Dangerous Deception

Thirty minutes later that fish had been joined by two others, and the man down river disgustedly reeled in his empty line, packed up his tackle box and began making his way to a new spot, one a great deal closer to hers.

“Looks like you found yourself a hot spot here.”

“Caught three beauts and haven’t even been here an hour,” she said casually. “This is my first time fishing in this area. Is it always this good?”

Halloway wiped his brow, then adjusted the brim of the straw hat he wore. “Not for me. Not today, anyways.”

“Well, you’re welcome to try your luck here.”

It was the only invitation he needed. Minutes later he had his equipment situated and was settled in a portable folding chair. He cast his line and it fell soundlessly into the river. “You’re not from these parts.”

“New Orleans.” Tori leaned back in the grass, propped on her elbows and toed off her sandals. “Every day off I get I head to new fishing spots.” She shot him a sideways glance, a bit concerned at his flushed expression. The sun was searing overhead, though it wasn’t yet noon. For the first time she thought he might have been equally attracted by the shade nearby as he was by her fishing success. “Guess you must spend your free time same as me.”

He grunted, reeled in his empty line and rummaged in his tackle box to choose a different lure. “I got nothing but days like these. I been retired now near ’bout seven years.”

There was a tug on her line. Tori pretended not to notice, although the fact hadn’t escaped Halloway. “I’m figuring you must live around here.”

“How you figure that?”

“No lunch with you.” She smiled easily and pointed to the small basket she’d packed. “I came ready to make a day of it.”

“Born and raised ’round these parts,” he admitted. “Gal, you got something bitin’ at your line, there.”

“So I do.” With a nonchalance that seemed to set the man’s teeth on edge, she straightened, cocked her wrist back and reeled in her fourth and biggest catch of the day.

“Well, if you aren’t having Sam’s own luck,” the man muttered, narrowed gaze envious. “What’re you using there?”

She added the fish to her pail, and held the lure up for him to see. “Something my dad used to make himself. Sunfish go wild for it. What do you use?”

“Straight fly lure. Ain’t seeing the kind of luck you’re having, though.”

Seizing the opportunity, Tori reached into her tackle box. “You’re welcome to try one, if you’d like.” She held out one of the neon lures and it took only a moment before Halloway pushed himself from his chair and came to get it. “I always put a bit of bacon on mine.”

“Always use grubs for sunfish, myself.” Nevertheless, he accepted the piece of bacon she offered and gave her a smile before lumbering back to his chair.

“So, what’d you retire from?”

“Used to be sheriff of this parish. Got myself elected unopposed every term but two, and neither of them elections was close. Don’t know if that means most folks got more sense, or that I got the job done right, but put twenty years in office.”

“People must have been satisfied,” she said, with an obvious stroke to his ego. “I suppose things stay pretty quiet around these parts, though. Not like in the cities.”

“You’d be surprised. Just a couple years ago, Cooter Beecham shot his wife, Emma, stone cold after being married thirty years. That got the parish buzzing, I can tell you.”

“I’ll bet.” Although Tori could care less about Cooter or his questionable ancestry, which Halloway described at some length, she let the man talk. And when he pulled in a sunfish a good foot long, he got even more expansive. “’Course no one was surprised overmuch,” he concluded, his story winding down. “Got himself drunker ’n Bessy Bug most Saturdays. Went home after he’d tied one on and thought he saw a ghost standing in his doorway. Ran to get his shotgun from his truck and squeezed off three shots afore he figured out it was Emma in her nightdress.”

She took advantage of his pause for breath to say, “I’ll bet that created some excitement around here. Did it bring all the reporters in from the city to interview you?”

He looked a little crestfallen at that. “Well no, just the reporter for the local paper. But,” his face brightened as he recast his line, “I was on WDSU once, you know the New Orleans channel? Near ’bout twenty years ago, it was. Everybody wanted to talk about that case, yes sirree. There was a mite more interest in the Tremaine family than in Cooter’s.”

“I think I remember that. It was a car accident, wasn’t it?” Tori nodded, her nonchalant manner at odds with the jitter in her pulse. “I’ll bet that did bring the reporters crawling.”

“Reporters, photographers and more gawkers than a body could shake a stick at. Gruesome scene, it was,” he said, shaking his head. “By the time I arrived there was nothing to be done for any of the passengers. Car ran off the road, over an embankment and landed fifteen feet below. Terrible sight.” He looked, Tori thought, just a little green at the retelling. “The Tremaines have done a lot for folks ’round these parts. The tragedy was talked about for years. But an accident’s all it was, just like I told ’em, and despite all the digging by journalists and P.I.s, that’s all they came up with, too.”

Since she’d spent the better part of the night reading the reports in the file, Tori was well aware of the conclusions drawn. “They didn’t discover anything wrong with the car?” she asked.

“Not a thing, and I had Harris DuBlass look it over special. At that time there wasn’t a finer hand with a car than his, and he said it was clean as a whistle. Not much left of it, of course, smashed up as it was. You’ll still hear some folks ’round these parts talk about sabotage or some such thing, but I’m here to tell you, the steering and brakes looked just fine. Accident went in the books as plain, old DE.”

It took a moment for Tori to follow his meaning. “Driver error.”

“That’s right. The road had just been reopened after road crews had worked on it for months. There was interest for a while to straighten out that curve, make the road into four lanes, but folks got upset about cutting down the big ol’ trees along one side. In the end they just widened it. Most likely Joseph Tremaine took that curve too fast. Only idea I ever come up with. If it happened in these times, they’d probably all survive, what with the shoulder harnesses and air bags. But back then with just the lap belt.” The older man shook his head. “Didn’t none of ’em stand a chance of living through it.”

“Didn’t that surprise you, though?” Tori asked. “I mean, he must have been familiar with the area.”

He let out a crow of delight as another tug on his line brought him to his feet. “I think I got me a big one here.” He let the line play out a little before reeling it in slowly, watching the fish on the other end thrash. “Sure he knew the roads like the back of his hand,” he continued his earlier thread seamlessly, “but like I said, that road had been changed some. And there’s not a one among us that don’t get behind the wheel when our mind isn’t totally on driving. That’s why they call them accidents.”

“I guess there were no witnesses to help clear up any questions.”

“Nope. Just a couple of Bernie Glasser’s cows that musta got out and come downriver, and they weren’t talking. Leastways, that’s the story Glasser gave. Like nobody knew he brung them down regular every morning to avoid the cost of watering ’em. Used to tromp ’em across Cooter Beecham’s property like clockwork, and didn’t that make the old guy cuss a blue streak. Had a mouth on him, old Cooter did, and he didn’t need to be liquored up to let loose, no sirree. Why I remember a time…”

Tori let the man ramble and her mind drift. Ex-Sheriff Halloway’s retelling of the accident was different from his report only in the colorful details. Doubt about the cause of the accident hadn’t lingered long in his mind, if at all.

If he was right, his conclusion would mirror her dad’s. His report had been included in the file, as well, and she’d pored over it with particular attention. Just reading it, imagining him sitting at his battered desk painstakingly typing his findings, had summoned a lump to her throat that appeared only too easily these days.

For the first time she considered the fact that if she arrived at a different conclusion from his, it would mean he’d been wrong. That he’d overlooked something, or been too careless in his investigation. Neither of the possibilities seemed likely. Rob Landry had been meticulous about his work and his reputation. If there had been something to find twenty years earlier, something to support James’s fear that the accident had been deliberate, he would have found it. Reported it. And remained on the case until the wrongdoer was brought to justice.

She let out a sigh, only half aware that Halloway had fallen silent. It was highly probable that there was nothing to the claims in those messages about Tremaine’s parents. They’d likely been sent to distract him at a time when he most needed to focus his attention on his work.

But the conclusion didn’t make her breathe any easier. She couldn’t dismiss the threats in the notes as easily as James did. Even if the car wreck all those years ago had been an accident, he could still have a target on his back. Either way, this investigation could well prove dangerous to him. And if she was honest, the fear that followed that thought was more than just a professional one.

Chapter 4

James peered at the screen, tapping in commands rapidly. “I’m still not satisfied with the speed of the file-wiping function of the software. For optional utility, the task needs to be accomplished twice as quickly.”

Marcus Rappaport, Vice President of Production and James’s right hand in the company, shook his head. Bracing his hands on the table beside James, he leaned closer to the computer. “Figured you’d raise a breeze about it. But if you’re bent on overwriting the data a dozen times in the wipe, it’s going to take more time. We can speed it up by doing a sextuple overwrite, which still is twice as often as conventional methods, but…”

James lifted a brow. “Did you actually mention conventional methods in my presence?”

The man straightened, raising his hands in mock surrender. “What was I thinking? But it’s getting pretty close to deadline to do more than fine-tune any aspect of the system. Maybe we should just…”

“Adjust the algorithm, compress the oppositional system and, if that doesn’t work, see what our new super-sonic chip would do to the speed.”

Rappaport gaped at him. “Do you know how that would impact the cost?”

James pushed away from the computer table. He assumed the question was rhetorical. There was no one in his company as well versed as he in the profit/loss margin of every contract he undertook. “I have a general idea, yes. It’s a last option, but if it comes to that, I’d rather shave our profit than put a product out there that doesn’t perform exactly as I envisioned it.”

Marcus stared at him a moment longer, then began jotting notes on a pad of paper. “This perfectionist trait of yours may be the death of this company yet.”

James was too used to the man’s pessimistic nature to take offense. He smiled and rose, clapping him on the shoulder. “I’m not a perfectionist, Marcus, just fussy. Give the job to Analiese and tell her none of us think it can be done. You know how she responds to a challenge.”