The Accused (11 page)

“Yep.” His delivery was matter-of-fact and his expression one of complete seriousness.

“You do know she’s dead, right?” She watched him closely as soon as she delivered those words, hoping that she hadn’t upset some great balance of denial.

“’Course I know that.” Amos gave her an indignant look. “I’m old, not senile.”

“Then how...”

He stared at her for several seconds, his brown eyes almost black in the dim light, wisps of silver hair that needed a trim and a comb stuck out in all directions. Her pulse ticked up just a bit and with every passing second of silence, she could feel it growing stronger—louder.

“I seen her myself,” he said, his voice low and reverent. “Wouldna believed it if someone else had made the claim, but it’s hard to deny what’s right in front of you.”

“You saw...” Her voice caught in her throat. “You saw my mother?”

Amos nodded. “The first time was right after she passed. The master took you all away and the house was empty. A storm was brewing and I came to make sure everything was closed tight. When I left you girls’ room upstairs, I saw her walking toward me on the landing.”

“Oh.” Alaina covered her mouth with her hand. That was the same place she’d seen her mother in her memory earlier. “How did she look?”

“Sad. Like she was lost. As she got closer, I could see her lips moving like she was trying to tell me something, but I couldn’t hear nothing.”

Alaina frowned. The caretaker’s experience was nothing like her memory. Her mother had looked happy and vibrant, but then in her memory, she’d been alive and about to spend time with her children. If ghosts really did exist, couldn’t they be sad?

“I seen her several times since that one,” Amos continued. “Always before a storm. Always sad and trying to speak to me. I wish I could hear her.” Amos rubbed his eyes with his fingers and Alaina could see his eyes were misty.

“She was a good woman,” he said, “just like her mother. I miss her every day.”

“Oh, Amos.” She felt the tears brimming in her eyes. “I miss her, too.”

He gave her a single nod and stared at the floor as if sharing his feelings embarrassed him. “If she’s gonna talk to anyone, I figure it will be one of you girls.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“Well, if you don’t need anything, I best be going before it gets dark.”

“I’m fine. Thank you. Be careful walking home.”

“Always am. Mystere Parish swamps ain’t nothing to be casual about. Getting casual can get you stuffed in a pine box.” He turned around and shuffled back toward the laundry room.

Stuffed in a pine box.

Alaina shook her head. The man had a way with words.

* * *

C
ARTER
PACED
HIS
CABIN
, not even glancing at the baseball game playing on television. Alaina’s vandalism story bothered him for several reasons, but the main one was that he knew she was holding something back. She may not know who’d vandalized her former boss’s car, but she had her suspicions, and she wasn’t sharing them with him. Which meant something could be coming his way and he wasn’t prepared.

It was time to do a little digging into Alaina LeBeau’s past.

He grabbed a beer and carried his laptop to the breakfast table. The police database was probably a waste of time. Based on William’s description, the law firm she’d worked for in Baton Rouge wouldn’t have run the risk of employing a criminal, so Google was what he had to work with.

He logged on to the internet and typed her name into the search box. Unless a person had achieved some level of fame, it was rare to find much about them using a simple internet search. Social and professional networking websites were often the only places people had an online presence.

The screen refreshed with the search results and his eyes widened. Pages and pages of results on Alaina, and the headlines weren’t good—Child Serial Rapist Goes Free, Legal System Fail, Death of Another Child by Acquitted Serial Rapist.

He grabbed his beer and took a big drink, then clicked on the first link and began to read. An hour later, he got up from the table, dumped out his now-warm beer and paced back and forth from the kitchen to the living room—all ten steps of it.

At best, he’d hoped to find a couple of leads—angry businessmen whose merger didn’t go through, or a useless son who didn’t inherit as expected—but he hadn’t expected to find that Alaina had been the lead defense attorney in such a sordid case. A case where winning had been the worst thing possible.

Her client, a seventeen-year-old boy accused of indecency with a child, had gone free, the jury acquitting him of all charges. Two weeks later, he’d attacked and murdered a six-year-old girl, this time the entire thing caught by a security camera. Techniques in the murder matched those used in the molestation of other children and two other murders he hadn’t been linked to before this one. Details about the techniques that had never been released by the police.

No doubt existed this time. The boy was responsible for this attack and murder and had been for all the others. By doing a great job, Alaina had helped set a child killer free.

He stopped pacing and stared out the window into the pitch-black swamp. What the hell had she been doing as lead on a case like that? William told him she worked civil and business cases. He’d never mentioned criminal work and couldn’t have known about this case or he would have told him up front.

The entire thing stank to high heaven.

Suddenly, he remembered a guy he’d met at a law enforcement conference in Baton Rouge the year before. He was a state prosecutor and had given Carter his card with his cell number in case he was ever in town. Carter opened a kitchen drawer and pulled out a stack of business cards. Finally, he located the right one and grabbed his cell phone.

The prosecutor, Rob, answered on the second ring. “Carter Trahan. Are you in town and looking for a good time?”

“I wish. Unfortunately, I’m hard at work.”

“I thought you chucked NOLA and moved to some bayou town with ten people and a hundred gators? Don’t tell me you’ve run into a hotbed of crime.”

“Just a single problem,” Carter replied, “but with the potential to be red-hot.”

“Sounds intriguing. I’m assuming you didn’t call me to shoot the breeze, so how can I help?”

“A woman returned here recently to settle her mother’s estate. The will is strange and requires her to stay here for a bit. She was an attorney in Baton Rouge and there’s the off chance that trouble from one of her cases might follow her here.”

“Who’s the attorney?”

“Alaina LeBeau.”

Rob whistled. “That was one screwed-up mess that I thank God every day I had no part in. There’s no shortage of news coverage on that case, so I assume you’re not calling me about anything you can find online?”

“No. I read the reports and they seem straightforward as do the facts.”

“But?”

“But there’s something that doesn’t make sense to me. I can’t find another reference to Alaina LeBeau handling criminal cases.”

“She hasn’t,” Rob confirmed.

“Then why make her lead on something this big?”

“I can tell you what I suspect, but you’re probably not going to like it.”

Carter sighed. “She was scapegoated.”

“You got it. The case had stench all over it, but word is the father of the killer—a state senator—is a longtime friend of the partners of the law firm Alaina worked for. The only reason to put a junior attorney with zero experience in criminal proceedings as the lead is so she’d be available to take the fall if things went south.”

“And this went so far south it’s renting space in Antarctica.”

“You got it. So what exactly got you calling me at 10:00 p.m. on a Friday night? I know it’s not general curiosity.”

Carter repeated what Alaina had told him about the vandalism.

“And the police think it has something to do with the case?” Rob asked.

“She says the police aren’t committing to anything, but they felt she should be informed just in case.”

“Standard covering-your-butt stuff. So again, what’s got
you
calling me at 10:00 p.m.?”

Carter smiled. “You must be hell in a courtroom.”

“Only if you’re a bad guy or a defense attorney.”

“Fair enough. The truth is, I have a bad feeling about it. I can’t put my finger on why, but ever since Alaina arrived in town, something has felt off. And now you’re probably regretting ever giving your phone number to a delusional person.”

“Not in the least. Look, I’ve spent more hours than I can count working with cops. The best ones have this sixth sense about things. I don’t know how to explain it—certainly, there’s no scientific explanation—but I’ve seen it firsthand. If your instincts are telling you that trouble is coming, I recommend you be on the lookout.”

“Thanks, Rob.”

“No problem. Give me a call next time you’re in Baton Rouge.”

“You got it.” Carter disconnected the call. He understood completely why Alaina had dodged his question on suspects. She was probably still mortified, and if he’d pegged her properly, felt guilty and responsible.

He ran one hand through his hair, his emotional side and logical side waging a war. Logically, he knew the only person responsible for horrid acts was the person committing them, but that was a very black-and-white view of life. The reality was, he believed all sorts of things contributed to something taking place. Life was more often many shades of gray.

His emotional side argued that if high-end attorneys didn’t do such a good job defending the guilty, more of them would be in prison where they belonged instead of back out on the streets with innocents at their mercy. That argument and one too many run-ins with shady defense attorneys were the final straws in Carter’s calling it quits with the NOLA Police Department and heading home.

Now he had his worst nightmare in his lap. A defense attorney who’d successfully freed a monster, and it was his job to protect her from her own actions.

William owed him huge for this. Huge.

Chapter Eleven

Alaina’s arms ached as she dried off her tired body. Apparently, all those hours spent at the gym didn’t prepare one for painting and Olympic-level cleaning. On the plus side, she’d made significant progress with the kitchen and was very pleased with the result. Only the overgrown shrubbery outside the kitchen windows put a damper on the cheerful room. First thing tomorrow, she was going to ask Amos if he had some tools to help her tackle the brush. It wouldn’t be the most professional job, but she could at least clear some of it away to allow in more sunshine.

She pulled on her sleeping wear and slipped into flip-flops, thinking she’d tackle some upstairs floors tomorrow so she could actually go barefoot, a habit her adoptive mother always griped about, but one she was never able to shed. Her long hair was dripping wet in the humidity, but a towel dry was all it was getting. Then it went on top of her head, held there with a clip. It was going in a ponytail again tomorrow anyway.

She hung the towel over the shower rod and left the bathroom, ready to collapse in bed. Before she’d taken three steps on the landing, the lights in the entry downstairs clicked off. She froze, listening for the sound of someone moving downstairs, but only silence greeted her. Glancing down the hallway, she saw the lamp next to her bed still glowing. It wasn’t a power outage.

She slipped off her flip-flops and hurried to her room to grab her cell phone.

No signal.

She held in a stream of cursing, angry once again at her vulnerable state. When her mother had drafted her strange inheritance requirements, she’d had no idea what position she’d be putting her children in.

The squeaking of a door hinge downstairs had her reaching for her pistol and car keys. Time to get out of the house and get help. Peering out the patio doors, she bit her lip. She’d told Carter she had no problem springing over the balcony and running, and that much was true, but an inspection of the kitchen courtyard that morning had revealed massive thornbushes directly below the balcony. Jumping now could cause more injuries than she could run with.

She shoved her cell phone and keys in her yoga pants pockets and mentally reviewed her plan. All she had to do was hurry downstairs and out the front door. If she couldn’t see the intruder in the dark, then he couldn’t see her either, and she’d remain barefoot to mask her steps. Gripping her pistol with both hands, she slipped out of the bedroom and down the hallway.

The dim light from the lamp faded away as she inched down the hallway. By the time she reached the top of the stairwell, she had only enough light to make out the first few steps. She released the pistol with one hand and placed it on the railing as she slid her foot forward to take the first step down.

She must have miscalculated, or lost her balance, because the next thing she knew, she was lurching forward onto the stairs, then tumbling over and over, her limbs banging against the hard marble. She yelled out both in pain and terror, then her head slammed against one of the iron balusters and everything went black.

* * *

C
ARTER
JOGGED
as fast as possible down the overgrown path through the swamp to Amos’s cabin. He’d been calling Alaina since early this morning, but she’d never answered or returned any of his calls and text messages. He’d waited a couple of hours, thinking she might be sleeping in after all the work she’d done in the kitchen, but when the morning approached ten o’clock and she still hadn’t contacted him, he’d driven to the house.

Her car was in the driveway, but pounding on the front door hadn’t brought any response. Even worse, when he’d dialed her number again, he could swear he heard the faint ring of her cell phone on the other side of the door. He’d hurried around back, remembering Alaina mentioning the day before that she wanted to remove some of the brush from the kitchen patio, but it was clear she hadn’t started work there yet.

That was when he’d decided she might have gone to see Amos for tools, and took off for the caretaker’s cabin, trying to remain calm. Alaina was under no obligation to tell him or anyone else her every move, especially if she did all her moving in Calais. Nor was she required to be strapped to her cell phone, and even if she was, it was still her choice to take calls. Maybe she was busy and didn’t want to be bothered. When he was working on a project at his cabin, he tended to ignore the outside world in favor of speed and efficiency.

Amos was just exiting the toolshed when Carter stepped out of the overgrown trail and into the clearing where the caretaker’s quarters stood. Carter called out a greeting and Amos looked at him and frowned.

“Carter? What are you doing all the way out here? Aren’t you on duty?”

“I’m looking for Alaina. Have you seen her?”

Amos shook his head. “Not since last night. She’s not at the big house?”

“Her car is there, but she’s not answering.” Carter’s pulse quickened. “I need your key.”

The caretaker’s eyes widened and he pulled the keys from his pocket and indicated a black iron one to Carter. “That’s the one. I’ll be along behind you.”

Carter took the key and broke out in a run up the trail, cursing at himself as he went. The dead brush scratched his bare forearms, but he didn’t slow. He’d had a feeling something was wrong that morning. Why hadn’t he driven out here right away? His mother had told him not to ignore things like this and he’d gone and done it anyway. If something had happened to Alaina, he’d never forgive himself.

He burst out of the trail and into the courtyard, then skidded to a stop in front of the doors. The massive iron key turned easily and he pushed the door open and ran inside, yelling for Alaina. His voice echoing off the vaulted ceiling was the only sound that greeted him. He started to turn toward the kitchen, when he heard a groan coming from the stairwell.

He rushed up the stairs and found Alaina crumpled in a ball midway up the giant circular staircase. Her hand covered the side of her head and dried blood covered her fingers.

“Alaina!” He dropped to his knees and checked her pulse, then blew out a breath of relief when the strong heartbeat pounded against his fingers. Gently tapping her cheek with his fingers, he called her name.

She groaned again and slowly opened her eyes. When her eyes locked on Carter, she lurched upward, then clutched her head with both hands and sank back down, closing her eyes again.

“Don’t move,” he told her. “You’ve cracked your head. At best, you’ll be dizzy and nauseous. At worst, you’ve got a concussion.”

“What are you doing here in the middle of the night?” she asked.

Carter’s heart clutched. The dried blood had been a clear indicator that the accident hadn’t happened recently, but the fact that she’d been unconscious all night was definitely cause for concern.

“It’s not the middle of the night. It’s almost 11:00 a.m. What time did you fall?”

She pushed herself up, slowly this time, and he put his hands behind her back to help her to an upright position.

“Around midnight,” she said.

He lifted a piece of her matted hair away to get a better look at her head, then blew out a breath of relief at the small gash. “It doesn’t look deep, but I need to get you to the doctor. You’ve been unconscious a long time. How did this happen?”

She stared blankly at him for a moment. “I took a shower, then left the bathroom... Oh, I remember! I heard something downstairs.”

“What did you hear?”

“It sounded like squeaky hinges from a door, then all the downstairs lights went off, but the power was still on. So I grabbed my keys and gun and was going to sneak downstairs and go get you.”

He looked down at her bare feet. “And you slipped on the landing.”

“I guess so.” She frowned. “I don’t really remember how it happened. I just remember falling over and over and then everything went black. I’m usually not that clumsy.”

“You’re not used to your surroundings and it was dark.” He made excuses, not wanting to stress her any further if it was a simple case of ill balance. “Let’s get you to the doctor.”

He rose and she started to follow, but he put a hand on her shoulder. “You don’t need to walk, especially down stairs.” He leaned over and scooped her up from the stairs.

Her eyes widened in surprise, but she wrapped her arms around him for balance and didn’t protest. Her head probably hurt more than she was willing to admit. As he stepped off the stairs, Amos walked through the front door.

The caretaker took one look at Alaina and paled. “Are you all right, miss?”

“She fell down the stairs late last night,” Carter explained as he carried her outside. Amos hurried beside him and opened his truck door. “She’s got a good crack on her head and has been unconscious all night. I’m going to take her to Doc Broussard.”

Amos nodded. “That’s good,” he said as Carter gently placed Alaina on the passenger’s seat. “You go take care of yourself, miss. I’ll watch the house.”

Carter jumped into the truck and pulled slowly away from the house, making every attempt to avoid the biggest holes on the dirt road.

“Someone was in the house with me,” Alaina said, her voice wavering. “Why is someone trying to scare me?”

Carter clenched his jaw. “I don’t know, but I’m damn well going to find out.”

* * *

D
OC
B
ROUSSARD
was a silver-haired gentleman who had probably been quite a ladies’ man in his day. He charmed Alaina with his gentle touch and calm concern. Carter was the complete opposite. He stood in the corner of the room and she could practically feel the tension coming off him. Carter was definitely concerned, but it was anything but calm.

Doc Broussard lowered the X-ray he’d been studying and smiled at her. “Everything looks fine. You got a good crack, but I don’t see any swelling or blood pools.”

Her back and neck loosened a bit at his words, some of the tension releasing. “That’s great news. It worried me that I’d been unconscious for so long.”

Doc Broussard nodded. “It’s not optimal for those with a head injury to sleep, but it doesn’t appear as if there’s any damage done here. But if you start experiencing bad headaches or nausea, you need to let me know. I can schedule you an MRI in New Orleans.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

“Perhaps... Well... I know it’s none of my business,” Doc Broussard said, “but maybe you shouldn’t be staying in that big house. Amos hasn’t been able to keep it up for years. The thing is probably a death trap.”

“It’s not bad,” Alaina assured him. “It’s more dirty than anything, and unfortunately, I have to stay there to meet the terms of my mother’s will—at least for two weeks.”

Doc Broussard frowned. “I’d heard the rumors about that tomfoolery. I’d hoped they were exaggerated, but apparently they’re not. You’d think William could have found a way around such nonsense.”

“He tried,” Alaina said. “He’s no happier about the situation than me or you.”

Carter coughed and Alaina glanced over at him.

“He may
even
be as unhappy as Carter, who’s tasked with ensuring I am in residence every day of the two weeks,” she said, trying not to smile.

Doc Broussard shot a look at Carter and grinned. “What’s wrong with you, boy? Keeping watch over a beautiful woman seems the best job in town. Or are you afraid your mother will find out the young lady got injured on your watch?”

Alaina’s smile broke through at the look of utter dismay on Carter’s face. “I really must meet your mother.”

Doc Broussard nodded. “Willamina Trahan is a force to be reckoned with. Beautiful and smart. If I was a braver man, I would ask her out, but as it is, I’ll just have to settle for a nice glass of wine and Netflix.”

“Are we done here?” Carter asked, clearly uncomfortable with the doctor’s dating comment.

“Absolutely.” Doc Broussard pulled a card from his pocket and handed it to Alaina. “If you have any questions or concerns, call me immediately. That’s my cell number and I try to keep it on me at all times.”

Alaina took the card and placed it in her pocket. “Thanks,” she said and eased off the table, careful not to jostle her slightly aching head.

“Warm water on the cut a couple of times a day,” Doc Broussard said as he walked them out. “I don’t think it needs a stitch, but if it doesn’t start healing in a day or two, come back and see me and we’ll reassess.”

“Thank you.” Alaina gave him a parting wave as she eased past Carter, who was holding the door open for her.

Carter was silent as he helped her into his truck, and the lack of conversation continued as he drove down Main Street. He looked pensive and slightly frustrated and she had to wonder if he was really so humorless that a little harmless joking put him in a foul mood.

“He’s right, you know,” Carter finally said, breaking the silence.

“About what?”

“You shouldn’t be staying in that house—at least not alone.”

Alaina shrugged, trying to maintain her cool, even though the thought of another night alone in that house was beginning to worry her already-frayed nerves. “Like I said before, no other options.”

“To staying in the house, no. But I’m going to fix the alone part.”

She shook her head. “Even if you could get him to do it, I don’t think Amos would be much protection.”

“I’m not talking about Amos. I’m talking about me.”

“Oh, no!” All sorts of potential scenes flashed through Alaina’s mind and her lack of clothing was a common theme. “I can’t ask you to do that. It’s not your responsibility. None of this is.”

“You’re not asking and I’m not offering. I’m telling you. Either I stay there until I can figure out what’s going on or I tell William to remove you from the house. You already narrowly missed a serious head injury. I’m not about to have worse on my conscience.”

One look at his set jaw and determined expression and Alaina knew it was futile to argue. If the estate attorney thought she was in imminent danger, she had no doubt he’d pull her out of the house until his concerns were alleviated.

“Wow,” she grumbled. “You really are afraid of your mother.”