Bayou Corruption (14 page)

Now she had to convince her sister.

She knocked again.

“Come in.” CoCo's voice floated through the wooden door.

Alyssa poked her head in. CoCo sat on the bed, her Bible open in her lap. She smiled and shut the book. “How was your day?”

Her sister read the Bible outside of church?

Alyssa entered and sat on the edge of CoCo's bed. “Fine. I spent the day at the library.”

“Doing what?”

“Reading everything I could about Momee and Papa's deaths.”

CoCo set the Bible on her bedside table and sat crossed-legged. “I really wish you'd let this go, Al. The police concluded it was an accident.”

“Caused by what?” Alyssa held up her hand when CoCo opened her mouth. “Think about it for a minute. What caused the accident? Papa was an excellent driver. He grew up on these roads—knew them like you know the alligators in the bayou.” She ticked off items on her fingers. “They found nothing faulty with the car, not a single thing. So, you tell me—what caused the accident?”

“We'll never know for sure,
Boo,
but it's believed Papa fell asleep at the wheel, hit the telephone pole and slammed into the tree.”

“We
can
know, CoCo. That's just it. I was there. I remember. Papa wasn't asleep. He and Momee were laughing and talking.”

“That's just your imagination.”

“No, it's not.” Although she spoke through clenched teeth, Alyssa didn't raise her voice.

“If that's true, why now? Why not have this recollection thirteen years ago? Ten years ago? It doesn't make sense for you to remember something after all these years.”

“I don't know. Maybe because I'm back in the bayou. Maybe because I've been thinking about Momee a lot since I interviewed Senator Mouton, and he'd spoken at the funeral. Maybe because Jackson asked about my scar. I don't know.” She shook her head. “I do know this isn't like the regular dreams—nightmares—I have about the wreck. This was different. This was a memory.”

CoCo remained silent and pensive.

“I'm positive. I feel so strongly about this.”

CoCo uncrossed her legs. “Then we need to take this to God.”

“W-what?” Alyssa stammered. Had her sister gone off the deep end?

“Al, you do pray, right?”

“Of course I do.” Sure she did. Thanking God for blessings, asking for protection. But to ask about a certain situation?

“I meant, do you take things to God on a daily basis? Before you make decisions?”

Oh, please. God had too much to deal with running the world than to worry about each and every little issue that popped up. “No.”

The saddest expression flickered in CoCo's eyes. “Honey, you don't have a personal relationship with God?”

A personal relationship with God? It's not like they went bowling together, no.

CoCo laid a hand over Alyssa's. “God is not only your heavenly Father, but also your best friend. He's there to listen, to advise, to hold you in His arms when that's all there is in this world that will give you peace.”

Sounded more like a fairy godmother.

“First Peter 5, verse 7 tells us, ‘Cast all your anxiety on Him because He cares for you.'” She smiled. “You can't get more clear than that.”

The vision of her sister's face during church worship came to mind. “At church, you closed your eyes and lifted your arms during the music. Why?”

CoCo chuckled. “I feel so close to Him when I'm singing His praises. I close my eyes and lift my hands because my spirit leads me to do that. We all worship differently, Al. That's just how I feel led to praise Him.”

Stated like that, the reason seemed…sane. Alyssa didn't even know why tears spilled from her eyes. Could she have a relationship like that with God? So personal?

As if she could read Alyssa's thoughts, CoCo stood and faced her. “He isn't some unapproachable God sitting up on clouds looking down on us. He's with us. Loving us. Picking us up when we fall. Listening to our heartfelt prayers.”

Something to consider.

But…later.

Time to get the train back on track. “CoCo, I'm serious. Momee and Papa were murdered.”

Her sister let out a sigh, accepting the change of subject. “If that's true, who? Why?”

“I don't know. I found some interesting articles in the papers that gave me some ideas.” Alyssa shoved to her feet and paced the rug in front of CoCo's bed. “I intend to ferret out the truth.”

“Is that smart?”

“Was it smart for you to expose Grandpere as a Klansman?” She raised a finger. “I'm not arguing that you shouldn't have. You had to do what was right.” She ran her hands up and down her arms, fighting off the chill coming from within. “It's the same with this. I'll never have peace until I uncover the truth.”

CoCo let out a long breath. “Where do we start?”

T
he sun wouldn't appear for another hour or so, but Alyssa couldn't sleep. She'd showered and dressed before stealing downstairs. She grabbed her keys and tiptoed to her car.

“Where're you going this early in the morning?” Tara asked from the edge of the driveway.

Alyssa jumped, jerking her hand over her thumping heart. “You scared me. What're you doing out here?”

“I just got home from work. What's your excuse?”

“I'm running out to Milo Point Road to check up on something.”

“Before daylight?”

“By the time I get there, dawn should be breaking.”

“Must be pretty important.”

“It's for a story I'm working on.” Alyssa studied her baby sister. Maybe they could connect somehow. “Would you like to ride with me?”

“I don't think so. I'm beat.”

Oh, well. She'd tried. “Okay.” Alyssa flashed a forced smile. “I'll see you later.”

The drive took her longer than she anticipated. How had the route seemed quicker when she and CoCo had gone to church? Probably because it'd been daylight. No worries, though. Keeping the number on the speedometer well below the posted speed limit, Alyssa studied every street sign. She didn't want to miss the turnoff.

Finally, the rusty sign appeared. Dust rose as she turned onto Milo Point Road. The first rays of the sun cut against the darkened sky as the Honda rattled over the dirt road filled with potholes. She would get in and out of the bayou since she and CoCo had plans to do more research into the death of their parents. Starting with finding out what story her mother had been working on at the time of the accident.

Correction, the murder.

The dead end of Milo Point Road loomed just as CoCo had described. She parked, retrieving her flashlight, and locked the car. Alyssa tucked the legs of her jeans into the hiking boots CoCo had loaned her. Wandering around in the bayou wasn't her idea of fun, but she needed to know how quickly she could get to the location and back on foot to gauge how much time a pickup person would need to retrieve the money. She also wanted to see if there were any clues left along the way. She took note of the time on her watch and hiked on the path to the craggy outlying point.

The musty smell of the swamp filled her nostrils. She kept the flashlight beam directly on the way in front of her. Seeing a snake or one of the alligators CoCo kept track of would send her over the mental edge.

The trail narrowed, and the trees on either side drew denser. She nearly lost her footing twice. The trees closed in on her. The lushness of the foliage blocked out the sun. The footpath took sharp veers, as if whoever had cut it had intended the path to remain hidden.

Just when she wondered if she'd gotten turned around on the overgrown trail, she spied the bayou up ahead. Alyssa glanced at her watch—almost fifteen minutes had passed. Not too bad. If she'd been familiar with the place, the trek probably would've taken her less time.

She reached the edge of the swamp and stared at the little cove they'd visited in CoCo's boat. Alyssa estimated she'd have to add in another fifteen minutes to get there and back—she certainly wouldn't make a trip to get the actual time.

Just as she took a step to head back along the path, bushes shook to her right.

She flipped off the flashlight and dropped to her knees. An alligator? Some other creepy reptile? Alyssa lifted her head to peer at the bushes.

A man dressed in camouflage stood about two hundred feet away. Staring at her.

She swallowed a scream.

He moved toward her.

Running.

Adrenaline pushed her legs into action.

Alyssa swerved sharp right, dropping the flashlight. She headed down the path. Stumbled in her haste. Overcorrected. Regained her footing and continued running at top speed.

Overgrown and untamed, the bayou swallowed her into its depths as she fled. Cypress branches slapped her face as she ran down the trail. The hiking boots clamored against the uneven ground, rubbing against her heel.

Gasping as if someone had vacuumed the air from her lungs, she stopped and squatted behind a cluster of wild palmettos, listening…waiting. Only the blood pounding in her ears registered. Maybe he'd only wanted to frighten her and hadn't followed. She panted and willed her breathing capacity to increase before her next running jag. If she had to keep running.

The rustle of slapping trees erupted behind her. Oh, yeah, he'd followed her. She jumped and raced in the direction of her car, straying off the path. Her leg muscles burned as the bayou grabbed at her calves and thighs, as if she ran in quicksand. Swerving left, she ducked under a low-hanging limb. Spanish moss stuck in her hair, hanging over her eyes. She jerked the stringy lichen free and tossed it aside, her feet continuing to make tracks along the path.

Faster and faster she ran, in spite of nature's obstacles blocking her escape route. Mustiness with the underlying sweet aroma of onion flowers filled Alyssa's nostrils—or could that be the stench of her fear?

The thundering footsteps sounded close. Closer.

If she could just get to the car…

She wove to the right, leaping over two fallen oak trees. She landed with a thud. Jolts of pain shot up her left leg from her ankle. No time to check.

Keep running or die.

Hearing the ominous footfalls drawing closer, Alyssa bolted to her feet. Her left ankle gave, but her spirit refused to buckle. She had no other option
but
to run.

The crack of a gun firing resonated on the bayou. She ducked behind a palmetto, toppling face-first into the cool soil. Fire licked the muscles in her leg.

The fresh hint of ripe hackberries hung in the thick air, making her stomach churn even more. Alyssa's blood thrummed through her veins. Why had she come to the bayou? Alyssa bent her head to use the bush as cover. Maybe the man wouldn't see her.

Maybe she should do some praying. See if CoCo was right.

Please, let CoCo be right.

Dear God, keep me safe. Don't let him find me. Please, God.

 

She still hadn't returned his calls.

Jackson dialed Alyssa's cell phone, but the call went straight to voice mail. While it was early for some people, CoCo had told him she got up by six every morning to do her bayou run. Still, he didn't want to disturb Ms. LeBlanc since she'd just gotten home from the hospital. He glanced at the clock. After seven. Close enough. He dialed the LeBlanc home.

“Hello.” The female voice wasn't Alyssa's.

Disappointment bombarded his heart.

“CoCo?”

“Nope, Tara. CoCo's out in her boat.”

“Hi, Tara. This is Jackson Devereaux. I'm trying to get in touch with Alyssa. Is she still asleep?”

“No, she left early this morning. Before CoCo even.”

Not good. “Do you know where she went?”

“She said she was going out to Milo Point Road. Research for some story she's working on.”

Research? The only story she'd be working on involved Bubba's case. He reached for a pair of jeans. “Um, can you give me a general idea where Milo Point Road is?”

Tara laughed, throaty and full, reminding him of Alyssa's. His gut tightened, twisting. “It's north off Harden Lane, just outside the town limits.”

“Thanks.”

He ran to the truck, déjà vu washing over him. His heart pounded as hard as when he'd heard the call about Bubba.

Dear God, please keep Alyssa safe. Let me be wrong this time.

But deep inside, he knew. The prompting of the Holy Spirit burned the intensity into his soul.

He stepped on the gas pedal, and the truck threw gravel and dust in its wake. He knew the general area of Harden Lane, which ran through four parishes. He'd followed the same road on his way to church last Sunday.

His BlackBerry vibrated against his pocket. Maybe Alyssa calling. Steering with one hand, he grabbed the gadget and answered the call without glimpsing at the caller ID screen. Times like this made him wish he hadn't left his Bluetooth headset back in New Orleans. “Alyssa?”

“No, it's Brian.”

“Now's really not a good time.” Jackson watched for the city limits sign and tried to concentrate on what his friend from the FBI said.

Had Tara said near the city limits or outside?

“Just wanted to touch base. Gary Anderson doesn't have a thing on his record. Clean as a whistle.”

“Okay.”

“But that Martin Gocheaux? How he ever got on any police force is beyond me.”

“He has a record?”

“Nothing ever proven. Never officially charged.”

“But he was implicated?”

“A couple of illegal arms issues.”

Yes! The city limits sign. Jackson took his foot off the gas pedal. “Thanks, buddy. Can you e-mail me that info?”

“Sure. Listen, the two agents down there are coming up empty-handed. Anything I can pass along their way?”

Jackson laughed, despite his mouth going dry. “That I'm not a suspect.”

“I already did that, Jacks.”

“Must be why they've left me alone the last couple of days.” A street sign caught the sun's first rays.

“Be careful. They have a feeling an insider was involved.”

“Took 'em long enough to figure that one out.”

“Think it's this Gocheaux?”

“That's how I figure it.”

“Hmm. Let me know when you get something concrete, okay?”

“Sure. Thanks, Brian.”

Jackson dropped the BlackBerry into the truck's console. He made the turn onto Milo Point Road and accelerated again.

Please, God, keep her safe. Let me get to her in time.

He spied her car before he realized he'd reached a dead end. What could she be doing out here? The sun cast glares off her windshield. He parked the truck alongside her Honda, and leaped to the ground. The car sat locked up as usual, but Alyssa wasn't in sight.

Cupping his hands around his mouth, he hollered. “Alyssa. Alyssa.”

He waited, measuring the silence. No birds chirped. No cicadas rasped. Odd out here in the bayou. Taking a slow turn, he studied the terrain. Woods…bushes…wait, could that be a trail? He moved closer. A path.

With impressions of fresh footprints. About Alyssa's size.

Jackson headed down the trail, studying the foliage as he passed. A broken limb here, missing leaves there. Someone had definitely taken this route recently. He quickened his pace.

If his bearings were correct, which they normally were, and he kept on this trail, he'd run right into the swamp. Really close to the money drop site.

Energy zinged through his body. The trees closed in tighter around him. The upper limbs blocked out the sun's harsh rays.

“Alyssa. Alyssa.”

He reached a sharp curve to the left.

A woman's scream pierced the air.

Not just any woman's—Alyssa's.

Not just any scream—one calling
his
name.