Bayou Judgment

Jolie would have answered the phone when she saw the center's number on the caller ID. If she'd been able.

Sucking in air, Felicia silently prayed as Spence took the key from her and slipped it into the lock, twisting the knob.

A strange coppery smell hung in the air. Felicia swallowed hard. “Jolie? Jo, are you here?”

Silence.

Spence passed Felicia, striding to the living room.

“Oh, sweet mercy, no!”

What?
Felicia hobbled toward the living room, only to have Spence step in front of her, blocking her path.

“You don't want to see this.” Spence drew his arms around her, turning her away. “Where's your phone? We need to call 9-1-1.”

“There's an extension in the kitchen. She needs an ambulance?”

“No,
sha,
not an ambulance. We need the police.”

“Police? For what?”

“Jolie's been murdered.”

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

EPILOGUE

QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION

“Y
ou don't really want to hurt anyone. Please, let's talk about this.” Felicia Trahan wrapped the phone cord around her finger and didn't uncoil it until the tip turned white.

Pastor Spencer Bertrand stood beside Felicia's desk, listening to her side of the conversation while he gazed over the crisis center. Every operator hunched over their desk, speaking in low tones. There'd been so many callers today, people with problems. He wanted to help them all, but knew it impossible, even given the slow pace of the day. He glanced at the clock on the wall—7:00 p.m.

Father God, please touch these people's hearts. Help them. Bless them.

He refocused on Felicia. A silver-handled cane leaned against the side of the desk. Already graduated to a cane—he had to admire her tenacity. A little under a year ago she'd had surgery to give her use of her left leg. Some people with cerebral palsy weren't so fortunate. Or wealthy enough to afford new procedures.

She glanced up, her startling blue eyes wide. Heat tickled the back of his neck. Although well-trained, the counselors sometimes had to pass a caller off to him. That Felicia had waved him over said a lot. She requested his assistance less than any other operator. If she wanted his help, the situation must be dire.

He didn't know if he could muster enough energy to play the part he'd projected himself to play. Fake. Phony. When it came right down to it, that's all he was.

“I understand. Listen, Pastor Spence is here now if you'd like to talk with him. He's a wonderful adviser in matters such as these.” Felicia's soft voice could charm anyone. “Of course, I understand. But I think it would be bene—”

Her lips pressed together. She stared at him, holding up a finger. The intensity of her gaze made him uncomfortable. He sat on the edge of her desk, all too aware of the close proximity.

“Are you sure? Because he's really g—” She shook her head. “Okay. Can I at least get your name? If you call again, you can ask for me.” She grabbed her pen, poising it over the call log. Some counselors doodled while talking, but not Felicia.

“Thanks, Winnie. I hope you'll call me back.” She jerked the headset free and tossed it on the desk. “That was a live one, Spence.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “What's the deal?”

“Young woman, early twenties, I'd guess, got dumped by her fiancé several months ago because he'd found someone new.”

“Common this time of year. More breakups during Mardi Gras than at Christmas.”

“I know. But this woman has some serious hostility eating at her.”

He straightened. “Such as?”

“She says she's entertaining thoughts of hurting the new girlfriend. Physically hurting her.”

“Did she sound like someone just trying to get attention or mess with the center?” That happened quite often, people calling in with outlandish prank complaints.

“No. She sounded serious.” Felicia shivered. “And determined.”

“Did she give you any details?”

“Just her name. Winnie.” She stood, flexing her left hand, which had also recently been operated on.

“That she called us is a cry for help. Maybe she'll call back.”

“I hope so.” She smiled that barely there smile of hers.

His heart pounded before he could will it to behave. No matter how perfect she seemed, Felicia Trahan was now, and always would be, off limits to the likes of him.

The phone rang.

When she lifted the receiver, Spencer made fast tracks to his office. Just being in Felicia's presence made pinpricks jab his conscience.

Father God, please help me. You know what a sinner I am, and I'm just trying to follow Your guidance. I can't be attracted to someone so sweet, so pure…not when I'm such a mess.

Spencer cradled his head in his hands, his elbows digging into the ratty wooden desk. His mug sat half empty, but the smell hovering over the coffeepot in the corner didn't entice him to get a fresh cup. He glanced at the notes on his desk calendar. Monday morning he'd have to visit Jon Garrison. A monthly visit he'd rather walk through fire to avoid. Hadn't he paid enough already?

Felicia stood in the break room, staring out the window of the Vermilion Parish Christian Crisis Center—VPCCC, for short.

Someone had spilled bright purple, emerald-green and fool's gold over Lagniappe, Louisiana.

Comedy/tragedy masks decorated every light post along the town square, mocking pedestrians. Purple-and-gold beads draped the moonlit storefronts and doorways, casting a sparkling array of color prisms into the shroud of darkness.

“Welcome to Mardi Gras madness.” Jolie Landry, Felicia's best friend and roommate, chuckled.

Felicia smiled. “Is the center always this bad during Mardi Gras season?” She'd only been working at the center for a few months, while Jolie had been with it since its inception a little more than a year ago.

“Pretty much. Spence says it'll die down once Ash Wednesday arrives.”

At the mention of their boss's name, Felicia's stomach lurched. Why did the man tie her in knots? She'd sworn off men permanently after losing Frank. The human heart was too fragile a thing, a lesson she wouldn't forget.

Jolie continued, not noticing Felicia's silence. “All I can say is, thank goodness it's Friday.”

“Yeah. Uh, Jo, Wesley phoned the apartment several times before I left, begging me to talk you into returning his calls.”

Running a hand through her strawberry-blond hair, Jolie shrugged. “I don't think I'm ready just yet.”

“He says he can explain everything about Sadie.”

Sadie Thompson, the woman who made her way through the men in Lagniappe, one poor sap at a time.

Jolie let out a sigh. “What do you think?”

“I think you should hear him out. It could all be a horrible misunderstanding.”

“But…Sadie?”

“Come on, a woman calls here, refuses to give her name, and tells you Sadie's been seen with your boyfriend…sounds iffy to me, yes?”

“But he confirmed it was true.” Jolie's pretty smile turned into a pout.

“And it's exactly why I think you owe it to Wesley to let him explain.”

“Hmm.” Before Jolie could say more, her cell chirped. She flipped open the phone. “Hello.”

Probably Wesley, begging for a second chance. Felicia smiled. Although they'd only been dating three months, he doted on Jolie. The anonymous caller to the center had only been trying to stir up trouble.

“No, Kipp, I won't.”

Felicia jerked her attention to Jolie. Not Wesley, but Jolie's brother.

“I told you what to do. I don't care what they're threatening….”

Uh-oh. Didn't sound good. Kipp's gambling debts had piled up. Lately, he'd been calling Jolie constantly for money. Said some bad guys were calling in their markers. Using bats, if it came to that. And there had been that article in the paper about the hospitalization of several men who'd owed some freelancers money.

“Look, I'm about to leave. I'll run home and change clothes, then meet you at Fisherman's Wharf at eight. You'd better be there, Kipp.” Jolie slipped the phone back into its belt clip.

“You're going to meet him?” Why couldn't Jolie see her brother spelled bad news?

“He says they're threatening
me
now.”

Threatening her—Jolie? Felicia shook her head. “Do you think that's a good idea? Meeting him, I mean?” Little pricks of foreboding poked against her subconscious. She'd heard rumors that the police were cracking down on gambling loan sharks due to the death of several people who'd owed them money. Now they were threatening Jolie?

“I'm the only family he has left.” Jolie's pretty face twisted with painful memories. “Well, aside from Uncle Roger and Martin. But since they're in…” Jolie squeezed Felicia's shoulder. “I'm so sorry.”

“Not your fault. We've all been hurt, yes?” Felicia blinked back hot tears. Don't remember the diamond solitaire sitting alone in the jewelry box back at the apartment. Don't let the grief beat her down.

“I just feel awful.”

Felicia smiled, despite the pain twisting her heart. “You can't control other people's actions, Jo. Anyway—” she brushed away the few tears that had escaped “—you can't control Kipp, either.”

“I have to convince him to go to the police. This situation has gone from bad to worse. If he doesn't go, I will.”

“Good for you. Especially since they threatened you.” Just the idea gave Felicia the heebie-jeebies.

Jolie's laugh was flat and humorless. “So Kipp says. They probably don't even know I exist. He's just trying to extort me into getting the money from you.”

“I'll gladly give you whatever you need. You know that, yes?”

“I know you would, but I can't keep taking your money to get him out of trouble. Kipp has to learn to take responsibility for his gambling addiction.” Jolie didn't look convinced. “He can't keep having someone bail him out.”

“True.”

Glancing at the clock, Jolie grabbed her purse. “Oh, man, look at the time. Almost seven-thirty already. I gotta split if I'm gonna have time to change before heading to the Wharf.” She gave Felicia a quick hug. “Pray for me, okay?”

“Always.” She grabbed Jolie's hand. “Do me a favor and give Wesley a break. He says there's a perfectly logical reason he met with Sadie. Call him, yes?”

“I will.”

“He's a good man, Jo.”

Jolie's soft smile flashed before she grabbed another hug.

“
Merci
for everything. I love ya.”

“Ditto.”

Felicia leaned heavily on her cane as she returned to her desk. Phones rang as she slipped into the chair. By the sound of things, a long night awaited her.

“I don't know what else to do, Felicia.” Wesley Ellender's voice cracked over the connection.

Felicia gripped her cell phone tighter. “She called me from her cell not twenty minutes ago. She was on her way home.” Jolie should've been there already. Something wasn't right.

“I know. She told me to pick her up at the apartment.” He sighed. “Maybe she intended to stand me up. Make me pay for the whole Sadie thing.”

“That's not like Jolie. She told me y'all were having a late supper.” Where could Jolie have gone? Long tendrils of unease coiled in Felicia's chest.

“I'm getting worried. Her car is here, but she's not answering the door. I can't hear the TV or radio, either. You know how she likes her music.”

Very true. Jolie loved listening to contemporary Christian music at full volume. So loudly several neighbors had complained about the noise.

The worry spread to Felicia's stomach. She glanced around the center at the other operators. Surely one of them would give her a ride to the apartment. She didn't want to wait for her driver. “I'll get there as quickly as I can.”

She grabbed her cane and headed to Spence's office. As her boss, he needed to know she had to run home. He'd created a family-type working atmosphere—people could have time off for personal or family reasons, personal calls weren't taboo and he never turned down someone asking him for help. A perfect boss.

All the more reason for her to stay focused on the business at hand.

His office door sat ajar. He held his head in his hands, his face down. Praying? A lot of people might have a problem with their preacher being so young, having unruly hair and a tattoo on his finger—which Felicia had just recently noticed—but Spence's congregation loved him. These things made him seem more approachable, maybe. Felicia cleared her throat and tapped on the door. “Spence?”

He jerked his attention to her. “Yes? Did Winnie call back?”

“Who? Oh, no. It's about Jolie. She's supposed to be home, her car is there, but she isn't answering the door. I've tried calling the house and her cell, and can't get an answer. I need to find someone to run me to the apartment to check on her.”

Shoving to his feet, he scooped his keys from the desk. “Let's go. I'll tell Michael to watch things here.”

“I can get one of the girls to take me.”

“Don't be silly. I'll drive you.”

She wet her lips. He made perfect sense. Then again, he didn't know how easily he affected her. “Okay.”

Spence told his assistant they'd be back shortly, escorted Felicia to his car and steered toward the apartment complex just down the street. He glanced between the road and her face. “It's probably nothing.”

Maybe she was making an ocean out of a bayou, but Felicia sensed something amiss. Terribly wrong. “Maybe. But she could've fallen in the bathroom and hit her head or something. She'd been in a hurry.”