[Bayou Gavotte 03.0] Heart of Constantine (40 page)

“How about out at the Indian mounds?” she said, and the owl gave a self-satisfied little flutter. Constantine didn’t answer, letting the silence drag out.

“It’s going to rain, so they’ll be deserted,” she added.

Still he said nothing.

Marguerite’s voice broke. “Constantine,
please
. You’re his only chance.”

“
His only chance
,” Constantine mimicked in a falsetto. “You’re such a drama queen, Marguerite. Don’t expect me to believe that obnoxious kid said anything as girly as that.”

“I hate you,” Marguerite sobbed, and Zelda’s fangs snapped back down.

“You and countless other people,” Constantine said.
I’ll save you,
he telepathed desperately.
I swear I will.
The horned owl broke into his maudlin promises.
On the mound
.
Under the tree. Nine o’clock tonight.
It flew away and disappeared against the purple evening sky.

“Tell the kid I’ll be on Papa Mound at nine
P.M.
,” Constantine said. “I’ll be by the big live oak.”

“Nine!” Marguerite wailed. “That’s an hour away.”

An hour in which anything might happen to her.
Are you fucking sure?
he asked the bird.
If either of them dies, I’ll spend the rest of my life massacring you and your kind
.

A nightjar laughed, and a barn owl screamed with mirth.
Nine o’clock
, came a distant call, and Constantine sighed long and loud. “I can’t just walk out, or the paparazzi and the cops will be right behind me. It’ll take a while to get away unseen. Take it or leave it.” He gritted his teeth and ended the call.

“Bastard,” Zeb’s dad said. “You’re not such a bad liar, Marguerite. I’ll give you a B-plus.”

Zeb clenched his fists. She’d done a great job, seeing as she was being threatened by a murderer, but he hoped like hell Constantine hadn’t believed her.

“Turn your phone off,” Bonnard said. She did. “Now throw it in the trash can.” She tossed the phone, and he guided her toward the cars. “Let’s go kill… some time.” He laughed. “We’ll get something to eat.”

“All right,” Marguerite said in a tight, furious voice. She unzipped the outside pocket of her backpack and took out her keys.

“Not in your car,” he said, pushing her forward. “In the van.”

Zeb hadn’t seen this particular van before—dark green and quite new—but he recognized the magnetic signs on the side, purportedly belonging to the Watershed Management Department. His dad had used them before.

“You don’t have to shove me,” Marguerite said, wrenching away, stumbling and dropping her backpack and keys. “If you want to avoid attention, be civil.”

“I like attention,” he said. “I deserve it. Get moving.”

She picked up the backpack and stomped toward the passenger side of the van. He opened the door for her and shut her in, then went around to his side.

“I should have gotten Master Teacher,” he said as he opened the other door. Why didn’t she just get out and run toward the main drag? Why had she even made that phone call? Zeb was pretty sure she’d noticed his aura. Didn’t she know he would help?

The old man must be holding something over her head—something big and really, really scary. But she’d
dropped her keys and left them there, a clear invitation to follow. Or, more likely, to go for help. He would do both.

“Acting head of Chemistry. What a load of bull. They should make me head and be done with it. I’d be Dean of Science by now if the idiots at NSF didn’t keep turning down my grant applications.” His dad got into the van. “I’m the most brilliant chemist of the twenty-first century.”

Yada yada yada
. Zeb had heard all this over and over again.

The engine of the van came on, but over its rumble the old man kept ranting. “My drugs are works of pure genius, and those are only the ones people know about. I deserve the Nobel Pr—” He slammed the door shut, backed into the road, and drove toward the corner where Zeb crouched. Zeb ducked around the end of the hedge just as the van passed it and waited, heart hammering, as the van approached the corner. The van picked up speed and drove away. It passed the next intersection and disappeared.

Zeb sprinted for Marguerite’s cell phone and keys. He punched in Zelda’s number with one hand and started the car with the other. He backed out and drove toward the corner, lights off, while the phone rang and rang.
Please answer. Please
.

She picked up just as he reached the corner. He edged forward, craning his neck. The van was already a couple of blocks away. He turned the corner but kept his lights off. From the phone came a hesitant, “Hello?”

“Zelda, it’s Zeb. Did you reach Constantine? That phone call he just received from Marguerite was crap. My old man made her say that.”

“We figured,” Zelda said and gave a little yelp.

Constantine’s voice came on. “Is she all right? Where is she?”

“She went with him in a green van,” Zeb said. “I couldn’t get the tag number without being seen.” He described the signs on the sides. “He told her they were going to get something to eat.”

“He’s taking her to
dinner
?”

“Why not? He doesn’t know anybody suspects him. There’s no evidence against him. There never is, but I think he has killed a whole bunch of people.”

“Not much doubt about that,” Constantine said. “Did she seem scared?”

Zeb thought about it. “Maybe, but mostly she acted pissed off. Maybe she doesn’t think he’s going to hurt her, or at least not yet. He said she’s useful to him as long as you care about her, and since you answered her call, I guess he assumes you do. But he made her throw her phone away, so he won’t be having her call you again. I’m afraid he’ll drug her or even kill her. I wish I’d told her everything. He makes all these weird drugs in his lab, and—”

Constantine interrupted. “Which direction did they go?”

Zeb pulled himself together and turned on his headlights. “They’re headed north on Oak. I’m going to follow them in Marguerite’s car, but I have to stay way back in case my old man realizes he’s being followed.”

“I’ll get someone else onto them ASAP. In the meantime, I’m counting on you, bro.”

Constantine was counting on him.

“I apologize for my earlier behavior,” Constantine said. “I shouldn’t have threatened you.”

“I should have trusted you,” Zeb said. “I just didn’t—I didn’t realize, and I didn’t think he’d—”

“You did what you could. Are they still in sight?”

Zeb centered himself again. “I just turned onto Oak. They’re about three blocks ahead, near Sacred Heart School. But don’t send the cops after them. He must be holding something over her head, something big.”

“Could be,” Constantine said.

Constantine didn’t sound convinced. “I know Marguerite,” Zeb said. “She wouldn’t lie like that without a really good reason. She did everything he said, and she didn’t run away when she had the chance.”

“I won’t send the cops,” Constantine said. “I’m going to keep that appointment at nine o’clock.”

“But he might kill you,” Zeb said.

“He can try,” said Constantine Dufray.

The instant he hung up, Constantine called Jabez and explained the situation and the meeting at nine o’clock. “We don’t know why Marguerite didn’t try to run when she had the chance. The bastard must be holding something over her head.”

“You want me to find out what it is?” Jabez asked.

“No, I’ll do that. All I need you to do is make sure the girl stays safe.”

“Will do,” Jabez said.

Fine, but Constantine had to make sure the bodyguard understood the priorities. “I need the guy alive, but nothing matters more than the girl.”

“Right,” Jabez said.

It still wasn’t enough. Did he really understand? Constantine had to just say it. “I love this girl, bro.”

“I got that,” Jabez said. “I’ll keep her safe.”

Al left the green van at the local mall and switched to a white one sporting Park Service signs, so they fit right in when they parked behind the mound museum. Al took the driver’s seat again but made Marguerite sit on the floor so she wouldn’t be visible from outside. She hadn’t dared to look behind on the drive over, nor could she risk glancing hopefully into the woods.

Constantine had telepathed reassuring messages, had urged her to play along. She had to play it cool and do what she was told… but why nine o’clock? What if Al went completely off his rocker before then?

Maybe that aura she’d seen in the park had been Zeb’s; maybe he’d retrieved her car keys and phone; maybe he’d contacted Constantine and told him what his dad was really like. All she could do was hope.

Al had visited a drive-through for slaw dogs and several orders of oily fries. Maybe the prospect of revenge—and probably more murder—gave him an appetite.

“Constantine’s an idiot. I’ve been messing with him for years, and he never figured it out.” Obviously, Al intended to kill her. Otherwise he wouldn’t be confessing about his whole, twisted life. He laughed around a fry. “That’s one of the advantages of being dead.”

Marguerite didn’t have any appetite, but Al seemed inclined to take it personally if she didn’t eat. She’d managed to force down one slaw dog. She sprinkled more salt and vinegar on her little pile of fries. “Huh?”

“I’ve been dead for years.” Al sucked down some Coke. “Threw a little money at one of those drunken Indians and had him spread the word that I got killed in a drug deal gone bad. Then I gave him a hit of something that didn’t mix with alcohol, and boom—no chance he’ll ever change his mind and tell the truth.”

By now, she’d figured out Al liked being told how bad he was. “That’s terrible.”

“Uh-huh.” He crammed down a bunch more fries. “Then I bought a rifle, got in some practice, and shot Constantine’s grandfather and little brother.”

“You—you—oh, how
horrible
!” she squeaked.

Al grinned and squirted a bunch more ketchup on his fries. “I didn’t have anything against the kid, mind you—unlike Constantine, he did what he was told—but the grandfather was an interfering old bastard, so I had to get rid of him. The kid happened to be in the path of one of the bullets. Just as well, though. Judging by Constantine and Zeb, he would have been a disappointment, too.”

Finally, she found words. “You’re Constantine’s
father
?”

“Yep.” Al offered no explanation, but judging by his aura, he wanted her to ask for it. He was feeding on attention as much as on fries.

“Then why is his last name Dufray?”

“His mom was married to Dufray. He was my first kill, purely by accident, believe it or not. A couple of pills I gave him didn’t mix. But he was a wuss, so nobody missed him.
She hopped from his bed to mine the first day she saw me, the little slut.” He must have noticed a spark of anger in Marguerite’s eye, because he laughed again. “She was a hot babe, but dumb like most women, Lavonia included. I don’t know why I put up with her. Yes, I do. She has great tits, and she loves fucking, although she’s not into spanking, like Janie.”

Janie, who had left town in a rush this morning.

He snorted. “Janie’s smarter than I thought but not smart enough to escape me. You want me to give her a little extra punishment, just from you, before I get rid of her?”