Routine questioning. Since when was being questioned in a murder investigation routine? LaShaun remembered the first time she’d been under the white hot light of suspicion. She’d done Momon Odette proud back then. Not once did she show fear or even the least bit of nervousness. But she’d been younger then, more arrogant that she’d taken the right path. Until the enormity of what she’d set in motion slapped her back to reality. Despite what she’d thought in her youthful arrogance, LaShaun had not been in control of anything. Not Quentin, not his powerful grandfather Claude Trosclair, not the events that swirled around her. Not even her own decisions. The shock and fear that came with this realization sent her running. Away from her grandmother, the past and Louisiana. Now she was back.
LaShaun felt a shiver of dread start at the base of her spine. Had she once again let loose something deadly and killed Rita? She fought to maintain control as curious eyes observed her from all sides. These weren’t ordinary glances. The men and women stealing glances her way were trained to dig out the truth, to see through lies and subterfuge. Still LaShaun had no worries in that area. They couldn’t piece together what had happened by observing LaShaun. Because she didn’t know. That fact scared her more than any cop ever could.
Sheriff Triche strode toward her. His slight paunch strained the khaki shirt of his uniform so much the bottom button seemed close to popping off. Mable Arceneaux, his top female deputy, was close behind. Deputy Arceneaux nodded to LaShaun once and gestured for her to follow. They walked down a hallway to an interview room. Drab gray walls and cold metal furniture matched the mood perfectly.
“Have a seat, Ms. Rousselle,” Sheriff Triche said unnecessarily, but being old school he was ever the southern gentleman.
“Thanks,” LaShaun replied, again unnecessary since she had little choice but to comply. Yet she would go along with the polite game.
“Can I get you anything?” Deputy Arceneaux spoke up. “We got bottled water and soda in the machine.”
“Water would be nice. My throat gets dry when I’m being interrogated.” LaShaun unbuttoned her jean jacket and crossed her legs.
Ignoring LaShaun’s remark Sheriff Triche gave a slight nod to indicate Deputy Arceneaux could leave. “Thanks for bein’ cooperative. Can’t say the same for your cousin Azalei or Quentin Trosclair.”
“They won’t talk, huh?” LaShaun calculated what Triche intended by telling her that.
“Once they get their lawyers lined up, yeah. They’ll be happy to come in for a chat.” Sheriff Triche gave a grunt to indicate what he thought of that.
“Guess they’re smarter than me.” LaShaun shrugged.
“I really doubt that,” Sheriff Triche replied. His thin mouth slid sideways in a crooked grin briefly. Then he was serious again.
Deputy Arceneaux returned with a bottle of spring water and put it down in front of LaShaun. “Here you go.” Then she stood next to the door about six feet away. Her arms hung down loosely. LaShaun figured the deputy was ready for anything.
“Appreciate it,” LaShaun replied. She unscrewed the top and took a sip. “Now you wanted ask me some questions.”
“Right when did you last see Rita?” Sheriff Triche.
“The day before.” LaShaun could not bring herself to complete the sentence with “before she was killed”.
“What did you talk about?” Sheriff Triche nodded encouragement.
“Our grandmother, her assets and some family drama.” LaShaun glanced at Deputy Arceneaux then back at the sheriff. She was sure they already knew the answers to these questions.
“Family drama as in over Momon Odette’s money?” Sheriff Triche rested both elbows on the metal table between them.
“Yes. Typical greedy family mess. Well, our family isn’t all that typical, but you know what I mean.” LaShaun brushed a stray tendril of hair from her cheek.
“No, spell it out for me,” the sheriff said.
“As usual nobody thought they were getting what they deserved. Momon Odette named Rita as the manager of her assets.”
Deputy Arceneaux cleared her throat and Sheriff Triche nodded slowly. “That must have rubbed you the wrong way. I mean you was always close to your grandmother. Her favorite.”
“Rita and I were like sisters growing up. I didn’t mind that at all. Besides we were co-managers of the estate. Rita had more control, but like I said that didn’t matter to me.”
“Still legend has it that your grandmother is rich. Got lots of valuable antiques, land and money from the old ones.” Sheriff Triche repeated the widely circulated stories that had been told for years.
“My grandmother was always good with money.” LaShaun smiled at the sheriff and his deputy.
“So you didn’t fight with Rita?” Sheriff Triche leaned forward as he asked the question.
LaShaun allowed her smile to fade. “Yes, we did. Rita and other members of the family wanted to sell some of the most valuable property. This is against Momon’s wishes. But we got past that, made up. That was how we ended our last conversation.” LaShaun’s throat tightened at the last sentence. She would never see her cousin again.
“Anybody else there?” Mable Arceneaux put in. “I mean during this conversation.”
“No. We were alone in her townhouse. I left and went home. My grandmother suffered a stroke that evening,” LaShaun said quietly.
“Yes, terrible thing. How is she today?” Sheriff Triche asked.
“No change,” LaShaun replied. She felt tense and irritable suddenly. What she wanted most was to see Momon Odette. “Is that it?”
“Do you know of anyone who might have been angry with Rita or had a grudge against her?”
“I’ve been in LA for several years. I don’t know much about her friends or the men in her life.” LaShaun threw in the last bit about friends or lovers to get them off her family. Not that she cared about protecting them, but she wanted to distract Triche. That way she could deal with them first.
“You mean like Quentin Trosclair,” Deputy Arceneaux said.
LaShaun’s train of thought screeched to a halt. She stared at the deputy. “What did you say?”
“Rita was having an affair with Quentin. They spent a lot of time going on trips to Houston, Baton Rouge, even went on a long weekend to Jamaica.”
“But that can’t be right. Rita and Quentin?” LaShaun shook her head to clear it.
Deputy Arceneaux nodded slowly. “They’ve been seen together. Last trip was a few weeks ago.”
“Are you still friendly with Quentin?" Sheriff Triche raised a bushy eyebrow at LaShaun.
Had she not been so shaken LaShaun might have laughed at the euphemism. “No. We haven’t been ‘friendly’ for a very long time. Now if you’ll excuse me I have to go.”
“Planning to ask Quentin what’s up with sleeping with both your cousins. Yeah, we know he’s doin’ Azalei, too.” Deputy Arceneaux was younger and more direct than her boss.
Sheriff Triche winced at the blunt description. “Deputy Arceneaux, please. Ms. Rousselle has been through a lot. I’m sure this is all a shock to her.”
LaShaun gave a short, harsh laugh empty of amusement. “Quentin sleeping around is hardly a shock. And they’re grown folks. If they wanted to indulge in a freaky love triangle then whatever. I have to make arrangements for my grandmother’s care and handle her business affairs.”
“Which all falls to you now that Rita is gone,” Deputy Arceneaux said.
“My grandmother gave me a generous gift years ago so I don’t need the money. But yes, I’m now in control. When you have more routine questions you know where to find me.”
“Yeah, but don’t leave town just yet,” Deputy Arceneaux tossed back.
Before LaShaun could answer Sheriff Triche spoke up. “Of course we can’t stop you from leaving. That’s just a request.” He shot a sharp glance at the deputy.
“Yes, I know. And your so-called request wasn’t necessary. I’m going to stay in Beau Chene as long as my grandmother needs me. By the way, you could have just asked me for a DNA sample. The old 'offer the suspect something to drink' trick is obvious. About as obvious as that lame good cop-bad cop act you two just put on. See ya.”
LaShaun slung her purse over one shoulder and went to the door of the interview room. She gazed at Deputy Arceneaux who made no move to stop her. As she walked own the hall Deputy Chad Gautreaux appeared from a doorway and fell in step beside her.
“Might as well get used to this place. I have a feeling you’ll be back here a lot. Until we catch you, I mean the murderer.” Gautreaux bared his teeth in what was supposed to be a scary smile.
“Good luck with that. From what I hear the most you’ve ever caught is a cold,” LaShaun shot back.
A few deputies passing smothered their laughter when Gautreaux glared at them. “Like I said, you’ll be back.”
LaShaun didn’t look at him as she walked out of the station. Once in the parking lot she saw Lance sitting in his sheriff’s cruiser. He looked at her over his sunglasses then drove away. LaShaun followed her hunch and drove to her grandmother’s house. Once there she parked, went inside long enough to throw her purse on the hall table then headed out the back door to the woods. She walked down the path to the clearing near the family cemetery.
Winds whispered through the leaves, but LaShaun ignored the messages. The rustling grew more insistent until words came clearly.
“Why do you run from me? I have always loved and cared for you. No one will hurt you. No one.” A distinctly male form shimmered into an outline in a dark shaded spot beneath a canopy of hundred year old oak trees. LaShaun gasped and started toward it.
“I’m here.”
LaShaun spun around to find Lance standing on the path. She looked back at the shaded spot beneath the old oak. The shape was gone.
“You okay?” Lance came to her and touched her right arm.
His solid presence seemed to shake LaShaun out of a dream. She would deal with this spirit, this loa or whatever it was later. She turned back to face one of her human adversaries.
“So what do you want?” she snapped.
Episode 14
