Under the Cajun Moon (14 page)

“John Doe? The clerk didn’t think that was weird?”

“As long as his money’s green, I don’t think they care.”

The lawyer went on to say that there was also something suspicious about the phone call that had brought the police to the hotel this morning on a complaint of noise. Not only had no one else at the hotel heard any noise, but the call itself had come from a cell phone, not from a nearby hotel room. Incredibly, the cell phone in question belonged to Kevin Peralta himself.

“Not that Kevin called the police himself, of course. He was already dead at that point. But the call was made from his cell phone. We can use that to support our claim that someone set you up. I’m going to contend that whoever drugged you both and killed Peralta then stole his cell phone and used it to call the police, making sure they would discover the scene before you could have had time to wake up and spot the dead man on the couch and run away.”

“I would never have run away,” I said, appalled that he would even suggest such a thing. Had I woken up on my own, looked around in an attempt to figure out where I was, and discovered Kevin’s body, the very first thing I would have done was call the police. Offended, I moved on to my next question. “Any ideas yet on how the murderer got us into that hotel suite in the first place?”

“Witnesses at Ledet’s say that none of them saw the two of you leaving but that they did see Sam Underwood once you were gone. He told them that he had cleaned and closed up the private dining room you folks had been using so they didn’t need to worry about it. Then he left. They took—”

“Wait, what?”

As that fact sunk in—that Sam hadn’t been drugged as well—the lawyer repeated his words, finishing his sentence this time.

“They took him at his word, and no one else went into that room until the police got there today. Despite what Sam had said, it had not been cleaned.”

“Did they get our glasses, as evidence?”

“There were no glasses on the table, only plates and silverware and some dirty napkins.”

What had Sam done? How could he have gone off and left me there?

What was going on?

Feeling utterly lost and bereft, I tried to imagine Sam as a killer. No matter how I tried to frame it in my mind, it just didn’t compute. Sam was no killer.

Then again, neither was I.

“I know you don’t care, but I really am innocent,” I said.

“Of course. All my clients are innocent,” he replied, and then he turned and walked away, calling back to me that I should contact his secretary in the morning to set up an appointment for one day next week.

Taking a deep breath and trying hard to control my irritation, I decided to focus on the fact that I was free, for the time being at least. I hoped that would be one appointment I wouldn’t have to keep, as I was going to do whatever it took to prove my innocence and clear my name in the meantime.

Right now I just needed to find a way back to the hotel parking garage in the Quarter where I had left my rental car last night. Once I had my car back, the first stop would be the hospital. At some point, I also needed a hot shower and a change of clothes. After that I would regroup and try to figure out my next steps.

When I had been given back my purse and cell phone, I asked the woman at the pay window if she could give me the number of a local cab service. She told me I probably didn’t need to call anyone as a few cabs were usually lined up at the bottom of the courthouse steps.

I walked in the direction she indicated, my high heels clicking against the marble floor as I went. Stepping outside, I saw that there were, indeed, some cabs at the curb.

There were also several news vans and a cluster of reporters milling
around in front of them. I tried to duck back inside, but it was too late. They had seen me and were already making a mad rush up the wide stone steps.

Bursting into the building, the media people cornered me as a group, flinging questions at me and pointing microphones and cameras in my face. I was mortified, not just that my story had become news but also because I hadn’t even seen a mirror since waking up this morning. I could only imagine what my hair and face must look like, not to mention my wrinkled and dirty clothes.

Without answering any of their questions, I managed to push my way free, made it outside, and descended the steps as fast as I could as they clattered along behind me. As I neared the bottom, one guy jumped around in front of me, again blocking my way. Trying not to look like a deer caught in headlights, I mentally cursed my lawyer for abandoning me when he surely must have known this would happen.

“No comment, no comment.
Á ca oui!
Can’t you see the lady has no comment?”

Someone had swooped into the group from the side, and, with his back to me, began herding the reporters away. I couldn’t see who it was, only that it wasn’t my lawyer, nor was it Wade or Sam. It was someone much younger than any of them, much more physically fit. When he finally turned around toward me, I thought his face looked familiar, but I couldn’t place his name. About my same height and age, he was wearing Levis, a dark T-shirt, and a backwards-facing baseball cap.

Suddenly, he startled me by putting his hands on my upper arms and pulling me close so that he could whisper in my ear.

“See dat building ’cross the street?” he whispered in what sounded like a Cajun accent. “Go in through the front and out the back and get into the black truck that’s sitting in the parking lot. Keys are under the mat. Drive two blocks up Broad and pull into the Piggly Wiggly. I’ll meet you there
bien vite
.”

Feeling like an idiot, once he pulled away I just stood there, staring at him. I wasn’t about to get in the car of someone I didn’t know, especially not now, given all that had been happening. Still, he was willing to
handle the reporters for me, and I surely needed help there. He turned back around and again held out his arms to block them. Glancing at me over his shoulder, he seemed irritated that I was still frozen to the spot.

“Chloe!
Va-ten
!” he snapped, which I assumed meant “Get going.”

“Who are you?” I managed to reply. “As much as I appreciate your help, I don’t go places with strangers.”

“I’m not a stranger. I’m Travis Naquin, Alphonse’s grandson. Now go.
Depêche toi
!” Hurry up.

Travis Naquin? I remembered him now.

From the corner of my eye, I watched for a break in the rush hour traffic and then dashed across the street at the exact moment when I could make it safely across without anyone else being able to follow me. As I did, I could hear Travis calling after me.

“
Hé
, Chloe, bring me a bag of Zapp’s and some sweet tea when you come back out, would you?”

Given that I was walking into a minimart, I had to guess that he had said that for the reporters’ benefit. They would wait where they were, expecting me to return, only I wasn’t going to. Very clever. I had a feeling that in a few minutes Travis would say something like, “Let me go see what’s keeping that girl,” and pull the same stunt, slipping out the back and jogging up the road to our rendezvous point out of view from the courthouse.

I stepped inside the store, which was empty except for an Asian man behind the counter. He didn’t say a word but merely smiled and pointed toward a doorway. I went through it, down a hall, and out the back. Sure enough, a big black truck with mud-covered fenders was waiting just outside. It was unlocked and the keys were under the floor mat.

There was no question that this was the vehicle of a backwoods boy, a true Louisiana Cajun. Between the Popeye’s wrappers on the floor, the shotgun mounted in the rear window, and the fishing weights that littered the front seat, about all this vehicle lacked to make the image complete were alligator-skin floor mats.

As I gingerly climbed inside, I tried to remember what I knew of Travis Naquin. He and I were the same age and had actually gone out on a date
once when we were teenagers. I didn’t remember much about him, though I did recall that the date hadn’t worked out too well. I had no idea what he was doing here now, but if he had important information that could help me figure out what was going on, I was eager to speak with him.

Better yet, he could give me a ride back to my car in the French Quarter. Then I could retrieve it from the parking garage where it had spent the night and most of the day and drive as fast as possible to the hospital, where I hoped my father was still alive.

As I started up the truck and made my way onto Broad, I thought about the reporters and their frenzied attack. My sincere hope was that this story was going to remain local. Even though my father was an international celebrity, there was a chance that a scandal involving his daughter just might slip under the radar as long as the local affiliates didn’t make too big of a deal out of it. If the story went national, I couldn’t bear to consider what this whole thing might do to my business. Chloe Ledet was supposed to be the very epitome of refinement and good taste. Somehow, I didn’t think a first-degree-murder charge lent itself to that image. Even if I were proven innocent, my reputation would have been sullied forever.

I was still thinking about that when I almost overshot the store I was looking for. Turning quickly, I pulled into an end spot, turned off the car, and moved around to the passenger seat. As I did, I saw Travis coming toward me on the sidewalk, not a single reporter in sight.

“That wasn’t so hard,” he said as he climbed into the car. “I wonder how long they’ll wait around till they realize we’ve given them the slip.”

He settled into his seat, but instead of reaching for the ignition, he turned to face me, pulling off his baseball cap as he did and smoothing back his hair.

“Thank you so much for helping me out back there, Travis. Could you possibly give me a ride to my car in the French Quarter?”

“Sure, but I think we’ll have a better chance of a clean break if we sit here for a few minutes to let them realize we’re gone and take off as well.”

“All right.”

Except for the brown hair that was a little too shaggy, Travis Naquin was far better looking than I remembered.

“I can’t believe you didn’t know who I was,” he said, shaking his head, a dimpled smile revealing straight, white teeth. “I recognized you immediately.”

“It was just so out of context that it took me a minute. What are you doing here? Please tell me you’ve come on behalf of your grandfather, who sent you to explain everything to me, including who shot my father and who killed Kevin Peralta.”

“
Mais jamais,
I’m sorry to tell you but that’s not it. I haven’t seen my
grandpere
for a couple days. I came to town to try and find Sam Underwood. I’ve been looking for him all afternoon, but it’s like he’s disappeared off the face of the earth. I was about to give up and head home when I turned on the radio and heard them saying that you were being released. I was already on Canal and about to get on the interstate, so I just kept going straight and came here instead. I hope you don’t mind.”

“How did you know about the reporters?”

“I was out front a little while, waiting for you. I figured they were too. When I saw them racing up the stairs to get to you, I worked out a plan of escape. Sorry it took so long, but I had to move my car and make friends with the guy in the minimart first.”

“Well, thanks. I felt like a lamb at the slaughter.”

“Really? You looked cool as a cucumber. As always.”

I glanced at Travis, wondering if that was an “Ice Queen”-type dig or an attempt at a compliment, but from his expression I simply couldn’t tell.

“Anyway,” he added, “I know you had a heck of a day, but I’m hoping you might know where Sam is or help me find him.”

“How would I know where Sam is? I’ve been in police custody.”

“When I talked to him last night, he was heading to the Quarter to meet with you. It’s really important that I find him. I’ve got something he needs.”

“Did you try his apartment?”

“Calling on the phone and banging on the door, yes I did.”

“How about Ledet’s?” I asked. “He’s retired now, but from what I understand he still comes over for family meal every day.”

“Family meal?”

“That’s when the staff of a restaurant eats together before shift starts—not menu items, of course, but still good stuff, baked chicken, lasagna, things like that. Sam has an open invitation and he’s there almost every day. They didn’t say if he had come today?”

“Well, see, that’s the thing. Considering that your daddy’s in the hospital and you’re in jail for murder, the folks at Ledet’s aren’t saying anything to anybody about anything. They treated me like a
gui-gui ga ga
, in fact.”

“Gui-gui ga ga?”

“A nosy country bumpkin.”

“I’m sorry about that. They can be kind of snobby in there. It probably had less to do with the questions you were asking than the fact you came into the restaurant wearing jeans and a T-shirt.”

“Yeah, and a baseball cap to boot. Oh, well. I figured if anybody knows where Sam is, you would, either because he told you where he was going today or because you killed him last night and stashed the body.”

I glanced sharply at Travis, irritated to see that he was grinning.

“You think this is funny? I’ve been charged with first-degree murder.”

“Did you do it?”

“No!”

“I didn’t think so. See, that’s why it’s funny, because even though I haven’t seen you in probably fifteen years, I already know you’re the last person on earth who’d commit a crime, especially not a murder, especially not if that murder was a crime of passion.”

I thought about that for a moment.

“Are you saying I’m not capable of passion?” I asked cooly, trying to remember our long-ago date. Had he put the moves on me and I turned him down? I simply couldn’t recall how that particular evening had played out.

“
Mais non, cher
, just that you were always so prim and proper and worried about rules. Murder is the ultimate rule breaker, a massive disruption of the natural order of things. It’s one of the ten commandments, for goodness’ sake. I just couldn’t imagine such a major rule being broken by the same girl who once scolded me for speeding up to get through a
yellow traffic light and shamed me into giving back the extra fifty cents in change the guy at the movie theater had handed me by mistake. If you’re anything like you used to be, Chloe, you aren’t capable of murder.
Maigre tout,
you probably wouldn’t be capable of taking a video back to the store unless you’d rewound it first. Murder? No way. I’d stake my favorite hat on that.”