Night Magic (34 page)

"How much do you know 'bout him? Paul Honorè
I mean."

"He's from Crowley but now he lives in
Lafayette. That's where he has his business. His family still lives
there. Why are you asking me questions about Paul?"

"Some information need clearing up on him. He
out of the country, you know. So I'm havin' to ask other folks
'bout him. Y'all was kinda friendly, I hear."

"Yes, Sheriff, we were dating for a while if
that's what you're getting at."

"Uh-huh. Did he ever talk 'bout Claude, Mr.
Trosclair, to you? Mention they had any disagreements?"

"He didn't talk about him a whole lot, but he
never mentioned that they weren't on good terms. In fact, he was
impressed with how sincere he was about making the plant safe. We
even had a couple of arguments because I thought he was being
naive."

"Any reason Paul Honorè would leave town so
sudden then head outta the country?" Sheriff Triche sat
straight.

"I have no idea," Savannah answered quickly.
She looked down at her hands.

"You ain't keepin' somethin' from me,
ma'am?"

"No, I'm not. Look, why don't you ask him why
he left? I'm sure his partner can tell you how to get in touch with
him."

"He didn't have a big fight with somebody
maybe, right before he left? Don't seem likely he wouldn't tell
you, y'all bein' so close an' all."

"Look, if you must know we broke up the same
day of the verdict. He would hardly have confided in me after
that." Savannah's eyes flashed with anger at the memory of Paul's
last words to her that day.

"Oh, really? Well, that's all for now. Might
need you to come back later." Sheriff Triche stood up smiling.

"What is this all about, these questions
about Paul?" Savannah did not move from the green vinyl chair
facing his desk.

"Like I said, routine part of a murder
investigation."

"But you asked me as much about Paul as you
did about me. Sounds as though you have reason to think he's mixed
up in Trosclair’s murder."

"Thanks for comin', ma'am." Sheriff Triche
came around the desk. When the deputy opened the door, he led her
through it.

A few minutes later Savannah stood outside
the Sheriff's station squinting as much in troubled thought as
because of the dazzling sunlight.

*****

The cool interior of the hotel lobby was a
welcome change from the dry, searing heat that pulsated from inch
of sand out in the oil fields. The stench of burning oil and huge
chemical spills permeated even the elegant, filtered air here. Paul
headed straight for the elevators and a cool shower, eager to wash
away some of the grime that clung to his skin. Having been in
Kuwait for two weeks, he had gradually grown accustomed to the
heat, but the devastation left behind after the Gulf War still
affected him deeply. The economic, environmental, and public health
impact of the spills were staggering. Yet he admired the way the
international community had responded to the disaster. And the
methods being pioneered here would benefit the whole world. New,
safer technologies that could clean up some of the most toxic
substances and or even render them harmless were a common
occurrence. Paul threw himself into work. He made visiting sites,
meeting other engineers, and attending meetings all day everyday a
rigorous routine. He sought to fill up the time with activity and
his mind with business. But even long hours could not totally
banish thoughts of Savannah. He kept pushing her away, hoping the
memories would sink to the bottom of his mind. Yet she would bob
back to the surface thwarting his efforts to move on, to live
without her. As he had for many nights, he was again up late
dividing his attention between the satellite news stories from CNN
and technical books. At last he dozed off to the soft hum of the
voices coming from the television. He was startled awake by the
phone. The clock on the table next to his bed showed it was five in
the morning.

"Yes."

"I have a call for you from the United
States, is that Mr. Paul Honorè yes?" The voice of the operator
spoke in clipped English.

"Yes, it is." Paul's heart raced thinking of
his father. "Hello? Hello." Static hummed for a few seconds.

"Paul, it's Sam. Don't panic, your father is
okay. That's not why I called." Proving once again how well he knew
Paul and how sensitive he could be, Sam spoke quickly. His voice
boomed louder than necessary.

"You're coming through clearly, so stop
shouting. Now what's up?

"Man, it has hit the fan big time back here.
Are you sitting down? Claude Trosclair's been murdered. Hello!
Hello!" Sam began to shout again after long seconds of silence.

"I'm still here. Damn! Damn!," Paul blurted
out.

"That's not the worse part, the Sheriff and
state police investigators have been asking a lot of questions
about you. They even lifted some of your fingerprints from the
trailer you rented in Beau Chene."

"You mean I'm a suspect?"

"That's what it looks like, man. They say
you're wanted only for questioning, but my guess is you're high on
the list, maybe even at the top. I think you might do some
traveling. Visit Saudi Arabia, Bahrain. Say, I hear Turkey is
pretty calm and safe for Americans, especially us brothers."

"Sam, if you're suggesting that I run, the
answer is no. Besides making me look guilty as hell, it wouldn't
work anyway. Interpol would track me with no problem."

"Staying on the move to further your business
interests is what you'd be doing. How could you know they were
trying to get in touch with you? Listen, the embassy could be
sending someone to bring you a message as we speak. Book the next
thing moving out of there, my brother. Maybe they'll find out who
did it before you get dragged back here."

"Sam--"

"Do it, man. I've got LaMar Zeno looking in
to it for me. Give us the time we need to clear you." Sam's voice,
strained with the effort to convince his friend, sounded hoarse
with emotion.

"LaMar Zeno." Paul could picture the
flamboyant Black private detective dogging leads behind the state
police investigators. "Okay," Paul said, "But only for another
week, two at the most."

"Great. Two weeks tops, you got it." Sam blew
out a loud sight of relief. "Keep in touch, call me at home in say
three days."

*****

"What made you change your mind?" Trent, an
engineer with another company, sat next to Paul on the flight to
Jordan. He had invited Paul to accompany him on this trip twice and
met with refusal. "I thought you didn't have time for side
trips.""There are a couple of plants and factories of interest to
me. Besides, I could make some contacts." Paul stared out the
window deep in thought.

"Well, I'm glad for the company." Trent
said.

Paul smiled and nodded at all the right
places as Trent rattled off a list of sites they could visit in
Jordan. But he could not shake the feeling of being hunted, the
urge to look over his shoulder every five minutes. No matter what
Sam had said, this was a mistake. He seriously doubted he could
stand this for another two days, let alone two weeks.

Remembering the anxiety in his friend's
voice, he decided to give it a week. But no more. Whatever
happened, it would be better to face it sooner rather than
later.

Chapter 14

"What did he want?" Savannah met her father
at the door.

"Settle down, now. He was askin' me the same
questions all over again. When did I last see Claude Trosclair.
Where was I that night he got killed. Then he was askin' 'bout
Paul." Antoine paused, a puzzled frown on his face. "Didn't you say
he done the same with you a coupla days ago?"

"Yeah, and he never said why."

"Fact, he asked more questions 'bout him then
he did anythin' else. Now I think of it, seems like he was going
through the motions of repeating them other questions to get to the
real ones. Well, no tellin' how this thing gone turn out."

"Poppy, you don't think Sheriff Triche thinks
you did it?" Savannah finally worked up the courage to voice her
greatest fear.

"Nah, cher. Least ways, he ain't actin' like
it. I b'lieve he'd done had me in there a lot more if he did."
Antoine patted her head the way he had when she was a nervous
little girl.

Watching him amble into the kitchen for a
snack, Savannah prayed silently that he was right. The animosity
between her father and Claude was well known. Antoine's criticism
and dislike of the man were even recorded in newspaper stories. He
hadn’t been shy about speaking his mind during protests against the
Big River plant. Much of it criticism of Claude Trosclair. Savannah
sat in front of the television drumming her fingers on the easy
chair's arm."Humm, umm. You cookin' up somethin'. I can tell by
lookin' at you." Antoine joined her in the den. He sat on the sofa
balancing a bowl with Tante Marie's peach cobbler and a scoop of
vanilla ice cream on one knee.

"Not me." Savannah avoided looking at
him.

"You stay outta this, yeah."

"I'm not planning to do anything." Savannah
put on her best blank face.

"Yeah, now I know you got somethin' in mind
'cause you didn't even ask me what I was talkin' 'bout."

"I'm thinking about the shop, Poppy. Really."
Savannah smiled sweetly, yet all the while thinking of the best
time to visit Sheriff Triche. "T-Leon comes in at about three
o'clock tomorrow, right?"

*****

"I certainly hope this isn't going to take
long, Kyle." Quentin did not bother to look up at Singleton as he
sat in the chair opposite his desk.

"Oh, I don't think so. Took hardly any time
to make yourself at home in Claude’s office." Kyle waved a hand at
the expensive redecorating that had been done in the two weeks
since Claude's death.

"Change, Kyle. It's a part of life." Quentin
sat back in the new forest green leather executive chair.

"Yes, things have certainly changed. You've
taken the reins and made some changes, big changes. Claude must be
spinning in his grave." Singleton brushed lint from his expensive
pant leg.

"We saw things differently. My grandfather
had limited vision, Kyle. He couldn't see the possibilities of
taking this company beyond the usual boundaries." Quentin regarded
Kyle with a steady gaze, as if measuring him by the same yardstick
and finding him to be the same.

"And you do I suppose." Kyle did not appear
the least bit offended by Quentin's condescending tone.

"I do," Quentin said curtly.

"Those plans with Megatron International are
a big risk, Claude and I had decided it wasn't worth it."

"Megatron is on the cutting edge of a whole
new way to process a host of waste products for dozens of uses in
industry. The potential for us, if we get in on the ground floor,
is enormous. It could well take this company into making billions,"
Quentin spoke forcefully.

"What about the fines from Big River? The
hearing could well result in taking us to the brink of bankruptcy."
Kyle's eyebrows went up.

"Clayton and Martin don't think it will come
to that. Besides, Big River is a legally separate division. Batton
Holding Corporation could survive relatively intact." Quentin,
still as relaxed and confident, shrugged dismissing the fines.

"Maybe, but back to Megatron. New technology
can be costly. Look at how the case against Big River turned out.
And the kiln process has more of a track record than some of what
Megatron plans to do. I think it's a bad move at this time."
Singleton studied his neatly manicured fingertips.

"I realize that you're accustomed to the way
grandfather did things. As I said, Batton Chemical is moving in a
new direction. Frankly, I sense that you don't exactly approve of
what I'm trying to do here." Quentin stared at him tight lipped for
several seconds. "I've had the accountants look over your benefit
and pension package, it's very generous. You could retire at a
relatively young age and live quite well." Quentin opened a side
drawer. He held up a brown file folder.

"I'm not interested in retiring. Besides, I
still have so much to contribute to this company." Singleton smiled
at him.

"The deal with Megatron will go through. I
need a president who is solidly behind me, Kyle. You've been an
asset to this company for close to twenty years, but it's time for
you to move on. I want our parting to be congenial. Take the
offer." Quentin pushed the folder across the desk to him.

"I don't think so, Quentin. I could benefit
more by remaining."

"Not if you end up being fired. This way you
could leave with dignity, and much more money. Be smart and take
it." Quentin's mouth twisted into an anything but friendly
smile.

"Oh I won't be fired. You need me." Singleton
pushed the folder back still smiling at him.

"Hardly." Quentin sneered at him.

"Yes, you do. After I explain a few things,
you'll agree. Remember the last meeting Claude had with Martin and
the rest of us after the verdict? He wanted the accountants to do a
comprehensive audit of everything, not just Big River Plant and
it's division. Well, I noticed how nervous that made you."
Singleton nodded with satisfaction at the effect his words had on
him. "Oh, yes. You see I didn't get this far without keeping my
eyes open. It's one of the things Claude especially valued about
me. Anyway, I decided to do a little checking on my own. You didn't
know that I was considered an accounting whiz in my younger days,
did you? Another talent Claude recognized when he decided to hire
me. These new financial software applications are amazing. Why
twenty years ago it would have taken me weeks, months even, to
discover your-- how can I put this delicately, creative rearranging
of company finances."