Bayou Judgment (4 page)

“Yeah. She may have enticed him, but he didn't have to chase after her like a dog to a bone. But that's okay. He'll get his.”

“Now, Winnie, that doesn't sound good. Surely you can see that plotting revenge isn't good for you.”
Lord, please let her see that revenge isn't the answer.

The woman laughed. “Maybe not, but it sure feels good. Oh, he'll get his, all right.”

“Um, I think maybe you should talk to our pastor. Remember, I told you about him?”

Spence wiped his hands on his jeans. A silly ritual that he did before he took a hard call.

“No. I don't want to talk to anybody else. Matter of fact, I don't wanna talk to you anymore, either.”

The connection clicked loudly in Felicia's earpiece. Yanking the headset off, she tossed it on the desk.

“No dice, huh?” Spence's words were gentle.

“And got rather indignant when I even suggested she talk to you.” Felicia shook her head. “I don't get it. She calls initially to talk to me about winning her guy back, then moves into threats of hurting the new girlfriend. Now she's not mad at the girlfriend anymore, but is plotting payback toward her ex for hurting her. Something's not right with her, Spence. She's not rational.”

“But she's not threatening that woman anymore, right?”

“No, but she's bent on revenge toward her ex.”

Spence straightened and ran a hand over his head. “Think she's just blowing smoke?”

She shook her head. “Something's going on with her. I feel it. She's not stable and it isn't just her pain venting.”

“But she didn't act on her feelings toward the new girlfriend, and she called back. Maybe in a couple more days, she'll call again and not be so bitter toward her ex.”

“I hope so.” Nice thought, but she had her doubts. The woman ping-ponged with her emotions. Felicia reached for her cane.

“You know, you didn't have to come in tonight. I could've had others cover for you.” He laid a hand on her shoulder. “I know how hard it's been for you.”

Heat nearly seared her shoulder. She forced herself to focus despite the feelings pulling her to him. He was only her boss, yes? “I'll be okay. I need to be here. If I can help someone else, maybe I won't feel so…”

“So what?”

She'd almost forgotten he'd been trained to dig out secrets.

“Nothing. I'm all right.” Felicia got to her feet and shot him a shaky smile. “Don't worry about me.”

“Have you heard anything from the sheriff?”

She let out a heavy sigh. “They haven't come up with anything yet.”

He squeezed her shoulder. “They'll find who did it soon.”

But as she headed to the break room, she knew nothing would be right in her world for a long time coming.

“I
still think this is a bad idea,
Boo.
No one will think less of you if you reconsider and stay home.” Luc hesitated, holding the overflowing box of dishes easily on his hip.

“I said no, and meant it,” Felicia replied as she tossed all the dishrags on top of the box.

“How about you at least stay until the killer is caught?”

“And if that doesn't happen anytime soon, then what? Just live at home for the rest of my life?”

“It's not a good idea for you to be living here alone after what happened.”

“I'm tired of discussing it, yes?”

“When did you get so stubborn?”

“Runs in the family.” She smiled to soften her words.

Luc shook his head. “Fine. But if there's even so much as a hint of violence around you, I'm going to come right back and march you straight home. I don't like you living here alone.” He stormed from the apartment.

Felicia bit back her grin. He truly worried over her, and she didn't doubt he'd make good on his threat. All the more reason to see Jolie's killer brought to justice quickly. It'd ensure her independence. Or, at the very least, get Luc off her back.

She checked the cabinets a final time. All empty. Counters, too, except for a single item. The butcher block of knives. She hadn't been able to pack it. Jolie had been killed with a knife. None of their knives had been used—the sheriff had ruled out that possibility. Still, Felicia didn't know if she'd ever be able to look at a knife again and not think of Jolie's murder. She jerked the butcher block into the trash bag.

Soft footfalls sounded from the doorway. “The sheriff told me he still hasn't gotten in touch with Kipp. Would you like me to take the box of Jolie's things to my house until they do?” CoCo shoved her dark curls from her face.

Why hadn't the police located Kipp? He didn't shown up for Jolie's funeral, and no one had seen or heard from him since. Did the loan sharks get him, too? Cold fingertips trailed down Felicia's back as she started to wonder if Luc was right. She gave herself a mental shake. No, she had to stake her independence now or she'd falter.

“Fels, you okay?” CoCo touched her shoulder. Warm, caring.

“I'm fine. Um, I'll just keep her things in my closet until Kipp resurfaces.” If he ever did, that is. She certainly wouldn't bring up her concerns, though. Luc would throw a fit and toss her back home in a heartbeat if he though she was scared. But Jolie's murder hadn't been random. The police agreed with her.

“Okay.” CoCo pierced her with a look filled with pity.

Just what Felicia didn't want or need. She headed to her bedroom, her limp more pronounced from spending the whole day packing up the apartment. It was her day off from physical therapy, but she'd overworked her muscles just as if she'd done four sets.

Alyssa LeBlanc, CoCo's sister visiting from New Orleans, breezed down the hallway. “All your address-change requests have been delivered to the post office, madam.”

“
Merci.
I appreciate it.”

While the others toted boxes across the complex, Felicia finished packing her bedroom. Her hands paused as she reached for her jewelry box. She opened the lid, the hinge creaking. The single solitaire blinked up at her, the overhead light causing the diamond to sparkle as if the promise hadn't been broken. Felicia blinked back tears and regret—and anger. Anger that Frank had died at their engagement party.

“Almost done in here?” Luc hovered in the doorway.

Her brother couldn't see her crying—it'd just confirm his belief that she shouldn't be alone. “Only this last one.”

He lifted the cardboard box with ease and hollered over his shoulder. “Tara says to tell you she's almost done with setting up your kitchen.”

Felicia couldn't stop the edges of her mouth from tweaking into a smile as she moved to the hallway. CoCo's youngest sister was a fireball. Tara had more spunk than either CoCo or Alyssa. No one would tell Tara LeBlanc what she could or couldn't do. They wouldn't dare. Maybe Felicia should take a lesson or two from her.

Spence met her in the hall. “That about everything?” His eyes sparkled, almost brighter than her ring.

Felicia's heartbeat quickened, and she struggled to ignore it. No, she couldn't be attracted to him. He was her boss. Besides, it was too soon, a little over a year since Frank had died. She hadn't stopped grieving. Had she? No, she only felt like this because Spence was one of the few people who didn't stare at her with pity. He admired her strength—hadn't he told her several times since her surgery? It was not attraction she felt, but gratitude, yes? Had to be. “Yeah. I just need to turn these keys in to Mr. McRae.”

“Let me. You need to see what they're doing in your apartment. Make sure they put everything where you can find it.” He took the two keys from her hand and grinned. Did his smile have to be as bright as his eyes?

Her fingers tingled where they'd made contact with his. Not attraction, gratitude, she reminded herself. She'd do well to distinguish between the two.

She double-checked the entry closet. A single sweater hung on a hanger. Felicia snatched the bright yellow pullover free, clutching it against her chest. The distinct perfume Jolie always wore lingered on the soft knit. Felicia shook her head. Jolie had borrowed the sweater the night she'd been murdered. Why was it hanging alone in the closet? She'd boxed up everything earlier, hadn't she? Strange, very strange.

A boisterous laugh rang out from the complex. Felicia turned, catching sight of CoCo and Alyssa good-naturedly nudging each other as they carried empty boxes to the Dumpster, apologizing to a young woman they nearly jostled off the walkway. A lump the size of Louisiana lodged in her throat as memories accosted her. Jolie bouncing on Felicia's bed to share details of a great date. Teasing her about not leaving wet towels on the floor. Sharing Scriptures and secrets together in stolen moments.

She allowed a final few tears to trail down her cheeks before leaving the apartment and shutting the door behind her. Shutting off the pain, she closed off another death of someone she loved.

The afternoon breeze carried a hint of rain. Felicia trudged across the courtyard, leaning heavily on her cane and clutching her sweater. This was it. Everything had been transferred to the new apartment. She took a moment to look back at her old one.

I won't forget you, Jolie. I'll find your killer and then you can rest in peace. I owe you that much.

Did she have to look so fragile? Broken, yet strong?

Spencer hauled in a deep breath and turned from the window. Felicia's family and friends were putting the finishing touches on setting up the new apartment. How they'd managed to get everything moved and unboxed, much less put away, in just a day was beyond him. The love these people had for Felicia warmed his heart. But he still couldn't help wishing she'd stayed at her family's home instead of moving back into these apartments. Wouldn't painful memories stalk her every step here? Was she even safe?

He drew himself up short. It wasn't any of his business. She was a nice girl, a good employee, a strong Christian. He had no right to worry about her emotional state. He'd best get those random thoughts right out of his head.

“So, how's it look? Anything we need to change?” CoCo asked Felicia as soon as she entered.

“Wow. I had no idea y'all would get everything put up for me.”

Tara snorted. “Well, if you can't find a certain pot or pan, don't say I didn't warn ya.”

“I appreciate what you've done.” Felicia glanced over each person in turn. “All of you.”

“
Allons,
let's look at your bedroom.” CoCo wrapped an arm around Felicia and led her down the hall.

No need for him to stay any longer. He stepped into their path. “I need to get back to the center.”

Felicia nodded. “I'll see you on my shift.”

“You don't have to come in tonight. I imagine you're beat.”

“No. I'll be there.” Determination rested in her delicate features.

He could tell it wouldn't do him any good to argue with her. “See you later, then.”

He headed to the front door, wiping his hands against the rough denim of his jeans. To his surprise, Luc met him on the sidewalk. “Mind if I walk you out?”

By the look in Luc's eyes, he had something serious on his mind. “Sure.”

They reached his truck before Luc spoke. “I'm concerned about Felicia.”

“I am, too.” Spencer dug the keys from his pocket, jangling them at the door.

“I wonder if I could ask you to keep an eye on her while she's at the center? At first I didn't want her to work, but at least if she's there with you, she's safer than being here alone.”

“I'll do what I can, Luc.”

“
Merci.
I appreciate it.” He popped his knuckles. “She has a stubborn streak a mile wide, but if she comes into any danger, I've already told her I'll pack her up and take her back home.”

Spencer would almost pay to see that. He could imagine the fire in Felicia's eyes if Luc even tried it. He suddenly got a vision of her eyes dancing with anger. Interesting that he imagined she'd be all the more attractive. No, he had to keep his mind free of such thoughts. “I'll keep an eye on her as best I can.”

Luc nodded and retreated to the sidewalk as Spencer backed out of the parking place and steered toward the center. Conflicting thoughts battled for his attention. On one hand, Spencer could understand Luc's protectiveness toward Felicia—she was his little sister, had been handicapped until recently and had suffered such grief in the past year. On the flip side, he could relate to Felicia's attitude—needing her independence, wanting to deal with the pain herself and not wanting people to walk on eggshells around her. The situation called for a very delicate balance, and Spencer felt as if he'd landed in the middle of the crossfire.

He parked his truck in his designated spot and marched into the center. Ringing phones and voices merged into a steady hum.

Good to be back on familiar ground.

Once in his office, he read his messages from his assistant. A cold sweat broke out on his forehead as his heartbeat raced. Sheriff Theriot had called and needed to speak to him ASAP.

Had they run a background check on him? He gripped the paper tighter. Garrison. Spencer knew there'd be trouble for him when Jon Garrison had showed up at Jolie's funeral. The sheriff probably couldn't wait to ask Garrison why he'd been there. Jon Garrison would dump the whole sorry story out to the police. Just what Spencer didn't need.

What to do? The church's elders knew about his past, but they were the only ones he'd told. He'd never lied, he just hadn't expounded on his experiences. But he couldn't sweep his past under the rug with the police. His congregation and friends, yes, but not law enforcement. They knew everything. Or would soon enough.

If he ignored the message, they'd either call again or just show up. No, better to just get it over with over the phone. He dialed the number on the message and asked to speak to the sheriff.

“Sheriff Theriot.”

“This is Spencer Bertrand returning your call.” His tongue thickened instantly.

“Pastor. I'm looking over your statement about Jolie Landry.”

“Yes?”
Lord, please give me strength.

“I was wondering if you kept records, logs or something, of all the calls that come into the center.”

“We keep logs, and I mean that in the loosest sense of the word. Each operator keeps a record of their calls, a brief description of the situation, what they advised, if it was transferred to me, that kind of thing.”

“We'll need to see copies of Jolie Landry's records for the past month.”

His heart raced. There couldn't be a tie between Jolie's death and the center. His center. His personal atonement. “Sheriff, I want to help, I truly do, but those records are confidential. I'm sure you understand.”

“I figured you'd say that, but had to ask. We'll be getting a warrant to get copies of them, Pastor.”

His tongue felt twenty sizes too big for his mouth. “We'll abide by any warrant.”

“I know you will.”

Spencer hung up the phone. His shirt stuck to his back, glued with sweat. Relief that his secret was still safe washed over him, but for how long? This was it—his worst nightmare come true. How long would it take the sheriff to check on him? Being a preacher didn't exempt him from police inquiries.

He lowered his head into his hands. When the sheriff got around to it, Spencer would be their number-one suspect. Case closed. He could hear the prison bars locking into place behind him.

Father, help me.