Delusion (30 page)

“Hadn’t thought of that,” Pirate said.

“Any names come to mind?”

Did the chief already know about Lee Ann? Was his knowing necessarily a bad thing? Pirate couldn’t figure out the answers to those questions. But sharing information with a cop? How could that ever be right? “Nope,” Pirate said. “I’ll handle it myself.”

“Starting how?”

Pirate shifted in his seat. He wanted out, now. The gun was back on the chief’s leg, loosely held. “Interviews, I guess,” Pirate said.

“You’re going to conduct some interviews?”

“Yeah.”

“With who?”

“Not sure,” Pirate said. “Maybe I’ll make a list.”

“Maybe,” said the chief. The animal on the far side of the canal squealed again, a frightened sound abruptly cut off. Pirate’s fingers itched for the gold tassel. He took a deep breath to calm himself. The night reeked.

“If we’re all done here—” Pirate began.

“Shh,” said the chief, his voice quiet, like he was shushing a baby.

A long silence went by. Then something made a splash in the water.

“Who’d be on this interview list?” the chief said.

“Don’t know.”

“How about me—would I be on it?”

“Wouldn’t want to inconvenience you,” Pirate said.

“No inconvenience,” said the chief. “Want to interview me? How’s right now?”

“I’m not, um, prepared,” Pirate said.

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“Don’t be shy,” the chief said. “What’s the worst that can happen?”

Bullet in the head, oily water, going down. “Thanks for the offer,”

Pirate said. “How about a rain check?”

“Your call,” said the chief. “But I’m pretty sure you’ve got to be more aggressive to make it in the writing game.”

“I’ll try,” Pirate said.

The chief laughed. “This is a funny situation.”

“Yeah?” Pirate’s shirt was damp now, stuck to the seat back.

“Here I am telling you how to write your own book,” the chief said. “When all along I’m perfectly aware that you’re off to a flying start.”

“I am?”

“Sure,” said the chief. “Take your interview—that’s what it was, I get it now—your interview with my wife.”

“Interview with your wife?” said Pirate. “I don’t know what you’re—”

Pirate got surprised by the chief’s quickness for the second time.

Things came in the wrong order: first the pain across the left side of his face; then the blow itself from the heavy barrel, the sighting mechanism slicing through his skin; and finally the whoosh of air as the chief whipped the gun at him.

“Careful, now,” the chief said.

Pirate’s head filled with sound, like waves crashing on a beach. He touched his face, felt blood and sweat, all sticky together.

“The interview,” the chief said.

The tiny weapon: Would he leave it behind again? Never. But just the thought of it gave him strength. “You can call it an interview,” he said. “But she came to me.”

“And?”

Pirate shrugged. His head began to clear. “She was sorry about what happened. I told her not to worry about it.”

The chief gazed at him, just those two black pits, same color as the canal. “How did you put that? The exact words.”

“Just like I said—don’t worry about it. I forgive you.”

“You forgave her?”

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“Why not? It was . . .” What was the phrase she’d used? “It was in good faith.”

“What was?”

“The ID,” Pirate said. “Naturally she’s upset about it, kind of wanting to know how it happened and all.”

“And what did you have to say about that?”

“Not much,” Pirate said. “I told her mistakes happen.”

“That’s it? Mistakes happen?”

“Yup.”

“What about the tape?”

“Truth is I don’t know much about that. My lawyers are the experts.”

“So you didn’t pass on any theories to my wife?”

“Not a one. Asides from mistakes happen.” Then came a long silence, except for the tiny sound, audible only to someone with Pirate’s acute sense of hearing, of blood dripping off his face and onto his shirt.

“What I’m trying to tell you, Chief, is I just want to move on.”

More silence. The chief holstered the gun. “Sounds like the right move,” he said. “Two things to remember, Mr. DuPree. One—Belle Ville’s not the place for you. Two—the book’s not going to help you with moving on. Message clear?”

“Yup.”

The chief turned the key. “Get out,” he said.

Pirate got out. The cruiser turned, drove around the earthmover.

Not quite around: the brake lights came on, and the cruiser backed up, stopping beside Pirate.

The chief spoke out the driver’s-side window. “And there’s a third thing, so obvious it’s hardly worth saying.”

“What’s that?”

“If you see my wife again, talk to her, make contact in any way, I’ll kill you.”

It took thirty minutes or so for Pirate to walk back to the Ambassador Suites. In his room, he listened to the digital recording device.

The sound was first-rate, radio-station quality. He called Lee Ann.

“Sorry to wake you,” he said. “I’ve been doing some research on the book.”

C H A P T E R 27

Alone in her house all night: Nell hardly slept. And this house she’d always loved didn’t even seem like hers anymore. She went downstairs, looked out at the lap pool. A huge bullfrog sat at one end, the biggest she’d ever seen. His thick throat pulsed.

For some reason the sight of the frog made her ill. She threw up in the kitchen sink.

Nell called Yeller’s
Autobody, got a number for Joe Don, dialed it. Joe Don answered on the third ring, sounding sleepy.

“Nell Jarreau,” Nell said. “Is Norah there?”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Joe Don. “Hang on.” Then came muffled voices, Joe Don’s and Norah’s, before Joe Don returned to the line.

“Um, ma’am? She’s in the shower right now?” He was a bad liar.

“Okay,” Nell said. She waited for what should have followed:
Can
she call you back?
But it did not. “Tell her I’ll call later,” Nell said.

“Yeah, sure,” said Joe Don. “Good idea.”

This, her family
falling apart, was intolerable. Nell got in her car, drove out to Lake Versailles. The Bastiens’ compound, walled and gated, stood at the eastern end of the lake. The walls were high, overgrown with flowering vines; the gates were closed but swung open just as
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PETER ABRAHAMS

Nell arrived. Kirk was on his way out, at the wheel of a big SUV. He saw Nell, smiled, waved at the gateman to let her through. She followed the long gravel driveway to the end and parked beside Duke’s Porsche; no sign of Clay’s pickup.

There were two main houses on the compound—antebellum restorations, identical except that Kirk’s had more columns and an observation tower—several guesthouses, acres of lawn, the green so saturated it didn’t look real, and five or six boats down at the dock, lying still in the calm water. She walked up to Duke’s house, and was raising her hand to knock when her cell phone rang: Lee Ann.

“Hi,” Lee Ann said. “Got a moment?”

“Not really.”

“Maybe we can talk later. I just wanted to thank you for your help with Veronica Rice.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Whatever you told her did the trick,” Lee Ann said. “We had a very productive talk.”

“You did?” Nell said.

“Why the surprise?”

Because Nell didn’t think she’d done the trick at all; Veronica’s face had closed up and she’d started talking about the power structure. Nell was wondering whether to bother going into all that, when the door opened and Duke looked out.

“Maybe we can talk later,” Nell said.

“How about lunch?” Lee Ann said. “Foodie and Company, twelve-thirty?”

“Fine.”

“I’ve been making progress,” Lee Ann said. “Lots.”

“What kind of progress?”

“Tell you at lunch.”

Nell clicked off.

Duke was wearing a dark-blue silk robe decorated with crescent moons. He ran his hand through his hair and said, “Nell?”

“I’m looking for Clay,” she said.

“He’s gone to work.”

Nell’s gaze rose up the facade of the house. Pickup gone, and it
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was past the usual time for Clay to have left for work, so why should she doubt Duke’s word? Because: her family was falling apart.

“But you’re welcome to come in,” Duke said. “In fact, please do.” He opened the door wide. Nell went in. “Coffee?” Duke said.

“Breakfast?”

“Coffee, thanks.”

They went into the kitchen. A uniformed maid was at the stove.

“Tina,” Duke said. “Coffee for two in the breakfast room, please.

And maybe some of those beignets.”

“Right away,” said Tina.

“And a little fruit.”

“Yes, sir.”

Nell gave Tina a smile, but Tina didn’t seem to catch it. The idea of servants just didn’t sit well with Nell, even though some people she knew had them; she saw the fruit bowl on the counter, had to stop herself from carrying it into the breakfast room herself.

Duke’s breakfast room was at the end of a short corridor off the kitchen. On the way, Nell said, “How’s—” Deleting Vicki at the last instant, substituting “everything?”

“No complaints,” Duke said.

They sat at the table, a pink marble table with a vase of orchids in the center, maybe two or three dozen.

“These are lovely.”

Duke pointed out the picture window with his chin. Two young women were on the tennis court, hitting the ball hard. “Mindy likes orchids,” he said.

“Which one’s Mindy?”

Duke laughed. “The pretty one, of course.”

Nell tried to decide which was the pretty one. They both looked pretty—blond, tall, great bodies.

Duke helped her out. “Mindy’s in blue. The other one’s the pro—played for LSU a few years back.”

Making her—what? Twenty-six or -seven? “How old is Mindy?”

Nell said.

Duke laughed again, but said nothing. Tina arrived with coffee, beignets, fruit, yogurt.

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“Milk and sugar, ma’am?”

“Black’s fine.”

Duke had milk and sugar, lots of both. He stirred the cup, eyes on the tennis court. After Tina left the room, he said, “Not too many good marriages in this part of the world these days. That’s what’s so tough about all this—not just knowing both of you so well, but how your marriage was kind of an example to the rest of us.”

Her marriage was not something Nell wanted to discuss with Duke—or anyone, except for Clay. She sipped her coffee, gazed at Duke over the rim of the cup.

“He’s real upset, Nell,” Duke said. “I’ve never seen him like this.

Tell me what I can do.”

“What you can do, Duke? What does it have to do with you?”

Duke’s eyes shifted to her, then away. “That’s a little hurtful, you saying that.”

“I’m sorry,” Nell said. “But why?” Out on the court, the pro hit a ball that ticked the net cord and popped up over Mindy’s waiting racquet for a winner. Both women started laughing, as though it was the most hilarious sight ever. Nell wondered whether she’d be carefree like that again; maybe not quite like that, but at least carefree for her.

“For one thing,” Duke said, “I always thought you and I had a good relationship.” He smiled. “In fact, you’re the only woman—the only attractive woman—I can have a normal conversation with.

Because you’re out of bounds, if you see what I mean.” He tightened the knot on the belt of his robe.

“God,” Nell said. “It must wear you down.”

“The hormone flow, or whatever it is?” Duke said. “Not yet. Is wearing down inevitable?” He picked a strawberry from the bowl, bit off the pointy tip, looked thoughtful. “Clay’s not like me that way.

But you don’t need me to tell you that.”

“Tell me what?”

“That he’s a one-woman man.” Duke ate the rest of the strawberry.

“Even back in high school—he dated and everything, girls all over him, football hero, but he always had someone special in mind. And that turned out to be you. Which is why this, what’s happening now, is so disturbing. I want to do something, Nell. How can I help?”

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“Thanks,” Nell said. “It’s very kind. But there’s nothing you can do.”

“I’m a little surprised,” Duke said.

“Why?”

“I didn’t think you’d give up so easily.”

That annoyed her. “Who said anything about giving up? Why do you think I’m here? I want to talk to him.”

Duke showed no reaction to the change in her tone, maybe hadn’t noticed. “Point taken,” he said, reaching for another strawberry. “I’m surprised you’re not using every available resource, is what I should have said.”

“What resource are you talking about?”

“Me,” Duke said. “Clay and I are like brothers.”

“Wouldn’t that only make it harder for you?” Nell said. “Besides, you have a real brother.”

Now Duke’s face did show a reaction, creases appearing in his forehead, still peeling slightly from the Bahamian sun. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Nell actually wasn’t sure; the remark had almost made itself. “I was referring to Kirk, that’s all.”

“What about him?”

“Nothing. He’s your brother. Your real brother.” So you don’t need my husband for a brother? Is that what she was trying to tell him?

Duke gave her a long look. “The primary relationship is husband and wife—I get that,” he said; Duke was smart, almost in her head.

Down on the tennis court, Tina was bringing Mindy and her pro cold drinks on a silver tray. Mindy looked up, saw Duke watching, gave him a girlish little wave, identical to Vicki’s as far as Nell remembered. “I’ve got a proposition,” Duke said, waving back. “For you and Clay both.”

“What is it?”

Duke turned to her. At that moment a cloud passed over the sun, and Duke’s face changed, suddenly careworn; she saw how he would look in thirty years. “It’s all predicated on him taking this new job,” he said. “I thought I had him all persuaded, but he says you’re against it.”