Chapter 10

"Diamonds are to be found only in the darkness of the earth, and truth in the darkness of the mind."

–Victor Hugo

Rayne

Even after two cups of coffee with three times the sugar I usually put in, my mind was still a little foggy. I doubted it was from the lack of sleep but more due to the fact that I'd had mind-melting, body-slamming, ultimate sexcapades last night.

How in the hell did one man know just what my body needed? It was like he was a freaking mind reader, a magician when it came to manifesting my deepest, darkest desires.

My body was still vibrating when I stepped into my office. Before my computer could even boot up, Sherry was there, leaning on my doorjamb.

"What?" I asked with a groan, causing her to smile.

Today's outfit was a dark blue jumper that somehow made her look slim and fit. I knew that if I ever wore something like that, I'd probably look like an Oompa Loompa.

"I finally tracked down the two Bobbys," she said slowly.

"Okay." I leaned back in my chair. "Where are they?"

I had yet to talk to the two men who had made that initial call on the day of Sharon Taylor's murder. The duo often went MIA for weeks and months in the swamp lands to hunt or fish. So it wasn't a big concern of mine in the case. Still, it was on my list to talk to them when they did return.

I needed to know exactly what they'd heard and why in fuck they'd called it in when everyone in town knew they hated the cops. Almost as much as they hated the IRS and the Feds.

"They're back home," Sherry answered, her eyes narrowing as she scanned my face. "You're glowing."

"I'm…" I shook my head, not understanding.

Sherry smiled. "Aria told me you were flirting with someone. I couldn't get a name out of her and something tells me I won't get one out of you either." She crossed her arms over her chest. "If I ever found a man that made me glow," she nodded with her head as she sighed heavily, "I'd know he was the one."

Wiping my hands over my face I silently agreed. "I'll head out to see the Bobbys." I started to get up but stopped when my computer was finally done booting up and signaled I had an email.

"Take your time. I told them you'd swing by today. They're busy cutting up their catches," Sherry added over her shoulder as she walked away.

Before I had a chance to open my email, Quincy poked his head in my door.

"Good, you're here," he said, stepping in and shutting my door behind him.

"Not for long," I said, opening the few emails I had. One was from Randy with Edith's updated chemo schedule.

"We need to talk," Quincy said, sitting down and leaning forward.

"About?" I asked as I opened the second email. I froze in place when the fuzzy image of Jameson and me filled the screen. The image of us embracing while standing on the porch of the cabin that morning had my heart pounding so loudly that I couldn't hear or focus on what Quincy was saying.

I shut down my system by quickly hitting the button on the tower. "I… need to head out."

"We haven't talked…" Quincy called after me as I rushed from the room.

"Later. After lunch," I called back. I'm pretty sure I bumped into a few people as I retreated out of the building.

Before I could climb into the patrol car, I got a text message from Jameson.

"Thanks for last night. I enjoyed watching the movie The Surveillance with you."

Shit. Yeah. We had been watched. That message was loud and clear now. Obviously, the cabin was no longer a safe place. Why? Why were they watching us? Who were they watching? Him or me?

I typed back. "It was a great movie. Next time, you can pick. I trust you can find something that will entertain us. I'll see you at lunch." I hit send.

I got into the patrol car, slid on my sunglasses, and, as I backed out, I glanced around.

As I took off down the street, I rolled my eyes at the obvious sedan occupied by two Reapers parked across the street from the precinct.

I must have been tired or stupid not to spot them following me earlier. Now, however, as they tailed three cars behind me, I wondered why. I wanted to pull over and confront them, but instead I headed out to the Bobbys' place. The second I turned into the driveway, the sedan disappeared.

Lost interest or knew where I was going?

I parked behind a massive black truck and climbed out of the car just as Bobby Sr. walked out onto his porch.

"Morning, Bobby," I said, stepping onto the porch.

"Rayne." He nodded. "Coffee?" he asked, holding up the mug he had.

"No, I got my own, thanks." I sat on the chair he motioned for me to take, and he sat across from me.

From there, I could see the side of the Taylor's massive house, which sat less than two hundred yards away.

"We didn't like Sharon much. She always complained about us not having our property clean and tidy, but she didn't deserve what was done to her," Bobby said, leaning back in his chair.

For a man in his sixties, Bobby Elwood Sr. was in great shape. There were only a dozen or so lines that crossed the man's face. He was in good enough shape that he could probably outrun a boar.

The Bobbys were known for causing trouble in town but their home life was quiet. They'd never had a call out to their property for fights or complaints. Bar fights were their usual thing and normally involved a Reaper or two. Hell, most good people in town mixed with a Reaper on a regular basis.

"Want to tell me what you heard that caused you to call us?" I asked.

"Not me, my boy," Bobby said. "Junior," he called through the screen door. "Rayne's here to talk."

Bobby Jr. was the spitting image of his dad. Same build, same shaggy mud-colored hair and eyes. Junior had been a few years before me in school. I'd heard he'd been the star of the football and basketball teams in high school. He was good-looking enough that everyone wondered why he was still single.

"Hey, Rayne." Bobby sat across from me while he sipped his mug. "Coffee?"

"No, thanks," I answered. "What did you hear?" I asked.

Bobby sighed. "Screaming. Like a banshee in the middle of the night. I'd stepped out to take a smoke. Paw doesn't like me to in the house. My maw never allowed it when she was alive." Jr. smiled. "I thought of heading over to the big house myself, you know, to check and see if all was all right, but then it stopped." He shrugged. "Figured it was a bobcat, you know. They scream just as loud when they've been cornered by a bear or boar."

"Right," I agreed. "Time?"

"Oh, about oneish." He shrugged. "Maybe closer to one-thirty."

"What made you call this one in?" I asked.

Junior shrugged. "Just a feeling. Right here." He tapped his gut. "We were heading out for our hunt, packing up first thing that morning." He frowned into his mug. "The screams kept playing in my head. Something just wasn't right. So I called. Figured it wouldn't do no harm."

"You were right to call," I told him. "You didn't by chance see a car in the drive?"

Junior shook his head. "No car. Heard what sounded like a bike sometime in the night before though."

"A… motorcycle?" I asked, jotting down the note. "What time?"

Both men looked at one another and shrugged.

"Before the screams?" I asked.

Junior nodded. "I guess about an hour before."

I made a note. "And after the screams?"

"After that, it was quiet till we left. I guess right before you arrived and found..." He dropped off.

I nodded. "Anything else you can remember about that night or morning?" I asked. Both men shook their heads. "Happen to know when Mr. Taylor left?"

"Sure, early evening. Watched that stupid-looking pink car pull out around six." Sr. chuckled. "No man should be caught driving a pink car."

Both men laughed then sobered as they glanced over to the pink car still in the driveway.

"We know how hard it is, losing someone," Senior said with a sigh. "Speaking of which, how's your ma doing? Chemo can be really tough. My Louisa, she was a fighter." He shook his head.

"She's… holding up," I offered, remembering only then that breast cancer had been the cause of his wife's death.

My gut twisted and my heart did a little jump that felt like I'd need paddles to get it started beating normally again.

"Next time you see her, give her our best," Senior added.

"Thank you," I said, standing up, unable to bear any more talk about Edith's journey. "If you think of anything else, let me know."

"Will do," they both said at once.

As I drove back to town, I watched my rearview mirror for the sedan. It surprised me that they had lost interest in following me at first, but then I realized they probably knew exactly where I had been heading. There wasn't much out on the county road that led to the Bobbys' place and the Taylor's plantation.

Since it was on my list and I still had a few hours before lunch, I dropped by the city building, hoping to get a meeting with Jackson Pennington. The man had been busy the few times I'd tried to get an interview with him. Maybe today he'd have time?

When I stepped into the man's office, which sat across the hallway from the mayor's now empty office, the differences were immediately obvious.

The mayor's office was filled with pinks, lace doilies, and what some would consider cheap and tacky items. Jackson Pennington obviously liked the finer things in life.

Rich warm hues mixed with dark woods. Expensive-looking furniture, rugs, and artwork filled the massive space. No doubt everything inside belonged to Pennington himself. Gemsville didn't have the kind of money to purchase so much as the rug she was currently standing on.

It was interesting that the man's office was at least twice the size of the mayor's. He must have removed a few walls to extend the space to the size it was. How had this been allowed? Why?

Emma Boudreaux sat at the front desk, watching me walk in behind the heavy glass doors.

"He's in a meeting," Emma said before I had even made it halfway across the large circular rug.

"Good, then you'll have time to answer a few of my questions until he's free," I said with a smile.

It was clear that Jackson had asked Emma to play blocker, and I couldn't fault the woman for simply doing her job.

"I'm not…" Emma started, but when she noticed me raising my eyebrows, she sighed. "What questions?"

"Schedule questions," I said, pulling out my notepad. For the next few moments, I asked Emma every question I thought she could answer. Most of them were about Pennington's whereabouts before, during, and in the days after Sharon's murder.

Emma rattled off the man's schedule and, after I requested a copy, she shot me an email. I noticed that none of the information provided was after business hours with the exception of one evening dinner with a client in a town almost an hour away.

I was just about to ask another question when the dark wood double doors opened and Pennington stepped out with a dark-skinned woman with jet-black hair who looked to be in her mid-thirties. I had never seen the woman in town before. Her business attire spoke of money, yet her neon purple lips and the matching purple tips of her hair spoke of something else.

The woman was quite stunning and spoke in a deep voice laced with Southern charm. I pegged it for a Georgia accent, not Louisiana.

"Thank you, Mrs. Caldwell." Jackson's smile slipped slightly when he noticed me leaning against the secretary's desk.

I smiled at him and waited, watching the interaction.

"I'll get those numbers to you later this week," Mrs. Caldwell said easily as she shook Pennington's hand. "I look forward to doing business with you."

Pennington nodded and stood just inside his doors until Mrs. Caldwell passed me.

The woman's eyes narrowed slightly as she assessed me, then she nodded at me before leaving.

"Rayne, please come in." Jackson motioned as he stood back, allowing me to pass through the doors. "Emma, hold all my calls," he said before shutting the door behind us. "What can I do for you today, Rayne?"

I moved into the massive office and sat down in one of the high-back red leather chairs.

The chairs sat almost half a foot shorter than his chair, so he towered over anyone who sat down across from him, which told me exactly what kind of man he was. He wanted control, and power over anyone he met with.

Still, I knew how to deal with power-hungry men and straightened my back just enough that we sat almost eye to eye.

"Emma was kind enough to fill me in on your schedule during the last few weeks," I informed him as he settled into his chair.

"By you still being here, I'm assuming you have more questions?" he asked.

I smiled slightly, not letting my irritation with his tone show.

"Your assistant can only confirm your whereabouts during business hours. I require some after-hours information." I pulled out my notepad.

"Such as?" he asked, his tone laced with annoyance.

I rattled off the dates and times and then jotted down his responses. Most of his time was spent traveling between Gemsville and Lafayette, where he claimed he had several business meetings with investors.

"You missed one," I pointed out. "The night of Sharon's murder." I waited.

He tilted his head and glanced at his phone before answering.

"If I didn't mention it, I was at home. Alone," he said dryly.

I nodded several times as I thought. "No missus at home?" I said as I tucked my notepad into my pocket.

"No." The man's left eyebrow arched up.

"No prospects in that area?" I asked.

"Rayne, is this a futile attempt to ask me out?" he said with a sneer.

I put on my fuck-you smile and remained quiet for a moment. Long enough that he started to squirm for a split second.

The man was tall, skinny, too refined for my taste and probably didn't have a tattoo on his body. He wore suits like they were his comfort clothes and, to be honest, there was nothing less appealing than the way he spoke to women as if they were his slaves only here to do his bidding.

"Is there anyone who can corroborate you being home? Alone?" I asked dryly.

"No, detective. No missus. No prospects. I'm married to my work," he said with a slight sigh. "Now, if you don't mind…" He started to get up.

"Did you know that Sharon Taylor was being investigated by the state attorney's office for corruption and embezzling?" I threw at him and watched anger and fake surprise cross his eyes.

"No," he said slowly as he sat back down. "Is it true?"

Instead of answering, I added, "Did you know that Sharon was having multiple affairs?"

This time the surprised look was so obviously fake I almost laughed. "I suppose that makes sense. Rumors are that Henry has a few… friends on the side."

I nodded and watched the man closely while I asked my next question. "You own both the Red River Iron Gym and the Bayou Brews and Blues."

Again, the irritation was in his demeanor and tone. "I own a lot of buildings, a lot of businesses in this town."

"And you're about the only business owner who singlehandedly employs more than a dozen members of the Swamp Reapers Motorcycle Club." I smiled when his eyes narrowed at me.

"I personally am not involved with the running of any of my buildings or businesses. I keep at arm's length from all of them. It's better this way. In other words, I am not responsible for hiring any employees other than Emma, out front." His smile was strained.

I shifted forward, laying my elbows on my knees. "Let's make this official, shall we?"

"Sure." He threw up his hands in frustration.

"Mr. Jackson Pennington, do you possess any information pertinent to the investigation into the homicide of Mayor Sharon Taylor, or are you refraining from disclosing any relevant details that could aid in the apprehension of any individuals implicated in Mayor Sharon Taylor's murder?"

By the time I was done speaking, Jackson was standing up.

"No, now please leave my office." He motioned towards the doors.

"Thank you for your cooperation," I said as I slowly stood up to leave. But then I spotted a small silver picture frame sitting on a side table that held a coffee pot, a plant, and a printer.

I walked over to it and smiled down at a picture of Jackson Pennington, Faye Baker, and Kenya Jackson on a boat somewhere. The trio looked very comfortable together, with Jackson in the middle of the group. The two ladies were wearing very skimpy bikinis, and Jackson's chest was bare.

There was another picture of Jackson and Quincy Ingram on the same boat. Obviously, the men were on a fishing trip.

There were other pictures in similar frames—some of a large boat on the river, others of him, and a few of him with some of the other townspeople, including one of him and the mayor at the opening of one of his businesses—but this one for some reason stood out to me.

"Nice picture," I said, tapping the frame before walking out of the office.