Waters Run Deep

“Good. He needs to see this.”

For the third time that morning, apprehension flooded her. “What?”

“Someone left a present on the back doormat.”

CHAPTER FIVE

NATE STARED AT THE dead bird lying on the sisal mat. A folded piece of paper lay beneath the fanned wings framing the missive with grotesque flourish.

“Who would do such a thing?” Picou asked, staring down at the poor creature. The mockingbird’s soft gray head was flung back with beak open, giving a tragic appearance.

“Did you touch it?” Nate asked his mother, glancing to where she stood with lips pressed together, arms crossed as if warding off a chill, which was ironic since the day felt smothering already.

“Of course not.” Picou sniffed. “I watch Law and Order.”

He nearly smiled. “Good, Mom, good. I’m going to go back to the car to grab my kit and call this in. Stay here and don’t touch anything. Where did the nanny go?”

Picou shrugged. “Inside? Maybe to check on the boy?”

Made sense. Yesterday had proven the boy’s mother wasn’t exactly the most responsible person on the face of the earth, so Annie’s instinct to find and secure the child was good.

His mother looked a little spooked, but that was to be expected. Dead birds and presumably threatening notes brought back bad memories—memories that were about to be waded through regardless of the movie people and their harassment problem. He’d read the file on Sally Cheramie early that morning when sleep escaped him—the results had left a wake of acid churning in his stomach. Part of him wanted to toss the file aside, smother the query into his sister’s disappearance, but facts didn’t lie. The woman might be more than a desperate charlatan looking to get rich quick. This inquiry might bite.

He went around to his car, grabbed a kit from the trunk and pulled out his phone to call in the threat. This time it would be official.

He hung up with dispatch and shifted his mind back to the task at hand just as Annie appeared at his elbow. He stopped. “Spencer?”

“Safe with his mother. Both are unaware anything is amiss. In fact, Spencer is modeling his mother’s shoe collection while she’s getting a facial. The makeup artist arrived twenty minutes ago. Might want to question her and see if she saw anything.”

He looked at her. “Oh, so you watch Law and Order, too?”

“You don’t have to watch police shows on TV to use common sense. If someone put the bird on the mat, then Linda, or whatever her name is, might have seen him.”

“Or her.”

Annie glanced sharply at him. “Or her. That reminds me. I did see someone on the highway—Jane McEvoy.”

He gave her a questioning look.

“She’s Tawny’s former roommate and BFF. She might not be involved in this threat thing, but you never know. Could be anyone with a grudge. Or a loose screw.”

He didn’t comment. She was right. If the threats were connected, it could be anyone who’d made the trek from California. He’d start with the production crew and work his way to those closest to the boy, including Annie.

He started walking again, noticing Annie’s steps matched his stride for stride as they approached his mother, who wore a bright caftan along with flip-flops with sparkly doodads on them. She looked a little like a circus fortune-teller, but her purple-blue eyes were grave.

“You can go inside now, Mom. Just use the side or front door so we don’t contaminate evidence out here.” Nate studied the “crime” scene before placing his case on an out-of-the-way table. He opened the kit, aware he carried more than the average detective. His time in med school studying pathology had taught him some tricks that gave him an edge. Or at least he thought they did. He knew his success rate came from good old-fashioned research with a side helping of gut instinct.

“That’s a lot of stuff in there. Do all detectives carry—” she picked up a spray bottle of luminal “—stuff like this?”

He took the luminal out of her hand and placed it back in the kit. “I was an Eagle Scout. I’m always prepared.”

“What’s this for?” she asked, picking up a vial containing fingerprinting powder and holding it up to the sunlight streaking through the overhanging trees.

“Something I may need. Put it back, please.” He pulled out the high-resolution camera and caught a gleam in her eyes. He couldn’t get a handle on this woman at all. She didn’t look disturbed by the dead bird like most women would. He turned and caught his mother crouching beside the note and bird. “Don’t touch.”

“I’m not. Just making sure it’s dead.”

Annie walked over. “Oh, it’s dead, Mrs. Dufrene. Birds don’t lie that still if they’re living.”

Picou rose and took a step back toward Annie as Nate snapped photographs of the bird at several angles. After photographing the entire patio, he pulled on gloves and placed the dead bird in an evidence bag.

“You’re not going to throw it away?” Annie asked.

“You’d be surprised what a lab can do with ‘evidence’ like this. We can learn if the person who did this killed the bird or found one that had died of natural causes. And sometimes we can lift prints or find fibers that might give us a clue to help solve the crime.”

“Oh,” she said. He didn’t miss the fact Annie acted out of character. Since he’d met her, everything had been deliberate, careful and no-nonsense. Now she asked him questions she must know the answer to. Hell, half of America watched CSI. He sealed the bag.

She shifted, pushing back her hair. “So what about security cameras? Don’t you have them?”

“Why would we?” he asked.

“Well, with the disappearance of—I mean, Tawny said—” She stopped herself, looking for the words. “Some families who have suffered tragedies are more protective and plan against other—”

“We’re not paranoid,” Picou interrupted, her tone marginally defensive. “Our daughter was taken and it didn’t matter whether we had dogs, fences or guards on every corner of the property. Bad things happen despite our best efforts.”

His mother’s response didn’t surprise him. Even now, she tried to tell him she was sorry—that Della’s disappearance had nothing to do with him. But it couldn’t erase his mother’s accusations the day Della disappeared. Couldn’t wipe away the way she’d shrieked at him, accusing him of not watching out for his sister, labeling the kidnapping his fault. To a ten-year-old boy, it had been devastating. Picou had spent years trying to apologize.

At times, he felt the emptiness in her words. Felt the unreasonable blame. His mother didn’t want to feel the way she felt. She couldn’t help herself.

“I didn’t mean to offend, Mrs. Dufrene. Just trying to help.”

Nate looked at Annie. “Since you’re in the mood to help, give me your opinion. You think this is related to the threats in California or just a simple prank?” He watched her gaze hit the bag dangling in his hand.

“I’m not sure. Most of the staff and crew know Tawny calls Spencer ‘birdie.’ The whole thing could be a sick joke. No one has tried to hurt him, so it could be someone wanting to get the Keenes’ goat. Someone who wants to use fear against them.”

“Nice thinking, Watson,” he quipped.

“What? You asked,” she snapped, her happy-camper vibe gone. He liked her better serious with her feathers ruffled. Felt right.

“I thought it sounded good.” Picou nodded, her eyes earnest.

Actually it was valid. Someone was using terror as a weapon against the couple. He knew how powerful the love between a parent and child was. Not firsthand. But he’d watched his parents’ marriage unravel with Della’s disappearance and murder. They’d never healed. His thoughts flickered back to the folder. He needed to talk to his mother before word leaked out at the office. Someone, namely Kelli—the bigmouth in the unit—was bound to squeal about the woman asking questions down in Lafourche.

Nate set the bagged bird on the wrought-iron table and turned to Annie. “Did you use this door this morning?”

She shook her head. “Almost, but I went back to talk to Tawny. After that, I checked on Spencer and slipped out the side door. I didn’t see anyone around Beau Soleil, but I wasn’t looking either. The only person up this morning was Mr. Keene and he was in the kitchen fixing coffee. Maybe he heard someone.”

Briefly the idea of Keene staging the threat for press or to suit his own needs crossed Nate’s mind, but he quickly discarded it. Only someone with no soul would falsely threaten his own child for attention. Keene wasn’t a nominee for Humanitarian of the Year, but he didn’t seem to be lacking in love for his son, not to mention he’d tried to keep the threats quiet. No, someone else was playing a sick game with the Keene family.