Kent Conwell - Tony Boudreaux 13 - The Diamonds of Ghost Bayou (21 page)

Jack sputtered. “Some no-good-”

“It’s probably in the bottom of some bayou by now.” I paused
and then added, “Seems like the electronic ignition went out.
The service manager asked me if anyone had been tinkering
with it. When I asked why, he said it sure looked like someone
had been messing around with it.”

Jack frowned deeply, the layer of flesh across his forehead
wrinkling. “So it was deliberate?”

“Appears so. They had to have done it while it was in the
hotel garage. We never took it out once we got there.”

Jack laid his head back on the pillow and slowly rolled it from
side to side. “What now?” Before I could reply, he continued,
“Maybe you ought to tell Sheriff Lacoutrue. He stopped in just
after you left, looking for you. I told him you and Diane were
headed to New Orleans.”

I nodded absently, wondering why the sheriff hadn’t stopped
me in front of the hospital when he passed just before we pulled
out for New Orleans. I shrugged it off. “I plan on telling him
about it. And the Cadillac.”

Jack glanced at Diane. “You and Tony go buy another car.
Another Cadillac if you can find a dealership around here.”

He winked at me. I rolled my eyes. What was the remark
about the wealthy attributed to F. Scott Fitzgerald-“They are
different from you and me”? He was sure right about that.

I followed Diane in my pickup back to Charenton, where we
turned in the Ford rental car. From there, we drove back to Bayou
Country Motors. “Might as well give them the business,” I remarked when she asked why Priouxville and not Charenton.

Oscar Mouton was surprised to see us; he was even more
surprised when Diane told him she wanted a baby blue Cadillac convertible; and she compounded his surprise by writing
him a check for the vehicle. “But,” he replied feebly, “I don’t
have it in stock. I’ll have to bring it down from Lafayettetomorrow, if they have one. The next day if I have to get one out
of Baton Rouge”

She shrugged. “That’s no matter. I’ll take a courtesy car until
then.”

While we were waiting for the courtesy car, a tan Lexus
pulled up in front of the service entrance and stopped. My eyes
grew wide when I spotted the scars along the front right fender,
just like those on the car that had pursued Diane and me early
that morning. A man wearing a pair of gray khakis came out
of the garage and leaned through the passenger’s window. He
and the driver exchanged a few words, and then he waved as the
car sped away.

I caught my breath when I glimpsed the driver. It was Mule!
I turned to Diane, but she was idly perusing a magazine. Before
I could say anything, the courtesy car pulled up.

Peering out the window, I watched as the Lexus pulled onto
the highway and headed in the direction of Priouxville.

Jack was dressed and sitting on the edge of the bed when we
returned. “The doc turned me loose,” he announced. “I can’t
wait to get out of here and sleep in my own bed tonight.”

Diane glanced at me and then frowned at Jack. “What about
those men? What if they come out to the house?”

Jack snorted. “Then they’ll get a taste of my .38.”

I wasn’t crazy about the idea.

“Look,” he said through clenched teeth, “wherever we stay around here, if they want to get to us, they can.” He laughed
softly. “They’ll regret trying.”

“Go back to Austin, Jack. Forget about this place.”

He glared up at me. “No way. I bought the place. No one’s
going to run me out.”

I turned to Diane, expecting her to agree with me. She surprised me again. “If Jack wants to stay, I want to stay.”

They were both nuts. I didn’t say as much, and I couldn’t leave
them. I drew a deep breath and released it slowly. “I’ll report it
to the sheriff and see about getting some security out there”

After he was released, Jack and Diane’s first stop was the vet’s
to pick up Mr. Jay. I stopped at the sheriff’s.

Sheriff Lacoutrue and his deputy listened intently.

When I finished, he glanced at Thibodeaux, then back at me.
“You say the driver, he looked like the one called Mule?”

“Yeah. I couldn’t say for certain. I saw him in a flash of light, but he looked like him. And then I saw him this afternoon in
that same car out at Bayou Country Motors.”

A faint smile played over the sheriff’s face. “I don’t know
about this afternoon, but it couldn’t have been Mule last night,
Mr. Boudreaux. Him and Alton was here playing bourre with
me. Thibodeaux here was off, so Mule and Alton, they come by
to keep me company.”

His announcement hit me between the eyes. I stared at him,
stunned. My shoulders sagged. I deflated like a balloon. “But
what about when I saw him driving the same Lexus this afternoon out at Bayou Country Motors? The front fender was scarred
just like the one last night. There couldn’t be two around like
that”

The sheriff frowned. “That do be funny.” He glanced at his
deputy. “Tell you what, Thibodeaux. You run out to Bayou
Country. You talk to old Mouton. See what’s going on”

Without a word, the deputy left. Lacoutrue grinned at me.
“Tell you what, you,” he said. “I guess it be plenty spooky, especially out there on the bayou. To make you folks feel better, me and Thibodeaux will swing by your friends’ place during
the night. Guarantee you no one will bother you tonight,” he
added. “Soon as Thibodeaux comes back, I’ll call you.”

“Thanks, Sheriff. I appreciate that.”

During the ride out to the house, I replayed the night before.
I would have given good odds that the driver was Mule, but it
couldn’t have been. He was a hundred and fifty miles away at
the time. I shivered, the hackles on the back of my neck bristling. But then, what was he doing in the Lexus this afternoon?
I drew a deep breath and blew it out through my pursed lips. I
had the feeling that the whole situation was getting out of hand.

Jack and Diane had not arrived when I pulled into the carport-at the house.

There was no sign of any disturbance around the cottage. Oh,
a few black feathers lay about the grounds near the bulwark. Apparently, some male grackle had paid too much attention to his
courting dance and not enough to a sly alligator.

After opening the house, I wandered down to the dock and
jumped into the powerboat. Plopping down on the bench, I
stared into the dark swamp, letting my thoughts ramble.

I had just about convinced myself that Anthony O’Donnell
was behind the beatings and, in all probability, the deaths of
Benoit and his two drinking buddies, as well as the attempt on
our lives. I had been searching for a lead that would point to the
culpable party, and I thought the night before had given it to me.

I ticked off the reasons on my fingers. Mule was one of
O’Donnell’s boys; he drove one of the kidnapper’s cars; and,
thinking back, he could very well have been the long-haired man
I spotted darting down that dark passage to an interior court on
Toulouse Street.

But Lacoutrue’s announcement had taken Mule out of the
picture. All of my little theories were just that, theories, with no
substance.

The only one left was T-Ball, the Neanderthal Cajun who
had shown up over at Cocodrie Slough. From what I heard, he
seldom visited there. Why that night? And he had asked specifically about me. He and O’Donnell had to know each other. The latter owned the racetrack, and the former raised and raced
horses. O’Donnell could have sent the big man over there.

A scowl wrinkled my forehead. But how did O’Donnell know
where we were? Our trip was on impulse.

Frustrated, I closed my eyes and shook my head.

Both Benoit and Emerente swore by the loup-garou. I knew
better. There was a logical explanation for the tracks, although
if someone insisted I provide such an explanation for the mysterious lights I had witnessed out in the swamp, I couldn’t.

Even if O’Donnell or Mouton were involved, I couldn’t prove
it. So, that was my next step.

I couldn’t help thinking that O’Donnell was a more likely
suspect. He owned the racetrack. T-Ball owned and raced his
horses at the track.

If I wanted to whack someone and put the blame on a mythical spirit like this particular loup-garou, I’d figure out some
way to rig a horseshoe onto the head of a sledgehammer and beat
him to death.

Gruesome, I know, but when the medical officers examined
the body, they would most certainly find imprints of horseshoes.
The tracks around the body were a snap to make. Simply weld
a rod to a horseshoe and make all the tracks you want.

The blaring of a horn jerked me from my musings. I looked
around to see Diane climbing out of the courtesy car.

Inside the house, Jack plopped down in his favorite chair in front
of the TV. “Boy, oh, boy,” he purred. “It’s great to be home.”

I glanced out the window, feeling the reassuring bulk of my
.38 under my belt.

Diane looked at me. “Did you see the sheriff?”

“Yeah. They’re going to patrol the place tonight.”

“Good.” She put Mr. Jay down and patted Jack on the shoulder. “Just you relax now. I’ll whip us up some dinner.” She
waved a slip of paper. “The hospital sent me your diet. How
does chicken, sweet peas, and mashed potatoes sound?”

Jack grimaced up at me. “That strained stuff?”

“You can’t chew, sweetheart. You know that.”

Shaking his head slowly, Jack grunted. “I know. Yeah, strained
chicken sounds great. Put a lot of butter in the potatoes, okay?”

Diane laughed. “Whatever you want,” she called over her
shoulder. “I’m just glad to have you home.” Mr. Jay tagged after
her, yapping all the way.

Jack groaned. “You’ve got no idea what I wouldn’t give for some
decent food.” He made a face. “Can you imagine, strained chicken,
strained peas, and strained mashed potatoes?”

I glanced in Diane’s direction. “Where’s your .387

With a smug grin, he opened the drawer of the lamp stand
next to his chair, revealing a chrome revolver. “Right here. What
did the sheriff say?”

“He’s looking into it. Like I said, he’ll have some security out
here tonight.”

Jack glanced in the direction of his wife. “Good.”

A knock from outside interrupted us. I answered the door and
stared in surprise. It was old Rouly. He gave me a gap-toothed
grin. “I heard my neighbor’s back home.”

TI opened the storm door. “Come on in. He’s right in here.”

The old man removed his battered straw hat, dutifully wiped the mud from his boots, and then hobbled in and shook Jack’s
hand, assuring him that during his absence, the old man had
looked after his place. “Never did find out who worked you over,
huh?”

Jack hooked his thumb at me. “Ask him. I’ve been in the
hospital.”

Hearing the voices, Diane stuck her head through the doorway. Her eyes grew wide, then narrowed suspiciously when she
spotted the old man in his soiled and threadbare clothes.

Old Rouly nodded to her. “Ma’am”

Jack gestured to a chair. “Have a seat.”

The old Cajun shook his head. “Can’t stay long. Just wanted
to tell you, if you need something, let me know.”

Diane’s eyes softened, and a faint smile played over her lips.

Jack replied, “Thanks. You sure you don’t want to sit a spell?
We can put some coffee on to boil.”

Rouly looked around the living room. “Nope. Me, I’m fine.
Right nice place you folks got here. Old man Prioux what built
the place first back down the hill wouldn’t recognize it.” He
shook his head. “Yes, sir. Fine place.” He looked back at Jack.
“Don’t forget. Give me a shout if you need something.” He took
a step back and glanced at Diane. “Ma’am”

I accompanied him out onto the porch. “I suppose you knew
L. Q. Benoit pretty good, huh?”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a plug of Red Man’s Totem tobacco and cut off a corner with the wicked-looking
six-inch blade of his pocketknife. He offered me a chunk, but I
declined.

He started down the stairs, working on the tobacco a few
moments before replying. “Yep. Him and me, we grew up here
together.”

“What kind of work did he do?”

Rouly stopped and looked around at me, raising a suspicious
eyebrow. “Why you asking about that?”

“No reason.” I shrugged. “Just been thinking about him. You
know, wondering what he did to get sent up to prison.”

With a faint smile, he started on down the stairs. I followed.
“He was like me. Do whatever you can. Mostly he shrimped
and crabbed”

“That wouldn’t have put him in prison.”

Rouly’s eyes glittered in amusement. “You be right there, Boudreaux. Shrimping and crabbing won’t put no one in prison, but
stealing cars sure do”

“What did he do when he got back here on parole? I mean,
usually there’s a job waiting for parolees.”

“He had a job with T-Ball at his horse farm”

T-Ball! That was interesting. “What did he do there?”

At the base of the stairs, Rouly cut across the yard to his battered 1949 pickup. “He never got a chance. He was killed two
days after he come back.”