Bayou Blue

by Raquel Byrnes

  “That’s a lot of responsibility.”

  “So the year his brother got elected Sheriff was the year Jake graduated high school. He was supposed to go to the community college in Thibodaux and be a deputy for La Foudre like every other man in family always did, but that’s not what he wanted. Jake isn’t the kind of guy to stick with a plan someone else decided for his life. He took a scholarship to Kansas, but when his mamma died, he came back to La Foudre. I could tell he was restless.”

  “I still don’t understand how this ended in a fight over Citrine.”

  “Everyone assumed that he and Citrine would marry, but then he enlisted in the Navy and took off for basic training.” Verona looked down at her hands. “She told people he asked her to wait for him. That he needed to get his life in order, first. Make a home for them. But Citrine didn’t want a life somewhere else. And then there was Jason. The boy was livid that his brother took off and refused to follow the plan that had been good enough for every other Ayers. I suspected something went on between Jake’s brother and Citrine. Maybe a bit of mutual comforting over Jake, but I don’t know. They kept it quiet if there was something.”

  “That would be almost impossible in a parish this size.”

  “Difficult, but not impossible.” Verona waved her index finger. “When Jake came back here on leave, everything seemed to go back to normal. I saw Citrine and Jake together at dinner, out at the fair. For the first two weeks, it looked like Jake and Citrine aimed to follow through on their engagement, at least until the night his brother died.”

  “If Jake and Citrine were together, then why the fight over her? Did she and Jason have a relationship or not?”

  “All I know is nine months after his brother died, little Michelle was born and Jake was nowhere to be seen. He went back to finish out the two years he owed the Navy, and Jake’s daddy came out of retirement to be sheriff in Jason’s place. When Jake came back, he got the sheriff’s job after the parish council called a special election.”

  “What about Michelle? Is she Jake’s or Jason’s?”

  “Well, that is the big question, isn’t it?” Verona shrugged. “I have my suspicions, but Jake absolutely refuses to discuss it, as does she.”

  “What kind of weird town is this?” I couldn’t believe my ears. “No one knows?”

  “Well, many don’t like to air dirty laundry.” Verona laughed. “And Jake’s aunt, who owned the Lightning Bug, left it to the boys when she died. After Jason died and Jake took off, their daddy set Citrine up in there. It’s her home and her income.”

  “Wait, the Lightning Bug belongs to Jake’s family?”

  “To Jake, actually. With his brother and father both gone, that leaves it in Jake’s hands.”

  “But he asked Citrine if I could stay there.”

  “That’s Jake, Red.” Verona smiled sadly. “A southern gentleman to a fault.”

  A jolt of surprise shot through me and I frowned at my shadow in the lukewarm coffee.

  This morning’s scene with Jake and Citrine in the kitchen played out so differently now that I knew his history with her. If Jake owned the Lightning Bug, did that make it more likely that Michelle is his daughter? Wouldn’t he make sure she and Citrine had a comfortable living, a safe living? I thought about how he pulled away from me in the garden, how he seemed embarrassed when Michelle interrupted our conversation, and groaned inwardly, confused.

  He didn’t seem the type to treat a woman’s heart so carelessly—mine or Citrine’s. So what was he doing?

  Verona’s voice broke through my dark thoughts. “So you tell me, are Citrine and Jake back together? Because I get the feeling you would know.”

  I glanced up at her curious eyes and felt a flood of confusion and frustration well in my chest. “He kissed me, more than once, but I don’t know. He’s never said anything to me about…well, anything.”

  “Jake doesn’t let people close, Red. He wouldn’t take kissing you for granted. He’s…well you and he have that prayin’ thing in common. Jake’s a gentleman, through and through. If he’s showing you that you mean something to him, it’s not done lightly.”

  I wanted to believe her, I really did. I wanted to believe that what I was starting to feel for Jake had a basis in something solid, but his last words cut through me and my lip trembled.

  I don’t know you enough to trust you, Riley.

  “OK, Verona,” I sighed. “I better go.”

  She caught my hand and when I looked at her reassuring smile I nearly cried. The trouble was, Jake’s sentiment went both ways. I didn’t know him well enough to judge his motives. Considering that the bulk of what I knew about him came from other people and not his own mouth, I guessed I really didn’t know him that well at all.

  ****

  We’d sat and talked for hours, not something I did often, and it was late. I wasn’t sure if it helped. I wanted to walk back to the Lightning Bug on my own, but the drizzle and dark convinced me to let Verona drive.

  I listened to the wipers squeak back and forth, dreading seeing Jake again. I felt so confused. I was drawn to him and certain I needed to keep my distance at the same time. I reminded myself that I had a job to do, a duty to Randy to find the truth.

  She drove me to the library where I gathered my purse from the archive room and shut the front door.

  The Chicken Guy was gone. He must have packed up his chicken and his shopping cart and fled after I attacked him.

  I felt bad, now realizing he meant no harm.

  Verona dropped me off at the Lightning Bug.

  I stood on the doorstep and watched a moth flail and dart around the porch light. Well past eleven, I had a dilemma. In order to get in, I had to ring the bell. If I did that, then I would face at least one of the people I didn’t have the energy to face.

  Stepping back, I scanned the front. No lights on. I descended the steps, walked around the back, and eyed the lattice supporting the morning glory vine that crawled up the wall below my window.

  Sighing, I pulled my purse strap over my head so it hung messenger-style across my body. I grabbed hold of the lattice, dug my foot into one of the spaces, and hefted myself up. I hung there to see if it held my weight. Satisfied, I climbed a bit more. The drizzle made everything slick and I fought to keep my grasp.

  Last year, I got an exclusive interview with a rescued rock-climber who had survived two weeks in the wilderness. He was refusing to speak with the press, so I sneaked into his room dressed as an orderly.

  He decided anyone determined enough to do that deserved to hear his story. He also gave me some great advice. He told me that the key to climbing was to keep at least three points on the rock surface at all times. A hand and two feet, a foot and both hands, like that. As I scaled the vine and board façade, I hoped whoever attached it did so with sturdy hardware.

  Almost to the top, I heard something and froze. I tried to see up into the balconies overhead, but the moon slipped behind the clouds and left only the light behind the French doors to find my way. I listened for almost a minute. The soft tinkle of chimes was the only sound.

  I started up again, mis-stepped, almost fell, and let out a little yelp. Resting my head against the soft leaves of the morning glory, I caught my breath and climbed some more. It amazed me the lengths I went to avoid an awkward scene.

  My mother’s voice shrilled in my head. “How undignified, Riley,” she’d say. She loved that word, undignified.

  I giggled at the absurdity of my position, almost lost my grip, and then snickered some more.

  “It’s official, ladies and gentlemen,” I whispered. “Riley has crossed the line into absurd.”

  Almost to the top of the lattice that ran up between the two balconies, I unhooked my purse and tossed it over the railing. I reached to pull myself over and realized I couldn’t. Looking below me, to the ground shrouded in shadows, I groaned.

  There was no way I was climbing back down. I tried to scoot over, straining as I reached for the
railing again.

  “Need a hand?” Jake’s voice startled me.

  I gasped, letting go of the lattice.

  His hand shot out, grabbing the back of my shirt

  I flailed at the vines and flowers, letting out a startled scream. “Are you trying to kill me?” I gripped the lattice with shaking hands and panted down the panic squeezing my chest.

  Jake’s low chuckle sent a sizzle of embarrassment up my spine.

  “What are you doing, Riley?” He held onto my shirt, and I looked at his form in the weak light coming from behind his curtains, trying to make out his features.

  I felt like a stranded cat. A sad, silly, cat. My face burned hot, and I said a silent thank you to God for the dim light. I took a slow breath. I couldn’t just stay there silently clinging to the side of the house.

  “I’m trying to get to my room.”

  “I think your arms are too short.” He sounded amused.

  That racked my irritation up a few more notches. Not with Jake, but with myself.

  “Give me your hand, I’ll pull you up.”

  “No.”

  “Are you going to tell me why?”

  Because I feel stupid.

  “I’m going to my room, not yours, that’s all.” I tried to pull away, but he held me firm.

  “You’ll fall.” I felt his other hand, warm and strong, wrap around my upper arm.

  “I can make it, Jake.” I chanced a look down at the dark ground and heard the tremor in my own voice. “Just let go.”

  “Sil vous plâit, Riley,” Jake murmured. “I don’t want you to fall.”

  I held on for a few seconds more, decided that it might be more embarrassing to topple to my death, and gave in. I put my hand on his.

  He let out an audible sigh of relief, pulled me up and over the railing, and deposited me on the floor of his balcony like I didn’t weigh any more than a sack of rice.

  “Thanks,” I muttered. His handsome features lit by the glow of an inside lamp made my heart flutter.

  I avoided his eyes by brushing the dirt and dead leaves from my pants. Sighing dramatically, I mustered a smile. “I’ll leave you to it, then.” I cringed inwardly. What was I, a butler? “I mean, goodnight,” I corrected.

  Jake leaned forward, his arm going around me.

  I put my hands up, ready to push him away. “Jake,” I squeaked. “I don’t think we should—”

  “I’m just getting the door.” His grin made my face flare with heat.

  “I knew that.” I shrugged, trying for nonchalance.

  He pushed the French door and held it for me to enter.

  I caught sight of my matted hair and the leaves sticking out of it.

  Oh, yeah, this was way better than ringing the doorbell, Riley.

  “Now, will you tell me where you were?” Jake asked. “Because I came back from Dauby’s and you were gone. I spent all day driving around looking for you.”

  I flashed on Citrine’s cooing words and back-rubbing after the attack and highly doubted Jake spent very much time thinking about me at all.

  He plucked something from my hair, his dark eyes holding mine.

  So near to him, I had trouble thinking. Why did he make me react this way? Frustrated, I railed against my own weakness. I would not let his gorgeous face derail my plan to avoid him.

  “No.” I smoothed tangled tresses. “I don’t think I will.”

  “You don’t think you’ll tell me where you were?” Jake cocked an eyebrow. “There’s a lunatic cracking people’s skulls at crime scenes, Riley. Did you remember that when you went sight-seeing by yourself in the bayou?”

  “I remembered. I’m still not telling you.”

  I pushed past him, but he blocked my path with his arm across the door. He stepped close, his face inches from mine, a bemused expression on his features. “You’re not going to tell me where you were?”

  I felt drawn towards him, but I stepped back and crossed my arms. I knew I was being petulant, probably looked ridiculous, but the sting of his words from this afternoon came to mind and I stood my ground.

  “No, Jake. You don’t need to know everything.” My voice did not sound like an independent woman’s. It sounded sad.

  Jake was dumbfounded. “Why?”

  Throat closing with an ache so full I could hardly breathe, I thought about Citrine and Michelle, and anger pushed aside my hurt and want. I didn’t like being in the dark about him and his motives. I didn’t like being toyed with.

  I fought against the need to pull him close, to feel his breath at my ear drowning out the fear and pain. I needed to push him far away. So far, it wouldn’t matter whether he trusted me, or wanted me, or not.

  “You wouldn’t believe me anyway, remember? I might be lying about it.”

  Jake blinked. “What?”

  “You can’t trust my motives. That’s what you said earlier, right? So why bother telling you?”

  He lowered his chin, eyes closed, and drew in a breath.

  I saw regret in his deep eyes.

  “That was—”

  “I don’t need you to spell it out for me, Jake.” I pulled on his arm, trying to move him out of my way, but he wouldn’t budge.

  “Look, that’s why I went looking for you in the first place…to talk to you…”

  Humiliation and longing bubbled in my chest and I felt the sting of tears at the corners of my eyes. I hated that I felt so rattled around him. I hated being out of control.

  “Are you going to move?” I said finally, and stared at him. “I want to leave.”

  He lifted his arm and I yanked the doorknob, swinging the door open.

  “Riley, please don’t leave things like this. Don’t go away mad.”

  “Mad?” I whirled on him, my hands on my hips as I hissed. “I’m grateful for the heads up. I won’t delude myself into thinking that you want to help, or that you care. You’ve made it perfectly clear that I am both an outsider, and untrustworthy. That I will always be suspect in your eyes. I got it.”

  Jake put his hands on my shoulders. “Riley…”

  I shrugged out of his grasp, voice raised and shaking. “Why do you always think the worst of me? Why do you assume I’m handling what Randy did like rest of my family? Haven’t I proven that I’m after the truth? Haven’t I lost enough without losing your trust, also? You think so little of me that a few scribbled notes on a fax completely trashed my credibility?” My voice cracked, and my anger flared, making me feel weak, for not living up to who I was. I shouldn’t care if he trusted me.

  “Riley, if you’ll just settle down,” Jake’s voice, soft and unfazed by my tirade, only made matters worse.

  I wiped a hot tear from my cheek. “I’m done talking to you, Sheriff.” I turned to leave, but Jake reached out again, brushing my hand.

  “Wait…”

  I pulled my hand away, my other hand coming up to push his chest. “Don’t.”

  He looked like he meant to say something, his gaze etched with sadness.

  A door down the hall opened and an older, black gentleman with sheet music in his hand stepped out. He cleared his throat as he stared at us. “There a problem here, ma’am?”

  I felt pulled by the look of sorrow in Jake’s eyes.

  “I was just going to my room,” I said quietly and backed away from Jake. I walked to my door, forcing myself not to look back.

  Once inside, I hugged myself and squelched the tears that threatened. That did not go as planned. I meant to avoid him, and ended up crying in his room. I stared at my disheveled visage in the standing mirror. I was a mess. My feelings for Jake made a mess of me. I lost focus. I let what was important slip away.

  Randy. You’re here for Randy.

  I got control and walked out to the balcony to fetch my purse.

  Jake’s light was still on, but he wasn’t out there.

  Thankful, I dumped my purse on the bedspread. My phone toppled out, and I picked it up. I had a picture of the sketches in Dauby�
��s kitchen on my phone’s camera. I stood there, holding it in my hand, thinking. I needed help with the evidence I had. I needed help in general with this investigation.

  I punched my phone on, found the contacts list and dialed. My eyes went to the clock on the desk, it read eleven-thirty, and I nearly hung up.

  A bright voice answered on the fourth ring. “Rain Associates.”

  Reyna Cruz Corbeau, a friend from my days at University of Washington, answered her business cell. A private investigator, I was glad she kept odd hours. We had worked together when she had done some work for the law firm my parents had made me intern at, back before I switched from law to journalism. We still got together every year, or so, when she spoke at investigative conventions in California. I even visited her in Louisiana a few times when I came down to visit Randy.

  “Reyna, this is Riley.”

  “Well hello there,” she said and I heard the smile in her voice. “I wondered if you were OK.”

  She and her husband, Jimmy, married last year, lived in Louisiana with their two kids. They’d attended Randy’s funeral. Their adopted daughter, Autumn, belonged to Jimmy’s sister and Reyna’s best friend, who’d been murdered earlier that year. Reyna caught the killer after nearly dying in a meth house explosion. Reyna had just given birth to their son a few months ago.

  As an investigative journalist, I had a lot in common with her, had, in fact, learned a great deal from my few visits to her office.

  “I’m fine. Well, not fine, actually.” I rubbed my eye with my palm and sighed. “I’m back in Bayou La Foudre.”

  “Bet that’s going over well.” Reyna said quietly. “You need anything?”

  “I need answers.” I felt the ache in my throat closing off my words. “My family. You know how they are. They’re stepping back and shutting up. They don’t even seem interested in why this all happened.”

  “And you’re out there poking alligators by yourself?” She didn’t sound disapproving, only worried. “What can I do to help?”

  “I have a few pictures that need cleaned up. You think Salem might take a look at them?”

  Salem, Reyna’s junior detective, also happened to know everything possible about computers.