False Pretenses (14 page)

CHAPTER 13

Zoe sat at the window table at the eatery, next to Father Sam and across from Tex and Hebert. She knew the morning rush was about to hit and was grateful for a few minutes with her friends to commiserate about Remy. Not that there was much left to say. The mood was grim.

Outside, life went on as usual. Friday’s sky blazed lava pink, a gorgeous backdrop for a flock of white ibis flying just above the tree line.

On the gallery above the Coy Cajun Gift Shop, Madame Duval, dressed in a floral shift and clutching what appeared to be a coffee mug, stood at the railing between two overgrown potted plants, waving to someone on the sidewalk.

The bell jingled on the front door, and a young man came in and placed two newspapers on the counter in front of the cash register, and then left without saying anything.

Happy day, everybody!
Remy’s voice echoed in her heart. Could he really be gone?

“Who’s the new guy?” Tex said. “He was here yesterday, too.”

“I don’t recognize him.” Zoe sighed. “He sure isn’t friendly.”

Father Sam patted her hand. “Maybe he’s just a temporary until the
Ledger
finds someone new to take Remy’s route.”

“Maybe,” Zoe said. “But I think this route was tailor-made just for Remy. I have a feeling it’ll be absorbed by one of the other route people—maybe even Mr. Congenial there. It’s depressing that our sweet, gentle Remy’s never coming back.”

Savannah brought a fresh pot of coffee to the table and poured refills all around.

“Your orders are up next,” she said. “Y’all look miserable. You’re going to have to do better than that when I bring your breakfast, or people will think I accidentally served you lemon juice instead of orange.”

No one smiled at Savannah’s attempt to lighten the mood.

Hebert blew on his coffee. “Dere’s no easy way to accept dat Remy’s life was stolen from him. Dose swine who did dis are sick
capons.”

“Sick cowards and then some,” Savannah said. “I have a more descriptive name in mind, but it would be unladylike to say it out loud.” She clamped her hands over her mouth and walked toward to the kitchen.

“I wonder when the funeral’s going to be.” Father Sam moved a spoon slowly back and forth in his coffee. “Saint Catherine’s isn’t big enough to hold the kind of crowd Remy’s funeral will draw, especially if it gets national coverage.”

“It’s already gettin’ that,” Tex said. “I saw a CNN van parked out at the Roux River Inn. I suspect a lynchin’ is big news in this day of political correctness and hate crimes.”

Zoe looked out at the morning sky, hot pink quickly fading to pastel. “I wonder if
any
of the networks are brave enough to step up and demand justice when the killer might be black. Everyone’s so worried about being politically correct.”

“Justice is justice,” Tex said. “Who cares what color the jerks are?”

“You’re preaching to the choir,” Zoe said. “Regardless of what the media does with it, no one here is going to let this go until Remy’s killer is brought to justice. I just hope there isn’t trouble. All we need is for a bunch of hotheads to take this into their own hands.”

“Young lady,” Father Sam said, “we’ve been so busy talking about Remy’s situation, you didn’t finish telling us about your friend Annabelle’s funeral.”

“There’s nothing more to tell. It was a traditional Catholic funeral Mass.”
So now I’m lying to a priest, too?

“Musta been a mess at da cemetery,” Hebert said, “wit da heavy winds and rain down da bayou.”

“We didn’t go to the cemetery. Annabelle was cremated. The urn with her ashes was put in the mausoleum owned by her husband’s relatives.” Isn’t that what she told Pierce? Suddenly it didn’t sound right. “Listen, guys, I need to get to work.” Zoe rose to her feet. “Maybe if we talk through our feelings together, we’ll figure out how to deal with Remy’s murder while we’re waiting for the authorities to solve it.”

“Let’s hope they do,” Tex said. “Doesn’t sound like they have any leads yet.”

“Well, I know sometin’ fuh shore.” Hebert stared at his hands. “No red-blooded Cajun is goin’ to hold his tongue after one o’ his own got strung up like a feral hog and left to die.…” His voice trailed off, and a runaway tear trickled down his cheek. “Dis town owes it to Emile to make shore Remy’s killer don’t get away wid dis.”

Zoe felt as if her heart were in a vice. In all the years she’d known Hebert, this was the first time she had seen him cry.

Vanessa sat at an oblong table in one of the interview rooms at the sheriff’s department, holding Carter in her lap and waiting for someone to talk to her about the results of their investigation at Langley Manor.

“Mommy, why do all the deputies have real guns?” Carter sat Georgie upright on the table. “So they can shoot the bad guys?”

“They don’t want to shoot anyone, but the guns are to protect nice people from bad guys who want to hurt them.”

“Is the candy man a bad guy?”

Vanessa brushed her hand through his bangs. “We don’t know, sweetie. That’s what we have to find out. We still don’t know for sure there is a real candy man.”

“Mommy, I alweady told you he was
weally
in the closet.”

Vanessa kissed his soft cheek, which smelled faintly of peanut butter. “I know you did, and the sheriff’s deputy wrote it down, remember?”

Carter gave a nod. “Good. How long do we have to stay here?”

“Just until Mommy talks to one of the deputies.” She glanced at her watch. It was already after one. What was taking so long? “Why don’t you sit over at the little table and put your ABC puzzle together?”

“Okay.” Carter slid off her lap and went over and sat at a child-sized table in the corner.

She heard a knock at the door, and then Sheriff Jude Prejean and Deputy Stone Castille stepped into the room.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, Mrs. Langley,” Jude said. “We’ve been inundated with calls and emails and media questions related to the hanging, and I wanted to be in on this.”

“Thanks. And please call me Vanessa.”

Jude pulled out a chair and sat across the table, Stone next to him. “All right, Vanessa. We’d like to go over what we found.”

“Found?
So there was something?”

Stone opened a file and spread out the contents. He picked up two photographs and handed them to her. “Understand, this isn’t something we’re releasing to the media, and it’s important that you keep it between you and your husband for now. We found three distinct shoe prints on the ground underneath Remy’s hanging body. And a fourth in close proximity, which is what the photograph in your right hand shows. The photograph in your left hand shows a shoe print we found at the edge of the woods near the manor house. Notice the distinct shape. It’s a match.”

Vanessa’s pulse raced. “So you’re saying at least one of the people involved in the lynching had also been on the grounds at Langley Manor?”

“Not exactly,” Stone said. “Keep in mind the shoe prints don’t prove any of these four were involved in the hanging. It merely proves they had been at the scene sometime recently—and that one of them had also been on your property. But we did find other evidence that’s disturbing.”

“What?”

Jude locked gazes with her. “The DNA we found on the lemon drop matches a piece of chewed gum we found near the scene. The person is not in our system, but it is a male.”

“Good heavens.” Vanessa glanced over at Carter and lowered her voice to just above a whisper. “You’re saying this man
was
in the manor house and at the scene of the lynching?”

“No doubt about it.”

“Then you have to take my son’s description of the man seriously.”

“We are,” Jude said. “But a black man with white stubble on his face and a pocket full of candy isn’t a lot to go on. We’re hoping the FBI lab in New Orleans will be able to identify the brand and style of shoe he’s wearing. We’re already questioning some people in the know in the black community, trying to find out if anyone fitting that description stands out. But I have to tell you it’s a long shot.”

Fear seized her as she processed the implications. “But how did this man get
in
the house?”

“We think we know.” Jude’s hazel eyes widened. “We found a door in the back of the closet. It leads to a wooden staircase that descends below ground level to a tunnel that comes out at the edge of the woods.”

“What do you mean, ‘comes out’?” Vanessa said.

“There’s a door, much like a cellar door, that’s hidden under some brush. The lock was broken. Anyone who knew it was there could come and go at will.”

Vanessa combed her hands through her hair. “Why would the Langleys have built a tunnel? And who would even know it was there? None of the blueprints I saw of the house showed the stairs or the tunnel.”

“I couldn’t tell you that, ma’am,” Jude said. “But we’ve nailed the trapdoor shut from the inside. I promise you no one’s going to get in now.”

“Thank you. That part’s a relief.” Vanessa put her hands around Georgie, a cold chill crawling up her spine. “It’s just so scary to think this alleged murderer was in our home—inches away from my son, who can identify him. And that he’s still out there.”

Zoe sat on the couch in her living room and waited until the hands on the clock showed two o’clock, then keyed in Adele Woodmore’s phone number. What if Adele wasn’t willing to work with her—what then?

“Woodmore residence.”

“Edward? This is Zoe Broussard. May I speak with Mrs. Woodmore, please?”

“Yes, Madame is expecting your call. Hold please.”

Zoe jumped to her feet and paced in front of the window, every second that went by sheer agony. All she needed was a little mercy on Adele’s part. She would gladly pay her back to stop this blackmailer in his tracks.

“Hello, Zoe.”

“Hello, Mrs. Woodmore. Have you had time to have your attorney draw up the papers?”

“He’s agreed to get it done by closing time today, hon.” She sighed. “I don’t mind telling you I’m greatly bothered that we’re leaving your husband out of this. Just seems wrong to me.”

“It’s the lesser of two evils. Pierce just can’t find out about this. It’ll ruin our lives.”

“Are you sure, hon? I just have to believe that your being honest with him can only strengthen your marriage in the long run.”

“Not if it destroys it in the short run. Mrs. Woodmore, he has no idea about my sick family or how I got the money to start Zoe B’s. What good would it do to tell him now? Please, just work with me.”

A long stretch of dead air made her wonder if the phone had gone dead.

“Mrs. Woodmore, are you there …?”

“Yes, I’m here, hon. I’m going ahead as we agreed. Where do you want me to send the papers?”

“Don’t send them! I’ll drive to Alexandria and sign them—just as soon as they’re ready. I’ll check back on Monday, how’s that?”

“That’ll be fine. Listen, Zoe … I just want you to know that I’ve made this a major prayer concern of mine. I know God doesn’t want you to live with this cloud of dishonesty hanging over your head. I’ve asked Him to intervene.”

“Define
intervene
.” She knew God listened to Adele. What was she asking Him to do?