Chapter Sixteen #2
“I dumped a car in the bayou almost two decades ago. I was a stupid teenager and dumped it so my mother could get the insurance money. That car was the first one you pulled out of the bayou.”
Tom nods, leans forward. “Dr. Watters, I don’t care one bit about some insurance scam from almost two decades ago. That’s off the table. You don’t need to worry about that.” He cocks his head to one side. “What you do need to worry about, however, are the human remains found in that car’s trunk.”
My body goes cold. I feel Charles staring at me. “I had no idea about that. I promise you that car was empty when I pushed it in the bayou.”
“Do you have proof?”
“Yes,” I say quickly. “A videotape.”
“I’d like to see it,” Bordelon says.
Charles clears his throat behind me. Travis raises his eyebrows. So much for my plan to keep that quiet for now.
“Of course,” I say to Bordelon, straightening. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think to bring it with me.”
Bordelon looks to the chief, then back to me. “Well, we’ll need you to bring it in as soon as possible.” He adjusts his chair. “For now, tell me about when you dumped the car.”
I readjust in my chair, shoot a quick glance to Travis, who nods.
“I was seventeen. My mother, sister, and I were visiting our aunts here in Broken Bayou. My mother got a new car. A convertible. I’ve since learned it was a gift from her boss, Zeke Johnson.
A guy she worked for part time while we were here.
” I forge on. “One night, my mother asked me to get rid of the car. She said we needed money, and she could claim the car was stolen and get insurance money for it. So I got rid of it.”
Tom says, “Why would your mother ask you to get rid of it? Why wouldn’t she get rid of it herself?”
I look him in the eyes. “Because I was a minor. She said if I got caught, I’d just get a slap on the wrist.”
He nods. “And did your mother report the car stolen? Did she ever receive insurance money for it?”
“I don’t think so. She said she did, but Mama said a lot of things.
She’s bipolar and, at the time, a serious alcoholic.
” Images come back to me. The open and empty safe in the back office.
The wad of cash in the glove box of the old station wagon she got back.
“What I actually think is she stole from her boss.”
Tom scratches at his face, rubs his chin. “Okay, let’s fast-forward. She’s asked you to get rid of her car. You’ve agreed. Now what?”
This is where it’s going to get tricky for Travis. I sneak a peek at him but can’t read his expression. I look at Tom. “I walked to where my mother left the car, and then I went to a friend’s house and asked for help. Then I drove the car to Walter Delaroux’s farm.”
Tom leans forward. His eyes widen. “Walter Delaroux who’s in custody for the barrel murders?”
I nod.
“Who was the friend?” Tom says.
I rub my brows, take a breath. Sorry, Travis.
“Before I say his name, I want you to know he had no idea what I was up to. He was only helping me because I begged him to. He left his truck for me to use to push the car in, and he walked away before I ever dumped the car.” I add, “And we cleaned the car out, even the trunk. There was nothing in that trunk. Nothing. I swear.”
“What’s his name? Your friend.”
I swallow, then point to Travis. “Travis Arceneaux.”
The chief whips his head to the side. “Travis?”
Travis nods. His eyes find mine. I mouth the word sorry.
Tom looks at the chief. “Maybe you better take Travis down to your office. I’ll be down in a minute.”
As Travis follows the chief out, his hand grazes my shoulder. A light touch, a simple squeeze that tells me it’s okay.
Once he’s gone, Tom turns his attention to me again. “Were either of you ever alone with the car?”
“Only me.”
“Did you see the car sink?”
I shake my head. “I don’t think it had sunk all the way by the time I left. I could only push it so far. There’s something else.” I place the brown bag I’ve had in my lap onto the desk. “It could be evidence.”
Tom excuses himself and returns wearing gloves. He opens the bag and pulls out the license plate. Studies it a minute, then looks at me. “Where did you get this?”
“Somebody left it on my doorstep yesterday.”
He returns the plate to the bag. “Did you touch it?”
I nod.
“We’ll need to get your prints then,” he says. “So we can keep them separate from any others on here.”
I nod again.
Tom sits up straight, rolls his neck, removes his gloves.
“Okay, we’re going to start over. From the beginning.
I want every detail of the night you dumped the car and the morning you found that missing license plate at your door.
And anything in between you think is relevant.
Hell, even if you don’t think it’s relevant. ”
I start talking again. I repeat the story of the night I dumped the car. I tell him about the videotape, about what I saw on it. Then I fill him in on the morning I found the plate. The truck, the missing muffler.
“It sounded like Doyle Arceneaux’s truck,” I say.
Tom leans back. “Travis’s brother?”
I nod.
“Why do you think he’d do that?”
“I have no idea, but something about him scares me.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” he says, but I can hear in his voice he’s blowing me off.
Charles clears his throat behind me. I jump. He’s been so quiet I’d almost forgotten he was in here with us.
“My client,” he says, “is highly trained in human behavior. She does not mention Mr. Arceneaux for no reason. I’ve done a little digging, and I can confirm he has a long history of trouble with the law.
Everything from drunk and disorderly to impersonating a cop.
A person who dons a police uniform and pretends to be a person of authority is a problem. ”
I glance back at him and smile. Nice job, Charles.
“Hang on.” Tom excuses himself again and returns with a thick tattered folder. He sits back down and places his hand on it. “Colorful guy.”
I look back at Charles again, then to Tom Bordelon. “Do you think I need to be concerned for my safety? Should I have someone watching the house or something?”
“Look, Dr. Watters, this is a small town with an even smaller budget. We have all of our resources focused on this case. We don’t have the manpower to provide protection. All I can recommend is if you find yourself in trouble, call 9-1-1.”
“Or I could leave town,” I say, and the expression on his face tells me that won’t be an option.
“I’m going to need you to stay put. You understand, don’t you?”
After all I’ve said, I’m thankful he’s not putting cuffs on me right now. I sound guilty or, at the very least, involved. Asking me to stick around at least indicates he’s going to let me walk out of here.
“Of course,” I say.
He asks for my cell number and all possible ways he can find me if he needs me. I give him Shadow Bluff’s address, and Charles gives his number as well. Then we’re allowed to leave.
I thank Charles and walk to my car. I pull out my cell to text Travis but stop myself. He’ll call me when he can. Until then, I wait.
Night has finally fallen on this day. Cicadas and crickets and bullfrogs create a symphony around the house.
The porch creaks under the rocker as I rock slowly back and forth, sipping on tea this time instead of wine and feeling the memories of Broken Bayou wrapping around my neck like a noose.
Has it only been hours since Rita Meade showed up on this porch?
I stare at my cell. Travis hasn’t called.
The avalanche that’s been coming for me feels like it’s finally landed.
Another sip, and I close my eyes. I allow myself to go back in time again, away from the present.
To my last birthday here. That day started and ended so differently.
Mama’s mood shifting from light to dark like an eclipse.
It started with cake and laughter and ended with her asking me to cover up a crime. A crime that, thank God, didn’t happen.
The day after, the Aunts dragged Mabry and me out of bed early.
Said we had to go to the bayou to meet the reverend.
Like they knew a sin had been committed and needed atoning.
We wore handsewn white dresses, mine way too short because Pearl forgot I was seventeen, not seven.
Reverend Beaumont Delaroche waited for us in the hot muddy water with his bulbous nose and tattered Bible, promising he’d save our souls as we waded out to him.
He held our arms a little too tightly as he muttered some strange words, then shoved us below the surface.
I thought on the walk home I’d feel different.
I only felt confused. Then I delivered Mabry back to Mama’s room like she requested.
The television blaring drama and scandal.
Mabry climbed into her bed still dripping bayou water and curled into Mama’s side.
Mama turned her almond eyes to me. “I told those crazy aunts of yours baptizing y’all was a bad idea.
It’s all a bunch of hogwash. They’re trying to make y’all something you ain’t.
No saving you two. Y’all got my blood in your veins.
” Mabry whimpered, and Mama pulled her closer and went back to staring at the television, a plume of smoke snaking from her lips.
“Get cleaned up, Willamena. Pack y’all’s things.
When preachers get involved, it’s time to get the hell out of Dodge. ”
I open my eyes, set my cup down, and cover my face.
A lump lodges in my throat, and I breathe in hot night air in order to dislodge it.
After several breaths, I open my phone and punch Mabry’s number.
Her laugh. Her voicemail. I hang up and say out loud to the darkness in front of me, “You did nothing wrong, Mabry. I know the truth now.”
I hang up. Happy birthday to me.