Kent Conwell - Tony Boudreaux 13 - The Diamonds of Ghost Bayou (17 page)

My fingers wrapped around one of the carved balusters, swinging me forward into the wall as the fixture and the walkway
smashed into the chamber below. Moments later, grasping fingers clutched my wrist, hauling me to safety.

Diane and I remained on the third landing as the guide hastily led the rest of the tourists downstairs and outside before returning.

The only light was from below, casting the third-floor landing in misshapen shadows. Gasping for breath, Jimmy Ramsey clambered up the stairs and hurried across the balcony and flipped on
a light, which didn’t disperse the shadows to any great degree.
He shook his head slowly as he looked around, his face taut with
concern. “I’m just glad no one got hurt.”

“Not half as glad as I am,” I replied, standing beside him on the
balcony, inspecting the damage. Diane linked her arm through
mine. I picked up the cable securing the chandelier to the ceiling.
It had not been cut; it had slipped loose. I showed it to Ramsey.
“What happened?”

“Somehow the cable came loose,” Ramsey said to Pierre.

I glanced at Pierre and then back at Ramsey. “`Somehow’?”

The guide, an aging offspring of 1960s flower children, shook
his head. “I don’t know how, Jimmy. I changed the lights before
the first tour, but I put the cable back and locked it.”

“`Locked it’?” I frowned at Ramsey.

He motioned for us to follow. “I’ll show you.”

He pointed out a two-pronged cleat and a heavy metal plate,
each bolted to the wall next to a door. A curved shackle extended a few inches from the plate. On the floor was a combination lock, the shackle of which was still locked.

Ramsey cursed. “Would you look at this?” He picked up the
lock and stared at Pierre in disbelief. “You left the lock off.”

Pierre shook his head emphatically. “No way. No way at all. I tell you, Jimmy, I locked that thing. I swear I locked it:’

I studied the lock in Ramsey’s hand. It was a combination lock.
I held out my hand. “Let me see it.” I turned it over in my hand,
inspecting it. “This is the lock you used?”

“Yeah.” He picked up an end of the loose cable and made a
slipknot in it. “After we raise the chandelier, we wrap the cable
around the cleat several times, and then make a slipknot in the
cable. We lock the slipknot to the shackle on the plate with this
padlock.” He paused. “It can’t come loose. It’s impossible. Someone did it on purpose. Someone wanted the chandelier to fall”

I felt Diane’s manicured nails dig into my arm, but to her
credit, she kept her feelings to herself. I nodded to the door beside the cleat. “Where does that door go?”

“It’s a back stairway down to the foyer.”

“Could someone have used it?”

Ramsey shrugged. “I suppose, but how would they get in?”

Glancing at Pierre, I asked, “Do you take a head count of the
tours?”

“Sure,” he said, looking over at Ramsey. “You know, to make
sure I got the tickets to match the customers.”

“I mean afterward.”

“No.” He hesitated and apologetically added, “I never saw any
use for that.”

“Chances are, that’s how whoever it was got in. Came on the
first tour, slipped away, and hid in the stairway.”

Ramsey shook his head in disbelief. “But why? What did he
have in mind? And how did he get the cable loose? The lock is
still locked.”

With Diane clinging to my arm, I opened the door to the back
stairs and scanned the floor but failed to see the object for
which I was searching.

Ramsey stared at the landing above the flight of stairs. “What
are you looking for?”

I glanced around and spotted a light switch on the wall. The
dim bulb was only a few watts brighter than the light spilling
through the open door.

“It isn’t here”

Diane frowned up at me. “What?”

Holding on to the combination lock, I replied, “Let’s go downstairs, and I’ll show you”

Ramsey cocked his head to one side. “Show us what?”

“You’ll see.”

Downstairs, I asked for an empty soft-drink can, which
Ramsey, though puzzled, provided without comment. While I
used kitchen shears to cut a rectangle about an inch and a half
by an inch from the can, I explained. “I’ve got a hunch Pierre’s
right. Someone dropped the chandelier deliberately.”

Ramsey shook his head. “I don’t see how.”

I held up the rectangle. “That’s what I’m going to show you.”
I proceeded to cut the slip of aluminum into the shape of an M, after which I folded the legs up, leaving a V-shaped piece of aluminum with two horizontal arms. “There’s an old saying, `There
never was a horse that couldn’t be rode and never a man who
couldn’t be throwed: Same thing here. There was never a lock
that couldn’t be hacked.”

Folding the strip of aluminum around one leg of the curved
shackle, I pressed the shackle into the lock, slipping the point
of the V down into the narrow space between the body of the
lock and the leg of the shackle. The V slid between the lock pin
within the body of the lock and the leg. Then I simply wrapped
the aluminum arms around the shackle, jiggled the V up and
down, and gave a sharp yank on the shackle. It popped loose.

Pierre stared in disbelief. “How-”

I handed Ramsey the lock. “That’s how he did it.”

All the rotund man could do was shake his head. Finally, he
managed to ask, “But why?”

I glanced at Diane. I knew why, but I decided to keep it to myself for the time being. Besides, now I had two questions to consider. Who knew we were here, and how did they learn of it?
Only three of us knew: Jack, Diane, and me. “Beats me.”

After the close call with the chandelier, I was reluctant to take
the sidewalks back to our motel. While Royal Street was fairly
well lit, Toulouse was steeped in darkness. A whole regiment
could be swept from the street into a side room without anyone
noticing.

The Quarter’s sidewalks might still be crowded, but most of
the boisterous celebrants were so drunk they couldn’t see, or so
consumed with passion they only had one object in mind, or
so stoned they wouldn’t care.

I called a cab.

During the ride to the hotel, I began to wonder if there was
more going on than just the diamonds. The falling chandelier
could have killed someone. That was a lot different than a bar
fight or a snake in the living room.

We reached the hotel just before midnight, and the French
Quarter showed no signs of slowing down. During the ride,
Diane asked several questions about the events of the evening. As much as I hated to worry her, I knew I couldn’t keep the
truth from her, at least part of the truth.

“I can’t shake the feeling,” I said, “that someone is afraid I’m
going to find the diamonds.”

Diane cleared her throat. “Who would be afraid you’d find
the diamonds? There’s got to be more than what you’ve told me.”

I pointed to the hotel. “Let’s get a nightcap, and I’ll tell you.”

I was fairly honest with her. I didn’t mention any of the murders or the assassinations in prison. I didn’t mention the snake
in the house. Instead, I put the snake in my pickup. I told her
about the prowlers and about the trip to Cocodrie Slough.

“Now, all of these are probably just coincidences, including
the chandelier,” I said in an effort to assuage any fears. “Those
diamonds are valuable. A lot of people know about them. I don’t
care about the diamonds as much as I do finding those jokers
who whipped on your husband.”

Smiling gratefully, she leaned forward and rested her hand
on mine. “Thanks, Tony, for looking after Jack.”

I saw the sincerity in her eyes and heard it in her voice. Maybe
she wasn’t coming on to me. Maybe I was too full of myself. I
shrugged. “No problem.”

After I climbed into bed, the phone rang. It was Diane. “I just
wanted to thank you again for trying to find those who hurt
Jack. I know that it is awkward for both of us, having been married, but I’m very grateful to you. You’re a good friend.”

“Thanks. I’ll find them. Don’t worry. And-who knows?maybe we’ll stumble across the diamonds at the same time.”

Later, as I lay staring at the ceiling upon which lights from the streets below reflected, I tried to fit the pieces of the last few
days together.

The diamonds were still out there, and someone wanted them
badly, so badly that, when you tossed in Jack’s beating, the snake
in the house, Cocodrie Slough, and the falling chandelier, the
whole scenario took a decidedly violent turn.

To go to so much trouble, someone was determined to have
the jewels. And who could blame ‘em? I’m no expert on jewels, but I couldn’t help assuming that eight million in gems thirteen
years ago could have doubled in value by today.

Whoever was trying to drive me away from the diamonds
must know just how to get rid of them. Such a transaction called
for someone who possessed more than just a passing acquaintance with the detailed intricacies of moving stolen diamonds,
an almost impossible task without accompanying papers.

I had no idea who I was up against, but he, or she, was no one
I could afford to take lightly.

Usually in working a case, you can narrow your list of suspects by learning who has the most to gain. In this case, that
was everyone.

I rolled over onto my side, but sleep failed to come. And the
clamor from the streets below didn’t help. So much for the wisdom of booking a hotel in the middle of the French Quarter.

At two A.M., I sat up and turned on the TV. If I’d had a drink
around, I would have taken one or two, but for the last few
weeks, except for our misadventure at Cocodrie Slough and a
couple of weak drinks today, I’d been pretty much a teetotaler.

Although I was a long-term member of AA, it was not because
I was addicted to alcohol. I know, I know, that’s what all drunks
say, but it never bothered me to quit. And I’m not going to make
the old joke that “I’d quit a thousand times” either. It was merely
a habit, but, in all fairness, I guess you could say it was also a
crutch I used to fill extra time.

Back in my apartment, I have beer and wine in the refrigerator; bourbon, gin, vodka, and rum in the cabinet; and mixers
under the sink.

None has been opened in over six months.

I’ve seen alcohol ruin too many lives-and not just the drunk’s,
but also his or her family’s. That isn’t fair to anyone.

I stared, unseeing, at the TV, letting the case of the hidden
diamonds ruminate in my brain. I got to thinking about T-Ball
from Charenton showing up in Cocodrie Slough, wondering
where he’d picked up such a nickname. I didn’t know about the
Ball, but the T didn’t fit; in the French Cajun vernacular, the prefix T signifies small. I finally concluded that perhaps it was just
a result of perverted humor, like a fat person picking up the
nickname Skinny.

That night on the ride back from Cocodrie Slough after our brouhaha with the village’s finest, the fact that the Naquins had
wondered what T-Ball was doing there had given me the impression he usually stuck pretty close to home-and his horses.

Next thing I knew, sunlight filtered through the closed curtains
and the morning news blared on the TV.

The phone rang. It was Diane. She was already dressed and
ready for breakfast. “I’ll be right over,” she announced when I
said I was still in bed. “Put your coffee on. I’ll have a cup while
you hurry up and dress. Unlock the door for me.”

After the last twenty-four hours together, I’d dismissed the
San Antonio incident, but her announcement resurrected my
concern. Maybe I wasn’t so full of myself.

I turned on the coffee, grabbed a change of clothes, and retreated to the bathroom.

Moments later, she called from the living room, “I’m here.”

“Make yourself comfortable. The coffee should be ready.”

After showering and shaving, I slipped into washed-out jeans and a polo shirt. I padded barefoot into the bedroom for socks
and my running shoes.

From the corner of my eye, I spotted movement. I looked
around. Diane watched me from the doorway, a cup of coffee
in her hand. She wore cream-colored slacks and a matching
blouse. “The years have been good to you,” she said, her eyes
appraising me.

Ever the Southern gallant, I replied, “I can say the same for
YOU.”

Her cheeks colored, and her eyes shone. “You’re just saying that.”

“You know me better than that. You always did take care of
yourself.”

Her eyes lost their focus as they gazed into the past. “We did
have some good times, didn’t we?”

That was the fastest I’d ever tied my shoes. “Yeah. What times
we weren’t fighting.”

She laughed and turned back to the living room. “Hurry up.
I’m starving.”

Downstairs, the hotel served a buffet breakfast with enough
choices to give anyone pause in deciding just which entree to
enjoy.

Back in Austin, breakfast is usually an afterthought, but I was
like a kid in a candy store when I stood before that buffet of
steaming eggs, omelets, sausage, bacon, pancakes, hash browns,
grits, gravy, biscuits, toast, cereals, and fruit.