A Thousand Lies (26 page)

Today was the day the workers would finish the house, and a shipment of bamboo was going out, as well. He didn’t know when the bodies would be found, but he knew the parish police would eventually come to see him, for the simple fact that those were the men who’d been assigned to guard
him
and now they were dead.

He turned away from the magnificent wash of pink and gold spreading across the early morning sky to pour his first cup of coffee. He wasn’t moved by sunrises. They had come regularly every day for the last fifty years, and as long as he was still around to see the next one, he didn’t care what they looked like.

When the grandfather clock in the hallway began to chime, he glanced at his watch, counting as it chimed seven times. It was five minutes fast, but what the hell. He didn’t intend to live by it. He just liked the sound.

Sam and Chance would be here within the hour and most likely be surprised by the amount of work he’d done yesterday while they were gone. He sat down to eat a bowl of cereal and then put the dirty dish in the sink without bothering to rinse it. It would give Delle something to do when she came home.

At straight up 8:00 a.m., he heard Sam’s truck pulling up in the back yard and looked out. Chance had ridden in with Sam, and there was a parish police car behind them.

And so it began. He shifted mental gears as he grabbed his gloves and his cell phone and walked out the back door.

****

Chance’s truck was in the shop, so he’d hitched a ride to work with Sam. As always when they were together, they talked about the day they would quit working for Anson like a kid does counting down the days until he’s old enough to drive. They longed for families and lives of their own, but neither one had the guts to confront him.

About halfway there, Sam glanced in the rearview mirror and realized a police car was behind them. He slowed down to give it room to pass, but when the driver made no move to accelerate, he frowned.

“Wonder what that’s all about? There aren’t any houses out this way but Wisteria Hill and LeDeux’s place.” Sam’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel as he thought of the ramifications. “Man, I hope this isn’t the day we finally all go to jail.”

“Bite your tongue, bro,” Chance muttered.

“If they turn off when we do, I’m officially freaked,” Sam said.

A few minutes later, Sam signaled he was turning and so did the cop car.

“We’re fucked,” Chance said.

“Not until they handcuff us,” Sam said, as he pulled up in the shade and got out.

“There comes Dad, and the son of a bitch is smiling,” Chance muttered.

Sam recognized Anson’s strut as one of satisfaction.

“So, we may not be fucked after all.”

****

Sumter Henry, the Parish Sheriff, was bothered by the bind he now found himself in. He’d known from the start that taking money from Anson Poe could complicate his life, but he’d never imagined murder would be in the mix. He was pissed at himself, but at the same time, fairly certain no tie between him and Poe could ever be proven.

As they neared Poe’s property, he recognized the truck ahead of them and realized they were following Anson’s sons. At least he’d have them all together when he started questioning.

They drove in and parked behind Sam Poe’s truck, then saw Anson coming out of the house.

“And there comes our man. Let’s see what he has to say,” Henry said.

Both officers got out, but they didn’t have to go far because Anson came to meet them.

“Good morning, Sheriff. So what have my boys done now?”

Sam and Chance were immediately pissed that he would point a guilty finger at them, even in jest.

“We haven’t done a damn thing,” Sam said. “What do you want us to do first?”

Anson laughed. “Easy, Sam, it was a joke. So, what’s up, Sheriff?”

Henry frowned. “We need to ask you some questions, and I’d like for your sons to stay.”

“I don’t mind. So what’s going on?” Anson asked.

“Where were you last night?” Henry asked.

“Here, why?”

“Is there anyone who can verify that?”

“No, I was by myself all day and… Oh wait. I did have a caller last night.”

“I need a name,” Henry said.

“My neighbor, Voltaire LeDeux.”

Henry was surprised, but kept a straight face. “Voltaire LeDeux was here?”

Anson nodded. “Yeah, for a little while. If he’s in need of something only money can buy, he brings something to trade. Sometimes he brings me crawfish, which I will buy, but I’m not real fond of gator and he knows it.”

“What time was he here?” Henry asked.

Anson frowned. He knew exactly the time frame to mention, but he didn’t want to sound too positive.

“I’m thinking it must have been around 10:30. I was watching one of those late night shows when he came to the door.”

“What did he want?” Henry asked.

Anson shrugged. “He said, he needed a new pair of shoes and would I want to trade for crawfish. Hell, boys, why don’t you go ask him yourself? He’ll tell you.”

“Did you trade for crawfish?”

“Not right then,” Anson said. “But I gave him the money. Told him to bring me crawfish once a week for a month and we’d be even.”

Henry frowned. “You boys ever know this to happen?”

Sam shrugged. “The man hasn’t worked a day in his life. He trades for everything. Everyone in the bayou knows that.”

“Look, Chief, what’s going on?” Anson asked. “Why are you asking me all this? Go ask him.”

“He’s dead,” Henry said.

Anson knew the look of shock on his face was a good one because he’d practiced.

“The hell you say! What happened?”

“Someone shot him.”

Sam frowned. “That’s sick. Who would shoot Voltaire? He didn’t bother anyone.”

Henry wasn’t here to give information. He was here to get it. He kept pushing Anson for answers. “How do you know Carl Roberts?”

Anson shrugged. “I don’t.”

“What about Lonnie Parker?”

Anson shook his head. “I don’t know him either. Boys, do ya’ll know ‘em?”

“No sir,” Chance said.

“Me, either,” Sam said.

Henry’s smile looked more like a grimace, but he thought Anson might have gotten himself into a bind with this claim.

“Well that’s strange you don’t know them, seeing as how you named them as witnesses to back up your alibi the night Frenchie’s burned.”

Anson’s eyes widened. “Are you telling me those are the guys who work for March... the ones who follow me around all the time?”

Henry frowned. “Yes, you—”

“Well, hell, Chief. I didn’t know their names. It’s not like we’ve ever been introduced. I just knew March had put two of his watchdogs on me. I mean it wasn’t a secret. Where I went, they went. So what the fuck do March’s men have to do with Voltaire?”

“According to Grayson March, those men were following you last night as you left Wisteria Hill, and they were on your tail. His claim is that, if his men were on LeDeux’s property, it’s because they followed you there.”

Anson shook his head, as if confused by the whole scenario.

“No, I didn’t go there last night, but they’ve followed me there before. I was there not too long ago and got a bucket of crawfish, but that was in the daytime. They saw me go in. They saw me come out, and they followed me back home.”

Henry frowned. “Well, March claims the men saw you coming up your driveway on foot, then slip into some trees all secret like.”

Anson jerked as if he’d been slapped.

“On foot? No, I didn’t... oh hell!”

Henry frowned. “What?”

Anson flung his gloves to the ground as his face turned red in sudden anger.

“Damn Grayson March to hell and back for ever putting his guards on my tail. If he hadn’t, none of this would have happened. They must have seen Voltaire leaving here last night and thought it was me. Voltaire doesn’t drive. He doesn’t even own a car. He was the one afoot.”

“But they’d know soon enough when they drove up and talked to him, it was not,” Henry said.

“They don’t drive up and chit chat with me, damn it. They just stay behind me in lurk mode. And Voltaire was afoot, so if he saw them following him, it would’ve scared him. He would’ve been running hell-bent for leather to get home. If they actually set foot on his property after scaring him like that, he would shoot first and ask questions later. Ask my boys. Ask anyone in the parish. You don’t go to Voltaire’s house at night unless he knows ahead of time that you’re coming.

Henry had heard of the man, but had no knowledge of his habits. He glanced at Poe’s sons, trying to get a read on what they were thinking.

“Is this so?” he asked.

Sam nodded. “Yes, sir. Ask anyone.”

Henry wasn’t satisfied. “So how do I know it still wasn’t you walking to this Voltaire LeDeux’s house?”

Anson threw up his hands. “Maybe because I have a goddamn truck to drive? Why would I take to foot and go two and a half miles up a road in the dark after working all day? Answer me that, damn it.”

Henry sighed. He’d ask around, but something told him this was as far as he would get with Poe, and without a witness to state otherwise, this might come down to March’s men being the ones in the wrong and not Poe.

“Well then,” Henry said.

“This is terrible,” Anson said, then picked up his gloves and slapped them on the side of his jeans to shake off the dust. “So who’s claiming Voltaire’s body?”

Henry was surprised. “I can’t say as I know, why?”

“Because if he wound up dead because of this disagreement between me and March, I feel somewhat obligated to lay him to rest. He doesn’t have any family, and anyone who knows him, knows he would want to be buried beside his mama. If you would tell the mortuary who winds up with his body to send the bill for his funeral to me, I would be obliged.”

The chief didn’t quite know how to react. He’d come here thinking he might wind up arresting Poe, only to have the slick bastard slide out from under the accusation and wind up looking like a Good Samaritan.

Anson was waiting for a reply, but it never came.  “Is there anything else I can do for you? I ask, because we have a truck coming after a load of bamboo this morning, and I have things to do.”

Henry didn’t like being the one to be dismissed.

“If we have other questions, I know where to find you,” he said.

Anson couldn’t resist one last parting shot. “I hope you know that when word gets out of this tragedy, people are going to be blaming March for throwing his weight around, putting hired guns in the midst of innocent people.”

Henry didn’t comment as they got back in the patrol car and drove away.

Sam looked at his father. “Was Voltaire really here last night?”

Anson turned on him like a rabid dog, spewing words in short angry bursts. “Hell yes, and don’t you ever question me like that again. What the fuck would I have to gain by hurting Voltaire LeDeux?”

Sam didn’t budge. “I don’t know, Daddy. What the fuck did you have to gain by hurting Mama?”

Chance didn’t want in on the explosion he knew was coming and took off to the shed without looking back.

Sam waited with his hands curled into fists, expecting the worst. Instead, Anson seemed to blow it off. “Go help your brother. There’s work to do.”

And that was the moment Sam knew his father
was
to blame.

****

Claudette arrived early Monday morning, for which Brendan was extremely grateful. She came in carrying a tote bag full of playthings for Linny and a small sack of makeup for Delle. As soon as she distributed her gifts, she got Brendan alone in the kitchen and handed him a gift, as well.

“This is from Mama Lou,” she said and placed it in his hand.

Brendan looked down at the small pink cell phone and frowned.

“What am I supposed to do with this?”

“Mama Lou said, ‘tell Brendan to put his phone number in it, put it on speed dial, then teach your little sister how to use it. It will be her SOS to you. Her 911 call. Tell her to use it only if she is afraid for her life.’”

Brendan’s stomach rolled. The phone felt more like a ticking time bomb than a lifeline. What did Mama Lou know that he didn’t?

“Did she say why?” he asked.

“Danger comes,” Claudette said, then shrugged. “That is all.”

“Well damn it,” Brendan said softly.

Claudette cupped the side of his cheek. “Life is a series of highs and lows. This time in your life is a low for you and for those you love.”

He palmed the phone and put it in his pocket.

“Thank you, Auntie. I will show her tonight when I come home.”

Claudette nodded. “You will go see Juliette today?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I have one more thing Mama Lou sent that is for her alone.” She went back to her tote bag and pulled out a pint-sized cotton pouch. Inside was a pretty glass bottle with a pale amber liquid inside.

“What is it?” he asked.

“It will take away her pain and help heal the skin without leaving scars.”

He frowned. “I’m not sure the hospital will let them use a medicine other than what they prescribe,” he said.

Her eyes narrowed. “So don’t let them know, just use it. Think about it, Brendan. If anyone knows how to heal the marks left from whippings and floggings, it would be the ancestors of slaves.”

Brendan’s eyes widened. “Damn, Auntie, that’s cold.”

She shrugged. “It is nothing but the truth.”

He couldn’t deny it. “You tell Mama Lou thank you for everything and I will do as she says.”

Claudette smiled. “So, tell your family good-bye and do what you must. We will be fine.”

“Will do,” he said, gathered up the things she’d given him, and headed for his room.

He glanced in at the girls as he passed. They were head to head on the bed, digging through the tote bag Claudette brought. He put the pink phone in a drawer, got his wallet, car keys, and the medicine, and then went to tell them good-bye.

“Hey, Mama, I’m leaving now. If you need me, all you have to do is call. I’ll be down in the Quarter for a while and then I’m going to see Julie. I’m picking up some groceries before I come home. Is there anything you need?”