No Limits (18 page)

Lately Terrill didn’t much care what his father thought, or wanted, or expected of him. Anytime Bear called or came by, he made mention of Lisa only after he’d taken care of business. Because it was always business. Every single time.

Terrill couldn’t get over the change in his father’s behavior. Maybe it was just Bear’s way of dealing, but it seemed an awfully strange way to deal.

Up until Lisa’s disappearance, his father had been nothing but devoted to his only daughter-in-law, warm even, often-times joking with her or taking her into his confidence in ways that left Terrill feeling like a third wheel.

And at Christmas or on her birthdays? Bear spoiled her worse than he could possibly have spoiled a grandchild. Lisa had taken it in stride, never letting it go to her head, but his fondness for her had played another part in her tackling the family genealogy. She’d wanted to know more about where he’d come from, to share with him anything of interest she’d found. She’d also decided the photo album would be the perfect way to show her appreciation for his unconditional acceptance of her as a Landry. And now this.

Terrill pulled into his own driveway, sat in his cruiser just long enough for the curtains on the Picards’ windows to flutter back into place before climbing from the car and jogging across the street to Paschelle’s garage. He’d slipped the key on his ring last night and had come back late, staying only thirty minutes or so for fear that he’d disturb Paschelle.

The boxes were labeled by dates, so he’d arranged them chronologically, figuring starting at the beginning was always a good move. He knew that’s what Lisa had done, working her way forward and sorting through memorabilia dating back before Bear’s parents were born. Her notes told him that she’d made it to nineteen eighty-eight before she’d vanished, and Terrill had been thinking about the last twenty years off and on all day.

Which was why he’d changed his plans. Instead of starting at the beginning, he would start where Lisa had stopped. If her disappearance was the result of what she’d discovered, the timing could be the clue. Not only the timing of the two events coinciding, but the timing of the Landry history she’d been digging into. He laughed to himself, a weak cackle that was more of a cry than anything else. How sad was it that his wife had learned more of his family’s secrets than he’d ever known. And that if he’d paid more attention to Bear’s nefarious dealings, rather than turning the expected blind eye, he might have done a better job of keeping his wife safe by holding his father to the letter of the law.

Yeah, he knew that blaming himself for something without even having all of the facts wasn’t particularly smart, but he couldn’t help thinking about al
l
the things he could have done differently, or better, how he could have been a better husband, protecting the precious life that had been given to him like a gift to share.

“Need any help?

He glanced over his shoulder at the sound of Paschelle’s voice. She stood in the doorway, her arms crossed, one shoulder braced on the jamb, wearing flip-flops beneath a long skirt that barely showed her ankles. She looked like a girl, not a woman of twenty
-
eight, and he thought again about Lisa worrying that she was too young and soft and inexperienced for King. Terrill had to say he was glad the other man might not be coming around anymore. King wasn’t a bad guy, just…rough, and who he was.

“The company would be nice, but I figure I’d better do all the digging myself since I’m not even sure what I’m looking for.”

“Company I can provide,” she said, then walked inside, boosted up to sit on a twodrawer file cabinet.

“What are you doing here this time of day?” he asked. “You home sick?”

She shook her head. “Lorna closed the office for the afternoon.”

“Made the day’s million before one o’clock, eh?” He didn’t bother to hide his sarcasm. He knew Lorna was only Paschelle’s boss. There was no love lost between them as friends. “Must be nice.”

Paschelle snickered like a kid with a secret. “You haven’t heard, then. I figured the news would be all over town by now.”

He closed up the folder of papers he’d just thumbed through, slid it back into place in the box, and gave her his ful
l
attention. “What news?”

“Simon Baptiste came to the office. He was supposed to sit down with Lorna and go over things about the maintenance on his place.”

“You mean how it’s not being done?”

“Exactly. Lorna and your father gave him some B.S. about no one wanting to live near a convicted felon in a house where a woman committed suicide, though he only implied the suicide part.”

That sounded like the sort of crap Bear would pull. “What did Simon say?”

“Not much. He told Lorna to get his refund check ready and to consider their contract canceled. He’d be handling the property himself from now on.”

Finally protecting his own interests. Seemed like more than a few of them dealing with Bear were finally wising up. “Baptiste has always been a straight-up guy, from what I hear.”

“You didn’t know him?”

“I knew of him. I was in junior high when he and King played high school footba
l
l . One a receiver, one a back. Everyone in the district knew Simon and King.”

“What went wrong between them?”

“You mean the fire?”

“Was that it? I’ve read the stories in newspaper archives, but I didn’t see anything other than the facts. And they don’t seem enough for this feud.”

“What has King said about it?”

She shook her head. “Nothing. We don’t talk much.”

Terrill felt his ears begin to burn. If they weren’t talking, well, he didn’t want to know.

“I don’t know anything for certain, but I hear tell it had to do with the blame, neither of them admitting to lighting the match, though the fire was a clear case of arson.”

“So they both had to pay.”

“In any other parish, I doubt it would have happened, but Bear ran his courtroom his way back then. Neither one confessed, both were there, drunk on their butts.”

“Meaning, neither one remembered what happened.”

“And Bear wasn’t going to buy an amnesia defense. The only thing he considered reasonable doubt was who poured the gasoline and who lit the match.”

She pulled up her legs to cross them. “Do you think neither one really remembered, or one didn’t want to confess and the other didn’t want to rat him out? I mean, you said Simon’s a pretty straight-up guy.”

“And King might be a little more questionable?”

“Yeah, wel
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, straight-up isn’t exactly an adjective I’d use to describe him. I’m not saying he’s a criminal at heart, no matter his record, but, well, you know.”

Terrill knew. He wished he didn’t. But King Trahan was almost as familiar with the workings of the sheriff ’s department as Terrill himself. “To tel
l
you the truth, I doubt anyone but Simon and King will ever know the truth, and since both did their time, I don’t see how it really matters anymore.”

“Except for the fact that they’re finally here in the same place after all these years. You’d think they could let it go, bygones being bygones and al
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that.”

Terrill didn’t have anything to add and really had no investment in whether the cousins ever kissed and made up. The two had been a source of gossip for years, the mysterious fire one more element feeding local curiosity. Had any families ever suffered as much as the Baptistes and Trahans and not provided a town with fodder for years?

“I guess all families have to deal with their baggage in their own way,” he finally said, getting back to work.

“How are you dealing?” she asked after a couple of minutes spent watching him. “Not with baggage, just with things?”

He wasn’t eating, was barely sleeping, turning into a grieving cliché. But he wasn’t lying down and giving up. He was working it, living and breathing it. He knew Lisa was waiting for him to find her, to come get her and take her home. And that tore at his heart like nothing else, leaving him feeling like 180 pounds of raw meat. What he said to Paschelle was, “Not great, but it could be a whole lot worse.”

She nodded toward the table. “Are the boxes helping? Or are they mostly trips down memory lane?”

“My memory doesn’t go back as far as some of this stuff, but there is a lot here that I’d forgotten about. My kindergarten award for perfect attendance. A book of coupons I made Bear for Father’s Day one year.” He snorted softly. “None of them redeemed.”

“Save them. Give them to your son and you can redeem them for him.”

He loved the idea, the hope for the future it gave him, the assumption that he would have a son, that Lisa would return soon and safely, that they could get back to the discussion they’d been having the night before she’d vanished about how much longer they wanted to wait before starting a family, and whether or not they wanted to do it here. He stuck the coupon book in his shirt pocket, pushing away the fleeting thought that he’d never have need of it. It was Bear’s voice in his ear, hurtful and negative, a voice Terrill had heard often as a child but thought as an adult he had learned to ignore. He needed to go back to work, move away from this past that Lisa had found fascinating, but that gave him a burning and heavy heart. “I’ve got to get to the office, but I’ll probably be over again tonight.”

Paschelle hopped down, dusted her hands over the back of her skirt. “No problem. I can even throw dinner together if you’d like.”

“That’s too much trouble,” he said, folding in the box flaps, then stopping as a loose piece of parchment caught on one corner fluttered to the garage floor.

“It’s no trouble at all. Trust me. I have to eat anyway, and fixing enough for two doesn’t take any more time and effort than fixing enough for one.”

Terrill knew she was saying something and he was probably supposed to respond. He had no mind for anything but the document in his hand, the one that didn’t explain everything in clear-cut details, but sure as hell raised his eyebrows and gave him enough of a charge that he knew he’d found exactly what he’d been looking for—a solid place to start.

He opened the box back up. He even pulled up a folding chair. “On second thought, food sounds good, since it looks like I’ll be here a while. Just be warned that I’m a starving man and might eat you out of house and home.”

For where your treasure is, there wil
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your heart be also.

—Matthew 6:21

Like the code sheet pointing to the words in the Bible that spelled out the treasure’s location, the newspaper story alone was
n’t tell
ing. A man’s body had been found. The sheriff ’s department in a neighboring parish had asked for the public’s assistance with the identification. He had a remarkable tattoo on his chest and a uniquely shaped wound from the assault that had cost him his life. They were hoping someone would recognize one or the other and come forward.

After discovering the existence of the gold, I dug up what I could about coins, trinkets, and historical artifacts found in the area. One coin that everyone seemed to remember and was mentioned several times belonged to Harlan Baptiste. He carried it everywhere, considered it a lucky charm.

Unfortunately, his family’s luck was far removed from charming. They’d suffered more tragedies and disasters than anyone I’d ever known. According to Mr. DuPont down the street, Harlan Baptiste made sure the entire town of Bayou Allain knew once Simon and King graduated, he’d be hitting the road. He’d kept to his word and hadn’t been seen since.

It was the sketch of the wound accompanying the article about the dead man that drew my attention, though it took days before I again ran across the photo with what I thought might be the murder weapon. I was curious why the judge would have saved the article when the others he’d clipped all referred to cases he’d been involved in. My mistake was to ask him about it. His reaction was the polar opposite of the joy he’d displayed when I’d shown him the letter from Ruth Callahan Landry. His hostility quickly turned to a mask of insult and hurt, but I’d seen the other before he’d squelched it. And then I saw the truth.

Twenty-five

“Wait here,” Simon said as he parked the truck. He
climbed out, slamming the door hard enough to jar Micky’s arm. The stitched-up gash began to throb beneath the tape and gauze, and the pain guaranteed she wasn’t about to take orders to stay put. Not that she’d ever planned to. The minute she’d recognized Simon’s cousin on the steps, she’d glanced to the side to check out Simon’s reaction as he drove. It had not been pretty. She’d been thinking of him as a fictional hero, an ex-military man guarding bodies in Afghanistan before assigning himself to guard hers. He’d become her make-believe version of who he really was, the same way he’d known her face on a billboard. But watching him watching King proved him both human and vulnerable. He could’ve been a living rubber band, a coiled spring that breathed. She didn’t think she’d ever witnessed that much tension without it resulting in a volatile blast. She didn’t know King we
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l , didn’t really know him at all. She’d only met him two nights ago, and their conversation had been short.

Convicted felon or not, she didn’t have to know him to want to warn him of what was to come. She was the one who could see Simon’s knuckles as he gripped the steering wheel, the cords in his neck as he now held his chin high, the way his long dark lashes came down to hide the tempest in his eyes.