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Needed to talk to somebody. Went to Nola’s. Be back later.

With surprise, he went back to her bedroom, wondering if she was already back from Nola’s. He opened the door. Her bed was neatly made, and she wasn’t there.

He returned to the kitchen, poured himself a glass of juice and sat down at the table. She should be safe at Nola’s. Surely if anything had happened to her on the way there, he would have heard about it by now. That was one thing about the swamp: when things happened, the grapevine worked overtime.

In a little while, he’d head out to Nola’s so he could make sure Monique got back here safely. He could understand her need to talk to somebody. It didn’t surprise him that she wanted to share things with the woman who had been in her life for so long.

He didn’t know Nola well, but he knew how much Monique and her sisters all loved her. According to Monique, Nola had been like the favorite aunt who always had candy in her pocket and hugs and kisses for the girls.

She had been Mystique’s best friend.

She would have had a key to Mystique’s house.

The night of the murder, there had been no forced entry, leaving the police to believe either the front door had been unlocked or the killer had a key.

As far as he knew Nola hadn’t even been a suspect in the case. Should she have been? His mind suddenly raced with wild suppositions.

Nola lived in the swamp. It would have been easy for her to eavesdrop at his windows. She could have also easily left the notes for Monique. The woman had a sturdy build and was probably strong as an ox…strong enough to fight with Mystique and slice her throat…strong enough to beat the hell out of Monique. She was a woman who had lived in the swamp alone all her life. She probably owned a gun and would know how to shoot it.

He took a drink of the juice and shook his head. What the hell was he thinking? Why on earth would Mystique’s best friend kill her? Apparently, his brain wasn’t thinking clearly.

Yet his gut tightened with continued thoughts of Nola. Nola, who had pressed so hard for Pierre Guidry to be arrested for Mystique’s murder. Nola, who seemed to know everything that went on in the swamp.

Power and the potential of blackmail. Those were the reasons somebody would want Mystique’s client book. Had Nola gone to Mystique’s shanty that night with the intent of killing her friend and taking the book?

Had Monique run to the arms of her mother’s killer for comfort and was she now in danger?

He jumped up out of his chair and hurried to his bedroom where he put on his holster and gun.

Adrenaline suddenly pumped through his veins as a sense of urgency filled him. If he was wrong about this, then no harm, no foul. However, if his gut was right, then Monique could be in mortal danger.

He left his shanty, his heart beating frantically in his chest. He ran through the swamp, fear for her a living, breathing entity inside him.

How long had she been gone? Dammit, how long had he slept? Was he wrong about all this? Would he find Monique and Nola peacefully seated on Nola’s sofa and having a chat? Or was he already too late? Had Nola already killed Monique and dragged her body out into the swamp to be discovered later?

He ran like he’d never run before, unmindful of the branches that tried to snag him, swiping at the Spanish moss that threatened to blind him. Finally, Nola’s shanty came into view. He raced to the front door and instead of knocking, he tried to open it. It was locked.

“Nola!” he yelled and banged on the door.

“Jacque!” Monique screamed from inside and the terror in that scream gave him a strength he didn’t know he possessed.

He crashed his shoulder into the door. Once…twice…and it sprang open. With a deep breath he stepped inside.

Instantly he saw Monique. She rose from the floor by the end of the sofa, blood coming from wounds in her arms and on her chest.

“Behind you,” she screamed.

At that moment Nola jumped on his back, and a sharp pain nearly stole his breath away. He knew she’d stabbed him. Still, he managed to yank the woman off him, and he cast her to the floor.

She held a big bloody knife in her hand, and she stood from the floor with a guttural cry. She came at him again and stabbed out, but he kicked her in her stomach, and she fell backward.

His breaths came in labored pants as he pulled his gun. “Nola, stop, or I’ll shoot you,” he said. He didn’t even want to look at Monique, for if he gazed at her all bloody and afraid, he knew without question he would shoot Nola dead. “Drop the knife, Nola. It’s over.”

“She attacked me for no reason,” Nola exclaimed. “She came at me like a vicious animal. I had to protect myself from her.” She dropped her knife, and he kicked it to the side out of her reach. “I’m sorry, I… I didn’t mean to go after you, but I’m scared and…”

“Shut up,” Jacque snapped. “Monique, are you all right?” he asked without taking his eyes off Nola.

“I… I’m okay.” Her voice still radiated tremendous fear, and she had begun to quietly weep. “Sh-she killed my mother, Jacque. She’s the one who beat me and tried to kill me, too.”