Low Tide (19 page)

“Always.”

Dwight disappeared down the hall and Wyatt stopped in Maggie’s doorway and turned around.

“Always,” he said, mocking her. “See, I just need to get demoted and married, and then I can dance with you, too.”

“Maybe next year,” she said, smiling.

“I’d count on it,” he said. “I’m going to go do Sheriff-y things.”

He winked at her and walked off to his office. Maggie watched him go, then felt the smile fade from her face. She looked down at the papers on her desk and wished that what was under them wasn’t there. Then she glanced at the cell phone on her desk and wished it would ring.

It seemed to be her day for wishing.

The Cajun Zydeco Crawfish Festival was an annual event sponsored by Bennett Boudreaux. It was held every year at this time to celebrate the end of crawfish season in Louisiana, and Boudreaux brought crawfish in by the refrigerated truckload from his business in Houma.

The event was held at Battery Park, just like the Florida Seafood Festival, which was a much bigger event held the first weekend in November. The Florida Seafood Festival was the biggest seafood festival in Florida, and drew tens of thousands of people for the weekend. Boudreaux’s festival only served about a thousand locals and folks from nearby towns, but it had always been a favorite of Maggie and her family.

There were Zydeco bands playing on the band shell all evening, and food trucks served up étouffée, gumbo, red beans and rice, boudin, and beer. Vendors in booths sold T-shirts, signs with cute Cajun sayings, and Mardi Gras beads.

Maggie and the kids found her parents by the boudin truck and they all tucked into paper-wrapped, blonde sausages loaded with pork and rice and seasonings. It was just after seven, and the event had been in full swing since five. The place was packed, particularly the dance floor area in front of the stage.

Maggie tapped her foot and willed the music, the colored lights, and the company of her neighbors and lifelong friends to push all other thoughts out of her mind. She’d thought all day about Gregory’s letter, who might have sent it, and why. She’d waited all day for a call from Grace, and thought of all the possible reasons it didn’t come.

David stopped by for just a while, helped the kids win some carnival games, stood with Maggie and shared a beer while they watched the band, and then he’d gone home to his houseboat just a few hundred yards away at the Ten Hole marina. Sky had long since taken off with her friends, and Kyle had gone home with his best friend for a sleepover.

By ten o’clock, Maggie had had two beers, twice as many as she could usually manage. She wasn’t by any means buzzed, but she was starting to feel a little more relaxed. She even joined Daddy for the Cajun Two-Step and smiled as she remembered learning that very dance at this very festival, when she was around ten or eleven. She’d had the same dance partner, too.

After their dance, Gray went off to sit with Georgia at one of the picnic tables and Maggie grabbed a cold lemonade from one of the booths, and leaned on some crates by the stage to watch the dancing.

Bennett Boudreaux appeared alongside her with a plastic cup of beer in his hand. Maggie had seen him out on the dance floor several times, each time with a different woman, usually one several years his senior. His face was slightly flushed and his hair was damp at the ends, but he still looked pretty dapper in khakis and a blue striped shirt with the sleeves rolled up.

“Good evening, Maggie,” he said.

“Mr. Boudreaux. How are you?”

“This is the best night of the year for me,” he said, smiling broadly. “The one night that both of my homes come together. Are you enjoying yourself?”

“I am, thank you,” she said. “I love the Cajun festival.”

“Good, I’m glad to hear that. Did you get some crawfish before we sold out?”

“Oh, yeah, we got a bucket and polished it off.”

“You here with your family?”

Maggie nodded. “The kids have left, but I’m here with my parents.”

Boudreaux watched her for a minute and seemed about to say something, but then the band started playing
Dance de Mardi Gras
. Maggie broke into a genuine smile, and her foot started tapping.

“I love this song,” she said.

“Well, let’s go dance.”

“Oh, no. I don’t think—” But Boudreaux had already taken her lemonade out of her hand and set their two cups down on the crate.

“It’s not right to just listen to your favorite song,” he said, and grabbed her hand.

“Mr. Boudreaux, I appreciate it, but I really don’t think this is that great an idea,” she said as he led her out onto the floor.

“I’ve had worse,” he said. “Can you manage the Cajun Jitterbug?”

“Well, yeah, actually.”

Boudreaux turned and put a hand on her waist.

“Good.”

Maggie was impressed with Boudreaux’s dancing. He had a lot of grace and excellent rhythm, and once she caught on to his little improvisations and extra steps, she actually started to smile. It was hard not to; the man was having a great deal of fun and it had been a long time since she’d danced with anyone.

She was winded by the time the song was done, and ready to go back to her lemonade, and out of the eyesight of the people she was sure were finding this all very interesting. But a waltz came on and Boudreaux pulled back on her hand.

“Aw, come on, this is one of my favorites,” he said, and put his hand back on her waist. They danced with their bodies at a respectable distance, but when she glanced across the dance floor, she caught the eye of Lily Boudreaux, who looked more pinch-faced than usual.

“I don’t think your wife appreciates you dancing with me,” she said.

“My wife doesn’t appreciate me breathing,” he said with a smile. “But she knows I love to dance. She, on the other hand, fears that dancing might scuff the soles of her $400 shoes.”

“Well, she’s looking at me like she thinks I have designs on you,” Maggie said.

Boudreaux laughed quietly and winked at her. “Oh, if she only knew.”

Maggie felt compelled to ask him what he meant by that, but the song ended and Boudreaux, thankfully, put a hand politely on the small of her back, and followed her off the dance floor.

When they got to where they’d left their drinks, Maggie’s mother was leaning against the crate. She smiled at the two of them as they approached, but the smile was polite rather than genuine.

“Hello, Mrs. Redmond,” Boudreaux said as they arrived.

“Hello, Mr. Boudreaux.”

“Are you enjoying yourself?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Well, I appreciate the loan of your daughter,” he said, picking up his beer. “You folks enjoy the rest of your evening.”

He nodded to Maggie and walked away. Maggie could feel her mother’s displeasure, and turned to look at her.

“Where’s Daddy?” she asked, hoping to skirt what was on her mother’s mind.

“He’s shooting plastic ducks with Tom Garland.”

Maggie smiled and took a sip of her lemonade.

“Maggie,” Georgia said.

“It was just a dance, Mom.”

“No, it was Maggie Redmond of the Sheriff’s Office, dancing with Bennett Boudreaux.”

Maggie sighed. “I know. But he made me smile and I dearly needed it. He actually has a certain charm.”

“I wouldn’t be half as worried if he didn’t,” Georgia said. “It’s the charming ones that you have to be careful of.”

“It’s okay, Mom. He dances with the Mayor’s wife, too.”

“She’s not my daughter. It doesn’t look right.” Georgia fiddled with the top button of her white eyelet blouse. “Maggie, you’re not…you aren’t attracted to him, are you?”

“Mom. He’s sixty-something years old and he’s married. To say nothing of the other thing.”

Georgia frowned at her daughter a moment. “I just don’t want you to get hurt, professionally or otherwise. And Wyatt.”

Maggie put her hand on top of her mother’s, which rested on the crate.

“Mom, it’s okay, I promise. And right now, Wyatt is my only candidate for ‘otherwise’.”

M
aggie was at her desk late the next afternoon, when her cell phone vibrated and skipped around on her desk.

She turned away from the computer to look, and saw that the call was coming from Grace. She snatched up her phone and answered.

“Hello?” she asked, cautiously.

“Ms. Redmond?” Grace’s voice was almost a whisper.

“Grace, are you okay?”

“I need to make this really fast. He’s in the shower.”

“Are you sure?”

“I haven’t taken my eyes off the door.”

“Are you alright?”

“Yes, but you have to come get this man.”

“What’s happening?”

“He saw y’all. I mean, he saw gunfire. He was in his car, getting ready to call Joey and see if the deal was on. Then he called and Joey didn’t answer and he left with a quickness.”

“Does he know you talked to us?”

“He thought so, but I don’t think he’s sure now.”

Maggie heard Grace take a long, but shallow, breath. When she spoke again, her voice was softer, but she spoke more quickly.

“We got to get out of here. He says we’re leaving. He’s taking a shower, first time in days, then he says we’re going to Jacksonville to sell some of this stuff.”

Maggie jumped up, her chair rolling back to hit the wall as she strode out of the office. “The drugs are there?”

“They’re in the car, under the back seat. There’s a compartment under there.”

Maggie opened Wyatt’s door without knocking. Wyatt stood up behind his desk as she walked across the room.

“The Monte Carlo?” Maggie asked.

“No, his car. It’s a black Toronado.”

“Grace, I need to put you on speaker, okay? It’s just me and Sheriff Hamilton.”

“Um, okay.”

Maggie put the phone on speaker and set it on Wyatt’s desk. She pointed at the phone and mouthed, “Drugs are there.” Then she leaned in closer to the phone.

“Did he say when he’s leaving for Jacksonville?”

“He said he wanted to rest for like an hour after his shower, then we’re leaving.”

“And he said you’re all going?”

“Yeah, only I’m pretty sure if me and the kids get in that car, nobody’s ever gonna see us again. You gotta get him this time. You’re just gonna have to get him.”

Wyatt held up a finger and spoke. “Grace, did Joey Truman ever show up over there?”

“Yeah, night before last.”

“Is he still there?”

“Yeah. He’s in the trunk.”

Wyatt picked up his desk phone and pushed an extension button.

Maggie got a sinking sensation in her stomach. “Can you get out? Grace, you and the kids need to get out of the house.”

“I think so. When he’s sleeping maybe. But there’s nowhere to go out here, to hide.”

Wyatt spoke quietly into the phone. “Pittman, I need you and some of your guys, right now. We’ve got a possible hostage situation. How fast can we scramble to Houser Road?”

“Grace? Hold on a second,” Maggie said and looked at Wyatt.