Trouble in Mudbug (36 page)

“Maryse Robicheaux,” Mildred’s voice broke into her thoughts. “Get your skinny butt into this hotel.” Mildred stood in the doorway of the hotel, hands on her hips and a disapproving look on her face. “Why don’t you just stand in the middle of the street wearing a target on your back next time?”

As Maryse stepped onto the sidewalk, she heard the zing of something small and fast passing right by her head, then a crack of glass. She took the remaining two steps to the plate-glass window on the front of the hotel and looked eye level at a tiny hole that had pierced clean through the glass. A hole the size of a bullet.

Maryse jumped back from the window in horror as a second shot hit the brick building just above her head. In the split second she was trying to decide which way to run, someone slammed into her, half-shoving, half-carrying her into the entrance of the hotel. They landed on the hardwood floor of the hotel foyer, and Maryse struggled with the weight of the person on top of her, pummeling the attacker as much as she could given the restraint. She screamed for Mildred to call the police, when the weight lifted and she was yanked to her feet.

“Hank!” Maryse stared at him in disbelief. “What the hell are you doing?”

Her wayward husband grimaced and touched a growing red spot on his shirt, just below the chest. “I’m getting shot and beat to a pulp, that’s what.”

“Holy shit! We have to get you to the hospital.”

Before she could move, Hank grabbed her arm. “Are you stupid? Someone is shooting at you.”

Maryse’s jaw dropped, and she stared at her husband, then laughed. Hank calling her stupid was a real eye-opener.

“Don’t worry about it,” Mildred said. “I’ve already called 911.” She shot Hank a dirty look. “And the coroner, just in case I get lucky.” She motioned them to the office. “Get off my rug before you bleed on it,” she said, then stalked into her office and began yanking first-aid supplies out of a storage cabinet.

Maryse had to hand it to her—for someone who had professed the burning desire to saw Hank Henry’s balls off with a dull butter knife, Mildred showed a remarkable amount of restraint and concern. Grabbing a clean towel from the cabinet, she instructed Hank to lie on the couch. Kneeling beside him, she gently pulled his shirt away from his chest. Hank moaned in agony. Mildred placed the towel against his side to soak up the excess blood, then lifted it to assess the damage.

Maryse leaned over, almost afraid to look when Mildred sighed with obvious relief. “It’s only a surface wound,” Maryse said.

“Only?” Hank stared at them in disbelief. “Well, it hurts like death.”

Mildred folded the towel over to a clean side and pressed it back against the wound. “It’s going to hurt,” she said. “That’s a tender part of the body, and it bleeds a lot.”

“Try to calm down,” Maryse instructed. “Deep breaths. It will help slow the blood flow.”

Hank looked up at her, still not convinced he wasn’t going to die right there on the couch, but he nodded and took a couple of deep breaths. A minute later, the paramedics and the cops came storming into the hotel. The paramedics carted Hank off to the hospital, one officer riding along, and the rest of the Mudbug police department took a stance in Mildred’s office and began firing questions like a semi-automatic weapon.

When they were done, Maryse ran some water in the sink and placed the stained towel in there to soak. She didn’t know why. The towel was most certainly ruined, but the activity kept her from thinking about Hank and about how she felt finally coming face to face with him. She thought she’d hate him. She thought the sight of him would either disgust her to the point of illness or madden her to the point of homicide.

And then he’d gone and taken a bullet that was meant for her.

Shit.

Chapter Seventeen

It was almost two hours later before one of the cops could provide Maryse with an armed escort to the hospital. Mildred had voted against it, but Sabine, who had run into the hotel shortly after the police, understood why she needed to go. Or maybe not why, exactly, but just that it was something Maryse had to do. Besides, a bullet wound and restraint in a hospital bed might be the only way she could have a face to face with Hank Henry.

As Maryse walked down the hospital corridor toward Hank’s room, she wondered for the millionth time what she was going to say. She’d had two years to rehearse this moment, and now that it was here, she couldn’t think of a damn thing to say to the man who’d saved her life.

Her husband.

That last thought stopped her dead in her tracks. She leaned against the wall outside Hank’s door and caught her breath. What in the world could convey the range of emotions that Hank brought out in her? She didn’t think words existed to describe what she felt, even if she was certain of what that was.

She had just built the courage to enter the room when Helena stepped into the hall and put one finger to her lips. “Not now,” she whispered, and Maryse wondered what possibly could have made Helena Henry go quiet. She motioned to Maryse’s pocket where she kept her cell phone. “Does that thing have a recorder?”

Maryse pulled her cell phone from her pocket and nodded.

“Then turn it on. We might be able to use this.”

Maryse had no idea what Helena was up to, but she pressed a button and hoped it was the record. Otherwise, she’d just taken a picture of her own crotch. She leaned in closer to the door, and placed her phone as close as she could to the opening.

And that’s when she was able to make out Harold’s voice. A very unhappy Harold.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Harold raged. “You could have been killed and that damned land would have reverted back to that worthless piece of ass you married!”

Maryse clenched her jaw. Harold Henry had the nerve to call her worthless?

“Maryse is not worthless,” Hank said.

Maryse frowned. Now Hank was defending her? Things were definitely weird.

“Besides,” Hank continued, “that attorney said she drew up papers to transfer the land, right?”

“Oh, yeah,” Harold said. “As long as she stays of that mindset for the next couple of days, there’s no problem at all. But it’s not like her death would exactly be a bad thing. At least then we’d know she couldn’t change her mind.”

“You’re the one who tried to kill her,” Hank accused.

“I already told you I didn’t shoot at anyone.” Harold’s voice grew louder. “I would never risk shooting someone in broad daylight, and why the hell would I shoot you?”

“Well, someone shot at her,” Hank argued. “I have the proof under these bandages.”

“Which is why you should damned well stay away from that slut. I don’t know what kind of crap she’s into that has people shooting at her, and I really don’t give a damn, but you need to stay away from her. I put my ass on the line over that piece of marsh, and I will not see it fall into the hands of some pseudo-hippy scientist.”

“How exactly did you put your ass on the line?” Hank asked.

“Stop pretending you don’t know,” Harold said. “Left to nature, Helena would have outlived me by a good fifty years just to spite me.”

There was complete silence for a moment. Then Hank said, “Are you telling me you killed my mother?” His voice registered his disbelief, and once again, Maryse wondered just how dumb Hank really was. She glanced over at Helena, but the ghost stood stock still, her expression completely blank.

“You killed my mother?” Hank repeated.

“Oh, good God, Hank. Grow up.” The disgust was evident in Harold’s voice. “Your mother was a royal pain in both our asses. She thrived off being hateful, and no one is sorry to see her go, least of all me. So I slipped some rat poison into her coffee, so what?”

Maryse frowned. Helena had said she’d died after drinking brandy, not coffee.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Harold continued to complain. “The woman cast you out of her life years ago. Why would you give a shit what I did?”

“She didn’t cast me out,” Hank said. “She paid me to leave. She’s been paying me to stay gone. A monthly transfer to a bank account in New Orleans.”

Maryse’s jaw dropped, and she stared at Helena.

“Uh-oh,” Helena said, and bolted through an exterior wall, making following her an impossibility.

Coward. But Maryse would deal with Helena later. Right now, she needed all the damaging evidence she could get on Harold.

“What do you mean she paid you to stay away?” Harold asked.

“She said I wasn’t going to ruin Maryse’s life, and as long as I kept out of town and didn’t contact her, she’d keep making the payments.”

“Well, why didn’t you divorce her before you left, or in absentia, or something?”

“I’m no attorney. I figured Maryse could get a divorce even if I was gone. I had no idea we were still married. Mom said to leave right then and never contact Maryse or anyone else in Mudbug again. And I kept that promise until I saw Mom’s obituary and called you.”

“Moron! It never occurred to you that if Helena kept you married to Maryse, she intended even then to leave that land to her? There is no way you’re my son. You’re too stupid for words.”

“I think this conversation is over,” Hank said. “Get out of my room.”

“Oh, this is far from over,” Harold threatened.

“Yes, it is. The land will transfer to me in a couple of days. I’ll lease it out and give you a cut of the money, but you have to get out of my sight. I would never have been part of any of this. And if anything happens to Maryse, I will disappear and leave you with nothing.”

“I’ve already told you I had nothing to do with shooting at that tramp,” Harold raged.

“And her cabin exploding,” Hank pointed out. “Rumor has it the device was military issue, and we all know who was special forces.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, I lied. I was a mess cook. I’ve never even shot a gun after basic training. Are you happy now?” “If Maryse is alive in two days, I will be. Are we clear?”

Maryse looked for a place to hide. Either Harold was going to stomp out of the hospital and figure out how to shoot a gun again or throttle Hank right there in his hospital bed. Either way, she didn’t want to get caught eavesdropping in the hallway.

There was an empty room across the hall, so Maryse slipped inside, leaving the door cracked a tiny bit so that she could see Hank’s room. A couple of seconds later, Harold stormed out of the room, his face beet red.

Unbelievable. Hank Henry had finally grown a set of balls. If she didn’t have it on tape, she wouldn’t believe it herself. She waited until Harold had rounded the corner before easing out into the hall and slipping into Hank’s room. He looked up in surprise as she entered. Then a guilty look crossed his face.

“You heard everything, didn’t you?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

He sighed and stared at the ceiling. “I’m really sorry, Maryse. Sorry for everything. Me being a shitty husband and leaving you high and dry. My dad causing you all this trouble, and my mom putting you in this position to begin with. If I hadn’t married you, none of this would be happening.”

Maryse felt her heart begin to pound in her chest. She wanted to yell at him or maybe throw something large and heavy, but as she studied his face, she realized that for the first time since she’d known him, Hank Henry was actually being sincere. Before she could think better of it, she crossed the room and sat on the edge of his bed.