Baton Rouge Bingo (17 page)

“I was curious, was all,” Hope said with a slight shrug. “Wouldn’t you be?” She barked out a little laugh. “Your mom is great, you know. I always wondered what the deal with mine was…so I found out everything I could about her. My grandmother told me my mother never wanted to have anything to do with me, that she willingly gave up custody and never tried to see me.” She shook her head. “
None
of that was true, I found out by looking up the court records. It made me wonder what else wasn’t true. So I sent my mother an e-mail through the AFAR website. And she called me within two hours.” Her jaw set. “So my grandmother can go to hell. At least I got to meet her before—you know.” She choked up and wiped at her eyes with the heels of her hands.

“When was the last time you saw her?”

“Last weekend.” She sniffed. “I mean, I’d seen her a few times over the years—she always wanted me to go live with her, go to work with her and all, but AFAR—AFAR wasn’t for me. It was
her
cause, not mine, you know? I love animals—that’s why I majored in veterinary science, but I want to work for a zoo. I don’t see zoos as prisons. But she was always cool about it, which kind of surprised me. She called me this past weekend, wanted me to come out here and meet her. She always stayed here when she was in Louisiana.” Hope bit her lower lip. “My grandfather left this place to her—it’s hers. She really liked it here, said she felt closer to nature here than she did in a city.”

“You didn’t know about her plans regarding Mike?”

“Of course not!” She shook her head so hard I thought it might jar loose from her neck. “I still can’t believe she did that. She had to know the cops would figure out I was her daughter, and it wouldn’t look good for me.”

I didn’t feel like pointing out to her that her mother might not have cared about that. I know I wouldn’t have wanted to hear it if it were my mother.

“Anyway, so I came out here today because—” She paused and reached into her shorts pocket. “Mom gave me this when I came out here Sunday.” She held up a folded piece of yellowed paper with writing on it.

The missing diary page.

“May I see that?” I asked, my voice shaking a little bit. She nodded and handed it to me. I unfolded it, and sure enough, on the front side of the page was the writing I’d unencrypted in the diary itself.

But there was writing on the other side.

I cursed myself for being so stupid. It had never even crossed my mind there might also be writing on the other side of the page.

Huey will know where I put the box because it is buried only ten paces toward the lake from where we always went to shoot ducks. We always went by ourselves, so no one else will know.

Well,
that
wasn’t much help.

I said so, out loud.

“But I know where that is,” Hope replied.

I stared at her as Frank came up beside me. “That was Taylor on the phone—Dad’s come home, some of Rev Harper’s men dropped him off at the Devil’s Weed. He’s talking to the police now—he was taken by state troopers, he thought he was under arrest.”

Troy Dufresne.

“Where is the place they shot ducks, Hope?” I tried to keep my voice calm and cool. Frank gave me a look, but I shook my head slightly to let him know not to say anything further.

“I can show you,” Hope said, starting to walk off to the left of the cabin. “They never built a duck blind. My grandfather used to bring me out here when I was a little girl, when he went duck hunting.” She smiled, a little wistfully. “He told me it was the best place in all southwest Louisiana to shoot ducks and that his father used to bring him there when he was a little boy.” She shrugged. “I figured that was the same place his father would have brought Huey Long to hunt.”

It made sense, and I started walking after her, with Frank at my side. We’d reached the side of the cabin when we heard a car coming up the drive. “Were you expecting someone else?” I asked, and Hope shook her head. “Let’s get out of sight.”

“Inside the cabin,” Hope said, and we ran up the front steps and closed the front door behind us once we were inside. I peeked through the blinds in the now-dark living room and saw the battered old red Cavalier pull up and park right behind Hope’s car. Barney Fleming got out and leaned against the car, looked at his watch, and then started examining Hope’s car.

“Is there anything in there that would identify you?” I whispered, glad we’d decided to park the Jag behind the house. Not, of course, that it wouldn’t be found by anyone walking around the cabin, but at least it was out of sight for anyone driving up.

“My registration and insurance card are in the glove box,” Hope whispered back.

Fortunately, though, she’d apparently locked the doors, because Fleming tried opening them to no avail.

I could hear Frank mumbling into the phone and hoped that he was calling the cops—but not the Tangipahoa sheriff, that’s for sure.

And I heard the sound of another car coming up the driveway. Moments later, a Tangipahoa sheriff’s car pulled up, parking next to Fleming’s battered Cavalier. Donnie Ray himself got out, and he and Fleming started talking. They were too far away for me to hear what they were saying, but the argument was getting heated.

Until Donnie Ray pulled out his gun and shot Fleming twice in the chest.

I slammed my hand over Hope’s mouth as she started to scream, and when Fleming looked over at the house, I worried for a moment that he’d heard her. But then he grabbed Fleming by the hands and dragged him to the edge of the swamp water. He shoved the body in, giving it a strong kick to push it away from the shoreline, and the body drifted out a little way before it tangled in some reeds. He stood there for a moment, his hands on his hips, and then the water started thrashing around as an alligator materialized and wrestled Fleming’s body through the reeds into deeper water.

Had to give Donnie Ray some credit—that was one body that would probably be never found.

“I called Venus and told her what was going on,” Frank whispered, turning his phone to vibrate and slipping it into his pocket. “I don’t know what she’s going to do, though—don’t the state police fall under Dufresne’s jurisdiction, too?”

I shook my head. I honestly didn’t know—but even were it the case, I didn’t think every state cop was corrupt or willing to do something illegal.

Of course, we’d just witnessed Donnie Ray murdering Barney Fleming.

And that meant if he found out we were there, he’d have to kill us, too.

We needed to get the hell out of there.

“Ms. Porterie!” he suddenly yelled, walking toward the cabin. “You want to come out of there? I promise you, nothing’s going to happen to you! You know that Fleming killed your mama, right?”

I felt Hope stiffen beside me, and she started to walk toward the door. I grabbed her, whispering furiously, “What do you think you’re doing?”

“He doesn’t know you two are here,” she hissed back at me. “If I go out there, I can maybe distract him. Your car’s in back, right? Well, I’ll distract him and you two go get in your car and go for help.”

“I’ve already called for help,” Frank replied.

She shook off my hand and went out the front door.

“Hello,” she called. “What are you doing on my property?”

I gave Frank a little push. “You go for help, Frank. I’ll stay here and make sure he doesn’t hurt her.”

Frank didn’t say a word, just handed me his gun. “Shoot the bastard if it comes to that.” And he was gone, not making a sound as he slipped through the rest of the house.

I took the gun and made sure it was loaded, then eased the safety off. Hope still stood in the doorway right above the steps to the yard. Donnie Ray was walking slowly toward her.

“You say that man killed my mother?” Hope asked, defiance in her tone. “How do I know that for sure?”

“I was here,” Donnie Ray replied casually. “She had something we wanted, and when she wouldn’t give it to us, he shot her.” He sounded convincing, almost reasonable—if it weren’t for the fact I’d seen him shoot Barney in cold blood just minutes before and then feed his corpse to an alligator. “Turned out she didn’t have what we were looking for after all. I’m real sorry about your mama.”

“You mean the diary page?” she said, and I realized she’d taken it back from me after I’d read it.

He was practically salivating. “Do you have it?”

She held it out in front of her, beckoning him to come forward as the sound of another car coming up the driveway made them both turn to look. It was a black Lincoln town car, and it stopped without coming into the front yard of the cabin. The windows were tinted so I couldn’t see inside.

The driver’s door opened.

Troy Dufresne himself.

He wasn’t wearing a suit, the way I was used to always seeing him on television, but had on an LSU T-shirt and a pair of jeans. His hair was slicked back, and I had to give the man credit—he was good-looking, if completely untrustworthy. I also realized the way he’d parked the town car was blocking the driveway; there was no way Frank could get the Jag past it. I swore under my breath.

I didn’t have a clear shot at either Donnie Ray or Dufresne.

That’s when I heard it—the sound of an engine from behind the cabin. But it wasn’t the Jag—the engine was too loud and uneven to be the Jag. The Jag’s engine ran so quietly it barely purred. No, it sounded like a boat of some sort, coming up the bayou to the back of the cabin.
Who the fuck could that be?
I wondered, but Dufresne’s reaction was not what I expected. He ran back to the town car, jumped back in, and started backing down the driveway at a really high speed, which probably wasn’t very smart. Donnie Ray had a very sour look on his face—looked to me like maybe Dufresne was leaving him holding the bag.

Whatever was going on behind the house, Donnie Ray clearly wasn’t taking any chances. In one fluid motion he grabbed Hope, put his arm around her neck, and put his gun up to her forehead. All the color drained out of her face.

“Put down the gun and put your hands in the air!” a voice boomed through a bullhorn.

“Do I look stupid to you?” Donnie Ray shouted back. He was sweating now, big round circles of sweat under his arms.

There was a gunshot, and dust flew up right at Donnie Ray’s feet. Hope screamed, and Donnie Ray quickly tossed his gun to the ground, let go of her, and put his hands up. Several men in SWAT outfits came running around the building, and one of them retrieved Donnie Ray’s gun while another handcuffed him. I stepped out through the front door, after putting Frank’s gun down, and held my own hands up in the air.

My knees felt a little bit weak. It was all over—Dad was home, and if Donnie Ray was telling the truth, Veronica’s murderer was not only exposed, but Louisiana taxpayers would be saved the expense of his trial. We wouldn’t be so lucky with Donnie Ray, of course.

And I could hear him singing like a bird to the SWAT team man who’d handcuffed him—and every other word out of his mouth was “Dufresne.”

Frank came around the side of the house, a big grin on his face. “You can always count on the FBI,” he said to me with a wink. “Now let’s wrap this whole mess up and see if we can find the deduct box.”

I sighed in relief and leaned back against him. “Praise the Goddess,” I replied. “May they catch Dufresne real soon, too. I wonder if he’s going to try to make a break for it?”

“He’s a politician,” Frank replied grimly. “More like he’ll deny it all and hire a good lawyer. And you know how Louisiana voters love a good scoundrel.”

“Yeah,” I replied as one of the SWAT team guys came walking up to us. “We might always vote for ’em, but a jury always convicts them. That’s something to be proud of, don’t you think?”

“Scotty Bradley? Frank Sobieski?” the SWAT agent asked, taking off his helmet and smiling at us. He was a nice-looking man, maybe in his late forties. “I got some questions for you.”

“Ask away,” I replied. “Ask away.”

We never found the deduct box.

Either it was moved again at some point or Eugene Porterie took Huey Long duck hunting in a different place than he did his son, but we dug everywhere around the spot where Hope’s grandfather claimed was the right one to no avail. Hope has given permission to a team of archaeologists and historians to dig on the property, but so far no one has turned up the deduct box.

Troy Dufresne never admitted to wanting the deduct box. The legislature did demand his resignation, and the governor appointed someone to his office until there could be a special election. A lot of people want Storm to run for attorney general, and he is considering it. It amuses me no end to think that my brother could be a very powerful man in this state. As I told him, “No matter who you end up being, Storm, you’ll always be my asshole older brother.”

Saying this to him, of course, resulted in my getting head noogies. I don’t think he’ll ever completely grow up.

Dad didn’t seem any the worse for wear. Apparently Dufresne’s men fed him well and took really good care of him.

Taylor is still with us and has fallen in love with New Orleans. Like so many others before him, he never wants to leave. We’ve gotten him registered and enrolled at Tulane, and he’s still living in the upstairs apartment. We have moved all of Colin’s spy toys down to our floor, and I always knock before I enter his place—lesson learned.

He’s a great kid, really, and every day I grow more and more fond of him. My worries about being a bad role model for him were unfounded. He really can make me laugh, and he’s also teaching me all the things my computer and my smartphone can do.

They really are
smart
phones.

The Feds came down on AFAR like a ton of bricks. Diana Killeen and her cohorts are in jail, and I’m hoping they never get out.

And Mike of course is back in his habitat. The athletic department at LSU was so grateful to me and Taylor for getting him back for them—even though we really didn’t do anything—that they gave both of us a pair of football season tickets for life.

I’m looking forward to football season this year.

GEAUX TIGERS!