False Pretenses - Kathy Herman [105]
“Sure does. He’s the fella who was chasin’ after Vanessa Langley and who followed us through the tunnel. I never did see his face.”
“And you never heard his name before today?”
“No, sir.” Noah scratched his chin. “I overheard the Broussards say his name after they talked with someone on the cell phone this mornin’.”
“But you never met the man?”
“No, never did.”
Jude picked up a pencil and bounced the eraser on the table. “What possible reason would you have for being on the Vincent property?”
“I was searchin’ for a house. G. G. mentioned that Abigail Langley’s brother had built him a house a couple hundred yards down the bayou from the manor house. Some of my ancestors were slaves there, too, but he wasn’t sympathetic to the Underground Railroad. Didn’t know his sister was either. I just wanted to see it.”
“Are you referring to that old farmhouse?”
“No, that place is nothin’ like G. G. described. She said it was a two-story plantation house with a porch all around. I’m guessin’ it’s been tore down. I walked all over the property and didn’t see it.”
Jude mused. “So, just to be clear, you’re saying you were not on the Vincent property Wednesday morning, July twenty-seventh and had no knowledge of Remy Jarvis’s hanging—or the note left on Deputy Castille’s windshield?”
“That’s exactly what I’m sayin’, sir. I’m guilty of trespassin’ at both places, but I don’t know this Cowan fella, and I sure wasn’t involved in any hangin’.”
Jude glanced over at Aimee. The look on her face told him she believed Noah and didn’t think they were going to get any new information from him.
“All right. I think we’re done here. Mr. Washington, you’re free to go. But I want you to stay in Les Barbes until we sort this out. Monsignor Robidoux at Saint Catherine’s has already made room for you at Haven House. You can shower and shave and get some clean clothes. The place is cool and comfortable. And the food’s not bad either.”
Noah gave a nod. “Thank you, sir. Sounds mighty good ’bout now.”
“Wait here and I’ll have one of my deputies take you over there.” Jude stood. “Oh … I could tell when I spoke with the Langleys that they’re eager to talk to you about Josiah Langley’s involvement in the Underground Railroad.”
“I really don’t know much else.”
“Well, they felt a connection. Maybe you have more to offer than you think.”
Zoe stood at the railing on the gallery outside her apartment, trying not to think about Pierce packing his bags.
She looked out at the crimson sky and inhaled the sweet aroma of caramel corn coming from Kernel Poppy’s. She heard Cajun music playing at Breaux’s. And the street vendor chanting his mantra, “Andouille corn dogs. Best in da bayou.”
Across the street, on the gallery above the Coy Cajun Gift Shop, Madame Duval waved from a wrought-iron table, where she sat sipping a mint julep, her cat, Juniper, curled up next to the glass pitcher.
Was this special community that had received her with open arms about to turn its back? Could she manage Zoe B’s without Pierce? Could she afford to hire a chef and, at the same time, pay Mrs. Woodmore a thousand dollars a month? Did it even matter? How long would it be before some ambitious reporter found a “source” in the sheriff’s department, willing to reveal details of her past? Or before Pierce, disillusioned and angry, was willing to tell his story?
A horse-drawn carriage stopped in front of the Hotel Peltier, and a bride and groom stepped off the carriage and walked hand in hand through the revolving door. Was their reception taking place there—or were they checking in to spend their first night as husband and wife? Her mind flashed back five years, to the evening of June fifth.…
Pierce lifted her into his arms, bunching her long, lacy wedding veil in her lap, and carried her across the threshold of the bridal suite at the Hotel Peltier. He closed the door with his foot, then set her down and positioned the veil so it draped down her back.
He looked adoringly into her eyes, his hands cupping her face. “I give you my heart, Zoe Broussard.