Mystic Mayhem (10 page)

My gaze lifted to his face. His eyes were amused, aware. "Mel?"

"Yes?" This time I caught myself before saying Cap'n Jack.

"Sandbags?" He smiled.

I punctuated with my index finger. "Right. Sandbags."

Before I turned away, he took a step and sank up to his knee in mud but didn't seem to mind. Within only a minute, he was straining to lift one of the coffin lids. Already covered in mud, he looked like a man who was actually used to getting his hands dirty. It was a pretty good guess he probably never had to do anything quite like this in NYC, and his willingness to get down and dirty side by side with his team was one of the things that made Jack a really good manager—and I was thinking he was also a really good man.

*   *   *

Word was that the boathouse was leftover from a time back in the early '90s when the family was trying to raise money by giving guided airboat tours of the Barataria Preserve. When Harry did the repurpose, it became a place where the resort mechanics could work on boats and other equipment, as well as a general storage facility. Sandbags were always kept there in case of floods.

Cat had told me about the building in great detail. One day Quincy needed an extra set of jumper cables. She'd taken him out to the boathouse, and while they were there, they made good use of the sandbags for a bit of a romantic tryst.

When I thought about how Jack Stockton had looked standing on the hill without his shirt, I thought maybe Cat and Quincy had the right idea.

I trotted back to the main building, down to Maintenance in the lower level, located the key labeled
Boathouse
on the pegboard at the back of the room, grabbed it, and headed out the front door.

After sprinting across the circular driveway and lawn, I pushed my way through the copse of low bushes. Ahead of me, the boathouse and wooden dock were visible in the twilight. 

I used the key to open the door just as a pickup pulled up with three strapping men in the bed.

They made short work of loading a couple of dozen sandbags, plus a few more for good measure then turned and headed back along the service road around the building to the hilltop graveyard.

I took a second to lock up the boathouse and was just turning to retrace my steps back to the main building to return the key, when the sound of a woman's voice gave me pause.

"What was that all about?"

For some reason I'm still not sure of, I eased back against the wood-shingled wall and listened.

A second voice, male. "Dude, beats me. They sure were in a hurry." Unless my memory failed me, it was Cecile's stepgrandson, Billy.

Something made a slapping sound. "Gosh darn mosquitos." It was Rosalyn, Theodore's daughter, Cecile's stepdaughter. "How can these people stand it? I'm covered in welts."

His voice was disdainful. "Living in the swamp is all these people down here know."

"I suppose." She sighed. "How much longer will they make us stay in this godforsaken mudhole anyway?"

Billy's tone was speculative. "Cat says—"

"Who?"

"You know. Cat, that gypsy girl," he said.

"Oh. That girl, the slutty one."

I was about to step away from the building and confront the old biddy. Nobody dissed my friend and walked away.

But when he went on, I stopped.

"Yeah, that one. Cat says when the sheriff's office knows for sure they have the murderer, they'll let us all go home."

"Really? As if those rubes could even begin to unravel this mess."

"Hmm," Billy snorted. "Mother, I think you might be right for once. Those fools can't even locate the rest of the money Cecile brought down here with her."

The two of them laughed.

The slapping sound came again. "My God, they're eating me alive," Rosalyn whined. "Come along, son. Let's go back to the asylum."

*   *   *

I stayed quiet and still until they'd moved away from the dock and crossed the lawn.

Then, you'd better bet, I made a beeline for the House of Cards upstairs in the main house.

Seven o'clock, and Cat had just locked her shop and was hobbling toward the elevator. She looked up. "Hey."

"You're damn right, 'hey,'" I said. "You'll never guess who I was spying on down by the boathouse just now."

She winked. "Not so hard, girl. Cap'n Jack?"

"Not Jack. He's up on the hill wrestling corpses."

She gave me a look, but before she could open her mouth, I went on.

"It was Rosalyn."

"Cecile's stepdaughter, right?"

I nodded. "And that Billy guy, the stepgrandson."

"Oh." Cat grimaced. "The octopus."

The elevator arrived, the door slid open, and we stepped in.

"They were alone on the dock, and I overheard them talking."

Cat pushed the Lobby button with the tip of her crutch.

"Cat." Something in my voice must have struck a chord with her, because she turned to me, concern in her beautiful brown eyes. "They know a helluva lot more about this than they've let on."

"They do?"

"Yes, and we're going to find out exactly what that is."

"Want me to read their cards?" she asked.

I just looked at her. "Oh. Right. Like that would really help us learn anything."

She shrugged. "You never know."

"Cat, you're not starting to believe all the hype about this place, are you? I mean it's all about as real as…Next thing I know, you'll be believing you're a Disney princess."

She gave me a look, shrugged, and said, "Esmerelda?"

The Jefferson Parish lockup in the town of Gretna was just on the far side of the ridge forming the river levee. I'd never been there before, a fact of which my mother and grandmama were extremely relieved. In fact, I'd never seen so much barbed wire, concrete, and chain link in my life.

Cat eyed the utilitarian facility coated in industrial grey with a critical eye. "If they painted it a nice yellow or turquoise, it would perk things up some. You think?"

The visitation area had emptied out except for Cat, me, and a stout woman with two small children in tow who kept fooling around with the video equipment and blacking out the screen where the woman seemed to be attempting to have a conversation with a man on the other side. She kept yelling, "Simmer down and get over here and talk to your papa."

The guard on duty schooled the two of us in the "video-visitation" equipment, and before we knew it, we were face-to-screen with the Great Fabrizio.

Poor Fabrizio. Orange was so not his color. It gave his skin a sallow aspect, and his expression was so glum, a grimace would have been an improvement.

Of course, no one really looked all that great in those videoconferences. Grainy, jerky, unsynched displays of shadowed faces distorted by the lens to make a perfectly handsome person look like a bizarre alien. I fully expected him to ask to "phone home."

"How are you holding up?" I asked once he settled down in front of the screen.

"If I am not released forthwith, I believe I shall shrivel up and die." Tears stung my eyes at his sad smile. "Hello, Catalina, my dear," he said.

Her smile was all things at once: sympathy, affection, hope. Cat never had to say much. Her heart was in her eyes, and you could read her soul on her face.

"Thank you for coming to see me," Fabrizio said. "What transport did you find?"

"Quincy came and picked us up at The Mansion," Cat said. "I guess there's something to be said for dating the law after all."

He looked so sad. His long face always had a semi-forlorn look, but now even more than usual.

"We've been trying to figure out who really took that money, Fabrizio, to get you out of this terrible place." I touched the screen. Trying to talk to someone like this was…well…he might as well have been on the moon.

He shook his head as a light from somewhere above him made a halo. "On my oath, Melanie, I knew nothing of a large amount of cash. How can they believe I stole something of which I knew nothing?"

I didn't know what to say to comfort him but had to ask, "Fabrizio?" I lowered my voice to a near whisper. "You told me yourself she was going to pay you a hundred thousand dollars if you succeeded in contacting Mr. Elway on the other side."

"Yes. I knew she was going to pay me. I never said I didn't know anything about the payment. I said I didn't know anything about the cash."

I was really confused now. ""But how did you expect her to pay you?"

He shrugged pathetically. "I thought perhaps a check? Or maybe PayPal?"

One of the children skipped over and stood in front of the camera, waving his little hand directly in front of it. "Hi! Hi!" Too cute. "Ya stinking jailbird." Maybe not as cute as I originally thought. I gave him the evil eye, but he stuck his tongue out at me.

Cat did little more than cock an eyebrow and point her finger. "Go," she said. "Now."

It was like magic. The child sobered and stared at her as he backed away then turned and ran to his mother's side.

I'm telling you, sometimes I just wonder about my girl. She's something else. Grandmama Ida would say she's got the power.

I never was sure exactly what that meant, but if power was what it was, well, Cat did have it.

We continued to talk to him for another fifteen minutes until our session was over. I wished we'd at least been in the same room. Sitting in front of a monitor, talking to a pane of glass, didn't constitute a "visit" in my book.

Quincy walked us out to the parking lot. 

"Have you come up with any other suspects?" I asked.

He turned from making bedroom eyes at Cat. "Other suspects,
chère
? Now why would I be looking at other suspects? The man with all that cash stashed away, he in the slammer right now."

"But he didn't—"

He put his index finger against his lips. "Shush."

"But it wasn't even all the—"

He did it again. My dander was up.

"You can't just—"

"Shush now, darlin'. I'll take care of bringing down all dem bad boys, and you take care of makin' pretty pictures on all dem rich folks over at The Mansion."

"Who do you think—"

"Shush."

Dammit. If he did it one more time, I was going to bite off that finger!

"Besides," he bragged, "I already caught me one catfish red-handed. And when the tox screen comes back, I'm pretty darn sure I can connect that same ol' catfish to the homicide of that fancy Yankee lady. First rule of law enforcement,
chère
, follow the money trail, and you'll wind up with a surefire payday."

I sincerely wished he'd stop saying things like that.

There were times I had no earthly idea what Cat saw in Deputy Quincy Boudreaux. Like now. I mean, besides his trim, fit body. The sly confidence that shone out of those big brown peepers. That sweet, self-deprecating grin that melted a girl's heart. He was an out-and-out overly cocky son of the bayou. He must have been really good in bed. Otherwise, why would a woman like Cat put up with that annoying, know-it-all 'tude?

"Are you telling me you're looking to pin a murder on Fabrizio?"

He winked, and it was all I could do not to clock him a good one.

"Ooops." He stopped walking. "I need to go back inside a sec, y'all. You go on to the squad car. I'll catch up." He hurried back inside.

I whirled on Cat. "How can you just stand there and let him say those things?"

"Me? This is my fault? Mel, he's a cop. That's what cops say. Things like, 'Book 'em, Dano,' and 'Freeze, dirtbag.' That's just the way they are. Quincy doesn't mean anything by it."

"You are so naïve. He's going after our friend to lock him up for a million years or maybe even exterminate him like some old swamp rat. Cat, can't you see you gotta do something?"

She just stood there under the yellow glare of the pole light. I could tell by the set of her mouth and the way she blinked her eyes I'd hurt her feelings. I mean, it wasn't her fault her boyfriend was a rat. But I was riled up and not in the mood to take it back.

"So, whatcha goin' to do about it?" I lifted my chin and looked down my nose at her.

She pulled herself up to her impressive height of five foot five (towering a full two inches over me), threw back her slim shoulders, and thrust out her ample bosom. "Well, right now, I'm going to get a ride back to the ferry, go home, and go to bed, and not talk to you 'til you decide to be civil."

She turned and walked away.

"Well, where's she goin'?" Quincy had walked back up behind me.

Okay, so I didn't always play fair. "Well, you made her mad, Quincy. She was just fit to be tied 'bout what you were saying about Fabrizio. She couldn't take it anymore and had to leave."

His jaw dropped open, and he stared after Cat.

Cat stopped a ways down the sidewalk and turned around, giving a thumbs up in our general direction. What the heck was that all about? That was a weird thing to do when she was angry, weird even for Cat.

Oddly, Quincy seemed to understand.

I wasn't done with him yet. "I can't say as I blame her one bit." My voice rose in pitch and volume. "Why, you're just a big ol' meanie." I'm a bit ashamed to tell you I stamped my foot. It was a full-on hissy fit.

His eyes narrowed. His grin faded to a straight line. He took hold of my arm and pulled gently. I got the idea he wanted me to go with him back inside, so I did, still sputtering and fuming.

He talked as we walked along. "You do realize you're speaking to an officer of the law. Right, missy?"

"An officer of the…what the heck are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about someone who's a little out of hand right now, maybe just a little too worked up for her own good. Someone who might've said something she oughtn't have to someone I was hoping to cuddle up to later tonight."

He stopped walking, and I had a look around. We'd gone down a hall or two by now and were in a different section of the building than before. A long counter with a glass partition was the only feature of the room. The door at the end of the long, narrow area was thick steel with a wire-mesh window and a lock that looked like it could withstand a nuclear blast.