Two deputies strolled over and started a conversation with Joe. I didn’t personally know these men, but had seen them around City Hall. For some reason, I made an attempt to read their name tags. As near as I could make out, one deputy’s name started with an H, only four letters long. The second man turned in my direction and I could see his entire tag. I squinted behind my sunglasses. Ah, yes… Tullier.

  They both nodded to me. I smiled back. They must have wondered why I continued to stare at them. I didn’t know myself. Perhaps trying to figure out their names distracted me from more somber thoughts. I backed out of the parking spot and drove away.

  On the short drive home, my head filled with all sorts of scenarios about persons who might want Jim dead. I hadn’t dismissed the possibility Rick Hanson and his son were somehow involved. Now Jack LeBlanc looked a bit suspicious. Could he have been aiming for the chief’s position all this time and saw his chance with Jim dead? Maybe he made certain he’d get the job one way or another. And what about Angie Ducote? Could she be involved somehow? Or was I barking up the wrong tree?

  Seven

  Steven didn’t appear as harried as I expected. In fact he was playing a modified version of soccer with the kids in the front yard. He ended the game and jogged over to the driver’s side.

  “How’d everything go?” He frowned. “From the look on your face, I’d say your day didn’t go well.”

  By this time the kids had run up to the car. “I’ll tell you about it later. Can you get those boxes out of the back for me?”

  Steven opened the car door for me. “What’s in them?”

  Before I could answer or even get out of the car, Matthew pushed his way next to me. “Did you buy us something?”

  “No, baby, I didn’t go shopping. There’s a lot of grownup business I needed to take care of.”

  He looked disappointed, as did his sister. “It’s because Dad shot himself in the stomach, isn’t it? I hate him for leaving us.”

  His angry words cut me like he’d stabbed me with a knife. I felt tears welling in my eyes. I glanced at Steven.

  “I’ll get those boxes later.” He corralled the two kids and ushered them away from the car. “Come on, kids. Let’s go inside and get a cold drink.”

  My brother continued to surprise me with his ability to take control of the situation with the kids. I don’t know what I would have done without him. At this point, I wasn’t sure if I would make it through this ordeal without having a complete breakdown, even with his help.

  I grabbed the briefcase containing my legal papers and slowly exited the car, not anxious to go inside a house Jim would never be part of again.

  Several hours later, I ventured into the bedroom where Steven had placed the boxes and sat on the edge of the bed. I kept telling myself I should at least sift through the contents just to see what was in them. I continued to stall. It was time to quit putting this off. There could be something important in there. Taking a deep breath, I leaned over and opened the first box.

  The box contained photos of me and the kids along with a few other items he kept on his desk. An empty feeling sank all the way down to my stomach. I closed the lid and moved the carton to a spot on the floor next to the other box.

  With the same hesitation I felt before delving into the first one, I pulled the cover off the box. Just a lot of books and manuals. I went through the stack, pulled each one out, and laid them aside.

  An old photograph lying beneath the last book caught my eye. A man in combat fatigues smiled at an unknown photographer. I recognized him as Jim’s father, although I’d never seen this particular snapshot. Had Jim been thinking about his father recently? Could he have been depressed and I didn’t notice? No, not possible.

  I put the photo aside and began placing the books back in the box. A folded piece of paper slipped out of the last book.

  Meet me at the spot tomorrow early as possible. Not addressed or signed by anyone. The message had such a secretive ring to it. Why would Jim be meeting someone? Words like the spot led me to believe this wasn’t their first meeting. Something about the wording sounded familiar. Where had I heard it before?

  A horrible thought crossed my mind for a split second, but just as quickly I dismissed the idea. Jim was not having an affair. If he met someone, their meeting pertained to police business. Yes, of course. He was meeting an informant.

  Steven stepped inside the doorway. “I ordered pizza for our supper. The kids said they wanted pepperoni, so I got a large one for them and a large supreme for us.”

  I smiled at him. “I don’t feel much like eating so whatever you want is fine.”

  He walked over to the bed. “Come on, Suzie, you’ve got to eat. Believe me, I know what it’s like to grieve. Not eating will only make you feel worst. You need to keep up your strength for the kids.”

  “What you said is all true, but…”

  “It won’t be easy. Matthew and Caroline are both afraid you’re going to leave them too.”

  “They told you this?”

  He shrugged. “Not in so many words, but yes.”

  My shoulders slumped. “I should have realized their fear, especially after Matthew made those comments about hating Jim for leaving us.”

  The doorbell chimed, announcing the arrival of the pizza delivery guy. “Come on,” Steven said. “We’ll all sit at the table and eat together—a real family affair.” He laughed. “Boy, listen to me. I’m really getting domesticated.”

  I tried to suppress a smile, but my effort didn’t quite work. “Funny, I was just about to say something along those lines.”

  This so-called family affair went better than I expected. There was no mention of Jim’s death. The kids even laughed a few times at their uncle’s antics. I actually cracked a few smiles myself which lifted my spirits a little—laugh therapy. The food also helped. I finally realized how long it had been since I sat down and ate a decent meal. Granted, pizza isn’t exactly health food, but it served the purpose.

  About nine-thirty, I ushered the twins off to bed and spent some time with each of them before tucking them in for the night.

  As soon as I walked back into the den, Steven put his question to me. “What happened today with the attorney and insurance agent? You said you’d tell me about it later.”

  I plopped down in my favorite chair, an overstuffed teal green arm chair. Sitting here was sort of like having a security blanket wrapped around me. “Oh, the appointments with the attorney and the agent went smoothly. No problems there.” I emitted a long sigh. “It’s what happened afterwards that had me in a snit.”

  He laughed. “A snit?”

  “For lack of a better word,” I said. “Who murdered Jim is the million dollar question. My suspect list isn’t getting any shorter.”

  “So explain what happened and why you’re not able to eliminate anyone.”

  “I walked from Mr. Wilson’s law office down to the insurance agent’s place. On the way there, I ran into—almost literally—a man in a wheelchair. He’s a Vietnam vet who attended Jim’s funeral with his son. He came racing out of the shop next door to the insurance office.”

  Steven nodded in recognition. “I remember seeing him and wondered about his connection to Jim. You don’t suspect him, do you?”

  “I haven’t ruled him out.”

  “What do you know about him?”

  “Rick Hanson served with Jim’s father in Vietnam and presumably was wounded over there. I didn’t ask. His son Scott works as a civilian employee at an Army base in Alabama—Fort Rucker, I think he said.”

  “I don’t see anything suspicious yet.”

  I could tell he intended to play devil’s advocate. “You had to be there to pick up on the vibes.”

  “Okay,” he said dragging the word out. “Something else must have happened afterwards. If my intuition was on target when you drove up to the house, you were right on the verge of a meltdown.”

  I nodded and told him about my visits to the pathologist, Danny and Jim’s office. “The scene in there seemed so disrespectful to Jim.”

  “The action in Jim’s old office, while extremely unprofessional, indiscreet, and a lot of other words, the two of them kissing doesn’t necessarily mean anything.”

  “The body of the man who served as their chief for eight years was barely cold in the grave and his things were cleared out and tossed in a couple of boxes. Jack LeBlanc took over the office in a big hurry. He could have at least waited a week before he made it his own.”

  “Yes, he could have, but not everyone is so considerate of other people’s feelings. Besides, it’s not Jim’s office any more. The new chief may have needed the office to carry out the duties.”

  “He’s the interim chief and hopefully not permanent.” A twinge of resentment hit me. “Maybe he’s been after the job for a long time, possibly since the time when Jim’s predecessor held the office.”

  “You’re jumping to conclusions.”

  “I thought you were on my side. All you’ve done so far is knock down anything I’ve come up with. Like I said…you weren’t there.”

  He blew out a long breath. “I’ll always be on your side. Right now your emotions are too raw. You’ve got to take some time and think everything through before you start deciding this person or that one killed your husband, especially since his death’s been ruled a suicide. People will think you’ve lost your mind.”

  My brother was correct. At this point, I will just have to look like a crazy woman who can’t accept the fact her husband killed himself. “It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been described as a fanatic and probably not the last.”

  Eight

  Tuesday, July 30

  I got out of bed about six, weary from a night of tossing and turning. The house remained quiet for the time being as the kids and Steven were still asleep. The photograph of Jim’s father stared at me from atop the dresser, tempting me to pick it up and immediately start digging into his tour of duty in Vietnam.

  My brain urged me to put food in my body, but my heart pulled me in another direction. Logic finally won out. I made my way to the kitchen and started a pot of coffee. Steven’s admonishment to me last night about not eating reminded me I would be no good to anyone without proper nourishment. Scrambled eggs and toast it is.

  After I ate and cleaned up my dishes, I poured a second cup of coffee and went back to my bedroom. Surprisingly the others remained asleep. How long would it be before I could have a good night’s sleep?

  I grabbed the photograph of Jim’s dad and sat on the bed. Who could I call who might know about his time overseas? Aunt Eileen…Jim’s mother may have confided in her about what caused the problems her husband experienced. I checked the time on the bedside clock—only 6:50. At a reasonable hour, I would phone her and see if she could shed some light on a few things.

  What the heck. People her age usually get up at the crack of dawn. I picked up my cell phone and made the call. She answered with a hesitant hello. I realized she must have thought this was an emergency call or bad news at this early in the morning.

  “Aunt Eileen, This is Susan. I didn’t mean to wake you or worry you with this early call.”

  “You certainly didn’t wake me, but normally a phone call before nine means bad news.”

  “Thankfully, it’s not. I need some information which I hope you can provide. I tend to get extremely impatient with time. I want to know right now.”

  She chuckled softly. “The impatience of youth.”

  My turn to laugh. “I’m not young. Probably my lack of patience has to do with the instant gratification of today’s society.”

  “You may be right. So what kind of information do you need?”

  “It’s about Jim’s father.” I tried to sound nonchalant.

  “Whatever for?” she asked, surprise evident in her voice.

  I drummed my fingers on the bedside table. “Actually, I want to know about his tour of duty in Vietnam. I thought maybe Jim’s mother may have confided in you about any problems which may have led to his suicide.”

  A short silence ensued before she answered. “He served more than one tour in Vietnam.”

  “Really? I had no idea. On one occasion Jim told me his father left for his tour right after he was born.”

  “I’m sure you didn’t know this. Jim didn’t know until recently. His father had an ROTC commission so he was required to serve. He decided to stay in the service. In nineteen sixty-seven, the army sent him on his first tour.

  “When Frank returned from the first time, he and Julia lived in North Carolina for several years before he was assigned another tour in early nineteen seventy-two,” she continued. “Seems like he was to be an advisor to the South Vietnamese army or some such thing. Many of our troops had been withdrawn by then.

  “Julia had come home to Lafayette right before Frank left,” she continued.

  “But did you ever hear about any event or problems he may have had during either tour of duty?”

  “Julia did tell me a few problems, but most of what she told me was vague. You know, like all the killing and such—seeing some of his friends die or get severely wounded.”

  Disappointment started to set in. More or less what Danny indicated—the trauma of war.

  She continued. “I do remember a name she mentioned once.”

  “Who?” My hopes rose again.

  “He had problems with a man named…oh dear, I can’t remember now. What was his name? He attended Jim’s funeral.”

  “Rick Hanson?”

  “Yes, the man in the wheelchair. Seems this Hanson fellow blamed Frank for his injuries while they were in Vietnam. Did Jim know him?”

  My heart was beating so hard I could hardly answer. “No. Mr. Hanson told me Frank showed him a lot of pictures of Jim as a baby. I couldn’t imagine why he would come all the way from Alabama to a funeral for a man he didn’t know.”

  “How strange. Julia also told me Rick Hanson came to visit Frank a few days before he killed himself. But I told Jim about it a while back.”

  “You spoke to him recently?”

  “A few months ago. He didn’t tell you?”

  “No, he didn’t mention it. Jim must have been thinking about his father’s death,” I continued. “I found a photo of Frank taken in Vietnam in a box of personal items from Jim’s office. I wondered if perhaps he’d found new information about his death and went searching for answers.”

  I felt excited, but at the same time upset Jim didn’t confide in me. Had his father also been murdered? “That Rick Hanson had ulterior motives for coming to Jim’s funeral seems to be a well-founded suspicion. I just can’t figure out what those motives are.”

  “Well, my belief has always been and still is that Frank committed suicide. His mental condition kept disintegrating after each time he came back from overseas. Jim, in my opinion, was such a strong man and he loved you and the twins too much to commit suicide. I believe the truth will come out soon.”

  My chest swelled with elation. “Aunt Eileen, you are a woman after my own heart. Thank you so much for talking to me.”

  “You’re quite welcome. Will you keep me informed on the progress of your search for the truth?”

  “I certainly will.”

  “I gather you’re not leaving anything up to the authorities to find his killer, so please be careful,” she added before we ended the call.

  The truth can sometimes be extremely hard to find. I steeled myself for the long haul.

  Nine

  I booted up my laptop and began a search for military records. The first order of business was to learn more about the Vietnam War.

  People in the U.S. demonstrated against the war, and on some occasions, such as the protest at Kent State University, marchers had been shot by police. But other than those facts, I really didn’t have a clue as to what went on in Vietnam except a lot of carnage.

  I could be way off base on this, but if his second tour in nineteen seventy-two was as an advisor, events in Southeast Asia during nineteen sixty-seven and sixty-eight would be the most likely timeframe to find an incident or a particular battle which might have been a trigger for Frank Foret’s PTSD. Maybe like Danny indicated, war itself caused the disorder.

  The war probably fueled all sorts of emotional disturbances. Traumatic events affect different people different ways. From what I’d heard, in some instances the symptoms of PTSD don’t manifest until years after the event.

  A number of Vietnam War sites had timelines—all helpful if a person like me wanted to learn about the war.

  Nevertheless, I really needed to find information about specific units and what battles they fought in. I didn’t even know what unit to look for. With a deep sigh, I leaned back against the headboard. Maybe I needed to get my computer expert brother in on this. He might have some ideas about what search subjects I needed to pursue.

  I jumped when the phone rang. The number on the caller ID indicated Aunt Eileen was calling back. The hope she had valuable info caused me to grab the phone in a hurry.

  “After we talked, I remembered several boxes of my sister’s things that I kept after she passed away,” she said. “I simply stored those boxes away in the storage closet in our garage and never looked at them again until right now.”

  “What did you find?”

  “Some military papers of Frank’s, like copies of orders to Vietnam and so on. There were several photographs of him and other soldiers. One in particular shows him with Rick Hanson while they were overseas, according to the notation on the back of the picture.”

  “Wonderful.” My heartbeat sped up. I couldn’t believe the luck. The orders should name the unit in which he served. “Is it possible for you to e-mail those items to me?”

  “I wouldn’t know how. Me and computers don’t get along. I don’t even own one.” She laughed. “One of my grandkids would be able to accomplish the task, I’m sure.”

  “Yes, I’m certain they would. Kids take to computers much easier than the rest of us. If you have a pen and pad nearby, I’ll give you my e-mail address.”