Page 23 of Everyone’s a Liar

“That’s true.”

“It probably would have been an open-and-shut case. There was nothing suspicious. Not until Henri went on a rampage, refusing to cooperate and dragging in his paid politicians.” Finn’s expression was hard, clearly showing his resentment for how his father had been treated. “Why go to that sort of effort if you don’t have something to hide?”

His words echoed her own confusion. “Maybe because he was an arrogant ass,” she offered.

“It could have been a way to flex his power,” he reluctantly agreed, “but my dad never forgot.”

“And you never forgave.”

“It wasn’t just what happened to my dad.”

“Let me guess.” She wrinkled her nose. “It’s because Adrian Benoit is a condescending bore?”

“No. That was inevitable. It runs in the family.”

“Okay.” She considered the Benoit clan and their various methods of annoying the locals. “Is it because Delilah Benoit is constantly complaining about everything from the children in town daring to ride their bikes in the streets to the noise of the fireworks display on the Fourth of July?”

“She’s a pain in the ass,” Finn agreed. “But still not it.”

“You can’t mean poor Helene?” Bryce said, referring to the oldest Benoit. “She’s just pathetic.”

He firmly shook her head. “Not her.”

“I give up. Tell me.”

Bryce could see his jaw clench. “It’s the fact that the family blocked the road to the bayous that crosses the edge of their property. Since the founding of Rushville, that pathway has been open so the citizens could have easy access to the federally protected wetlands. Now they’re forced to drive an extra twenty miles, even assuming they have access to a vehicle. For some people in this area those lands are sacred. It’s a crime the Benoits can trample over the rights of others just because they have money.”

Bryce understood his frustration. His mother had family ties to the Native American tribes in the area. It was difficult enough to preserve their glorious heritage without the Benoits putting up unnecessary roadblocks.

“Did anyone ever make a formal protest?” she asked.

“None of the townsfolk were willing to risk antagonizing the Benoits, while the elders of the local tribe took a more long-term view of the situation.”

“‘Long-term’?”

“They were convinced that the land would purge itself of the taint when the time was right.”

Bryce blinked. They considered the Benoits a taint on the land? Not that they were alone in their less than flattering opinion of the aloof, snobbish family, she silently acknowledged. There were plenty of townsfolk who held a grudge against their notorious neighbors and their attitude they were better than everyone else.

Before she could ask more about his father’s interest in Giselle Benoit’s death, the sound of a ringing phone had them turning toward Chuck, who picked up the landline on his desk. Times were changing, but Rushville was still remote enough to need old-fashioned technology. A minute later, he replaced the receiver and glanced toward Finn.

“That was old man Coulter. He said there’s a stray dog in his garden and if we don’t get out there, he’s gonna shoot it.”

Bryce started to rise to her feet only to be halted by Finn’s hand on her shoulder. “I’ll go. I promised to stop by the high school with some police tape so they can mark off the area in the parking lot for the Fourth of July floats to line up for the parade. I’ll try to be back before five, but if not just lock the doors and go home.”

“I don’t mind staying until you get back.”

“Go home.”

She saluted with a teasing smile. “Aye, aye, Captain.”

He studied her for a long, unnerving moment before strolling out of the office. Bryce released a shaky breath. Then, with a grim determination, she turned back to her computer. She didn’t have time to waste on analyzing each word and glance that she shared with Sheriff Finn Maxwell, even if she wanted to. And she absolutely didn’t.

Logging into her official software program, Bryce typed in Jacob Pearson’s name and hit enter. She had access to information that wasn’t available to the public, including crime records, whether they were currently incarcerated, and any aliases or nicknames.

A dozen files popped up, but a quick search was enough to reveal that none of them matched the man in Livia’s picture. She expanded her search to the state of Louisiana. And then the rest of the country. There were a few Jacob Pearsons who matched the general description, but a deeper look eliminated them from her list.

After a solid two hours of searching, she had to accept the fact that Livia had been well and truly catfished. Whoever she’d been dating, it wasn’t Jacob Pearson.