Under the Cajun Moon (9 page)

“No. He just said that he loves Paradise so much he wants to own it for himself, even if it means risking the treasure. After we hung up, I thought about it some more and finally decided that maybe he’s ready to retire and wants to build a house down there or something. That was the only explanation I could think of.”

“Are you kidding? My mother would die before she’d let that happen. She’ll never live anywhere except New Orleans.”

“Well, whatever your father’s reason for the about-face, he was excited about it. He wasn’t resentful at all.”

“Knowing him, he probably found more buried treasure there or something and wants to buy the land so he won’t have to split this one fifty-fifty or fight over how to deal with it.”

“I doubt it, for two reasons. First, that land has been gone over with a fine-tooth comb many times since the treasure was found in the hopes of discovering more, all to no avail. Nothing else is out there. More important, the laws are designed to protect the seller in situations like this. Even if your dad bought the land and then found more treasure, for a certain number of years half would still revert back to Naquin even though he didn’t own the land anymore.”

“Okay, tell me about Naquin. What was his reaction when you told him my father’s offer?”

“Unfortunately, Alphonse Naquin is out of town on a fishing trip and can’t be reached. He doesn’t know yet.”

“I bet he’ll be shocked when he finds out.”

“Are you kidding? To my knowledge, no one has ever won a battle of wills against Julian Ledet. I’d say Naquin is going to be dumbfounded.”

It occurred to me that if Naquin was currently out of town, my father’s urgency in completing this transaction was moot. I said as much to Kevin.

“I know. But once I do find Naquin, having the signed contracts with me will definitely speed things along. Your dad wants me to hurry, and the best way I know how to do that is to handle this end of things first.”

I asked to see the contract I had come to sign. Reading it through, it seemed fairly standard to me. I was no lawyer, but I had been involved with enough business transactions to be familiar with the paperwork.

“Is there any reason I shouldn’t sign this?” I asked, looking up at Kevin.

“Not really,” he replied. “Although, now that your father’s been shot, and he left your mother that strange message, I would understand if you feel you need more information first.”

“Maybe I can help with that,” a deep voice suddenly said from the doorway.

Kevin and I both looked up, startled. It was Sam, my father’s closest friend and one of the brightest spots in my whole life.

“Sam!”

As I rose from the table, I realized he looked older than when I’d seen him last. The hair at his temples was grayer, the line of his posture more stooped.

“Hi, baby,” Sam replied, the smooth brown skin of his face crinkling into a smile as he opened his arms. I moved around the table to rush into them, thinking that on this difficult day it was about time that someone somewhere gave me a big hug.

Sam was there, and he always made everything all right.

“Sam,” I whispered now, still sitting on the couch in the empty hotel room, my long fingernails shorn, my heart suddenly aching with fear.

If Sam had been there last night, where was he now? Was he okay? If so, could he explain what was going on? My cell phone was in my purse
in the room next door, so I grabbed the telephone on the table next to me and, without asking for permission from my guard, dialed nine and then the number of Sam’s apartment. There was no answer, so when it went to the machine I simply left a message saying it was Chloe and that I was at the Maison Chartres hotel and needed him to come right away if he could. I wasn’t sure where on Chartres Street we were, but given that Sam’s apartment was between Royal and Bourbon, it shouldn’t take him long to get here once he got the message.
If
he got the message.

Hanging up, I knew Sam also had a cell phone, but I had never committed that number to memory. I had programmed it into my cell a few years ago, but it wouldn’t have mattered now anyway, I realized, as the cop was glaring at me sternly and telling me to stay off of the phone.

“I need to call my mother,” I protested. “I need to find out about my father.”

“Not right now. Maybe later.”

What was I going to do? Where was Sam? Had I really killed Kevin?

Before I had a chance to go back again to the events of last night, Detective Walters suddenly entered the room, sat across from me again, and apologized for taking so long.

“Have you been able to remember anything else about last night, Ms. Ledet?” he asked, pulling out his pen and holding it poised above his notepad. The expression on his face was one of benign interest. Though he obviously thought I was a murderer, he was doing a good job of making it look as though he was giving me the benefit of the doubt for now.

“Yes, I have remembered some,” I said slowly, wondering how much to tell him. If I started spouting off about buried treasure, he would surely think I was crazy. On the other hand, my only defense was the truth. Crazy or not, I had no choice but to tell him all that I had been able to recall thus far. My father and Mr. Naquin might not appreciate my giving away the information about their secret treasure, but the more fully I could explain, the better chance I had that Detective Walters might actually believe me—no matter how incredible my story sounded.

Slowly, I explained everything I had managed to remember thus far.
As I did, it almost looked as if the detective was starting to believe the incredible tale of how I had come to town to see my father, stopped first at the restaurant to meet with his lawyer and sign some papers, and ended up learning about a secret family treasure.

He listened intently, making notes and interrupting me frequently for clarification. I ended what there was of my story by saying I felt sure at some point last night I had been given a drug that had rendered me unconscious—and I had remained that way until the police banged on my door this morning. I said I had no idea how Kevin had ended up here as well, dead no less, or why I might have scratched his face. But I suggested that they draw some of my blood so that we could find out what drug I had been given. For that matter, they should test Kevin’s too, I said. Perhaps both of us had been under the influence of some substance—one that had rendered me unconscious and killed Kevin. That wouldn’t explain why I had scratched his face, but it might help us start piecing this puzzle together.

The detective called in a technician, who donned a pair of rubber gloves, pulled out the necessary supplies, and promptly took a vial of blood from my veins. As he finished and walked away, I wondered if it might be time for me to get myself a lawyer.

“Let me get this straight,” the detective said, using the phrase he had already uttered about fifteen times since I started my story. “You don’t remember when or where it happened, but you believe that last night you were administered a twilight drug?”

“Yes…a twilight drug. Isn’t that what they call the stuff that knocks you out and erases your memory?”

He nodded.

“That’s it. I feel sure of it. I was given a twilight drug.”

There was still more of the memory to recover, of course, and I couldn’t know what lurked in the fog at the back of my brain, but at least I had been able to recall some of what had happened. Now I just needed to think more about Sam, about what had happened after he arrived. I said as much to the detective.

“Okay, well, why don’t you think on that while I go check a few more
things,” he replied. Without another word, he got up and left the room, tucking pen and paper back into his pocket.

Closing my eyes, I again leaned back against the couch and rested my head. Sam. What had happened last night with Sam?

At the restaurant, I remembered embracing him and thinking how thin he felt. He had always been a wiry sort, but now he felt positively skeletal. We pulled apart, and for some reason, just the sight of my old friend caused my eyes to fill with tears. Blinking them away, I invited him to sit down with us and asked him how he was holding up. He and Kevin shook hands and exchanged greetings as I returned to my seat.

“I’m hanging in there,” Sam had said as he pulled out a chair, “but I feel like I’ve aged ten years in the last couple of hours. I’ve been running around like crazy ever since your mother called me and told me your father had been shot.”

“Do you have the details of what happened?” Kevin asked.

“Yes, please tell us what you know,” I said.

Sam nodded, placing the tips of his fingers together and bouncing them against his chin in a familiar gesture of contemplation. He began to explain, but most of what he told us we already knew, that my father had been down at Paradise when he had been shot earlier today, probably around noon. As soon as it happened, my injured father had called my mother, but she was at the spa and had her cell phone turned off. Unable to reach her, he had hung up and tried the house, finally leaving a message for her there, telling her what happened and for her to rush this whole contract through as quickly as possible. Apparently, once he left that message, he hung up and dialed 911 for help. He was still alive but unconscious by the time the paramedics found him.

“Excuse me, would you folks like something else to drink?” Graze had suddenly interrupted from the doorway. “Hey, Sam. I’m sorry, but I didn’t see you come in. Would you like a brandy or something?”

Sam turned around toward the bartender, who was holding a tray of small glasses filled with a bright red liquid.

“What have you got there, Sazeracs?”

“Yeah, these are for the party outside. You want one?”

“Gimme three and then give us some privacy, would you?”

“Yes, sir.”

Graze placed three of the red drinks in front of Sam, who grunted in frustration and said, “Not three for me, Graze. One for me and one for each of them.”

At times like that, Sam always reminded me of my father. Between the two of them, they managed to keep the staff on their toes. The big difference between them was that my father corrected with the intent to humiliate, while Sam corrected so the person would get it right the next time.

Not wanting a Sazerac, I ordered a cup of decaf coffee instead. After Graze was gone, I reached out and placed my pale hand on top of Sam’s dark one.

“Why don’t you take a deep breath? You’re scaring me. I’m afraid you’ll have a heart attack or something.”

Sam did as I suggested, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply. Next to me, Kevin finished his meal and then started on his Sazerac, sipping it contentedly. To me, though the drink may have been the signature cocktail of New Orleans, I always thought it most closely resembled cough syrup.

“Okay,” Sam said reaching for his glass and taking a long sip. “I’m okay.”

Considering his current state, I didn’t want to rush him. On the other hand, I really needed him to keep going with what he was saying.

“Your poor mama,” he finally continued. “She didn’t even know anything had happened to Julian until she got home from the spa about 1:00 p.m. and checked her messages. By then, your daddy had already been airlifted to Oschner’s.”

The timing made sense, given that my television show appearance had been from 1:00 to 2:00 p.m. While I was being grilled on live TV by Tony, my mother had arrived at home, heard my father’s message, and started trying to reach me soon after.

“Who shot him? How did the accident happen?” I asked, hoping Sam would confirm that it was indeed an accident and not intentional, as Kevin and I suspected.

Sam set his drink down and met my eyes.

“It was no accident, baby. Whoever shot your daddy, it sounds like they shot him on purpose.”

“We were afraid of that. But
why
, Sam? Why?”

“I wish I knew,” Sam said, looking from Kevin to me and back again. “He was calling from his cell phone when he left the message, so there’s a lot of static and skipped words and it’s hard to hear. You can sure make out that he’s been shot, though.”

“Wait a minute, I’m confused about something,” I said. “My father always told us that Paradise didn’t get cell phone reception at all. One of the things he always liked about it was that no one could ever bother him while he was down there. Now you’re telling me that he made not one but two calls from there this morning? What happened? Did a new cell tower go in or something?”

Kevin shook his head.

“No, he called from the marina a few miles away. That’s how I first knew he was so excited, because he had gotten in his boat and driven it all the way there just to contact me.”

I looked at Sam, who shrugged.

“When Julian left the message for your mama, he was somewhere out on the water, from what I understand. Anyway, your mama made a bunch of calls and finally learned that he had been found alive but unconscious. She wanted to go down to the hospital at Morgan City, but they told her they would only be stabilizing him there and then airlifting him up to New Orleans, so she drove to Oschner’s and waited for him there instead. She called me from the car to tell me about the message and asked me to go by the house and listen to it myself and see what I thought.”

“And?”

“And it was pretty garbled. I listened to it about ten times and finally gave up. I ended up bringing the tape to a friend who has professional sound equipment, and I’m hoping he can clear up the noise and let us hear what your daddy actually said. My friend didn’t know how long fixing the sound might take or how much he would be able to recover, but he said he’d do the best he could. After I dropped the tape off with him, I drove on
to the hospital so I could see your daddy and be with your mama. When I knew you were coming here, I thought I should come and tell you all this in person. Once we find out what else is on that tape, we’ll know a lot more about what happened.”

“I wish I could hear it.”

“Well, here. For right now you can look at this. I wrote down what I could make out from it.”

Sam dug in his pockets, finally retrieving a folded piece of paper and holding it out to me.