Bayou Justice (6 page)

Luc didn't care for the man's tone, nor the proprietary manner in which he held CoCo's elbow. Then again, Luc had given up the right to voice his concerns over her. A decision, upon reflection, he seriously regretted.

She glanced at her lawyer and nodded, but Luc didn't miss the questions lurking in her eyes. A trip to Mr. Williams's office hadn't been in the plans.

“Uh, right.” Yet, she agreed with him. That alone spoke volumes as to who she trusted. And who she didn't. Her eyes clouded over as she stared back at Luc. “Just what I thought— talking out both sides of your mouth.”

The attorney tugged on her elbow. “CoCo, we really must get back to the office.”

Luc felt his opportunity slipping between his fingers. “I'll call you tonight.”

She froze, scrutinizing him in that scathing way of hers, then gave a brief nod. The lawyer escorted her to her Jeep. Luc watched her get inside and drive away. His chest felt hollow and empty.

Turning back toward his vehicle, a question shoved to the forefront of his mind. Why did Dwayne Williams act opposed to Luc and CoCo calling a truce? He wondered if Dwayne could be interested in her, as a man is interested in a woman. Before the green beast could rear its ugly head, Luc's logic shoved his male ego out of the way. He hadn't gotten a sense of romantic interest between CoCo and Dwayne. No, that wasn't it. Maybe this Dwayne was merely protecting his client, not wanting her to speak with the victim's family. That could be it, but a strange sensation roiled in his gut, telling him there was more to the story.

CoCo scrutinized Dwayne from across his conference room table. His head was bowed as he read the document he'd asked her to sign. He glanced up, met her stare, and told her everything was in order. His pause came a moment after she didn't respond. “Is there something else?”

“Your accent…”

He narrowed his eyes for a brief moment. “Pardon me?”

“Your accent, or lack of one. You don't talk with a strong Southern dialect, yet at the police station, you said
allons
rather than let's go, so you're obviously familiar with the Cajun language.”

His smile flashed as he stood. “My mother's family was from this area. They moved after her father died. I was born and raised in California.” He nodded toward his law degree. Without the small frame hanging there, the wall would be barren. “I went to school at UCLA.”

“What made you come back?”

The smile vanished. “Family issues.” He held her elbow and helped her stand. “I'll get back to the sheriff's office and see what I can find out.”

CoCo let him lead her to the office door. He gave a quick goodbye before shutting the door. Confused as all get-out, she dragged her feet across the parking lot. The heat slammed against her full force as she made her way to the Jeep. She slipped behind the steering wheel, cringed as the hot leather touched on the bare skin behind her knees. She cranked the engine and flipped the air conditioner to high.

Staring at Dwayne's office, she wondered why he'd acted so odd. And why would someone who'd been established in California move all the way back to Lagniappe, Louisiana? Family issues? As she slammed the gearshift, CoCo wondered if she should check out his family ties to the area.

L
uc needed to talk to her, to assure her that he didn't believe her family guilty. Could he work with her, one-on-one, to figure out who killed his grandfather without falling in love with her all over again? It'd been the hardest thing Luc had to do, calling off their engagement, but he'd had no other options. Not only was she deep into voodoo, something he detested, but then there was the death of his father.

Luc whipped into her driveway, not sure whether to be excited or disappointed to see her Jeep parked in its regular place. The door creaked as he stepped from the vehicle. What, exactly, was he going to say? Some plan he had.

“Luc?”

Her voice carried to him on the breeze off the bayou. And then he saw her. In her airboat, she stood and shielded her eyes with her hand.

Now or never. He picked his steps carefully as he made his way toward her.

“What're you doing here?” Suspicion darkened her eyes. Would she ever look at him with trust again? Probably not.

“I want to finish our conversation.” Before the lawyer had all but ordered her to his office.

She sat back in the seat of the boat and crossed her arms over her chest. “I don't see we have anything left to discuss.”

“I want to help you.” Why did that pop out? He certainly hadn't intended on partnering with her—he'd already convinced himself it was a bad idea.

“Really?” Sarcasm all but dripped from her tongue.

He searched his heart and found he truly did want to solve his grandfather's murder. And he wanted to do it with CoCo. “Yeah. Really.”

Her eyes widened for a split second and her lips thinned. “Then hop in.”

“What?” Surely she didn't expect him to get on that boat.

“Get in. I've got to do some tracking of a couple of gators, but I thought I'd run by Grisson Landing. Just to see if I notice anything amiss.”

“Didn't the police already check everything there?”

She snorted and rested her hand on the throttle. “I think I know the bayou a little better than they do. I'd know if something was out of place.”

Luc swallowed against a dry mouth. She had a point. But to get in the bayou? Alone with her?

“Are you coming or not?” Patience never had been her strongest virtue. Her eyes flashed.

Oh, now he understood. This was something like a test— a dare to see if he was serious. He'd never been one to back away from a challenge, and he didn't intend to start now. “Sure.” On rubbery legs, he climbed aboard her boat.

She smiled, nearly causing him to stumble as he took his seat. “Hold on.”

The big fan that propelled the boat roared to life when she flipped a switch. The sound over his shoulder could compete with a 747. CoCo pulled her hair into a ponytail, flipping it into some kind of knot. When she hit the lever, the boat eased away from the bank. Luc's heart pounded louder than the fan.

Skimming over the water, Luc felt the tension at the base of his neck ease. At one time, he'd gone out on CoCo's runs with her at least every other day. It felt good to be out on the bayou again. With her. He studied her from the corner of his eye. She looked as pretty as ever, but different. Like a glow had been added to her face that hadn't been there before.

The big fan went silent, and CoCo steered the boat to sidle up next to a big cypress tree loaded with Spanish moss. “I need to make sure Moodoo is where he's supposed to be.” She grabbed a clipboard, scanned the information with a crease in her brow, then gazed into the clump of trees near the bank. Within seconds, a large alligator bumped against the side of the boat.

Every muscle in Luc's body went rigid. His heartbeat echoed in his head.

CoCo laughed. “Hey, Moodoo. How's my boy today?”

Here he was, about to have a coronary being this close to the beast, and she all but crooned to it. Luc hauled in a deep breath.

She scribbled on her page and attached the clipboard back to its holder. Glancing at Luc, she frowned. “Are you okay?”

“Uh, yeah.” He wouldn't dare admit he was more terrified than he'd ever been in his life. Even when he'd gone with her before, they'd never had a gator get this close. It was so big.

“I rescued Moodoo from some poachers. Nursed him back to health myself.” She tossed something into the water. The gator swam away from the boat with a swish, and snapped at the object.

Luc didn't want to think about what it might have been.

“Hey, do you think maybe a poacher could have killed your grandfather? I've seen evidence of them increasing in activity in this area.”

She might actually be on to something. “I don't know. It's something we should definitely run by Bubba.”

“I think he wants to believe I'm guilty or my family is.”

“Bubba may be country, but he's a good guy.” He watched her fire up the fan again. “Did you know he's taking an online course in criminal justice?” he yelled over the roar.

CoCo gave a shrug. “Then there might be hope for him yet.” She smiled, and it was as warming as the sun sitting high in the sky. He never would have thought they'd be together on the bayou ever again.

Once at Grisson Landing, CoCo activated the trolling motor and maneuvered them around the area. Although they kept their eyes trained, nothing seemed out of place. Luc's hopes crashed. He'd been hoping to find some clue, a piece of evidence or something.

“Guess we should head back. There's nothing here,” she said, her voice laced with disappointment.

“Maybe it was a poacher. I'll be sure to tell Bubba.”

They made the trip back to her house in silence. Their truce, as it was, seemed as fragile and tangible as the lichen they had to duck under as she banked the boat.

“Thanks for coming with me, Luc.” She put her hands on her hips. “We'll figure out who killed your grandfather.”

He nodded; no words were needed. Better to savor the peace between them. Luc walked toward his SUV. “I'll talk to Bubba and call you. Fill you in on what he says.”

She gave him a shaky smile, then marched across her yard.

Luc headed home. It looked as if the sheriff had beaten him there. Maybe they'd found the murderer already. Luc rushed to the veranda where Sheriff Theriot sat chatting with Luc's mother. Oh happy day, his mother. He could only pray she hadn't been nipping the brandy this early in the day.

He loped up the stairs. “Hey, Bubba.”

The sheriff looked at him, a guarded expression in his eyes. His notebook lay open in his lap. “Luc.” He nodded toward Hattie. “Your momma here's been telling me about your argument with Beau yesterday.”

Luc shot his gaze to his mother. Her eyes were bloodshot and her face drawn. Apparently she'd stayed up much later than he, soaking up the brandy. He'd make it a point to dispose of the whole stinkin' bottle.

“Why'd you fail to mention the big fight you had with your grandfather? ”The sheriff held his pen poised over the notebook.

“I really didn't think about it, Bubba. My focus was more on my grandfather's dead body.”

“Tell me about this argument of yours.”

Sighing, Luc lowered himself to one of the big rockers across from the porch swing. “Not much to tell, really. It's no secret Grandfather wanted me to take over as casino manager once he retired. I finally told him that I had no intention of working for the casino—that I intended to stay an accounting consultant. The news upset him.”

“The way I hear it told, he was more than a little upset.”

Definitely time to kill his mother's brandy addiction. “He got angry, but you know how Beau was. He'd blow up, simmer down, then cool off.”

“Did your grandfather threaten to throw the whole lot of you out in the street, Luc?”

He swallowed, knowing how awful it sounded. “Yes, he did.”

The sheriff leaned over the railing to spit tobacco into the oleanders lining the porch. “Sure seems like a strong motive for murder.”

Heat shot through Luc's body, and it had nothing to do with the sun beating down. “Are you accusing me of killing my own grandfather?”

Bubba's eyes squinted under the roof of the porch. “I'm not accusing anyone of anything, yet. A threat of that kind is a strong motive for murder. Wouldn't you agree?” He spit over the rail again.

Luc clenched and unclenched his fists. “It sounds bad, sure I can see that. But I had nothing to do with Grandfather's death.”

“You were near that part of the bayou yesterday. On the LeBlanc property.”

“I already explained that.” Could his friend really believe he was guilty—that he'd shoot his own grandfather?

“Do you own a twelve-gauge shotgun?”

The question came out rapid-fire, startling Luc. “I'm not sure. Grandfather was big into hunting, but you already know that. I have no idea what guns he kept here.”

“Yet he lived in the casino penthouse.”

Luc met Bubba's stare. “In which he couldn't legally have firearms.”

“Uh-huh.” The sheriff didn't break eye contact. “So, Beau stashed all his shotguns here, at the house you live in?”

“As far as I know.” Luc hated grinding out his answers from between clenched teeth, but he couldn't make his jaw relax.

“Can you see if you can find a twelve-gauge?”

“Why?”

“I can get a warrant to search, Luc.” The sheriff's eyes hardened.

“Why don't you just ask me what's stuck in your craw?”

The lawman spit again, wiped his mouth with his hand and scrutinized Luc.

“We go way back, you and me. You know I won't lie to you, Bubba.”

The sheriff studied him for a moment longer. “The autopsy report shows a shell from a twelve-gauge killed Beau.”

“What about the LeBlancs?” his mother interjected.

Luc snorted, but Bubba spoke calmly to her. “I can't see Marie LeBlanc hoisting a shotgun at Beau's back and shooting him.” He scratched his red head. “Of course, CoCo or Tara would be strong enough.”

“I don't think either of the girls could do that.” Luc pushed off the chair and headed to the door. “I talked to CoCo today. She said that poacher activity has increased in the area of Grisson Landing recently. Could a poacher have shot Grandfather?”

“Please, Luc. She's just trying to distract you,” his mother chided.

He tossed her a look of warning. She staggered to her feet and went into the house. Luc turned his attention back to his friend. “Is it possible, Bubba?”

“Could be. I'll check it out.” The sheriff spit tobacco juice off the porch. “Now, about Beau's guns…”

Obviously, the man wasn't going to let this go. “Let's go see if there's a shotgun in his cabinet.”

Bubba followed him down the hall. Luc opened the door to Beau's study—the one room nobody but his grandfather used. “His gun cabinet is in here.” He led the way to the closet and yanked open the door.

The sheriff stared at the row of shotguns in the cabinet. “These all Beau's?”

“Far as I know.”

“Mind if I take a better look?”

“Be my guest.”

With his ruddy hands, Bubba carefully opened the doors. Automatically, a light blinked on inside the top. “Wow, high class.”

“Would you expect any less from Beau?” Luc leaned against his grandfather's desk.

Bubba squatted in front of the guns. “No, I guess not. Look at this dust layer.”

“We never clean in here. It was Beau's room.”

“Check this out.” The sheriff pointed at the second row of rifles and shotguns.

Luc's heart sank. Clear in the dust—an outline of the butt of another gun.

Bubba straightened. “Any clue where that gun is or what gauge it happens to be?”

“I don't know. Like I said, we never come in here.”

“Uh-huh.” The sheriff grabbed the radio from his hip and lifted it to his lips. “Dispatch, I need a crime-scene unit at the Trahan place.”

Nerves tangled in Luc's gut. What had happened to that gun? Where could it be? More importantly, who could have moved it?

Bubba completed his request. “I'll be pulling Beau's firearms records. If it comes back that he has a twelve-gauge and the forensics match up the butt outline… Well, I don't have to tell you, Luc, it won't look good for you.”

“I did not kill my grandfather, Bubba. You know me better than that.” He ran a hand over his stubbly chin, hating the way his hands shook. “We go to church together, for pity's sakes.”

“I've been surprised before.” The sheriff wouldn't meet his gaze.

Luc chose not to reply. Right now, he couldn't even think straight. He needed to pray. The situation had turned too dire to try to figure out on his own. And then he'd call CoCo.