Everything changed last year with the Mardi Gras murders of two wealthy individuals and the aftermath. The veil of wholesomeness in Cypress Lake had been stripped away to reveal a dark underside. From all appearances, this underside continued to grow darker by the hour.

  Thirty-one

  Friday, August 10

  Danny arrived at his office door later than normal and hesitated before entering. He didn’t want to be there at all and came pretty close to calling his chief deputy to say he wouldn’t be in today.

  Not knowing the extent of deputy and police involvement in the illegal drug activities and possible connection to Jim’s murder had put him on the defensive, a position he didn’t care for at all.

  He couldn’t trust his own men, not even his chief deputy Fred Ardoin, a man he’d known for fifteen years. It seemed a stretch of the imagination Fred had any part in these crimes, but he wasn’t taking any chances. So he was on his own investigating Jim’s death.

  Seeing Jack LeBlanc storming down the hall toward him made him wish he’d made that call. He trusted LeBlanc about as far as he could throw the heavy-weight interim police chief.

  “Sheriff, I need to talk to you right now,” LeBlanc demanded. “In your office.”

  “Sure thing, Jack.” Danny opened the door and stepped aside to allow LeBlanc to enter. He closed the door behind him. “Now what are you so riled up about?”

  LeBlanc relaxed his pose slightly. “I’m not riled, just concerned.”

  “About what?”

  “About your continued investigation into Jim’s suicide.”

  Danny narrowed his eyes. “His death may have been officially classified as a suicide, but I have my suspicions about the MOD.” He perched on the edge of his desk and studied LeBlanc’s face. “Why are you so concerned about my investigation?”

  “I understand Jim was your good friend. I don’t blame you for your inability to accept his death as suicide. But it takes a big emotional toll, especially on a man your age. Not to mention, continuing this investigation is a waste of taxpayer money.”

  Danny would have laughed at such hypocritical statements if he didn’t have a serious case of the red-ass with this whole conversation. “It’s nice you’re so concerned about my emotional health and for taxpayers’ money. Tell me this, Jack. Why are you so certain Jim committed suicide?”

  “Our new pathologist ruled his death a suicide. I trust his decision. Jim seemed depressed for several weeks before his death. The place was where his father killed himself.”

  “I never noticed any depression and neither did his wife or any other friends. Where his father ended his life only enters the equation one way. Jim was murdered and his killer tried to make his death appear otherwise by choosing that particular spot to do his dirty work.”

  LeBlanc’s face reddened. “Well, I believe otherwise. I wouldn’t be surprised if you tried to coerce Dr. Breaux to make a homicide ruling.”

  Danny glared at him, barely refraining from jumping off the desk and punching LeBlanc in the mouth. “That’s a pretty serious accusation.”

  LeBlanc raised his hands and took a step back. “I apologize. It was an uncalled for remark.”

  “I was more than willing to work with CLPD officers to find out what happened to their chief. I haven’t received any cooperation from any of them,” Danny said. “Jim’s death isn’t your investigation. It’s mine. Although I’d hoped to get more assistance from you and your officers, since he was your chief.”

  LeBlanc glared back. “The reason you haven’t received any cooperation from any one is because there’s nothing to point to homicide in this case.”

  “I strongly disagree. However, if you’re dissatisfied with the way I’m handling this case, I’ll gladly call in the State Police…or the FBI to assist me, or even for those agencies to take over the investigation.”

  “State Police and FBI would not find any evidence to support a theory this was a homicide.”

  Danny wanted to wipe the smirk off LeBlanc’s face. “You’re positive? I’ve a hell of a lot more years of experience than you have.”

  LeBlanc blew out a long breath as if to show his frustration. “Look, I’m not saying you’re mishandling this case. You’ve solved a few tough ones in the past, like Ellis Baum’s murder back in ninety-two. I simply think it’s time to let this one go for everyone’s sake. Drawing out an end result which is perfectly clear can only cause a lot of pain for Jim’s family.”

  “His family is not complaining about the continuation of my investigation as a possible homicide.”

  “I assume Susan can’t accept the ruling of suicide. No doubt she also believes he was murdered. You’d better keep an eye on her to make sure she stays out of danger.”

  “If you’re so worried about her well-being, you’d have your men fully investigate why someone attacked her in her own back yard.”

  LeBlanc bristled. “They are investigating the incident. This is what I meant by her getting into trouble.”

  Danny rose from his seat on the desk. “Where do you think she is safe? She was in her own home. So you believe she was targeted because of her belief Jim was murdered?”

  “You’re putting words in my mouth.” He turned and stormed over to the door. With one hand on the knob, he faced Danny again. “Obviously you’re not going to drop this pointless investigation. I hope you know how much harm you’re causing by keeping Jim’s death in the spotlight.” He yanked the door open and marched out into the hallway.

  Harm to whom? You and your minions? Danny walked to the door and peered after LeBlanc. The only place Jim’s death was in the spotlight seemed to be within the confines of City Hall.

  His intuition bade him to glance down the hall in the opposite direction. A man who seemed in a big hurry pushed open the exit door and left City Hall. He could’ve sworn the man was T-Boy LaBauve.

  ~ * ~

  As predicted, I spent the night in the hospital. Luckily Dr. Hadley made his rounds early and I persuaded him to sign off on my release. I phoned Rachel and told her the good news, also requesting she bring me a baseball cap from Jim’s collection of hats. I needed a larger one than my own caps to cover up the bald spot on my head where the doctor had stitched me up.

  Needless to say, I was extremely happy to get home. The kids and the cat were even happier to welcome me back. All three tagged along after me for quite a while after I arrived. They didn’t want to let me out of their sight.

  Matthew and Caroline finally settled down after I convinced them I wasn’t leaving again. They each went off to their respective rooms and engaged in their usual activities—Matthew with his video games and Caroline with a book.

  It would have been preferable for them to go outside and find friends to play with instead of being holed up in their rooms. Ever since Jim’s death, they hadn’t been too keen on fraternizing with neighborhood kids. Considering the accusations one boy laid on Matthew about his father shooting people, I couldn’t blame them at all.

  I felt woozy after being up and around for a few hours. Maybe I had better relax on the sofa for a while. I removed the baseball cap and set it on the lamp table. Katy hopped up on the sofa as if in anticipation of my next move.

  I had only taken half of a pill of those pain killers Dr. Hadley prescribed. Just enough to dull the pain, but not enough to knock me out. However, my current state of wooziness demonstrated even the partial pill was more than I needed.

  Rather than lie down and fall asleep in a second, I sat with a throw pillow at my back and stretched my legs out.

  I needed a clear head to puzzle out the recent events and process all the info obtained from Danny and Josh Broussard.

  Speaking of Josh, I wondered if he had found the key. No such luck, I presume. Without doubt whoever hit me had taken it with him. The overturned pot surely indicated they had wanted me to find it. So, why had it been removed?

  Rick Hanson’s behavior certainly seemed odd. If his son had left town, then the H on the keychain couldn’t possibly stand for Hanson. I doubted a man in a wheelchair could have hit me over the head and left the scene without being noticed. Yet, what was his reason for sticking around?

  Frank Foret’s death must have a connection. Could Rick have perpetrated a crime? Maybe Jim’s father didn’t commit suicide either.

  The doorbell chimed and startled me. I wasn’t expecting company. Over the last few months, our subdivision had been bombarded with salespeople going door to door trying to sell everything imaginable.

  The chimes sounded again. Maybe it was one of my neighbors.

  Donning the baseball cap, I rose from the sofa and went to see who had disturbed my rest. In case the person outside was a salesman, I prepared myself to tell him or her to scram.

  When I opened the door my heart jumped into my throat.

  Thirty-two

  “Mrs. Foret,” Rick Hanson greeted me. “I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

  I totally lost my ability to speak.

  He looked me straight in the eyes. “I imagine you’re surprised to see me.”

  “Yes, quite surprised,” I said, finding my voice. So I lied. “I didn’t realize you were still in town.”

  “Can I come inside? It’s pretty hot out here.”

  Steven had driven into New Orleans so no other adult was in the house to protect me if the situation arose. But my curiosity got the best of me. “Sure, come on in.” I glanced around outside. His van was parked in my driveway. “Where’s your son?” I stepped aside to allow him entrance.

  “Scott needed to return home because of his job. I wanted to speak to you privately anyway.” Rick maneuvered his chair over the door jamb with ease.

  A mix of curiosity and nervousness filled me. “Let’s go in the kitchen. Would you like some coffee?”

  “Thank you, I’d enjoy a cup.” His wheelchair made a soft whirring noise as the wheels rolled over the wood floors in the family room.

  Matthew and Caroline peeked out from the hallway, curious about the visitor.

  I took a deep breath. “This is Mr. Hanson.” I turned to Rick and introduced him to the twins. Matthew stepped forward and offered his hand like a grown man. Caroline smiled shyly.

  Rick shook hands with Matthew and returned Caroline’s smile.

  “I remember you. You came to Dad’s funeral,” Matthew said, eying Rick’s wheelchair.

  “I did.”

  “What happened to your legs?”

  “Matthew,” I said, cringing. “That’s not polite.”

  Rick laughed. “It’s okay. I got hurt in a war many years ago. My legs don’t work anymore.”

  “Do they hurt?” Caroline asked.

  “No, they don’t hurt. I just can’t move them.”

  She patted his hand softly. “Maybe one day your legs will get better.”

  “I sure hope so, honey.”

  Thankfully, the novelty of Rick and his wheelchair diminished with the short attention span of seven-year-olds.

  “Nice to meet you,” they both said, almost in unison.

  “Same here.” Rick seemed quite pleased with their attention. Yet he watched them with a sad expression as they ran off down the hall. “Nice looking kids. Polite, too.”

  “Thank you.” I couldn’t think of anything else to say. Just get this over without any drama. I’ve had enough for this week.

  He attempted to move his wheelchair up to the table. I realized he couldn’t get close enough so I moved one of my kitchen chairs away and set it aside. After pouring each of us a cup of coffee, I carried the mugs to the table and sat across from him.

  “What is it you wanted to speak to me about?” I took a sip of coffee and pretended to be calm.

  He took a deep breath. He seemed more nervous than I. “I didn’t have a chance to talk to Jim before he…died.”

  “You mean before someone murdered him?”

  Rick’s expression showed what appeared to be genuine surprise. “I was under the impression he died like his father.”

  I eyed him with suspicion. “The coroner did rule his death a suicide. My neighbor, Sheriff Marchand, believes Jim was murdered, as do I. He’s investigating further.”

  He had an odd look on his face, almost like relief. “I imagine that comes with the territory. He must have put away a few scumbags.”

  “Murder shouldn’t come with any territory.” I tried to keep my emotions out of my voice. I don’t believe I succeeded.

  He took a drink of his coffee and slowly placed the cup on the table. “I know you’re feeling your loss, so I’ll get to the point and let you start trying to get your life back together.”

  “You and Jim’s father served in Vietnam together. Is his death what you intended to speak to Jim about?”

  Rick lowered his gaze for a brief moment. “Saying what I came to say is difficult enough, so I won’t go into all the gory details of what happened over there. I was seriously wounded in a long intense battle, injuries which put me in this chair. Frank was my best friend, but I blamed him for my situation when in reality it was my own damn fault.”

  “A relative of Jim’s told me you blamed Frank and you came to see him shortly before he committed suicide. Is that true?”

  He nodded. “Only a few days later, he shot himself. Years passed after his death before my ex-wife persuaded me to get therapy for PTSD.

  “I came to believe I’d caused Frank’s suicide by my constantly badgering him, accusing him of being the reason I’d never walk again.”

  My opinion of Rick Hanson started to change. I waited for him to continue without comment.

  “I knew there wasn’t anything I could do to make it up to Frank, so I put all those bad memories behind me. I intended to speak to his family and apologize for my behavior, but I never could get up the nerve.

  “They were completely out of my mind until out of the blue I got this e-mail from Jim…asking me about our time in country.”

  “Those e-mails were unknown to me until after Jim’s death. I didn’t have any idea he had contacted you or was even thinking about his father’s suicide.”

  His faint smile seemed to be forced. “His cop mentality told him I might have had something to do with Frank’s death. In reality I did. I don’t know what good an apology will do at this late date, but since Jim’s no longer around to hear my regrets, I hope you’ll accept it for him and Frank.” He took a sip of coffee. I could see his eyes tearing.

  Mine were starting to do the same. “Frank probably suffered from PTSD also. He might have committed suicide even if you hadn’t hassled him. I know about feeling guilt over a friend’s death.”

  “I may not have pulled the trigger, but I certainly helped his death along sooner.” Rick’s expression seemed a collage of emotions—grief, hopefulness, guilt. His next statement told me why. “Before I can forgive myself, I have to get forgiveness from Frank’s family. Can you accept my apology?”

  “I gladly accept your apology. Thank you.”

  He seemed relieved. “No, I should thank you.” His expression changed to curious. “If you don’t mind my asking, you said Jim was murdered. Is the sheriff making any headway in solving his murder?”

  I shrugged. “He’s keeping the investigation close to his vest. He won’t give me too much information for fear I’ll start investigating on my own.”

  Rick laughed. “You?”

  “I’ve done it before and did quite well at it.” A sigh escaped me. “My statement was a bit of bravado on my part. Whenever I investigate on my own, I tend to get into life or death situations. In fact I just came home this morning from an overnight stay in the hospital.” I indicated my head wound. “Three stiches. Thus, the baseball cap.”

  He widened his eyes. “What happened?”

  “Someone hit me over the head to prevent me from retrieving a piece of important evidence.”

  “Have you thought about being a cop?”

  “A number of people have asked me that question. I don’t take orders very well, so going to the police academy isn’t an option.”

  A concerned expression crossed his face. “You better be careful or you might end up like me. If I hadn’t gotten off on the wrong track, things would be real different now.”

  “If I decided to solve crimes for a living, I’d be a private investigator,” I continued, all the while trying to figure out his expression and what he meant by his last statement. “In the absence of any PI job in the foreseeable future, I’ll try to solve crimes on pages of a book.”

  He raised his brows. “You’re a mystery writer?”

  “I’ve had several short stories published, no novels.” I averted my eyes for a moment. “Lately I haven’t had much time to write, or the inclination.”

  “Well, it’s understandable, but don’t give up. You’ll get your novel published, and I’ll bet my last dollar it’ll be a best seller.”

  I gave a soft laugh. “Oh my, I wouldn’t want you to lose your last dollar.

  A faint sound like a car pulling up nearby drew my attention away from Rick.

  “That’s probably my brother.”

  “I won’t take up any more of your recuperation time.” He backed his wheelchair away from the table. “Thank you for hearing me out. I wish Jim could’ve been here.” He clasped my hand with a firm grip.

  “There’s no doubt in my mind. He heard every word you said.” I envisioned Jim’s pleased smile from beyond.

  Thirty-three

  To my surprise, Josh Broussard stood next to his truck watching as I escorted Rick out the door and onto the sidewalk. He appeared on alert like a police officer checking out a suspicious incident.

  Josh remained in position until Rick pulled out of the driveway and drove off. I waved to invite him in.

  “I gather he didn’t cause any trouble,” he said.

  “No trouble at all. I totally misread his intentions about coming to Jim’s funeral.”

  “Really? I’m curious. Why did he? He showed up unannounced at your house?”

  “Yes he did. Scared me half to death when I opened up the door and saw him standing there.” I motioned for Josh to enter. “I’ll fill you in. You want coffee? I have some made.”