False Pretenses (18 page)

“I’m so scared, Vanessa.”

“I know. But you have to tell Pierce—the sooner the better—and then tell Sheriff Prejean.”

“I can’t go to Jude with this. He’s a longtime friend. I’d have to tell him everything. I’d be humiliated all over again. And once it’s on the report and everyone in town knows about it, Zoe B’s will be history. I’d rather go to the police. At least it’ll be less personal.”

Vanessa shook her head. “It won’t matter. You were accosted outside the city limits. That’s Sheriff Prejean’s jurisdiction.”

“How do you know that?”

“My mom’s a police chief, remember? The police have jurisdiction in the city. The sheriff has jurisdiction in the county—or in this case, the parish. I know you’re embarrassed and don’t want Sheriff Prejean to know all these personal things about you, but, believe me, he’s heard a lot worse. The important thing is that he knows Angus Shapiro—or whatever his real name is—is trying to extort money from you and has threatened your life. If Pierce is too upset to deal with this, I’ll go with you to talk to the sheriff.”

“You would do that?”

“Of course I would. But don’t count Pierce out. First you need to get honest with him.”

Zoe studied Vanessa’s expression and saw only compassion. If she made it through this alive, and Pierce left her and Zoe B’s went bankrupt, at least she would have one friend in town who didn’t abandon her.

CHAPTER 18

Zoe lay in bed, listening to the
click click click
of the ceiling fan and the
drip drip drip
of condensation trickling down the eaves and onto the barbecue grill outside her window. She’d already taken one of the muscle relaxants the doctor had prescribed Pierce for his occasional bouts with back pain. Why didn’t she feel any more relaxed? She glanced over at the clock:
11:04
. How much longer until Pierce would be home and she would have to tell him that the Zoe Benoit he married was a fabrication—a fraud?

How would he react when he realized she had deceived him, that her given name was Shelby Sieger, and that she was the daughter of a pathetically passive mother—and an alcoholic father, who abused her and whose only French relative was the murdering thief who had married his cousin?

Would it matter to Pierce that she truly loved him? Or would he believe even that now? Could he comprehend that she never had the courage to reveal the truth about herself, or how she acquired Zoe B’s, because she was afraid of losing him?

Vanessa’s advice echoed in her head.
God hasn’t abandoned you, Zoe. He just wants you to come to Him and admit the truth. He’ll forgive you, if you ask Him. That’s really where you need to start.

Zoe slid out of bed and onto her knees, her hands folded, all too aware that Vanessa’s assurance that God would forgive her didn’t include any encouragement about Pierce.

God, I’m sorry for everything—for stealing, for lying, for deceiving everyone, especially Pierce. I know I don’t deserve it, but please forgive me. Help me know what to say to Pierce so he’ll at least understand why I—

She heard the key in the lock and the front door open. Fear seized her. She climbed back in bed and hugged her pillow, as if that could somehow muffle the sound of her thumping heart.

Pierce’s footsteps moved down the hall toward the bedroom. In a few minutes, life as she had known it would cease to be. And unless she did exactly as Shapiro had instructed her, so would she.

Vanessa lay in Ethan’s arms, her mind racing faster than her pulse. The neon lights were still flashing along
rue Madeline,
but the band at Breaux’s had stopped playing. She heard a door open at the Broussards’ a few minutes ago, and now water was running in the bathroom. She didn’t hear voices.

“Honey, try to relax,” Ethan said. “You did everything you could.”

“I should’ve offered to pray with her.”

“Zoe knows how to pray.” Ethan pulled her closer. “Nothing’s going to change in her life until she tells the truth—to herself, to God, and to Pierce. Let’s hope that’s what she’s doing.”

“I can see why she’s concerned about Pierce’s reaction. I remember that day out at the manor house when he went off about the plight of the Acadians. It’s obvious his heritage is incredibly important to him. Maybe Zoe’s right. Maybe part of his attraction to her is the fact that he thought she was Cajun too. Maybe he’ll never forgive her for lying to him about that.”

“Maybe not,” Ethan said. “But her only way out of this pit is to tell the truth. I’m sure she realizes that, since she gave you permission to tell
me
everything.”

Vanessa sighed. “I can only imagine how horrible it would be to have a sexually abusive father.”

“Are you sure she’s not lying about it to get sympathy?”

“As positive as I can be. It was very hard for her to talk about it, and I doubt she could fake blushing. But her pain seemed real to me. My parents are so wonderful that it’s hard to relate to her violent upbringing. She refers to herself as white trash. The shame goes really deep.”

“It certainly would explain why she felt safe with Mrs. Woodmore for so long. And how she justified stealing the ring in order to achieve independence. Do you think she was sorry for lying? Or just sorry she got caught?”

“I don’t know. Maybe both. She knows it was wrong, that’s for sure. She hated lying to Pierce. She’s afraid that now he won’t believe how much she loves him. That he’ll think it’s just one more thing she lied about.”

Ethan raised his eyebrows. “Well? Could you blame him?”

“No. But if he really stops to think about it, what did Zoe have to gain by marrying him? She didn’t marry him for his money. She owned her own business, albeit wrongfully. And she didn’t need to change her name. She’d already done that and had been well received in the Cajun community. She had what she wanted. Getting married was never part of her plan. With her abusive background, she didn’t even trust men. But she fell in love with Pierce. That’s the
only
reason she would’ve married him.”

“It’s a wonder she didn’t choose a man just like her father.” Ethan kissed her forehead. “I’d be honored to think
you
did. I have the utmost admiration for your dad.”

“Me, too. I’m just so sorry Zoe’s dad hurt her.”

“It’s sad and, unfortunately, more common that most people realize. It’s estimated that at least one in four women and one in six men have suffered some form of sexual abuse. I hope now Zoe will seek counseling and try to work through the bad memories, the anger, and self-loathing. Keep in mind none of this is an excuse for stealing and lying. But it does make it easier to understand.”

“Let’s hope Pierce thinks so.”

Ethan traced her eyebrow with his finger. “Zoe has a more immediate issue. I wonder if she and Pierce will go to the sheriff yet tonight.”

“I don’t know. I’m so scared for her, Ethan. Shapiro said he’d kill her if she did. She’s convinced he means it.”

“You said yourself he’s probably planning to kill her either way. At least with the authorities on her side she stands a good chance of coming out of this alive.”

“What if Shapiro put a listening device in her apartment? What if he knows she’s decided to go to the sheriff? What if he knows she talked to
me?”

“Don’t look for trouble, honey.” Ethan brushed the hair out of her eyes. “He doesn’t sound that sophisticated. You’ve been watching too many cop shows.”

“Maybe.” She sighed. “But after Drew was shot and killed in front of me, then you nearly died trying to expose why, it’s hard for me not to think worst-case scenario. People always think something
that
awful will never happen to them. But now I know it can.”

“
Can
. But only if God allows it. And if He allows it, He supplies the grace to walk through it.” Ethan kissed her cheek. “We have to trust Him with this.”

“I know. I’m just not so sure Zoe does.”

Jude sat at his computer, reading through the Jarvis murder file. How could they have no leads in the case? Why hadn’t someone in the black community come forward quietly and fingered the guilty parties—or at least offered a clue? Law-abiding African-Americans could not be happy with the media hype surrounding this case. Why wouldn’t someone talk? Surely there was some sort of scuttlebutt concerning who might have done this.

His mind flashed an image of Remy, stripped of dignity and hanging from a tree like some ghoulish Halloween decoration. As if the poor guy hadn’t struggled enough with the mental challenges he faced.

Jude blinked away the intrusive image and pushed back his chair and stood, hands on his lower back. He stretched until he felt the tightness relax, then stepped over to the window and looked out at the parish courthouse, illuminated and stately, and the streets emptied of the day’s throng of tourists. What was he doing here this late on a Saturday night, reviewing the same unyielding information on the Jarvis case, while Colette curled up on her side of the bed, lost in a novel? Wasn’t it time to go home and get some rest before Sunday Mass, lest he embarrass his family by falling asleep again during Monsignor Robidoux’s sermon?

He felt his cell phone vibrate.
Yes, Colette, I’m on my way
. He took it off his belt clip, surprised to see the call was from Stone Castille.

“Yeah, Stone. What’s up?”

“We’ve got a situation boiling at Roux River Park.”

“Talk to me.”

“A bunch of teenagers—blacks and whites—spouting racial slurs and threats. It’s getting ugly. Apparently a fistfight broke out earlier, and someone broke it up. Details are sketchy. I’m pretty sure alcohol’s a factor. A few of them seem eager to go at it again, so I’ve called all units to assist. Six deputies are here, and the others are en route, including some of Chief Norman’s officers. I thought you’d want to know, especially since one media van has arrived—and others are bound to follow.”

“How many teens are involved?”

“I counted twenty-nine. Only ten are black.”

“I’m heading your way.”

“We’ve got it under control, Sheriff. I just wanted to give you a heads up.”

“I was just leaving the station to go home,” Jude said. “The park’s on the way.”

Jude spotted a sea of flashing colored lights and turned into the parking lot near the concession patio at Roux River Park. He pulled up behind Deputy Chief Aimee Rivette’s squad car and got out.

Stone Castille waved and hurried to meet him. “I think the worst is over, Sheriff.”

“Fill me in on what happened.”

“We’re still trying to put it together, but it appears that two groups of teens, one African-American and the other Caucasian, got into an altercation that escalated into expletives and racial slurs and then a fistfight. According to one of the black teens, at least four white males overpowered him and started dragging him away, threatening to hang him. The white kids claim they were just clowning around.”

Jude glanced over at the detainees. “Wanna bet the black kid didn’t think they were clowning around?”

“You got that right. He was pretty shaken.”

“What were they doing out here this time of night?”

“All of them flunked the breathalyzer.”

“Well, if they violated the no-tolerance policy regarding alcohol consumption in the park, each of them is going to get slapped with a five-hundred-dollar fine on top of disorderly conduct, public intoxication, minor in possession, battery—and possibly a hate crime. This is going to be a serious wake-up call for these kids—especially if they’ve never been in trouble before.”

“Judge Dufour sure won’t make it easy for them,” Gil said. “He’s one tough—”

Something flashed, and then a loud popping noise echoed in the darkness. And then another. And another. A black detainee let out an agonizing cry and grabbed the back of his thigh. For a split second, it seemed as though the earth stood still, and then people starting scrambling in all directions.