Kitabı oku: «The Accused», sayfa 3

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.”

“So he was crazy?”

“I have no medical training for the basis of my opinion, but yes, I’d say crazy. However, crazy, in this case, does not absolve intent. I have no proof, of course, but I think Purcell was a mean man—deliberately mean to Ophelia and the girls. Evil requires calculation.”

Carter shook his head, wondering if any of the information he’d gained meant something now. Certainly it gave him a better view of the circumstances that led to his current problem—and gave him at least ten more reasons to hate Purcell—but he wasn’t sure it gave him any direction on the situation with Alaina.

He looked over at William. “I don’t suppose you believe in ghosts, do you?”

William was silent for a moment. “Well, if it’s a ghost you saw, let’s hope for Alaina’s sake that it was Ophelia and not Trenton.”

ALAINA UNPACKED the last of the groceries from the boxes she’d lugged into the kitchen. The staples were strewn across the long stone countertop that formed the bar, but that was all she’d taken the time to wipe down. Tomorrow, she’d lug the boxes with cleaning supplies into the kitchen and tackle the pantry and inside of the cabinets. Once they were clean, she’d head into Calais to get some refrigerated items, now that she’d ensured the ancient appliance was still working.

A burst of thunder fired off and a bolt of lightning flashed across the glass wall of the breakfast area, causing her to jump. The second blast rolled through a couple of seconds later and giant raindrops began to plink against the windows.

The ceiling!

She’d meant to close the roof before she started unpacking but was so distracted that she’d forgotten. She rushed back to the entry and was relieved that no rain poured into the house. Now, as long as the switch worked, she was in business.

Saying a silent prayer, she reached out and flipped the switch. The machinery whined for a couple of seconds, but then the roof started to slide slowly back in place. She blew out a breath of relief as the panel slid over the last foot of the glass.

The lack of light hid the dust and grime, but it invited in the spooky. The vases and other objets d’art that resided on the freestanding columns stood like silent sentinels in the dim light. Surely the entry contained another light source. Glancing down the walls, she spotted sconces placed every twenty feet or so. Now, if she could just find the switch.

She started checking to her right, thinking if it were her house, she’d want a switch located somewhere outside the kitchen, but as she traveled farther and farther away from the kitchen hallway, she realized that logic had apparently not entered into switch-plate placement in this house.

As she drew closer to the back of the entry, in the darkest corner of the room, a buzzer sounded and she barely fought back a scream.

The laundry.

As she headed down the hallway to the laundry room, she chided herself. First the storm; now she was jumping at appliances. Thirteen more days in this house stretched ahead of her. She had to get a grip.

She pulled the sheets from the dryer and transferred the blanket from the washing machine to dry. So far, William’s word that the house was serviceable was holding up, which was a relief. She sniffed the sheets and was relieved that the dust and slight smell of mold were no longer present. The last thing she needed was to get sick in this environment. Leaving would be the only way to get healthy again.

As she folded the sheets, lightning flashed, lighting up the overgrown courtyard outside the laundry room. She froze. Was something moving outside? Surely not, given the storm. She placed the sheets on the dryer to try to get a better look.

The humidity from the storm had the glass panels on the door fogging over, thus limiting visibility. She stepped close to the door and rubbed a peephole, then peered out into the darkness. The foliage swayed in the wind, the occasional bursts of lightning casting rays of light in between the branches and leaves. Whatever she’d seen was solid. At least she thought it was, but because she’d caught it out of the corner of her eye, she couldn’t be certain.

Her peephole fogged over again and before she could change her mind, she reached for the doorknob. She’d just step out under the overhang and see if she could get a better look.

She sucked in a breath when the knob turned easily in her hand.

It was already unlocked!

She pulled her pistol from her waistband, where she’d stuck it earlier. That door had been locked when she’d started the laundry. She’d checked it herself. As much as she hated to admit it, Carter might have seen a real live person on the landing.

Clenching her pistol, she pulled open the door and stepped outside. The rain came down in giant sheets, reducing visibility to only a couple of feet. Squinting, she leaned forward, trying to see into the brush about twenty feet from the door. Was something moving in there?

A burst of thunder boomed overhead and lightning streaked across the sky, lighting up the entire courtyard. Rays of light streaked through the brush, illuminating the individual branches and leaves. Nothing. But she could have sworn something was there just seconds ago.

The sheets of rain gusted toward her now and the huge drops stung her face and eyes, causing her vision to blur. Time to go back inside and lock the door behind her.

Then a hand grabbed her shoulder, and she screamed.

Chapter Six

Alaina spun around, gun leveled, and knocked the elderly man down onto the laundry room floor.

“Oh, no!” She tossed her gun onto the sheets and reached down to help the man, who must be the caretaker, to his feet.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, scanning him up and down for visible injuries. “Are you all right?”

“Been hit harder.” He delivered that single statement, then stood there staring, but in an odd way—not expectantly and not as if he was studying her.

“I’m Alaina LeBeau,” she said, breaking the uncomfortable silence. “You must be Amos.”

“Yep,” he said and continued standing there, water dripping down his face and body and onto the laundry room floor.

All righty, then.

Alaina reached for one of the folded towels she’d washed earlier and handed it to Amos. “I’m sorry about that. I thought I saw someone outside in the courtyard and then when you touched me … I guess I’m feeling a little jumpy.”

Amos dried his face with the towel and nodded. “It’s a strange house. Has a strange feel. That’s why I told Mr. Purcell I wouldn’t live here. Got my own place. It don’t feel strange.”

Alaina had her doubts that any space Amos occupied would feel normal, but now wasn’t the best time to explore that thought. “Did you need something, Amos?”

“Saw lights on. Thought I’d better check things out. Wasn’t expecting you till Thursday.”

“It is Thursday.”

“You don’t say.” He rubbed his chin. “Well, then I guess I lost track of a day or two.”

An encouraging thought. “I appreciate your checking on me.”

“Just doing my job. Guess now that I have, I’ll head off to bed.”

“Did you walk over here from your cabin?” Maybe Amos had been the one she saw in the courtyard. That would be the best explanation she could think of.

“In this storm? I’m old, not crazy. I drove my truck over. It’s parked out front.”

“Do you want to wait here a bit until the storm slacks off?” Good manners forced her to make the offer, but she held her breath, hoping the odd caretaker would take his leave into the monsoon.

“Won’t slack anytime soon. Need to get home before the power goes out.”

He started down the hallway and across the entry to the front door. Alaina trailed behind him, alternating between relief that he was leaving and worry that she might spend her first night in the swamp mansion of horrors without lights.

“There are flashlights in that cabinet next to the washing machine,” Amos said when he stopped at the front door. “I keep working batteries in ‘em. You best get a couple soon.”

“Thanks. If you get a chance tomorrow, I’d really appreciate it if you can come by and show me around the house and point out anything else I need to know about it.”

“Of course. That’s my job.” He stared at her for a couple of seconds. “You look like your mother.”

“That’s what people say. I’m afraid my memories of her are hazy.”

“No matter. Now that you’re here, she’ll be by soon and you can see for yourself.”

THUNDER BOOMED over the sheriff’s department and the lights blinked. Carter logged off the computer before the storm could do it for him. Every time he got shut down by a power outage, it was a pain in the rear to get things working right the next morning.

He’d spent a frustrating two hours after his conversation with William trying to find more-concrete information on Trenton Purcell and Ophelia LeBeau, but there was little to find. That didn’t surprise him much in Ophelia’s case. She was an heiress and, according to William, had come into millions when her parents passed. But she was a small-town bayou heiress with parents who’d felt no compulsion to be in the limelight of the city or on the front of newspapers hosting some charity event. Based on what he could find, they’d lived a quiet, simple life in a mansion on the bayou and had raised their daughter to live the same way.

Which she’d managed nicely until Trenton Purcell entered her life.

Purcell had been even more of an enigma. Despite extensive searching, Carter had been unable to trace the man back to his birthplace, his parents, previous employment or even a driver’s license. All of which made career cops very suspicious.

He’d bet anything he owned that Trenton Purcell was living under an assumed name and identity in Calais, but he had no proof. And at this point, he couldn’t see what difference it would make, except to further exasperate people who’d liked Ophelia and warned her off marrying the man.

He locked the sheriff’s department and ran to his truck, but he was still soaked by the time he jumped inside. It was really coming down out there. He started down Main Street, but when he got to the intersection at the edge of town, he stopped in the middle of the street. His current residence—a cabin he’d inherited from his grandfather—was to the left, near his mother’s house. To the right was the lonely road that led to the LeBeau estate.

He had no obligation to check on Alaina. In fact, she’d probably resent the intrusion more than appreciate it, as their earlier parting hadn’t exactly been without conflict. But something tugged at him.

She’s a beautiful woman who’s all alone.

That much was true, and he could go straight home and try to convince himself that that was all that concerned him. But he’d given up lying years ago—even to himself.

Sighing, he turned the steering wheel to the right. He’d just make a quick stop—only long enough to ensure she was getting on all right in the storm. Then he’d head home for a big bowl of his mother’s vegetable soup, heated up in his microwave, and a cold beer.

A visual of Alaina LeBeau climbing the stairwell flashed across his mind. The way her jeans clung to her perfectly toned rear. The way her breasts strained against the cotton blouse as she turned to look back at him.

He blew out a breath.

Maybe two beers were in order. Two beers and a cold shower.

AMOS SLIPPED OUT the front door and into the storm before Alaina found her voice. Not that it mattered. What the hell did you say to follow up a statement like that? If Amos believed her mother was going to show up twenty-five years post-death and speak to her, he was either crazy or suffering from some sort of aging disease.

She locked the door and hurried back to the laundry room to find the flashlights while the lights still worked. Even entombed in the huge house, she could hear the storm intensifying. The rumbles of thunder were closer together than before, and she could hear the plinking sound of heavy drops of rain against the northern glass in the kitchen area. It was time to wrap up her day and lock herself up in the bedroom for the night.

The cabinet door stuck a little and she had to give it a harder tug, then she blew out a breath of relief when the flashlights were right where Amos indicated and in working order. She had a penlight on her key chain, but hadn’t even thought to bring anything larger with her. Decades of city living were a definite disadvantage.

She grabbed two of the flashlights and placed them on top of the sheets she’d been folding earlier. Her pistol lay silent and forgotten on the sheets and she quickly put it back in her waistband. The cold metal pressing against her bare skin gave her a bit of comfort and a tiny feeling of security.

She wrapped the ends of the sheets around the flashlights, grabbed the blanket she’d laundered earlier and crept up the spiral staircase, looking around the edge of the big bundle to ensure she didn’t misstep on the winding stairs. The absolute last thing she needed was to have an accident. Her cell phone was in her pocket, but she’d bet her last dollar that the storm had knocked out any hope of reception.

Her personal supplies were limited to what she could fit in her SUV, but she’d had enough forethought to pack a mattress cover. It was queen-size and the bed in her old room was full-size, but it would be no problem to tuck the extra under the mattress.

Dust billowed out of the mattress as she lifted the edges to slip the ends of the cover over and dropped them back into place. She waved one hand in the air and covered her face with the other, trying to keep from inhaling the bulk of the flying particles, then alternated tugging one side and then the other until the mattress was completely covered.

She made quick work of the sheets and blanket, then grabbed a flashlight and ran downstairs to snag a bottle of water and a protein bar. It wasn’t much of a supper, but it would do for tonight. Back in the bedroom, she shrugged off her jeans and polo shirt and, most important, her bra, in favor of yoga pants and T-shirt. As she lugged her suitcase off the bed, the edge of a folder peeked out at her.

Frowning, she pulled the folder out of her luggage and stared at it for a bit. It had been complete impulse that made her copy the files from the case that had caused her more anguish and guilt than she could bear and had subsequently tanked her career. She’d made a mistake. Somewhere in that file had to be the thing she’d missed. The thing that could have prevented a child’s death.

Before she could enter a courtroom again, she had to figure out what that thing was. Had to be certain she wouldn’t make the same mistake again. She placed the file on the nightstand next to the bed. The case file might be the only thing that could take her mind off the strangeness of the house, the caretaker and the flashes of memories that she hadn’t anticipated and wasn’t comfortable with.

Lightning flashed right outside the balcony doors and she jumped. First thing tomorrow, she had to find something to serve as drapes. Ornate wooden rods were mounted over the French doors, so at one time they had been covered. Likely years of neglect had led to dry rot and the original drapes were long gone.

Thunder rumbled across the sky seconds after the lightning, letting her know the storm was directly above the house. She was beginning to think the pounding would go on forever when she realized the thunder had trailed off and the pounding was coming from downstairs.

She glanced at her watch. Nine o’clock.

She couldn’t begin to imagine what someone was doing here so late and in the middle of the storm, but the pounding on the door didn’t appear to be slacking off. Amos would have let himself in, so the caretaker was out, and she couldn’t imagine the attorney making a trip here this late at night. No one else in Calais had business with her except the sheriff, and he’d already done his duty for the day.

Grabbing her pistol and the flashlight, she hurried downstairs to the front door. “Who is it?” she yelled, hoping her voice projected through the thick wood and over the storm.

“Carter!”

Frowning, she placed the flashlight on the table next to the door and unlocked it.

A burst of wind blew the door open the instant she turned the handle, and she struggled to keep it from banging into the wall. Carter hurried into the house, rain billowing behind him, carried by the wind.

Alaina gave the door a final shove as soon as he cleared it and then stared at the dripping-wet sheriff. “You’re making a mess on my floor,” she said, pointing at the water pooling around him.

“That’s only because the house is so dirty. That rain is going to create mud.”

She shook her head. “Are you crazy, coming out here in this storm? Being outside tonight is no place for man or beast.”

He ran one hand over his head and then shook his hand to fling off the water. “The storm wasn’t so bad when I left. I thought I could beat it.”

“Looks like you were wrong. Let me get you a towel before you drown.”

She hurried to the laundry room and returned with one of the towels she’d washed earlier.

“Thanks,” he said as he rubbed the towel over his head and face and then down his arms.

Alaina couldn’t help but notice how the wet T-shirt clung to his arms and chest. It was a display worthy of an underwear advertisement or one of those hunky calendars.

“Is something wrong?” she asked when he finished his wipedown.