Kent Conwell - Tony Boudreaux 02 - Skeletons of the Atchafalaya (3 page)

I frowned when I saw the group Leroi’s pa was joshing
with. My uncles-A.D., the rich braggart; his brother, Bailey; their cousins, George and Walter; Patric, Leroi’s pa;
and my cousin, Idiot Ozzy, A.D.‘s boy. There was another
old man standing with them, his back to us.

A fresh gust of wind swept across the open water,
blowing over a few lawn chairs and lifting paper plates
from the tables heaped with food and desserts.

Sally spoke up. “Someone said there’s a storm out in the
Gulf of Mexico.”

“I heard it on the radio. Just a small one,” I replied,
glancing back at the small cluster of men around A.D.

A.D. slapped a hand on the old man’s shoulder and
leaned over to say something. The man nodded. They both
turned and headed directly for us. A.D.‘s boy, Ozzy, tagged
after them.

My mouth dropped open.

Leroi elbowed me. “Hey, isn’t that your old man?”

Giselle pressed her hand to her lips.

“Yeah,” I muttered, staring at the approaching figure of
John Roney Boudreaux, the father who had deserted Mom
and me thirty-two years ago, the same old man who, just
a year earlier, I’d found homeless on the streets of Austin,
Texas, and taken into my home. He had repaid me by stealing my camera, my sheepskin-lined leather coat, and a few
other items to hock.

Clouds raced across the sun, dragging shadows over the
island of Whiskey Bend. From up on the veranda, Nanna’s
frail voice drifted down to us. “Ils sont dechire ce soir.”

I could make out the first two words, “they be” but my
command of the Cajun patois was sadly wanting.

Leroi whispered in my ear. “You know your pa was
coming?”

I glanced at Leroi. “What do you think?”

“They’re heading this way,” Giselle mumbled under her
breath.

A.D., as usual, bellowed at the top of his lungs. His grin
broadened when he spotted us. “John. Over there. There’s
your boy.”

The two of them jerked to a halt a few feet away. A.D.
swayed unsteadily. He was feeling no pain, and Pa was
drunk, which didn’t surprise me. Unable to focus his eyes,
he blinked at us and slurred his words. “Where? Which
one?”

A.D. thought the question hilarious. He roared. “Why,
the light-complected one, naturally.” Behind him, Ozzy
sneered.

Pa just stared. Obviously, he only had a few brain cells
remaining, and even they were probably suspect.

I figured I ought to say something. “Hello, Pa.”

He blinked again and grunted, never acknowledging me.
“Come on, A.D. I’m going to teach you how to play
poker.”

“Sure you are, John.” A.D. winked at me. “You doing
anything now, Tony? Or you still just knocking around?”
He jammed a fat hand into his pocket and pulled out a wad
of bills held together by a money clip with the initials
A.D.T, Adolphus Doudou Thibodeaux, encrusted in diamonds. He waved it under my nose. “You come see me,
Tony, and I’ll show you how to make this kind of money.”

I wanted to tell him what he could do with that wad of
bills, but I remembered my vow to be pleasant. I smiled.
“Thanks, A.D. I’ll keep that in mind.”

He glanced at my feet. “Hey, good looking boots.”

“Thanks.”

He held out his foot. “Mine’s ostrich. Four hundred
bucks.”

“Nice. Mine’s Australian saltwater crocodile. Five hundred bucks.” I had no idea where the alligator hide came
from, probably right here in the Atchafalaya, and they only
cost three hundred, but I could play the one-up game as
well as A.D.

He cut his eyes at Leroi, and his thick lips twisted into
a sneer. With a grunt, he lurched forward, his bulk carrying
Pa along with him. They staggered up the dozen or so steps
to the veranda and disappeared through the open French
doors, but not before Pa called out loud enough for the
whole island to hear. “And don’t you do no cheating this
time, A.D. I’ll break your neck if you do.”

The four of us looked at each other. “Uncle John didn’t
even say hi to you,” observed Leroi.

I scratched my head. “Truth is, he probably didn’t even
recognize me.”

We all laughed.

“Things don’t change much,” Sally said.

Giselle replied, her voice a mere whisper. “No, they don’t. They never do in this family.” She nudged me with
her elbow. “Look, there’s your mother.”

Mom and Grandma Ola were sitting in white wicker
chairs up on the broad veranda, sipping lemonade and becoming reacquainted with the family. “Excuse me, folks,”
I said to my cousins. “I want to say hi.”

Mom wore her usual blue gingham dress with a narrow
matching belt. She had not gained a pound for the last forty
years. Grandma Ola was half a head shorter, a roly-poly
ball of laughter and naughtiness with a penchant for gossip.

I took the steps two at a time. Mom hugged me and
wiped the tears from her eyes as I hugged Grandma. “You
see your father?” Mom asked.

“Barely,” I replied.

In her next breath, she dropped a bombshell on me. “He
wants to come home. He wants us to take him back.”

Grandma Ola sniffed. “I tell your mother she is crazy to
even think such a thing.”

Ignoring Grandma Ola, Mom looked up at me, a tiny
frown wrinkling her forehead. “What you think, Tony?”

Words failed me. No, words didn’t fail me. My brain
failed me. It was blank. Pa? My pa? That drunken, lying
thief? There was no way I wanted him around, but before
I could utter a single word, Aunt Marie Venable swept
down on us like a hawk. “Leota. You look wonderful,
Cher.”

Mom rolled her eyes. I nodded, reluctantly disengaging
myself from the debate over Pa’s coming back home. Still,
I had three days. Time enough to take Mom aside and point
out the hundred reasons not to take him back.

For the next thirty minutes or so, I waded through a sea
of boisterous nephews and nieces, smiling cousins, laughing aunts and uncles. I lost track of all the Broussards, the
Millers, the Venables, the Thibodeauxs, and the Melancons.
But I made it around to all of them, those down under the
trees on the lawn and those in the cool shadows of the
verandas that encircled each of the three floors. I paused in the kitchen to grab a slice of ham and make a sandwich
with Aunt lolande and sip some tea with Cousin Kay, all
the while trying to sort my feelings about Mom’s announcement.

I hated leaving Leroi and Sally alone, but Giselle was
with them, and from the veranda, I noticed that some of
the Thibodeaux and Miller clans had joined the three.

Aunt lolande came up to stand beside me in the front
entrance as I gazed with nostalgia at the familiar interior
of the old mansion I had known since I was a child. Directly in front of me was the grand staircase. To the right
of the stairs were the library and kitchen. Just before the
kitchen was the open dining area where we children were
never allowed to play.

To my left was the living area, and adjoining it in the
far corner of the first floor was the parlor, a small intimate
room easily heated, and consequently widely used in the
colder months.

In her black jeans and white blouse with the ruffled collar, Aunt lolande looked twenty years younger than her
sixty-something age. She wore her hair in a neatly coiffed
bouffant despite the fact that the style was fifty years out
of date. Maybe there was a fountain of youth somewhere
in the single life. “A.D., he make this old house right pretty,
don’t you think so, Tony?”

She was right. I hated to admit it, but Uncle A.D. had
done a fine job restoring the old mansion. The floors were
hand-crafted center-cut pine planks polished to a high luster, and the furniture was Victorian cherry wood. The focal
point of the living area was the glittering crystal chandelier
suspended from the thirty-foot ceiling by what appeared to
be velvet ropes that disappeared into a glittering silver bubble on the ceiling, and then emerged from the bubble to
drape down to a silver cleat fastened to the wall next to the
liquor credenza in the dining area.

When she saw me eyeing the ropes, lolande explained.
“That way, they can lower the chandelier if they gots to. A.D., he wants it just like it was when Garton Thibodeaux,
he buy house.”

“Impressive,” I replied. And it was.

“A.D., he want that there chandelier to be right over the
bottom of the stairs. He say it that way in the picture show,
Gone With the Wind.”

All I remembered about the stairs in Gone With the Wind
was that Rhett carried Scarlet up them. But, if A.D. proclaimed there was a chandelier above, who was Ito argue?

My cell phone rang. I excused myself and stepped out
on the veranda. It was Janice. Her little Miata convertible
had broken down just before the eastern entrance to the
eighteen-mile elevated span of the Interstate across the
swamp.

“Don’t worry. I’ll be there in less than thirty minutes.”
After hanging up, I gazed out across the bay. The first-floor
veranda being twelve or so feet above the ground, I could
see a fair distance across the waters that were growing
choppy.

I told Leroi about Janice. “You want to ride with me?”

He hesitated, looking down at Sally. She smiled up at
him. “I’ll be fine here with Giselle.”

Giselle nodded emphatically. “Sure she will. You boys
go on. Just be careful.”

Leroi pointed to the house. “I’ve got to make a stop in
there first. Too much beer.”

“Meet you at my truck. I parked next to you.” I hesitated,
then detoured by the washtubs and grabbed a couple cold
sodas, then a third one for Janice. That’s me, always
thoughtful, the consummate gentleman who lets his genteel
lady drink from a soda bottle. On a table under a nearby
oak sat a collection of fruit jars filled with a clear liquid.
With a shrug, I grabbed a pint jar.

Uncle Bailey arched an eyebrow. I patted my stomach.
“Nowhere but Louisiana,” I replied.

He laughed. I never could figure out why, but all you had to say to make Uncle Bailey laugh was repeat those
words, “Nowhere but Louisiana.”

Leroi and I roared across the two-mile bridge. He took
a large swallow from the jar and handed it to me. I hesitated, then rationalized. What the heck. One can’t hurt. But
guilt was playing havoc with my conscience. I glanced
sidelong at Leroi and turned up the jug. Instead of a large
gulp, I barely sipped it. We popped open our sodas. I took
one sip and stuck mine between my legs.

Leroi scooted around in the seat and looked straight at
me. “You got no idea how good it is to see you, Cuz. I
was planning on leaving, but now I’m looking forward to
three days of family fun.”

I discovered when we returned that not even in Cajun
Louisiana do they spell the word fun, M-U-R-D-E-R.

At 1-10, we cut east.

Leroi patted the dashboard. “Nice truck.” A gust of wind
slammed into us, causing the truck to swerve. “Whoa,”
Leroi exclaimed, glancing in the direction of the Gulf.
“Getting strong.”

The concrete bridge was even with the treetops, which
were swaying in the gusts. “Yeah. You look like you’re
doing okay in the tube business. What’s that Dodge you’re
driving, a 2500?”

He sipped the beer. “Yeah. I bought it when I opened
the fourth shop.”

I whistled, truly impressed. “Four? I didn’t know about
the last two.”

With a sheepish grin, he replied, “Yep, I’m a chain now.
A small one, but Catfish Lube has four locations in Opelousas. Getting ready to expand to Lafayette next year.”

“You don’t mean it?” I looked at him in surprise.
“Sounds like you’re doing great, man.”

He shrugged. “Well, I’m trying. It gets a little tough now
and then.”

I failed to catch the nuance in his tone. “Where’d you
come up with a name like that, Catfish Lube?”

Leroi laughed. “Name of the town, Opelousas. You
know, like the catfish. How about you?”

I brought him up to date. He already knew about the
brief career I had teaching English to kids who didn’t want
to learn in schools that didn’t want teachers to teach or
administrators to discipline. It was always a toss-up
whether you would leave school each afternoon in your car
or in an ambulance.