Passion In The First Degree

by Carla Cassidy

  It took her nearly an hour to go through all the files the directory held. Finally she shut off the computer and heaved a sigh of frustration. Nothing. There had been nothing in his files to provoke his murder. Disappointment weighed heavily on her shoulders as she left the newspaper building.

  She’d hoped to find something, anything they could use as an alternative to the case Abe would build against Billy. She got back into her car and sat, waiting for the air conditioner to cool the stifling interior.

  The dog days of summer were approaching, when the temperature and humidity would soar. Tempers would flare, passions would rise and the furor over Tyler’s death would escalate. Jonathon LaJune had tried to mete out his own brand of justice. Who else might try to harm Billy in a misguided attempt to balance the scales of fate?

  She thought again of Martin’s words. Tyler had used a laptop. The obvious place for the laptop to be was at his home. She frowned, dreading another meeting with Jonathon LaJune. His grief drained her, his anger daunted her, but she hoped his guilt over shooting her would prompt him to cooperate.

  The LaJune mansion wasn’t far from Shelby’s home. As she pulled up in front, she noted the brown, withering flowers in the pots on the porch, weeds sprouting amid the untended lawn. It was as if Tyler’s death had infected this place, bringing with it an aura of sorrow that surrounded the house.

  Her knock on the door was greeted by a butler, who told her Mr. LaJune was not home but she could speak to Mrs. LaJune. As Shelby waited, she looked around the formal living room, her gaze lingering on a picture of Tyler.

  Tyler and Billy. She’d never known exactly what had brought the two together. Billy was as taciturn as Tyler was gregarious. They had been seniors when Shelby had been a freshman and she could remember them walking together down the halls, the popular golden boy and the ultimate bad boy. In each other they seemed to have found a part of themselves that was missing, and the bond between them had been tangible and enviable.

  She wondered if Billy had even had time to grieve for his best friend. What a tragedy, not only to lose a friend but to be charged for his death, as well.

  Shivering, she remembered another night long ago when Billy had been grieving for the loss of a loved one. Had he sought asylum from his anguish in her arms? Had that been what had prompted that night of explosive passion between them? If so, in whose arms was he assuaging his grief for Tyler? And more important, why did she care?

  “Shelby?”

  She turned at the sound of the soft voice, her heart expanding as she held out a hand to greet Tyler’s mother. “Mrs. LaJune, I’m so sorry.”

  Although Tyler’s mother was impeccably groomed, her features were lifeless, trapped in the expression of heartache. “Thank you, my dear. They finally released him to us. We’re having the funeral tomorrow. You’ll come, won’t you?”

  “Of course.” Shelby followed the older woman’s lead and sat down on the sofa.

  “And it is I who should be apologizing to you for my husband’s actions.” Mrs. LaJune looked down at her hands folded in her lap. “My husband isn’t really a bad man, Shelby.”

  Shelby nodded. “I know that. Are you aware that I’m representing Billy?”

  “I know.” She looked at Shelby and for a moment a flash of life shone from her eyes. “I want the person who killed my son in prison, but I’m not convinced that person is Billy.”

  Finally, Shelby thought. Finally somebody else who believed in the possibility of Billy’s innocence. “Do you have any idea who might have wanted Tyler dead?”

  Mrs. LaJune shook her head and once again looked down at her hands. “My husband sees everything in black and white, with no room for shades of gray. He’s decided Tyler was seeing Fayrene and Billy killed them both. But I know my son, and he would never be interested in a woman like Fayrene.” She sighed, a deep, weary sigh. “I know my son had secrets. Tyler was hiding something before his death.”

  “How do you know?”

  She placed a hand over her heart. “There are things a mother just knows. He was staying away more, sometimes not coming home for a day or two at a time. He told me he was working on an important story and was staying at the newspaper office, but that wasn’t true. Unfortunately, I don’t know what the truth is.”

  “I understand Tyler did most of his work on a laptop computer? Do you have it here?”

  Mrs. LaJune frowned. “No…no, I haven’t seen Tyler’s little computer. It must be still at his desk at the paper.”

  Shelby shook her head. “I just came from there. It wasn’t there.”

  “That’s odd. Perhaps it’s in his car.” She stood and motioned for Shelby to follow her through the house and out the back door to the detached garage. “The police towed the car here the day after…” She let her words trail off, and Shelby felt the pain of the unspoken.

  The laptop was not in the car, nor was it among any of Tyler’s things. Shelby left the LaJune mansion mystified, entertaining the hunch that the laptop could provide the key to Tyler’s murder.

  She drove back to her house, parked her car, then took off walking across the expanse of lawn. She and Billy had made plans to meet to discuss what she’d learned in the course of the afternoon. Somehow she hadn’t been surprised when he’d told her he was staying at Mama Royce’s shanty. Although she knew he had an apartment m town, she understood his need to escape back to a place where he’d been happy and life had been less complicated. Or had life always been complicated for Billy Royce?

  She left the manicured grass of the lawn, the air cooler as she entered the dense swamp. As if it had been only yesterday, she moved instinctively, her feet remembering where to step, when to jump to avoid pools of water or soggy marsh.

  A rustling of the thick brush behind her shot a burst of adrenaline through her. Was somebody following her? Who was it? What? Evil. Evil in the swamp. Visions danced in her head…indistinct visions of a full moon and two figures. Blood in the water and the glint of a knife in the moonlight. A cry of rage…a muffled scream. Evil. Evil.

  Shelby ran, blinded by terror, operating solely on animal instinct. She clattered across the rickety bridge that led to Mama Royce’s shanty, her fear choked in her throat.

  The door to the shanty flew open and Billy caught her in his arms. “Shelby? What’s wrong? Are you all right?”

  She pressed her face against the hollow of his neck, trembling uncontrollably with residual, irrational fear. “I’m…I’m fine,” she said, confused by her fear and not yet ready to release her hold on him. “Something frightened me…rustling in the woods.” She tried to reach back, to capture the mental images that had provoked her fear, but they were gone, crowded out by the sharper reality of Billy’s arms around her.

  The collar of his cotton shirt smelled of the sun, the swamp and the heady scent that belonged to him alone. His arms held her securely, banishing the shivers that had chased up her spine.

  “You sure you’re all right?” His voice was soft, low in her ear. She nodded and reluctantly moved out of his arms.

  “I’m fine. I don’t know what happened. I heard something, probably an animal in the brush. I just suddenly got scared.”

  “Come inside.” He touched her arm and she followed him into the shanty where years before she and Billy had shared an eruption of passion that had changed Shelby’s life forever.

  She was surprised and relieved that the interior of the shanty no longer looked the same. Although it still had plank wood floors, electric lights had taken the place of the kerosene ones Mama Royce had used. A ceiling fan overhead stirred the air, cooling the room with a slight hum of the motor.

  The furniture was different, except the chair in the corner. The sight of Mama Royce’s rocking chair brought an ache to Shelby’s chest. It sat empty, the shawl she’d always worn folded across the back as if awaiting her return.

  Shelby walked over to the chair and ran her hand lovingly across the wool of the knitted shawl. “Do you still miss
her?” she asked.

  Billy nodded. “Not a day goes by that I don’t think of her, hear her voice in my head giving me hell about something or another.”

  Shelby smiled. “I used to envy you, having somebody like her in your life. She was so wonderful, so loving. Thank you for sharing her with me.”

  “She would have been proud of you, Shelby. She would have been proud of the woman you’ve become. She loved you.”

  Shelby nodded, for a moment her throat too full for words. She moved away from the chair, surprised to see a door to a room that hadn’t been there years before. “What’s this?” she asked curiously.

  “Parker’s bedroom. He’s taking a nap.” Billy sat down at the table and motioned her into the chair across from him. “I added it on the year he was born. Fayrene hated this place, but I wanted Parker to know it, think of it as his home away from home.”

  Shelby sat down across from him and relayed to him the events of the afternoon, explaining about the importance of the laptop. “I know it’s a long shot,” she said. “But Tyler’s boss at the paper told me he wanted to write hardhitting stories. What if he was secretly working on something that put his life at risk?”

  Billy frowned thoughtfully. “I suppose it’s possible. Tyler hated writing the society news. He always told me he intended to write a story that would force Martin to take him off the society pages and make him front page material.” Billy sighed and pulled a hand through his hair. “He made the front page, all right, but not in the way he’d hoped.”

  “The problem is the laptop is missing. It’s not at the newspaper offices and it isn’t at Tyler’s home.”

  “I know where it might be,” Billy said.

  “Where?”

  Billy’s gaze moved to the closed door to Parker’s room. “I’ll have to take you there, but it will have to be tomorrow.”

  “Tyler’s funeral is first thing in the morning,” she reminded him.

  “Then I’ll meet you after the funeral and we’ll go from there.”

  A plaintive childish cry from the bedroom interrupted any further conversation. Billy jumped up from the table. “He often has nightmares,” he said, then disappeared into the bedroom.

  Although Shelby knew she was intruding on his privacy, she couldn’t help herself. She got up from the table and moved to the doorway of the bedroom.

  The room was small, but cozy. A twin-size bed was against one wall, a long dresser against the opposite wall. On top of the dresser were shiny rocks and colorful leaves, bird feathers and other treasures of boyhood. But what captured Shelby’s attention was the vision of Billy sitting on the edge of the small bed, the little boy curled in his arms. He spoke softly to the child, his words indistinct to Shelby, but his tone reassuring.

  He stroked Parker’s hair and looked up, his gaze meeting Shelby’s. In his eyes she saw an emotion so intense it stole her breath away. She knew in that instant that Jonathon LaJune had been wrong. Billy wasn’t a man who didn’t know how to love. Billy was a man who loved deeply, passionately and, God help her, for just an instant she envied Parker for possessing Billy’s love.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Ah, good, you’re home.” Big John greeted Shelby as she walked into the living room. “Your mother has gotten it into her head that we’re having a family dinner this evening. We were just about to sit down.”

  Shelby nodded. “Let me run upstairs and clean up a little then I’ll be right down.”

  Once in the bathroom, she washed her face and hands and ran a brush through her hair. As she stared into the mirror, it wasn’t her reflection she saw. The vision of Billy holding his son remained etched in her mind.

  He was a man of many facets, a wealthy man living in a small shanty, a suspected murderer cradling a child in his arms.

  She’d left while he was still in the bedroom with Parker. Whispering to him that she’d see him tomorrow after the funeral, she’d left the shanty. She wished she’d had an opportunity to ask him where he thought Tyler’s computer might be, where he intended to take her to find it. But in that moment of seeing Billy vulnerable, his love for his son shining so intensely from his eyes, she’d felt the need to escape… run before she fell beneath the bewitching allure of him.

  Taking one last look at her reflection, she shoved away thoughts of Billy, focusing instead on the family dinner ahead. She hoped Michael would be in attendance. His presence would certainly make the event more enjoyable.

  When she went back down to the living room, Olivia and her husband, Roger, were seated on the sofa. Roger stood as Shelby entered, his smooth, tanned features curving into a smile as he reached out a hand to greet her. “Shelby, good to have you home where you belong.”

  “Thank you, Roger.” Shelby released his hand and stifled the impulse to wipe her palm down the side of her skirt. Suellen had been right. Yes, Roger was smooth as snake oil, but Shelby knew it was a politician’s smoothness. She wondered if Olivia had consciously set out to marry a younger image of their father or if it had been a subconscious choice.

  “Can I get you a drink before dinner?” Roger asked as he walked over to the bar.

  “Saint Shelby rarely drinks,” Olivia said. “In fact, I don’t think Shelby has any vices at all, unless you consider being the champion to underdogs a vice.”

  Shelby sank onto the sofa next to her sister and gave her a wry grin. “It’s a tough job, but somebody’s got to do it.”

  “Are you sure it’s wise for you to get involved in this mess of Tyler and that woman’s murder?” Roger asked. “The whole town is in an uproar. A messy business, what with your brother campaigning for a seat in Congress. I’ve thrown my hat into the ring for the state legislature and I’d hate for this to turn away votes.”

  “You think my defending Billy Royce will hurt your and John junior’s chances?” She looked at him incredulously. “I hardly think that’s going to happen.”

  “What’s going to happen?” Michael asked as he entered the room.

  “Roger is just speculating that my defending Billy Royce might harm the political aspirations of this family,” Shelby answered.

  “Somebody needs to defend him,” Michael observed as he eased down into one of the chairs. “I understand he was officially charged this morning.” Shelby nodded. Michael sighed and rubbed his forehead. “There are times I think the swamp serpent is performing an act of mercy. At least the victims are put out of the misery of their lives.”

  “Personally, I think the serpent should be given a medal for ridding us all of those people,” Roger replied.

  Shelby gasped, surprised by the ugly sentiments being expressed. “I find the whole subject boring and tedious,” Olivia said before Shelby could speak. “I’d much rather talk about the Whalens’ party this weekend. I heard Madge Whalen is flying in caterers from Europe.”

  “It’s going to take more than caterers from Europe for Madge to catch a husband for that horse-face daughter of hers,” Roger said, causing Olivia to laugh appreciatively.

  At that moment Big John and John junior came into the room and the talk, as usual, turned to politics. Shelby was grateful when Suellen announced that dinner was ready and they all seated themselves at the big table in the dining room.

  With Big John at one end of the table and Celia at the other, it was like dinners from years past. Shelby had forgotten how entertaining her family could be despite all their problems. Big John roared his laughter at Olivia’s acerbic humor. Even Celia seemed to enjoy herself, smiling often like a mother hen proud of her brood.

  As the dinner progressed, Shelby found herself studying her sister and her brother-in-law, wondering what it was that had drawn the two together in marriage. Certainly they didn’t seem overly affectionate with one another, and Shelby had gathered from Michael’s comments on the night she’d arrived that Olivia wasn’t faithful to her husband.

  If Shelby was to guess, the marriage was based on several things. For Roger, marrying into the Longsford fa
mily could only help him in his political aspirations. She looked at her sister thoughtfully, wondering what Olivia might gain from a marriage to the older, ambitious man. It was obvious Big John liked Roger, apparently approved of the marriage.

  Was this another pathetic attempt on Olivia’s part to gain favor with Big John? The thought saddened Shelby, who knew Olivia would never be able to get the love she so desperately needed from her father. Big John was simply incapable of connecting with his daughters in a positive manner, a fact Shelby had accepted long ago.

  Over dessert, the talk once again turned to the murders. “Heard you got Billy Royce out on bail this morning,” her father commented as he finished the last of his apple dumpling.

  Tension welled up inside Shelby. “That’s right. His court date is less than a month away. We’ve got lots of work to do before then.”

  “You better talk to brother Michael here. He’s the resident Longsford in charge of miracles,” Olivia said. “And if you think you’re going to convince a jury Billy is innocent, you’d better be looking for a miracle.”

  Michael touched his collar and smiled at Shelby. “I’m afraid those kinds of miracles are far beyond me.”

  “I’m not looking for a miracle. I simply want justice,” Shelby answered. “Besides, I’m checking into the possibility that the deaths had nothing to do with Fayrene and Billy, but perhaps were the result of a story Tyler might have been working on.” She bit her lip, instantly realizing she’d made a mistake. “Of course, that’s just one possibility. There are certainly many more,” she said, trying to cover herself.

  Big John snorted. “What kind of story would that boy have been working on that would have made somebody kill him?”

  “Maybe he wrote an article about how horrid the food was at the Jeffries gala last month and the caterers retaliated,” Olivia said. “Perhaps the knife that killed Fayrene and Tyler was the same one that sliced up fruit in pretty little designs.”