Kent Conwell - Tony Boudreaux 02 - Skeletons of the Atchafalaya (6 page)

Astunned silence fell over my family. The only sounds
were the wind and rain battering the old house.

Belligerently, Bailey growled from where he sat next to
my old man on the couch. “What are you talking about,
woman?”

Ezeline frowned at his ill-tempered reply. She hesitated,
then timidly extended her hand with the money clip. “This,
Bailey. Isn’t this A.D.‘s?”

Bailey struggled to his feet as Patric pushed through the
crowd and grabbed the clip from Ezeline. He stared at it,
then stepped forward and gave Bailey a sharp shove. “You
bet it’s A.D.‘s. How’d it end up in your suitcase, Cousin?
And where’s the money?” His tone was accusing. “You
was so busy talking about lynching someone out there,
maybe we oughta lynch you.”

Bailey glanced around nervously. “I don’t know what
you’re talking about. Last I saw that clip, A.D. was waving
it under Tony’s nose.”

Patric arched an eyebrow. “Then how do you explain
your wife, she find it in your suitcase?”

“I-I-ah….” He shook his head. His eyes darted
across the sea of faces, “I don’t know.”

Ozzy yanked the clip from Patric’s hand and jammed it in his pocket. “I can tell you what happened. Bailey’s always hated Pa. He probably snuck a screwdriver from
Leroi’s truck. That would explain it. Then he decided to
take the money clip.” He snorted. “Search him and you’ll
probably find the money in his wallet.”

Bailey snorted and jammed his hand in his hip pocket.
“Here, look at my wallet, you little secousse stupide,” he
hissed. “It sure ain’t got no money other than forty bucks
we got to last us until Friday.” He threw it at Ozzy.

Ozzy grabbed it in midair and yanked it open. His face
darkened. He shoved the wallet back at Bailey. “You probably hid the money anyway.”

With a growl, Bailey lunged for his nephew.

Leroi jumped in front of him. “Look, Bailey. Let’s just
all calm down. Try to-”

“You stay out of this,” Ozzy shouted, taking a few steps
back. “We don’t need some black-”

Giselle spun Ozzy around. Her hand blurred, and the pop
of her hand against his cheek cut through all the arguing.
“You watch your mouth, Osmond Thibodeaux. You hear?
We’re all family here. All. You best not forget that.”

Ozzy glared at her, his lips quivering. “Yeah, we’re all
family, most of us,” he added viciously.

Giselle’s cheeks colored, but she stood firm, her eyes
fixed defiantly on his. Her hand rose halfway to her shoulder as if to slap him again, then dropped back to her side.

Ozzy looked away.

I held up my hands. “It’s late. Everyone needs some rest.
Maybe we’ll see things in a different light in the morning.”

Janice slipped her arm through mine. She was strangely
silent. I felt sorry for her. Talk about culture shock. Straight
from a ritzy daylily show in a swanky hotel to a crazy
family in the middle of a hurricane in two easy lessons.

Ozzy stormed across the parlor to the liquor credenza
beside the kitchen door. Giselle followed. “She sure is outspoken,” Janice said.

“Always has been. Had to be. But she’s a good person.”

Ozzy picked up a bottle of Jim Beam Black Label from the collection of bottles on top of the credenza. Giselle
opened a door and retrieved a glass from the rear of the
cabinet. She handed it to Ozzy. They were too far away to
be overheard, but after Giselle handed him the glass, she
rose on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. He responded by hugging her to him.

They spoke fora moment.

Janice squeezed my arm. “Looks like they made up.”

“Yeah.”

Leroi and Sally approached. “What now, Tony?”

“Beats me. Just hope everything stays quiet until the
storm’s over.”

At that moment, Uncle Henry approached. “Bad news,
folks,” he said, glancing over his shoulder in the direction
of the radio. “Belle is a Category Two storm now. They
expect her to hit Category Three before morning.”

I grimaced. Three. Up to a hundred-and-thirty miles an
hour.

“Where’s she going, Uncle Henry?” Ozzy had stepped
forward, a bottle in one hand, empty glass in the other.

For a moment, Henry just stared at us. “Right now,
they’re guessing Marsh Island, maybe Morgan City.”

I whistled.

Janice squeezed my arm. “Tony. What does that mean?
Is it bad?”

“Depends,” Leroi replied.

Sally gave her an unconvincing smile. “It could come
straight for us, but chances are, it will veer east a bit.”

Leroi shook his head. “Don’t kid yourself. Too much
water. Nothing in its path. If it goes in at Marsh Island,
it’ll come straight at us.” He paused and added, “If it goes
in anywhere between Marsh Island and Cameron, we’ll
catch the worst of it.”

Janice looked up at me, her eyes filled with a mixture of
alarm and fear. I grinned at her. “Look, it isn’t all that bad.
Category Two means winds of about ninety-five to a hundred-and-ten. All the trees around here will help break
the wind. We’re ten or twelve feet off the ground, so we
shouldn’t have any problem with the storm surge.”

Leroi chuckled ruefully. “No, but the surge will play the
dickens with our vehicles.”

I cringed, thinking of my new Silverado. I’d only had it
six months. It didn’t even have eight thousand miles on it.
Suddenly, an idea struck. “The bridge.”

“Huh?” Leroi frowned at me.

“The bridge. It’s eight or nine feet above the water.”

Leroi’s eyes lit up. “Yeah. The storm surge couldn’t be
that high.”

“Surge?” With fear in her eyes, Janice looked from Leroi
to me. “What do you mean, a storm surge?”

“Water. Rising water. As the hurricane approaches shore,
it pushes a wall of water ahead of it. Small storms maybe
push a foot or so.”

Giselle came to stand beside Janice. “Not to worry,” she
said in an effort to reassure her. “It would take a monster
storm to push twelve feet of water through here, so don’t
worry about that.”

Janice looked back around at me. “Really?”

I hugged her to me. “Really.” Mentally, I crossed my
fingers. I looked at Giselle and nodded to Ozzy. “See you
two made up.”

She laughed and glanced at our cousin who was climbing
the stairs. “He’s going upstairs to drink himself to sleep all
by his lonesome.” She winked at Janice. “Oh, Ozzy’s all
right. Hot-headed and spoiled, but he’s all right.”

Leroi and I exchanged skeptical looks. “You bet,” I replied. “Anyway, now, let’s get the cars moving.”

In less than an hour, we had all the cars and pickups
parked on the bridge. Four-foot waves crashed beneath us.
The howling wind grabbed at our clothes; the driving rain
pounded us, stinging our flesh even beneath two or three
layers of clothing.

Leroi and I stuck our heads together. He had to shout
above the wind. “That’s it. I hope it works.”

“Me too,” I yelled back, directing the beam of my flashlight back among the parked vehicles. “Is that everyone?”
The rain looked like silver icicles in the bright light.

“Hold on. Here comes Giselle. Last as usual.”

We laughed. When she reached us, I shouted above the
roar of the storm. “Okay, let’s get out of here.” We lowered
our shoulders into the wind.

By the time we got back to the house, family members
were settling down. Only a few slept in one of the nine
bedrooms upstairs. Most tossed mattresses and cushions on
the floor, preferring the security of family nearby. Sleeping
bodies lay everywhere, from library to parlor, from dining
room to kitchen.

In the kitchen, we put Janice, Sally, and Giselle on the
countertops. I sat at the table and booted up my laptop
while Leroi filled the coffeepot with water. I laid my .38
out of the way on the cabinet, glad to be rid of its bulk.

Keeping my voice low, I whispered to Leroi. “We need
to keep an eye out in here tonight.”

He frowned at me. “Why? The storm?”

I glanced into the darkness in the rooms where the others
were sleeping. “Not the storm as much as what it drives in
here.”

His eyes grew wide as he understood what I meant. “You
mean snakes.”

I chuckled. “Yeah, snakes and snails and puppy-dog
tails. And whatever else tries to find a dry place. Once that
water starts rising, the creatures head for high ground.” I
arched an eyebrow and pointed to the table. “And around
Whiskey Bend, we’re high ground.”

Leroi scooted back from the table. “I got you. I’ll get
some of the others to give us a hand.”

“Good idea. Just make sure all the openings are closed.”

While he was gone, I checked the storm. As Uncle Henry
had told us, it was a Category Two and heading this way.

I stared at the screen. Every ten minutes, it updated,
showing the progress of the hurricane. I rubbed the back
of my neck. I was tired, but not sleepy. I couldn’t believe
that only this morning, I’d left Austin. It seemed like a
month ago.

I decided to begin putting together as much evidence I
could collect and later send it, along with the digital attachments, to the Lafayette Police Department.

Currently, the obvious suspects were Bailey Thibodeaux
because of the discovery of A.D.‘s money clip in Bailey’s
suitcase; Leroi because he went upstairs before he left with
me; and John Roney Boudreaux because he threatened A.D.

“Now,” I mumbled to myself, studying the three names.
“Why would any of them kill A.D.?” To me it was obvious-they all hated his guts-but if that were the definitive
motive, then the entire family would be suspect.

Pa was playing poker with A.D. We all heard Pa threaten
his cousin, but none of us took it for a legitimate threat. It
was just the talk of a drunk.

Bailey, I wasn’t sure. As far as I knew, he might be
included in A.D.‘s will. Even if he weren’t, the money clip
in his suitcase was a devastating indictment. I’d heard family talk all my life about how A.D. had cheated Bailey out
of his inheritance, but I never paid much attention. Every
family has its skeletons tucked away deep in a closet. Tomorrow, I’d get Mom and Grandma Ola aside for the real
story.

I knew more about Leroi because he and I had grown
up together.

When his mother, Lantana, married Patric, she took fifty
prime acres into the union, her share of her deceased parents’ legacy. She died in childbirth, and Patric turned into
a drunk. During one of Patric’s sprees, A.D. managed to
swindle his cousin out of the land. Three months later, drillers hit oil on the property.

I shook my head and clicked on the digital pictures.

The screwdriver had penetrated the right side of A.D.‘s neck. Pa was right-handed. He could have very easily excused himself to go to the bathroom, then once behind
A.D., killed him.

Why? There was no reason other than an argument. Had
there been an argument, Pa, being drunk, wouldn’t have
bothered to make up some excuse so he could get behind
A.D. No, he would have reacted instantly, and as emaciated
as my pa was, he wouldn’t have had the strength to lean
across the table and drive the screwdriver through A.D.‘s
neck with his left hand.

I looked up as Leroi returned. “George and Walter said
they’d help us keep an eye out for snakes and all.”

“Good.”

Outside, the wind howled. The rain fell in sheets. I rose
and poured a cup of coffee.

Suddenly, a scream came from the center of the house.

Leroi bolted through the kitchen door. I dropped my cup
and raced after him. We reached the parlor just in time to
see Ozzy jerk the French doors open and stumble onto the
veranda.

We both slid to a halt and stared at each other in confusion. “What is that idiot up to now?” I said in disbelief.

Ozzy staggered off the veranda into the darkness. “Grab
a flashlight,” Leroi shouted.

I hurried out into the storm. “Ozzy! What’s wrong?
Where are you going?”

He paused in the rectangle of parlor light spilling down
the steps from the open door. He spun and stared up at me,
his eyes wide with fear. He seemed to be frothing at the
mouth, and he trembled all over. His face twisted in pain,
and he grabbed his abdomen and bent double, at the same
time staggering backward down the remainder of the steps.

By now, several family members had gathered on the
veranda, stunned by Ozzy’s bizarre behavior.

Without warning, he collapsed in convulsions on the
rain-soaked ground.

Stunned, the rest of us simply stood in the driving rain like dummies, watching Ozzy thrash about. Sally shoved
us aside roughly. “Let me through.”

A voice started to protest, but Leroi snapped. “Shut up.
She’s an RN.”

“Won’t do no good. It’s a spell,” muttered Uncle George.

Patric grunted. “Grow up, George. There ain’t such
things.”

“Don’t be too sure. There’s things we don’t know
about.”

Sally knelt in the water and mud beside Ozzy. His face
was contorted by pain. Taking the flashlight from Leroi,
she held Ozzy’s eyelids open and shone the light into his
eye. “Dilated. Convulsions.” She checked his pulse and
shook her head. By now, Ozzy was gasping for breath.
Sally looked up at us. “Quick, get him back into the house.”