Kent Conwell - Tony Boudreaux 13 - The Diamonds of Ghost Bayou (10 page)

I jumped when a voice sounded directly behind me. “Still
working?”

I glanced over my shoulder. “Yeah. How was your nap?”

Diane yawned and stretched her arms over her head. “Great.
I feel like a new woman.” She glanced at my laptop screen.
“What are you working on?”

“Nothing much. Just messing around. What time do you want
to go back to the hospital?” While replying, I copied all my work
to the ever-present flash drive that had saved my computerized
life more than once, and then closed the program. After booting
off, I slipped the flash drive into my pocket.

She touched her forefinger to her pursed lips. The bright red
on her nails matched her lipstick. “I don’t know. Probably soon.
Jack and I talked about it, and he wants me to stay here tonight.
He says I’ll rest better, and I probably would, knowing that
you’re here.”

My heart flip-flopped.

She drew a deep breath and added, “But I want to be with him.”

A thousand-pound weight slid off my shoulders. “Whatever
you want. I’ve got some running around to take care of after I
leave you at the hospital.”

“Oh. Like what?”

I crawfished. “Nothing important.”

Despite our being married for only a couple of years, she knew
me well enough to know when I was hedging. “About Jack?”

“I’m not sure,” I replied noncommittally.

She gave me a skeptical look. “Come on, Tony. Tell me the
truth”

“You don’t quit, do you?” I asked.

“No,” she said sharply. “What affects him, affects me. Something is going on around here, and I want to know what it is. I
deserve to know. That’s what marriage is all about,” she added,
giving me one of those I-told-you-so looks.

I sensed the insinuation in her words. “I can’t argue with you
there. Yeah, it’s about Jack, and this house. And about everything going on around here.” I could have stopped there, but her
implication that I was to blame for our divorce irritated me, so
I continued. “You remember Jack said that the goons who
worked him over kept asking about diamonds?”

“Yeah. So?”

“So, for your information, there are some very serious people
out there who believe the diamonds are hidden somewhere on
the premises.” I started to tell her about the muggers running
loose but decided that would be a bit of overkill.

“What?” She stared at me in disbelief.

“You heard me. One of the previous owners of this place
heisted a jewelry store. The diamonds were never recovered.
People of all sorts think the jewels are here. That’s the reason
for the prowlers.”

“But are you sure?”

“Positive. That’s why I want you to stay at the hospital until I
come back. I don’t want you out here at night by yourself. In
fact, you don’t need to be out here anytime by yourself until this
is all settled.”

“You mean, you think they might harm me?” she stammered,
her eyes wide with alarm.

“Let’s say that I don’t want to take the chance. When you get
to the hospital, you stay there. Don’t leave until I let you know
I’m back”

“Where are you going?”

“To see a guy about some diamonds.”

During my drive out to the car dealership, I came up with what I figured was a surefire pretext. Knowing that most people
are more cooperative if they stand to gain something from their
efforts, I planned to admit I was searching for the jewels for the
25 percent reward, and if I found them, I would make it worthwhile to anyone who assisted me.

Bayou Country Motors was a General Motors franchise, a tenacre plant covered with automobiles, pickups, and a complete
service and repair department.

In a way, I was surprised to see such a large dealership in
such a small community, but I realized the plant not only served
Priouxville, but also Baldwin, Charenton, Franklin, and Oaklawn.

I found Oscar Mouton in his spacious office on the second
floor of his salesroom. Large glass panels filled one wall overlooking the sales floor below.

A short, smiling salesman with curly black hair and a downhome greeting that made you feel as if he were doing you a great
favor by permitting you to purchase one of his vehicles, Mouton
was the epitome of the amiable Cajun. I almost expected him to
pull out a burlap-covered quart jar from under his desk and offer me a drink of moonshine. He gestured to a chair in front of
his desk. His smile growing even wider, he said, “What can I do
for you, Mr. Boudreaux?”

When I mentioned Al Theriot, the smile faded from his face.
He stared at me a moment, his dark eyes sizing me up. “You the
law?”

I gave him my little-boy-lost smile. “No. Just a friend of the
guy who owns Theriot’s old house, that’s all.” I paused. “I have
a few questions about Mr. Theriot I was hoping you could help
me with.”

“About the robbery?”

“Yes.,,

He pursed his lips and shook his head. After several moments,
he replied, “That be something I don’t like to think about. It be
long gone. Me, I want to leave it that way.”

“Not even for a share of the reward for the remaining diamonds?”

I could see the wheels spinning in his head. “Reward? How
much?”

“There’s a 25 percent reward for the return of any or all the
jewels. Could be up to a million or more”

The figure was enticing enough to elicit a touch of greed and
a sheepish smirk. He shrugged. “Poor Theriot. That be sad, sad
thing. Me, I couldn’t believe what I hear. Even when Theriot, he
admit he steal the jewels, I find it hard to believe.”

“You were partners a long time, huh?”

“Oui. Al and me, we go to school with the nuns up to Charenton from the time the two of us, we be little tetards, tadpoles.
That one, he be like mon frere, my brother.” With an embarrassed grin and a slight shrug of his shoulders, he added, “Me, I
thought I knew everything there was to know about him.”

I leaned back in my chair. “Any idea why he pulled the job?”

He rose from his desk and crossed the room to a highboy
next to one wall. Above the highboy was a large picture of his
dealership taken from the air. He poured a glass of water from
a crystal decanter and offered me one. I declined.

For several moments, Mouton stared at me, as if considering
just how to respond. “Like I say, Al and me, we grow up together.
We opened our first car lot in 1970. Five years later, we got the
GM franchise.” He paused to sip his water. When he finished, he
held the glass up. “Us, we were on a roll. The profits, we put back
into the company. By 1980, Al and me, we were living high off
the hog. Me, I was satisfied. Al, he wanted more. He started investing in shaky deals.” With a shrug, he shook his shoulders and
returned to his desk. “Most of them blew up in his face. I tried to
talk him out of them, to bring him back to his senses. No luck.
That be when we started growing apart. I lent him over a hundred
thousand against my better judgment. He lost that. Then he started
at the casinos. For a while, he won, but then the losing started. He
wanted me to buy his share of the business. I refused.” His brow
knit. “He accused me of trying to steal his share of the business.”

I remained silent.

Several long seconds passed. The clock on the wall chimed six
times.

He cleared his throat. “You ever have a good friend, mon
ami? I mean one you loved better than a brother?”

I shook my head. “No.”

His eyes grew misty. “Me, I did. Al. I couldn’t stand to see that
one wasting everything he’d worked so hard to earn, so I said no
when he offered me his share.” Ruefully, he added, “Smart me, I
figured he’d have to straighten out, since there was no more money
coming his way.” He drew a deep breath and released it. “Well,
Mr. Boudreaux, like most old men who think they know better, I
was wrong. Three months later, he robbed the jewelry store. I
didn’t find out until later that he owed some mobster up in Alexandria almost half a million dollars.”

I whistled softly. “So, he figured the heist could even him
up” — - - — — - - - — -

Mouton opened an ornate humidor on his desk and pulled
out a cigar. He offered me one, but I declined. He lit it, took a
deep drag, and then blew the smoke into the air. “Crazy idea,
huh?”

I remained silent a moment. “Why didn’t he put up his share
of the business to the mobster as collateral?”

An embarrassed smile played over his face. “Our contract.
Neither of us could sell out except to each other.”

With a strong hint of skepticism, I asked, “What if one died?”

“The other got it.”

Nice little deal, providing you’re the survivor, I told myself.

He continued, “You know, Mr. Boudreaux, I often wondered
what would have happened if I’d given Al the money.”

I started to reply but changed my mind.

He continued, “Me, I know what would happen. He would
have lost it too. So”-he shrugged-“what was Ito do?”

“Does he have any family around?”

“A] was the only child. His papa, he die when Al was a boy.
His mama, she die a couple years later. After Al die, I donate his
share of earnings to the Catholic Church.”

I began to look at him a little differently.

“No way, me, I could keep his money.”

“And he didn’t give you any sort of hint as to where he hid
the diamonds?”

Mouton laughed, but it was a sad laugh. “Not me, mon ami.
Me, I be the last one. At the end, he hated me. Even when I went
to the prison to see him, he don’t want me there. No, me, I got
no idea.” He hesitated. “But there might be one. I don’t know if
he still be alive, but Al, he always take a shine to one Cajun boy
named Lester Percher. Lester, he do odd jobs for Al. Sometimes he stay at Al’s place out on the bayou.”

My hopes soared. Maybe this Percher knew something of the
diamonds. Maybe he was the one who’d been prowling around.
“Any idea where I could find him?”

Mouton stroked his chin thoughtfully and then reached for
the phone. He glanced at me. “Maybe.” He punched in a couple
of numbers. “Pete! This be Oscar. You remember that one they
call Lester Percher? Oui. You know where he be?” He glanced at
me. “Oui, oui. Okay.” He replaced the receiver. “That be Pete Forest, service manager in the shop. He say Lester come from camp
in Duck Lake out in the swamp, on the other side of Six Mile
Lake. He forget the name of the camp. He don’t know if Lester
be there or not, but that be where Lester, he come from.”

There was never any question in my mind as to whether I was
going to Duck Lake or not. The only question was how I was going to find it. Making your way through a swamp or through
canebrakes is as confusing as maintaining a direct course through
a forest of pine trees. Everything looks the same in all four directions. What few signs you might find to lead you back are
usually so small or so common that they offer no help.

By the time I got back to Jack’s place on the bayou, the sun had
set. Back to the east, an unknown menace seemed to be lurking
within the dark shadows of the deep swamp, a black hole ready
to swallow any who ventured into it.

I couldn’t help thinking about the flickering lights from the
night before and old Rouly’s dire warning of the feu follet. A
myth, I knew, but still-there were those lights.

Turning on the living room light and the outside lights, I placed
a tiny thread between the door and the jamb. There’d been
enough prowlers around that I was concerned.

Then I fired up Jack’s Mako and ran up the bayou to the Naquin place, grateful for the spotlight on the boat. I glanced at
my watch: after seven. As soon as I hired Valsin Naquin to run
me over to Duck Lake first thing the next morning, I would
make a visit to the Sparkle Paradise and see what else I could
find out about Harry Guzik.

The black water of the swamp teemed with life. Wherever I
turned the spotlight, I picked up the bright red coals of alligator
eyes like strands of Christmas lights. I shivered. They were so numerous, no one could make it twenty feet in that water. I
shook my head at the plodding bureaucracy that still had alligators on the protected-species list. At any given time, I figured I
was staring at enough reptiles to make boots for half the drugstore cowboys in Texas, Arizona, and New Mexico.

As I approached the Naquins’, I swept my light across the
dock, spotting not only their three boats, but an extra one, an
aluminum eighteen-footer with a hundred-horsepower Yamaha
engine.

I had no sooner bumped the dock than three floodlights came
on, lighting the area like daytime, leaving me staring at a threefoot alligator on the pier.

For a moment, we stared at each other. Before I could jump
back, the little teenager flipped around in his tracks and squirted
over the far side of the dock. At the far end of the pier, two or
three water snakes slithered into the water.

A voice from above called out, “Hey!”

I peered up but could make out only the silhouette of a man.
I shaded my eyes against the floodlights and called back, “Hey!”