been if she’d stayed here.
“You’re suddenly very quiet,” Bob observed.
Shelby smiled. “Just thinking.” She tilted her head and gazed at him curiously. “Why hasn’t some girl snapped you up and given you a dozen babies?”
He smiled, an endearing crooked one that only accentuated his clean-cut good looks. “I guess all the hometown honeys got tired of me obsessing over my career.” Stubbing out his cigarette, he looked at her proudly. “But the obsessing all paid off. I’m the youngest sheriff in the entire state.”
“Quite an accomplishment.”
He nodded, then released a deep sigh. “Little did I know that when I gained the public trust, I’d also gain a file full of unsolved swamp murders and now the latest, a grisly double homicide.”
“Unsolved swamp murders?”
“The swamp serpent.”
Shelby frowned. “What’s the swamp serpent?”
The waitress reappeared with their coffee. When she’d left, Shelby looked at Bob expectantly. He stirred creamer into his coffee, then sighed once again. “The swamp serpent is the popular name for Black Bayou’s very own serial killer.”
“Serial murderer?”
Bob nodded. “The murders began years ago, about the same time you moved away from Black Bayou. All the victims have been from the swamp, and that’s where the murders occur and the bodies are found.” He shook out another cigarette and lit it. “The first victim was a middle aged man. He’d been stabbed twice and left to bleed to death. Altogether there’s been fifteen victims, all of them stabbed the same way as the first.”
“My God,” Shelby gasped. “I’m surprised the men of this town aren’t out with their shotguns to catch whoever is responsible.”
“Ah, but there’s the rub. These aren’t…weren’t town people.” Bob blew a stream of smoke to the ceiling, then looked at Shelby once again. “They were swamp folks, and my predecessor didn’t exactly bust his butt to investigate the crimes.”
Shelby frowned thoughtfully. “I guess some things never change.” She could remember Mama Royce telling her there were two kinds of law—town justice and swamp injustice.
Bob leaned across the table. “I intend to make some changes,” he said earnestly. “I want these crimes stopped, the perpetrator caught. I’m in the process of reopening the investigation, but so far it’s like spi
tting in the wind.” He sighed in frustration.
“Any clues? Leads?”
Bob shook his head. “Nothing. No clues, no discernible pattern that I can detect. And the frustrating thing is that I can’t get any of the people in the bog to cooperate with me. Hell, I don’t even know how many families live in that swamp. I sure as hell can’t get anyone to talk to me about the murders.”
“When was the last one?”
“A little over a year ago. A couple of months before I became sheriff.” He raked a hand through his closecropped hair, then put out his cigarette. “I’ve tried to do some follow-up, but it’s a near impossible task. Anyway, I’m going to have to put it on the back burner for now. I’ve got a more pressing matter to attend to.”
“Fayrene’s and Tyler’s murders.”
Bob nodded. He sipped his coffee, then looked at her curiously. “You going to defend Billy?”
With two fingers she rubbed her forehead thoughtfully. “Yes. Yes, I think I am.”
“You’ve got one hell of a battle ahead of you.”
Shelby flashed him a smile. “I always did like challenges.” She stared at Bob for a long moment. “Do you think he did it?”
Bob shrugged. “I truly don’t know what to think. Nobody was surprised when Billy and Fayrene separated a couple months ago. Their fights kept the gossipmongers happy for years.”
“So it was a violent marriage?” Shelby asked, feeling like a kind of voyeur, yet needing to understand the dynamics at work. She couldn’t imagine Billy abusing any woman. Mama Royce would spin in her grave at the very idea.
“Depends on who you talk to. When Fayrene and Billy moved into the apartment here in town, she was always calling us, telling us Billy was being mean to her. I went out to the apartment several times to talk to Billy. He always insisted he never hit her, only restrained her from hitting him. Truth told, I never saw a mark on Fayrene.” Bob laughed. “To be perfectly honest, I think we all knew Fayrene was crying wolf to get attention.”
Passion In The First Degree Page 3
