“Good deal. I have something else I want to say to your family.” He turned to the group. “My department and I will do everything in our power to bring the responsible party to justice. I’ll need your cooperation and also your promise you won’t try to take justice into your own hands.”

  A few members of the group nodded. The rest simply glared at him.

  Danny wasn’t so sure about any of them, even the ones who nodded. “Also if any of you have any information related to this incident, I’d appreciate you letting me know.” He looked at Michie for assurance.

  “Everything goin’ to be okay, Sheriff,” Michie said. “Nobody here will mess up any case you put together.”

  “Excellent. Let me know when Andre is able to talk to me.”

  “I will,” he said and turned away to face his relatives.

  Danny couldn’t believe his deputies had stuck around after hearing his words to the LaBauve family members. Maybe they didn’t think he meant what he said. He marched over to a trio of men who appeared amused at the scene. Their collective demeanor changed quickly at their boss’ approach.

  Danny glanced at one man’s name tag. “Deputy Harris, is this hospital your assigned duty station?”

  Harris averted his eyes briefly. “No, sir. I’m assigned to patrol outside of Beau Chene.”

  Beau Chene was a city on the south shore of the lake. “Then why aren’t you over there?”

  He looked appropriately guilty. “No excuse, Sheriff, except for curiosity.”

  At least he’s honest. “Get back out on the road where you’re supposed to be.” Danny turned to the other two. “I assume both of you have the same reason for hanging around up here.”

  “Affirmative,” one said. The other simply nodded.

  Normally he would have let them off easy with just a reprimand, but tonight he was in no mood for dereliction by his deputies. “You can count on disciplinary action being taken,” he added.

  All three men left with sour expressions and headed for the stairs. A few other deputies started wandering off in the same direction. He took note of their identities for future reference. Obviously they were there for the same reason.

  Danny made his way to the nurses’ station and stopped to speak to a nurse behind the desk.

  The brunette nurse shook her head and sighed. “Thank goodness you came when you did.” She wrinkled her forehead in a deep frown. “Your deputies were just standing around gawking, as if this were a sideshow.”

  “I apologize for my men. There will be consequences for them,” Danny said, eying her name tag which read J. Wagner RN. “Tell me exactly how this ruckus got started.”

  “An aide who is related to the LaBauves came rushing into the waiting room and announced T-Boy had died,” Nurse Wagner explained. “This in turn caused uproar among the relatives, especially his mamma.” She glanced toward the room where the body still lay. “Deputy Williams was tied up there trying to prevent the whole crowd from rushing into T-Boy’s room.”

  Danny realized he hadn’t seen Marie LaBauve among the group. “Where is Mrs. LaBauve?”

  “She became hysterical after she saw his body, as you can imagine. Remy took her away…home, I presume.” She referred to another of Andre’s sons.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Danny spotted Rafe Williams waiting to speak to him. “Thanks for the info, Miz Wagner,” he said, and walked toward the deputy.

  “Sorry about the upheaval out here,” Williams said apologetically.

  “Not your fault. You had your hands full already.”

  “It’s a damn shame T-Boy died. He was young—only twenty-one.” Williams looked away for a short moment. “We used to not have violence like this in Allemand Parish.”

  Danny nodded. “I hear you. Before last year’s Mardi Gras murders, the most recent major homicide was a long time ago.

  “What I can’t understand is why not one deputy did anything or even attempted to calm the situation down.”

  “There’s so many reality shows on TV nowadays. I guess they wanted to watch a live one.”

  “Interesting concept. You may have something there,” Danny mused. “Have the coroner’s people come for the body yet?”

  “Not yet. They should be here soon.”

  “After they take him, you can sign off and head home,” Danny said. “Thanks for a good job.”

  Williams gave a tired smile. “You’re welcome, Sheriff.”

  Danny strode over to a waiting elevator and rode up to the third floor. Stepping off the car, he spotted two more of his deputies—Ronnie Hart and Curtis Tullier—leaning against the wall a few doors down from Andre’s room. Mike Theriot was the only other deputy up there and the only one of the three who should have been there.

  He confronted the pair with the same question he asked the wayward deputies hanging around in the ICU.

  “No, sir,” Tullier replied. “We thought about volunteering for guard duty.” He cast a knowing glance at Hart.

  “Thanks for your offer, but I’ve already got everything covered.” He moved his gaze from one man to the other. “Now you men need to get back to your regular assignments or be subject to disciplinary action.”

  Both men appeared stunned that their offer had been refused. After a long moment they turned and walked toward the stairs, grumbling between themselves.

  Danny had his suspicions, more like a gut feeling, about the pair. Did he correctly read the motive behind their volunteering? If so, there might possibly have been another LaBauve dead before tomorrow morning. Or am I getting paranoid in my old age?

  Thirty-nine

  A much more relaxed me stepped out of the bathtub and toweled off. I slipped into fresh underwear and my terrycloth robe. In the bedroom, I pulled a blue tee-shirt from the top drawer and rummaged through a lower one to find a pair of denim shorts.

  I peeked out the window to see what Steven and the kids were doing, and was pleasantly surprised to see several other neighborhood children riding bikes with the twins.

  Maybe the kids will gradually get back in the swing of things with their friends instead of staying inside the house playing video games or coloring.

  I surveyed the area once more. Where was Steven?

  Dressing quickly, I hurried to the front door and stepped outside. My brother stood next to his car watching the parade of bicycles race up and down. He had been out of my line of sight from the window.

  Guess the bath didn’t relax me as much as I thought. Was I worried about something happening to Steven? Or did I fear the kids were out from under his watchful eye and might be in danger? Maybe both. I shook my head. Steven was a grown man and a very responsible one these days. I was becoming neurotic.

  Or was I?

  A dark green pickup made a slow turn onto our street from Cypress Avenue, the main thoroughfare of our subdivision. The truck slowed to a crawl. Two men occupied the cab, but were too far away for me to identify them.

  Both Steven and I rushed forward to make certain the bike riders were on the side of the street out of the pathway of the vehicle.

  Allowing our kids to ride in the middle of the street broke all safety rules, but traffic on Cypress Knee Drive was minimal. Everyone in the neighborhood permitted their children to do so. Usually there was an adult or two who were around to keep an eye out.

  The truck came to a stop. I shook off my paranoia about unfamiliar vehicles. The driver simply halted to give time for any kids to get out of the way.

  Steven motioned to the driver to continue. Instead he put the vehicle in reverse and backed onto Cypress Avenue once more and sped off.

  How weird. My wariness returned. Why not continue driving down the street? Unless…those men didn’t want to be recognized.

  “Maybe it’s time to get the kids back inside,” Steven suggested.

  “I believe so.” If my brother considered the driver’s action suspicious, I definitely thought so too. Cutting short the first play session they’ve truly appeared to enjoy since Jim’s death didn’t appeal to me, but better safe than sorry. I called to the twins to put away the bikes and come inside.

  Fifteen minutes later, I started preparing supper for us, the last time Steven would be eating with us for a while. I glanced over into the family room where he had turned the television on to a New Orleans channel’s five o’clock news show already in progress. A weather forecaster announced disturbing news.

  “A large low pressure area has formed in the Gulf about one hundred miles north of Merida, Mexico, drifting in a northerly direction. There’s a strong indication the system will strengthen and become a tropical depression within the next twenty-four to thirty-six hours.” He indicated an area on his computerized weather map. “If the system is upgraded to tropical storm category, we’ll be looking at the sixth named storm of the season—Harvey.”

  “Oh, great,” I mumbled. “Just what we need—a hurricane.”

  ~ * ~

  Michie LaBauve glared at his father. “I told Sheriff Marchand you’d speak up about what you and T-Boy witnessed. And now you tell me you changed your mind. Why?”

  “Look at what happened to your brother? That’s why!”

  “The sheriff tole me he believed our whole family knew. He tole me flat out. Did you tell anybody? Like Parrain? Or Nunc Paul?

  Andre averted his eyes away from his son’s gaze. “No, I didn’t tell your uncles.”

  “Well, I’m going to find out once and for all.” He turned and strode toward the door.

  “Wait, I’ll talk to Sheriff Marchand.”

  Michie frowned. “Why won’t you tell me?”

  “I don’t want you connected to this.”

  “Papa, I got involved when them people shot me.” He walked back to the bedside. “What you think I’m going to do if you tell me?”

  Andre raised his head off the pillow a few inches. “You gonna run off half-cocked and get yourself killed.” He lay back, seemingly exhausted from the effort. “I don’t want to lose another son.”

  Forty

  Saturday, August 10

  I rummaged through my pantry in search of supplies on the odd chance Harvey decided to pay us a visit. Officially the storm hadn’t been named, as it still retained tropical depression status as of this morning.

  Weather forecasters predicted winds would reach tropical storm strength in the next several days. It was moving very slowly—about five miles an hour—which meant more time over the warm waters of the Gulf and more time to develop into a major hurricane.

  Many years ago, all hurricanes received female names. Now every other storm got a male moniker. Harvey didn’t sound menacing at all. A large white rabbit with a bowtie? Hopefully he wouldn’t prove me wrong.

  I did have a few supplies on hand, but more would be required in case of a long power outage. I didn’t want to wait until the last minute to stock up and get caught in the last minute panic rush on grocery stores. Yet, I couldn’t bring myself to venture out. I would continue to monitor weather reports and see what happened.

  Steven had wavered back and forth about moving back to his condo, but I persuaded him to go ahead with his plans. If coastal parishes and those further inland were forced to evacuate, New Orleans might also be ordered to do so. Rachel had told me many times, that if Allemand Parish residents were ordered to leave, we could head to Baton Rouge with her.

  Reminding myself of the incident yesterday with the men in the pickup, I stepped outside to check on the kids, who had gone out to ride bikes.

  The day appeared like any other normal late summer day in South Louisiana—sunshine, bright blue skies with puffy white clouds and heat like the devil’s hometown. I don’t particularly like rain but a shower might cool things off.

  Matthew and Caroline were nowhere in sight. I told myself not to panic. They’re probably inside one of the neighbors’ houses playing with other kids. After a few heart-stopping minutes, I spotted their bikes in a yard in front of a home on the street that ran alongside our house.

  The family living there wasn’t familiar to me as they had recently moved into the neighborhood. This particular lot had been vacant for years until six months ago when the house was constructed. I assumed the residents had this home built for them.

  I’d seen two boys about ten or eleven years old playing soccer in their yard and a girl who appeared to be somewhere around the twins’ age sitting by the front door watching the boys play.

  I walked over and rang the bell. A brunette woman who appeared in her late thirties opened the door. I introduced myself.

  She smiled. “You’re the twins’ mom?”

  “Yes, I’m guilty,” I said, returning her smile.

  “Come on in. I’m Renee Hart.” She brushed a strand of curly hair away from her forehead. “Pleased to meet you.”

  “Same here. I hope they’re not bothering you.”

  “Of course not,” she said. “Caroline is the same age as Rebecca. Since we moved away from the old neighborhood, she hasn’t had anyone to play with.”

  She directed me to the kitchen. “How about a cup of coffee?”

  “Sure, coffee would be nice.” I didn’t need the caffeine, but conversation with another woman who had children about the same age as mine might take my mind off all the trauma in my life.

  I sat on one of the dark walnut stools at the breakfast bar and surveyed the room. Extremely high-end stainless steel appliances and a glass tile backsplash in different shades of blue and green dominated the kitchen. Pendant lights with aqua globes hung above the sink and over the bar.

  “What a beautiful room! The décor looks so professional.”

  “No designer. This was all my creation.” She appeared pensive for a long moment. “I always wanted to be an interior designer, but having three kids, each a year apart, doesn’t give me a lot of time to do my own thing. It’s almost like having triplets.”

  “I know what you mean.”

  Her two boys, followed by Matthew, burst into the kitchen.

  “Mom, can we have something to drink?” one asked.

  “Please, we’re thirsty,” the second begged.

  Matthew regarded me warily and shoved his hands into his pockets. I guess he figured I came to haul him and Caroline home.

  “Susan, do you mind if your kids have soft drinks?” Renee asked.

  “No, I don’t mind.”

  “Boys, say hello to Miz Susan. She’s Matthew’s mom.” Turning to me, she pointed to her sons. “This is Reed. He’s nine. And this one is Regan. He’s ten.”

  I exchanged greetings and smiles with the boys. Renee handed each boy a small can of orange soda.

  Shortly, her daughter and Caroline appeared at the doorway, ready for their handout. As quickly as they appeared, all five kids rushed back to their respective activities.

  “Looks like they’re having a good time,” I said. “Everyone in the family has an R name?”

  Renee laughed. “Yes, my hubby thought the idea was a little too cutesy, but he went along with it grudgingly.”

  “Matthew and Caroline haven’t been playing outside or with friends lately, so I’m glad they’ve found some kids to hang around with instead of hiding away in their rooms.”

  “They must have been devastated by…” An uncomfortable look crossed Renee’s face. “I’m sorry. I know how difficult being married to a police officer can be.”

  “Your husband is in law enforcement?”

  She nodded. “He works for the sheriff’s office. Ronnie Hart.”

  Forty-one

  After I tucked the kids into bed, I checked the refrigerator for something to satisfy my craving for a stronger beverage than a soft drink. Pinot Grigio called to me from way in the back of the top shelf. I removed the unopened bottle, scrounged up a cork screw, and popped the cork.

  I poured a glass and took a sip. The fruity liquid slipped easily down my throat. Just as delicious as I remembered from the last time I drank this wine.

  Those glasses hadn’t been used in months…since Memorial Day past when Jim and I had friends over. As I recall, the Pinot Grigio was from that occasion too. I didn’t want my thoughts to stray back to that evening because the memories would be too painful. But stray they did.

  Jim at the barbecue pit grilling steaks, hamburgers, and hot dogs, Matthew and Caroline running around with the Kaufman kids, me, Tracy, and Rachel sipping wine and talking girl-talk, Danny and Bill each with beer in hand ‘supervising’ the cooking.

  Tears welled in my eyes and threatened to overflow. I took the bottle and my glass out to the patio, not bothering to flip on the light.

  I wanted to get totally plastered, but I knew that would be a terrible mistake. Not because pain medication and alcohol don’t mix—I hadn’t taken any more pills today—only a couple of ibuprofen. I dreaded the thought of a hangover.

  I understand fully how Steven felt after Anne’s murder. The only difference between his situation and mine was the additional guilt he carried with him because of his extramarital affairs and the heavy burden of being the prime suspect in her murder.

  Gauzy clouds floated across a not quite full moon. Mother Nature graciously muted the city traffic noises with communication by crickets and other nocturnal creatures. Civilization seemed far in the distance.

  Sometimes I wonder whether or not we truly live in a civilized world. With ever-present murder, war, terrorism, it seems more like a brutalized society. I am being too harsh. I’m doubly glad Planet Earth isn’t ruled by barbarians like Attila the Hun or Adolph Hitler.

  I heard the Marchands’ patio door swish open. Danny and Rachel had come out to enjoy a quiet evening on their patio. Voices from the other side of the fence wafted over. I couldn’t help overhearing the conversation.

  “Danny, you need to turn over at least part of these investigations to Fred or one of the other men,” Rachel told him. “You’re exhausted from all this stress.”

  “Without knowing how deep the involvement with the drug smuggling and Jim’s murder is, I don’t know who to trust. For all I know, the corruption goes beyond headquarters and into the substations. For certain, there’s CLPD involvement in both.”