“No, I wish I was a thousand miles away.”
Michelle grinned. “Now, that I can sympathize with.”
“Is that why you’re so deliberately rude every chance you get? Especially to your father?”
She shrugged. “I guess so.”
“It’s juvenile, Michelle. Think of another way if you want people to respect you.”
“I don’t give a damn if they respect me.”
“How about loving you? How do you feel about that?”
She made a bitter sound. “That’s hopeless. Not from them. Never.”
“I’m sure your father loves you,” Claire said quietly.
“Oh, yeah? You’ve known him exactly…what? Half a day? And you can tell he loves me? Shows what you know.”
Claire sighed. “What did you mean just now—is what a blessing or a curse?”
“Being here at Sugarland.”
“I’m reserving judgment.”
Just then, Danny ran up to them. “I ‘membered to wash my hands.”
“Good boy.” She gave him a smile.
“Back to the lion’s den,” Michelle quipped.
Claire grimaced. She’d wondered what was causing the girl such pain and now she knew. The question was: why did Michelle think her father didn’t love her?
IT WAS MUCH LATER that night when Mack left the house and headed for the sheriff’s office in Abadieville, sixty miles north of LaRue in another parish. He wasn’t quite convinced that Danny had seen a man murdered, let alone that it was by a rogue cop, but to be on the safe side, he’d avoided taking his concerns to the local sheriff. Wayne Pagett, the sheriff in Abadieville, was a longtime friend, a man he knew he could trust.
The incident in Star-Mart could have been coincidental. However, in Mack’s experience, coincidences were as rare as white alligators. Claire clearly believed her son, otherwise nothing could have induced her to accept the hospitality of the McMolleres at Sugarland. He had to hand it to her for dealing with an awkward situation gracefully. He couldn’t imagine his ex-wife managing half as well in a similar situation. In the first place, Liz was incapable of putting her child’s welfare above her own. Michelle’s unhappiness was proof of that.
He rubbed a hand over his face. He didn’t want to think about his problems with his teenage daughter tonight.
At the courthouse, he pulled into a parking space reserved for a deputy sheriff and stopped the Jeep. He got out, stretching to ease the stiffness from his thigh. He was hardly ever aware of the old ‘Nam injury except when rain threatened. He viewed the sky with a frown, guessing that it would storm within the hour.
He slammed the door and clamped his hat on his head, then took the courthouse steps two at a time. Not much activity in Abadieville this time of night, he noted, but he bet he’d find Wayne Pagett still in his office.
“Yo, Jerry. How’s it going?” He waved at a deputy manning the front desk, then caught a glimpse of Wayne through the glass door of the office. If the sheriff hadn’t been in, Mack would have had no hesitation in driving out to Wayne’s house. God knows he’d spent enough time there when he was growing up. Mike, Wayne’s oldest son, had been his best friend throughout high school. Mack couldn’t count the lectures he’d received from this man. Sometimes Wayne Pagett had seemed more like a father to him than Angus McMollere. Sometimes Mack had wished he’d been Wayne’s son.
He paused before knocking. Wayne spent most of his time now in his office. Mike had told Mack that after his wife died, his dad didn’t have much incentive to go home. With his kids grown, Mike living in Houston, and Kayla in Orlando, the big house was too empty. Wayne had even taken to bringing his big yellow Lab, Barney, into the office with him. It was the dog who spotted Mack first.
In the quiet of the courthouse, Barney’s bark sounded like the boom of a cannon as Mack pushed open the door. Wayne’s head came up and instantly his frown turned into pleasure. “Mack! Son of a gun, this is a surprise.” He got up, sending his chair crashing back against the wall, and leaned over his desk, his hand outstretched. “Of all the folks I expected to walk in here tonight, you’re the last. How are you, boy?”
Mack shook the man’s hand. At his feet, Barney was wagging his tail in joyful recognition. “I’m doing fine, Wayne. How about yourself?”
“Good…good. Yeah, I’m doing all right.” He sat again, then reached into his shirt pocket and extracted a cigar. “Have a seat. I’d offer you one of these, but I know you hate ‘em. How’s Angus? Last I heard, he was up and about, ornery as ever.”
“He’s doing okay.” Mack rubbed Barney’s ears, smiling as the Lab licked his hand, then he settled back.
“A little shaky on his feet, but if he follows the doctor’s orders, he manages just fine.”
“I can imagine how eager he is to follow doctor’s orders,” Wayne said dryly.
Mack grinned. “His health was affected by his stroke, his personality wasn’t.”
Wayne grunted, nodding his head. “And your mama. How’s Wyona?”
“Same as ever.”
“Give them both my best.” He paused to light the cigar, then surveyed Mack through the smoky haze. “It’s a little late for a social visit, isn’t it, boy?”
Mack leaned forward in the chair, lifting his ankle to rest on his knee. “We’ve got a couple of visitors at Sugarland.”
“Oh?”
“Carter’s son, Danny, and the little boy’s mother.”
“Well, well. So Martin Thibodaux finally came through for you. Last I heard, he was trying every legal trick in the book to try and arrange a visit, but the woman was hanging tough.”
“Who told you that?”
“Oh, I’ve got my sources, don’t you know.”
Mack knew he wouldn’t get a name from Wayne, so there was no sense pushing it, but he wondered if Martin Thibodaux, who’d been Angus’s lawyer for more than thirty years, realized that sensitive information about one of his most influential clients was being leaked.
“Her name’s Claire Woodson,” he said.
“I know her name.” Seeing Mack’s frown, Wayne went on, “Miriam met her once. It was at an education conference in Baton Rouge about six months before I lost her. Sort of a coincidence, you might say, seeing as there was a connection between Miriam and the McMolleres.” He paused to take a puff of his cigar. “Anyway, she came away from the conference, Miriam, I mean, with a good impression of Claire Woodson. Naturally, Miriam knew how Angus and Wyona resented being kept from knowing their grandson, and that they had no positive feelings about Miss Woodson. Miriam expected somebody harder, more…ah, flamboyant, I suppose, but Miss Woodson was very nice. In fact, Miriam mentioned that she acted in every way a lady, positively straitlaced, she said.”
“She’s a redhead,” Mack said abruptly, then shifted uncomfortably at Wayne’s laugh.
“You don’t say.”
“Yeah, she doesn’t look anything like I expected.”
“You mean in all this time you never had a look at the woman you were fighting for custody of Carter’s child?”
“Just once. And it was years ago when she and Carter were having the affair.” Wayne’s attitude made him feel defensive, as if his parents’ long, hard-fought legal battle was in some way unjust. “My folks weren’t fighting for custody of the boy. They were just trying to