Death by the Riverside (18 page)

“Jonesy saw him put in an ambulance. They hurried him away, Jonesy said, siren screamin’, all in a hurry to save his life. And Jonesy ain’t the only one that says he’s alive.”

“But that’s not…” I started, then stopped, unsure of what to say, wanting to say nothing, to stay as far away from the memories of that night as possible.

He got out of the car. “Yeah, I’m glad you ain’t friends. Not your kind of folk. And someday that man’ll get what he’s got comin’,” he spoke through the car window.

“Ben… Yeah, he’ll get what’s coming,” I answered, backing away from the truth into a cliché. How could he not know? I felt like someone had just told me, with utter belief, that the earth was flat. He’d heard what Jonesy had told him, believed it and never thought to look beyond. Of course Holloway had covered his son’s bloody tracks, and I tried to pretend that I’d never left any footprints, denying that I’d been there that night. Deceit and lies must have crossed and re-crossed until truth was a blackened smudge. Mine included. How could he know? Jonesy was the only one of us who had bothered to tell Ben Beaugez what truth he knew. I wondered how long Ben had believed that Holloway was still alive. Someday I would tell him, when we broke down a few more barriers. When I didn’t flinch every time my past crept by my bottles of Scotch and faceless lovers. I would be out here in a few weeks. After twenty years, what did a week or two matter?

“You take care, Micky,” he said. “Hi, Bob,” he called to a middle-aged man coming out of the door.

I guessed that that was the Bob of Bob’s Catfish Shack. I wanted to avoid any introductions, any fond reminiscences about Lee Robedeaux’s little daughter. I wanted to get away from here. “I’ve got to get going, Ben. Thanks for fixing my car. I’m out here every few weeks. I’ll come by.”

“You do that, Micky. Maybe we’ll go fishin’ off the dock. You and me always caught the most fish.”

“I’d like that, Ben,” I answered. I waved politely at Bob, then drove off.

Holloway had enough money to keep his name clean. What happened to the rest of us didn’t matter. Holloway’s whitewash was here, twenty years later, haunting me. Somehow I had to tell Ben, tell him that one person had survived that night, but that it hadn’t been Holloway’s son.

The Catfish Shack, with its flashing neon beer signs, disappeared from my rearview mirror.

Chapter 18

Saturday finally arrived, and I set out early for Torbin’s. I planned on taking around three hours to get there. If anyone was following me, I would know it. Maybe I was being paranoid, but then Barbara Selby was still lying in the hospital. Frankie wasn’t going to be spending any time with doctors if I could help it.

Torbin tried very hard to convince me to wear an outrageously revealing, red-sequined gown.

“But, Micky, darling, I so rarely get to play with the real thing,” he said, running his hands across my breasts in a manner that from any other man and not a few women would have earned a slap across the face.

I finally talked him into letting me use a long-sleeved black gown that revealed a good deal less cleavage, real or false. I still had a pretty nasty-looking scar on my arm that I didn’t want to display.

“Well, if you insist,” he said, viewing me. “Keep it if you want. That thing’s a rag that I haven’t worn in years. But, Micky, dear, do keep red in mind. It really is your color.”

“Thanks, Tor. Next family Christmas, you and I will go in red gowns.”

“Clashing reds. I’d love it.”

The tails weren’t too bad a fit on Frankie, but he still ended up looking like a scared penguin.

“I’ve gotten a limo for you kids. It’s my ball favor to you,” Torbin said, pun intended, I’m sure. “You’ve met Buddy, Frankie. He’ll be your driver and chaperone.”

“Wait a minute here, I told you not to let Frankie out of…” I started.

“He didn’t,” Frankie said.

“If a boy can’t get to the party, you’ve got to bring the party to the boy,” Torbin explained.

“Torbin’s been wonderful to me. I’ve met people I didn’t even know existed. People like me,” Frankie seconded him.

Buddy and the limo arrived. Torbin packed us in, telling us to have fun and not do anything that he wouldn’t do. That gave us a lot of leeway, more than I hoped we’d need.

I couldn’t help but think about the last time I had been down the road to One Hundred Oaks Plantation. This one’s for you, Barbara, I said to myself. At least I can tell your kids we got the men that left you in the swamp.

We were by no means the only limo that drove through the gates of the plantation. But I’ll say this for Torbin, ours was the only pink one.

I had to show my invitation to the parking lot attendant. Security was pretty tight, which was a good sign.

“Just go straight,” he said, giving us directions.

“Gaily forward,” I commented as we got out of earshot. The influence of that pink limo.

Frankie and I walked arm and arm down the long drive, doing our best straight imitation. He was steady, chatting amiably, but nervous underneath.
You’re a better man than your dad ever was, Frankie. Someday you’ll realize that.

Another attendant checked our invitations at the door. A fair amount of money had been spent on decorations and food. There was a lot of red, white, and blue and a number of state and Confederate flags scattered about. How tasteful, I thought. There was one big American flag in the ball room, a small concession to the victors of the War of Succession.

I caught sight of Cordelia at the top of the grand staircase. The deep royal blue gown she wore set off her eyes. Too bad she was straight. Then I caught myself. We all make choices. She made hers. She saw me and waved, but she was with her grandfather, leading him down the stairs. He was moving very slowly, again assisted by the older man I had seen him with the first time I was out here. I couldn’t remember his name.

Frankie and I went in search of Ranson.

“Hi, Micky. How are you tonight?” Danny asked, coming up to us. She looked resplendent in a red dress, her bare shoulders showing off her coffee skin. Behind her was Alexandra Sayers, traditional, yet unconventional, with her sedate pearls and black gown. She pulled off understated good taste, something I’d never been very good at.

Damn, I thought, I know a lot of good-looking women. All of them already spoken for, I reminded myself.

“Who’s your date?” Danny finished. She cocked an eyebrow at seeing me with a man.

“Franklin Fitzsimmons. He’s a friend of Torbin’s.” I answered. Then I did the round of introductions and explained who Torbin was for Alex’s benefit.

For a moment I wondered how we had all managed to wrangle invitations. Danny and Joanne weren’t high echelon enough to automatically get invited and Alex had nothing to do with law enforcement, but then I remembered Cordelia. She probably got to invite whomever she chose. I was just an afterthought on Ranson’s part.

“Well, the lower classes do find their way into everything, don’t they?” a voice behind me said. Of course, Karen would be here. I was surprised that on our short acquaintance that she could so readily recognize me from the back. “How’s the bait business, dear?” she finished up.

Danny’s face turned to stone. I realized Karen was talking to her. I was livid.

“Karen, you’re usually such a perfect host,” Alex said. “Remember, it’s what you do, not what your parents do, that counts in this country.”

“Not in my house,” Karen answered.

“Not your house. Not now or ever,” I said, turning to face her.

“Thanks to you,” she spat at me. “Alex, if these are your friends, your taste in women is remarkably dismal. I don’t think you can count on me in the future for any of your charity functions, if there’s chance you’ll invite this caliber of people,” Karen finished smoothly.

“Karen. They’re my friends. I invited them,” said a voice from where my back was now turned. Cordelia joined us and put a hand on Danny’s shoulder.

“You know my opinion of your friends,” Karen retorted. “Particularly little girl detectives and their bayou buddies.”

I took a step toward Karen and looked down at her. Being a good five inches taller, it was easy. “And we’re glad of it, Karen, sugar,” I said. “Better a bait-catcher than a shark. Go find some helpless minnows.”

“You bitch…” she started. Cordelia took her by the arm.

“Let’s go,” she said and maneuvered Karen away from us. “Granddad wants you to meet some people. If you’re polite enough, you might get back in his good graces…” Her voice trailed off across the room as she led Karen to a group that included her grandfather and that Judge Aldus. The honorable judge made room for Karen, ogling her cleavage injudiciously. He glanced at Cordelia, but she was too tall for him to get a similar view.

“Sorry, Danny,” Alex said. “Karen can be a real bitch when she’s had a few drinks.”

“She can also be a bitch when she’s sober,” I added. I hadn’t forgotten her bounced check.

“Bait-catcher. Damn her,” Danny muttered, letting out a breath and some of her anger. “I need a drink.”

“There’s a bar this way,” Alex offered pointing Danny off in the opposite direction from the one Karen had taken. I raised a what-was-that-about eyebrow at Alex.

“Karen got hauled in on some minor drug charge. Danny didn’t treat her any better than anyone else.”

“Hence, everlasting enmity.”

“You got it,” Alex said, heading off after Danny.

Frankie and I went on out to the lawn in our search for Ranson. The yard was lit by an astounding number of, you guessed it, red, white, and blue Japanese lanterns. They didn’t end until halfway to the barn.

“You have some good friends, Micky,” Frankie said. “You all stuck up for each other. I wish I had friends like that.”

“You will, Frankie. You just need to start hanging around decent people. The indecent kind, like Torbin.”

“You’re right. He’s been a friend, a good one. So have you. Someday, I’ll pay you both back.”

“Tax time, Frankie, just wait,” I said with a laugh.

“Ready and willing. Throw a bag full of receipts at me. I am good with numbers.”

“It’s a deal,” I said. We shook hands on it.

I spotted Ranson.

“Hello, Joanne,” I said as we got to her. “I’d like you to meet my escort for the evening, Franklin Fitzsimmons.”

“Hello, Michele,” she answered. “And I’d like you to meet mine, Jackson Ford. Jackson’s with the FBI.”

“You’re an accountant, aren’t you, Mr. Fitzsimmons?” Jackson asked.

“Yes, I am,” Frankie replied.

“Would you excuse us, ladies? I’ve got some people who are very interested in meeting Mr. Fitzsimmons.”

Frankie looked scared for a moment. I had kept him safe and he didn’t want to leave me.

“It’s all right,” Ranson said. “Jackson just flew in from Washington this morning.” That meant he wasn’t part of the good ol’ boy network here. Probably a good ol’ boy network elsewhere, but that shouldn’t affect Frankie’s safety, and that was what was important.

Frankie nodded his okay at me, then shyly kissed me on the cheek. He and Jackson Ford left.

“Have a ball, Frankie,” I called after him. “He’s a brave man,” I told Ranson, hoping someone would tell him someday.

“Yes, he is,” she agreed. “You’ve done a good job, Micky. We appreciate it.”

“Always glad to aid the forces of law and order, ma’am,” I said. Where was my sunset to ride off into?

Ranson snagged two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter and handed one to me.

“Cheers,” she said. We drank a toast. “You look good, Micky.”

“Thanks. Cousin Torbin’s leftovers. He’s got a better dress collection than I do,” I said. “You too, Joanne. You look very good.” She did. She wore a flowing pearl gray gown that softened her angles and relentless eyes.

“Thanks. It was a great-aunt’s,” she replied.

We were silent for a moment, looking at each other. She did look very good.

“Joanne. There you are,” a man said as he joined us. “This is Micky Knight?” he asked.

I recognized him as the smiling policeman I had seen in the newspaper with…Korby, that was his name.

“Yes,” Ranson answered. “Michele Knight, this is Captain Renaud,” she continued. I suspected she didn’t really like him, but her voice was too neutral for me to be sure.

“Good work you did there,” he said as he shook my hand. “Us cops can always use a helping hand.” He looked me up and down, letting me know exactly how much he liked my butting into police territory.

I stifled my immediate reaction for Ranson’s sake. I didn’t need to come off as a ball-breaking man hater to her boss. I gave his words a tepid smile, and opined, “I’m sure you appreciate helping hands.”

“Sergeant.” Another cop type showed up. “Captain.”

“Lieutenant,” Ranson responded, nodding to him.

“Oh, Raul, hello. This is the girl that got that accountant to come forward,” Captain Renaud said expansively. “I’m sorry, what’s your name, honey?” he asked me.

“Michele Knight, this is Lieutenant Lafitte,” Ranson supplied the introduction.

Lafitte, making sure Captain Renaud couldn’t see, winked at me. “Pleased to meet you,” he said, giving my hand a firm shake. At least Ranson had one decent male over her. Figuratively speaking, of course.

Captain Renaud dismissed me by saying to them, “I think we’d better go say hi to the D.A. and his boys.”

“I guess you’re right,” Lafitte replied. He stepped between her and Captain Renaud, preventing him from taking her arm.

Ranson nodded at me and turned away. Lafitte gave me a quick smile and a shrug. Renaud, sensing he’d been outmaneuvered, quickly moved around to Ranson’s other side and took her arm. Lafitte put his hand on the small of her back to guide her. She looked small and confined between the two of them. Lafitte, still guiding her with his hand, leaned into her and said something that I didn’t catch. She gave his comment a slight smile. His attitude, his expression, made me realize that he was attracted to her. First I was angry, jealous perhaps, that he could look at her, touch her, and command her attention in a way that was forbidden to me. That passed as I remembered that, all things considered, I had a better chance with Ranson than he did. Not that I had much chance, but it is better to be two hundredth in line than four hundredth.

Then I heard her say, “Damn high heels,” as she stumbled. Just enough to get away from their helping hands. Ranson could take care of herself. I also noticed the edge of a scar almost hidden by her dress. It had been a number of years ago and I hadn’t paid attention to the names, but there had been a female cop, a rookie maybe, who had single-handedly captured a killer and been wounded in the battle. She had brought her man in, then collapsed and was rushed to the hospital. I wondered if it was Ranson.

I wandered out to the edge of the light, in the direction of the barn. I’ve always gotten along better with horses than with people. I decided to say hi to Ignatious Holloway’s purebreds. The barn had a few night lights on inside. I was just starting to make friends with one beautiful thoroughbred when I heard a voice that I didn’t want to hear. Karen and another woman were coming in this direction. I hastily hid my heels, then scrambled up the ladder into the hayloft.

Karen and friend entered the barn. I recognized the woman she was with. Cheryl Somebody whom I’d seen in too many bars. Lesbo trash Danny had called her, adding that she should be straight, that dykes had a bad enough name as it was. She had money, enough to buy fancy clothes and a nose job and to keep up with Karen. I didn’t want to see either of them. I hoped they got horse shit on their $400 shoes.

“Let’s do it in the hayloft,” Cheryl giggled.

“Let’s,” Karen said and they started climbing the ladder.

I ducked behind some hay bales and hoped I was well hidden in the dim light. They topped the ladder. Karen was carrying an electric lantern and Cheryl had a plastic bag containing several protruding objects. She pulled out one and displayed it proudly.

“I got the biggest one I could find,” she said. It was a long, gleaming black and green dildo. Designer, no doubt.

It was bad enough having had sex with Karen Holloway. Now I got to watch, too. Great. The only way out was either to jump fifteen feet (in an evening gown, no less) or walk past them and their bright light to the ladder. Well, I had certainly gotten the ringside seat in this monkey house.

Karen and Cheryl were ooh-ing and ah-ing and slobbering over each other. I was thinking about gagging. Then Cheryl put a plastic bag next to the bale I was hidden behind. She put the dildo on it and squirted it with lubricant. Karen started taking off Cheryl’s clothes, being pretty noisy about it. I took this opportunity to see if there was anything interesting behind me. A lot more hay, and behind the hay, some saddles and bridles that needed repair and a miscellaneous pile of horse brushes and rubdown rags. Beyond those a number of cardboard boxes. No machine gun to blast my way out.