Bayou Justice (4 page)

“I was upset, but I didn't kill him if that's what you're implying.” Indignation stiffened her spine.

“I said nothing like that. I'm just trying to figure out what happened.” He pushed open the door and spit off the porch again. “This is a homicide, Ms. LeBlanc. We have to check out everything and everyone.”

“I'm a suspect?” Her palms sweated.

“He was murdered, Ms. LeBlanc.”

“And one of you is responsible,” Luc Trahan announced as he walked up behind the sheriff.

CoCo's midnight eyes flashed. “I'm sorry for your loss, but you have no right to accuse anyone in my family.”

“Are you sure about that?” He nodded toward her grandmother and little sister, both glaring at him as if he were pond scum.

She followed his gaze, then met his stare. “I'm positive. And you should be, too, Luc.” Her voice softened a beat.

His heart tripped in response. Traitorous little thing, his heart. He'd assumed he'd gotten over CoCo LeBlanc. Apparently not. She still took his breath away.

“Do you have any proof of your allegations, Mr. Trahan?” Sheriff Theriot spoke quietly.

“CoCo called me yesterday after Grandfather served the eviction notice. She was mad, really mad. Said she wouldn't be bullied by my grandfather.” He never broke eye contact with CoCo.

Her eyes widened. The green streaks around the irises glimmered. “I was mad, yes, but I didn't threaten him in any way, and you know that.”

“What about them?” He nodded toward her family lurking behind her.

She shook her head, her curly tresses falling over her shoulder like black ink. “An old woman and a young girl?” She guffawed. “Surely you don't mean to imply they had anything to do with his death?”

“That
old woman
is a voodoo priestess.”
And you, too.

“You don't believe all that…wait, what did you call it? Mumbo jumbo. All that mumbo jumbo could kill someone?”

The scab ripped off his old wound. “But they do.”
She's still so bitter, God. I pray You'll touch her heart, soften it, bring her to know and love You.

“Their beliefs didn't kill your grandfather, Luc.” There she went again, using her soft and sultry voice against him. His heart reacted.

Sheriff Theriot shifted his weight. “We'll have more information in the morning.” He nodded at CoCo. “I'll need you to come down to the station first thing.”

“D-do I need to bring my lawyer?”

“Do you need one?” Luc hated the accusation slipping into his words, but couldn't stop it.

Her eyes were steel as she glared at him. “I think you need to leave, Luc. You've already been ordered off my property once today.”

“Since this is legally my grandfather's land, it's now mine, wouldn't you say? ”Why did he continue talking, instigating the situation and riling her up? He didn't want to hurt her. He'd
never
wanted to cause her pain. Yet, he had…but it'd hurt him, too.

“You need to leave,
cooyon.
Now.” Her grandmother took a step toward him.

The sheriff laid a hand on his shoulder, practically pulling him out of the house. “It's been a long day. Just go home, Luc. Be with your mom and sister. We'll meet in the morning.”

Finally, logic and reason prevailed. Luc stared into CoCo's eyes, searching for any sign of malice or deception. He found none—they shined with clarity and honesty. What had he done by accusing her? Again.

“Luc.” The sheriff jerked harder on his shoulder.

“Yeah. Okay.” He strode off the porch, not looking back. He couldn't bear to see the heartbreak and hurt in her eyes. Once had been enough for that. He didn't have it in him to say any more.

Sheriff Theriot followed him to his vehicle. “What's this about you being ordered off the place today?”

“I came by to talk to her about the eviction notice.”

“What about it?”

Luc shrugged. “Just that Grandfather was acting on his own.”

“Didn't realize you two were talking.” Bubba hitched his single brow.

“We aren't.” He ran a hand over his hair. “I just thought it was wrong that Grandfather was evicting them.”

“Uh-huh. I see. Just come by the station in the morning. Maybe we'll have some more information available by then.”

“Thanks, Bubba. I appreciate it.” He got in the car and started it up.

Once on the main road, he slammed the side of his fist against the steering wheel. He'd finally come to terms with his father's death and how wrong he'd been to partially blame CoCo. Now, Luc had just accused her of shooting his grandfather. What was wrong with him? If they were to line up people with motive to kill Beau,
he
would be at the head of the line.

Braking to a stop at the end of the road, he pulled air into his lungs in great gulps. He'd wanted out from under Grandfather's thumb, and he'd gotten his wish. But he'd never wanted the old man killed. If CoCo and her family weren't the killers, then who?

Wanting to avoid talking to his mother, the drama queen herself, Luc steered in the direction of his great-uncle's house. Somebody needed to tell Uncle Justin. The enormity of responsibility sat heavily across Luc's shoulders.

How did one go about telling someone their brother had just been murdered?

E
xhaustion weighted each limb, but sleep eluded CoCo. She lay in the four-poster bed, the night sounds of the bayou drifting in through the old plantation's air-conditioning units. Visions of Beau Trahan's dead face flickered across her memory. As long as she lived, she'd never forget those lifeless eyes. It brought back the nightmare of two years ago…being called out to the bayou to help capture an alligator who had killed a man. A man who went into the water following a boating accident. A man who happened to be Caleb Trahan, Luc's father. She'd forever be haunted by the horrors of his death, too.

Flipping onto her stomach, she punched her feather pillow a couple of times. Why did her life have to be so complicated? Every place she turned, death seemed to find her. And it always went back to Luc and his family.

Why, God? Again? I don't understand. I'm following You. Why won't You stop this death cloud hovering over me?

She laid in silence waiting for a response. None came. CoCo turned her head and glared at the clock—11:32. She let out a groan and pinched her eyes shut. Luc's face swam in her mind. With ease she could recall the feel of his arms around her…his gentle hands in her hair…his lips grazing her temple…the promise of forever sealed with a ring. She sniffled and turned onto her back.

Her door creaked open, spilling radiance from the hall night-light. Tara hovered in the doorway. “Are you awake?”

CoCo pushed into a sitting position. Her shoulders pressed against the oak headboard. “Yeah, come on in. What's wrong?”

Her sister's steps faltered as she made her way across the hardwood floor to perch on the edge of the bed. “Who do you think shot Mr. Beau?” Her toenails flickered hot pink, a bold contrast to the white comforter.

“I don't know.” CoCo leaned forward in the semilight to try to study her sister's face. “Do you have any idea?”

Tara shrugged. “I really don't know, but it couldn't have happened to a better person.” She held up her hand. “I know, I know, it's not nice to say. You have to admit Beau Trahan wasn't a nice man.”

“No, he wasn't, but that doesn't mean he deserved to be shot.”

“I understand that. And I'm sorry because I know it puts something else between you and Luc.”

“That's over anyway. This doesn't change anything.”

“Are you sure about that?”

CoCo nodded, pressing her lips together.

“I'm not so certain. Luc still stares at you
like that
.”

The smile she forced cost her more pain in her heart than she'd ever imagined it would after all this time. “It's been over for two years. You know that.”

“If you say so. I just see the way he looks at you. Like a man in love.”

CoCo snorted. “You're imagining things, Tara.” No, no…she couldn't let hope rise in her chest. He'd betrayed her, the pain he'd inflicted left a scar across her heart that would never totally heal.

Her sister stood. “I don't think so. Hey, it's your life, not mine.” Her words were sharp, but delivered with a soft tone.

“Did you want to talk about anything else?”

Tara shook her head. “I just wanted to check on you. I know it's been a rough day”

Now here was the little sister she remembered. She flashed an authentic smile. “I'll be okay,
Boo.
I appreciate you asking.”

“Okay. I'll see you in the morning.” Her sister turned and walked soundlessly to the door.

“Tara?”

“Yeah?” She glanced over her shoulder.

“I love you.”

A smile spread across her sister's face. “I love you, too.”

With the door closed, the room sank into darkness once more. CoCo glanced at the clock—12:59. Lovely. Today had already disappeared, and tomorrow didn't look too promising. She scrunched back under the cotton sheet, flipping to her side. Maybe she
had
touched Tara with her witnessing. Could it be?

A screech owl hooted right outside her bedroom. Once, twice. CoCo bolted upright, her heart racing. Old habits dying hard and all that jazz. She slipped out of bed and crossed to the window, pushing back the sheer curtains. An owl perched on the magnolia tree branch just outside. It seemed to stare right at CoCo, before hooting twice more. The moon danced in the sky, catching the stars and washing them in more light, as if they weren't brilliant enough.

Her door swung open. Tara trembled. “Did you hear it? There's gonna be another death.”

CoCo let her hand fall from the curtain and moved to her sister. “That's superstition.”

“The picture fell off the wall, then you found Mr. Beau. Don't you see? It's not superstition. You, of all people, should know the power of the
gris-gris.
”

She wrapped her arm around her sister's shoulders. “Tara, that picture falling off the wall had nothing to do with Mr. Beau getting shot. Come on, it just isn't logical.”

Tara stepped out of her embrace. “You're wrong, CoCo. You can tout Christ all you want, and say how black magic and voodoo are wrong, but the spirits are angry and you can't deny their intervention in life.”

How could she explain?
Lord, give me the words.
She took a deep breath. “Tara, I've never said there weren't bad spirits—I can't believe in God and not believe in Satan. Doing any kind of voodoo or spells and such is against God's teachings. It's against His will.”

“So this god of yours doesn't want us to defend ourselves? I'm sorry, I don't buy that.” Tara shook her head. “You know the teachings—the old ways tie us into the spirit of nature, to allow us to defend ourselves against the bad spirits. If your god is so powerful, why does he allow the spirits to torment us?”

Just what she'd been asking God about earlier. “Tara, God is love. He created nature, so of course, we're in tune to all His creations.”

Tara hurried to the door. “I don't want to hear anymore. It's all lies. Voodoo works. It's proven, and I know in my heart it's true.”

“Wait,” CoCo cried and took a step forward, but Tara rushed from the room and shut the door firmly behind her. It wasn't worth another argument. Besides, she couldn't explain to Tara what she couldn't figure out herself.

She got back in bed, scowling at the clock. The neon numbers blinked 1:41, mocking her inability to sleep. CoCo shoved the clock, knocking it off the nightstand. It thundered to the floor with a loud thump.

Luc sat in his four-wheel drive, staring at his great-uncle's house. No lights blazed, not even a welcoming one burned on the front porch. Maybe he should wait until later to break the news to Uncle Justin. Luc reached for the keys still hanging in the ignition, then stopped himself. The press would be all over the story in the morning. His grandfather had been a respected pillar of the community, having served as a state representative for two terms. No, he couldn't let his uncle hear about this on the morning newscasts.

This evening had been a nightmare, one laced with memories—hard memories, painful memories. He shook his head. No, he couldn't compare the two. He refused. This time was different. Last time, it'd been an accident—this time, it was murder.

Father God, please forgive my human instincts that scream out for revenge. I pray Your justice be served, for Grandfather and all of us.

He opened the door and stepped onto the dirt driveway. His stride slowed, dread weighing down his legs. Before his foot hit the first stair, lights blazed in the windows and the front porch lit up like the bayou during a parish-wide
cochon de lait
. He could almost smell the pig roasting over an open pit.

The front door whipped open with a creak and his burly uncle stood there, shotgun raised. “Who's there?”

“It's Luc, Uncle Justin.”

“Luc? What're ya doing here this time of night?” He lowered the gun and squinted in the dark. His thinning hair stuck up at odd angles, its streaks of white sparkling under the harsh porch light.

“I have some bad news. Can I come inside?”

“Of course. Come on in.” Justin moved his big bulk out of the doorway, letting Luc pass.

Luc moved into the small living room and dropped to the couch. It always amazed him that his grandfather gave his uncle so much money, yet Justin never seemed to spend a dime of it. At least, not on his house or its furnishings.

Running his hand over his hair, Luc struggled to find the gentlest words available. He must have a limited thesaurus of the brain as nothing came to mind. “Uncle Justin, I don't know how to say this…”

“Just spit it out, boy.” His uncle leaned the shotgun against the wall before taking a seat in the recliner across from the couch. The leather popped against his weight.

“Grandfather was found dead in the bayou tonight.”

“No!” Justin's face paled under the bright lights.

“I'm sorry.” He let out a long sigh. Maybe he should have let Bubba Theriot do the notifying—it was his job, after all. No. This was his family, his responsibility.

“Not again!” His uncle's face turned red as a lobster and his big hands shook when he ran a hand over his haphazard hair. “What happened?”

“Someone shot Grandfather in the back.”

“Shot!” His uncle leapt up, no small feat considering the man's large girth. “Who?”

Luc shook his head. “We don't know yet.”

“Beau was just here today.”

Jerking up his head, Luc stared at his uncle. “When?”

“Today.” Justin lifted a shoulder. “'Bout early afternoon, I s'pose.”

“What'd he come by for?”

“To tell me about evicting the LeBlancs.”

“Oh.” Luc lowered his head. Suspicion always circled back to link to CoCo and her family. “Yeah, he told me about that.”

“You're still sweet on that oldest gal, aren't ya?”

Luc swallowed. “The sheriff is checking out the LeBlanc family.” He rose, the long hours of the day pressing against every muscle in his body. “I'm sure Bubba will be by to talk to you.”

“That
cooyon?
He couldn't find his foot in the dark with a flashlight.”

“He's the best we have.”

His uncle snuffled. “I just can't believe this.”

“I know.” The emotions filled his throat. He gave a cough and locked stares with his uncle. “I can tell you this, Uncle Justin—whoever did this to Grandfather will be punished.”

“Even if it's that gator gal?”

“Even her.” Luc opened the front door and strode toward his vehicle, not ready to discuss anything more about the possibility of CoCo's involvement. Yet, the memory of her mixing herbs to make a potion still haunted him. Could she have,
would
she have put a curse on his grandfather? He shook his head. It didn't matter, he didn't believe in all that voodoo stuff anyway. God had always been at his side. Still, Grandfather being murdered…

He steered toward home, his heart already overburdened, and he still had to tell his mother and Felicia. Sometimes being the responsible one in the family just plain wore him out.

Ten minutes and two turns later, Luc parked in the driveway. He sat in the vehicle, in the dark, staring at the house before him. Pristine white columns lined the front of the veranda, much like Twelve Oaks in
Gone With the Wind
.

God, this is harder than I ever imagined. Yes, I was angry
with Grandfather, and I confess the anger to You and ask for Your forgiveness. I never wanted him to die. Murdered, at that.

Better to go ahead and get his duty over with so he could go to bed and end this awful day. Luc trod up the front steps, unlocked the door and then stepped quietly over the threshold.

His mother sat at the kitchen table, a glass snifter in her hand. “You're out late,
ma chère.
Everything okay?”

“Not really.” He dragged himself to the wood table and pulled out a chair. He sat with all the heaviness of the burdens in his heart. “Grandfather's dead.”

His mother's eyes widened and her mouth formed an O, but no sound came out.

“Before you ask, we don't know much. Someone shot him in the back and left his body in the bayou. That's all I know for now. I'm meeting with the sheriff in the morning to learn more.”

“What will we do? How will we live? Can we stay in the house?” A hint of liquor steeped from her breath as she gasped in drama.

“I don't know, Mom.” He pushed back the chair; it scraped against the tile floor. “I'm going to tell Felicia and then I'm hitting the sack. It's been a really long day.”