Detective Ally Wayland, someone I’m always proud to see since she’s the only woman on the force, sits in her office with the blinds over her partial window open. She’s got no mind for me, though, and is peering down hard at whatever papers are on her desk. I hope she’s the one looking for my attacker and not the baboon Sheriff who’s walking me around with a proud type of strut to him.
Then there’s the chief detective, the man who was here before Ally and about the only one in the department who I think values her worth. For that alone, he’s gotten good points with me. His name is Joe Fabre, and he’s in his mid-to late-thirties. I’m actually not too sure which. He’s not a Robin’s Tree local, but he only transplanted from Shreveport down the road and gets along fine with everyone in town. His thoughts on Guidry, though, I’ve never really understood like I have Detective Wayland’s disdain for him. I guess I might find out today.
Detective Fabre is tall and broad and has gray hairs washed in with his black. I’ve never seen him without it brushed and his beard trimmed neat. He even has wrinkles next to his eyes from laughing. Both his hair and laugh lines look nice as I ease into the room with him.
There’s relief in me as the sheriff turns tail and goes to talk to someone in his office in the room opposite. I can’t see who that person is because, unlike Detective Wayland, his blinds over the partial window along his wall are shut tight.
I don’t mind that, though.
If I can’t see Sheriff Roland, he can’t see me. It’s a fact that cools my jets, which have apparently been heating since he showed up at Blue Lolita. Though maybe that heat has more to do with the fact that I did two things I shouldn’t have before leaving the ranch.
Kiss Beau Montgomery right after basically telling him where to snoop at Guidry’s if he feels so inclined.
Had Sheriff Roland not insisted on small talk on the way to the department, I might’ve spent a minute or two of that ride wondering why I’d done either. Instead, I decided to push those questions to the back while I answer whatever questions Detective Fabre has for me once my statement is done.
Maybe by then, I’ll have a good answer for myself.
“Miss Lawson,” Detective Fabre says in solemn greeting. His pass over my wounds is quick, efficient. He doesn’t linger nor ask specifics. I detect some anger from it, though. Something he touches on before I can be polite with my own hellos and how-do-you-dos. “It’s always a shock to be reminded that not everyone in this world intends to do good,” he adds. “Let’s make this next part as painless as possible, okay?”
I nod. “Sounds good to me.”
He sets out a recorder and picks up a pen from his leatherbound notebook in front of him, and I tell him what happened the night before to the best of my abilities. Starting from getting home to leaving the house with Beau. I find I’m not a fan of going over it again. A shiver goes down my spine when I get to the part where the masked man had the knife to my cheek. I’m glad when it’s over.
However, Detective Fabre doesn’t drop his pen when I’m done. “Is there a reason you know of that Damien Guidry didn’t stick around?”
I shrug. “Damien’s never been a fan of authority, would be my best guess, but for the real reason, you’d have to ask him.”
“And I heard he pulled you out of The Branch right before you made your way home? To talk?”
I nod. “He was looking for Guidry and asked if I’d seen him. I haven’t, so I said so.”
The detective starts writing. If I wasn’t already sitting up straight, I’d straighten just to do something. “Can you think of any reason, other than potentially knowing where Everett Guidry might be, that someone would wish you harm?” His eyes are on his notebook.
“No, not that I can think of. The only person in town who’s any kind of real cold at me is Jordan Leigh over at the grocery store. That’s because she says I tricked her ex-boyfriend into dating me.” He starts to write, and I’m reminded that he isn’t a true local. “Which was in the ninth grade,” I hurry. “So not a cold that really would get her after me like this, especially considering she’s married and happy with two kids now.”
Detective Fabre stops writing. I give him my best apologetic look. “So there’s no one you can think of,” he deadpans.
I shake my head. “None.”
“What about Everett himself?” he follows up.
“What about him?” I bristle quick. Do I need to get a shirt made that says I have no idea where Guidry is so I can stop saying the same thing over and over again?
“Would Everett do anything to hurt you?”
“Would Everett hurt me?” I repeat. His question is so out of left field for me that I realize at that very moment why I was so angry with Beau the night before.
He’s right.
As much as the observation offended me, Iamdifferent when it comes to Everett Guidry.
And I know this because not even for a second do I hesitate to think no, Guidry would never do something to hurt me.
I’m family to him.
Beau was right, and that’s why I couldn’t keep talking about it last night, keep looking at him after he said as much.
I’m uncomfortable with this truth.
