by Sandra Hill
Money could turn even the most generous family man greedy. Mike Pham wouldn’t be the first man to hide his funds when he was contemplating extracurricular activities, or even divorce.
Would her half brother Luc or his partner, Adam Lanier, help their client bury his assets from view? She hoped not.
“Proceed with caution” had been their advice, for both sides. The women and themselves. It was a “wait and see” game at this point.
Just then, she saw Darlene walking up the street with her backpack over her shoulders. It was dark by now, and Simone could hardly see. Darlene was tall for her age, a little chubby, and, Simone knew from pictures her mother had provided, beginning to develop curves . . . breasts and butt. Tonight, the girl was wearing a pair of yoga pants and a tank top. She didn’t hesitate to go directly up the sidewalk to the front door, and without knocking, she entered the bachelor’s ranch-style home. A definite red flag.
This was Simone’s cue. Quietly, she exited her car and crept across the side yard toward the back of the house where there was a lighted window. She wore dark clothing and black sneakers, and her hair was pulled off her face into a ponytail, but none of that mattered. Speed and stealth were the most important things.
When she got to the back window, she was disappointed to see that a shade had been pulled. But then she moved to another window, which had been raised to allow some air to enter through an old-fashioned window screen. Using one of the handy tools in her pocket kit, she eased the screen aside and inserted the long lens on her camera below the shade, just enough to give her a view. And she turned on her cell phone’s voice recorder.
Bingo!
Good ol’ Luther already had Darlene down to her bra, the backpack and tank top lying on the floor. He was kissing the girl voraciously, and Darlene was kissing him back. This was not a new scenario, obviously. It was a game that had been played out before, probably many times.
Hard to see the attraction. Luther was more than thirty with a receding hairline, although he had a bodybuilder’s physique, emphasized by the tight jeans and T-shirt he wore. Darlene had the slightly chubby body of an adolescent girl and was probably insecure, as girls her age often were. Attention from a male of any age would be a big boost to her morale.
“Oh, baby, you are so hot!”
“Take off your clothes for me, real slow. Show me your pussy.”
“That’s the way. Now, bend over. Yeees!”
And Simone thought, Gag me! She’d seen enough. Evidence enough to convict the guy and end his career as a teacher. She didn’t need to see actual penetration.
In the meantime, Simone needed to end this particular sexual event. As she raced toward her car and turned on the motor, she called Luther’s number, which she’d programmed into her phone. The phone rang a half dozen times before voice mail picked up. Disguising her voice, she said, “This is Neighborhood Watch calling to warn you of a fire in your vicinity. Go outside immediately, and do not go back inside until the fire trucks arrive.”
She waited for less than a minute before more of Luther’s lights flicked on, and he and Darlene, both disheveled, rushed outside to look around, confused to see they were the only ones in their yards. Hopefully, that ended the fun and games for tonight, at least. She waited. Yep! Soon Darlene came running out, dragging her backpack over one shoulder. She was clearly spooked.
Good!
Only then did Simone ride off. She wanted to stop at her apartment first. Hopefully, she could meet Luc at his office down the street to bring him up-to-date and they could go to the Rossi house together. But no, best to act now. She pulled over into a drugstore parking lot that had enough outside lighting for her to see.
Picking up her phone, she noticed that she had an email with an attachment from someone with the address, [email protected]. The subject line read: “You’re Invited.” Was it a porn link? No, she didn’t think so, not from the cajuncajun.com email server, which was known to be reputable. She clicked it open and saw a pink background with a grinning frog reclining on a pool float with the words, “Ya’ll Jump In. Ribet, Ribet.” Scrolling down she found an invitation to a Lanier family pool party on the Fourth of July. Or, rather, a “Save That Date” card since the party wouldn’t be held for a while yet. “Splish, splash. A Fourth of July Bash. Fun and Food. Get in the party mood.” It was from Frank, Adam, and Mary Sue Lanier, but, clearly, the cute invitation had been Maisie Lanier’s choice. The question was: Who had decided to invite her?
So much for conflicts of interest!
She was interested.
But she had more important things to do now.
She called Angela and apprised her of the situation involving Luther Ferguson and her daughter. “When Darlene returns, don’t say anything. Wait until I get there with the lawyer. We’ll be there in ten minutes. Try to act normal. Honestly, I promise, Angela, this will be over soon, and you’ll be glad you handled it the right way.”
“Oh Lord, oh Lord, oh Lord!” Angela kept saying. So much for acting normally. Well, maybe that’s how she acted around her daughter, anyway.
Then, she called Luc’s office on the off chance he might be working late. No answer, except for an answering machine inviting her to leave a message. Next, she called Luc’s cell phone. Same thing. Finally, she tried his home number. His wife, Sylvie, answered the phone.
“Hey, Sylv.”
“Simone? How are you? I heard your open house was a success. Sorry I couldn’t make it, but I do have a referral that will be coming in to see you any day now. A chemist friend of mine with an unusual problem . . . but I’m rambling. You called . . . ?”
“Is Luc around?”
“No. He went to Baton Rouge on emergency business. Won’t be back until tomorrow afternoon.”
“Oh, damn!”
“Is this business or personal?”
“Business.”
“An emergency?”
“Oh, yeah!”
“I’ll give you Adam’s cell number. He’s taking Luc’s calls.”
She groaned. “Okay, give it to me.”
When she called Adam a few seconds later, she could hear music in the background. “Lanier here.”
“Adam?”
“Simone?” He was clearly shocked to hear from her.
“Listen. I have a situation here, and Luc is unavailable. Can you help?”
“Can you repeat that? I can hardly hear. Let me go out in the hallway.”
“Where are you?”
The background noise level was more subdued now. “The Swamp Tavern. I came here with a few buddies for a beer after a racquetball game at the athletic club.”
She wondered briefly if Sabine was still there trolling for a hit from their client’s husband. No matter. “Are you drunk?” she asked Adam.
“Hell, no! Why would you ask that?”
“Because I need you sober to go with me to meet a client.”
She tried to explain, but again the loud zydeco music interfered.
“Meet me here,” he shouted, trying to be heard, “and I’ll do whatever I can to help.”
Lord help me, she thought as she put the car in gear and went out again to make the fifteen-minute drive to the Swamp Tavern. No sense going home to change clothes or doing anything else. Best to get this over with asap.
But she couldn’t help but think that every time she decided that she would not, could not, should not get involved with Adam Lanier, the Fates tossed him in her path again.
And, no, no, no, it was not the thunderbolt crap.
Just then lightning lit the skies and thunder clapped in the distance. She was going to be caught in the storm tonight, one way or another. The question was: Which storm?
Meanwhile, down in the swamp . . .
Adam waited for Simone’s arrival at the Swamp Tavern with mixed feelings.
He hot damn wanted to see her, no matter the reason. And his daughter had insisted on including Simone on her pool party guest list; so, he woul
d be seeing her one way or another at some point, if she accepted the invitation.
On the other hand, every instinct in his body warned him that she was a mistake about to happen. Clue number one: married three friggin’ times. (Exactly how many men had she been with, curious minds wanted to know, in and out of marriage? Not that he had any room to be critical. Still . . . ) Clue number two: not the type of woman he wanted in a forever kind of way; no woman was. Clue number three: a member of the LeDeux family, any one of whom would break his bones if he hurt her. Not that he had any plans to hurt her. Not in a bad way, anyhow. Clue number four: a “relative” of the notorious Tante Lulu who could be the biggest pain in the ass if she sniffed love . . . or sex . . . in the air. Clue number five: possibly involved in a case that conflicted with one of his.
Despite all the warning signs, Adam’s body was on high alert. Testosterone amped up. Blood practically humming in his veins.
A number of the men in the tavern turned when she arrived, and he felt oddly irritated, as if she was his alone. She wore a black hoodie, which she shrugged out of as she entered the steam heat of the bar, exposing a black tank top and black spandex calf-length tights, with black sneakers. Her hair was pulled off her face into a ponytail, and she didn’t appear to be wearing make-up.
She was tall for a woman, and big boned. Not fat, but not thin, either. Curves, she had lots of curves, delineated by the tank top and the spandex pants. Bust, waist, hips, and a sweetly rounded, tight butt.
She was not smiling as she approached him at the bar.
“Do you want a drink?” he asked.
She shook her head. “No time.” But then she noticed the guy behind the bar. A big, bald-headed black man with a thick mustache and unibrow, and a gold hoop earring in one ear only. He looked like a friggin’ pirate. “Hey, Gator, how you doing?”
“Still hangin’, sweet cheeks. How about a drink, on the house?”
She shook her head. “Not tonight. I’m working.”
“As a cop?” Gator asked with a little alarm, perhaps wondering if something was about to go on in the bar.
“No. I gave that up. New job now. Have you seen Sabine tonight?”
The bartender nodded. “She left about a half hour ago with some guy.”
She and Gator exchanged some meaningful glance, meaningful to them, anyhow.
“Who’s Sabine?” Adam asked.
“An employee,” she said, rather reluctantly.
A customer at the end of the bar called for a refill and the bartender went off.
Adam arched his brows at the bartender and then her.
“I’ve known Gator since grade school. He’s worked here ever since he left the military back in the nineties . . . some kind of special forces . . . and is a co-owner now, I think.”
Her long explanation was probably due to his obvious, mistaken conclusion that he was another of her men. Hell, he still might be, for all he knew.
“Should we sit down so you can explain the situation?” he suggested.
“Can I explain on the way?”
“Sure,” he said. “Where are we going?”
“A neighborhood on this end of Houma. Otherwise, I would have had you come in to my office.”
“Should I drive?”
“It’ll be faster if I drive since I know the area.”
He got in the passenger seat of her Mazda and adjusted the seat way back to accommodate his long legs.
As she put the car in gear, she glanced his way. “Just come from the gym?”
“Yeah. Racquetball. I told you that on the phone. Why do you ask? Do I stink?” He raised an arm and sniffed his pit. Just smelled like deodorant to him.
“Nah, you always smell kinda musky. Good musky, not bad musky. I was referring to your clothes. I forgot that you mentioned the racquetball.”
Musky? So, she notices my aftershave, which I put on this morning. Talk about a long life! But she was right. T-shirt, shorts, athletic socks, and shoes would be a clue to where he’d been. And he had showered before leaving the gym. Of course, he could have been practicing yoga. But she didn’t know that.
She explained the situation then, regarding the young girl and the teacher. He asked several questions, and he looked at the digital images on her camera, which were certainly incriminating.
“So, exactly what do you want me to do?”
“Talk to them about the legal ramifications of the whole situation.”
He glanced down at himself. “I’m not really dressed for a client consultation.”
“I don’t think they’ll care. Besides, I’m no better. Anyhow, in addition to giving them the legal view on what will happen, could you then set up a meeting for a complaint to be filed with the police, either at the station or in the Rossi home. Do you have any contacts in the department? If not, I could ask John LeDeux to give us some names. He’s a cop.”
“I know who to call.” In fact, Max Salter had been his racquetball opponent a few hours ago. “Do you want to get the police involved tonight, or in the morning?”
“Tonight. I’m afraid Darlene will somehow manage to contact Luther Ferguson and tell him what’s happening. And, frankly, the mother is skittish. Give her enough time, and enough persuasion from Darlene, and she might refuse to file a complaint.”
“Okay. Got it.” He pulled out his cell phone, scrolled down to the number he wanted, and set the device on speaker so Simone could hear both sides of the conversation. “Hey, Max, I have a situation here. Can you put on your detective hat and help me out?” He explained the situation.
“This isn’t Ferguson’s first adolescent girl rodeo. We’ve had complaints before, but nothing substantial enough to prosecute.”
Simone made a snorting sound of disgust.
Adam put a fingertip to his lips to indicate silence. Cops had an aversion to recording devices, or speakerphones, which sounded like recording devices.
“I’ll bring my partner with me,” Max said. “Give me the address.”
Simone jotted it quickly on a scrap of paper and he repeated it over the phone. “Wait for an hour so we have time to get our ducks in a row. And, Max, it’s really important that we keep this girl’s name out of the public eye.”
“She’s underage, so that won’t be a problem, anyway.”
“Yeah, but you know how these things slip out.”
“I’ll take extra care that she be protected. Is that what you’re asking?” Max’s voice sounded a little testy, as if he resented Adam questioning police protocol.
“I appreciate it, buddy.”
“Yeah, well, next time don’t beat my ass so bad on the courts. My wife says I look like I’ve been through the wringer. I could barely walk up the steps without groaning.” The testiness was gone, replaced with teasing.
“Well, you are getting older.”
“I’m no older than you, Lanier. Thirty-five and in my prime!”
Adam smiled and clicked off.
“Will the arrest take place tonight then?” Simone asked.
“It should.”
“I appreciate your help with this, Adam. I owe you one.”
“One what?”
“Favor.”
He grinned. There were favors, and then there were favors.
Some teenage activities never get old . . .
The meeting with Angie and Darlene Rossi went surprisingly well. Oh, Darlene was upset . . . more embarrassed than angry over her “relationship” with Luther Ferguson being discovered. Turns out, she’d wanted to break it off for some time now, but Luther had threatened to spread the word around school that she was a slut.
That was Darlene’s story, anyhow, which Simone wasn’t buying. She had the camera evidence of the girl responding enthusiastically to the perv’s kisses.
But then, the mind of a thirteen-year-old girl worked in mysterious ways. And, besides, it didn’t matter whether she had been willing or not. Sex between an adult male and underage female was against the law. Even t
hough Darlene had “consented”, as a minor, she didn’t have the maturity to know that what she was doing was wrong.
Adam had been wonderful dealing with the girl. Firm in his directions, but gentle when she became emotional. Probably due to experience with his own little girl. They didn’t teach sensitivity training like that in most law schools as far as she knew.
He was also impressive in dealing with the police once they arrived. One of them, a friend, kept looking at her, then Adam, and rolling his eyes when he thought no one but Adam was looking. Adam ignored the eye rolling and was professional in the way he represented Darlene as his client to the police, getting assurances for her privacy that might not have otherwise been provided. In fact, he talked them into taking the complaint here in the home, rather than having Darlene and her mother be required to go to the police station.
Darlene would not be going to school the next day. Instead, a counselor would work with her, giving particular attention to how Darlene should handle herself post-Luther and the school scandal, which was sure to follow. Even if her name was not mentioned, there would be peer speculation over who the girl could be.
More than two hours later, Simone was driving Adam back to the Swamp Tavern parking lot where he would pick up his car. The storm that had been rumbling all evening broke loose just as she turned off the highway. The deluge hit the car with pounding pellets. She could barely see through the windshield as she eased into the slot next to Adam’s Lexus.
They sat still for a moment, waiting out the downpour. Showers usually lasted only a few minutes here in the South, then dried up quickly in the hot weather.
