The Accused
- -
- 100%
- +
“I just hope it closes,” she said.
“Let’s not borrow trouble,” he said and pointed to a hallway on the left side of the landing. “I saw several bedrooms that direction when I was up here earlier. Let’s see if one works.”
By unspoken agreement, they each took a side of the hall and began inspecting the bedrooms. Alaina made it to the door centered at the end of the hall before Carter. She stepped inside and sucked in a breath.
This was it. The bedroom she’d shared with her sisters.
It was situated directly over the kitchen area and just as large. Her memories were fuzzy, but she could remember the single beds and crib, all decked out in pink and white. White dressers stood against the wall across from the beds. The beds and dressers were long gone, but against the far wall stood two wooden school desks.
She crossed the room and ran her fingers over the dusty desktop. A chill coursed through her when she felt the indentations in the corner. It had been restained and lacquered when she was a child—her punishment had been scrubbing the marble floors downstairs for a week by hand—but even the new stain and lacquer hadn’t erased the single word she’d carved in the corner with her scissors.
Help.
“Is everything okay?” Carter’s voice sounded behind her, causing her to spin around.
“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” He studied her for a couple of seconds. “Is something wrong?”
“No,” she said, straining to keep herself from sounding as anxious as she felt. “Just coming face-to-face with old ghosts.”
She forced a small smile. “I suppose I should get used to it, right?”
He looked around the room and she had no doubt he noticed the desks and other remnants that marked the room as occupied by children. “I guess it’s strange coming back here after so long. You must have a lot of memories of this place.”
“Not really. To be honest, I barely remember anything about my childhood. I should because I was old enough to, but it’s as if it’s been erased.”
“Perhaps it was too painful to deal with, so you locked away those memories.”
A bit of relief washed over her. “Yes, I think you’re right. You’re very intuitive.”
“Not really,” he said, looking slightly uncomfortable. “It just seems logical given the circumstances back then.”
She studied him for a moment. It was the first time since she’d met him that she got the feeling he was lying to her. As an attorney, she had a highly honed ability to detect untruth.
“Looks like the dam is breaking. I guess that’s something else I’ll have to deal with,” she said, pushing all thought of Carter and his potential ulterior motives from her mind. Whatever Carter was hiding was none of her business. She barely knew the man and that was the way things were going to stay.
He nodded and scanned the room again. “It looks like this is the only one with serviceable furniture, but if you don’t feel comfortable staying in here …”
“No, this will be fine.”
“Are you sure?”
“It doesn’t require moving furniture and is as secure as any other option, right?”
“Assuming the locks work properly, yes.” He walked to the doorway and checked the lock, then crossed the room to open the French doors that led onto a balcony overlooking the backyard.
She stepped out to join him. The square lines of cypress trees were the only indicators of the lawn that used to exist. Now it was as if the entire area had been swallowed up by the swamp that surrounded it. Marsh grass and weeds grew as high as a person, and scraggly shrubs had spouted up in random patterns. Vines clung to everything capable of supporting their weight and when nothing was available, they ran across the ground, mixing in with the moss to make a mottled carpet of green.
“It’s not very inviting,” she said, trying to shake the uneasy feeling that the swamp gave her.
She’d expected Carter to provide another logical explanation—one that she could lock on to and carry over the next two weeks—but instead, he stared silently out across the tangle of undergrowth. Finally, he spoke. “The swamps of Mystere Parish aren’t like other places, not even like other swamps.”
“What do you mean?”
He shook his head. “Can’t say exactly. It’s just a feeling, really, that something isn’t right. Swamps in Mystere Parish are quieter than most and have more than their share of unexplained phenomena.”
“The legends and lore of Creoles?”
“I’m sure that’s some of it, but I’m not much for old wives’ tales or stories told to scare kids into minding their mothers. Still, I don’t much like spending time in the swamp.” He looked her straight in the eyes. “I’m not trying to tell you what to do, but you probably shouldn’t venture out there. Too many lethal things could be lurking just past your back door and not a single one of them the kind of thing legends are made from.”
Despite the heat of the evening, a slight chill ran over her and she crossed her arms. “You don’t have to worry about that for a second. You couldn’t pay me enough to go in there.”
He nodded. “Well, the locks on both doors are fine. I wish we could have found a room closer to the stairwell …”
His voice trailed off and Alaina realized he hadn’t wanted to alarm her by finishing his sentence, but she had little doubt what he was thinking.
“In case I need to get out in a hurry,” she finished for him.
He frowned. “I don’t want to scare you unnecessarily, but I’d be lying if I said I liked you staying out here alone.”
“I thought there was a caretaker.”
“Amos lives in his own cabin.” He pointed across what used to be the back lawn. “It’s somewhere in that mess. Even if he heard or saw anything from his cabin, age and physical conditioning are working against him. He wouldn’t be much help.”
She leaned over the balcony and was relieved to see a stone walkway below that led around to the front of the house. It was a bit overgrown with vines but still visible.
“No worries,” she said as she straightened back up. “If things get hairy, I’ll go right over the balcony and run for my SUV.”
Carter glanced over the balcony and raised his eyebrows. “You’re going to jump from the second floor then run?”
“I went to college on a track-and-field scholarship. Almost made the Olympic team. The drop from the railing is no worse than the high jump, and trust me, if it’s a footrace with anything on two legs, I can take them.”
His lips quivered for a moment, then broke into a slow smile. “That’s good to know, but if it’s all the same, I’m going to hope you don’t have to back up those words.”
She smiled. “Me, too, but if it’s all the same, I may sleep with tennis shoes on.”
“Well, then, it looks like we have a plan.” He stepped back toward the door to the bedroom and motioned her inside. He stood just outside the doorway, waiting for her to pass. As she stepped past him, her arm brushed across his chest and she felt a tingle deep inside. Even though it had been a tiny bit of contact, it had left no doubt that underneath the worn T-shirt and jeans contained a ripped body built for action.
Maybe she needed to revise her earlier statement. She might not be able to take Carter in a footrace, but then, depending on the reason he was chasing her, she might not run.
She shook her head to clear it from thoughts that had no business being there. Had it really been that long since she’d enjoyed the company of a man that she was fantasizing about the first eligible one she ran across? She’d ended a three-year relationship eight months before and hadn’t been interested in pursuing another. Or maybe her last relationship had left her so jaded about men—particularly good-looking ones—that she had been intentionally avoiding them.
Funny how she’d managed to do just that in Baton Rouge, the capital of the state, but the second she set foot in a town with less population than her condominium complex, she came face-to-face with the only man who had piqued her interest since her ex.
Carter closed and locked the French doors behind them. “Let me help you get your things up here.”
“Oh, that’s okay. I brought only one suitcase of personal things. The rest goes to the kitchen. It will give me something to do.” She hoped he’d leave her to it. With her imagination in overdrive and her memory rapid-firing without warning and her obvious attraction to the sheriff, she felt too vulnerable. And she didn’t like that feeling.
Carter nodded and they made their way back downstairs. He stood in the entryway next to the front door and scanned the area one last time. She could tell he was still uncomfortable with her staying here alone—and that made two of them—but she wasn’t about to admit it. The sooner she got started, the sooner her fourteen-day stint would be over. Besides, she couldn’t put her career on hold forever. A delay meeting the terms of the will would delay anything else she decided, as well.
“Can I see your cell phone?” Carter asked.
“What? Oh, sure.” She dug the phone out of her purse and handed it to him.
He checked the display and frowned. “Only one bar. I figured as much. When the storm hits, you may lose service altogether.”
He pressed the phone’s screen for a minute, then handed it back to her. “I loaded my cell number in favorites along with the number for dispatch. As soon as you get a chance, you should head to the café—they have free Wi-Fi—and download that app that allows you to put a phone number on your screen for speed dial.”
She stared at him for a moment.
“I’m not trying to scare you,” he said. “It’s just that the house is old and poorly maintained and there are a lot of things that could become an emergency. William Duhon is a family friend, and I promised him I’d look after things. He has an office here in Calais, but also in New Orleans, so he’s not always readily available.
She nodded. “That’s a good idea. And thank you for being on call.”
He handed the phone back to her, but as she was about to pull her hand away, he gently clasped his hand around it. “If you see anything that doesn’t look right—hell, if you feel like something’s not right—call me.”
The heat from his hand coursed through her and she suddenly realized how close they were standing to each other. If she tilted her face upward and leaned in just a bit, it was all it would take to kiss him.
She pulled her hand away. “I can hardly bother you with every little noise. I’m sure there are plenty of things here that are going to try my nerves. This isn’t exactly the kind of living arrangement I’m used to.”
He shook his head. “Don’t give me that. If you were any good at being a lawyer, then you know how to read a situation better than most. I’m asking you not to second-guess yourself.”
A bit of annoyance started to creep in. Caution was one thing, but now she felt as if he was trying to scare her. And certainly, he had no right making assumptions about her professional abilities. “Look, I appreciate your concern, but other than ensuring I don’t leave town, I’m not really your responsibility.”
His expression didn’t change except for a tiny flex of his jaw. Her words had—what?—annoyed him? Frustrated him? She couldn’t tell exactly.
“As long as William Duhon is my mother’s best friend, then you’re my responsibility. You may as well get used to it.”
He opened the front door and left without so much as a backward glance. She watched as he pulled away in his truck and then she shut the door and locked it. Mr. Duhon hadn’t told her that a hulking male was part of the deal.
Unlocked memories, ghosts, storms and a creepy house being swallowed up by the swamp. She had to face all of them for thirteen more days.
At the moment, the hunky sheriff was the thing that scared her most of all.
Chapter Five
As he drove away, Carter glanced in his rearview mirror at the decaying old house that seemed to fade into the swamp. This entire situation had gone from annoying to frustrating in very little time. And the worst part was, he had a feeling things were only going to go downhill from here. Darn his mother and her “feelings.” Although he’d never really understood what she meant when she said things felt wrong, he’d always respected her perception.
Now he understood it all too well.
Something was wrong—seriously wrong—at that house. Alaina seemed nice enough for a lawyer, and he certainly hadn’t missed the fact that she was easy on the eyes, but he got the impression she was hiding something. Granted, she had no call to lay out her life to a complete stranger, and he didn’t expect her to, but her safety was in question and it almost seemed as if she was hiding things to do with the house and her childhood there.
A string of curse words ran through his head, but he managed to hold them in, as his mother had taught him to. When he reached the crossroads in Calais, he gave up manners—after all, he was the only one in the vehicle—and let one slip. Then he turned his truck toward William’s office. He needed more information and the best place to start was with the attorney handling the estate.
William was just locking up his office on Main Street when Carter parked in front of it. He gave Carter a pleasant smile as the sheriff exited his truck.
“I trust Alaina arrived safely?” William asked.
“She arrived safely, but I have some concerns about her ability to remain that way. Do you have some time to talk?”
“Certainly. Let me open back up.”
“Actually,” Carter interrupted him before he could unlock the door, “I could really use a cup of coffee and a Danish.”
William smiled. “I would never say no to coffee and Danish. The café it is, then.”
They walked in silence across the street to Calais Café and slid into a booth in the far corner. Only a couple of tables were occupied, but they were far enough away that they could speak freely without fear of being overheard.
Seconds later, the waitress walked up. “Good evening, gentlemen,” she said with a big smile.
“I don’t know about the ‘gentlemen’ part,” Carter joked.
“Speak for yourself, young man,” William said.
The waitress, a young, pretty girl named Connie, who’d turned up in Calais several months before, laughed at their exchange.
“Trust me,” she said, “after working at a dive in New Orleans, I can assure you that the citizens of Calais are above reproach.”
Carter smiled at the woman. “Then good evening to you, too.”
William nodded. “As well from me.”
“Are you having supper,” Connie asked, “or are you planning to cheat on supper with a Danish?”
“Given that my supper is most likely microwavable,” Carter said, “cheating is a strong word.”
Connie shook her head. “The quality of the object is not the issue. Once you’ve committed to something, it’s still cheating. But I guess I’ll have pity on you. What about you, Mr. Duhon?”
“I’ll be cheating as well,” William said, “but don’t tell Matilda.”
Connie laughed as she walked away. William’s dedication to his late wife’s ancient white Persian was a commonly known fact in Calais.
William glanced at Connie as she walked away, then looked back at Carter. “She’s a pretty girl. Seems nice, as well.”
Something in William’s voice set Carter on high alert and he looked over at the attorney, taking in the slightly hopeful expression on his face. “Oh, no!” Carter said. “Don’t you even go there.”
“Why, I didn’t say a word.”
“Uh-huh. You and my mother are always ‘never saying a word.’ And all those words you’re never saying come back to the same thing—when am I going to settle down and give her grandkids.”
Connie returned with a tray and placed the coffee and two enormous Danish on the table. “Enjoy,” she said and hurried away to greet customers entering the café.
William took a bite of the Danish dripping with cream, and smiled. “Your mother is my oldest and dearest friend. I’d hardly be doing my job if I didn’t try to get her the things she wants most in life.”
Carter stuffed a huge bite of Danish in his mouth and held up one finger until he managed to wash the pastry down with coffee. “Get her a puppy and tell her to make do. The whole ‘kids and white picket fence’ thing isn’t in my long-term plans.”
The attorney sighed. “You’re still young. Perhaps you’ll change your mind and your mother can die a fulfilled woman.”
“Ha! You’re not going to guilt me into shackling myself to some woman either. Look, I know you and my mother both had great marriages and both of you lost spouses way too early, but it’s not for everyone. Some people have such a narrow slot for entry that they never find someone who fits it.”
“Some people board up that slot so that it is too narrow for others to enter.”
“Perhaps, but that’s my choice. And besides, even if I had the Grand Canyon of slots, the last thing I’d want is a young, innocent, nice girl. Living with me would be hell on earth to someone like that.”
Instantly, his thoughts flashed to Alaina. Now, there was a woman who wouldn’t let a man get the better of her. Likely, she’d get the best of any man she tangled with. He shook his head, wondering why he found that remotely attractive. Clearly he had issues. Danger attracted him. Nice, pretty girls with a good sense of humor bored him.
“So who is she?” William asked, breaking him out of his thoughts.
“What? No one.”
William wagged a finger at him. “I saw the look on your face. You went someplace where you were thinking about a woman—maybe one thin enough to fit in that slot.”
“The woman I was thinking about would blow up the slot with dynamite and stroll through. She’s also the reason I need to talk to you.”
“You’re speaking of Alaina? I haven’t seen her since she was a child, of course, but her mother was quite beautiful.”
“She’s beautiful … and prickly and not much on giving information.”
William smiled. “Got under your skin, did she?” He rubbed his jaw a moment. “I suppose with her being an attorney, she’d be naturally cautious, especially with anything she considered personal or outside of the scope of your business with the estate. Is there anything in particular that concerns you?”
“Yeah.” He told William about what he’d seen in the house and his failure to find any good explanation.
“And you don’t accept that it could have been tricks of light and shadows, as Alaina suggested?”
Carter blew out a breath. “I should. I mean, it’s far more logical than someone walking around the house but not leaving a trace in all that dust….”
“But?”
“But I know what I saw and it wasn’t a shadow.” He paused for a moment, trying to think of how to sum up his assessment in a way that didn’t make him sound crazy. “Look, something’s not right. I can’t put my finger on it, but I’m as certain about it as I was that the Danish would be superb.”
William nodded. “I believe you. You are your mother’s son after all. I’ve always figured it was only a matter of time before you tapped into the same perception she has. So what can I do to help?”
“I want information.”
“About?”
“We can start with Ophelia LeBeau and Trenton Purcell.”
“Okay. What would you like to know?”
“I don’t know exactly. Just start talking and maybe it will come to me.”
William nodded. “Ophelia was one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen—Alaina looks a lot like her from the pictures I’ve seen—but it wasn’t just the outside. She was beautiful inside, as well. I think perhaps her big heart proved to be her undoing.”
“How so?”
“She loved Marcus LeBeau, the girls’ father, as deeply and long as the Mississippi River. You could see it all over her face every time she looked at him. And the feeling was mutual. Marcus adored Ophelia and doted on his daughters. When he was killed in a boating accident, I think her heart broke in two.”
“Enter Trenton Purcell?”
William nodded. “It’s my opinion that Ophelia would never have taken up with him if she hadn’t been grieving Marcus’s loss. And I also think she wanted the girls to have a father. It was the worst mistake she ever made.”
“So I take it you didn’t like him either?”
William flushed a bit, his expression slightly angry. “Trenton Purcell was the biggest bastard I’ve ever come across in all my years on earth. And I trust you won’t repeat what I’ve said to your mother … at least not with those exact words.”
“Don’t worry. I think you two are in absolute agreement on this one.”
“Yes, well, I tried to talk Ophelia out of marrying him—I suggested she live with him rather than making it legally binding. Probably not my kindest moment, but with her own father deceased and my firm managing her estate, I felt responsible.” He sighed. “Unfortunately, I wasn’t successful—not in convincing her to forgo legally binding herself to him or in trying to get her to address the issues of the estate to protect her daughters.”
“I don’t get that part. If she loved her children so much, why wouldn’t she want them protected?”
William shook his head. “Because she wanted so badly to believe in Purcell and did? Because she was only twenty-eight and couldn’t force herself to think about her own death? I can’t really say. What I can tell you is that failing to take the legal steps to protect her girls was the second-biggest mistake Ophelia ever made.”
“How did Ophelia die?”
“Heart attack was the official ruling, but I’d argue that a more apt description was a broken heart.”
“Hmm. Rather a poetic statement for an attorney.”
William gave him a small smile. “Comes from having a British mother who loved the classics, I suppose.”
“And Purcell? I assume the broken-heart thing wasn’t his bag?”
“Hardly, but Purcell had all sorts of issues.”
“What do you mean?”
“He was so secretive—people-avoidant, quite frankly. When he moved into the house, he convinced Ophelia to give up all her volunteer work within the community and to pull the girls out of public school. They rarely left the house.”
“And after Ophelia died?”
“Until the day the coroner carried his body out, I am not aware that he ever left the house again. The caretaker was born on the estate and never left, so he was on hand to tend to most things day to day, and after Purcell shut himself off, he convinced Jack Granger to play errand boy for him.”
“When he was sober enough to drive.”
William nodded. “And probably when he wasn’t. I think Purcell threw enough money at him to keep him in beer, but not much else. He did some grumbling after Purcell died. I think he was expecting something by way of inheritance.”
“So no one knew that Purcell didn’t have the authority to dispense Ophelia’s money.”
“Not unless Purcell told them, and I doubt he would have let that fact loose. I’d hazard a guess that he got cheap labor off some of the Calais citizens for years with promises of riches at his death.”
“So there might be some pissed-off people in Calais?”
William shrugged. “Maybe, but Granger is the only one I can think of who still lives here, and anyone with a lick of sense and decency wouldn’t begrudge those girls their inheritance, even if it meant that Purcell played them for a fool.”
Carter nodded, mulling over everything William had told him. From start to finish to now, it was a strange setup. “The thing I don’t understand is, why did Purcell marry Ophelia for her money, then hide away in the bayou after her death? He’d already disposed of her children, so his responsibilities were minimal. Shouldn’t he have been on a tropical island with a flock of sexy women?”
“Yes, that would have followed more the norm, but I think that’s where Purcell’s issues came in. I think he was already pulling away from society and saw Ophelia’s riches as a way to avoid any interaction with the outside world because he wouldn’t be required to hold a job. Her death only entrenched that belief because without Ophelia and the girls, he had no one pressing him to venture outside of his own mind.”