Night Magic (33 page)

*****

"My Lord, but ain't dis here a mess." Sheriff
Triche heaved a deep sigh as he watched his men help the ambulance
attendants unload the bulky body bag from the green sheriff's
department boat onto the cypress planks of the boat launch.

Gloomy faces, voices low murmuring
speculations, men and women stood in a ragged circle observing the
grisly procedures as the coroner moved with deliberation through
his routine.

"What you say, Doc Vidrine?" Sheriff Triche
wiped his face with a large striped handkerchief.

"He's dead alright." Doc Vidrine stood erect
with a grunt. His straight forward statement was not meant as a
joke.

"How long?"

"Hard to say right off. Looks like he's been
in the water for at least six hours, maybe longer. This is going be
something else when it gets out."

"Maybe it ain't him. I mean all bloated up
like that."

"Maybe not, but even in his condition I'm
fairly sure who it is. Face it, Joe. You got one hot potato on your
hands. If it isn't him, then he's got a twin brother."

"Well, maybe he drowned accidentally."
Sheriff Triche grasped at straws.

"He went fishing in an eight hundred dollar
suit? If he drowned, it wasn't connected to any accident."

Sheriff Triche sucked air through his teeth.
He was aggravated with the doctor for not allowing him at least a
momentary delusion this was no murder.

"You through out here?" Sheriff Triche waved
for the men to move the body at Doc Vidrine's affirmative nod.

"I'll head back to get set up for the
autopsy. Have the state police crime scene boys get in touch with
me." Doc Vidrine marched quickly to his station wagon.

"Clyde, get on the radio and tell Myrtle I'm
gone pick her up on the way."

*****

"You alright, ma'am?" Sheriff Triche grew
uneasy watching Annadine. She hadn’t reacted at all the way he had
expected. He motioned for the female deputy to come forward.

"Hmm."

"Did you understand me, Miz Trosclair?"
Sheriff Triche said.

"Yes, of course. Claude is dead. Rhodes."
Annadine's eyes seemed out of focus.

"Pardon me?"

"Rhodes. They have been handling the
Trosclair funerals for over a hundred years. I suppose we should
call the proprietor, Mr. Harrison Rhodes. Very nice family you
know."

"Yes, ma'am." Sheriff Triche looked to Myrtle
for help.

"Everything has to be done just right. Claude
would be furious if it wasn't, you know."

"Why don't we call some of your family
first." Deputy Myrtle Arceneaux spoke softly but with a firm
efficiency that reassured.

"Where is Mr. Quentin, ma'am?" Sheriff Triche
began to examine the room with a sweeping gaze.

"Grandmother, what is going on? There's a
sheriff's car in our driveway." Quentin strode in seeming more
annoyed at an intrusion than concerned.

"We just had to give your grandmother some
bad news, son. Mr. Claude--"

"He's dead, Quentin. They found your
grandfather dead. Dead, dead, dead." Annadine voice started out as
a shrill laugh then ended in a high pitched wail. The housekeeper,
Louise, moved to help Deputy Arceneaux lead her from the room. The
wailing continued up the stairs.

"My God, is this true?" Quentin blinked
rapidly.

"'Fraid so."

"I need a drink. Will you-- of course not.
You're on duty. This is horrendous There must be some
mistake."Quentin carefully prepared his drink.

"Well, he still had his gold credit card in
the inside pocket of his coat. 'Course we do need a family member
to come down to confirm the identification. With Miz Trosclair in
the state she in it would be best if you handled that."

"Is it really necessary? I mean can't you use
dental records or fingerprints. Such a gruesome task." Quentin
sipped at his drink frowning in distaste.

"It's procedure. And you gone hafta sign some
papers."

"Oh all right. If you're going to insist on
following the rules to the letter."

"You ain't asked for no details." Sheriff
Triche stood in a relaxed pose gazing at Quentin thoughtfully.

"Excuse me?"

"You ain't ask me how he died, or where he
was. Folks usually ask them questions. Neither one of y'all
did."

"I just assumed it was something natural, you
know at his age.... A heart attack I suppose?" Quentin set his
glass down on the antique bar and poured another drink from the
tall pitcher.

"No, most likely he was murdered," Sheriff
Triche said.

"What? Well, I repeatedly warned him about
being out alone late, but he was stubborn. Naturally he carried
very little cash. But criminals kill for pocket change these days."
Quentin took a long drink from the glass. He glanced quickly at the
Sheriff, who was eyeing him curiously. "I want the scum found,
prosecuted, and given the death penalty!" Quentin said
forcefully.

"We gone do everything to catch who did it,
that's for sure."

"I'm sorry, Sheriff. It's just that this is
such a terrible shock to me. My grandfather and I were close. But,
I have to pull myself together and put aside my grief. My
grandmother needs me." Quentin squared his shoulders to show his
determination.

"You right, she gone need you to lean on. By
the way, why didn't y'all report Mr. Trosclair as missin'?"

"Missing?" Quentin blinked rapidly as though
trying to understand.

"From what Doc Vidrine says, he had to been
gone all night. We ain't had no call from Miz Trosclair or you."
Sheriff Triche raised an eyebrow at him.

"Well, uh, I spent the night with a...
friend. You understand?" Quentin flashed a half smile that said
they were two men of the world.

"But what about your grandmother? She was
here."

"They have separate bedrooms, Sheriff. It
wasn't unusual for him to come in late and leave early without her
knowing." Quentin became serious again. "Now I want to be kept
informed of your investigation. Leave no stone unturned as they
say."

"That I can guarantee, Mr. Quentin." Sheriff
Triche clapped him on the shoulder a little too heartily. "Now,
let's go on into town an' get this over with."

*****

News of Claude Trosclair's death sent waves
of shock and dread throughout Beau Chene. Beau Chene took on a
circus atmosphere when hordes of reporters descended on the town.
Cameras were pointed at anyone entering the old brick building that
housed the Sheriff's office. Microphones were thrust into the faces
of even those remote from the investigation. Big River and the
controversy surrounding it were referred to, with several reporters
speculating if animosity generated by it might have led to the
murder.

"Sources tell us that you were questioned
within days of the body being found, is that so Mr. St. Julien?" A
newspaper reporter scurried to keep up, pen in hand poised over a
note pad.

"Sure, so was a lot of us what knew the
man."

"Some have said that this murder isn't
surprising given the rancor that Claude Trosclair caused by opening
the plant so close by your community. Were feelings running that
high that someone could kill?"

"Big River was only the latest thing he done
to get folks upset. Anyways, the court ruled against him and his
big company. We was feelin' good 'bout that."

"So, you're saying that he could have been
killed for any number of reasons. You and your group had more than
one dispute with him then?" The reporter pounced on the implication
of long standing hostility.

"I'm sayin' that you gettin' desperate. You
tryin’ to whip anythin' I say into a big story for your newspaper
since ain't nothin' much new been found out. Now, I'm busy."
Antoine brushed him aside to enter the shop.

"One more question." The reporter started
after him into the shop.

"I said I'm busy." Antoine blocked his way.
His shoulders relaxed only after the reporter was at a
distance.

"Man! This place is crawlin' with the media,
Mr. Antoine. One of them was waiting for me after school, askin' me
stuff about you and Miz Savannah." T-Leon stood at the window
looking up and down the street. "But I didn't tell him
nuthin'."

"I know, son. If they bother you too much
just tell 'em to get lost." Antoine busied himself behind the
counter.

"Hi, T-Leon. Poppy." Savannah kissed
Antoine's cheek. "Now that you've got your license you can make
deliveries, T-Leon. These gift baskets are for the Mackey Insurance
Company. You don't mind taking them over in the truck, do you?"
Savannah held the keys up and jingled them enticingly. With the
shop doing so well, they had bought a small blue pick-up with
sporty red stripes along the sides.

"Hey, I think I can work it into my schedule
for today." T-Leon grinned as he took the keys. With all the speed
of a teenager eager to hit the road, he loaded up the twelve
baskets and was on his way.

"How much you wanna bet he gone go the long
way until he find some of his friends to see him drivin' that
truck?" Antoine chuckled.

"Yeah, preferably females." Savannah's face
became serious. "Sheriff Triche asked me to stop over to his
office, Poppy. He wants to ask me some questions."

"He doin' that with a whole lot of folks,
cher. Ain't no need to worry."

"I'm not, but he said something odd though.
He said he wanted to know more about Paul."

"Why he askin' you 'bout Paul I wonder?"

"I don't know. I mean, Paul had left town
when all this happened. Besides, he was on good terms with
Trosclair. Too good."

"Well, tell him that. Look, I guess he tryin'
to get as much information as he can. Talk is, he ain't got no
solid leads yet," Antoine said.

"They say it wasn't robbery because he was
still wearing his expensive watch, gold wedding ring, a diamond
class ring, and had a credit card still in his pocket. So, if it
wasn't robbery, then somebody killed him out of hatred."

"Cher, that's gone be a long list of folks
they hafta question to figure out which one did it," Antoine
snorted.

"Good afternoon." Gralin came in.

"How you doin'? Anything new with the case?"
Antoine shook his hand.

"Batton Chemical requested a continuance
under the circumstances. Judge Duplessis granted it today. It’ll
probably be another two or three months before the hearing is held.
A friend of mine says there's a rumor that Trosclair was dead
before he went into the water. A blow to the back of his neck
killed."

The bell over the door tinkled causing all
three to turn. Charice put her book bag down on the floor spilling
out crayons everywhere.

"Shoot, I've got to get this thing organized.
I bet y'all talking about the murder. Listen, Florrie Tillman's
cousin Clyde works down at the jail, and he told her that the old
man was stabbed over fifty times." She talked while gathering
crayons from corners and underneath displays.

"Wasn't somebody in here yesterday saying he
was strangled?" Savannah turned to her father.

"To tell you the truth, I done heard so many
different tales I stopped listenin'. Until Sheriff Triche release
it to the papers, don't believe nothin' nobody tell you." Antoine
shook his head.

"And why is he being so secretive? Maybe he's
got a suspect and doesn't want him to know how much they know.
Wants to lull him into a sense of security," Charice said, eyes
bright with excitement.

"I've got a chance to find out soon. Sheriff
Triche is going to question me." Savannah folded her arms.

"When? Can I come? Oh please." Charice
dropped some of the crayons she still held.

"Be glad he's not going to shine a white
light in your face. In fact, you can go in my place if you
want."

"They don't do that anymore. Fine, just tell
me everything," Charice pouted.

"I'm supposed to go over there tomorrow
myself. Don't let it bother you, Savannah." Gralin tried to be
encouraging.

"I'll be glad when this whole thing is over.
With the tension over the Big River verdict and now murder, this
town won't be the same for a long time. Everybody is wondering if
someone they know is a killer," Savannah said.

"Yep, it's gone be a long, hot summer by the
looks of it." Antoine stared out of the shop window.

*****

"Routine, Miz Savannah. Just routine. Have a
seat." Sheriff Triche beckoned to a deputy to join them. "Lonnie is
gonna take down your statement."

"Hello, ma'am." Lonnie stood near the door, a
large note pad in hand.

"Now, then. You knew Claude Trosclair?"
Sheriff Triche rocked back in the old swivel chair behind his desk.
Papers were piled everywhere.

"Certainly. Who didn't? We weren't exactly in
the same social circles, you know. It would be more accurate to say
that I knew of him." Savannah pressed her lips together. She was
trying not to sound defensive.

"Where were you on the evenin' of May
12th?"

"I was at the shop as usual. Stayed there
until about seven then went home. I was there the rest of the
night."

"You with anybody can say the same?"

"My Tante Marie was there. Oh, and Uncle Coy
came by at about eight thirty to bring her some eggs his chickens
had laid. Tante Marie bakes a lot, especially now that she sells
her cakes and cookies at the shop."

"Sure enough, an' some fine tastin' food for
sure. I done had my share, shows don't it?" Sheriff Triche patted
his round mid-section with a grin. "When did you last see Mr.
Trosclair?" He was back to business.

"At court that day when the verdict came
down. Let's see, April 27th, a Tuesday I think."

"Not since then?"

"No."

"And Paul Honorè, was he there?"

"Yes of course. He was with Mr. Trosclair and
his people." Savannah watched him closely.