Low Tide (11 page)

“Let’s say we got him with just two kilos or so this time around,” Maggie said. “What kind of time might he be looking at?”

“I don’t know.” James shook his head and ran a hand through his sandy, thinning hair. “He’ll be classified a habitual felony offender. He’s got that second-degree felony arrest for coke back in…’09? He’ll be gone for a while.”

“Well, as far as this girl is concerned, the more immediate question is will he get bail,” Wyatt said. “Did you talk to her about that, Maggie?”

“No, I didn’t want to scare her,” Maggie said. “I’m going to bring it up to the ASA. Honestly, if he can’t give me at least some assurance that Alessi won’t get bail awaiting trial, I don’t want her to do this.”

“Well, but that’s not your choice,” James said with a shrug. “She’ll be coming to you with knowledge of felony activity.”

“I know,” Maggie said. “But she has nowhere to go.”

Wyatt threw his pen down on her desk. “These lost kids,” he snapped. “I don’t know how you people raise teenagers without taking some kind of medication.”

They all sighed and sat silent for a moment, then Wyatt looked at his watch.

“Did she tell you when she’d be calling?” he asked.

“No. Just some time today,” Maggie said.

“Well, Greggs, Peterson, and Lowicki are on duty tomorrow night and I’ve got Paulsen and Messer on stand-by,” James said. “We’ll get with SWAT once we know something definite, get some additional officers from PD, too.”

“Don’t forget me,” Wyatt said.

“I want to go, too,” Maggie said.

“You’re not narcotics anymore,” Wyatt said shortly.

“You’re not narcotics, either,” Maggie answered.

“I’m the Sheriff; I get to be whatever I want.”

“And she’s my informant,” Maggie said.

Wyatt sighed and stood up, stretched his impossibly long legs. “We can argue about this in the car,” he said. “Let’s go talk to the ASA.”

“Let me know what’s going on,” James said as he got up and headed for the door.

“I can go myself,” Maggie said, once he’d left.

“Well, you could, but since he has an appointment with
me
, he wouldn’t be available for
you
.” Wyatt stopped in her doorway and turned on her as she stumbled just short of running into his chest. “Besides, I’m planning on stopping at the soda fountain after and if you want ice cream, you will have to come with me.”

“Sometimes, I’m not even sure you’re a grown-up,” Maggie said.

“I might be able to help you with that,” he said, and walked out the door.

“I didn’t try this case, but I remember it,” Assistant State’s Attorney Patrick Boudreaux said. “And, of course, I’m familiar with Alessi.” He closed the manila file they’d brought him and leaned his elbows on his desk and folded his hands.

“So what is it that you need from me at this point?” he asked them.

Wyatt opened his mouth, but Maggie spoke first.

“I need to be able to give this girl assurance that her name’s going to be left out of it.”

Patrick shrugged his shoulders in his hundred-dollar shirt and Maggie thought about punching him. She only knew him in the course of work, but she’d never liked him. His dark hair was too perfect, his manicure too shiny, and he walked with the loose-limbed gait of a man convinced of his own attractiveness but trying to give the impression he never thought about it.

Additionally, Maggie found the persistence with which he pursued convictions conveniently inconsistent.

“If you bust these guys in the middle of a transaction, or even just holding that much meth, they’re going to go down with minimal testimony,” Boudreaux said. “She’s an informant. I see no reason to bring her into it.”

“What about bail?” Wyatt asked. “Any chance you can keep him locked up until trial?”

Patrick spread his palms and sighed, but a little too cheerfully for Maggie’s taste.

“Depends on the judge. If we get Carson or Newell, bail denied. If we get Anderson or
Ms.
Rillette it could go either way. But if I was his attorney, I’d advise him to plead guilty. In any event, most likely, he’ll be remanded to County until his trial.”

“Most likely,” Maggie repeated.

“Right,” Patrick said, as though to a child.

Wyatt stood up and Patrick handed him the file.

“Just keep me apprised and I’ll see what I can do,” Patrick said. “Meanwhile, I have a funeral to attend, unfortunately.”

They both looked at Maggie, who remained seated. She thought for a moment that it was just possible that Bennett Boudreaux would have made a better State’s Attorney than his son did.

“This girl’s taking a huge risk,” she said.

Patrick tossed her a condescending look. “I’d say she took that risk when she hooked up with him, didn’t she?”

Maggie opened her mouth to answer, but Wyatt put a hand on her shoulder.

“Well, Lt. Redmond and I have another appointment, so one of us will get back to you as soon as we hear something,” Wyatt said.

“I’ll talk to you then, Sheriff Hamilton.”

Maggie got up and nodded at Patrick as she followed Wyatt out.

“Mr. Boudreaux,” she said.

“Maggie,” he replied.

The Old Time Soda Fountain was located on a quaint block downtown, surrounded by gift shops, small art galleries, and seafood restaurants. Open since 1905, it had been Apalach’s favorite spot for ice cream for generations. Maggie and her Mom had come in for root beer floats or cherry Cokes many Saturdays when Maggie was young, and now Maggie brought her kids. Unless they were lactose-intolerant, every kid in Apalachicola had spent a good amount of time sitting at the old counter and shoveling in banana splits.

Wyatt and Maggie sat on one of the white benches outside. Wyatt had a double waffle cone, coffee and butter pecan. Maggie had a single scoop of pineapple sherbet.

“It must really rust Boudreaux’s bucket that his firstborn is such a Ken doll,” Wyatt said.

Maggie smiled at him and watched in wonder as he took a giant bite of his ice cream.

“You think he’s gay?” Wyatt asked.

“How would I know? Who cares?”

“Well, if he’s not, he should be.”

Maggie took a bite of her ice cream.

“I’ve always heard that he’s quite the ladies’ man,” she said.

“Yeah, well you’ve heard that about me, too and that’s not true, either.”

Maggie gave him a look, which he ignored.

“So, when we get back to the office, do some more looking at Barone. Let’s see exactly who we’re dealing with. Of course, we have no idea yet who
they’re
dealing with.”

“Okay,” Maggie said, looking at her watch. It was almost three.

Wyatt wiped his mouth with his napkin and stared at Maggie.

“You’re not done? Come on, we gotta go. I’ve got a meeting at four.”

Maggie followed Wyatt to his cruiser and climbed into the passenger seat. Wyatt watched her trying to buckle herself in with one hand while she held her cone in the other.

“Oh, for crying out loud,” he said.

He leaned over her and pushed her seat belt in. She wasn’t sure, but this might have been the closest they’d ever been physically. He smelled of salt and sun, coffee and Nautilus. She liked it, then felt bad for that.

He straightened up and started the cruiser, turned on the blessed AC.

“Don’t drip all over the seat; the county gets pissy.”

“I’m not,” she snapped.

They drove in silence for a few minutes, until they were on the bridge back to Eastpoint.

“So what are you doing later?” he asked her casually.

“Uh, my parents are having us over for barbecue and Scrabble. They just finished building a deck.”

“That sounds fun,” he said and she heard no sarcasm in his voice.

“What are you doing?”

“Not much,” he said. “I might go get a bite to eat. Or maybe just go home and watch baseball. The Bucs are playing, bless their hearts.”

“Why don’t you come with us?”

Maggie had said it before she’d thought it, and she was more surprised by the invitation than he was.

“To your Mom and Dad’s?”

“Well, yeah,” she said. “I mean, it’s no big deal. It’s not like I’m bringing you home to talk to my Dad.”

“I talk to your Dad all the time.”

That was true. Wyatt and Gray knew each other from plenty of Christmas parties and local events, and had even gone fishing once or twice.

“You know what I mean,” Maggie said.

“What you meant is neither here nor there,” he said. “I’d love to come, if you’re sure they won’t mind.”

“No, they’ll be glad I asked. They like you.”

“I’m very likable,” he said with a grin. “Are you sure they’ll have enough food?”

“For you? No, I’m not sure. You’d better stop and pick up some sandwiches or something.”

He gave her a look. “Do
you
have to come?”

B
ennett Boudreaux stood patiently near the flower-covered casket that was poised above the open grave. His face was perfectly sincere and solemn as he accepted handshakes, pats on the back and the occasional squeeze of his shoulder from the line of people that passed in front of the family.

To his left was his wife, Lily, occasionally dabbing at her eyeliner with one of his handkerchiefs. He wondered if it was good for her to be out in direct sunlight for so long. It seemed to him that it might melt or otherwise damage the Botox or seahorse blood or whatever it was she had injected into her face on a regular basis. He also wondered how much sense it made to pay thousands of dollars to preserve something that wasn’t that pleasing to begin with.

His younger son, Craig, stood on the other side of Lily, with his petite, blonde wife Ellie and their three kids. Patrick stood on Bennett’s right, checking his cell phone between condolences. It irritated Bennett; appearances were everything, and Patrick could at least give the appearance of having no place more important to be.

As Bennett shook the hand of his accountant and nodded his thanks, he noticed Brandon Wilmette a few people down, at the end of the line. Bennett managed not to grimace.