Kent Conwell - Tony Boudreaux 02 - Skeletons of the Atchafalaya (9 page)

I wasn’t any too keen on the idea, but we had to supply
fuel to the generator or else we’d be sitting in the dark.
That’s how I explained it to Leroi.

“Then, Cousin, me and mine will just be sitting in the
dark. You couldn’t pay me to go in that shed alone.”

We were standing nose to nose there in the rain, our
clothes clinging to our skin, my hair hanging down in my
face. I pushed my hair from my eyes. I wiped the rain from
my face and grinned. “At least you don’t have to worry
about getting hair in your eyes.”

He glared at me, but he couldn’t suppress the tiny grin
struggling to tick up one side of his lips. “You play dirty
pool, Tony. Okay. I’ll go with you, but I won’t go first.”

That was good enough for me. I didn’t tell Leroi, but I
figured with two of us in there, if any snakes fell from the
rafters, they had two objects to choose from, and they might
just choose him instead of me.

We started forward, and I jerked to a halt.

“What?” Leroi said.

I reached in my pocket and pulled out the flashlight.
“Would you look at this.”

Leroi cursed. “You mean we had that all the time? Why
you got to be the dumbest-”

“Hey, you saw me put it in my pocket. Why didn’t you
remember it?”

He opened his mouth, then clamped it shut. “Let’s just
get it done, okay?”

“Okay.11

From the doorway, I shone the light into the shed. With
relief, I saw the generator was on a four-foot-high slab of
concrete with steps leading up to it. Eight cylindrical tanks
of gasoline lined one wall, all tied into the generator by a
common fuel line. Each tank had a cutoff valve.

Suspended from the rafters along the opposite wall was
a pirogue. Garden implements, rakes, hoes, shovels, and
cultivators, hung on a third wall.

Then we spotted the snakes.

Leroi groaned.

I shivered. “At least it’s just snakes. You know they got
bears and wolves out here in the swamp.”

He arched an eyebrow. “And that’s supposed to make
me feel better?”

I shone the light around the shed. “Well, it isn’t as bad
as it looks. I count six snakes. And we’re lucky. No cottonmouths among them.”

His voice quivered. “Yeah, me too. I count six. I sure wish Giselle was here. She’s always had a way with animals. Now what do we do?”

I shone the light on the garden tools. “Simple,” I said.
“We’ll grab a hoe and shove ‘em out of the way.”

“Okay, but what if they won’t shove?”

“Then chop.”

They shoved.

The generator had an electric start. Once it was primed
with fresh gasoline, the engine roared to life. Lights flashed
to life in the shed, and from the doorway, we could see the
lights in the house.

Leroi and I grinned at each other. “We did it,” I said.

“Yeah. But, before we leave, let’s turn the other tanks
on so we don’t have to make another trip here.”

The idea sounded good to me.

As an extra precaution, we tied one end of the rope to a
metal stud in the shed. Once we reached the house, we’d
tie off the other end, providing us a safety line to and from
the generator shed if an emergency arose.

Outside, the storm intensified. Thick gray clouds raced
from east to west, caught up in the massive circulation of
the escalating storm. Treetops swayed almost to the ground.
The slender trunks bent dangerously, and the thicker ones
strained against giant roots, slowly wrenching them from
the soft ground.

Back in the house, people were stirring.

Despite the storm, despite the two deaths, mothers prepared breakfast for their children, while the old men sat
around and chewed on their situation in hushed tones.

Leroi and I slipped up to Ozzy’s room and donned dry
clothes. After drying my boots as best I could, I tugged
them back on.

Back in the parlor, a single radio on a coffee table kept
us all posted on the storm. Belle was moving, but slowly, just under ten miles per hour. Winds were almost one hundred, a Category Two.

I paused in the kitchen door, grateful she hadn’t hit Three
yet.

Mom was boiling up a large pot of coffee. I wanted to
talk to her, not about Pa as much as the rest of the family,
but the kitchen was too crowded. I figured if I had her
alone, she would be less reluctant to fill me in on some of
the old family skeletons.

“Coffee’s almost ready,” she said, brushing a strand of
graying hair from her eyes and tucking it over her ear.

I nodded and glanced back into the parlor. Pa and Bailey
sat on a couch in front of the shuttered French doors on
the far wall, drinking beer and staring at nothing. I paused,
my eyes fixed on them. Janice came up behind me. “Here,
I have us some coffee.”

Taking the coffee, I gave her a light kiss. “Thanks.” The
coffee was thick and hot, rich with chicory. “I can sure use
this.”

She took a dainty sip. Her eyes grew wide. She whistled.
“This is strong.”

I chuckled and took another drink.

She sat her cup on a nearby credenza and made an effort
to smooth the wrinkles in her blouse. “Your mother always
make it that strong?”

“Yeah.” I grinned down at her. “In many of the old folks’
homes, Cajun coffee and homemade bread is a treat for
guests. Always been like that.” I paused, then said, “I’ll bet
you didn’t know what you were getting into when I picked
you up on the bridge yesterday.”

“Yesterday.” She laughed and shook her head. “It seems
like a year ago. But, it has been an interesting experience.”

I arched an eyebrow. “Interesting experience?”

With a mischievous glint in her eyes and a determined
jut to her jaw, she played down the seriousness of our situation. “One thing for certain, I won’t run into something
like this in the ballroom at Barton Springs Country Club.”

Janice Coffman-Morrison might be rich, but she was also
a tough and resilient woman, in the mold of her Aunt Beatrice Morrison, CEO of Chalk Hills Distillery and Janice’s
only living relative.

I hugged her to me. Not that she would marry me, but
if I were the marrying kind, she was my choice. I’d been
married once though. That too seemed a long time ago.

Diane and I were high school sweethearts, an affair that
continued until she dropped out of the University of Texas
and returned to Church Point. We ran into each other several years later, each still single. The next year, while I was
still trying to teach America’s brats, we married, but unlike
most of our friends who made one baby after another because they believed it was their God-given mission to procreate the entire world all by themselves, Diane and I had
no offspring.

Within two years, the thrill of lust and passion faded
when we had to wake up each morning and face each other
at our worst. We managed another couple years before we
split the sheets.

The best thing I can say about Diane is we parted amicably. She took her clothes, the furniture, the car, and I
took my clothes, a ten-gallon aquarium with my little Albino Tiger Barb, Oscar, his swimming mates, and a taxicab.
Like the old country song from way back, “She Got the
Gold Mine, and I Got the Shaft.” But I never regretted the
split at all. I was satisfied with Oscar and his cohorts, a
few Tiger and Checker Barbs.

Once I put some angelfish in with the Barbs, but the little
Barbs chased the docile little angels around the aquarium,
nipping at their fins. The angels would probably have died
of heart attacks if Jack Edney hadn’t come along.

On a drunken spree, he urinated in the aquarium thinking-well, I don’t know what he was thinking. Next morning, all except Oscar were floating belly-up. Oscar just
swam in circles. Some kind of brain damage, I guessed.

Naturally, Jack, like all murderers, showed great remorse
and regret when he sobered up, but the damage was done.

Janice took another sip of coffee and noticed I was
watching Pa and Uncle Bailey. “How long has it been since
you’ve seen your father?”

“Huh? Oh, a year or so. You remember. I told you about
it.” I stared at him, feeling nothing. Maybe I should have,
but I couldn’t give myself any reason I should have feelings
for him. When I looked at that emaciated old man behind
a week-old beard, so thin his clothes hung on him like a
scarecrow, I couldn’t believe he was a partner in giving me
life. I shivered at the thought.

He bailed out on Mom and me when I was seven. I didn’t
see him again until last year when I found him stumbling
about the streets of Austin. The first time I took him in, he
stole my camera, what was left of a six-pack of beer, and
the spare tire for my pickup. The second time, it was my
sheepskin-lined coat, a VCR, and another camera.

Why should I have feelings for a father like that?

,.You didn’t know he was coming to the reunion, did
you?”

“No. And now he wants to come back home.”

Janice looked up at me. “You told me. I wonder why?”

“Beats me. It isn’t to die like Sally said,” I muttered
bitterly. “But, I’ll talk to Mom later this morning. See what
all was said.”

Uncle Henry approached. “George and me checked all
the doors and windows. Shutters seem to be holding up.”
As if laughing at his announcement, a gust of wind rattled
the shutters.

“There’s your grandmother, Tony,” Janice said, nodding
to the broad stairs descending from the second floor.

Bailey’s wife, Ezeline, was with Grandma Ola. I went to
meet them. I gave Grandma a peck on the cheek and
pointed both of them to the kitchen. “Mom’s got coffee
ready. See if you can talk her into baking some homemade
bread.”

Ezeline looked around. “Where’s lolande? She’s usually
the first one down.”

Grandma Ola gave me a playful slap on the arm. “Go
wake her, Tony. If we got to sit and worry about the storm,
she does too.”

Both old ladies laughed.

With Janice, I headed up the stairs, my boots squishing
water. Giselle was coming down, brushing at a stain in her
green tank top. “Hey,” she called out with a bright smile.
“Where you guys going?” She arched an eyebrow, her eyes
glittering mischievously.

I pointed upstairs. “Grandma Ola wants us to wake Aunt
Iolande.”

Giselle grimaced. “She took A.D.‘s death hard.” She cut
her eyes toward Sally and Leroi below in the parlor. Whispering, she added, “She swears Leroi did it.”

“Because of the oil property?”

With a rueful grin, she nodded. “Yeah. You believe
that?”

I glanced at Janice, then looked back at my cousin. “I
can believe anything about this family right now.”

Smoothing at the wrinkles in her own blouse, Janice
turned to Giselle. “Oil property?”

“Yeah. Leroi’s mother owned some land that A.D. swindled Leroi’s pa out of after she died. Turned out there was
oil on it. Iolande actually believes that Leroi has waited all
these years to get at A.D.” She quickly changed the subject.
“By the way, I have some extra blouses if you want a fresh
one. Might be a little large, but you’re welcome.”

Janice nodded. “Thanks. I might take you up on that.”

Giselle looked up at me. “Who do you think killed A.D.
and Ozzy?”

I half laughed, half snorted. “Hey, I don’t know about
Ozzy. I don’t think Leroi killed A.D. I know he went upstairs before we left, but I just can’t believe he did it. To
tell the truth, at first I thought Ozzy might have.”

Both women looked at me in surprise. “Ozzy!” they exclaimed simultaneously.

“His own father?” Giselle gaped at me. “You’re kidding.”

“Not at all.”

Janice spoke up, “But, why?”

“Remember when we went into A.D.‘s room yesterday? And remember how Ozzy pulled the screwdriver from
his pa’s neck? I figured it was deliberate, a surefire way
of erasing any fingerprints while pleading ignorance.” I
shrugged. “Now, of course, he’s dead. Kind of blows my
neat little theory to pot.”

Giselle shook her head. “I don’t know, Tony. I don’t
think Ozzy was that clever.”

“Maybe not, but it’s a moot point now.” I took Janice’s
arm. “Come on. Let’s wake Aunt lolande.”

“I’ll go with you,” Giselle said, following after us.

Aunt lolande didn’t answer our knock.

Giselle giggled. “You don’t think she’s got a man in
there, do you?”

I rolled my eyes. “If she does, she’s had everyone fooled
for sixty-five years.” I opened the door slightly.

The overhead light was off, but the halogen lamp next
to the wall was lit, casting a circular glow on the ceiling.
I stuck my head inside, noticing a strong musky odor. I
hesitated, trying to place the odor. Then I remembered, but
quickly discounted the notion. It had to be something else,
probably her perfume. I whispered to her. “Aunt lolande.
It’s Tony. Time to get up. Grandma Ola sent me up.”

She lay motionless under the sheets.

The rain beat against the storm doors on the veranda.

I called again, louder this time. Still no movement.

“She sure is a sound sleeper,” whispered Janice.

“Well, I’ll get her up.” I grinned, pushed the door open,
and flicked on the overhead light. I grabbed a corner of the sheet and popped it. “Up, or I’ll yank it off.” I popped it
again, then gave it a yank.

In the next instant, a four-foot cottonmouth water moccasin lunged at me from the bed, his mouth wide open and
his throat white as cotton.