Bayou Blue Page 2

  Hand going to my arm, to the burns, I wondered how life pulled us in such different directions that he could turn so far into darkness without me knowing. Without me having one clue.

  I folded and refolded the letter I received in the mail three days before the tragedy. Stained with tears and mottled with the oil of my hands, I knew the contents by heart. Randy’s all-capital handwriting scratched across the page.

  He’d asked for my help. He’d said he was scared. He said he’d explain when I got here. That was it. That was all Randy left me. That, and scars, both inside and out.

  I shoved the envelope back in my pocket. Rummaging in my purse, I pulled out a tissue and dabbed at the mascara with one hand and pulled the key out of the ignition with the other. The mascara just wouldn’t stay on down here. What with all the humidity and crying I did lately.

  Movement inside the manager’s office caught my eye. A pulled back curtain fluttered back into place and the click of the door lock signaled they knew. Even though I took care to shove my long auburn curls under a baseball cap, they recognized me.

  Trying to be here without causing them more pain or memories, I didn’t blame them for not wanting me around. I knew I’d be recognized eventually, but not five minutes after I drove into town.

  Looking down at my shaking hands, I railed at myself for being so cowardly. I did this for a living. I investigated things people wanted to stay hidden. Why was it then, so hard for me to do this? I could barely breathe through the fear squeezing my throat.

  “I’m sorry, Lord,” I whispered. “I don’t think I’m the right person to do this.”

  I wrapped my fingers around the ignition key. This was a mistake.

  “I thought you said you were leaving town, Riley.” Jake’s low drawl next to my opened window startled me.

  Gasping, I turned to face him as he leaned a hip on my fender. Dark hair, dark eyes, shadow of scruff along his angular jaw, Jake Ayers struck a formidable figure. He did not look pleased to see me. That thought made me sadder, more ill-at-ease here in this hostile situation.

  I thought I could count on at least one friendly face. I was wrong.

  I blamed myself for feeling hurt over his words last night, for caring that he didn’t think any more of me than everyone else out here. As a reporter I should have a thicker skin. So why did his disapproving look put me so on edge? I put on a brave face, the one I used to stare down threatening subjects of my reports. The face I hoped didn’t betray my pain.

  “No, you said I was leaving last night. I never agreed.” I tried to open my car door, but he blocked it with his hand and leaned into the window.

  He raised a single brow. “You might’ve mentioned that when I was waving goodbye.”

  “And have you march me onto a plane back to California? No thanks.”

  He looked at me for a beat, opened my car door, and extended his hand to help me out.

  I put my hand in his and flashed on the image of him that night; his hand reaching down. The rescue helicopter’s whirling blades above him as he scooped me up and ran with me away from the flames. The terror I’d felt flooded back and I jerked involuntarily.

  Jake frowned. “Sure you’re OK?”

  I forced a smile and nodded. Smoothing the front of my shirt with sweaty hands, I cleared my throat. “Yeah, I’m good.”

  He returned the nod, but his look matched the one from the night he plucked me out of the debris. I heard somewhere he used to be with a rescue team of some sort; that he’d volunteered to help that night.

  “You’re up to something, aren’t you?”

  Ignoring his question, I peeled my hat off, tossed it in the back, and tried to smooth my humidity-ravaged hair. “How do they know so fast, anyway? I just flew in last night. Did you announce it, or something?”

  “No, Riley. I tried to get you out of town quietly, if you remember.”

  “Well, how then?” I made a face. “I didn’t want to upset anyone.”

  “Do you really believe you can blend in somewhere?”

  Gathering my hair atop my head with one hand, I fanned my neck with the other. “What do you mean? I’m not even in my own car.”

  Looking like he meant to say more, Jake’s gaze wandered over my face. Then, he tipped his jaw down and peered back at the office from under the brim of his sheriff’s hat.

  “You stopped for gas over at the Snack Shack on your way back into the parish. Penny called her mother, who called her sister…you know how it goes.” He squinted down the road and then looked back at me. “The FBI just released the scene this afternoon, though. The reporters already left, but everybody knows…your brother stayed here.”

  No one uses Randy’s name.

  “I know. That’s why I flew down.”

  “That’s some source you have. I only got the call a few hours ago from the FBI.”

  “Yeah, well sources are my bread and butter.” I stared past Jake to the hotel manager’s office. “Can I go inside, then?”

  “This is going to cause problems,” He said quietly.

  “I understand that they’re in pain; that their loss is…” I struggled for words. “Their sorrow must be unfathomable.” My throat ached and my last words came out in a whisper. “I tried to stop him.”

  Jake took a step in front of me, blocking the view of me from the office window.

  “They know about his history, that you guys covered it up.”

  I took a step back, frustrated. “Randy was fifteen when that happened. That has nothing to do with…”

  Jake put his hand up, stopping my protest. “I know, but it is what it is, Riley. People in this kind of grief don’t use logic. They read things in the papers and then its truth in their eyes.”

  “Why didn’t anyone ask me? Why didn’t you tell them about—?”

  “About what? Your family had you lawyered up so fast I’m surprised the guy didn’t elbow his way into the emergency room to stop you from answering the surgeon. No one could talk to you, Riley. No one could even come and see you.”

  I watched the frustration roll across his features and wondered if he meant himself. Did he try to see me? Catching my thoughts before they got going, I stopped before they got to that place; before I wondered if he cared.

  And there was truth to what he said. My family’s lawyer arrived at the hospital within hours of the explosion. Our publicist followed the next day. They had to protect the Drake name. That was always the priority.

  I tried to guess who was in there watching me from the shadows. “I can’t help if they believe the lies in the papers,” I said quietly. “But, I know what happened that night, I have the burns to prove it.”

  Jake leaned in, his face inches from mine. “That’s not how I heard it. I heard you don’t remember that night at all.”

  He looked worried and frustrated at the same time. Like he wanted to talk, to sort things out, but something stopped him short of reaching out.

  I knew the feeling. Tension twisted my gut, but I turned. “I didn’t come here to argue with you.”

  I looked at the court order in my hands. Had it come to this? Two people who once cared about each other now hiding behind legal maneuvering? I hated this. I wished it could be different, more civil. Sighing, I held up a court order between us.

  “I have a right to my brother’s things.” I kept my voice even, like this whole scenario didn’t make me sick to my stomach. “That’s all I want. I’m not looking for a fight w– with anyone.”

  He didn’t look at it. Instead, his eyes searched mine, held them. “I know you have a right to his things, Riley. I would have packed them for you if you’d asked.”

  “I need to do this myself.”

  He shook his head, moved back from the car, looking across the roof as he stepped out of my way. “Just hurry up.”

  Taking a deep breath, I climbed out of the car and reached into the back seat for the two cardboard boxes I brought. I followed him along the side of the hotel.


  We passed dirt-brown doors evenly spaced and numbered, with peeling black and gold stickers. With no parking in front of the doors, I would have to haul Randy’s stuff back past the office. I hoped there wouldn’t be trouble.

  Nearing room G3, Jake put his arm out, his hand on the sidearm at his hip.

  The door hung from its hinges, the smell of urine fanned out from the doorway assaulting me.

  He shined his flashlight into the room then stepped back out.

  “They wrecked it,” he said quietly. “Nothing left.”

  Shaking my head, I took a step forward and peered into my brother’s room. The cardboard boxes fell from my hands to the dirty cement floor. I took in the room with teary eyes and clenched fists. “It’s only been hours. How…?”

  His books, torn pages scattered on the floor, looked trampled and wet. The urine stench floated in the room like a toxic miasma gagging me and forcing my hand to my mouth. Randy’s clothes, their shredded remains, tossed on the floor and furniture like dirty confetti. I looked over the broken remains of my brother’s life and shook from head to toe.

  “They p-peed on his things,” I whispered.

  “Riley…” Jake reached his hand out to me, but I stepped away.

  Turning slowly, I saw the wall over the door and froze. Red spray paint scrawled out what my brother meant to these people; who my brother was to the world.

  Murderer.

  My fingers found the corner of the envelope jutting out from my pocket and his desperate words flashed in my mind.

  I’m in over my head, sis. I don’t know how to stop this.

  Jake watched me silently, and I shoved the corner of the letter back down.

  “Why’d you come back here, Riley?” He asked. “Why do this to yourself?”

  I couldn’t tear my gaze from the violent accusation dripping down the wall.

  “Because I promised I would.”

  He looked at me, his expression perplexed. “They hate your family, Riley. They all do.”

  I nodded, but didn’t answer. It didn’t matter what they thought.

  I knew one true thing. I failed Randy before. I wouldn’t do it again. One way or another, I would make things right.

  3

  I staggered back, the stench and the accusation pushing the limits of my resolve. Jake’s hand went out again and this time I used it to steady myself. I wouldn’t pass out on this filthy floor.

  “Jake—” I stifled my gag reflex. Puking wasn’t an option. I was a professional. I walked murder crime scenes without a problem and…and…I was going to hurl. “Can we open a window, maybe?”

  Jake looked at me and cocked an eyebrow. “Maybe we should try this later, Riley.”

  “No, I need to get this done. I have to find a place to stay before it gets dark.”

  I kicked at a football-themed pillow on the floor. I made Randy that pillow when I was in high school. I recognized the little embroidered ‘R’ in the corner. I never knew he kept it.

  Jake’s dark brows knit together. “You’re not staying at the airport?”

  I looked up at him and shook my head. “No. With the harvest festival coming up, the jazz musicians and tourists took all the rooms in the parish. I could only get a room at the airport hotel for last night.”

  “When do you leave?”

  “Way to make me feel welcome, Sheriff.”

  “You know it’s not personal,” Jake said. “You just inspire heated feelings around here.”

  I patted under my eyes with my thumbs. “I don’t want to cause any more trouble, Jake, but I – I need Randy’s stuff. It’s all I have left of…of my brother.”

  I hated the squeaky quality of my voice under stress.

  Jake sighed, pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, and shook it in front of my face. “You look like a raccoon, Riley.”

  I took it. “Thanks.”

  Looking around, I realized that despite the mess, there wasn’t much in the suite. I went around the living room, and then the bedroom.

  Jake leaned against the door jam, arms crossed over his chest, watching me. I wondered how many bayou beauties he’d caught with those deep eyes and crooked smile. My guess was plenty. Despite the time we spent together while searching for Randy, I realized I didn’t know that much about him. I wished I did. I wished I knew why I felt so drawn to him.

  I knew he was a spiritual man and that intrigued me. I didn’t grow up around that. Logic and argument are the cornerstones of my family’s belief system. But I saw in Jake the kind of quiet strength and peace that I hadn’t seen in them; that I didn’t quite understand. His question broke me out of my thoughts.

  “You come for anything in particular?” He asked.

  “Uh, well, Randy used to write. He had a bunch of notebooks with short stories and stuff.”

  “The Feds took them,” Jake said. “In case they had any hidden messages, I suppose.”

  “What about his drawings? Anything hidden in them?” I snapped.

  Jake pulled away from the wall, depositing his hat on his head as he strode towards me. “I didn’t do this, Riley.” His dark eyes bored into mine as he leaned over me. “Now I don’t want to run you out of town like most people here, but I don’t want you to hang out here all day, either.”

  Jake didn’t seem to mind getting in my space and the feel of him so close made me nervous. I reacted how I always did, with fake toughness designed to mask how I felt inside.

  I took a step forward and flicked his hat up with my index finger. “You’re free to leave, you know. I won’t tackle you if you try to make it out the door.”

  He pushed his hat back down, a slight grin pulling at his mouth. “That’s assault, Riley.”

  I turned from him and picked up the pillow. “Yeah, well, put it on my tab.”

  “That’s the problem with you Drakes,” Jake muttered. “Always thinking the rules don’t apply to you.”

  Dropping the pillow in the box by the front door, I turned to face him. “What are you talking about?”

  “You’re family hasn’t been cooperating from day one, Riley. Don’t think everyone here doesn’t know it.” His voice, even and low, sent my stomach flopping. “There’s something going on. A cover-up, or something like it. The whole parish is sure of it.”

  “I cooperated.” I held my injured arms up in front of Jake. “I’ve never stopped cooperating.”

  Jake broke his gaze from mine. “Not having information to hand over isn’t quite the same.”

  I stared back at him with a hurt look.

  Something flashed across his features. Something like regret, but he turned before he spoke again. “Your family might’ve paid to ease the suffering of the people of my parish instead of spending it on spinning the facts.”

  He spoke so quietly that it took a few moments for the sting of his words to set in.

  “I haven’t been spinning anything. I haven’t been to work since that night. In fact, I’m fielding angry calls from my boss.” I pointed to my chest. “I may be a reporter, but I’m not doing this.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” he grumbled and wandered back to the door to look out.

  “Then what did you mean, Jake?”

  “Ce n'est rien,” Jake said and kicked the second box over to me. “Never mind, you just finish up.”

  Aggravated, I grabbed it and walked into Randy’s bedroom to look for anything to take home to my mom. “There isn’t much,” I said mostly to myself.

  “Faire mal à,” Jake’s voice, edged with steel, pulled my gaze back to the front door.

  “What do you mean, trouble?” The hairs on my arms stood on end. “Jake?”

  Hand at his hip, thumb unsnapping the holster strap, Jake looked ready to draw his weapon as he leaned out the doorway. “You opted for the insurance on that rental car, right?”

  “What?” I ran to the door but Jake caught me by the waist. He wouldn’t let me go out. “What are they doing? Get your hands off of me!”

&nbs
p; He swung me back into the room and let go, sending me stumbling to catch my balance.

  “Quit man-handling me,” I spat.

  Peering out the door, he glanced at me momentarily as I straightened and favored him with some choice words.

  “One of your admirers is looking for you.”

  I held my breath trying to hide the fear. Jutting out my chin, I squared my shoulders. “I’m not hiding in here. If someone wants to say something, then let them.”

  I tried to look out the window but the angle was wrong. I only saw gray gravel and trees.

  Jake rolled his eyes. “You are hiding in here until I tell you different. I’m not dealing with a shot reporter on top of everything else.”

  I stopped craning my neck. “Shot?”

  “Well, look on the bright side,” Jake said. “At least they’re taking out their frustrations on the car and not you.”

  “You’re kidding! Why would somebody threaten me with a gun?”

  I skirted around Jake’s body, pushed through the door, and stopped short. A man stood with a rifle to his shoulder aiming at the car. His red baseball cap, faded jeans, and sleeveless flannel shirt screamed local. I jumped when he blew out the driver’s side window, my hands flying up to cover my ears.

  He stepped back, shot out the tires, and the rest of the windows. I gritted my teeth as the blasts rocked through me.

  “Go back inside, Riley,” Jake said quietly when the shooting stopped.

  I nodded dumbly and went back into the doorway.

  The crazy man with the rifle let out a pain-filled howl.

  I bit back the cry in my own throat. I knew what sorrow like that felt like; to wail so long and so loud that your voice gave out.

  The man, now out of bullets, held the rifle by the barrel and slammed it down over and over again like a crazed lumberjack. His chubby arms and face jiggled with each blow. Shouting incoherently, I could see the saliva fly out in slimy threads.

  Fear rose in my chest, crowding out my breath. I huddled under Randy’s curtains and watched with wide eyes.

  “Stay here and stay quiet,” Jake whispered.