In the Shadow of Evil (10 page)

After burning the Hope-for-Homes house, setting another building on fire wasn't an option. Too bad Hurricane Francis hadn't wiped it out as it had so many others.

A tree stood off to the side of the main building. If lightning were to hit that tree . . . it
could
fall right in the middle of the building. With a little help, it could definitely hit the main structure and call for a total replacement. That would be like an act of God. Very ironic.

He narrowed his eyes. A bayou ran behind it.

Which could play well in his favor.

What if the bayou got dammed just a little up from the curve, causing the water to back up and flood the area? The building sat not two hundred yards from the bank. With the hoopla over drainage issues, no one would think twice about the flooding being anything other than a natural occurrence. And with all the rain the area had gotten recently . . .

His palms slicked with sweat. He had to protect himself. Had to remove every threat so he could get the casino deal. Get his kids. Get out of debt. Start over in life, no matter how old he was.

Focus, that's what he had to do. He'd already eliminated all the other buildings. Had killed Dennis to keep him quiet. Now he was so close to reaching his goals. His dreams. The desires of his heart.

And he deserved it all.

He let out a long breath and started his car. He'd do what needed to be done. He wouldn't back down now.

He was in—all or nothing.

EIGHT

"Ignorance is preferable to error."

—THOMAS JEFFERSON

THUNDER RATTLED THE WINDOWS. Layla shoved the pillow over her head. Maybe if she was still enough, got it quiet enough in the room, she could fall back asleep.

Another roll of thunder shook the walls just as the phone rang.

She threw the pillow across the room and glared at the clock at her bedside. Five twenty-one. Who in her right mind was awake at such an hour? Certainly shouldn't be her. Maybe it was all a bad dream. She groaned and rolled onto her stomach, burying her face in the mattress.

Just thirty more minutes, God. That's all I'm asking.

The phone rang again.

So much for going back to sleep. Layla flipped over and reached for the receiver. "Hello."

"Good morning. Were you asleep?" Alana's voice grated against Layla's sleepy nerves.

"It's not even five thirty—what do you think?" Thunder boomed outside.

"Sorry. I forgot to check the time before I dialed."

Layla yawned and pushed to sitting with her back against the headboard. She laid her head against the leather and closed her eyes. "Question is, why are you up and calling me so early?"

"I take it you haven't seen the paper yet?"

"I haven't seen anything other than the clock." And then she remembered. Krissy Morgan. Ambush. Layla sighed and rubbed a hand down her face. "How bad is it?"

"You know there's an article about you?"

"Yeah. A reporter accosted me yesterday." She yawned again before telling her sister the details.

"It's pretty bad."

Layla opened her eyes and drew her knees to her chest. "Read it to me." She rested her chin on her knees. Lightning flashed, filling the room with light before plunging it back into darkness.

"Um, it's kinda long."

Her heart slammed against her ribs. "It's more than just a little filler article?"

"Layla, it's half a page."

She swallowed the groan. "How bad?"

"Well . . ."

"Just tell me."

"They talk about your award, launch right into the house burning and a body being inside, insinuate that maybe this was all done against you personally, and end with posing the question of will this disqualify you from being eligible to win a national CotY."

This time she didn't even try to stop it—she let out a loud groan.

"And the reporter closes with stating that even if you aren't disqualified, this certainly should kill any chances you have of winning the national."

And the surprises just kept coming.

Lightning flickered, followed by a ripple of thunder.

"They won't disqualify you, will they?"

Layla licked her lips. "I don't know." Surely they wouldn't . . . Could they take away the regional award? A weight sat in her stomach like lead.

"But the house burned after you'd completed it. There's got to be consideration for something like this happening, right?" The panic in Alana's voice came through loud and clear.

"I'm sure it's all fine. Krissy Morgan just wrote it with that slant to get attention." Probably trying to make a name for herself and using Layla to do it. The nerve.

"Can you find out?"

Layla smiled. "It's gonna be okay. If there's a problem, NARI will contact me. Don't sweat it."

"Well . . . if you say so."

Layla jumped on the opportunity to change the subject. "What time is Cameron supposed to get back?"

"He hopes to return in time for supper. We won't miss your performance tonight."

"I know you're anxious to see him."

"You have no idea." A chirping sounded in the background. "Oh, that's him calling on my cell now."

"Bye." Layla hung up the phone, then rested her head against the cold leather. Problem was, she did have an idea how Alana felt about Cameron.

She had felt that way about Randy.

Or thought she had.

Layla pushed back down to a prone position and laid her forearm over her forehead.
God, this day has got to get better. Please.

She dozed until thunder shook her awake again. Lightning split the darkness.

She shoved out of bed and staggered to the bathroom. No way would she waste good anger and aggravation by getting depressed.

After thirty minutes of hot water pelting down on her and singing at the top of her lungs, she dressed, feeling much better. The storm continued to rage outside, but she'd choose to ignore it.

The phone rang just as she pulled on her socks. Probably Alana calling her back. Layla fell across the bed, took in the time—7:52—and grabbed the receiver before it rang again. "I'm fine, really."

"Layla?" The masculine voice sent her to her feet.

"Sorry, thought you were someone else. Yes, this is Layla. Who is this?"

"Detective Maddox Bishop."

Oh, joy and rapture. "Yes, Detective, what can I do for you?"

"We'd like you to come down to the sheriff's office this morning. To answer a few questions." He let that sink in for a minute. "We can come pick you up if that'd be more convenient."

A veiled threat? Agree to come in, or we'll come and get you? "No, I can drive myself. What time?"

"How about nine?"

"Fine."

"See you then. Just ask for me or Detective Wallace."

She let the phone fall back to its cradle and sank to the bed. Thunder growled outside her window. Today just wasn't her day.

"BALLISTICS CAME BACK." HOUSTON grinned across the desks at Maddox.

"Hey, don't keep me in suspense."

"Slugs taken from our John Doe match the Smith & Wesson found at the scene."

Maddox leaned back in his chair. "Big surprise."

"Forensics can't pull the serial number. Too much damage."

"What about registrations to Dennis LeJeune?"

"His wife was right—only rifles and shotguns had been registered to him. Not a single handgun. So that's a dead end."

"Unless it was an illegal and he's been hiding it from his wife."

Houston shrugged. "Then we'll never know."

Maddox glanced over the random pieces of paper covering his desk. "Dental records?"

"Delivered late yesterday afternoon. Casteel says he'll call us today as soon as he knows one way or the other."

"Guess we just wait now."

"We did get the reports back on the Taylor sisters."

Maddox wove his fingers together and supported the back of his head in his hands. "Do tell."

"Alana Taylor, twenty-five, has a bachelor's in psychology. Father died about nine years ago. Mother's mentally ill and lives in Westneath Nursing Home." Houston flipped a page. "She was right about when she opened Second Chances, but what she didn't volunteer is that the land it sits on was once the family home."

"She got the house and land?"

"Her sister and her. Layla signed it over to her a few years ago."

Maddox dropped his hands to his desk and sat up straight. "She gave her sister the family real estate to use for the rehab program?"

"Looks that way." Houston turned to another page. "According to federal records, everything about Second Chances is on the up-and-up. Files the right paperwork on time. Only has licensed employees. Properly accounts for all federal funds."

"So, the program is clean?"

"Looks that way. She and her sister are members of Eternal Springs Christian Church."

Great. Religious women. Maddox suppressed his moan.

"Oh, and she's engaged."

"Really? I didn't notice a ring."

"Well"—Houston tossed the stack of papers across the desk—"according to this report, she's been engaged to Cameron Stone for four months."

Name didn't ring any bells. "Should I know who he is?"

"Some computer genius type. Writes software programs. Works in Lake Charles."

"Like Bill Gates? Is Stone rich?"

"Not really. Makes about ninety grand a year."

Maddox scrubbed his face with his hand. "Interesting."

"Yeah." Houston reached for another stack of papers. "Now, about Layla. Twenty-nine years old, licensed contractor. Opened her own business five years ago."

"Yet she signed over the family real estate to her sister."

"Her father apparently left her some land on the bayou just outside of Eternal Springs. She built a house there just before she opened Taylor Construction."

"She lives out in the bayou alone?"

"It would appear." Houston flipped to the next sheet. "Better Business Bureau has no open complaints on her. She's a member of several of the local business-owner organizations. Has a good reputation in the industry, which is really saying something since she's a woman in such a male-dominated field."

"I'd say."

"But she followed in her father's footsteps. He was a contractor, worked for various locals over the years."

"He never hung out his own shingle?"

"Nope." Houston rubbed his chin. "As I recall hearing around town, Layla worked summers with her dad back when she was in high school." He glanced at the report again. "Must've gone straight into the business after she graduated. All her licenses and registrations are up to date and current."

"You said their dad died about nine years ago . . . from what?"

Houston shuffled the papers. "Massive heart attack."

"Ouch."

"Yeah. And their mom was admitted to Westneath about a year or so after that."

"Tough break for the girls." Maddox didn't want to feel empathy for them. They were suspects, after all. But with his own past, he couldn't help it.

"Reports show Alana goes every week to visit the mother."

"And Layla?"

"This is not verified, of course, but records don't reflect she's
ever
been to see the mother."

That didn't add up. Maddox crossed his arms over his chest. "What's the report on the mother? Dementia? Alzheimer's?"

"Report doesn't say."

"Maybe we should find out. Could be important."

"Yeah." Houston scribbled on a sticky note.

"Is Layla engaged as well?" Just asking the question left a bitter taste on his tongue. Why should he care about her love life? She was nothing more than a suspect . . . a person of interest in his case.

"Not that this report states."

Relief spread through Maddox.

"However, she was linked to one Randy Dean for several months last year."

Maddox didn't like the sting of jealousy stirring in his gut. "Who's he?"

"An electrician. Specializes in those high-dollar alarm system installations. Does volunteer firefighting."

"But they aren't linked anymore?"

"Nope. Report says they broke up about six months ago."

Again, relief filled Maddox. Stupid, betraying emotions.

"But there is something interesting about Layla."

There were a lot of things Maddox found interesting about her, but he wouldn't volunteer that to Houston. "What's that?"

"Guess what her hobby appears to be?"

"Sharpshooting?"

Houston chuckled. "So far out in left field you've made it into right."

"What?"

"Ballroom dancing."

Ballroom danc—The picture of her in a long dress in another man's arms drifted across his memory. Ballroom dancing surely was a contradiction to a building contractor.

Yet . . . it fit her too. He wouldn't have thought that except for the picture. She'd looked graceful and totally feminine.

And beautiful.

Maddox's stomach tightened. "Well, that is interesting," he said with a dry mouth.

"I thought so. She performs with a group called
Flows of Grace.
Six couples formed together to compete and perform around the state." Houston set the stack of papers on the desk. "And that's all I have, folks."

Maddox made a note of the group's name. "Not much to go on."