Not One of Us(34)

I’d tried to stay calm and focused at the barrage of committee members’ reminders—had I booked all the speakers and entertainers? Sent application forms to past vendors and boaters? Arranged for rental of all the needed equipment? Gently, I reminded them that this was my fourth year coordinating the event and that I had everything under control.

Uncle Buddy, a commissioner and board member, had stealthily winked at me across the table. He knew me too well to be fooled by my strained smile.

At last, Mayor Rembert clapped his chubby hands together. “Seems like everything is running right on schedule. Thanks, Jori. Our last meeting is scheduled for Thursday of next week. Let’s pray for fair weather.”

“Amen,” several members mumbled.

Last year’s Blessing had been a bit of a nightmare. It had rained the entire weekend. I’d managed to secure extra tents for vendors and moved the band from playing outdoors in the park to Broussard’s Pavilion, and to my surprised relief, the rain had little impact on the festivities. The crowd was huge and enthusiastic. Afterward, visitors and locals had assured me that nothing could dampen their enjoyment of the event.

I’d never loved my hometown more.

Thank heavens the meeting was over. I wanted nothing more than to return home and make sure Mimi and Zach were safe. As people shuffled out of the room, Rembert swaggered over and patted me on the shoulder. “Excellent job as always, Jori,” he boomed. He never seemed to talk in a normal tone of voice. It had the loud ring of a politician’s forced hardiness and cheer. “Heard you were staying in town awhile. Everything going all right with Oatha Jean and Zach?”

“We’re fine,” I lied, feeling like nothing could be further from the truth. “Thank you, sir.”

“Good, good.” His attention had already slid to someone else even as he responded. “Hey, Jeeter,” he said, extending a hand to a commissioner who’d arrived after the meeting had already started. “How you been doing these days?”

Uncle Buddy slid into the vacant chair beside me and grinned. His tall frame and broad shoulders dwarfed the small chair. Sixty-six years old, and he had the physique and energy of a man half his age. Only the weathered lines on his face betrayed the depths of his experience.

“You handled that well. As usual,” he said.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” Secretly, I was relieved I’d pulled off a professional display of competency given my shattered nerves.

“Don’t let all their questions get to you. They have to speak up and act like they’re paying attention and earning their pay.”

“Our tax dollars at work,” I quipped, leaning back in my seat and running a hand through my hair. “It’s fine. They kept me on my toes and stopped me from worrying so much about . . . other things.”

His grin faded, and his brows drew together in concern. “What troubles you? Is Oatha doing worse? Or is it Zach?”

“Nothing like that. They’re both fine,” I assured him. “Guess you didn’t hear the news. We had a break-in yesterday at the house.”

“Break-in?” His eyes widened and jaw slackened.

“It’s okay. We didn’t encounter him. Nobody got hurt, and nothing valuable was stolen. It’s just . . . it’s scary to know someone sneaked in.”

“I don’t understand. If no one saw him and nothing was stolen, how do you know someone broke in?”

“They went through a bunch of my personal stuff and left a threatening message.”

“Damn. What kind of threat? Did you report it to the police?”

I started to wish I hadn’t brought up the subject. I’d been sure either Mimi or someone else had already mentioned it to Uncle Buddy. Word spread fast around the bayou.

“Of course. Do you know Deputy Blackwell? She was helpful.”

“Tegan? Yep. She’s good people. Went to school with her daddy.” He frowned and rubbed his stubbled jaw. “I don’t like the idea of y’all living so remote from everybody.”

“It’ll probably never happen again. Just some sick prank.” I wished I could convince myself of that.

“What kinda threat did they leave?”

“Just something vague. Uncle Buddy, what was Jackson like?”

“Jackson?” He snorted with surprise. “Why are you bringing him up?”

I preferred not to tell him that I’d been snooping. No doubt he’d disapprove. “Simple curiosity. The Strickland murder got me thinking of him—that’s all.”

He drummed his fingers on the table. “Your cousin was a challenging child for your aunt to raise. Always experimenting with drugs and defiant as all get-out.”

“No one seems to have a good word about him. Was he that bad?”

“Pretty bad,” he admitted grudgingly. “He’d been caught stealing a time or two, got in fights, that kind of thing. Hung out with the wrong crowd. I even heard tell he was dealing in drugs. Kid was heading down a bad path. I felt sorry for Tressie and Ardy.”

Poor Jackson. No one had a good thing to say about him except for his mom. “Did Aunt Tressie ever talk to you about the adoption?”

“Not really. If you’re asking if she was sorry she adopted Jackson of all people, then no, she never said anything like that. Never would. Tressie was blind to how seriously troubled Jackson had become.”