Kent Conwell - Tony Boudreaux 02 - Skeletons of the Atchafalaya (16 page)

I laid my hand on her arm. “Go on.”

Taking a deep breath, she continued. “Well, you remember yesterday, Giselle wore a red tank top?”

“Yeah.”

“When I went up to find another blouse, I ran across the
red one all wadded up in her suitcase.”

“Okay. So, it was dirty.”

Her voice dropped lower. “But there were stains on it.
Dirty brown stains.”

“Brown?” I frowned.

Her cheeks colored. “I might be wrong, but they looked
like what I’d guess dry blood would look like. Most of all,
they were those little splatters. Remember the splatters of
blood on the card table? That’s what the spots looked like
on her blouse. A kind of spread-out pattern.” She hesitated,
chewing on her bottom lip.

Her words disturbed me, but I shrugged off her theory.
“Probably stuff from the cottonmouth.” The cottonmouth
that is no longer there, I told myself.

Janice shook her head adamantly. “No. She’s still wearing that tank top. The green one.”

My ears burned at the persistence in her tone, but I held
my temper. I shook my head. My tone was abrupt. “Not
Giselle. She has no reason.”

Janice took a step back and studied me a moment, then
released a long sigh. “I know how much she means to you.
I’m just telling you what I saw. I … ah, I don’t know much
about this sort of thing. I don’t mean to be pushy. It just
looked funny to me.”

Suddenly, I felt like a fool, overreacting as I had. I drew
her to me and hugged her. “I’m sorry. Sure, I’ll take a look,
okay? Probably a logical explanation for it all, but I will
look into it.”

She pulled back and narrowed her eyes. “You don’t believe me, do you?”

“Sure I do. It’s just that, well, the others have motives,
reasons for wanting to see A.D. and the others dead. Giselle
doesn’t. Just like Leroi doesn’t, or me, or you.”

Her bottom lip quivered. I drew her to me. “Come on.
You did the right thing. And I promise, I’ll look into it,
okay?” I curled my finger under her chin and tilted her face
up to mine. “Okay?”

A tiny, crooked smile curled the edges of her lips.
“When?”

I saw the skepticism in her eyes. Reluctantly, I took her
arm. “How about now?”

She beamed. “Good.”

“Hold it,” I whispered when I spotted Giselle coming
down the stairs.

Janice caught her breath. “That was close.”

“Yeah.”

We waited until Giselle disappeared into the kitchen,
then hurried up the stairs. We paused outside her room,
looked up and down the hall, then quickly entered. I was
still uncomfortable, but it would make Janice feel better.

Janice whispered urgently. “There. The suitcase on the
bed.”

Just as she reached for the suitcase, footsteps sounded in
the hall.

We stared at each other, listening to the approaching
steps. They stopped at the door.

I pressed my finger to my lips and motioned to the closet.
Silently, we slipped inside just as the door opened. We
froze, our nerves taut, ready to snap. The steps crossed the
room, then paused.

In my mind’s eye, I could see Giselle studying the bed room, staring at the closet in which we were hidden. I held
my breath. The silence expanded, burgeoning into a great
balloon ready to burst.

There came the sound of the suitcase being opened, then
closed and snapped shut. The footsteps then headed back
to the door. Moments later, the door clicked shut.

Janice laid her head against my chest and breathed a sigh
of relief.

“Hurry,” I whispered. “I’ll watch the door.”

She dug through the suitcase, careful not to disturb the
contents. I stood nervously by the door. After a moment,
Janice looked at me over her shoulder, a frown knitting her
forehead. “It isn’t here.”

“What?” I hurried to the bed.

She pointed to a corner of the suitcase. “It was wadded
up here, covered by these other tank tops,” she said, indicating two or three different colored shirts.

“You sure?”

She nodded emphatically. “I saw it, Tony. Honest. It was
there. Not fifteen minutes ago.”

Now I was puzzled. I knew Janice wasn’t imagining the
shirt. She was a levelheaded, sensible woman. “You sure
it isn’t there?”

Quickly she rummaged through the suitcase once again.
She shook her head. “No.”

I opened the door hurriedly. “Let’s go. We can talk about
this downstairs.”

As we came down the stairs, Giselle came out of the
library. At the same time, a frightened voice carried across
the parlor. “Oh, no. Dear Lord, oh, no.”

Janice and I locked eyes. We knew exactly what had
come about. “The storm’s coming this way, isn’t it?” Her
voice was calm and firm, as if she were telling the parking
valet to be careful with her Miata convertible.

I hurried across the parlor to the radio. “That’s what it
sounds like.”

“Maybe it’s far enough west that it won’t be so bad.”

“I hope,” I replied, stopping at the rear of those crowded
around the radio.

Uncle Henry glanced up at me, his craggy face somber.
“This side of Cameron,” he whispered.

I grimaced.

“Cameron?” Janice looked up at me.

Leroi and Sally stopped by our side. “On the coast,”
Sally explained. “Near the Texas border.”

A puzzled frown wrinkled Janice’s forehead. “That’s
over a hundred miles from here. Why should we worry
about that?”

“That’s what’s so bad about hurricanes,” said Leroi.
“They revolve counterclockwise. When they hit land, they
usually cut back to their right.”

Janice’s face paled as the understanding of what lay
ahead dawned on her. “So, it could still come in here?”

I squeezed her hand. Nothing needed to be said.

Giselle pushed in beside us. “What’s she doing now?”

“Coming ashore. This side of Cameron,” I muttered.

Uncle Bailey grumbled. “You might know.”

There were a few subdued cries and hasty prayers, but
Uncle George attempted to put the bad news in perspective.
“Look, folks. We’re not any worse off than we were earlier.
That storm has a hundred miles to go before it reaches us.
We’ve all been through these things before. And we’ll go
through them again. So just everyone settle back down and
wait it out. We’re high and dry.”

“And we still have plenty of beer,” Uncle Bailey said.

In the background, several of the women said hasty
prayers for Uncle Bailey.

I forced a grin at Giselle who had joined us. “At least
your mom shouldn’t get any of this up in Rayne.”

A sigh of relief escaped her lips. “Yeah. No rain up in
Rayne.”

Back in the kitchen, I slipped down in front of the laptop
and continued with my notes. Janice, Giselle, Leroi, and Sally sat at the table with me, involved in their own conversations.

Uncle Bailey stuck his head in the door. “Tony?” I
looked up and he nodded for me to come out to him.

He led me to the liquor credenza.

“What’s up, Uncle Bailey?” His eyes were clear. He appeared sober.

He grunted. “Nowhere but Louisiana, huh?” He gestured
to the house, and I knew he was referring to the storm and
the killings.

“Right. Nowhere but Louisiana.”

He lowered his voice. “Me, I think about what you and
me talk about. I mean, about who might do this bad thing.”

I did my best to suppress the sudden surge of excitement
coursing through my veins. For whatever reason, he had
decided to expound on the implications he had made during
our last conversation. I figured silence was my smartest
response.

He chugged a couple gulps of beer. “It be true my
brother, he steal my part of Papa’s money.” He paused, a
frown wrinkling his forehead. “No, Tony. Not steal. I tell
that because I was l’idiot. What really happen was he talk
me into a deal, and I agree. Not a good deal for me, but I
agree. My Ezeline, she say he steal from me, but I say, I
sign papers. I as much to blame as my brother.” He shook
his head. “But not steal.”

I nodded. “I understand.”

“After you and me talk, I think long and hard. Maybe I
be wrong, but there be two here who can thank the Lord
A.D. dead.” Before I could ask their names, he supplied
them. “Walter Venable and Leroi Thibodeaux.”

My jaw dropped open. All I could do was gape at him.

Other than Janice, Sally, and Giselle, those were the last
names I expected to ever hear. Stammering, the only intelligent word I could manage to choke out was “Huh?”

Half a head taller, Uncle Bailey frowned down at me. In
an apologetic tone, he continued. “I don’t like to cause no trouble, but someone, they do all this,” he said, making a
sweeping gesture around the mansion with his arm. “I think
we find them. Who knows, maybe they got some other
family members in mind. We got to stop them. That’s what
make me figure I need to tell you what I think.”

I glanced around, half expecting several sets of eyes to
be focused on us, but no one seemed to be paying attention.
“Go on.”

He cleared his throat, then gulped down another swallow
of beer. “Well, A.D., he make loans to Walter and Leroi
when the bank turn them down. That be this last year,
maybe two. Now, he come to me just last week. He tell
me that he had made up his mind that he would be a partner
with Walter and Leroi.”

“Walter and Leroi?”

“Oui. Walter, he buy more land for sugarcane and rice.
Leroi, that where he get money for his last two shops.”

I shook my head. “But, A.D. can’t do that. He can’t just
step in and say he wants to be a partner. The only way he
can get their property is if they forfeit on the loan.”

Bailey shook his large head. “A.D., he be sneaky. He fix
contract so if they miss payment or be late, he can call for
the remainder of the loan. He tell me that they don’t got
the money to pay off the loan, so he will become partner
to them.”

What Uncle Bailey was explaining to me was simple,
but somehow, my brain refused to accept it. “Let me get
this straight. Walter and Leroi borrowed money from A.D.
They agreed if they were late or missed a note, he could
call for the rest of the loan to be paid off.”

“Oui.”

“And they agreed? They really agreed to something like
that?”

With a shrug, he grunted. “That the only way they get
the money. Walter, he owe the bank too much. The way
A.D. explained it to me, Leroi couldn’t take a loan because his collateral was not worth what he needed. Me, I don’t
know about that, but A.D., that what he say.”

He hesitated, staring hopefully at me, waiting for my
reaction. When I remained mute, he spoke up. “Like I say,
Tony. Maybe I talk too much, but I tell myself, this is
something you should know, that you should tell the police.”

I laid my hand on his shoulder. “You did right, Uncle
Bailey. From what you say, it… .” I caught myself. I didn’t
want to contaminate any of his evidence by telling him
what I thought, so I simply nodded again and repeated myself. “You did right.”

A grin popped on his bloated face. “Good.” He hesitated.
A frown wrinkled his forehead. “Don’t think I tell you this
about Leroi because I don’t care for him. That gots nothing
to do with it.” He cleared his throat. “Leroi, he come down
in the water to help me. I don’t like to hurt him.” He hesitated, his face screwed up in concentration. “He is good
boy, good boy even if he….” His words faded away, and
he gave me a sheepish grin. “I don’t mean it like that. All
these years, they be hard to change an old drunk like me.
But…. You understand, Tony? We brought up one way.
It be hard to change, but I try. You understand? Huh?”

I nodded. “I understand.”

With a satisfied grunt, he turned and waddled back across
the parlor and plopped down beside Pa, who it appeared
hadn’t moved since early morning. The only evidence that
he was not comatose was the collection of a dozen or so
empty Budweiser longnecks on the floor beside the couch.

Unseeing, my eyes remained fixed on Uncle Bailey while
I digested the information he had given me. There was no
way to verify it at the moment, but if it were true, then that
provided both Leroi and Walter with motives. Each would
gain from A.D.‘s death.

I grimaced. Not Leroi. He couldn’t have murdered A.D.
And Walter did not go upstairs. His wife did, but I couldn’t
bring myself to believe Marie Venable had committed the murder. Still, the motive was there, and both Leroi and
Marie had gone upstairs during the window of time in
which A.D.‘s murder took place.

The voices from the kitchen carried out to me. I didn’t
want to go back inside. Bailey had given me much to consider.

At this point, there were four family members who not
only had the motive, but the opportunity. Bailey, Ezeline,
Marie, and Leroi.

Outside, the storm intensified. Earlier than I expected.
Abruptly, a shriek ripped through the howling wind and battering rain, followed by a staccato pounding against the wall.

I looked around in time to see one of the storm shutters
flapping wildly in the wind, ripped from one of its hinges.
Moments later, the second hinge snapped, and the shutter
disappeared into the storm.

Loud shouting rose up, but Uncle George’s voice carried
above it from the stairs. “All of you, sit down and be quiet.
We’re taking care of it.”

We turned as one to see him marching across the parlor
with a wooden door on his back and a hammer in his hand.
We pitched in to help nail the door across the window.

He stepped back in satisfaction. “I figured taking those
doors down would come in handy.”

The wind howled and raged in the darkness outside. I
looked at my watch. Only six in the evening. I’d lost track
of time.

Uncle Patric spotted me looking at my watch. He muttered softly, “You know the eye could come in tonight.”

I nodded.

He continued. “It come in tonight, we not repair shutters.”

He was right. No way any of us would go out on the
veranda after dark. “Then we might as well start taking
down more doors, don’t you think?”