Читать книгу The Accused - Jana DeLeon - Страница 8

Carter Trahan tossed the paper onto his mother’s kitchen table. “This is crap,” he said.

“Carter Frederic Trahan!” His mother glared at him as she placed cups of coffee on the table in front of him and William Duhon.

“No, no, that’s quite all right,” said the silver-haired gentleman, who had been a longtime friend of his mother’s. “The entire situation is a bit unorthodox.”

“It’s—” he glanced over at his mother, who was frowning at him from the adjacent chair “—worse than unorthodox. It can’t possibly even be legal.”

“Oh, I assure you that the terms of the will, while a bit unusual, are completely legal.”

“I meant the other part,” Carter said. “The part where the sheriff has to play babysitter to fulfill the terms of this will. You can’t make me do something that’s not in my job description.”

William sighed. “You’re right on that part. A promise made over fifty years ago can hardly be legally imposed on the current sheriff. But in the spirit of the agreement, I was hoping you’d help out an old friend.”

Carter looked across the table at the man who’d been his mother’s biggest supporter when his father had been killed, and sighed. “That was low,” he muttered.

William beamed. “So you’ll do it?”

“Explain it to me again.”

“Each sister must occupy the house for two weeks in a row within the next eleven months. If they are outside of the estate borders for more than twenty-four hours, then the fourteen-day timetable starts all over.”

“And they’ve all agreed to come?”

“Not exactly.”

“What do you mean ‘not exactly’? I thought they all had to do it or the deal was off.”

“Thus far, I’ve been able to locate only one of the sisters, but she’s agreed to the terms despite the fact that it could all come to nothing if her sisters aren’t located.”

Carter frowned. “Why doesn’t she know where her sisters are?”

“Because that evil man sent those girls away after their mother died.” Carter’s mother broke into the conversation.

Carter stared. His mother was not one to throw around words like evil in a cavalier manner.

“Don’t give me that look,” she said. “That greedy no-count married their mother for her money and he killed her by breaking her heart. Her body wasn’t even cold before he shipped those girls off to anyone who would take them.”

A flash of anger rushed through Carter. “But no one would take all three?”

William shook his head, his expression sad. “If Ophelia had taken the proper steps before she died, things could have turned out differently for the girls. But as it stood, Trenton Purcell had legal control over her assets until his death. The life estate she created right after they married was still in effect.”

“The girls weren’t his,” Carter’s mother said, “so he felt they weren’t his responsibility.”

Carter shook his head. “In the interest of manners, I’m not going to say it,” he said to his mother, “but you know what I’m thinking.”

His mother nodded. “On this, we’re in complete agreement.”

“Okay,” Carter said, “so when you locate the other two sisters, you’ll get them to coordinate a date?”

“Actually, the girls don’t have to occupy the property at the same time. As they are adults with lives already in place, they will start occupation at a time that’s convenient for them. Assuming, of course, that abandoning your life and moving to the swamp for two weeks is ever convenient.”

Carter felt some of the wind come out of his sails. “You mean I might have to do this three times?”

“I’m afraid so.”

Carter looked over at the expectant expression on his mother’s face. Even though every fiber of his body screamed at him to sprint away from this convoluted family mess, the reality was his mother rarely asked him for anything, and doing this would make her happy.

“Fine. Has the located sister set a date yet?”

“She’s the oldest and, as a matter of fact, was available to come immediately.”

“Not much of a life if she can drop everything in a matter of days,” Carter mumbled.

His mother swatted him with her napkin.

“She’s not wanted for anything, is she?” Carter asked.

“Carter!” His mother stared at him in dismay.

William chuckled. “Nothing of the sort. She’d just resigned her position as an attorney and wants to use the time to contemplate the direction she wishes to take her career.”

“An attorney. Great.”

“Oh, she’s quite good. Went to work for one of the best firms in Baton Rouge after graduating top of her class at Boston College.”

“A lawyer and a Yankee—the hits just keep on coming.”

His mother sighed. “Alaina was probably seven years old before she was shipped off to a distant cousin in New England. I expect she hasn’t forgotten everything about Southern living or she wouldn’t have moved back after getting her education. It’s not like she has other family here.”

“She’s about the same age as me, right?” Carter asked. “How come I don’t remember her?”

“Ophelia didn’t allow her to attend school with other kids. She claimed homeschooling was the best education, but I often wondered if that was Trenton’s idea and not hers. She was a social woman before Trenton came along. But after their marriage, you almost never saw her out in Calais.”

Carter frowned. The entire situation stank to high heaven. “What I don’t get is, how come none of them came back before now?”

William shrugged. “I can’t answer for the girls. I’m sure they all had their reasons, but I am certain none of them knew about the stipulations in their mother’s will. This inheritance is completely unexpected, so I would hazard a guess that they felt they had no reason to return.”

“So all I have to do is check in every day and make sure they’re still on the estate, right?”

“That’s it. I’ll leave the scheduling to you, but I’ve made Alaina aware that she needs to work around your job.”

“And she had no problem with that?”

“She’s an attorney. She has a lot of respect for law enforcement.”

“Then she’s not like the attorneys I’ve known—present company excluded, of course.”

“I appreciate your handling this for me.” William rose from the table, wisely deciding not to overstay his welcome. Carter’s mother followed him to the front door where he gave her a kiss on the cheek.

“Call me if you need anything,” William said.

“Of course,” his mother said. “And don’t worry, I’ll see that Carter doesn’t scare the woman away from her inheritance.”

His mother closed the door, then came back into the kitchen and sat down again, frowning.

“I don’t like it,” Carter said.

“I don’t either, but not for the same reasons.”

“What about it bothers you?”

She gazed out the back window and shook her head. “I can’t put my finger on it. I never liked Trenton Purcell. I always got a bad feeling in his presence. After he and Ophelia married, they pretty much disappeared from society, and I don’t think he left the house even once after Ophelia’s death. He didn’t even attend her funeral.”

“Sounds like a stellar guy.”

His mother nodded. “No one liked him, but until then, we had nothing concrete to point at and say, ‘He’s completely wrong.’”

“But?” Carter was certain she hadn’t finished her thoughts on Purcell, and he knew his mother well enough to know that her “feelings” about things were not something he should ignore. He didn’t know what made her so intuitive, but she’d been right so many times about seemingly straightforward things that weren’t straightforward at all that he’d started paying attention when she got the least bit uneasy.

“But something about all of this doesn’t add up for me.” She held up a hand to stop him before he could speak. “I don’t think William sees anything unusual except for the legal arrangement itself, which is apparently aboveboard, so don’t go thinking he’s keeping something from us.”

“It bothers me,” Carter agreed, “and I didn’t even know the man, except by rare sighting when we sneaked onto the property as kids. But if he married the woman for her money, then abandoned her kids when she died, I expect you wouldn’t get a good feeling about him.”

“Certainly not, but it’s more than that.” She reached over to place her hand on top of his. “Promise me you’ll be careful. Be more watchful than usual. That you won’t dismiss anything to do with that house or the girls as simple oddity or coincidence.”

He frowned. His mother’s concern for him and others was nothing new. She was a wonderful woman with a huge heart. The concern didn’t bother him at all.

But the fear in her voice did.

ALAINA TURNED HER SUV onto a narrow dirt road that seemed to lead directly into the swamp. The cypress trees were so thick overhead that they almost formed a canopy over the road, the moss clinging to the limbs blocking everything but the stray ray of sunshine from creeping through.

Her right front wheel sank into a huge dip and she pressed the gas to push the vehicle out of the hole. It’s a good thing I didn’t go for the convertible sports car. She wouldn’t have given a low-profile car a hundred yards on this road before it left the driver stranded.

She glanced down at the directions she’d received from the attorney, to double-check the accuracy, but she already knew she was on the right road. Details were her specialty and the attorney had given very descriptive instructions. She just needed to come to grips with the fact that it looked as if she was driving into the abyss.

She’d just turned seven years old when her mother passed and she’d gone to live with a distant cousin in Boston. The woman and her husband hadn’t been well-off, but they’d loved her and cared for her as they had their own son and daughter. But despite the fact that they’d all made her feel welcome and loved, she’d never felt as though Boston was home, not even when she was living in the college dorms.

All those years, it was as if Louisiana called to her, beckoning her to return home. She hadn’t taken that call to be literal, because she’d thought her childhood home to be something forever lost to her; and she had no interest at all in seeking out the man who’d treated her mother horribly, then split up her children, sending them to the far ends of the country to become someone else’s responsibility.

She’d thought going away to college would eliminate the draw. Once she was around like-minded peers and out of the environment where she was odd man out, she’d hoped she’d finally feel as if she belonged. But despite her contentment with school and a close group of friends, mental images of the swamp haunted her subconscious, finding their way into her dreams.

Her conscious mind wasn’t as clear on the details, so the dark patch of dirt now passing as a road didn’t appear familiar. She wondered if the house would.

It felt like an eternity that she inched her SUV down the makeshift trail. But finally, after easing her way around a sharp turn in the road, the house came into view, looming above her.

Involuntarily, she hit the brakes and stared, sucking in a breath. On a conscious level, it was as if she was seeing it for the first time. The dreary stone facade and sharp peaks of the roof didn’t register mentally, but her body responded. Her chest tightened and her pulse increased.

It scared her.

The thought ripped through her mind and she immediately chided herself. You’ve spent your entire life focused on the facts and what you could prove. Now you’re letting yourself lose it with fanciful thoughts. Get a grip.

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and slowly blew it out. Then she opened her eyes and studied the house with the critical eye she used to study witnesses in a courtroom.

It was still gloomy with its broken shutters and paint peeling on the wooden eaves. The lawn—if one could even call it that—had been swallowed up by weeds and swamp grass that stood at least a foot high. Even the flower beds had been overrun, the stone edging barely visible behind the foliage. An enormous marble fountain that stood in the center of the circular drive had probably been beautiful at one time; but now it was covered with vines, its base filled with murky, stagnant water.

The attorney who’d explained the terms of the inheritance had called the estate “serviceable, if not pleasant.” Alaina decided he must be very good at his job. Legally, she couldn’t fault his description, but it left out so much.

It’s only two weeks.

Mr. Duhon had assured her that any repairs necessary to habitation would be handled by his firm, so it was merely a matter of picking up the phone if she found anything unlivable. A caretaker lived in a cottage somewhere on the property, but the attorney had warned her that the man was elderly and had not been allowed to hire help to keep up the property.

The results of yet another poor decision made by her stepfather spread out before her.

She pulled her SUV around the circular drive that had more weeds showing than the paved stones that comprised it, and parked as close as she could to the front doors. Dark clouds swirled overhead, and she worried that the storm that was scheduled to move in tonight might make an early appearance.

She’d packed only a single suitcase of personal items, but her laptop and food and living supplies took up another couple of boxes. With any luck, she’d get it all inside before the dam broke. Her suitcase had wheels, so she rolled it up the walkway and dragged it up the stone steps to the front door. She removed the enormous iron key from her purse and slid it into the lock, wondering if it would work in the rusted lock.

To her surprise, it turned easily, and a loud click echoed in the silent courtyard. She pushed the ten-foot wooden door open and stepped inside.

The entry resembled a museum more than a home. A huge, round open area stretched up two stories, a giant spiral staircase offering passage from the first floor to the balcony that circled above. Rooms and hallways branched off from the open area in every direction on both floors. Marble columns stood randomly throughout the downstairs area, vases and statues covered with thick layers of dust perching on top of them.

Okay, definitely kind of creepy.

That was her official legal opinion and the best prosecutor in the world couldn’t talk her out of it. Still, creepy was tolerable, especially with strong overhead lights. She reached for the switch plate behind her and the area surrounding the front door flooded with light.

She peered into the dim center of the enormous entry and frowned. Surely there was more lighting than this. Checking the wall behind her, she noticed another switch, this one lower on the wall than the light switch she’d flipped earlier. She reached over and pushed the remaining switch up.

The load groan and high-pitched squeals of machinery startled her and she stifled a scream as she scanned the room for the source of the noise. A sheet of light hit the floor in the entry and she looked up to see the roof sliding open. The flickering sun glinted off the glass ceiling the sliding panel exposed inch by inch. From the sounds of metal grinding, the panels hadn’t been opened in some time.

Saying a silent prayer that they didn’t break and cause the whole thing to come crashing down into the house, she watched until the panels slid completely from view. Relieved that she hadn’t broken anything after barely getting in the door, she took her first good look at the giant entry.

She sighed. It certainly didn’t look more cheerful in the light, and the cleanliness factor had actually dropped several points, but it gave her something to do. Manual labor was her preferred method of freeing her mind for thought. This house would provide plenty of thinking projects. And maybe, at the end of her two weeks, she’d have a plan for her career, for her life. Heck, fourteen days of cleaning this place and she might solve world hunger.

She hurried back to her SUV to get the rest of her supplies. Once she had everything inside, she’d go exploring for the necessities—kitchen, bathroom, bedroom and laundry facilities. Mr. Duhon had assured her all the necessary items were functional, so at least she didn’t have to worry about scrubbing her underwear on a stone in the fountain or cooking dinner over an open fire in the courtyard.

Twenty minutes later, she had a pile of boxes and bags just inside the front door and felt less than excited about lugging them farther. The years of college study and sitting at a desk all day had apparently outweighed her morning jogs, especially when added on top of a long, somewhat apprehensive drive.

She glanced around the entry, figuring she’d find the kitchen first, then finally set off down a wide hallway to her left, assuming the largest hallways were more likely to lead to well-used areas. At the end of the hallway, a large arch opened into a spacious kitchen and breakfast area.

The room was at least twenty-five feet square with miles of stone countertops and windows framing every wall of the eating area. She looked out at the weeds and vines and froze as a sudden flash of pink azaleas, lush grass and a blooming magnolia tree ran through her mind. She’d eaten here looking out into the onetime beautiful gardens. It was so clear in her mind that it was as if she were looking at a snapshot.

Sighing, she walked back down the hall to begin moving the supplies to the kitchen. What had just happened was something she needed to get used to. She’d been old enough to remember the house when she’d left, but the trauma of losing her mother and her sisters all at once had forced those memories so far back into the recesses of her mind that she wondered if they’d been gone forever. Apparently that wasn’t the case, and being in the house was probably going to bring back some of those memories.

Maybe that was a good thing. At seven years old, she hadn’t been capable of processing what she’d been through on a logical level. Now that she was an adult, maybe it was time she dealt with her less-than-stellar past once and for all. Maybe it was something she needed to do to move forward with her career and her personal life.

The only clear memory she had was of that night—the night before they were sent away. And the sheer figure of her mother, dressed in a long white flowing gown and hovering over her bed.

She shook her head, trying to clear the image from her mind. It had been frozen there for so long, the lone thing she’d carried with her all these years. Logically, she knew that she’d been a scared little girl who’d just lost her mother, but emotionally, she still wondered if what she’d seen that night was real.

As she stepped back into the entry, she heard a noise overhead. Immediately she froze, trying to determine if she’d heard the normal sounds of an old house, or if something else, of the four-legged, undesirable variety, was inside with her. Her pulse quickened when she realized it was footsteps—the two-legged kind.

A single glance at the crack in the front door made her blood run cold. She was positive she’d closed and locked it behind her after carrying in the last of the supplies. But someone was inside with her.

She reached for her purse and pulled out the pistol she’d begun carrying after receiving her first official death threat on the job. Despite the heat and humidity, the metal was cold in her hand. She dug around in the side pocket for her car keys and mentally cursed when she remembered she’d set them on the kitchen counter.

She eased back down the hallway, praying she could get her keys and get out of the house. Surely someone with a legitimate reason to be inside would have knocked or called out upon entering. She could only assume that whoever had come in was up to no good. That was a problem for the sheriff, not an unemployed attorney who had no interest in playing the hero.

The footsteps faded away as she slipped down the hallway and into the kitchen to retrieve her car keys. She moved silently on the stone floor, giving mental thanks that she’d worn comfortable tennis shoes and jeans and not her usual casual wear of slacks, blouse and high-heeled sandals.

All she had to do was make it back down the hallway and out of the house. An athletic scholarship for sprinting had paid for most of her college. If she could get outside the house, she had no doubt she could beat the intruder to her SUV and get away. But as she hurried across the kitchen to the hallway, the pantry door flew open. Unable to stop, she collided with it and went sprawling to the ground, her pistol sliding across the stone floor.

She scrambled for the gun as a dark figure stepped out of the pantry. Panicked, she made a desperate reach for the pistol, which was still several inches away.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” A deep voice sounded above her.