Kent Conwell - Tony Boudreaux 13 - The Diamonds of Ghost Bayou (18 page)

I considered serving myself a small portion of everything,
but that would be way too much, so I opted for scrambled eggs,
grits, gravy, and one biscuit.

Over an after-breakfast cup of coffee, Diane asked about our
plans for the day.

“Head back home,” I replied. “Soon as we can.”

She smiled with relief. “Good” Her smile grew shy. “I miss
that hardheaded husband of mine.”

Back in my room, I sat on the edge of the bed and booted up
my laptop and searched for a Wi-Fi connection to check my
e-mail. Eddie Dyson had finally found some information
concerning L. Q. Benoit’s cell mates. I stiffened upon reading
Eddie’s report. Benoit’s cell mates had been Billy Arsenault
from Alexandria; C. K. Judice from Charenton; and Paul Foret
from Monroe.

My heart thudded in my chest when I saw the name C. K.
Judice. Benoit had been one of his cell mates. Whether Judice
revealed the location of the diamonds to Benoit or not was up
for grabs, but at least the possibility now existed.

Pulling out my three-by-five note cards, I thumbed through
them to the information Sheriff Lacoutrue had provided. He had
given me four names: Billy Arsenault from Alexandria; Donald
Carson of New Orleans; Paul Foret from Monroe; and John Boneau from Branch. No C. K. Judice!

Pursing my lips thoughtfully, I leaned back and examined
the information on the screen, wondering about the difference
in the two lists. If I had to wager a bet on which of the two was
more accurate, I’d go with Eddie. He’s expensive, but his information has always been worth it.

Rising from the bed, I stared out the glass doors separating the small balcony from the bedroom. Why the discrepancy?

The jangling of the phone interrupted my thoughts.

Diane was ready. I quickly saved my information to the hard
drive and then the flash drive, which I stuck in my pocket.

We refueled at a convenience store on the west side of Lee
Circle on St. Charles before heading out later that morning. The
sun was a molten ball in a clear blue sky, so we left the top up to
take advantage of the air-conditioning.

1-10 as usual was under construction, forcing vehicles into a
few lanes, thus slowing traffic. After several minutes of thirtymile-per-hour boredom, traffic began to speed up, and soon we
were moving along well above the limit.

Some miles out, 1-10 spans the southern reaches of Lake Pontchartrain. A few boats, which appeared to be crabbers, bobbed
in the shallow waters near the shoreline.

Diane had called Jack before we left and was filling me in on
the details of their conversation. He was doing well, and the
doctors planned on releasing him the next day. She beamed at
me. “It’ll be so nice to have him back home.”

Before I could agree, the engine sputtered, then backfired
and died.

I exclaimed, “What the-?” The steering wheel almost froze.
I felt like I was driving a tank when I steered the Cadillac to the
narrow safety zone next to the concrete railing.

We rolled to a halt. For a moment, I just stared at the gauges.

To our left, trucks and cars whizzed by, each one rocking the
Cadillac as it blasted past. Diane gasped, “What happened?”

As a teenager, I’d worked on cars. Today? Forget it. I seldom
open the hood any longer. Whenever I do, I haven’t the remotest
idea what I’m observing other than tubes and wires going in
every direction. “Beats me.” I shoved the transmission into park
and tried to start the engine. Nothing, not even a tiny click. I
leaned back and muttered a curse.

With a trace of alarm, Diane spoke up. “Tony! What are we
going to do?”

“We’re going to call for help, that’s what,” I replied, pulling
out my cell. I muttered a curse. “No signal.”

“Now what?”

“Try yours.”

She did, with the same result.

I pointed down the interstate. “There’s an emergency phone
down there. They’ll send out some help.”

Although I knew it would be an exercise in futility, I popped
open the hood and stared at the tangle of wires. I suppose I was
hoping to spot a sign and arrow pointing out the problem. I studied the tangle for about five minutes. All I accomplished was
wasting five minutes.

With a shrug, I headed for the emergency phone.

A short time later, I climbed back into the car. “The cavalry’s
on the way,” I said.

“How long, do you figure?”

I rolled my eyes. “Who knows? Probably an hour at least.”

We settled back for a long wait.

To our surprise, a bright red tow truck with the sign NEW ORLEANS TOWING on the doors pulled up only a few minutes later.
Two guys jumped out. The driver, a short pudgy guy, wore dirty
overalls. His helper wore jeans and a T-shirt with NEW ORLEANS
OR BUST on the front.

“That was fast,” I said, opening the door.

“Yeah. We happened to be out on the road,” the driver replied. While he introduced himself as Buzz and his helper as
Turk, the latter peered under the hood, fiddling with whatever
you fiddle with.

Turk lifted his eyes and caught my gaze. “Give it a try.”

I turned the ignition.

Still nothing.

Turk pushed away from the car and closed the hood. “Can’t
do nothing here, Buzz.”

Buzz scratched his short hair. “Sorry we can’t get you up and
going, folks.” He gestured west on 1-10. “We’ll tow you on up to
Frenier. That’s where we’re from. We’ll take good care of you
there.”

Diane and I exchanged disappointed looks. I shrugged.
“Maybe it won’t take too long to fix.”

As we rolled into Frenier, Diane picked up a signal and called
Jack, telling him she’d get back with him once we learned just
how long the repairs would take. She nodded as she listened to
his reply. “If we have to. Don’t worry.”

After punching off, she looked around at me. “Jack said if it
was going to take too long to repair, just to buy another car.”

I shook my head. One thing about my old chum Jack Edney.
Though he came into the eight million only a couple of years
back, he had quickly managed to slip into the ways of the very
rich with considerable ease and finesse. “Good old Jack. Impatient as always.”

At Frenier Motors, which carried GM and Chrysler products, the service manager checked the Cadillac and informed
us it would take only a couple of hours.

It was almost noon. “Couple hours, huh?” I looked at Diane.
“Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry.”

Diane looked surprised. “After that breakfast?”

“Yeah. How about you?”

Her growling stomach answered for her.

“I saw a cafeteria in that mall just after we turned off the interstate. Let’s settle up with Buzz, and then we’ll grab a cab.”

When Buzz heard we were going to call a cab, he shook his head. “My van’s right over there. Turk and me’ll give you a ride
down to the mall. Save a little after what you folks are having
to put out today.”

We all laughed.

The red Ford van was as shiny as the tow truck. Buzz slid
open the side door. “You can sit in back here.”

I helped Diane step up into the van.

She screamed. I started to look around, but an arm wrapped
around my neck, and a hand pressed a rag against my mouth and
nose. There was a sweet, burning taste, and the last thing I remember is being shoved through the open door into the van.

I don’t know how long I was unconscious, only that it was as
dark as Louisiana gumbo mud when I awakened. A wave of
nausea swept over me. I tried to roll off the bed, but a chain
about my ankle jerked me back.

Despite the pounding in my head, I fiddled with the chain in
the darkness, quickly realizing it was fastened to a manacle around
my ankle, not unlike one of those we had seen in the haunted
Dupre House back in New Orleans. The other end of the chain
was locked around one leg of the metal bed.

I lay back, breathing hard, and looked at my watch, barely
able to make out the time: three A.M. Slowly, I gathered my wits.
A dim glow filled the room, and a distant boom sent faint vibrations through the house, rattling the windows. I caught a glimpse
of the fading light from the flash of lightning.

Another flash, this one closer, pushed back the inky blackness of the night. Thunder rolled in, once again rattling the old
house, which smelled of dust and age.

The time between the lightning and the subsequent thunder
grew less and less as the spring storm approached from out of
the Gulf of Mexico.

During the brief flashes of lightning, I saw I was alone. The
room was furnished as a bedroom with high ceilings and strips
of wallpaper falling off the walls. A dresser and chair stood
along one wall; against the outside wall was an old fireplace.
The grout between the bricks had crumbled. In front of it stood
a potbellied stove, behind which a stovepipe ran from the floor
to the ceiling.

I could only guess that meant there was also a stove on the floor directly beneath me. Trying to push away the throbbing
pain in my head, I sat up on the bed. During the brilliant white
explosions of lightning, I fumbled with the U-shaped manacle
about my ankle. A screw pin ran through both ends of the U, and
a padlock secured it through a hole in one end of the screw pin.

Inspecting the old lock, I sighed with relief. Buzz and Turk
might as well have used a piece of string to fasten the manacle.
All I needed was a short length of wire to hack my way free.
Now I just needed to find one.

I dug through the contents in my pants pocket. I still had my
flash drive, which was about the size of a pack of chewing gum,
but my pocketknife was missing. Even if I had it, the blades
were too large for the lock.

I looked across the room at the dresser. I could always slide
the bed over to the dresser, but the scraping would sound like a
bulldozer to whoever was below.

Then I remembered my cell phone. I patted my pocket and
groaned. They’d taken the phone as well as the knife. I still had
my wallet. Go figure.

I turned my attention to the bed. The two legs at the foot of
the bed were supported by two slender tubes running horizontally from one leg to the other and secured by a weld at either
end. Three evenly spaced metal tubes vertically joined the two
tubes for additional support. The chain was locked around one
leg between the two horizontal tubes.

Gently, I shook the tubes. They seemed solid.

Outside, a blinding flash of lightning lit the room, and the
storm struck, the rain pelting the roof, rattling the windows.
Blasts of wind slammed into the house. The walls emitted groans
and creaks.

Excited voices echoed through the room.

I looked around, but I was still by myself.

Just before another crack of lightning deafened me, I heard
the voices again, this time from the stove. Of course, I told myself. The common stovepipe from one stove to another acted
like a telephone.

Noise would go both ways, so I tried to keep quiet as I turned
back to trying to free myself. Though solidly built, the bed was
old, at least seventy or eighty years. I felt the welds on the end
of the horizontal tubes. There was only one way to find out how
sturdy it was.

I stood beside the bed and placed a foot on the lower support
and pressed hard. The weld refused to break. Next, holding the
ball on top of the leg for support, I stood on the bottom tube
with both feet.

Still it held.

I glanced out the window, waiting for the next bolt of lightning. Moments later, it exploded, shaking the house. I jumped
up and down on the tube, and it broke away from the leg.

Voices echoed up through the stove.

Quickly, I pulled the tube back into place and looped the
chain over the top rail, then placed the end of the dusty bedspread over the loose end of the bottom tube in an effort to hide
it from any prying eyes. I lay back, feigning unconsciousness.

The door squeaked open. Through my closed eyelids, I saw
the light from the doorway dispel some of the darkness.

“He there?” I recognized the voice as Turk’s.

“Yeah,” growled Buzz. “Still out.”

“What was that noise, then? Sounded like someone jumping.”

“It’s this old house. Just a minute. I’ll check him.”

I held my breath as footsteps approached.

At the end of the bed, he picked up the chain I’d draped across
the top support and tugged on it. “Nah. Still locked tight. Like I
said, just this old house creaking.”

Another bolt of lightning ripped the dark skies open, rattling
the windowpanes and shaking the house.

“I don’t know how those old-timers lived like this, way out in
the middle of nowhere. The place is about to fall down.”

“Stop your griping. Let’s get back downstairs. I need a stiff
drink. This rain is giving me the chills.”

“What about the woman? You figure we ought to check on
her?”

Buzz cursed. “She’s probably still out too, but if it’ll make
you feel better, okay.”