Page 78 of Broken Bayou

“Jesus. Y’all had quite the chat.” He rubs his face.

“Is it true?”

He nods.

The fine hairs on the back of my neck prickle. Last night by the bayou comes back into focus.So many people come close to danger and never know it. One minute, they’re having fun somewhere; the next minute, they’re incapacitated.“And Raymond was an EMT before he was a cop.”

“How do you know that?”

“He mentioned it when I was at the impound.”

Travis raises his eyebrows. “What were you doing at the impound?”

I hurry on. “It doesn’t matter. But listen, last night I was out by the bayou.”

“Alone? Willa, I wouldn’t do that right now.”

“I wasn’t alone. Raymond was there, too, and he told me—”

He interrupts me. “What do you mean Raymond was there too? Raymond’s in New Orleans. Said he had to follow up on a lead.”

My body goes cold. “Raymond wasn’t in New Orleans last night.” Raymond who works for the same sheriff’s office that possibly falsified a report years ago. A report that pertains to this case.Our guy’s too smart to get caught.

But what about the sand? I’d seen piles of it from Emily’s bedroom window the day I visited. It’s possible someone else had seen it. Doylemay not be smart, but he’s smart enough to know that could lead back to him.

“Travis,” I say. “What if it’s him? Raymond?”

Travis shakes his head, incredulous. “No way. No fucking way.”

“You told me you know when it’s one of your own. What if you didn’t know?”

“I’d know.”

I look down at the sketch. “How sure are you Emily died of natural causes?”

“What?” He shakes his head again, then stops. A harsh breath escapes. “Wait a minute. Just wait a minute.” He holds a finger up, sits a few seconds, and says, “I used to see Raymond, back then, in the woods behind our house. Sometimes I’d run him off. I thought he was there to torment me but ...”

“But he wasn’t interested in you,” I say.

Travis’s jaw clenches again. “He was interested in Emily.”

“Travis.” I glance behind me. “It sounded like someone was in the house with me this morning. Tiptoeing around.”

Travis is out of the truck before I can say another word. I follow him up the front steps and into the foyer.

“Travis, I—”

“Stay here.”

I wait on the porch, tapping my foot, but I can’t stay still. I catch up to Travis as he’s coming down the stairs to look around the first-floor rooms. All the rooms are empty.

Back at the front door, he says, “This all just keeps getting more out of control.” He runs his hand through his hair, stalks back to his truck, and jumps behind the wheel. I follow him to the driver’s side door.

“I don’t know what the hell is going on, but when I find Raymond ...” His words trail off as he slams his truck in gear.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea. You need to let the investigators handle this.”

“This could involve my family. I’m handling it.”