Читать книгу The Accused - Jana DeLeon - Страница 11

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.