Bayou Betrayal by Robin Caroll Read Free Book Online Page B

involved in the call or the arson was laughable. He simply didn’t take the possibility seriously. Sure, the woman was a pastor’s wife, but in Monique’s experience from assisting Kent in his private investigation business, no one—not preachers nor their wives—was above suspicion. Determination to uncover the truth drove her to finish dressing and flip off the bathroom light.
    No more procrastination. She grabbed her purse and keys, secured the motel room door, and shuffled to her SUV. The nice desk clerk had given her instructions to Pastor Bertrand’s church just outside Lagniappe’s city limits.
    The sun shone brightly over the bayou and little sunbeams danced on the cracked windshield of her Expedition. She shook her head. The cracks hadn’t been there before—the heat from the fire must have caused them. Just something else she’d have to handle.
    She pulled into the packed parking lot of the church. Didn’t anyone attend the church in Lagniappe? She hadn’t expected this many cars. How would she be able to pick out her cousin and study her?
    With great hesitation, Monique made her way toward the timeworn church sitting on the edge of the bayou. A burst of wind skimmed over the water, carrying a fishy odor on its wings. Monique crinkled her nose and gripped the handrail. The last thing she needed was to draw attention to herself by falling down the steps. Nope, that wouldn’t be good at all.
    A man not much older than she, with shaggy hair and a big grin, held out his hand. “Good morning.”
    â€œMorning.” Her voice was barely over a whisper. What was wrong with her? The butterflies in her stomach refused to be still.
    â€œI’m Spencer Bertrand.” He took her elbow and helped her up the last stair, glancing at her hands but politely making no mention of the gauze.
    Her cousin’s husband, in the flesh. “I-I’m Monique. Monique Harris.”
    â€œAre you visiting the area?” His eyes were soft, caring, like a preacher’s should be.
    She licked her chapped lips. “I just moved to Lagniappe.”
    â€œThen, welcome.” He opened the door to the sanctuary for her before turning to greet the next group of people making their way up the stairs.
    Monique let out a slow breath as she stepped into the entryway. The sanctuary loomed before her like a hungry, gaping mouth. She shivered and knew it had nothing to do with the crisp January morning.
    Music surrounded her as she walked down the well-traveled carpet, trying to spot a vacant pew somewhere near the back. She wanted to be able to watch, see if she could spot her cousin, the preacher’s wife. As she eased into an aisle seat, the bass reverberated in her chest so that she actually felt the worship song.
    All around her, people whispered or greeted one another. Some stood and sang along with the music. The old familiar peace beckoned to her, calling into the deepest part of her soul. Uninvited tears filled her eyes. She blinked and shook her head, not ready to let go of her anger, her outrage. Her fear.
    A young woman with honey-colored hair walked up the center aisle, stopping at each pew to speak to someone. Monique couldn’t take her eyes off the woman. Although a noticeable limp marred her movement, there was a quiet grace about her. An ethereal glow flowed from her.
    She smiled at Monique and moved toward her, hand outstretched. “Hello. Welcome to the church.”
    Monique touched the woman’s hand with the tips of her fingers. “Thank you.”
    â€œI’m Felicia Bertrand.”
    Freezing, Monique struggled to form her own name. This was her cousin! “I’m M-Monique Harris.”
    Felicia’s smile widened. “I’m glad you’re here to worship with us this morning, Monique.”
    â€œThank you.” Monique ducked her head.
    â€œWell, bonjour, Gary.”
    Felicia’s cheerful greeting brought