Chapter 12
Aubrey
The Alibi
I’ve got a little time to kill so I figure I’ll do what Camille requested while I wait. St. Francisville is small and I only have to drive about a mile before I’m in front of one of the multitude of boutiques here.
It takes a little while to find a parking spot, and the sidewalks are packed with tourists and shoppers enjoying this gorgeous fall day.
The store I picked has everything from clothes to dishes to art.
I make a lap while I try to decide what I’m going to buy and hope the sticker shock I have when I check the price isn’t too obvious.
Camille and I had an awkward conversation about what it would be like shopping in a store like this.
I kind of blew her off at the time, but now I understand what she was trying to tell me.
She said I might feel uncomfortable in some of these stores.
Out of place. And she’s right. She said it would show in the way I touched things, because I’d be more afraid I’d break something than excited about purchasing it. And she was right about that too.
It’s why she decided I should look the part, because she felt it was highly probable someone would ask for her ID when I presented her credit card if I looked guilty using it. The last thing either of us wants is for me to be arrested for theft.
I agreed there was a chance that could happen, but I went along with the disguise for a more personal reason.
If Ben somehow gets wind of what we’re doing, I don’t want to make it easy for him to turn this on me for the part I played.
If he pulls any of these stores’ security footage for proof of who was using her credit card, hopefully he won’t be able to identify me.
Salespeople who work in high-end places like that pick up on body language in a second, so I try to relax and act like it’s completely normal a plain white bowl costs $475.
Finally, I settle on a small glass rosebud vase because it’s something my mom would have loved. I don’t even check the tag before I bring it to the counter. I must put on a pretty good act because she doesn’t ask me to confirm my identity.
With my package secured, I get in the car and head right back to the feed store. Luckily, the same space I was in earlier is still vacant.
Is Ben watching my movements right now and wondering why Camille is coming back here? No idea. Do I care if she’ll have to explain this away if he asks her about it? No, I don’t.
It’s only a few more minutes before I see Deacon’s black SUV pull into the lot.
He cruises up and down each row until he spots Camille’s car.
There’s an empty space four down from where I’m parked so he takes it.
I’m next to his car just as he’s getting out.
His eyes are hidden behind dark sunglasses, and between them and the heavy tint on the windows of his vehicle, I’ve always wondered how he can see where he’s going.
Serenity hops out of the passenger side. She comes around the front of his vehicle and scrunches up her nose when she gets a good look at me.
“That wig is horrid.”
I roll my eyes. “I thought I asked you to dress in something plain.”
Serenity is dressed in wide-leg jeans and a white crocheted top that doesn’t cover much more than her bra, and decked out in jewelry with a ring on every finger and several necklaces of various lengths.
Her long blond hair is separated into thick braids that hang over each shoulder.
She’s in her early forties but could easily pass for ten years younger.
“This is as plain as I get.”
“I guess it’s fine for what I need you to do.” I motion for them to follow me back to Camille’s car, opening the driver’s side door for Serenity. “Get in and we’ll go through everything.”
Serenity climbs in, running her hands along the steering wheel. “Oh, I could have a lot of fun in this car.” She shuts the door then rolls down the window.
Deacon and I step closer to the car. “Not today,” Deacon says. “Today we’re sticking to the plan in every way.”
“Serenity, please. I’m nervous enough. Don’t make me worry you’re going to go rogue on me.”
She reaches her hand out of the open window and cups my cheek. “Sweetie, we’re all in for you today. You know that. We’re not going to do anything that jeopardizes what you’re doing.”
Smiling, I squeeze her arm. “Thank you.” Then I pull out Camille’s phone from my back pocket. There’s a notification telling me Ben texted her a little while ago, but because of her privacy settings, I can’t read the message.
I hand the phone to Serenity. “When you get out, stick this in your pocket and ignore all the notifications. It’s locked, so all you need to do is keep it on you wherever you go.
If anyone calls, especially Ben, just let it ring.
Camille says he always texts if she doesn’t answer and she will deal with it on her end from her iPad. ”
Serenity nods then puts the phone in the cup holder. “Just to clarify, I’m going to that little park near downtown and just walking around there. Right?”
“Yes. Camille wanted me to buy a few things there but we’re not doing that. Don’t want to take the risk of someone questioning you about her credit card.”
Even with the wig, I would barely pass as Camille if someone was comparing me to her driver’s license picture, but there’s no way Serenity would hold up under scrutiny. She’s barely five feet tall while Camille is five seven, and they look nothing alike.
“Just keep walking around. If that gets old, drive around and browse some stores. We just need movement. I’ll spend more of her money when we switch back.”
Camille isn’t the only one who needs a few hours to be a ghost.
She nods. “Got it!”
Deacon and I step back and she raises the window while she pulls out of the spot. She gives us a final wave as she drives away.
“Is this a mistake?”
Deacon laughs. “This whole thing is either going to be the best idea any of us have ever had or it will blow up in our faces. Either way, we’re on our path now and there’s no turning back.”
I follow him to his car and climb in the passenger seat. I pull off the wig and cap just as he turns onto the highway. I lower the visor to get a peek at my hair, only to discover it’s sticking up in every direction. “Oh wow.” I spend a couple of minutes trying to get it under control.
“I may have a brush in the glove box if you want to check.”
Deacon is the one I’m closest to in the house.
His full name is Francis Deacon, which I learned from a random piece of mail he received after he moved in.
When I teased him about it, he rolled his eyes and said, “My mom is the only person allowed to call me Francis.” Although I think if he gave anyone else an exception, it would be me.
Over the years, I’ve witnessed a softer side of him that I don’t believe many people get a chance to see.
“You think Ben was surprised to see Eddie pull up in the Mustang?”
Deacon nods. “I’d bet so. They’re supposed to call me after they leave there.”
The morning after Camille fled Doug’s Tavern in the middle of a rainstorm, Shane and Eddie told us Ben had hired them to fix up an old Mustang.
I was hoping it was some weird coincidence, but Deacon pointed out it was my name on the napkin with our address, not Shane’s and Eddie’s.
And after talking to the guys, we realized there was more going on than Ben’s desire to restore an old muscle car.
When Ben would drop by to “check on things,” he showed very little interest in the car. He did, however, have lots of questions about who lived in our house. At the time, the guys just thought he was being nosy, but Camille’s visit to the bar puts a different spin on things.
We decided that morning that Eddie and Shane would keep playing it cool with Ben until I could track Camille down for another conversation about her husband and Deacon had time to do a little digging of his own.
“She’s probably freaking out watching that go down.” Camille doesn’t know Shane and Eddie are my housemates. And since Camille has never mentioned the Mustang anytime we’ve talked since that first night, I’m pretty sure he kept that purchase from her too.
Deacon laughs. “Yeah, I’m sure she is. Honestly, I’m going to be shocked if she’s able to stick to her part of the plan and sit in that attic all day. My money’s on her being the one who screws this all up.”
Shifting in my seat, I pull one leg underneath me so I can turn toward him. For this part of the day, Camille has me wearing some designer jeans and a flowy silk top that probably cost more than the old Honda I drove here. It’s surprisingly comfortable.
“How long before we get there?” My nerves seem to be getting worse with each mile.
“Not long. Another ten minutes.”
I check the time and it’s just before two. We’re right on schedule.
Deacon is leaning back in his seat, one hand on the steering wheel. I find myself staring at that hand. Then at him. He really is so good-looking. He glances at me, one eyebrow raised, and I twist back around in my seat until I’m facing forward, slightly embarrassed at being caught watching him.
“How are you so calm?” I ask.
Thankfully, his attention goes back to the road. “Because this isn’t the first time I’m doing something I’m not supposed to.” While almost everyone else in our house has had brushes with the law, Deacon is firmly on the wrong side of it and makes no apologies for it.
I let out a deep sigh as I lean back against the seat. “I’m really nervous.”
“I know you are. But we’re all here for you, and I’m not going to let this go sideways.” All playfulness is gone, and I’d love nothing more than to believe it’s as easy as that. I trust this group—my friends—more than anything, but that doesn’t mean something can’t go spectacularly wrong.
“I really appreciate everything y’all are doing because there’s no way I could have pulled any of this off on my own.”
He glances at me, concern on his face for the first time today. “No, not having that right now. I can hear it in your voice. In your head, we’ve already screwed this up somehow. And if that’s what you’re thinking, that’s exactly what will happen.”
“Okay, you’re right. We’re just getting started.”
He slows his car down and flips on his blinker. “We’re almost there.”
I glance up and see the sign.
Louisiana State Penitentiary
It’s time to talk to Paul Granger, the man who was convicted of killing my parents.