He ran his hand across her hips and pushed his body more tightly into hers.

Then suddenly his entire body tensed. She looked up at him, but as she opened her mouth to ask what was wrong, he laid a single finger across her lips. Immediately her pulse spiked.

He slipped out of bed and pulled on his jeans and shirt, then retrieved his pistol from the nightstand, where he’d left it earlier. “Stay here and lock the door behind me,” he whispered before slipping silently out of the room.

Alaina hurried to the door as quickly as she could without noise. Carter had already disappeared downstairs in the darkness. She strained to make out any sound, but all she heard was her own heartbeat. She knew Carter had heard something, though. He’d gone from erotic god to cop in a split second.

About the Author

JANA DELEON grew up among the bayous and small towns of southwest Louisiana. She’s never actually found a dead body or seen a ghost, but she’s still hoping. Jana started writing in 2001—she focuses on murderous plots set deep in the Louisiana bayous. By day she writes very boring technical manuals for a software company in Dallas. Visit Jana on her website, www.janadeleon.com.

The Accused
Jana DeLeon

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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To Christopher Fulbright, for all your support

and encouragement. May your own career

launch in a spectacular way.

Chapter One

Once upon a time, in a tiny bayou village, there lived a beautiful widow and her three lovely daughters. The woman loved her children and her home, but as time passed, she grew lonely. A handsome and treacherous stranger swept her off her feet and she became a bride for the second time.

But no happily ever after was forthcoming.

Alaina LeBeau stared across the desk at the senior partner of the law firm and struggled to contain her emotions. Finally, anger eclipsed common sense.

“You told me if I got my success rate up, the junior partnership was mine,” she said. It was all she could do not to scream at the news that Kurt “Kip” McGraw, an attorney of woefully less skill and somewhat dubious personal reputation, had gotten the partnership she’d been all but assured.

Everett Winstrom III gave her a placating smile. “Now, now. I didn’t say it was yours for certain. I merely said if you proved yourself a winner in the courtroom that I felt a partnership would be forthcoming, and I still think one is.”

“When would that be exactly? The company is structured to only add a new partner when an existing one retires. All the original partners have been replaced with younger attorneys. It may be twenty years before one of you retires.”

“In twenty years, you’ll still be a young woman.”

“In twenty years, Kurt will be even younger than I, and likely, still as incompetent.”

The senior partner gave her another thin, placating smile. “Now, Alaina, you know that the courtroom isn’t the only place an attorney makes a good impression on the partners. Kurt has political connections that the firm can take advantage of.”

“Based on the news reports and the number of drunk-and-disorderly dismissals we’ve gained for his political connections, I would guess anyone could take advantage of them.”

Everett’s jaw tightened and the jovial-uncle act was over. “The fact is, we can’t afford to have you as a partner of this firm. Not after the Warren fiasco.”

Alaina felt as if she’d been slapped. As if she didn’t feel guilty enough over that case, and now the man who’d been her senior adviser was putting all the blame on her?

“I see,” she said. “The firm needs a scapegoat and it’s not going to be you.”

“Did you really think it would be? Someone has to answer for that screwup.”

“A child died, Everett. That was far more than a screwup. You can put the blame on me all you want, but we both know we could have prevented what happened.”

Anger flashed in the partner’s cold, dark eyes. “Nonsense. A psychopath killed that child. That’s unfortunate, but it’s hardly my fault. You were lead. If there was something missed, that’s on you.”

Suddenly, Alaina couldn’t take another minute of it. The years of busting her butt through law school while working full-time had been small challenge compared to the years of sucking up to these pompous, entitled men who’d never worked for anything other than a more luxurious life.

“Consider this my notice,” she said before she could change her mind.

Everett’s eyes widened. “Now, let’s not be hasty.”

“It’s something I should have done years ago. I’d hardly call that hasty. In fact, I’d call it a little late in coming. So late that I might have ruined any chance I had at a big career.”

“But you’re in the middle of three corruption cases—”

“No. You’re in the middle of three corruption cases. I’m just assisting.” As usual, she had been assigned to the anal-retentive detail work of sorting through all the financial information—work that everyone avoided if at all possible and work that she caught far too often. With Everett’s analyst on maternity leave, and her giving notice, he’d have no choice but to actually do grunt work for a change.

That thought gave her the sliver of joy that was necessary to smile and stand her ground. “I wish I could say it’s been great, Everett, but the reality is, this job has shown me what I don’t want to do with the rest of my life. I’ll spend the next two weeks completing the paperwork on the cases I’ve just closed.”

His face flushed red and he clenched his hands. “Don’t bother. Get your things and get out of this office. I’ll mail your final paycheck. You’re making a big mistake.”

“It’s not the first.”

She spun around and marched down the hall to her office before he could formulate a reply. A couple of seconds later, she heard the door to his office slam shut. The firm intern, a studious, humorless girl with an encyclopedic recall of law, stepped into her office, her eyes wide.

“Is everything okay, Ms. LeBeau?”

“Everything is perfect, Ms. Jensen. In fact, better than perfect. I’ve just given my notice.”

“Oh, my … I … Well, if that’s what you want to do, then I’m happy for you, of course.” Emily Jensen stared down at the floor. “I guess you didn’t get the partnership.”

“No, they gave it to Kurt.”

Emily sighed and glanced out into the hallway, then back at Alaina. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice almost a whisper. “I don’t think that’s right.”

“If you mean, the person with the most ability didn’t get the job, then I agree. But the reality is, it’s their law firm and Kurt has connections I’ll never have. Better to find out now than spend another seven years here.”

Emily nodded. “Don’t tell anyone, but I’m only working here to get the experience on my résumé. I intend to establish my career in nonprofits.”

Alaina smiled. “You’re a good person. I have no doubt you’re going to accomplish a lot for society with your career.”

Emily blushed and she gave Alaina a shy smile. “What are you going to do now?”

“I don’t know exactly. I have money saved. It’s not like I’ve had much time off to spend it. I may do nothing for a couple of months and give some serious consideration to my options.”

“I think that’s a great idea. You deserve a break.” She handed an envelope to Alaina. “This was addressed to you personally, not in care of the law firm, so I didn’t open it. I was afraid it wasn’t business-related.”

“Thanks,” Alaina said. “I’m going to miss you, Emily. Please stay in touch.”

“Of course. I’m going to miss you, too, Ms. LeBeau.” She left the office and quietly pulled the door shut behind her.

Alaina flopped into her office chair and the first twinge of fear ran through her. What have you done? Sure, the job sucked, but it paid well, and given the firm’s long history, she had good standing in the legal community.

She sighed. If money and a good reputation were all that mattered, it would be perfect. But the reality was, they weren’t the most important things to her. If she was being honest with herself, she’d been fighting discontent for years. Now she was thirty-two years old, and no closer to knowing what she wanted to do with her life than she was when she’d started law school.

It was depressing on so many levels.

She glanced down at the envelope lying on her desk and frowned. The return address was for a law firm, but wasn’t one she recognized as related to any of her current work. She reached for her letter opener and then removed the single sheet of paper from the envelope.

Ms. Alaina LeBeau,

I am writing to inform you of the death of your stepfather, Trenton Purcell. He passed away one month ago after a long-term illness. While Mr. Purcell had controlling interest of your mother’s property during his lifetime, the will left by your mother indicated that all her property was to transfer to her three daughters, with a single stipulation: each of you must occupy the property for a minimum of two consecutive weeks.

I have tried to find a way around this stipulation, as most individuals cannot take a two-week break from their normal lives to live in another town, but the wording is unshakable. I am afraid that in order to inherit, all of you must fulfill the terms of the will or the property will be auctioned off and the proceeds passed to secondary heirs and charities.

You do not have to occupy the property at the same time, but each of you must take residence in the year following the death of your stepfather. That gives you each eleven months to meet the terms of the will. Please give me a call at your earliest convenience so that we can discuss your availability to fulfill these terms.

Sincerely,

William Harold Duhon,

Attorney at Law

She stared at the letter for several seconds, then dropped it on the desk as if it were going to burn her fingers. All these years she’d assumed her mother had left it all to that worthless man she’d married. Over the years, she’d written letters to Purcell, begging him for information on the whereabouts of her sisters, but they’d all gone unanswered. Every weekend, she’d started to get into her car and drive to Calais and force him to answer for what he’d done. Force him to give her the information she wanted. But every time, something stopped her.

She’d known Purcell was still alive when she’d moved back to Louisiana—had checked enough to know he was living as a recluse, with almost no contact with the outside world. She’d assumed that the home she’d been born in and spent the first seven years of her life was lost to her forever, along with the sisters she had to struggle to remember.

And now, it was all being offered to her for a mere fourteen days out of her life. Considering she’d just indefinitely cleared her schedule, it didn’t seem a bad proposition. She had no idea what state the house and grounds were in, but at one time, it had been a beautiful estate. More important, the tiny bayou village of Calais was the perfect place to close herself off from society and figure out what she wanted to do with her life. She’d have all the time in the world to contemplate her options, tucked away deep in the swamp with only the mosquitoes to bother her.

And her mother’s ghost.

Chapter Two

Carter Trahan tossed the paper onto his mother’s kitchen table. “This is crap,” he said.

“Carter Frederic Trahan!” His mother glared at him as she placed cups of coffee on the table in front of him and William Duhon.

“No, no, that’s quite all right,” said the silver-haired gentleman, who had been a longtime friend of his mother’s. “The entire situation is a bit unorthodox.”

“It’s—” he glanced over at his mother, who was frowning at him from the adjacent chair “—worse than unorthodox. It can’t possibly even be legal.”

“Oh, I assure you that the terms of the will, while a bit unusual, are completely legal.”

“I meant the other part,” Carter said. “The part where the sheriff has to play babysitter to fulfill the terms of this will. You can’t make me do something that’s not in my job description.”

William sighed. “You’re right on that part. A promise made over fifty years ago can hardly be legally imposed on the current sheriff. But in the spirit of the agreement, I was hoping you’d help out an old friend.”

Carter looked across the table at the man who’d been his mother’s biggest supporter when his father had been killed, and sighed. “That was low,” he muttered.

William beamed. “So you’ll do it?”

“Explain it to me again.”

“Each sister must occupy the house for two weeks in a row within the next eleven months. If they are outside of the estate borders for more than twenty-four hours, then the fourteen-day timetable starts all over.”

“And they’ve all agreed to come?”

“Not exactly.”

“What do you mean ‘not exactly’? I thought they all had to do it or the deal was off.”

“Thus far, I’ve been able to locate only one of the sisters, but she’s agreed to the terms despite the fact that it could all come to nothing if her sisters aren’t located.”

Carter frowned. “Why doesn’t she know where her sisters are?”

“Because that evil man sent those girls away after their mother died.” Carter’s mother broke into the conversation.

Carter stared. His mother was not one to throw around words like evil in a cavalier manner.

“Don’t give me that look,” she said. “That greedy no-count married their mother for her money and he killed her by breaking her heart. Her body wasn’t even cold before he shipped those girls off to anyone who would take them.”

A flash of anger rushed through Carter. “But no one would take all three?”

William shook his head, his expression sad. “If Ophelia had taken the proper steps before she died, things could have turned out differently for the girls. But as it stood, Trenton Purcell had legal control over her assets until his death. The life estate she created right after they married was still in effect.”

“The girls weren’t his,” Carter’s mother said, “so he felt they weren’t his responsibility.”

Carter shook his head. “In the interest of manners, I’m not going to say it,” he said to his mother, “but you know what I’m thinking.”

His mother nodded. “On this, we’re in complete agreement.”

“Okay,” Carter said, “so when you locate the other two sisters, you’ll get them to coordinate a date?”

“Actually, the girls don’t have to occupy the property at the same time. As they are adults with lives already in place, they will start occupation at a time that’s convenient for them. Assuming, of course, that abandoning your life and moving to the swamp for two weeks is ever convenient.”

Carter felt some of the wind come out of his sails. “You mean I might have to do this three times?”

“I’m afraid so.”

Carter looked over at the expectant expression on his mother’s face. Even though every fiber of his body screamed at him to sprint away from this convoluted family mess, the reality was his mother rarely asked him for anything, and doing this would make her happy.

“Fine. Has the located sister set a date yet?”

“She’s the oldest and, as a matter of fact, was available to come immediately.”

“Not much of a life if she can drop everything in a matter of days,” Carter mumbled.

His mother swatted him with her napkin.

“She’s not wanted for anything, is she?” Carter asked.

“Carter!” His mother stared at him in dismay.

William chuckled. “Nothing of the sort. She’d just resigned her position as an attorney and wants to use the time to contemplate the direction she wishes to take her career.”

“An attorney. Great.”

“Oh, she’s quite good. Went to work for one of the best firms in Baton Rouge after graduating top of her class at Boston College.”

“A lawyer and a Yankee—the hits just keep on coming.”

His mother sighed. “Alaina was probably seven years old before she was shipped off to a distant cousin in New England. I expect she hasn’t forgotten everything about Southern living or she wouldn’t have moved back after getting her education. It’s not like she has other family here.”

“She’s about the same age as me, right?” Carter asked. “How come I don’t remember her?”

“Ophelia didn’t allow her to attend school with other kids. She claimed homeschooling was the best education, but I often wondered if that was Trenton’s idea and not hers. She was a social woman before Trenton came along. But after their marriage, you almost never saw her out in Calais.”

Carter frowned. The entire situation stank to high heaven. “What I don’t get is, how come none of them came back before now?”

William shrugged. “I can’t answer for the girls. I’m sure they all had their reasons, but I am certain none of them knew about the stipulations in their mother’s will. This inheritance is completely unexpected, so I would hazard a guess that they felt they had no reason to return.”

“So all I have to do is check in every day and make sure they’re still on the estate, right?”

“That’s it. I’ll leave the scheduling to you, but I’ve made Alaina aware that she needs to work around your job.”

“And she had no problem with that?”

“She’s an attorney. She has a lot of respect for law enforcement.”

“Then she’s not like the attorneys I’ve known—present company excluded, of course.”

“I appreciate your handling this for me.” William rose from the table, wisely deciding not to overstay his welcome. Carter’s mother followed him to the front door where he gave her a kiss on the cheek.

“Call me if you need anything,” William said.

“Of course,” his mother said. “And don’t worry, I’ll see that Carter doesn’t scare the woman away from her inheritance.”

His mother closed the door, then came back into the kitchen and sat down again, frowning.

“I don’t like it,” Carter said.

“I don’t either, but not for the same reasons.”

“What about it bothers you?”

She gazed out the back window and shook her head. “I can’t put my finger on it. I never liked Trenton Purcell. I always got a bad feeling in his presence. After he and Ophelia married, they pretty much disappeared from society, and I don’t think he left the house even once after Ophelia’s death. He didn’t even attend her funeral.”

“Sounds like a stellar guy.”

His mother nodded. “No one liked him, but until then, we had nothing concrete to point at and say, ‘He’s completely wrong.’”

“But?” Carter was certain she hadn’t finished her thoughts on Purcell, and he knew his mother well enough to know that her “feelings” about things were not something he should ignore. He didn’t know what made her so intuitive, but she’d been right so many times about seemingly straightforward things that weren’t straightforward at all that he’d started paying attention when she got the least bit uneasy.

“But something about all of this doesn’t add up for me.” She held up a hand to stop him before he could speak. “I don’t think William sees anything unusual except for the legal arrangement itself, which is apparently aboveboard, so don’t go thinking he’s keeping something from us.”

“It bothers me,” Carter agreed, “and I didn’t even know the man, except by rare sighting when we sneaked onto the property as kids. But if he married the woman for her money, then abandoned her kids when she died, I expect you wouldn’t get a good feeling about him.”

“Certainly not, but it’s more than that.” She reached over to place her hand on top of his. “Promise me you’ll be careful. Be more watchful than usual. That you won’t dismiss anything to do with that house or the girls as simple oddity or coincidence.”

He frowned. His mother’s concern for him and others was nothing new. She was a wonderful woman with a huge heart. The concern didn’t bother him at all.

But the fear in her voice did.

ALAINA TURNED HER SUV onto a narrow dirt road that seemed to lead directly into the swamp. The cypress trees were so thick overhead that they almost formed a canopy over the road, the moss clinging to the limbs blocking everything but the stray ray of sunshine from creeping through.

Her right front wheel sank into a huge dip and she pressed the gas to push the vehicle out of the hole. It’s a good thing I didn’t go for the convertible sports car. She wouldn’t have given a low-profile car a hundred yards on this road before it left the driver stranded.

She glanced down at the directions she’d received from the attorney, to double-check the accuracy, but she already knew she was on the right road. Details were her specialty and the attorney had given very descriptive instructions. She just needed to come to grips with the fact that it looked as if she was driving into the abyss.

She’d just turned seven years old when her mother passed and she’d gone to live with a distant cousin in Boston. The woman and her husband hadn’t been well-off, but they’d loved her and cared for her as they had their own son and daughter. But despite the fact that they’d all made her feel welcome and loved, she’d never felt as though Boston was home, not even when she was living in the college dorms.

All those years, it was as if Louisiana called to her, beckoning her to return home. She hadn’t taken that call to be literal, because she’d thought her childhood home to be something forever lost to her; and she had no interest at all in seeking out the man who’d treated her mother horribly, then split up her children, sending them to the far ends of the country to become someone else’s responsibility.

She’d thought going away to college would eliminate the draw. Once she was around like-minded peers and out of the environment where she was odd man out, she’d hoped she’d finally feel as if she belonged. But despite her contentment with school and a close group of friends, mental images of the swamp haunted her subconscious, finding their way into her dreams.

Her conscious mind wasn’t as clear on the details, so the dark patch of dirt now passing as a road didn’t appear familiar. She wondered if the house would.

It felt like an eternity that she inched her SUV down the makeshift trail. But finally, after easing her way around a sharp turn in the road, the house came into view, looming above her.

Involuntarily, she hit the brakes and stared, sucking in a breath. On a conscious level, it was as if she was seeing it for the first time. The dreary stone facade and sharp peaks of the roof didn’t register mentally, but her body responded. Her chest tightened and her pulse increased.

It scared her.

The thought ripped through her mind and she immediately chided herself. You’ve spent your entire life focused on the facts and what you could prove. Now you’re letting yourself lose it with fanciful thoughts. Get a grip.

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and slowly blew it out. Then she opened her eyes and studied the house with the critical eye she used to study witnesses in a courtroom.

It was still gloomy with its broken shutters and paint peeling on the wooden eaves. The lawn—if one could even call it that—had been swallowed up by weeds and swamp grass that stood at least a foot high. Even the flower beds had been overrun, the stone edging barely visible behind the foliage. An enormous marble fountain that stood in the center of the circular drive had probably been beautiful at one time; but now it was covered with vines, its base filled with murky, stagnant water.

The attorney who’d explained the terms of the inheritance had called the estate “serviceable, if not pleasant.” Alaina decided he must be very good at his job. Legally, she couldn’t fault his description, but it left out so much.

It’s only two weeks.

Mr. Duhon had assured her that any repairs necessary to habitation would be handled by his firm, so it was merely a matter of picking up the phone if she found anything unlivable. A caretaker lived in a cottage somewhere on the property, but the attorney had warned her that the man was elderly and had not been allowed to hire help to keep up the property.

The results of yet another poor decision made by her stepfather spread out before her.

She pulled her SUV around the circular drive that had more weeds showing than the paved stones that comprised it, and parked as close as she could to the front doors. Dark clouds swirled overhead, and she worried that the storm that was scheduled to move in tonight might make an early appearance.

She’d packed only a single suitcase of personal items, but her laptop and food and living supplies took up another couple of boxes. With any luck, she’d get it all inside before the dam broke. Her suitcase had wheels, so she rolled it up the walkway and dragged it up the stone steps to the front door. She removed the enormous iron key from her purse and slid it into the lock, wondering if it would work in the rusted lock.

To her surprise, it turned easily, and a loud click echoed in the silent courtyard. She pushed the ten-foot wooden door open and stepped inside.

The entry resembled a museum more than a home. A huge, round open area stretched up two stories, a giant spiral staircase offering passage from the first floor to the balcony that circled above. Rooms and hallways branched off from the open area in every direction on both floors. Marble columns stood randomly throughout the downstairs area, vases and statues covered with thick layers of dust perching on top of them.

Okay, definitely kind of creepy.

That was her official legal opinion and the best prosecutor in the world couldn’t talk her out of it. Still, creepy was tolerable, especially with strong overhead lights. She reached for the switch plate behind her and the area surrounding the front door flooded with light.

She peered into the dim center of the enormous entry and frowned. Surely there was more lighting than this. Checking the wall behind her, she noticed another switch, this one lower on the wall than the light switch she’d flipped earlier. She reached over and pushed the remaining switch up.

The load groan and high-pitched squeals of machinery startled her and she stifled a scream as she scanned the room for the source of the noise. A sheet of light hit the floor in the entry and she looked up to see the roof sliding open. The flickering sun glinted off the glass ceiling the sliding panel exposed inch by inch. From the sounds of metal grinding, the panels hadn’t been opened in some time.

Saying a silent prayer that they didn’t break and cause the whole thing to come crashing down into the house, she watched until the panels slid completely from view. Relieved that she hadn’t broken anything after barely getting in the door, she took her first good look at the giant entry.

She sighed. It certainly didn’t look more cheerful in the light, and the cleanliness factor had actually dropped several points, but it gave her something to do. Manual labor was her preferred method of freeing her mind for thought. This house would provide plenty of thinking projects. And maybe, at the end of her two weeks, she’d have a plan for her career, for her life. Heck, fourteen days of cleaning this place and she might solve world hunger.

She hurried back to her SUV to get the rest of her supplies. Once she had everything inside, she’d go exploring for the necessities—kitchen, bathroom, bedroom and laundry facilities. Mr. Duhon had assured her all the necessary items were functional, so at least she didn’t have to worry about scrubbing her underwear on a stone in the fountain or cooking dinner over an open fire in the courtyard.

Twenty minutes later, she had a pile of boxes and bags just inside the front door and felt less than excited about lugging them farther. The years of college study and sitting at a desk all day had apparently outweighed her morning jogs, especially when added on top of a long, somewhat apprehensive drive.

She glanced around the entry, figuring she’d find the kitchen first, then finally set off down a wide hallway to her left, assuming the largest hallways were more likely to lead to well-used areas. At the end of the hallway, a large arch opened into a spacious kitchen and breakfast area.

The room was at least twenty-five feet square with miles of stone countertops and windows framing every wall of the eating area. She looked out at the weeds and vines and froze as a sudden flash of pink azaleas, lush grass and a blooming magnolia tree ran through her mind. She’d eaten here looking out into the onetime beautiful gardens. It was so clear in her mind that it was as if she were looking at a snapshot.

Sighing, she walked back down the hall to begin moving the supplies to the kitchen. What had just happened was something she needed to get used to. She’d been old enough to remember the house when she’d left, but the trauma of losing her mother and her sisters all at once had forced those memories so far back into the recesses of her mind that she wondered if they’d been gone forever. Apparently that wasn’t the case, and being in the house was probably going to bring back some of those memories.

Maybe that was a good thing. At seven years old, she hadn’t been capable of processing what she’d been through on a logical level. Now that she was an adult, maybe it was time she dealt with her less-than-stellar past once and for all. Maybe it was something she needed to do to move forward with her career and her personal life.

The only clear memory she had was of that night—the night before they were sent away. And the sheer figure of her mother, dressed in a long white flowing gown and hovering over her bed.

She shook her head, trying to clear the image from her mind. It had been frozen there for so long, the lone thing she’d carried with her all these years. Logically, she knew that she’d been a scared little girl who’d just lost her mother, but emotionally, she still wondered if what she’d seen that night was real.

As she stepped back into the entry, she heard a noise overhead. Immediately she froze, trying to determine if she’d heard the normal sounds of an old house, or if something else, of the four-legged, undesirable variety, was inside with her. Her pulse quickened when she realized it was footsteps—the two-legged kind.

A single glance at the crack in the front door made her blood run cold. She was positive she’d closed and locked it behind her after carrying in the last of the supplies. But someone was inside with her.

She reached for her purse and pulled out the pistol she’d begun carrying after receiving her first official death threat on the job. Despite the heat and humidity, the metal was cold in her hand. She dug around in the side pocket for her car keys and mentally cursed when she remembered she’d set them on the kitchen counter.

She eased back down the hallway, praying she could get her keys and get out of the house. Surely someone with a legitimate reason to be inside would have knocked or called out upon entering. She could only assume that whoever had come in was up to no good. That was a problem for the sheriff, not an unemployed attorney who had no interest in playing the hero.

The footsteps faded away as she slipped down the hallway and into the kitchen to retrieve her car keys. She moved silently on the stone floor, giving mental thanks that she’d worn comfortable tennis shoes and jeans and not her usual casual wear of slacks, blouse and high-heeled sandals.

All she had to do was make it back down the hallway and out of the house. An athletic scholarship for sprinting had paid for most of her college. If she could get outside the house, she had no doubt she could beat the intruder to her SUV and get away. But as she hurried across the kitchen to the hallway, the pantry door flew open. Unable to stop, she collided with it and went sprawling to the ground, her pistol sliding across the stone floor.

She scrambled for the gun as a dark figure stepped out of the pantry. Panicked, she made a desperate reach for the pistol, which was still several inches away.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” A deep voice sounded above her.

Chapter Three

One look at the man and she knew she didn’t stand a chance. He was easily six feet tall, with strong arms and chest. The butt of a pistol peeked out of the waistband of his jeans and she had no doubt he could fire before she could even latch on to her weapon.

This was it. Her life would come full circle in this swamp—birth to death.

“Alaina LeBeau?” he asked, staring down at her with a mixture of aggravation and resignation.

“Yes.” She pushed herself up to a sitting position.

He studied her face for a moment, then sighed and extended his hand to help her up from the floor. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Then why were you sneaking around my house and hiding in the pantry?” The fear she’d felt only seconds ago was speeding away, only to be replaced by aggravation now that she no longer felt threatened.

His green eyes flashed with anger. “I don’t ‘sneak around’ private property, and that’s not a pantry—it’s a stairwell.”

She peered around him into the doorway and, sure enough, saw a narrow set of stairs leading up to the second floor. “Who are you and what are you doing here?”

“I’m Carter Trahan—Sheriff Carter Trahan—and I’m here to check off one day on my babysitting roster.”

Alaina clenched her jaw, forcing herself to pause before replying to his insulting statement. The last thing she needed was to alienate the man required to check up on her. “Mr. Duhon informed me that you’d be monitoring the residency terms of the will. I hardly need a babysitter.”

He merely raised one eyebrow and gave her an amused smile.

“Well, if you’re done slamming doors into visitors, Sheriff Trahan, I should get back to my unpacking. Next time you check on me, please knock.”

“I did knock … twice. Then I opened the door and called out from the entrance. I thought my voice would echo up to the second floor, but you kept on walking, so I went upstairs to catch you there.”

Alaina stared at him. “That’s impossible. I haven’t been upstairs yet.”

Carter frowned. “I saw someone enter the hallway upstairs that runs parallel to this one.”

Her breath caught in her throat. “It wasn’t me,” she managed, “and I came here alone. Perhaps the caretaker …”

He shook his head. “Amos is eighty-six years old and walks with a limp. Whoever this was walked quickly enough to disappear before I got upstairs. When I got to the bedroom over the kitchen, I could hear noise downstairs. The door to the servant’s stairwell was partially open, so I assumed you’d gone down that way.”

He pushed shut the door to the stairwell and had to give it an extra nudge when it jammed in the doorframe. “The door had no lock, but it stuck when I tried to open it. I hit it with my shoulder, which is why it flew open and struck you. But if anyone had used it right before me, you would have heard and seen them.”

“I heard you walking upstairs. That’s why I was hurrying to get out of the house, but I didn’t hear anyone before.”

Alaina crossed her arms in front of her chest, a slight chill running over her. “You’re sure you saw someone? Maybe it was a trick of shadows and light. Between the storm brewing and that glass ceiling, maybe it just looked like someone was upstairs.”

“Maybe,” he said, but he didn’t look as though he believed it for a minute.

He spun around and strode down the hallway to the entry. Ignoring his abrupt departure, Alaina hurried behind him as he knelt in front of the circular stairs.

“Only one set of prints, and they’re mine,” he said, pointing to the prints that led up the dusty staircase.

“Maybe it was a ghost,” Alaina joked.

Carter rose and narrowed his eyes at her. “What ghost?”

She shrugged. “None in particular. I just figured old, spooky house equaled a ghost story of some sort, especially in a small community.”

“The locals have their share of beliefs about this house and your stepfather, but I prefer to deal with what I can prove. Given your profession, I assume you appreciate that.”

“Of course. I was just joking.” But she knew she was lying, before the words left her mouth. The memory of her mother’s ghost was something she couldn’t deny and had never been able to forget.

“Because I don’t believe in ghosts,” he said, “I’m going to take a look around.”

“Of course … Thank you.”

He nodded. “Do you know how to use that pistol?”

“Yes. I practice at the range at least once a week.”

“Keep it on you. I’ll make sure I announce myself before accosting you again.”

He pulled his pistol from his waistband and strode up the stairs. She watched him for a couple of seconds, then ran back to the kitchen to scoop her pistol up from the floor. Her apprehension when she’d first arrived had turned into full-fledged worry.

Something didn’t feel right.

The last time she’d felt that way, a child had died.

CARTER PEERED INTO each bedroom off the main hallway over the kitchen, but none of them showed any signs of human passage. Tiny tracks of four-legged critters appeared periodically, but he easily identified and dismissed them. Four-legged creatures may not be desirable inside a home, but there were worse things.

The more space he covered with no indication of the intruder, the more frustrated he became with the entire situation. When William had described Alaina as a successful Baton Rouge attorney, Carter had immediately formed a mental picture of a masculine-looking female. The tall, fit woman with hazel eyes and miles of wavy brown hair didn’t fit into his image at all.

He’d expected to be annoyed and he was, but he hadn’t expected to find her attractive, and that annoyed him even more.

Peering into the last bedroom along the hallway, he blew out a breath. There was no indication that anyone had traveled down this hall besides him, but he knew he’d seen something. Or maybe Alaina was right and the weather and glass ceiling had conspired to create a shadow he had taken for a person.

He started around the balcony that circled the entry, checking the rooms that shot off in every direction. None of them appeared disturbed until he reached the last. Trenton Purcell’s office, he thought as he stepped inside. A huge ornate desk stood in the center of the room. Bookcases, stuffed with leather-bound texts, formed every square inch of the walls, even framing the doorway.

The layer of dust here wasn’t as thick as it was in the rest of the rooms, which made sense assuming Purcell had spent a lot of time in here. He took a step toward the desk and realized that a narrow doorway sat in the back corner of the room, barely visible because it was stained the same color as the bookcases.

He pushed the door open to find a bedroom with another entry off the balcony. The bed was still covered with navy sheets and spread, and several bottles of medicine stood on the nightstand. He picked one up and checked to make sure it belonged to Purcell, then placed it back on the table.

Three doors occupied the far wall of the bedroom, one standing open, exposing the master bath. He opened the second door and found a musty walk-in closet, still full of tattered suits. He expected the third door was more storage but found another servant’s staircase instead.

It made sense, he supposed, that the servants would have a private entry into the master bedroom. That way, they couldn’t be seen going about their work by any household guests. At least, it made sense as much as having people living in your home and waiting on you did to Carter. He wasn’t convinced the convenience was worth the loss of privacy.

He followed the staircase down and pushed open the door at the bottom. It opened easily and without a sound and he stepped out into a laundry room at the back of the house. A door leading into the backyard was positioned at the rear of the room. A quick check showed it to be locked, but he pulled it open and studied the ground outside, trying to make out footprints. Unfortunately, ground cover of cracked stones, dirt and vines wasn’t the kind of material that was easily imprinted.

He stepped back inside and closed and locked the door. There was absolutely no indication that anyone had been in the house except him and Alaina. The fact that he’d found nothing to suggest the presence of an intruder should make him happy, but he couldn’t work himself up to that point.

The reality was, for the first time in his life, Carter knew exactly what his mother meant when she said she “felt” something was wrong but couldn’t put her finger on it. Something was very wrong in this house.

Whatever it was, he didn’t think it would remain hidden for long.

Chapter Four

Alaina felt as though she’d waited forever, but finally Carter emerged from one of the back hallways and into the massive entry room. She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding and felt the tightness in her chest release. Then she realized that he’d just entered the room from the first floor but hadn’t used either of the stairwells to get down from the second floor.

“How did you get downstairs?” she asked as he approached.

He frowned. “A servant’s stairwell in the master bedroom. It led to the laundry room off the back of the house.”

“How many hidden passages are in this house?”

“More than I’ve found so far, I’d guess.” He didn’t look happy about it.

“Did you see anyone …? I mean, I guess you didn’t, but did you see any sign that someone had been up there?”

“No.”

“But?”

He sighed. “But I don’t believe in fanciful things like ghosts and I have perfect vision. I saw something on that landing.”

“An animal maybe?”

“It was too large to be any animal that would be in the house and I couldn’t find tracks on the landing.”

She swallowed. “Then maybe it was a shadow. With that enormous glass ceiling and the storm brewing, couldn’t it have created a moving shadow that looked like a person?”

“I suppose,” he said, but didn’t seem convinced. “Look, maybe you shouldn’t stay here just yet.”

His suggestion was tempting, especially given that she was completely creeped out, but it wasn’t conducive to the reason she was there.

“Is there a hotel in town?” she asked, wondering if spending the night in a hotel and milling among the locals the rest of the day would give whoever was lurking in the house the notice to clear out—assuming it was a human in the first place. Rats, raccoons and storm clouds probably wouldn’t care about the local gossip.

“No hotel. No rental property either. Calais is a small spot on the map and a dead end at that. People don’t come here unless they intend to, so there’s not much call for hotels and such. New Orleans is only a little over an hour’s drive, though.” He looked hopeful as he delivered that last statement.

She could do it—probably should do it—but the thought of packing everything back in her SUV and spending another hour plus on the road didn’t sound even remotely appealing. If she thought it would change something, she might consider it, but staying in New Orleans wouldn’t create any local gossip at all. It would only be delaying the inevitable.

She sighed. “I appreciate your concern, but if you saw something tangible, my staying in New Orleans for a night isn’t going to make it clear out. And it’s just one more day I’ll have to make up staying here.”

“It would give me a chance to poke around some more.”

“You’re welcome to do that while I’m here. In fact, as I’ll be the one living here for two weeks, I’d prefer it if I did it with you.”

She could tell by the way his jaw flexed that he didn’t like it. The attorney had already warned her that the sheriff who’d agreed to the terms of the will had long since passed. While the new sheriff had agreed to meet the terms of the will, he was neither under any legal obligation to do so, nor was he being paid for his time.

His babysitting comment earlier had left her no doubt as to how he felt about his assignment. She sympathized with his position, but ultimately it wasn’t her problem. If he didn’t want to deal with it any longer, Alaina was certain Mr. Duhon would find someone else.

Finally, he blew out a breath. “Okay, then the first thing we should do is locate a bedroom for you that is easily secured. No servants’ passages and a good, sturdy lock.”

“One with a connecting bath would be best.”

“I agree. The master bedroom has a connecting bath but also several ways in and out.”

She crossed her arms over her chest, as if to ward off the unease she felt at the thought of sleeping in the same bed that her dead stepfather had slept in. “I wouldn’t want to sleep in there anyway.”

“I don’t blame you. Let’s check downstairs first.”

Alaina nodded and walked to the left side of the entry as Carter took the right. A careful inspection of the downstairs rooms did not reveal any equipped as a bedroom.

“We could move some bedroom furniture downstairs,” Carter suggested as they met at the back of the entry.

She shook her head. “There’s no connecting bath for any of the rooms. There’s a half bath off the kitchen, but that’s the only one I’ve seen downstairs so far.”

“There’s another off the laundry room.”

She blew out a breath. “Both of those are hallways away from these rooms, and I can hardly put a bed in the middle of the kitchen or the laundry room, or shower in the sink.”

“No. Neither of those rooms is secure anyway. They both have wide entries with no doors.”

“Probably to make carrying laundry and food easier.”

“Which doesn’t help us at all.”

“Then I guess I’ll have to stay upstairs.”

He motioned toward the spiral stairwell. “After you.”

As she walked up the stairs, she looked out the glass ceiling. The clouds overhead swirled, creating constantly shifting patterns of light and shadows.

“That storm looks like it’s going to be bad,” she said as they stepped onto the landing.

“It doesn’t look like a mild one,” he agreed. “I can’t believe that glass ceiling is still intact. We had a horrible storm last week—lots of lightning and hail even.”

“It’s got a panel that covers it. I accidentally opened it thinking it was a switch for the lights. It didn’t sound like it had been used in some time.”

Carter looked up and frowned. “Your stepfather was a recluse. Maybe he didn’t like the light either.”

Preferring to lurk in the shadow like most monsters.

She shook her head. Now was not the time for fanciful thoughts, especially those that might scare her once she was alone in this house in the dark. She had no concrete memory of her stepfather, but she knew she’d feared him. That was all she wanted to know.

“I just hope it closes,” she said.

“Let’s not borrow trouble,” he said and pointed to a hallway on the left side of the landing. “I saw several bedrooms that direction when I was up here earlier. Let’s see if one works.”

By unspoken agreement, they each took a side of the hall and began inspecting the bedrooms. Alaina made it to the door centered at the end of the hall before Carter. She stepped inside and sucked in a breath.

This was it. The bedroom she’d shared with her sisters.

It was situated directly over the kitchen area and just as large. Her memories were fuzzy, but she could remember the single beds and crib, all decked out in pink and white. White dressers stood against the wall across from the beds. The beds and dressers were long gone, but against the far wall stood two wooden school desks.

She crossed the room and ran her fingers over the dusty desktop. A chill coursed through her when she felt the indentations in the corner. It had been restained and lacquered when she was a child—her punishment had been scrubbing the marble floors downstairs for a week by hand—but even the new stain and lacquer hadn’t erased the single word she’d carved in the corner with her scissors.

Help.

“Is everything okay?” Carter’s voice sounded behind her, causing her to spin around.

“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” He studied her for a couple of seconds. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” she said, straining to keep herself from sounding as anxious as she felt. “Just coming face-to-face with old ghosts.”

She forced a small smile. “I suppose I should get used to it, right?”

He looked around the room and she had no doubt he noticed the desks and other remnants that marked the room as occupied by children. “I guess it’s strange coming back here after so long. You must have a lot of memories of this place.”

“Not really. To be honest, I barely remember anything about my childhood. I should because I was old enough to, but it’s as if it’s been erased.”

“Perhaps it was too painful to deal with, so you locked away those memories.”

A bit of relief washed over her. “Yes, I think you’re right. You’re very intuitive.”

“Not really,” he said, looking slightly uncomfortable. “It just seems logical given the circumstances back then.”

She studied him for a moment. It was the first time since she’d met him that she got the feeling he was lying to her. As an attorney, she had a highly honed ability to detect untruth.

“Looks like the dam is breaking. I guess that’s something else I’ll have to deal with,” she said, pushing all thought of Carter and his potential ulterior motives from her mind. Whatever Carter was hiding was none of her business. She barely knew the man and that was the way things were going to stay.

He nodded and scanned the room again. “It looks like this is the only one with serviceable furniture, but if you don’t feel comfortable staying in here …”

“No, this will be fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“It doesn’t require moving furniture and is as secure as any other option, right?”

“Assuming the locks work properly, yes.” He walked to the doorway and checked the lock, then crossed the room to open the French doors that led onto a balcony overlooking the backyard.

She stepped out to join him. The square lines of cypress trees were the only indicators of the lawn that used to exist. Now it was as if the entire area had been swallowed up by the swamp that surrounded it. Marsh grass and weeds grew as high as a person, and scraggly shrubs had spouted up in random patterns. Vines clung to everything capable of supporting their weight and when nothing was available, they ran across the ground, mixing in with the moss to make a mottled carpet of green.

“It’s not very inviting,” she said, trying to shake the uneasy feeling that the swamp gave her.

She’d expected Carter to provide another logical explanation—one that she could lock on to and carry over the next two weeks—but instead, he stared silently out across the tangle of undergrowth. Finally, he spoke. “The swamps of Mystere Parish aren’t like other places, not even like other swamps.”

“What do you mean?”

He shook his head. “Can’t say exactly. It’s just a feeling, really, that something isn’t right. Swamps in Mystere Parish are quieter than most and have more than their share of unexplained phenomena.”

“The legends and lore of Creoles?”

“I’m sure that’s some of it, but I’m not much for old wives’ tales or stories told to scare kids into minding their mothers. Still, I don’t much like spending time in the swamp.” He looked her straight in the eyes. “I’m not trying to tell you what to do, but you probably shouldn’t venture out there. Too many lethal things could be lurking just past your back door and not a single one of them the kind of thing legends are made from.”

Despite the heat of the evening, a slight chill ran over her and she crossed her arms. “You don’t have to worry about that for a second. You couldn’t pay me enough to go in there.”

He nodded. “Well, the locks on both doors are fine. I wish we could have found a room closer to the stairwell …”

His voice trailed off and Alaina realized he hadn’t wanted to alarm her by finishing his sentence, but she had little doubt what he was thinking.

“In case I need to get out in a hurry,” she finished for him.

He frowned. “I don’t want to scare you unnecessarily, but I’d be lying if I said I liked you staying out here alone.”

“I thought there was a caretaker.”

“Amos lives in his own cabin.” He pointed across what used to be the back lawn. “It’s somewhere in that mess. Even if he heard or saw anything from his cabin, age and physical conditioning are working against him. He wouldn’t be much help.”

She leaned over the balcony and was relieved to see a stone walkway below that led around to the front of the house. It was a bit overgrown with vines but still visible.

“No worries,” she said as she straightened back up. “If things get hairy, I’ll go right over the balcony and run for my SUV.”

Carter glanced over the balcony and raised his eyebrows. “You’re going to jump from the second floor then run?”

“I went to college on a track-and-field scholarship. Almost made the Olympic team. The drop from the railing is no worse than the high jump, and trust me, if it’s a footrace with anything on two legs, I can take them.”

His lips quivered for a moment, then broke into a slow smile. “That’s good to know, but if it’s all the same, I’m going to hope you don’t have to back up those words.”

She smiled. “Me, too, but if it’s all the same, I may sleep with tennis shoes on.”

“Well, then, it looks like we have a plan.” He stepped back toward the door to the bedroom and motioned her inside. He stood just outside the doorway, waiting for her to pass. As she stepped past him, her arm brushed across his chest and she felt a tingle deep inside. Even though it had been a tiny bit of contact, it had left no doubt that underneath the worn T-shirt and jeans contained a ripped body built for action.

Maybe she needed to revise her earlier statement. She might not be able to take Carter in a footrace, but then, depending on the reason he was chasing her, she might not run.

She shook her head to clear it from thoughts that had no business being there. Had it really been that long since she’d enjoyed the company of a man that she was fantasizing about the first eligible one she ran across? She’d ended a three-year relationship eight months before and hadn’t been interested in pursuing another. Or maybe her last relationship had left her so jaded about men—particularly good-looking ones—that she had been intentionally avoiding them.

Funny how she’d managed to do just that in Baton Rouge, the capital of the state, but the second she set foot in a town with less population than her condominium complex, she came face-to-face with the only man who had piqued her interest since her ex.

Carter closed and locked the French doors behind them. “Let me help you get your things up here.”

“Oh, that’s okay. I brought only one suitcase of personal things. The rest goes to the kitchen. It will give me something to do.” She hoped he’d leave her to it. With her imagination in overdrive and her memory rapid-firing without warning and her obvious attraction to the sheriff, she felt too vulnerable. And she didn’t like that feeling.

Carter nodded and they made their way back downstairs. He stood in the entryway next to the front door and scanned the area one last time. She could tell he was still uncomfortable with her staying here alone—and that made two of them—but she wasn’t about to admit it. The sooner she got started, the sooner her fourteen-day stint would be over. Besides, she couldn’t put her career on hold forever. A delay meeting the terms of the will would delay anything else she decided, as well.

“Can I see your cell phone?” Carter asked.

“What? Oh, sure.” She dug the phone out of her purse and handed it to him.

He checked the display and frowned. “Only one bar. I figured as much. When the storm hits, you may lose service altogether.”

He pressed the phone’s screen for a minute, then handed it back to her. “I loaded my cell number in favorites along with the number for dispatch. As soon as you get a chance, you should head to the café—they have free Wi-Fi—and download that app that allows you to put a phone number on your screen for speed dial.”

She stared at him for a moment.

“I’m not trying to scare you,” he said. “It’s just that the house is old and poorly maintained and there are a lot of things that could become an emergency. William Duhon is a family friend, and I promised him I’d look after things. He has an office here in Calais, but also in New Orleans, so he’s not always readily available.

She nodded. “That’s a good idea. And thank you for being on call.”

He handed the phone back to her, but as she was about to pull her hand away, he gently clasped his hand around it. “If you see anything that doesn’t look right—hell, if you feel like something’s not right—call me.”

The heat from his hand coursed through her and she suddenly realized how close they were standing to each other. If she tilted her face upward and leaned in just a bit, it was all it would take to kiss him.

She pulled her hand away. “I can hardly bother you with every little noise. I’m sure there are plenty of things here that are going to try my nerves. This isn’t exactly the kind of living arrangement I’m used to.”

He shook his head. “Don’t give me that. If you were any good at being a lawyer, then you know how to read a situation better than most. I’m asking you not to second-guess yourself.”

A bit of annoyance started to creep in. Caution was one thing, but now she felt as if he was trying to scare her. And certainly, he had no right making assumptions about her professional abilities. “Look, I appreciate your concern, but other than ensuring I don’t leave town, I’m not really your responsibility.”

His expression didn’t change except for a tiny flex of his jaw. Her words had—what?—annoyed him? Frustrated him? She couldn’t tell exactly.

“As long as William Duhon is my mother’s best friend, then you’re my responsibility. You may as well get used to it.”

He opened the front door and left without so much as a backward glance. She watched as he pulled away in his truck and then she shut the door and locked it. Mr. Duhon hadn’t told her that a hulking male was part of the deal.

Unlocked memories, ghosts, storms and a creepy house being swallowed up by the swamp. She had to face all of them for thirteen more days.

At the moment, the hunky sheriff was the thing that scared her most of all.

Chapter Five

As he drove away, Carter glanced in his rearview mirror at the decaying old house that seemed to fade into the swamp. This entire situation had gone from annoying to frustrating in very little time. And the worst part was, he had a feeling things were only going to go downhill from here. Darn his mother and her “feelings.” Although he’d never really understood what she meant when she said things felt wrong, he’d always respected her perception.

Now he understood it all too well.

Something was wrong—seriously wrong—at that house. Alaina seemed nice enough for a lawyer, and he certainly hadn’t missed the fact that she was easy on the eyes, but he got the impression she was hiding something. Granted, she had no call to lay out her life to a complete stranger, and he didn’t expect her to, but her safety was in question and it almost seemed as if she was hiding things to do with the house and her childhood there.

A string of curse words ran through his head, but he managed to hold them in, as his mother had taught him to. When he reached the crossroads in Calais, he gave up manners—after all, he was the only one in the vehicle—and let one slip. Then he turned his truck toward William’s office. He needed more information and the best place to start was with the attorney handling the estate.

William was just locking up his office on Main Street when Carter parked in front of it. He gave Carter a pleasant smile as the sheriff exited his truck.

“I trust Alaina arrived safely?” William asked.

“She arrived safely, but I have some concerns about her ability to remain that way. Do you have some time to talk?”

“Certainly. Let me open back up.”

“Actually,” Carter interrupted him before he could unlock the door, “I could really use a cup of coffee and a Danish.”

William smiled. “I would never say no to coffee and Danish. The café it is, then.”

They walked in silence across the street to Calais Café and slid into a booth in the far corner. Only a couple of tables were occupied, but they were far enough away that they could speak freely without fear of being overheard.

Seconds later, the waitress walked up. “Good evening, gentlemen,” she said with a big smile.

“I don’t know about the ‘gentlemen’ part,” Carter joked.

“Speak for yourself, young man,” William said.

The waitress, a young, pretty girl named Connie, who’d turned up in Calais several months before, laughed at their exchange.

“Trust me,” she said, “after working at a dive in New Orleans, I can assure you that the citizens of Calais are above reproach.”

Carter smiled at the woman. “Then good evening to you, too.”

William nodded. “As well from me.”

“Are you having supper,” Connie asked, “or are you planning to cheat on supper with a Danish?”

“Given that my supper is most likely microwavable,” Carter said, “cheating is a strong word.”

Connie shook her head. “The quality of the object is not the issue. Once you’ve committed to something, it’s still cheating. But I guess I’ll have pity on you. What about you, Mr. Duhon?”

“I’ll be cheating as well,” William said, “but don’t tell Matilda.”

Connie laughed as she walked away. William’s dedication to his late wife’s ancient white Persian was a commonly known fact in Calais.

William glanced at Connie as she walked away, then looked back at Carter. “She’s a pretty girl. Seems nice, as well.”

Something in William’s voice set Carter on high alert and he looked over at the attorney, taking in the slightly hopeful expression on his face. “Oh, no!” Carter said. “Don’t you even go there.”

“Why, I didn’t say a word.”

“Uh-huh. You and my mother are always ‘never saying a word.’ And all those words you’re never saying come back to the same thing—when am I going to settle down and give her grandkids.”

Connie returned with a tray and placed the coffee and two enormous Danish on the table. “Enjoy,” she said and hurried away to greet customers entering the café.

William took a bite of the Danish dripping with cream, and smiled. “Your mother is my oldest and dearest friend. I’d hardly be doing my job if I didn’t try to get her the things she wants most in life.”

Carter stuffed a huge bite of Danish in his mouth and held up one finger until he managed to wash the pastry down with coffee. “Get her a puppy and tell her to make do. The whole ‘kids and white picket fence’ thing isn’t in my long-term plans.”

The attorney sighed. “You’re still young. Perhaps you’ll change your mind and your mother can die a fulfilled woman.”

“Ha! You’re not going to guilt me into shackling myself to some woman either. Look, I know you and my mother both had great marriages and both of you lost spouses way too early, but it’s not for everyone. Some people have such a narrow slot for entry that they never find someone who fits it.”

“Some people board up that slot so that it is too narrow for others to enter.”

“Perhaps, but that’s my choice. And besides, even if I had the Grand Canyon of slots, the last thing I’d want is a young, innocent, nice girl. Living with me would be hell on earth to someone like that.”

Instantly, his thoughts flashed to Alaina. Now, there was a woman who wouldn’t let a man get the better of her. Likely, she’d get the best of any man she tangled with. He shook his head, wondering why he found that remotely attractive. Clearly he had issues. Danger attracted him. Nice, pretty girls with a good sense of humor bored him.

“So who is she?” William asked, breaking him out of his thoughts.

“What? No one.”

William wagged a finger at him. “I saw the look on your face. You went someplace where you were thinking about a woman—maybe one thin enough to fit in that slot.”

“The woman I was thinking about would blow up the slot with dynamite and stroll through. She’s also the reason I need to talk to you.”

“You’re speaking of Alaina? I haven’t seen her since she was a child, of course, but her mother was quite beautiful.”

“She’s beautiful … and prickly and not much on giving information.”

William smiled. “Got under your skin, did she?” He rubbed his jaw a moment. “I suppose with her being an attorney, she’d be naturally cautious, especially with anything she considered personal or outside of the scope of your business with the estate. Is there anything in particular that concerns you?”

“Yeah.” He told William about what he’d seen in the house and his failure to find any good explanation.

“And you don’t accept that it could have been tricks of light and shadows, as Alaina suggested?”

Carter blew out a breath. “I should. I mean, it’s far more logical than someone walking around the house but not leaving a trace in all that dust….”

“But?”

“But I know what I saw and it wasn’t a shadow.” He paused for a moment, trying to think of how to sum up his assessment in a way that didn’t make him sound crazy. “Look, something’s not right. I can’t put my finger on it, but I’m as certain about it as I was that the Danish would be superb.”

William nodded. “I believe you. You are your mother’s son after all. I’ve always figured it was only a matter of time before you tapped into the same perception she has. So what can I do to help?”

“I want information.”

“About?”

“We can start with Ophelia LeBeau and Trenton Purcell.”

“Okay. What would you like to know?”

“I don’t know exactly. Just start talking and maybe it will come to me.”

William nodded. “Ophelia was one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen—Alaina looks a lot like her from the pictures I’ve seen—but it wasn’t just the outside. She was beautiful inside, as well. I think perhaps her big heart proved to be her undoing.”

“How so?”

“She loved Marcus LeBeau, the girls’ father, as deeply and long as the Mississippi River. You could see it all over her face every time she looked at him. And the feeling was mutual. Marcus adored Ophelia and doted on his daughters. When he was killed in a boating accident, I think her heart broke in two.”

“Enter Trenton Purcell?”

William nodded. “It’s my opinion that Ophelia would never have taken up with him if she hadn’t been grieving Marcus’s loss. And I also think she wanted the girls to have a father. It was the worst mistake she ever made.”

“So I take it you didn’t like him either?”

William flushed a bit, his expression slightly angry. “Trenton Purcell was the biggest bastard I’ve ever come across in all my years on earth. And I trust you won’t repeat what I’ve said to your mother … at least not with those exact words.”

“Don’t worry. I think you two are in absolute agreement on this one.”

“Yes, well, I tried to talk Ophelia out of marrying him—I suggested she live with him rather than making it legally binding. Probably not my kindest moment, but with her own father deceased and my firm managing her estate, I felt responsible.” He sighed. “Unfortunately, I wasn’t successful—not in convincing her to forgo legally binding herself to him or in trying to get her to address the issues of the estate to protect her daughters.”

“I don’t get that part. If she loved her children so much, why wouldn’t she want them protected?”

William shook his head. “Because she wanted so badly to believe in Purcell and did? Because she was only twenty-eight and couldn’t force herself to think about her own death? I can’t really say. What I can tell you is that failing to take the legal steps to protect her girls was the second-biggest mistake Ophelia ever made.”

“How did Ophelia die?”

“Heart attack was the official ruling, but I’d argue that a more apt description was a broken heart.”

“Hmm. Rather a poetic statement for an attorney.”

William gave him a small smile. “Comes from having a British mother who loved the classics, I suppose.”

“And Purcell? I assume the broken-heart thing wasn’t his bag?”

“Hardly, but Purcell had all sorts of issues.”

“What do you mean?”

“He was so secretive—people-avoidant, quite frankly. When he moved into the house, he convinced Ophelia to give up all her volunteer work within the community and to pull the girls out of public school. They rarely left the house.”

“And after Ophelia died?”

“Until the day the coroner carried his body out, I am not aware that he ever left the house again. The caretaker was born on the estate and never left, so he was on hand to tend to most things day to day, and after Purcell shut himself off, he convinced Jack Granger to play errand boy for him.”

“When he was sober enough to drive.”

William nodded. “And probably when he wasn’t. I think Purcell threw enough money at him to keep him in beer, but not much else. He did some grumbling after Purcell died. I think he was expecting something by way of inheritance.”

“So no one knew that Purcell didn’t have the authority to dispense Ophelia’s money.”

“Not unless Purcell told them, and I doubt he would have let that fact loose. I’d hazard a guess that he got cheap labor off some of the Calais citizens for years with promises of riches at his death.”

“So there might be some pissed-off people in Calais?”

William shrugged. “Maybe, but Granger is the only one I can think of who still lives here, and anyone with a lick of sense and decency wouldn’t begrudge those girls their inheritance, even if it meant that Purcell played them for a fool.”

Carter nodded, mulling over everything William had told him. From start to finish to now, it was a strange setup. “The thing I don’t understand is, why did Purcell marry Ophelia for her money, then hide away in the bayou after her death? He’d already disposed of her children, so his responsibilities were minimal. Shouldn’t he have been on a tropical island with a flock of sexy women?”

“Yes, that would have followed more the norm, but I think that’s where Purcell’s issues came in. I think he was already pulling away from society and saw Ophelia’s riches as a way to avoid any interaction with the outside world because he wouldn’t be required to hold a job. Her death only entrenched that belief because without Ophelia and the girls, he had no one pressing him to venture outside of his own mind.”

“So he was crazy?”

“I have no medical training for the basis of my opinion, but yes, I’d say crazy. However, crazy, in this case, does not absolve intent. I have no proof, of course, but I think Purcell was a mean man—deliberately mean to Ophelia and the girls. Evil requires calculation.”

Carter shook his head, wondering if any of the information he’d gained meant something now. Certainly it gave him a better view of the circumstances that led to his current problem—and gave him at least ten more reasons to hate Purcell—but he wasn’t sure it gave him any direction on the situation with Alaina.

He looked over at William. “I don’t suppose you believe in ghosts, do you?”

William was silent for a moment. “Well, if it’s a ghost you saw, let’s hope for Alaina’s sake that it was Ophelia and not Trenton.”

ALAINA UNPACKED the last of the groceries from the boxes she’d lugged into the kitchen. The staples were strewn across the long stone countertop that formed the bar, but that was all she’d taken the time to wipe down. Tomorrow, she’d lug the boxes with cleaning supplies into the kitchen and tackle the pantry and inside of the cabinets. Once they were clean, she’d head into Calais to get some refrigerated items, now that she’d ensured the ancient appliance was still working.

A burst of thunder fired off and a bolt of lightning flashed across the glass wall of the breakfast area, causing her to jump. The second blast rolled through a couple of seconds later and giant raindrops began to plink against the windows.

The ceiling!

She’d meant to close the roof before she started unpacking but was so distracted that she’d forgotten. She rushed back to the entry and was relieved that no rain poured into the house. Now, as long as the switch worked, she was in business.

Saying a silent prayer, she reached out and flipped the switch. The machinery whined for a couple of seconds, but then the roof started to slide slowly back in place. She blew out a breath of relief as the panel slid over the last foot of the glass.

The lack of light hid the dust and grime, but it invited in the spooky. The vases and other objets d’art that resided on the freestanding columns stood like silent sentinels in the dim light. Surely the entry contained another light source. Glancing down the walls, she spotted sconces placed every twenty feet or so. Now, if she could just find the switch.

She started checking to her right, thinking if it were her house, she’d want a switch located somewhere outside the kitchen, but as she traveled farther and farther away from the kitchen hallway, she realized that logic had apparently not entered into switch-plate placement in this house.

As she drew closer to the back of the entry, in the darkest corner of the room, a buzzer sounded and she barely fought back a scream.

The laundry.

As she headed down the hallway to the laundry room, she chided herself. First the storm; now she was jumping at appliances. Thirteen more days in this house stretched ahead of her. She had to get a grip.

She pulled the sheets from the dryer and transferred the blanket from the washing machine to dry. So far, William’s word that the house was serviceable was holding up, which was a relief. She sniffed the sheets and was relieved that the dust and slight smell of mold were no longer present. The last thing she needed was to get sick in this environment. Leaving would be the only way to get healthy again.

As she folded the sheets, lightning flashed, lighting up the overgrown courtyard outside the laundry room. She froze. Was something moving outside? Surely not, given the storm. She placed the sheets on the dryer to try to get a better look.

The humidity from the storm had the glass panels on the door fogging over, thus limiting visibility. She stepped close to the door and rubbed a peephole, then peered out into the darkness. The foliage swayed in the wind, the occasional bursts of lightning casting rays of light in between the branches and leaves. Whatever she’d seen was solid. At least she thought it was, but because she’d caught it out of the corner of her eye, she couldn’t be certain.

Her peephole fogged over again and before she could change her mind, she reached for the doorknob. She’d just step out under the overhang and see if she could get a better look.

She sucked in a breath when the knob turned easily in her hand.

It was already unlocked!

She pulled her pistol from her waistband, where she’d stuck it earlier. That door had been locked when she’d started the laundry. She’d checked it herself. As much as she hated to admit it, Carter might have seen a real live person on the landing.

Clenching her pistol, she pulled open the door and stepped outside. The rain came down in giant sheets, reducing visibility to only a couple of feet. Squinting, she leaned forward, trying to see into the brush about twenty feet from the door. Was something moving in there?

A burst of thunder boomed overhead and lightning streaked across the sky, lighting up the entire courtyard. Rays of light streaked through the brush, illuminating the individual branches and leaves. Nothing. But she could have sworn something was there just seconds ago.

The sheets of rain gusted toward her now and the huge drops stung her face and eyes, causing her vision to blur. Time to go back inside and lock the door behind her.

Then a hand grabbed her shoulder, and she screamed.

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