Only By Moonlight (9 page)

LaShaun tapped a button and switched to
another station. “Stick a pancake in it, Dave.”

When the doorbell rang, LaShaun went to her
front door. LaShaun gazed through the peephole. She didn’t
recognize the nut brown woman standing on her porch. The woman
glanced around as though examining her surroundings. When LaShaun
swung open the front door, but not the storm door the woman jumped.
Only then did LaShaun see the man standing beside her.

“Ms. Rousselle, I’m Candy Wilkinson from WFTK
Television in Lafayette. I’d like to talk to you about...”

“I didn’t invite you here, so please leave my
property. Now.” LaShaun crossed her arms and gazed at them through
the glass top half of the storm door. The young man raised a
compact video camera with a microphone attached in one hand. “And
you don’t have permission to take my picture.”

The young man wore a grin. “Don’t need
it.”

LaShaun shut the door. She would have favored
them a long list of colorful words, but LaShaun didn’t want the
little creep to be rewarded with audio they could use. After ten
minutes LaShaun heard the rumble of a car engine. She looked out
the window in time to see a dark red Chevy Traverse back up, turn
around, and head down her driveway.

“Better not come back either,” LaShaun
muttered as she watched the car disappear.

Determined not to let them rule or ruin her
plans, LaShaun went out to the garden and fertilized the three beds
of roses her grandmother had planted some thirty years before. As
usual, being out in the sunshine and surrounded by the lovely
Louisiana countryside improved LaShaun’s mood. Two hours later
she’d not only finished with the roses, but she completed a few
indoor chores as well. By eleven thirty, LaShaun participated in a
video conference with her accountant about the assets and
investments her grandmother had left her. The accountant had
LaShaun’s attorney, and friend, Savannah Honoré join them online.
Savannah delivered the unwelcome news that LaShaun did indeed have
to attend the board meetings of three local companies.

“We’ll need to talk later,” Savannah said
from her office in Beau Chene.

“Why? I mean, it’ll be boring, but I’ll do
it. The rest of the family will squeal like little piglets if they
even think the money faucet will turn off.” LaShaun said.

She let out a humorless laugh as she gazed at
her business advisors through the webcam. Monmon Odette had not
only left LaShaun a substantial legacy, but did her the favor of
leaving her in charge of doling out profits to her aunt and uncles.
Calling it a thankless job was a laughable understatement. Monmon
Odette’s children had fully expected to spend time fighting each
other for control of her money. They constantly complained about
“going to LaShaun hat-in-hand” for what was rightfully theirs.
Never mind that they got enough money to fund their expensive
tastes and those of their greedy adult children.

Savannah raised an eyebrow. “Quentin
Trosclair is also a major shareholder in Southwest Louisiana
Bancorp. He’s started attending the quarterly meetings.”

“When the hell did that happen?” LaShaun
blurted out.

Quentin Trosclair, LaShaun’s former lover
during her wild days, was once again bad news. The man had gotten
her involved in two murders, and suspected of being the killer in
both cases. Rich, handsome, and used to getting his way, Quentin
had escaped paying for his sins too many times. Now it seemed
Quentin had turned up to poison her life once more. LaShaun thought
back to what her cousin Azalei had told her. Quentin wanted to get
back at LaShaun, and most likely hurt Chase as icing on the cake.
Despicable weasel, she thought darkly. LaShaun would just have to
spoil his payback party. The accountant’s monotone voice broke into
her daydream of slapping Quentin around.

“His uncle died, and the uncle’s daughter
sold her shares to Quentin. He knows you’re likely to attend the
meeting. I don’t see a problem,” Clarence Baker, the accountant,
blinked through his black-framed eyeglasses. “Let’s see, Katherine
Trosclair Worthington did sell her shares to her cousins. They
haven’t taken an active role in the company, not since her father
became too ill to travel fifteen years ago. The Trosclairs have
managed two hugely successful businesses for three generations at
least. I can only see them becoming majority stockholders as a good
thing.”

“I don’t like the sound of that one damn bit,
Clarence,” LaShaun said sharply. She looked at Savannah. “What can
we do about it?”

“You could sell your shares and cut ties with
the company,” Clarence said promptly. “I wouldn’t advise it. Word
on the street is Quentin is courting Mrs. Veronique Delacroix.”

Savannah glanced at LaShaun. “She owns
fifteen percent of stock in the company. He wants her to sell, to
him of course.”

“Typical Quentin strategy then,” LaShaun
retorted. “Charm her into bed because she’s of use to him.”

Clarence looked embarrassed. “I don’t usually
listen to gossip unless it relates to business, but the talk is
they’re having an affair.”

“What about his second wife? Or is she his
third? Hell, I can’t keep up,” Savannah said.

“Being married doesn’t stop Quentin from
seeing other people,” LaShaun quipped.

“He’ll own a big part of a company you have
an interest in if his plan succeeds. If there’s history between you
two, some bad blood... That could be a problem.” Clarence rubbed
his chin and blinked behind his eyeglasses. “Of course you could
have me attend as a proxy. I have business in Houston, so it
wouldn’t be a problem at all.”

“Skip it, just sell the damn stock. I’ll
invest in something else,” LaShaun said. She wanted no connection
with Quentin Trosclair, not even a remote one.

“I’ll look into it and get back to you.
Goodbye, ladies.” Clarence gave a nod and signed off as though
eager to get to other business.

Savannah remained online. “How are you
doing?”

“Missing Chase, and ticked off that a
reporter showed up on my porch this morning. I hope that’s not a
trend. Could I get away with shooting one of ‘em? Well, shoot at
them. That should put the word out not to come on my property.”
LaShaun said.

“Hell to the double hell no. But on private
property, they do have to leave when you ask them to.”

“Okay, let me put a reminder in my
smartphone; don’t shoot the damn reporters. At least until after
Chase is elected Sheriff.” LaShaun laughed out loud when Savannah
rolled her eyes.

“I’m not going to be your lawyer in a
criminal matter again, LaShaun. So stay out of trouble. I have an
appointment in twenty minutes and I need to prepare.”

“Let’s do lunch next week sometime if you
have a break in your schedule,” LaShaun said. The friends agreed to
firm up meeting on Tuesday and signed off just as LaShaun’s
doorbell rang again. “That reporter is about to test my
self-control.”

LaShaun marched to the door and yanked it
open. Instead of the reporter, a tall slender blonde stood on her
front porch. She wore a yellow sweater twin set and brown tweed
skirt. Pearl stud earrings completed the wholesome look. The
conservative outfit didn’t disguise a great figure. Her only
indulgence seemed to be her hair, which she still wore long as she
probably had when she was in high school and college.

“I’m Allison Graham,” she blurted out and
blushed a deep pink.

“Hello Mrs. Graham,” LaShaun said.

“Good morning. Well, it’s almost afternoon
now, isn’t it? I’m sorry for showing up here without calling, but
it’s so hard for me to get away. I mean I’m so busy these days, and
I just wanted to...” Her voice trailed off and she looked around at
the azaleas and rose bushes. “You have a beautiful yard.”

“Thank you. Mrs. Graham, I--”

“Call me Allison. The police and district
attorney say that over and over when they call. ‘Mrs. Graham’ this
and ‘Mrs. Graham’ that. My husband is no help. He seems to think
this is some passing phase and he just won’t listen. He’s as bad as
Greg, and what about Sherri? That’s my ten year old. And...”
Allison burst into tears. She cried so hard her body shook.

LaShaun quickly unlocked the storm door and
opened it. “Mrs. Grah-- Allison, you need to calm down.”

“I can’t do this anymore. I-I just can’t,”
Allison wailed and covered her face with both hands.

“Come in so we can talk. I’m sure it can’t be
that bad.”

LaShaun gazed at her in dismay and wished
Savannah was there to help. LaShaun had no skill dealing with
emotionally over-wrought soccer moms. Not even those who suspected
one of their kids was possessed by Satan. She led the weeping woman
into her living room and sat her down on the sofa. Allison
continued to cry, though not as loudly. Fumbling with her purse,
she finally managed to find a few tissues, but those became a
sodden mess in no time. After a few seconds of patting her
shoulder, LaShaun tossed out the gentle approach. She went to her
bedroom and came back quickly with a box of tissues. LaShaun
snatched a wad from the box and handed them to her.

“Allison, snap out of it,” LaShaun said
sharply. “Falling apart won’t help you or your family. If your son
is out of control and your husband is out of touch they need you
more than ever.”

After a series of rapid gasps for air,
Allison nodded. She dropped her purse on the floor and put a hand
to her throat. Her mouth worked as though she wanted to speak but
couldn’t. LaShaun went to the kitchen, filled a glass of water and
came back in a matter of seconds. She sat next to Allison and
handed it to her.

“Thanks,” Allison said in a scratchy voice.
She sipped the water. After a few seconds more she put the glass
down on the coffee table. “I’m sorry for getting hysterical like
that. I’ve been on edge for so long it just... came out.”

“You’ve been through hell,” LaShaun said
quietly.

“I’m still there. To my husband’s family
appearance is everything. I mean look at me. I’m the picture of a
wholesome small town wife with a perfect small town family. I even
dress like a clone mass produced from a factory.” Allison wore a
grimace of distaste as she glanced down at her skirt and blouse.
“Sometimes I think there’s a label somewhere on my body that says,
‘white female, blonde, model number 81WF’.”

“Are you okay?” LaShaun eyed her closely for
signs of more hysterics.

Allison stared at LaShaun wide-eyed. “Lord, I
can’t believe I’m talking to you like this. Are you psychic like
they say, you know, have special powers?”

“Sometimes it’s easier to talk to strangers,
and you’ve pent up your feelings for weeks.”

Allison gave a bitter laugh. “No, for years.
I thought Jonathan and I were holding it together well enough. Our
marriage is... problematic. I suppose it was foolish to think the
kids wouldn’t notice.”

LaShaun felt a flush of heat on the back of
her neck. Her arms tingled. She could clearly “see” the true
picture of what those few words meant. The Graham’s “problematic
marriage” meant both had had several affairs over the years. Harsh
accusations, shouting matches and slamming doors played out like a
weird stage play inside LaShaun’s head. Allison startled her back
to the parlor and the present by touching her hand.

“I’ve tried taking Greg to several therapists
over the last two years. He won’t talk to them. Now they’re saying
he killed that boy Elliot and he raped Rebecca. It’s all lies of
course,” Allison’s protest sounded mechanical, rehearsed even. She
twisted the tissue in her hands to pieces.

“Greg has been keeping secrets from you,
getting in trouble at school. Do you believe he’s innocent?”
LaShaun cut her off with the second question when Allison opened
her mouth to speak.

A tear slid down Allison’s face. “I didn’t
want to get pregnant. Jonathan kept at me until I gave in. I wanted
to consider having a baby, but after I finished college. Greg was
an irritable baby, and I’m afraid I wasn’t very patient. I never
hurt him,” she added quickly and glanced at LaShaun.

“Go on,” LaShaun said.

“He always pulled in the opposite direction
on everything. Always rebelled on anything I tried to do for him.
It was like he knew I didn’t want a baby. That made me feel even
more guilty.”

LaShaun studied her for a time. “You indulged
him.”

“Yes, but not as much as Jonathan. He loves
having a son, a little mini-Jonathan. Greg looks a lot like his
father.” Allison shrugged as if that was a mystery to her.

“I think Greg looks a lot like you.”

Allison smiled. “When he was five, I realized
how much I loved that boy. I guess our battles kind of drew me to
him. Greg likes to go his own way no matter what anyone else says.
He didn’t get that kind of independence from me, I can tell you
that.”

“So what do you want from me?” LaShaun
asked.

“I’d like you to talk to Greg. He’s willing,”
Allison said quickly when LaShaun frowned.

“What does your husband say about it?”
LaShaun waited. She knew the answer when Allison glanced away.

“We’ll tell him later maybe.”

LaShaun looked through a window at the
expanse of freshly mown grass of her front yard. Beyond a set of
three magnolia trees she could see a car or two drive past on
Rougon Road. The Graham family seemed a potent mix of pent up
emotions, and none of them healthy. LaShaun knew what Chase would
say. Stay out of it, especially because of the criminal
investigation. When LaShaun turned around, Allison looked at her
expectantly.

“No, Mrs. Graham. I won’t talk to Greg. I’m
sure your son’s lawyer advises against it. My fiancé is a police
officer investigating the case. I can’t promise confidentiality or
anything close to it.”

“You talk it over with Deputy Broussard. With
our help he could break the case, and get elected. Our family has a
wide circle of influential friends. Some other person is
responsible.” Allison Graham’s voice lost its trembling weepy
quality. The tortured mother seemed to be replaced by a cold
realist, one more than willing to point the finger at someone
else.