Relentless Pursuit: A Novel (Secrets of Roux River Bayou) (19 page)

Colette smiled impishly, her round brown eyes animated. “Zoe said business has never been better since you mentioned Zoe B’s on the news the other night.”

“Kernel Poppy’s is thriving too,” he said. “But a lot of eating places are really hurting, especially any place with a buffet of any kind—or a salad bar.”

“Are you any closer to finding whoever’s responsible for this mess?”

Jude sighed. “Not an inch. I don’t even know if it’s an individual wacko or an organized group of them.”

“What about Adam Marcotte?”

“Nah, he’s a real altar boy. I thought he was too good to be true, but he’s the real deal. There’s nothing in his background that leads me to believe he could do something like this. On a scale of one to ten, my interest in pursuing him as a suspect is zero.”

Colette locked her arms around his neck. “So, Sheriff Prejean, you haven’t got zip?”

“Nada. Zero. Zilch.”

“Remind me what you
do
know.”

“We know that a dark-haired male, either Hispanic or Caucasian, average height and build, approached the food bar shortly before it opened and lingered in front of the chocolate pudding, then stirred it and hurried off. We believe he’s our perp. But we don’t know whether he was working alone. No one has claimed responsibility.” Jude pursed his lips. “I can’t remember whether or not I told you, but the cyanide in the Gaudry water was ten times the lethal dose for an adult male. And the cyanide in the pudding was only one-half the lethal dose.”

“Is that significant?”

Jude shrugged. “It’s unclear. Dr. Jensen of DHH concluded it would be easy to measure and inject a lethal dose of cyanide into a sixteen-ounce bottle of water. But trying to achieve the same lethal effect in pudding would be dicey, especially since the perp would have had to know the exact capacity of the container and make an educated guess at what constitutes a
usual
serving of pudding. At any rate, DHH concluded that the cyanide was intended to take out as many people as possible and not any individual person.”

Colette shuddered. “No matter how many years I’ve stood by you in law enforcement, I never can get used to the creepy fact that there are people out there who just delight in killing.”

“Dr. Jensen thinks we’re dealing with a homegrown variety of terrorist, but no group has come forward.”

“Jude, the people I run into are starting to think it could be the work of Muslim extremists. I know Dr. Jensen thinks they’re homegrown. What do
you
think?”

“I don’t know yet. It’s someone wicked enough to target the community at large. And with this many victims and all this media hype, I’m guessing it’s far from over.”

Chapter 20

Emily sat on the back deck at Langley Manor, enjoying a bagel and a glass of orange juice, amused at a bobcat that popped up in the groundcover on the forest’s edge, pouncing on some unwary prey.

Vanessa came outside, dressed in her pink terry bathrobe and carrying a cup of coffee. “You’re up early for a young lady who doesn’t have to work today.”

“Did you forget the funeral for Chance’s parents is today?”

“I didn’t forget.” Vanessa set her coffee on the table and sat in a rocker. “How’s he doing?”

“Not great. Plus his aunt Reba is driving him a little crazy, but I think they’ve found a middle ground. Frankly, she’s been invaluable at keeping track of family and making sure there’s food there for all those people. I’m going to be working with her to knock out a long list of things that have to be done.”

“I thought you said there was a family attorney handling matters.”

Emily nodded. “He’s handling the will. Chance’s parents left everything to him. They had a healthy investment portfolio and were almost totally debt-free. We don’t know if inheriting money will change his eligibility for a full scholarship. But there are practical details to do while all that’s pending, like canceling his parents’ credit cards. Getting utilities switched to his name. Closing out their bank accounts and opening one in his name. Plus cleaning out his parents’ closets—and the garage. Aunt Reba knows what needs to be done. I’m following her lead.”

Vanessa didn’t say anything.

Emily sighed. “What now?”

“I don’t have any new advice,” Vanessa said. “Are you sure you’re not jumping the gun on some of the details? Does Chance even plan to keep the house?”

“He doesn’t know what he wants to do yet. The house and the cars are paid for, so once they’re titled in his name, he’ll probably keep them until he knows what he wants to do. I think it’d be good if he decided to wait and deal with it next summer—after he’s had time to grieve. He might even decide to move to Boston.”

“Was he raised in Les Barbes?”

Emily nodded. “But without his parents, I don’t know how strong his roots are. I don’t think moving to the East Coast would be a culture shock, since he’s already gone to school there for five years.”

“This is a lot for you to get involved in.”

“Not really.”

“What’s your work schedule this week?”

“I’m not going to shirk my duties, Vanessa.” Emily softened her tone. “I don’t go in again until tomorrow at three. I’m hoping to get a lot done between now and then. I’m pretty sure his aunt Reba won’t stay much beyond that, so we have a lot to accomplish.”

Vanessa took a sip of coffee. “What then?”

“What do you mean?”

“Are you single-handedly going to take responsibility for Chance?”

“I’m planning to keep him company and be there if he wants to talk. Not a whole lot else unless he asks for my help.”

“Do you think that’s going to make for a relaxing summer?” Vanessa said. “Because you need to wind down so you can gear up for this next school year.”

“Unfortunately, big sister, tragedy is no respecter of persons or agendas. I think my first responsibility as a Christian and as a friend is to be there for Chance. Everything else will take care of itself.”

“What about your nephew, Emily? Carter’s dying to spend time with you.”

“I’m not going to neglect Carter. I’ve got all sorts of fun things planned. But he’s going to have to share my time. We’ll work it out.”

“Not if you’re at Chance’s every minute you’re not working.”

Emily counted to ten and sat quietly for a few more seconds and then looked squarely at Vanessa. “That was unfair. His parents were murdered over the weekend. That pretty much trumps everything else. It’s been all of a few days that I’ve been distracted with Chance’s situation. You make it sound like I’m obsessed or something.”

“I already told you how I feel. I can’t tell you what to do. I doubt if you’d listen anyway. But Carter adores you and wants your attention. He’s getting older, and that may not always be the case. Once he’s in middle school, he’ll probably choose to pal around with his friends over family. Your best days with him are going to be now.”

“I get it,” Emily said. “I love Carter and don’t need to be told to spend time with him. Truthfully, you’re the one being insensitive. What happened to Chance was devastating. If it had happened to me, I’d like to think my friends would be there for me.”

“The operative word, Emily, is
friends
—plural. You seem to be the
only
friend Chance has. You can’t do it all.”

“What is your problem? I told you I was working with his aunt Reba on the practical matters, and his attorney is doing all the legal stuff. Chance needs help as much as Carter needs to play miniature golf. So get off my case, Vanessa!”

Emily clamped her eyes shut in the silence that followed, in an effort not to say something she would be sorry for.
Lord, I’m not going to let Vanessa lay a guilt trip on me. Help me find time to do all the right things.

Zoe unlocked the front door at Zoe B’s and waited as the paperboy ran over to her with two copies of Wednesday’s
Les Barbes Ledger
. She went back inside and turned on the open sign, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and brown-sugar cinnamon buns filling her senses.

A few seconds later, Father Sam came inside, wearing his cleric shirt and black pants, a handsome contrast to his snow-white hair.

“Good morning, Zoe, dear. And how are you holding up?”

“Not great. I’m trying to gear up for Domi’s funeral this morning. I can’t think of anywhere I would rather not go.”

“I hear you,” Father Sam said. “I’m not looking forward to it either. How are the boy’s parents doing?”

“Better than they should be. Their faith is holding them together. Well, that and lots of friends, family, and prayer.”

“Monsignor Robidoux is doing the funeral Mass.” Father Sam arched his eyebrows. “He’s excellent with eulogies.”

Zoe nodded.

The front door opened again, and Hebert came in wearing the brown polyester double-knit suit he had bought at a secondhand store and saved for weddings and funerals.

“
Bonjour, mes amis
.” Hebert went over to the table by the window and sat across from Father Sam. “
Comment ça va
?”

“Not that great.” Father Sam nodded toward Zoe. “We’re feeling somber about Dominic’s funeral.”

“Everybody sad about dat
p’tit boug
,” Hebert said.

Zoe blinked the stinging from her eyes. “Domi was a special little boy. He was remarkably compassionate and unselfish for a four-year-old. I will always wonder what he would have grown up to be, had he lived.”

Hebert patted her hand. “He so sweet dat God Almighty want him now.”

“But why?” Zoe said. “Wouldn’t the world have been a better place with Domi in it? And why did he have to die of cyanide poisoning?”

Father Sam looked up at her, the empathy in his hazel eyes magnified in his thick lenses. “His thoughts are not our thoughts.”

“At least da poison took him real quick,” Hebert said. “Da boy didn’t suffer.”

Zoe sighed. “But his parents are suffering terribly.”

“Dis is true. His parents are
mal pris.”

“Stuck in a bad place is right,” Father Sam said. “And they’ll be there for a long time. Grieving is especially difficult for parents who’ve lost a child.”

The bell on the front door jingled, and Zoe glanced over just as Tex came in the eatery. He was dressed in dark khaki trousers, a navy sport coat, and a pale blue shirt.

“Hey, everybody.” He raised his hand. “Y’all beat me this mornin’.”

Tex came over and hugged Zoe, the scent of his Old Spice wafting under her nose. “How’re you holdin’ up, Missy?”

“So-so,” Zoe said. “It’s going to be a hard day. I’m eager to get it behind us.”

“Well, one thing’s for sure.” Tex rested his hand on Zoe’s shoulder. “We’re gonna help you through it.”

Savannah came over to the table with the coffeepot, all the expression gone from her face. “You’re not going to believe this. Rick Paquet, the father of the little girl who died after the camping trip, had a heart attack.”

“From the cyanide?” Tex said.

Savannah shrugged. “It must’ve been a factor. The man’s only thirty-nine.”

“Is he alive?” Zoe said.

“He is. According to the news, he’s stable. His wife collapsed and had to be sedated. Poor thing.”

Zoe sighed. “Do you suppose she’ll have to go through her daughter’s funeral without her husband there? Wouldn’t that be the ultimate slap in the face?”

“I heard that Caissy Paquet’s kindergarten class is going to sing at her funeral,” Savannah said. “That should be a tearjerker.”

Zoe pulled out the chair next to Father Sam and sat. “I can’t handle this today. I only have room in my heart for one dead child and one set of grieving parents. I can’t take on anything else.”

Jude sat at the conference table in his office with Deputy Chief Aimee Rivette, Chief Detective Gil Marcel, and Police Chief Casey Norman, discussing the details for the two funerals today at Saint Catherine’s.

“Sounds like y’all have got your people lined up about right,” Jude said. “Shouldn’t be difficult to manage the traffic flow at Saint Catherine’s, especially since the Corbin funeral’s at ten thirty, and the Durand funeral isn’t until two.”

Aimee nodded. “The Durands are having a private burial at the mausoleum before the service, so we won’t have to deal with escorting the congregation there after the funeral. Dominic Corbin’s service will involve the traditional funeral procession to the cemetery, and we’re thinking there will be hundreds lined up along the route to pay their respects.”

Jude took a sip of coffee. “What’s being done to manage the crowd of mourners at the church?”

“Monsignor Robidoux has arranged for the funerals to be broadcast in the high school gym,” Aimee said, “and in the chapel. But we think there will be an overflow of people milling about outside with the media. We’ll have officers in place for crowd control. We’re not really looking for any problems. The mood should be somber. But we’ll be prepared for anything.”

Jude looked across the table at Chief Norman. “Casey, I can’t thank you enough for all the help you’ve given us—and without much recognition. You’ve let me take the lead and have been an invaluable partner. I really appreciate it.”

Casey flashed a crooked grin. “Glad to oblige, Sheriff. Want to guess which of us is sleeping better at night?”

Jude chuckled. “You sly devil. There
is
a method to your madness. Listen, before we disperse, I should mention Rick Paquet, father of the little girl who died after the camping trip. I’m sure y’all heard he had a heart attack this morning.”

The three nodded.

“Thankfully, he’s expected to recover. The death toll stands at eight. Five still in the hospital. We’ve done everything we know to get the word out to the public that Gaudry water is potentially deadly and not to drink it.”

Casey tented his fingers. “I think every smorgasbord and food bar in town has closed its doors or switched to menu service only. That certainly cuts down on the potential risk of someone pulling this stunt again.”

“It does,” Jude said. “But we need to keep stressing that the general population has to stay vigilant. Since no group has come forward to claim responsibility for this, it’s possible that the man on the security tape is working alone or with a partner. And if he’s looking for attention, all the media hype might just egg him on to strike again.”

“That’s a terrifying thought,” Aimee said.

Jude nodded. “But isn’t that the whole point—keeping people terrified? I hate giving the creep air time, but it’s important for the public not to get complacent.”