Dead Wake (The Forgotten Coast Florida #5) (9 page)

The room was busy, noisy with the sounds of at least a dozen white-clad people dressing and butchering fish at two rows of stainless steel tables.

“I’m just packing up some fish heads to take home,” Boudreaux said, indicating they should follow him.

He stopped at the nearest table, where several fish heads waited in a clear plastic bag. There were quite a few more in a bucket next to the table, and he reached down and took out two. They were redfish.

“If I don’t bring some home for soup stock, Miss Evangeline starts slinging voodoo at me,” he said.

“Does it work?” Wyatt asked.

“Well, I’m bringing home the fish, so I’d say it does, wouldn’t you?” He smiled politely at Wyatt as he dropped the fish heads into a bag, then glanced over at Maggie. “Would you like to take some home, Maggie?”

“No, thank you,” Maggie answered. “I’ve got plenty.”

Boudreaux began twisting the bag shut. “How can I help the two of you?” he asked.

“We’d like to ask you a few questions about the building you used to own on Commerce Street.”

“The florist,” Boudreaux said as he made a knot in the bag.

“That and some other things. Maybe more privately?” Wyatt asked.

Boudreaux reached up to grab the nozzle of a heavy, industrial hose that hung from the ceiling. He rinsed his hands and the bag before turning back to them. The water coursed down a nearby drain in the tile floor. The same tile floor that Wyatt hadn’t been permitted to tear up.

“Let’s talk in my office,” Boudreaux said, and led the way back to the door.

They followed him out, then down the hallway. “I assume this is about the body that was found,” he said as they walked. The hall was narrow and Wyatt was abreast of Boudreaux, towering over him by almost a foot. Maggie walked behind, not towering at all.

“Why do you assume that?” Wyatt asked.

“Because that’s what’s going on this week. And because I used to own the building.”

Boudreaux opened a door and stepped aside to let them in. Maggie had never been in Boudreaux’s private office, and she was surprised that it was as impressive as it was. He tended toward understatement, but the rich mahogany furnishings and local artwork were meant to convey the money and power that he usually pretended to overlook.

Maggie and Wyatt sat down in a pair of burgundy leather armchairs as Boudreaux put the bag of fish heads into a built-in mini-fridge and then sat down behind his desk. He leaned back in the leather desk chair that looked more comfortable than Maggie’s bed, and waited for one of them to speak.

“The body that was found in the flower shop last night was Holden Crawford’s,” Wyatt said.

“I see.”

“Did you know him?”

“Of course I did,” Boudreaux said calmly. “I assume you read the file.” He glanced over at Maggie, and she could practically feel those blue eyes checking her bone density.

“What was the issue between you and Crawford?” she asked him.

She watched one finger scratch gently at his left eyebrow, something he did when he was choosing his words, which he always did carefully.

“In general, the issues were between him and my father,” he said. “They were competitors. Between the two of them, they bought and sold ninety percent of the oysters that came out of the bay.”

“What did that have to do with you?” Maggie asked.

“Not much,” he answered. “But I had just graduated from Tulane, a Masters in finance. I’d started taking over the running of my father’s shrimping operation back home, so I was a little more involved in his business here as well.”

“Did you have dealings with Crawford?” Wyatt asked.

“Not really. But I was something of a go-between for the two of them, a role I found less than satisfying.”

Maggie cleared her throat before speaking. “What happened at Papa Joe’s that night? The night he disappeared?”

Boudreaux sighed softly and leaned forward onto his desk. “He was drunk. Or had been drinking. There was an event going on, what would probably be called a pub crawl these days. All of the raw bars and seafood restaurants were participating. I ran into him at Papa Joe’s.”

“Okay,” Maggie said.

“He had some nasty things to say about my father, in a fairly loud voice,” Boudreaux said. “I couldn’t disagree with anything he said, but I took exception nonetheless.”

“What kind of things?” Wyatt asked.

“That he underpaid for his oysters, which he did. That he undersold to the vendors to undercut Crawford, also true. That he was a bully and an ass, which he was.”

“So where’d you go after Papa Joe’s?” Wyatt asked casually.

Boudreaux regarded him for a moment. “I went home.”

It wasn’t the answer Maggie expected. “To your father’s house?”

“Yes.”

“Was your father there?” Wyatt asked.

“No, he was on a fishing trip that weekend.”

“Huh,” Wyatt said.

Boudreaux looked at him mildly. “That wasn’t unusual.”

“Well, the thing is, according to Bradford Wilson, you had an alibi for the time at which Crawford was seen arguing with another man in front of his business. Home alone isn’t much, as alibis go.”

“I suppose it isn’t,” Boudreaux agreed.

“So why would he say you had one?”

“Sheriff Wilson smoked a lot of pot,” Boudreaux said, and Maggie could just see one corner of his lip twitching.

“Is that a fact?” Wyatt asked, as though Boudreaux had shared some mildly interesting fact about the mating habits of sandpipers.

Wyatt had a low BS threshold, and Maggie could see by the set of his jaw that he’d already breached it.

“Here’s the thing,” said Wyatt somewhat pleasantly. “At the time Crawford went missing, you were under some suspicion because of the argument you had with him at Papa’s, and the fact that a man of similar stature was seen arguing or fighting with Crawford later. Your alibi, or the alibi Wilson says you had, was what knocked you out of the running.”

He waited for Boudreaux to say something. Boudreaux waited as well.

“But now, there’s the fact that you bought Crawford’s business later on, including the building where his body was found,” Wyatt continued. “That alibi would be even handier for you now. And you’re telling me you don’t have one.”

“Nor do I need one,” Boudreaux said quietly, as he folded his hands on the desk. “I didn’t have anything to do with his disappearance, or his death. Yes, I bought his business and his property later on. It was beneficial to me, and to his wife. The business was falling apart.”

“What did you do with the building?” Wyatt asked.

“For a while, it was just a tax write-off, which I needed by then,” Boudreaux said. “Then I had new floors and windows put in and leased the spaces out.”

“What went in there?”

“A hair salon,” Maggie answered for Boudreaux. “I had my hair done there for prom.”

“Yes,” Boudreaux said. “Then it was a gift shop, but that went out of business fairly quickly. That was when I sold the building to the gentlemen who own it now.”

Maggie had a brief memory of sitting underneath a hair dryer up against that brick wall. If she’d known what was encased just behind her, she’d have been more curious than anything else, even then.

“Let’s revisit your alibi for a second,” Wyatt said.

“I don’t have one,” Boudreaux said.

“I don’t believe you,” Wyatt said. “And that’s problematic.”

“I suppose it could be,” Boudreaux said smoothly. He looked over at Maggie.

“Mr. Boudreaux,” she said. “It concerns me that you won’t tell us where you were or who you were with. Just clear it up.”

“I apologize, Maggie.”

“I tend to think you didn’t have anything to do with this,” she said.

Boudreaux held her stare for a moment before he spoke. “Why is that, Maggie?”

Maggie was trying to come up with an answer when Wyatt spoke up.

“Maggie says you wouldn’t kill for money,” Wyatt said. Maggie thought about shooting him.

“Is that right?” Boudreaux asked, smiling slightly at Maggie before he looked at Wyatt. “She’s correct.”

“So why
would
you?”

“Why would you?” Boudreaux countered. He sat back in his chair. “Buying Crawford’s assets was an investment. It cost me money for quite some time before it actually made me any. To be truthful, I had no need of his business at the time, and my father was misguided in thinking that empty lot would help him. He just wanted to get what he wanted, whether it was a good business decision or not.”

“But he didn’t get it. You did,” said Wyatt.

“Yes. My father passed away the year before Crawford was declared legally dead, and his wife was free to sell the business.”

“Then you took over both businesses.”

“Correct.”

“Do you know of anyone else that might have wanted to kill Crawford?” Maggie asked.

“I don’t really,” Boudreaux answered. “He was a decent enough man, though a poor businessman.”

“How’s that?” Wyatt asked.

“He went into debt to buy that property downtown, then took out more loans to renovate it. Yet he held onto that empty lot on the waterfront. His wife nearly went bankrupt trying to keep his business afloat after he disappeared.”

“But you don’t know of anyone else he might have had trouble with?” Maggie asked.

“No.”

“Neither do we,” Wyatt said almost cheerfully.

Maggie shifted in her seat, drawing Boudreaux’s attention from Wyatt to her. “Do you know which company it was that was doing the remodeling for Crawford?”

“No, I’m sorry. I don’t,” Boudreaux answered. “By the time I moved here in ’83, they’d already done whatever they’d been doing.”

“What was in there when you bought it?”

“It was being used to store antiques. Mrs. Crawford had a shop next door,” Boudreaux said. “I bought this desk from her.”

Maggie nodded and looked over at Wyatt, who was frowning in the general direction of Boudreaux’s desk.

“So, if you bought Crawford’s business, what happened to it?” Wyatt asked. “There’s nothing there.”

“Precisely,” Boudreaux answered. “The point of buying it was so that it wouldn’t exist. I do still have some of his boats and equipment. I sold that building to a developer a long time ago. They never did anything with it. I believe they’ve since sold it to someone else who isn’t doing anything with it.” He glanced at his watch and stood. “I’m sorry, but I need to get home,” he said. “I’m expected at a city council dinner.”

Maggie and Wyatt both stood up as well. Maggie saw the corners of Wyatt’s mouth turn down. She knew it irked him that Boudreaux and his wife both sat on the city council, despite everyone knowing that he was shady. He was also good friends with half a dozen senators and congressmen. This had bugged Maggie, too, at one time. It bugged her less now, and she felt a twinge of regret for that.

“I notice your wife still hasn’t come back from Louisiana,” Wyatt said. Boudreaux’s wife had left town just after the funeral of Boudreaux’s stepson. Patrick Boudreaux had been a State’s Attorney for Franklin County. He’d also been a cokehead and a criminal, who had had Maggie’s ex-husband killed. Maggie had shot him dead after he’d also tried to kill Wyatt. Boudreaux hadn’t seemed to hold it against her.

“No,” Boudreaux said as he walked around his desk. “I’m not sure she will.”

“You didn’t do her in, did you?” Wyatt asked, as he took Boudreaux’s proffered hand.

“No need,” Boudreaux answered as he gripped Wyatt’s hand then let it go.

He turned to Maggie and she held out her hand. “If you have any other questions, Maggie, I’m always available.”

His grip was firm, but gentle, and Maggie felt the old oystering callouses on his palm.

“Thank you, Mr. Boudreaux,” she said.

He held her hand, and her gaze, for just a moment. Those eyes. They never failed to fascinate her. “It was good to see you, Maggie.”

He let go of her hand, and Maggie caught Wyatt’s look of disdain as Boudreaux walked to the door and opened it for them. Maggie went through first and waited in the hall as Wyatt took his time. He stopped and turned in the doorway.

“I call bull-crap on pretty much everything that’s been said here today,” Wyatt said.

“That’s certainly your prerogative, Sheriff,” Boudreaux answered. “Ironically though, my reputation as the town villain was founded on something I
didn’t
do.”

He shut the door behind Wyatt, and Wyatt looked over at Maggie. “You’re more polite to him than you are to me,” he said.

“You don’t like it when I’m polite to you,” she said.

“That’s because with me you don’t mean it.”

They were silent for a moment as they walked. Maggie could feel the irritation coming off of Wyatt.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“You guys have conversations when you’re not saying anything,” Wyatt said.

“I don’t know about that,” Maggie said, though she wasn’t sure she was telling the truth.

“Maybe you’d have to see it from my chair,” Wyatt said.

M
aggie and Wyatt were silent most of the way across the causeway to Eastpoint, where the Sheriff’s Office was located. They then went to their separate offices to file their reports on the interviews they’d conducted that day.