Bayou Judgment (12 page)

Oh, no. He
was
in love with her.

And there wasn't a thing he could do to make things right with her. Not now.

Except pray.

“W
esley Ellender's been arrested for the murder of Jolie Landry.”

Felicia stared at the television. Wes? Charged with Jolie's murder? No way. She turned up the volume on the remote and inched to the edge of her seat.

Sheriff Theriot fielded questions from the media on the steps of the courthouse. Reporters flocked around him like ants at a picnic. Microphones grappled for better placement. “We recovered the murder weapon from Mr. Ellender's possession,” he announced.

Felicia gasped and sank back against the new chair Luc had delivered earlier. Wes had the murder weapon? No, it couldn't be. She couldn't have been that wrong about him! If so, she'd all but pushed Jolie into the arms of her killer. Guilt dropped over her and settled between her shoulder blades.

The television cut to a commercial.

Why hadn't Sheriff Theriot called her? She hated being excluded from the case.

She rose to her feet and on shaky legs went to the kitchen. Grabbing a bottle of water from the refrigerator, she sucked in a big gulp right as the phone rang, startling her. She flinched and leaked the last remaining bit of water onto the counter before grabbing the phone and tossing a towel over the spill. “Hello.”

“Why didn't you tell me there was a threat left in your apartment?” Spence sounded more angry than annoyed.

“It wasn't important. Have you seen the news?”

“Of course it's important. Felicia, someone directly threatened you.”

“Who told you, anyway?”

“The sheriff. Why didn't
you
tell me?”

“It was implied. Nothing major. Have you seen the news?”

“Not this afternoon. Why?”

“They've arrested Wes.”

“Jolie's boyfriend?”

“Yes. I can't believe this.”

“They must be pretty sure he's guilty if they arrested him, Felicia.”

She bit her tongue against the sharp retort burning there. “They say they found the murder weapon in his possession.”

He sucked in air. “I'm coming over.”

“No, I don—” But he'd already hung up.

Felicia rushed to her bathroom, one of the two rooms still in disarray. She stared at herself in the bathroom mirror, startled at what she saw. Yes, her hair was a mess and her face smudged from all the cleaning she'd done, but it was the words that drew her attention.

The words that Tara had scrubbed off the mirror. Yet, Felicia could still see them.

Had Wes destroyed her apartment and left her such a message?

Her reflection blinked back at her. Wes couldn't have done such a thing. Why, even if he
had
killed Jolie, what would be his motive in coming after Felicia?

It made no sense.

She grabbed a washcloth, saturated it with cool water, and scrubbed her face free of the grime and sweat. Once that task was completed, she ran a brush through her hair. Catching her expression in the mirror, Felicia tossed the brush into the basket.

She was flushed, and not from exertion. How could she be excited about Spence coming by at such a time? Or anytime, for that matter. She shouldn't care what she looked like.

But she did.

The doorbell buzzed.

Felicia stuck her tongue out at her mirror image and headed down the hallway. She checked the peephole before she swung open the door. “You didn't have to come over.”

Spence ignored her comment and brushed past her into the apartment. He glanced around the room before facing her. “Are you really okay?”

“I'm fine. You wasted a trip.”

“Felicia, you exasperate me in ways I never thought possible.”

She
exasperated
him?
Was he nuts? “Look, I don't know what you hoped to accomp—”

He pulled her into his arms and planted his lips on hers, silencing her protest very effectively. She went rigid at first, but in the space of a heartbeat, she relaxed. Her heart thudded as she wrapped her arms around his neck. He deepened the kiss, and she let go of her confusing emotions.

He stepped back, his breathing shaky. “We need to talk.”

Talk? As if she could string together two words to form a coherent thought after that kiss. He
was
nuts.

“I want to apologize. I had no right to be so brusque with you last night.”

Brusque would be an interesting term to describe his behavior. She thought rude would be more accurate.

“It's just that I've kept the secret for so long. Trying to keep anyone from uncovering my past and making snap judgments about me like before.” He shook his head. “I didn't want everyone to reject me. That was wrong. I should've been upfront and honest. In trying to avoid judgment, I misjudged everyone. I didn't trust them to extend grace.”

She fidgeted. His analysis hit a little too close to the truth for her liking.

“I didn't trust
you
enough, and I should have. I'm so sorry.”

He really knew how to slam it home. Another layer of guilt settled in her spirit.

The phone rang. She grabbed the cordless from the couch. “Hello?”

“Did you hear about Wesley Ellender?” CoCo sounded breathless.

“Yeah. It's awful.”

“But that means you're safe. Luc won't have any reason to try to worm you into moving home.”

Felicia laughed. “True.”

“What's wrong? You don't sound relieved.”

“I don't think Wes killed Jolie, and I sure don't believe he trashed my house and wrote a threat on my bathroom mirror.”

“But the police said they found the murder weapon—”

“I know. I think there's been a big mistake.”

CoCo hesitated. “Are you sure you just don't want to believe it? I mean, it's hard to deny the evidence of the murder weapon.”

“Like when the sheriff discovered Grandfather's gun missing, then found it in the bayou? That's what put Luc at the top of the suspect list in Grandfather's murder.”

“True. What're you going to do?”

“Try to figure it out.” Determination came over her in a flash. “I'm going to see the sheriff and get some answers.”

“Do you want me to come get you?”

Felicia glanced at Spence, who made no pretense of not listening in on her conversation. “No. Spence is here, and I'll ask him to drive me.”

He nodded.

“Well, okay. Let me know what you find out.”

“Sure.” Felicia hung up.

“You really believe Wesley's innocent?”

She faced Spence. “I do. I can't believe he'd kill Jolie. He loved her. Well, he was falling in love with her.”

“How do you know?”

“Know what?”

“That he was falling in love with her?”

She shrugged. “I don't know. I just sensed that when I was around the two of them.”

“You normally sense things like that?”

“Yes. No. I don't know.” Why did he ask such questions? And why had he kissed her? No, she wouldn't open up that topic of discussion. Not yet. Not until she could analyze her own emotions. “Will you drive me to the sheriff's office now?”

The pronouncement of his love for her lingered in Spencer's mouth. He knew he had to clamp it down. He couldn't tell her how he felt. Not now. Too much distracted her. Eventually, she'd be able to get beyond his past, his lies, his secrets. Maybe by the grace of God, she'd be able to someday understand. Just not yet.

But she'd responded to his kiss. That filled him with hope.

He studied Felicia as they waited to see the sheriff. Her soft hair hung like a halo around her face, drawing out her stunning eyes. What a stark comparison to the ugliness of the police station. She was a vision, made more so by the light in her eyes reflecting the gentleness of her soul. A gentleness nearly destroyed by life. She'd certainly had her fair share of rough knocks, yet she kept going, showing her strong resolve.

He admired her all the more.

“Felicia. Pastor.” The sheriff stood at the counter. “How can I help you?”

She rose. “I'd like to talk to you about Jolie's case.”

Sheriff Theriot ran a hand over his red hair. “Surely you've heard we've made an arrest. Wesley Ellender.”

Spencer moved behind Felicia as she stepped closer and lowered her voice. “You found the knife?”

He nodded. “In his car. The blood on it matches Jolie's. And we found a fiber matching your curtains on it as well. Lab verified the results this morning—we had them rush to get them back.” The sheriff smiled. “Open-and-shut case. You can rest easy now.”

She held the edge of the counter. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” He let a minute slip by, wariness etching into the lines around his eyes. “Do you doubt it?”

“I just don't see his motive for trashing my place.”

He laughed. “Who knows why people snap and do what they do?” The sheriff's gaze drifted to Spencer.

Spencer's heartbeat kicked into overdrive, but he bit his tongue to keep from responding. He'd better get used to the slams and innuendos. More would surely come.

Felicia tapped her nail on the Formica counter. “It's not logical. Why leave me the message? I wasn't a threat to him.”

“We'll cover that in the interrogation. We have to wait for his lawyer to get here to question him.”

“What about the loan sharks?”

“We're beginning to believe the loan shark story was a lie Kipp told his sister to try to get money from her. No one has come forward to collect on any debt that we've been able to determine since Kipp's release.” The sheriff shrugged. “Even word on the street is that Kipp Landry needed money to go gamble. No one would give him a line of credit. Since his release, he hasn't left his place.”

“Doesn't that strike you as odd?” She recalled the look in his eyes. “He was so desperate.”

“Who knows? I'm just assured the man hasn't left his residence since being released.”

The sheriff laid his hand over hers. “Felicia, I know you don't want to believe Wesley's her killer, but all the evidence points directly to him.” He patted her hand. “Why don't you go on home and let the matter drop? You can find out all the details at Wesley's trial.”

What a dismissal. Nice, but a dismissal, nonetheless. Spencer waited for her reaction.

She let out a sigh. “I still think you're wrong, Sheriff.”

“I can't deny the evidence.”

Felicia and the sheriff exchanged long stares, then she nodded. She turned to face Spencer. “Take me home now?”

She remained silent on the walk to his truck and the entire drive back to her apartment. When he parked, she got out before he could make it around the vehicle to open her door. He trailed two steps behind her.

“Felicia, wait.”

“What?”

“I think we need to finish our talk.”

“I'm exhausted. Can't it wait?”

He didn't want to put this off any longer. He wanted her to tell him how she felt. Yell at him, smack him in the chest, throw something at his head…any kind of reaction. As he studied her, he noticed the dark circles under her eyes. Her skin didn't look as bright as normal, either.

He rolled his fingers into his palm and fought to make his voice even. “Sure. You'll be at work tomorrow?”

“Planning on it.” She opened her door. “Good night, Spence.”

The door closed in his face, slamming his heart to the ground. It was no less than he deserved.

He plodded to the parking lot, lost in the cruelty of his situation. He nearly tripped over his own steps as he swerved to avoid hitting a woman cutting across the sidewalk. Man, he sure was preoccupied. He'd better get his head on straight before he tried to drive back to the center.

He sat in his truck, praying for direction. A car peeled out of the lot, shooting loose gravel against his truck. He jerked his head. Where was that woman going in such a hurry?

Spencer let out a sigh and turned over the engine.

Sometimes, life just seemed too much to deal with.

T
he spicy aroma of the boudin sausage in the jambalaya permeated the Trahan kitchen. Felicia's stomach rumbled.

“How does the table look?”

Felicia smiled at CoCo, who hadn't changed out of her church dress before she'd rushed over to help prepare lunch.

“Lovely. It's nice of you to come help celebrate Mom's homecoming.”

“She'll be my mother-in-law soon. I should be here.”

“I'm sorry about that. Getting her for an in-law, I mean.”

CoCo grabbed glasses and filled them with ice. “Hattie's okay. Besides, you have to take the good with the bad.”

The good with the bad? An image of Spence's face filled her vision. Had she only been willing to accept the good with him? Would she allow the bad to outweigh the good? She stiffened as she stirred the thick rice mixture. Was she so shallow?

A horn sounded from the driveway.

“They're here.” CoCo fingered her long curls. “Do I look all right?”

How cute for her to be so nervous about Hattie Trahan's opinion. Felicia grinned. “You're beautiful.”

CoCo gave a snort and playfully slapped at Felicia's arm. “Yeah. Sure. Right.” She turned and opened the front door.

Her brother's fiancée moved with such grace. Such natural flowing movements. Felicia blinked back hot tears. Would she ever lose the cane and walk alone, much less with such poise?

“Oh, my. It's downright sticky outside.” Hattie dropped into a chair at the table. She narrowed her eyes at Felicia.

“Nice of you to make it.”

Felicia swallowed. Her mother obviously hadn't had a personality change in rehab. “It's nice to see you, too, Mom. I made your favorite.”

“Here, let me get you some iced tea.” CoCo poured a glass.

After taking a sip, Hattie fanned herself with the cloth napkin and continued to scrutinize Felicia. “So, Luc tells me you're staying in that apartment of yours.”

Starting already. Felicia wadded the dish towel in her hand. “Yes, I am.”

“Heard on the news they arrested that Wesley character for the murder.”

“Yes.” Felicia gritted her teeth.

“I'd never trust an Ellender. Why, Mr. Ellender Senior—that'd be Wesley's grandfather—he was always up to no good. I remember about a year ago, he hi—”

“Mom, why don't we eat? My stomach's grumbling, and the food smells divine.” Luc plopped down beside her.

She laid a hand on his cheek and let out a titter. “My boy. Always hungry.” She raked her gaze over CoCo. “You a good cook? My Luc's got a manly appetite.”

“Oh, yes, ma'am. I love to cook.”

“But
can
you?”

Her mother would never quit. Felicia set the serving bowl of steaming jambalaya in the center of the table. “Let's eat before it gets cold.”

“Oh, well, yes. We can't have lunch cold.” Hattie reached for the serving spoon.

“Would you like me to say grace, Mom?” Luc's eyes twinkled with mischief.

“Oh. Of course.” Their mother folded her hands politely in her lap. She might have her faults, but lacking gentility wasn't one of them.

Felicia caught Luc's wink before she ducked her head. She barely heard her brother's blessing as she sent up her own silent prayer.

Please, God, show me what to do about Spence. Help me to follow Your leading, because I'm totally confused.

Felicia made her way into the sheriff's office, which housed the jail in the basement. She didn't know the proper protocol to see someone in the parish lockup, but desperation made her determined.

The sheriff's dispatcher, Missy, met her at the counter. “Why, Felicia Trahan, what brings you down here on a Sunday afternoon?”

“I'd like to visit Wesley Ellender.”

“Whatever for, hon?”

Felicia licked her lips. “It's personal.”

Missy raised one of her finely tweezed brows. “Hmm. Does the sheriff know about this visit?”

“I didn't realize I needed the sheriff's permission to visit an old friend.” Felicia squared her shoulders. “So, do I need to fill out any paperwork or anything to visit Mr. Ellender?”

“Hang on a minute.” Missy sashayed across the room, disappearing in the back.

Felicia let out a pent-up breath and tapped her fingernail against the counter.

“Hear you wanna see Wesley,” boomed a voice from the opposite side of the room.

Felicia pushed her gaze to Deputy Gary Anderson. Well, she'd probably fare better facing the burly deputy rather than the sheriff. “I do.” Wow, her voice didn't even crack. Nancy Drew, look out!

Anderson ambled to the counter. “What about?”

“It's personal.” She met his stare dead-on.

“Want me to try the sheriff?” Missy asked, lifting a phone.

Felicia glared.

“Nah. Sunday's a regular visitin' day.” He shrugged.

“Sheriff didn't say Wesley couldn't have any visitors.”

“Are you sure you don't want me to check?” Missy clutched the telephone.

“Don't bother him.”

The phone clattered back onto its cradle. Felicia smiled at Anderson as he opened the swinging door and nodded toward the hallway. “Follow me.”

Right inside the doorway, the hall gave a sharp left. Another left, and they stood before an elevator. Deputy Anderson inserted a key and the light over the door lit. “Security,” he said.

The walls closed in on them. Felicia struggled to breathe normally as they stepped into the service elevator. It was very small. Very confined. With another twist of Anderson's key, the doors slid closed and they jerked downward.

On the positive side, there was something to be said for an elevator, however archaic. At least she didn't have to mess with stairs.

The car jolted to a stop, and her heart leapt into her throat. Deputy Anderson grinned. “It's a little rusty. We don't get many people in the holding cells, normally. Maybe a kid or two being held to sleep off the aftereffects of a party.”

The doors slid open, and he motioned her to exit first. Good thing—she itched to claw her way into more breathing space.

They followed a short corridor, stopping at a barred door blocking the hall. Anderson unlocked it, swinging it open with a squeak. She passed through the iron doorway, fighting off a shiver.

He stopped her at the first door on the right, slipping his key into the lock. “This is the visiting room. You can sit at one of the tables. I'll bring Wesley in from another door.” He scratched at the stubble on his chin. “We've never had someone in for a violent crime have a visitor.”

“Is that a problem?”

“Well….” More chin rubbing. “We don't have a separator.”

“I'm not concerned.”

“But policy states—”

“You just said you've never had a visitor for someone being held for a violent crime. That means there is no policy.” She crossed her arms over her chest.

He hesitated, as if weighing the options. “I guess it'll be all right. I'll stand right outside the door. If you need help, you just holler.”

She nodded. Need help? No, she refused to believe Wesley was violent. She stepped into the room and took a seat at one of the two picnic-style tables. She gripped the handle of her cane. A fine coat of sweat lined her palm.

The other door to the room opened with a creak. They really needed to oil every hinge in the building. Wesley entered, handcuffs holding his hands in front of his body. With a hand on Wesley's shoulder, Deputy Anderson led him to the opposite side of the table from Felicia. “You sit here and don't move. I'll be right outside.”

When they were alone, Wesley lifted his glazed stare to her. “I didn't do it, Felicia.”

“I know. That's why I'm here.”

“What am I gonna do?”

“Tell me about the knife they found.”

“I don't know how it got in my car. I never saw it before in my life.”

She licked her lips and glanced at the door. She could make out Anderson's silhouette in the little window of the adjoining door. “Tell me what happened.”

“I've been in and out of my car since the night Jolie was murdered. You know this. I met you at your apartment in my car.”

A chilling reminder that he did have means and opportunity. And motive, if the sheriff was correct. But would he have had time? Jolie had been stabbed multiple times. Blood had been all over the apartment. Felicia swallowed back the bile. Would Wes have had time to change before meeting her at the apartment to find Jolie? Did the police know something she didn't?

“When I left that night after the police finished questioning me, a deputy walked me to my car. Like even if I'd done such a horrible thing, I'd just slip the knife under the driver's seat? I'm not that stupid.”

Or, had he done it for this reason alone—to use as an argument?

“I've driven that car several times over, at least twice a day, since she died. That knife wasn't in there.”

He could be lying.

“And then the police said there were fibers on it from some vandalism at your apartment.” He stared straight into her eyes. “I didn't do that, Felicia. I promise, I didn't.” He didn't blink, didn't break eye contact.

And she knew. He was telling the truth.

“When did they find the knife?”

“Yesterday morning. Early. They showed up at my house around seven-thirty. I was still in bed when they pounded on the door.”

“Did they have a warrant?”

He nodded. “I'd already retained that Dwayne Williams you recommended. I called him and he came over. Said it was a duly-served warrant to check my home and my car.”

The sheriff must've had a strong lead about the murder weapon to get a judge to sign a warrant on a Saturday. Hmm, she'd have to ask him about that when she got the chance. “Which did they check first?”

“My car.”

Sounded like someone tipped off the police. “Do you keep your car locked?”

He hung his head. “I never saw the need.” He lifted his head and gave a casual shrug. “We live in Lagniappe. Who'd think someone would break into a car here?”

He had a point. Then again, in the past year, Lagniappe sure seemed to be on a crime roll. It was downright disheartening.

“I was shocked when they pulled the knife out. They held it up and asked me if it was one of mine. I assured them it wasn't.” He rubbed absently at the handcuffs around his wrists. “They bagged it and searched the house, paying close attention to the kitchen. They couldn't find a matching one.”

“What kind of knife is it?”

“One that fits in those butcher-block things. I didn't really get to examine it closely before I was arrested.”

From a set. “They didn't take anything from the house?”

“The clothes I was wearing the night Jolie was killed. Even though I'd washed them since then.”

Deputy Anderson strode into the room. “Time's up.” He grabbed Wesley's elbow and tugged him to his feet.

“I'm innocent, Felicia.”

She believed him. “Stay strong. I'll be praying for you.”

“I'll be back to get you in a minute,” Deputy Anderson said.

Within minutes of Wesley disappearing, Anderson returned to the other door. “
Allons.
I'll take you back up.”

The elevator wasn't as creepy as she remembered. “Deputy, can I ask you something? Since Wesley's in jail and all.”

“Sure.” He puffed his chest out a little. Maybe he was tired of being in Bubba's shadow. She could use that.

“Isn't it difficult to get in touch with a judge on a weekend? Especially during Mardi Gras season?”

“Sure is. I had to run over to the other side of the parish to get it signed and get back. All before the judge left for his golf match.”

That explained the early hour. “Which judge?”

“Leo Holtz.”

Felicia blinked as the elevator door opened. Judge Holtz wasn't a hanging judge. He had the reputation of being fair and just. Someone who wouldn't be bothered signing a warrant on his golf day without very good reason.

They turned down the last leg of the corridor. Now or never.

She smiled sweetly and touched Anderson's arm. “You must be very important for the sheriff to trust you with something so vital.”

His chest stuck out a little farther. “Well, we had that anonymous tip about the murder weapon being in Wesley's car. Bubba called the judge and caught him just in time. Holtz was worried we'd make him miss his tee time, but I raced all the way there.”