“Yeah, we can’t understand what she sees in him,” Tony Messina blurted out.

  All three of these young men were single and quite good-looking. They must have been disappointed she had gone after an older, out of shape man.

  “She’s cozying up to the head man,” Brad said in a low voice. He abruptly averted his gaze to the sidewalk.

  A few nervous chuckles came from the trio as if they weren’t sure of my reaction to their statements or their remarks weren’t meant for my ears.

  Remembering the note, I wanted to ask if she’d cozied up to Jim. I lost my nerve. “Some women are drawn to men in power.” I said my goodbyes and started walking back to my car.

  I was surprised they had revealed to me as much about the reason behind their walk-out. Yet I felt there was more to their feelings about the pairing of Angie and Jack, something they didn’t want to tell me.

  Wishful thinking on my part? Perhaps, but I really wanted her to be a villainess in this real life mystery.

  ~ * ~

  Late in the afternoon, Danny studied the case file pertaining to an anonymous tip received by his office three months earlier about the possibility of a drug trafficking operation. The area where this operation allegedly took place was in close proximity of the spot where Jim was shot.

  Several questions kept resurfacing over and over in Danny’s mind. Did Jim have information about the drug trafficking he hadn’t passed on? Could Jim be involved? Or was there something about Frank Foret’s death that drew him to the spot?

  After receiving the tip, he sent a group of deputies out to interview residents of Bayou Pierre and Bayou Jean Baptiste. The two men who discovered Jim at the latter location—Andre and T-Boy LaBauve—were residents among those interviewed by his deputies. Both men reportedly stated they knew nothing about any drug smuggling, as other members of the LaBauve and extended families reported.

  Once, sometimes twice a week, Danny had sent men out on the parish flotilla boats to patrol the area and accompanied them a few times himself. Every time they came up empty. Someone in the know appeared to be giving out the night of the week on which the patrols were run.

  Considering the close proximity between his department and CLPD, the leak could have been from either deputies or city police.

  He’d discontinued the patrols the week before Jim died. Maybe he should start them up again.

  Danny didn’t believe in coincidences. Most law enforcement didn’t. He checked out the names of the men who took the LaBauves’ statement. Ronnie Hart and Curtis Tullier. Neither man had an exemplary record.

  Each had a few incidents of disciplinary actions in their personnel file—mainly complaints of being too rough with people who had committed minor infractions. But the complainants were not exactly upstanding citizens.

  The other two deputies assigned to interview residents were Tom Anderson and Jake Pitre. Jake had the better work record of the two men.

  But did that mean any or all of them were connected to illegal activities? Maybe, maybe not. With no proof, he couldn’t do anything about them at the moment. He closed the file and got ready to leave the office.

  Thirteen

  Friday, August 2

  Merchants in downtown Cypress Lake, especially the grocery stores, did a lot of business on Friday evening with everyone preparing for weekend get-togethers. All summer long, people turned to their barbeque pits and patios instead of the kitchen stove and dining table. During football season, the same customers planned their tailgating or game day parties.

  Like the other stores, Frank’s Market was packed with people this evening. Every time I turned onto another aisle, I would bump into the same woman headed in the opposite direction from me.

  “We’re going to have to stop meeting like this,” she told me each time. Then she would laugh, one of those obnoxious snorts like the switchboard operator character on a Saturday Night comedy television show.

  After the third incident with her and attempts to push my cart around an obstacle course of people and boxes of canned goods and soft drinks clogging the way, I vowed never to put off grocery shopping until Friday evening again.

  Overwhelming feelings of emptiness and fear overcame me. I stopped in the middle of the aisle and closed my eyes. It would be so easy to leave the cart and race back to my car. I took a deep breath and opened my eyes to discover other shoppers staring at me. Heat rose to my cheeks.

  A woman I didn’t know walked over and inquired, “Is something wrong? You look flushed.”

  Embarrassed by the attention, I shook my head. “Thanks for asking. I’m fine.”

  “If you like, I can call a doctor for you.”

  “A doctor won’t be able to help me, but thanks for offering.” I pushed the cart away in a hurry toward the meat counter, which had thankfully cleared of most customers. Moving quickly along the freezer, I tossed a pack of chicken drumsticks, one of ground beef and a package of pork chops into my cart, and headed toward the checkouts.

  Once out of the store, I breathed easier. What in the world happened to me in there? I must have experienced a panic attack. A panic attack? Really? That’s crazy. I’m simply tired, but there was something more. The realization of participating in the usual family activities without Jim had finally hit me like the proverbial ton of bricks.

  For the most part, life changes gradually over a period of time. Children grow up, grandparents and parents pass away. We take those things for granted. Then out of the blue, an unexpected change occurs. With Jim’s death, my life and my children’s were forever altered.

  I looked up at the cobalt night sky. Less stars appeared now than when we first moved to Cypress Lake. The growth of this town meant more lights to distort the sky view. But the stars were still up there, even though I couldn’t see them. My gosh, where was I going with all this philosophizing?

  Dismissing all my rambling thoughts, I started loading the groceries into the back of the car. When I turned to remove the last bag from the cart, I heard an unfamiliar female voice call my name.

  Angie Ducote strode toward me with a small object in her hand. Judging from her apparel of shorts and a tee shirt, she had been for a run. “Mrs. Foret, you forgot your debit card on the counter.” She presented the card to me.

  “Thank you.” I fumbled in my purse for my wallet, but naturally couldn’t locate it in the huge bag. I tossed the card inside. I’d find it later and replace it in the proper spot. “How did you get my card?”

  “Sherry, the cashier, knew I was with CLPD, so she asked me if I could catch up with you.” She studied my face intently as if creating a profile on me. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, I’m fine.” The fog in my brain suddenly cleared. This was my chance to talk to her. “Can I give you a ride home?”

  Angie hesitated as if considering my offer. “Thanks, but I still have to go back inside to get the cold drink I stopped in for. Besides, my apartment is only a block away and I don’t want to hold you up.” She looked me straight in the eyes. “Please accept my deepest sympathy for your loss. Chief Foret was a good man.”

  “Thank you for the condolences. Have a nice evening.” I got into the car and sat for a moment before starting the engine. I might be wrong about her, but for now she stayed on the list. Her refusal could mean she didn’t want to be in a close situation with me.

  I turned the key in the ignition and checked the mirrors. Angie had disappeared, presumably back into the store. She appeared less than anxious to be in a one-on-one situation with me. Guilt, maybe?

  All the way back to the house, I kept thinking about my little episode in the store. I guess Rachel was right when she told me I needed time to grieve. But if I took the time, would I ever come out of mourning?

  According to the Roman poet Ovid, time was “the devourer of all things.” The fear I wouldn’t be able to take care of my children or me if I stopped to grieve told me I needed to press on with my search for the truth, to find Jim’s killer. Time would not devour me.

  I needed to find more information about Angie Ducote. Too bad I couldn’t get a photograph of her to bring to the psychic.

  Fourteen

  A pleased-looking Steven met me at the door when I arrived home. “You have a surprise visitor. I hope you don’t mind, I invited her to stay for supper.”

  I didn’t particularly want any visitors tonight, considering the episode at the store, but after he had invited her to stay, it would be rude of me to object. It wouldn’t have surprised me in the least if this woman’s visit wasn’t a spur of the moment social call. I gave a frustrated sigh. “Who is she?”

  “Just me,” A female voice replied.

  Steven stepped aside to reveal my visitor. Megan Whitehall, a New Orleans attorney, strode across the room and embraced me. She and I had redeveloped a friendship last year when I became involved in the investigation of the Mardi Gras murders. Prior to that, I hadn’t had any contact with her since high school.

  “I’m so sorry about Jim.” Her voice cracked. “I was out of town on business and didn’t hear the news until I returned. I’ve been involved in jury selection most of this week for a case I’m working. This was my first opportunity to get out here. If there’s anything you need, please ask.”

  “Thank you for coming, Megan. I’m really glad to see you.” And there never was a more truthful statement. I needed to confide in a woman my own age and one who would understand my situation.

  Rachel had been a wonderful friend over the years here in Cypress Lake, but she was old enough to be my mother. Granted, she understood my desire to find Jim’s murderer because years ago she had done pretty much the same for her brother as I did when I set out to find my sister-in-law’s killer.

  I managed to prepare a healthy meal with help from Steven and Megan. The kids seemed to enjoy having a guest in the house. The presence of a stranger—they didn’t really know Megan—and the lack of conversation about Jim’s death during supper must have been a welcome diversion.

  Diversion aside, I was anxious to confide in Megan concerning my reasons for looking into Jim’s death.

  After supper, I put a movie on in the family room for the kids, and retired to the living room with Steven and Megan.

  “Steven told me you plan to investigate Jim’s death yourself,” Megan said. “I would ask why you want to get involved.” Her voice rose on the last word.

  “But?” I couldn’t tell from her expression what her thoughts were about the idea.

  “I understand the coroner ruled manner of death as suicide. Your strong curiosity makes you want to be in on all the details. I can understand why you would want to take matters in your own hands.

  “In certain instances I might do the same thing myself, like when the evidence for one of my clients isn’t materializing fast enough. The justice system has its flaws; however, the majority of the time the system works.”

  “The system didn’t work this time. Jim was murdered,” I said. “My curiosity may have gotten me in trouble a couple of times. It also resulted in killers being brought to justice.”

  “True, but you would be putting your life in danger.”

  “It wouldn’t be the first time,” Steven spoke up.

  “I can’t help it if I see suspects where the cops don’t and vice versa.”

  “You must have a good reason to suspect certain people.”

  “Only my intuition. I realize concrete proof needs to be presented before anything can be done to arrest someone. I have a lot of suspects in mind for Jim’s murder.”

  Megan placed her fingers on her chin for a moment as if contemplating the idea. “Do you have any physical proof at all to back up the reason for your suspicions about these people? Trying to convince law enforcement of criminal intent when they have other ideas is like beating your head against a brick wall.”

  “How well I know. And no I don’t have any proof, but I’m working on finding some.”

  “Let me play devil’s advocate. Isn’t it possible your friend Sheriff Marchand has some of the same suspects as you?”

  “Sure, it’s very possible,” I said. “Danny is keeping all the information away from me. He doesn’t want me involved.”

  “He’s afraid you’ll mess up his case or else he fears you’ll be hurt or killed. Perhaps both reasons.” Megan cleared her throat. “Let’s get back to my performance as the devil’s advocate. Could there be a work related problem?”

  “Possibly,” I admitted.

  “Was Jim having an affair? An angry husband or boyfriend might have motive.”

  I almost jumped off the sofa until she held up her hand.

  “Still playing devil’s advocate,” she said.

  I suddenly remembered the note hidden in one of the books taken from Jim’s office. My heart jumped into my throat. My face must have displayed my feelings. I’d never make a good poker player.

  Megan made a face. “Did I hit a nerve? Sorry, I’m in defense attorney mode questioning the prosecutor’s witness.”

  Steven frowned and leaned forward in his chair. He obviously suspected I had kept a secret from him. Which I had.

  “There was a note stuck in the back of a book that he had in his office—undated, unsigned and not addressed to him. It read: ‘Meet me at the spot tomorrow as early as possible’.”

  Steven raised his eyebrows. “Sounds suspiciously like an affair to me.”

  I glared at him. “Not every man cheats on his wife.”

  The moment the words left my mouth, I regretted saying them. He averted his eyes. An uncomfortable silence followed.

  Megan jumped in. “The note is rather suspect, but it’s circumstantial. The meeting could be related to a case he was working on—like an undercover operation of some kind.”

  A bit of relief trickled through me. The thought of undercover work hadn’t occurred to me. My relief disappeared when Megan retracted her suggestion for practical purposes.

  She frowned. “Although I wouldn’t think an operative would want to leave written evidence. There’s a chance the note could fall into the wrong hands.” She quickly changed the subject. “Do you have any particular suspects in mind?”

  “Tell her about your suspect list,” Steven said.

  “Suspect list?” Megan sounded surprised and looked at me as if I’d lost my mind. At least my paranoia interpreted her expression as such.

  “I wrote up a list of possible suspects, the majority of whom are members of the Cypress Lake Police Department. There may be one or two other names I’ll need to add as I investigate further.”

  “You really are serious about this, aren’t you?”

  “I’m very serious.”

  “I’d like to go over the list with you, if I may. You tell me why the person is on your list and I’ll give you my perspective on each one…from a legal standpoint.” Megan glanced at her watch. “I need to get back to my place. Even though it’s Friday, I have a case to prepare. Opening arguments are scheduled on Monday.”

  The old boogeyman Time was at play again. “So you’ll be tied up for a while.”

  “Not if I can help it. I don’t like to say this—I might jinx the case—but this one should be wrapped up by the end of the week in my client’s favor.” She hugged me. “I’ll call you Thursday or Friday and let you know.” She peered around me at Steven and smiled. “It was great seeing you again.”

  A slow grin moved his lips. “Same here.”

  Did I detect a spark between these two?

  Fifteen

  I watched Steven putter around in the kitchen pretending to clean up. Knowing my brother, he was avoiding making eye contact with me for my comment about men cheating on their wives. My words reminded him too much of the guilt he felt about his infidelities in his own marriage.

  No doubt Megan, like everyone else in the upper class social circle in which we ran in our younger days, knew about his bedroom escapades. Those activities had played a prominent part in his becoming the prime suspect in his wife’s murder. All I did when I lashed out at him was open old wounds, including mine.

  I walked closer to him and put my hand on his shoulder. “My remark was uncalled for. I had no right to take my anger out on you. I seem to have become a very angry person.”

  “Yeah, it was a low blow,” he said. “Not that I didn’t deserve your comment. I shouldn’t have jumped to the conclusion Jim cheated on you. He wasn’t anything like me.”

  “Like you were,” I corrected. “You’ve turned your life around. You sobered up; you’re doing well financially.”

  His laugh was one of those I referred to as a half-laugh—part happy, part sad. “Now all I need is to find a lady who’s willing to take a chance on a life with me.”

  “There might be one closer than you think.”

  He frowned. “What do you mean?”

  I shrugged nonchalantly to make my remark appear generic. “You never can tell when a special someone will come along.”

  Steven eyed me with suspicion, but didn’t comment.

  “Anyway, I didn’t mean to open old wounds,” I continued. “Lord knows enough of those have been reopened already.”

  His expression softened. “I understand where you’re coming from. Like I told you before, your emotions are raw and they will be for a long time. However, your investigation into Jim’s death is only going to prolong your recovery.”

  “You make it sound like an illness.”

  “In my opinion, if you grieve for too long, it becomes an illness—a progressive disease like cancer.” Steven studied my face for a long moment before he continued. “I’m extremely grateful to you for proving I didn’t murder Anne. If you hadn’t put your life and marriage on the line, I would be sitting in a cell at Angola right now.” He moved closer to me and placed his hands on my shoulders.

  “I suspect there’s a but?” I waited for the other shoe to drop.

  “Let me finish what I have to say.”