I nodded. Although Beau Chene was larger than Cypress Lake, the one and only time that town gets wild is during Mardi Gras. Then the place is really rocking.

  “My buddy told me if I wanted to spend time in a quiet place, Allemand Parish was the perfect place.”

  “It used to be.”

  He cocked his head to one side. “Oh? What’s going on?”

  “Over the last several years, the parish has had a number of high profile murders including my husband, who was the chief of police in Cypress Lake.”

  His expression sobered. “I’m sorry. Is he the one you’re visiting?”

  “Yes, it’s been a year since he died. But that’s not everything going on in the parish. My husband was killed because he discovered a drug trafficking ring run by the former mayor. Now there’s evidence of a group smuggling undocumented immigrants into the state.”

  “I heard about those folks they found on the bayou that didn’t make it. Remote places like these coastal swamps are tempting spots for illegal activities.”

  “Where in Mississippi are you from?”

  “The Kil’.”

  “The what?”

  His blue eyes sparkled when he laughed. “The Kil’ is what we’ve always called the area. The name is spelled K. I. L. N., pronounced Kil’. There used to be a lot of kilns around there which were operated by the timber industry.”

  “That’s very interesting. I’m a mystery writer so maybe I’ll figure out some way to use your town in a story if I set one in Mississippi.”

  “I enjoy a good mystery. Are you published?”

  “Yes, I am. You should check out my website. It’s under Susan Foret.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  His intense eyes kept studying my face. They were almost hypnotic. I had to keep reminding myself that most men who had his particular physical characteristics of dark hair and big blue eyes always seemed to be the stereotypical bad boy. But oh how ladies loved outlaws! I wondered if Danny was one of those in his younger days. I’ll have to inquire some time.

  It’s time for me to leave before I do something foolish.

  “It’s been nice talking to you. I need to get back to relieve the babysitter.”

  “How old is your baby?” he asked.

  “Babies, plural.”

  His raised his eyebrows.

  “Oh they’re not infants,” I explained. “They are a set of eight year old twins, a boy and a girl.”

  “Wow, you must have your hands full.”

  “Sometimes they are a handful. Nice seeing you again.” I managed to pull myself away and walk to my car. I felt his gaze follow me until I drove out of his sight.

  When I arrived back home, Tina informed me Megan had left a message for me to call her. I paid Tina and keyed Megan’s number on my cell phone.

  “What’s up,” I asked when she answered.

  “I was worried about you, especially after I called your house and you weren’t there.”

  “Why didn’t you try my cell?”

  “I did, but you didn’t answer.”

  Boy I must have really been in a daze. “I guess I didn’t hear the phone. Is that the reason you called?”

  My words didn’t come out as I intended. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to snarl.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m not offended.” She paused for a long moment. “There is something I want to tell you concerning the case.”

  “What about it?”

  “Carole is hesitant about revealing any more facts about what our plans are. In a way it’s related to attorney-client confidentiality. So it’s probably better if…”

  “If I don’t sit in on your meetings,” I interrupted. “I had the feeling she resented my presence.”

  “Don’t get your feeling hurt. Carole is all about being professional. You’re not an attorney or a licensed investigator.

  “There’s another reason. Your life seems to be in danger,” she continued. “I’m not certain if the police are brushing off your close call as a drunk driver who didn’t want to be caught. However, I believe whoever drove the truck was intentionally trying to kill you, or at the least attempting to scare you.”

  My pulse accelerated. “I’m glad you confirmed my way of thinking about the incident and not that I’m crazy.”

  “Sometimes your actions are crazy.”

  “I’m the first to admit it.”

  “Anyway, I hope what I’m about to say will make you feel a little more optimistic about Alex’s chances,” she continued. “Although there are many possible snags involved here, there is one plan of action Carole’s looking into as a possible way to keep Alex from being deported if he’s found not guilty of murder.”

  I perked up. “Can you tell me about it?”

  “The program is referred to as TPS or Temporary Protected Status. People who came to the US from countries in some sort of upheaval and are in danger of physical harm are granted TPS. After the earthquake in Haiti, the Haitian people were included in this because conditions there were so bad.”

  “That sounds promising,” I said.

  “As I mentioned before, there are all sorts of problems in Alex’s case.”

  “Like the possibility he’ll be convicted of Celina’s murder?”

  “Yes, but also the current TPS program for Haitians expires January of twenty-eighteen. And then there’s his illegal status.”

  “I do feel a bit more optimistic, but I realize there are so many ifs involved.”

  “If TPS isn’t in the cards for him, there’s another program that might be,” she said. “However, he’ll have to be cleared of Celina’s murder first.”

  “He hasn’t been formally charged yet, has he?”

  “Not yet, but my intuition tells me he will be…soon.”

  Thirty

  Saturday, August 1

  “Oh come on,” Matthew shouted at the television. “Seriously?”

  I came out of the kitchen to see what happened. A breaking news alert on TV had interrupted Saturday morning cartoons. I cringed as Channel 7 went live to a press conference in front of Cypress Lake City Hall.

  The moment I saw Brad, I knew what this was about. My intuition was right on. Megan’s guess was also correct as to the timing. Alex had been arrested for Celina’s murder.

  Brad stood at the microphone, looking quite pleased. Several other deputies and the DA, along with two men I didn’t recognize, moved in behind him. These men were later introduced as Immigration and Customs Enforcement agents.

  A smell of burning food from the kitchen drew my attention away from the news conference. I rushed to the stove and removed burnt pancakes from the skillet, dumping them into the garbage. Looks like the kids are having cereal for breakfast.

  By the time I returned to the den, the news conference was over. Oh, well, I’ll find out on my own what transpired. I was surprised Brad didn’t have Danny on the podium with him to hold his hand. I scolded myself for being sarcastic and recalled the words I told Josh about my current bad attitude. How could anyone stand to be around me anymore?

  Back in the kitchen, I set two bowls out for Matthew and Caroline, several different boxes of cereal so each could make a choice. I called the twins to breakfast.

  “I thought we were having pancakes,” Matthew said, frowning.

  “We were, but I burned them. So these are your choices.” I indicated the boxes displayed on the table.

  “I want Fruitie-O’s,” Caroline said.

  Matthew studied the boxes and finally picked one with loads of sugar and marshmallows in it. I usually give them one choice, but today I didn’t feel like hearing a lot of moaning and groaning. I was surprised there wasn’t more griping about the absence of pancakes.

  After getting the twins taken care of, I poured a second cup of coffee and popped two slices of bread into the toaster.

  With my meager breakfast fare, I sat at the table with the kids. They seemed pleasantly surprised by my action. I realized I’d left them with babysitters, or alone to their own devices while I either worked on my novel, or delved into the mystery of Celina’s death, the complications of Alex’s situation, and other seemingly connected events like what happened on the Gallaghers’ boat.

  Maybe I really do need therapy. There were only two things I should be concentrating on—my kids and my writing—in that order.

  We talked about the upcoming start of school. It was hard to believe my babies would be in third grade this year. Naturally Matthew stated his desire for endless summer vacation.

  “For a few weeks before my school started every year, I always wanted summer to last forever,” I said, trying to start a discussion. “Then after classes started, I didn’t mind too much. My friends and I were together again and there were all the after school activities.”

  “Oh I like soccer and playing with my friends,” Matthew said. “It’s the classes and homework I don’t like.”

  “Is there any subject you like?”

  “Gym class.”

  “Other than gym.”

  He thought a moment. “Science and math are okay.”

  His answer didn’t surprise me. He always did well in those subjects. “That’s great. What about you, Caroline?”

  “I like history and English.” She made a face. “But math and science are not fun at all.”

  Matthew shook his head. “Not me. History and English are boring.”

  “Well, maybe you could help your sister with your favorite subjects and she can return the favor.” I waited for an explosion from Matthew. What a shock. None came.

  “Maybe I might help you with math.” Matthew’s expression belied his reluctant tone.

  Caroline smiled. “That would be nice. School’s going to be good this year. I want to try out for the chorus.”

  This arrangement might work out. I hope and pray it does and there’s a smooth running school year.

  A soft meow came from under the table. Katy brushed against my leg. Like the rest of us she also needed attention. I reached down and scratched her head.

  “Wow,” Matthew said. “I can hear her purring all the way up here.”

  “That means she agrees,” Caroline said. “We’re going to have a great school year.”

  Rachel phoned and invited me and the twins over for a backyard barbeque this evening. These events had long been a Saturday tradition from Memorial Day to Labor Day at the Marchands’ house. Tonight the other guests included Ronnie Hart and his family.

  The twins, especially Matthew, were thrilled that his friend Reed Hart would be there and I released him from being grounded.

  Around six we walked next door. I brought a dish of baked beans to contribute to the meal.

  After placing the bean dish on the picnic table, I sat on the patio with Rachel and Danny while we waited for Ronnie and his family to arrive. The delicious aroma of meat cooking on the gas grill floated over to us, and reminded me of the many barbeques Jim and I attended here over the years.

  I mentally sighed. My recollections of Jim that popped up every time I attended an event, or smelled a certain aroma would have to stop if I wanted to move on with my life. Not an easy task, but a necessary one.

  “Danny,” I said, finally summoning the nerve. “When you were younger were you ever considered to be a bad boy?” I made air quotes around bad boy.”

  He looked at me as if I had suddenly dropped out of a tree. “Where the devil did that come from?”

  My face grew warm. “Sorry, I guess that did seem to come out of the blue. I met a guy and have seen him a few times…” I hurriedly explained to their surprised looks. “I don’t mean seeing as in dating. He and I happened to be in the same place a couple of times and we talked.” Why did I feel like a teenager telling my parents about a new boyfriend?

  Danny looked confused. “What does this guy have to do with me possibly being a bad boy?”

  “He has the same coloring as I presume you had when you were younger. I mean dark hair and big blue eyes.”

  He nodded, brushing his hand over his silver hair. “Okay, I’ll admit my hair used to be dark. So what?”

  “Every guy I’ve ever known who had those physical characteristics turned out to be prototypical bad boys…love em and leave em ladies’ men.”

  “Hmm, were you one of those?” Rachel teased.

  Danny leaned back in his chair for a long moment. Then he turned to us with a mischievous grin. “I might have been.” His expression grew serious. “So who is this guy? Do we know him?”

  He sounded pretty much like my father had whenever I was going on a date. “I doubt it. He told me he works offshore on one of the oil rigs. He’s not from Louisiana, but from Mississippi.”

  “Oh, from the Coast,” Rachel asked.

  “No, he’s from a town which he called The Kil’. The real name is spelled K.I.L.N. Have you heard of it?”

  Rachel shook her head. “Like Louisiana there are so many wide spots in the road in Mississippi that aren’t even on the map. What about you, Danny?”

  He looked away briefly. “As a matter of fact, I have heard of the place. It’s a small town north of Bay St. Louis. Years ago I met a man from there. I can’t recall his name. What’s this fellow’s name?”

  “Jack Holden.”

  He shook his head. “Name doesn’t ring a bell.”

  His expression seemed odd, but I couldn’t put my finger on what bothered me about it. “I’m sure if Kiln is such a small place, whoever the man was they knew each other.”

  He opened his mouth as if to reply. Whatever he intended to say was interrupted when Ronnie, Renee, and their three kids arrived through the side gate.

  The evening passed with friendly dialogue and good food, a typical South Louisiana Saturday night. The one missing component was Cajun music.

  The subject of Alex’s arrest, Brad’s tunnel vision, or undocumented immigrants didn’t come up, at least not among me, Rachel, and Renee. Several times Danny and Ronnie had their heads together discussing what appeared to be a serious subject. Those men couldn’t seem to completely leave their work at the office, so to speak. But I shouldn’t talk. I couldn’t leave a murder investigation out of my thoughts even for a few hours.

  Around ten in the evening, the Harts left. Danny stayed outside to take care of the grill and clear all the paper plates and other trash with help from the twins. Rachel and I moved the leftover food and beverages inside.

  She took a seat at the kitchen table. “Come sit here and tell me about this Jack Holden. You said you and he happened to be in the same place a couple of times and you talked.”

  I sighed. “Yes, Mother. I’m sorry I even brought up the subject.”

  “Too bad, dear,” she said. “I want to make sure he isn’t dangerous.”

  “He might be dangerous, but not in the way you’re thinking.” I sat in a chair across from her.

  “I’m not letting this go. Tell me about the times you two met.”

  “Okay, okay.” I proceeded to tell her about the incident at the coffee shop and the second time at the cemetery.

  She didn’t seem concerned until I detailed our meeting at the cemetery. “Running into him at the coffee shop sounds innocent enough, but not the second time at Jim’s grave. He didn’t have any reason to be there. Sounds like a stalker to me. For all you know, he could be the guy who tried to run over you with his truck.”

  I shook my head. “No, I don’t think so.”

  My heart thumped. Jack Holden’s black pickup parked behind my car at the cemetery suddenly came to mind.

  Thirty-one

  Wednesday, August 5

  The first day of the new school year arrived sooner than I thought. Prior days had flown by, filled with shopping for school supplies and new uniforms as the twins had both outgrown last year’s clothes. Then there were new sneakers. The brand name shoes were outrageously high priced.

  This year, for the first time Matthew and Caroline didn’t have the same teacher. I resigned myself to the fact they were probably old enough to be separated.

  After leaving the kids at school I came home feeling depressed. The unfinished novel sitting on my desk should be my first priority, but somehow I couldn’t bring myself to work on it.

  What I really wanted was to do research pertaining to Celina’s murder and figure out the connection to the confrontation on the Gallaghers’ boat. I felt certain there was a link.

  I could email Remi about the possibility of getting more info on the event. Her involvement with digging up this old information might be tricky because I wasn’t certain about procedure. I didn’t want her to get in trouble because of me.

  Who knows? There may not be any problems with her opening an investigation into an incident like that one. Of course Claire Gallagher may object to reopening old wounds. From what I knew about her, she would have a lot of influence in shutting down any suggestion there was a need to reinvestigate.

  I couldn’t understand why she didn’t follow through with the Jamaican authorities. If my husband and son had been murdered in cold blood, I would have stopped at nothing to find the killers. And it seemed to me the U. S. Coast Guard or even the FBI should have been on the case, since the deaths of American citizens were involved, even if the attack occurred in international waters or Jamaican waters.

  I decided to email Remi after I spoke to Willow about Kenny Verret’s connection to Celina and once I checked the Times Picayune’s archives.

  Hanging around the house wasn’t getting me anywhere. I grabbed my laptop, opting to do my research in Coffee Heaven. Writing on laptops in coffee shops was common these days.

  Or maybe I hoped to run into Jack Holden again. I shook off the thought. He’s probably gone back offshore by now.

  The anticipation of possibly seeing him again mixed with a nagging fear he might be the man who tried to run me down. I knew nothing about the man except for my attraction to him. For all I knew he could be a serial killer. He might even be Celina’s killer.

  I arrived at Coffee Heaven and went inside. Looking around the shop, I noted an unoccupied yellow booth-like sofa along the wall with small tables spaced periodically in front. I guessed people figured those spots were too close for comfort. Someone seated next to you could easily observe information on your computer.