Faye was still looking at the messages when Nat returned to the table and sat down. "What do you think Kyle is trying to tell you?"
"I think he's trying to help me solve his murder."
"Oh, Natty--"
Nat cut her off by saying the words that neither of them wanted to hear. “There's a killer living in Bellerose."
Faye looked a little sick. "My God."
"The man who murdered my husband and son is still out there. He's killed before. And he's going to kill again."
"Brandon Bastille," Faye said hollowly. "That's why you've been asking so many questions about his father."
"That child did not drown in that bayou alone."
"But the parish coroner ruled it an accidental drowning. The newspaper was all over that story. How on earth could the police and the coroner be wrong about something like that?"
"I don't know. They're human. They make mistakes."
"Honey, if you believe that's what happened, maybe you should involve the police. Tell Alcee Martin everything you just told me." She picked up the notes. "Show him these."
"What would I tell him, Faye? That I hear voices inside my head? That people from beyond the grave send me messages? That I'm communicating with my dead son? Come on. He was there the night I slit my wrists. He already thinks I'm unstable. If I tell him I'm talking to dead people, he'll think I'm a raving lunatic." She picked up the legal pad and turned it so Faye could see it.
Going to kill hem. In big danger. Help him.
Jason Larue. Find him mommy. The bad man coming.
I’m scared!
"Jason LaRue? Jean and Paulette's boy?" Faye raised her eyes to Nat's. "What does it mean?"
"The only way I can interpret this is as some kind of warning."
"You mean Jason LaRue is in danger?"
"How would you interpret it?"
For the first time, Faye looked more afraid than skeptical. "Nat, if there's another child on this killer's list and you know about it, you have to take it to the police."
There was a part of her that knew her friend was right. But Faye wasn't the one who'd spent seven hours being questioned for a crime she hadn't committed. She wasn't the one who'd been locked in a cell like an animal while her mind had slowly unraveled.
"I can't.” Rising. Nat strode to the living room and picked up her purse and keys.
Faye trailed her. "What are you going to do?"
"I'm going to warn the LaRues.”
"Honey. you don't even know who the killer is."
But Nat was already halfway to the door. "I've got to do something."
"You can't just walk into Jean and Paulette's home and tell them their son is about to be killed. Do you have any idea how crazy that sounds?"
"Of course I do! It sounds insane. But what else can I do? Keep my mouth shut and let it happen? Do I want a child's death on my conscience? Faye, of all the things that could happen, I think that's the one that would push me over the edge."
"Honey, I think we need to think this through."
''There's no time." Nat tried to go around her, but Faye countered and stayed solidly in her way. "Get out of my way, Faye, or I'll go right over you."
"Are you forgetting the history between you and Jean?"
"I haven't forgotten." Nat would never forget. Jean LaRue was a prosecutor with the St. Tammany Parish District Attorney's office. He was the man who'd taken the case to a grand jury and tried to get her indicted for the murders of her husband and son. She'd always suspected he'd done so under intense pressure from the Ratcliffe family--namely Elliott Ratcliffe--but he'd done a damn good job of helping to finish off what was left of her life.
"If you're not going to listen to reason, then I'm going with you." Whirling away, Faye snagged her bag from the sofa.
The last thing Nat wanted to do was confront Jean LaRue alone. But her conscience wouldn't let her involve Faye any more deeply. "I can't let you come with me."
“Why not?"
"Because if I get arrested, I'm going to need you to bail me out of jail."
Chapter 19
The LaRues lived on a quiet street on the nice side of Bellerose, just two blocks from the historic St. Tammany Parish Courthouse. Nestled among magnolias and live oaks, the stately colonial looked like the feature home in Southern Living magazine. Dormant azaleas formed a lush border around the front porch where white wicker furniture beckoned one to sit and drink sweet tea. The ruler-straight row of crepe myrtles that grew along the sidewalk still held their fuchsia blooms left over from summer. In the driveway a big Lincoln Navigator SUV was parked next to a sleek little Lexus.
Paulette and Jean LaRue were Bellerose's crème de la crème of the upper crust. As a prosecutor, Jean had earned a reputation for being tough on crime. Paulette had been a journalist and news anchor in New Orleans before marrying Jean and moving to Bellerose some fifteen years earlier. Last Nat had heard, she was beading up the Louisiana Philanthropic Association, a charity that raised funds to house the homeless in some of the state's most economically depressed areas. They had two children, Jason, six, and Sheralee, who was eight. A perfect marriage, a perfect home, two perfect children.
Four perfect lives about to be shattered.
Nat got out of the Mustang and took the stone path toward the house. Double gas lamps flickered on either side of intricately carved cypress doom. Through the sidelight, she could see that the lights were on inside. Not giving herself time to debate, she crossed to the doors and rang the bell.
A moment later the door swung open. Paulette LaRue was holding a cordless phone to her ear, smiling at something the person on the other end of the line had said. Wearing cream-colored slacks and a short-sleeved red sweater, she looked pretty and content. A woman without a care in the world. Nat knew firsthand just how quickly the illusion could be snatched away.
Paulette's smile fell the instant she recognized Nat. "I’ll call you back,” she said into the phone and set it on the console table. Her eyes cooled to just below freezing when they landed on Nat. "What do you want?"
During the short drive from her house, Nat had tried to come up with a way to approach the LaRues without alarming them unduly--or sounding like a lunatic. But for the life of her she hadn't been able to devise a plausible angle that would allow her to save face and still get her message across. The possibility that she had somehow misinterpreted the warning from Kyle never left her mind. Twice, she'd almost turned around and driven home and left things to Fate. Twice, she'd realized there was no way she could turn her back on these people, knowing what could happen if she did.
"Mrs. LaRue. Hi, I'm sorry to bother you so late."
"Just tell me what you want, or I'm going to have to ask you to leave. I don't think it's appropriate for you to be here, Ms. Jennings."
Nat had known she wouldn't be welcomed. The woman standing before her believed she was a monster capable of murdering her own child. Trying not to think about that, she took a fortifying breath. "I know this is going to sound strange, and I do not mean to alarm you, but . . . are your children home?"
"What?"
Nat tried to smile to reassure her, but didn't think she managed. "I was . . . just down the street and thought I saw your boy--Jason--talking to a stranger. There was an old car pulled up next to him. I thought the car looked kind of suspicious, so I thought I'd stop in and let you know, so you could check on him and make sure everything's all right."
Paulette's eyes flicked down the front of her, and Nat realized she'd noticed the blood on her T-shirt from the bloody nose she'd had earlier. Her eyes narrowed. "What are you talking about? You saw Jason? When?"
"I think it was Jason. He was right down the street just a few minutes ago. The guy in the car looked a little shady. I just thought you might want to check it out."
For the first time, impatience and annoyance entered her expression. "I don't know what you're up to, Ms. Jennings, but you did not see my son."
"Are you sure?
The little guy looked just like him." Nat held her hand up to her chest "About this high. Brown hair . . .
"My son is in the hospital. He's having an appendectomy. I stopped by the house to pick up some pajamas and toys for him."
Going to kill hem. In big danger. Help him.
Nat jolted when the words flickered in her mind's eye. The utter certainty that she was not wrong about the boy being in danger pressed into her like a physical force. But now that she'd been caught in a lie, she didn't know how to get through to this woman without alarming her.
"Look, Mrs. LaRue, I don't mean to alarm you, but I think you ought to check on your son."
"Check on him?" For the first time, the woman looked startled. "What is that supposed to mean?"
"Just to make sure he's safe."
"Safe? What are you talking about? Why are you saying that?" But she was already reaching for the phone.
"Please, don't be upset."
Paulette's face was red, her eyes revealing alarm and anger. She punched numbers into the phone with a shaking hand. "Jean!" she cried over her shoulder. "Jean!"
The last thing Nat wanted was a confrontation with Jean LaRue. Three years ago he'd been ruthless in his quest to get her indicted for a crime she hadn't committed. He hadn't pulled any punches in attacking her, and his tactics had played a major role in the ruination of her reputation.
"Mrs. LaRue, please try not to get upset--"
"Don't tell me not to get upset." The other woman began pacing the foyer. clutching the phone, her glare never leaving Nat. "How can I not get upset when you barge in here, intimating that something has happened to my son?"
"What's going on here?"
Nat looked past Paulette to see Jean LaRue striding toward them, his expression leery and decidedly unfriendly. "Paulette, what's she doing here?" he demanded, his gaze sweeping from his wife to Nat.
Paulette clutched her husband's ann. "I'm calling the hospital," she said.
"The hospital? What happened?"
She pointed at Nat. "She claims something happened to Jason."
"What?" He shot Nat a killing look, his eyes filled with anger and disdain and maybe even a little fear. "What did you say to her? Why would you say such a thing?"
"I didn't mean to upset her. It's just that . . . I thought I saw your son down the street, talking to a stranger, and I became concerned."
"Is that some kind of sick joke?" Jean demanded. ''Who are you to be concerned about one of our children?”
"I'm just trying to help." Nat felt sick. This was exactly what she hadn't wanted to happen. All she wanted now was for Mrs. LaRue to reach the hospital so she could be assured that the boy was safe.
"That's bullshit. My son isn't even in the neighborhood."
He snatched the phone from his wife. "Hello? This is Jean LaRue." Someone must have answered because he spoke quickly and forcefully. "I need to know where my son is. No, I won't hold on. Check on him. Right now. I'll wait." His lips formed a thin line for a moment as he listened. "He's fine? You're sure?" He nodded brusquely. “No, everything's okay. We just . . . thought something might be up. Can you post a nurse in his room until we get there? I know it's unusual. Yes, I'll be happy to speak with the hospital administrator. Just do whatever it takes." He glared at Nat. "Under no circumstances is Natalie Jennings to be anywhere near my son. I'll get a restraining order as soon as I can," Sighing with impatience, he spelled her last name. "She threatened him. Yes, you can bill me for private security. Great. His mother and I will be there as soon as we can."
Relief made Nat's legs go weak. The boy was all right. He wasn't in danger. She hadn't been too late ....
She started when LaRue slammed the phone down on the console table. The look he gave her was cold enough to freeze steel. "I don't know what in the hell you're trying to pull, but you're not going to get away with it." He looked at his wife. "Call the police."
Dread coiled inside Nat, a rope being drawn into a tight knot. "Mr. LaRue, I don't want any problems. I was just trying to be a good citizen and follow up--"
"A good citizen doesn't waltz into someone's home and start making wild accusations about their children being in harm's way," he said between clenched teeth. "How dare you?"
"I didn't mean any harm.”
"Or maybe you just don't like the way I did my job three years ago."
"No, that's not why I came here."
"You implied that our son had been hurt!"
"I implied no such thing. I just wanted to make sure he was okay.” Because she couldn't go into detail without opening herself up to questions she hadn't the slightest clue how to answer, she cut herself off without elaboration. "I was only trying to help."
"The children in this town are better off without your kind of help." His eyes went flat. “Stay away from my kids. Stay away from my wife. And if you want to stay healthy, you had better stay the hell away from me."
Trying desperately not to let his words affect her, Nat raised her hands and backed slowly toward the steps. "Okay, I'm leaving."
Paulette stepped onto the porch, still carrying the phone. "The police are on the way."
Jean didn't acknowledge his wife. Instead, he followed Nat across the porch, then down the steps. On the sidewalk, he grasped her arm hard, jerked her toward him. In an instant, he went from loving father and husband to a man willing to inflict violence in order to keep his family safe. "Listen to me, you crazy little bitch."
Nat gasped when he squeezed, her only thought that she'd never seen a human being make such a profound transformation so quickly.
Out of earshot of his wife, he raised his finger and shoved it in her face. "I'm going to get a restraining order against you, so don't even think about trying to pull this shit again. You got that?"
Nat broke away from him and ran toward her car. Tears stung her eyes as she fumbled with her keys. She told herself she'd done the right thing. She'd had to either act or deal with the consequences. There was no way she could handle having a child's death on her conscience. She couldn't blame the LaRues for being suspicious of her motives, for not believing her. The most important thing was that Jason LaRue was safe.
But the hatred she'd seen in Jean LaRue's eyes hurt. He'd looked at her the same way he'd looked at her three years ago. As if she were a piece of scum. A killer. A woman evil enough, insane enough, to murder her own child.
Nat reached her car and flung open the door. Sliding behind the steering wheel, she stuck the key in the ignition and started the engine. When she looked up, police lights danced in her rearview mirror. Damn. Damn. Damn.
For an instant she considered putting the car in gear and driving away. But she knew that would only make things worse. She couldn't escape this. Even though she hadn't done anything wrong, they were going to have questions. Questions she had no idea how to answer.
Heart pounding she sat with her hands on the steering wheel while the deputy walked up to the car. From where she was sitting she couldn't see his face. He was holding his flashlight in his left hand, his right hand hovering above the pistol strapped to his belt. "Evening."
Another layer of dread settled over her when she recognized the voice. Then Matt Duncan leaned close to her and shone the light in her eyes. "Nat Jennings," he said. "I thought it was you."
"Hi, Matt."
"Why don't you turn off the car and step out to talk to me for a moment?"
Even though he'd phrased it as a question, Nat knew he wasn't asking. It was an order. And unless she wanted to spend the night in jail, she'd damn well better comply. Matt Duncan wasn't known for being diplomatic.
"All right."
"Nice and slow." He opened the door for her and stepped back.
Nat rolled her eyes as she slid out of the car. "You want my hands up, too?" she asked dryly.
"That won't be necessary." Just to let her know he was in charge, he shone the light in her eyes. "I want you to walk over to my cruiser with me. Then you're going to stay there w
hile I talk to the LaRues. You understand?"
"I understand," she said. "But I didn't do anything."
"That's the tenth time I've heard that tonight." Taking her arm, he guided her to the rear of his cruiser. "Put your butt on the bumper and don't move it. If you do, I'll cuff you and put you in the car. You got that?"
"I got it." Nat did as she was told and watched Duncan hitch his belt and take the stone path to the porch where .Paulette and Jean were standing, looking as if they'd just had a close encounter with a well-armed Bonnie Parker. Nat couldn't hear what they were saying, but Jean motioned in her direction several times. Some of the neighbors had noticed the police lights and ventured onto their porches to see what all the commotion was about. Police lights in their neighborhood obviously meant something unsavory was afoot.
Humiliated and frustrated, Nat could do nothing but stand there and let them speculate. After several minutes, Matt came back down the walk and approached her. "You want to tell me what you were thinking, walking up to those people and telling them their son was in danger?"
"I didn't say that," Nat said.
"That's what they told me." He stopped several feet from her and put his hands on his hips.
"I just told them they should check on their son, to make sure he was okay."
"Did you have some reason to believe either of their children were in harm's way?"
Nat thought about the story she'd devised, and even though it was thin--stupid even, now that she'd had some time to think about it--she decided she was already vested and should stick with it. "I thought I'd seen Jason down the street, talking to some strange guy in an old car."
"A strange guy in an old car, huh?" His tone made it clear he didn't believe her any more than the LaRues had. "Exactly where did you see this strange guy?"
"At the comer of Fifth and Vine."
"A block away?"
“That's right."
"What kind of car was it?"
"An old Chevy, I think. Maybe an Impala."
"Huh. Haven't seen a vehicle like that around Bellerose."
He hitched up his trousers again and shot her a sour look. "How did you get that blood on your shirt?"