Night Magic (35 page)

"You can't prove a damn thing!" Quentin
spluttered.

"Oh but I can. You left a trail easy enough
for any competent bookkeeper to pick up. And our accountants are,
I'm sure you'll agree, more than competent." Singleton coolly
observed the impotent fury on Quentin's face.

"I put most of it back. The board will want
to avoid a scandal." Quentin chewed his lower lip.

"True. But the board will also take the
opportunity to give you an offer similar to the one you just tried
to give me. Say goodbye to controlling an empire, my boy. But..."
Singleton held up a forefinger dramatically, "I can save you from
all that."

"How?" Quentin grew very still, his voice
barely above a whisper.

"By keeping my mouth shut, of course.
Naturally I’ll expect a few added perks. My stock options are quite
inadequate for one thing. And I'll making the decisions from now
on. No one has to know this, it can be just between us."
Singleton's soft chin quivered as he smiled broadly at Quentin.

"That's it then, I have no choice." Quentin
spoke in a dull tone, his eyes narrowed to slits.

"None whatsoever. But think of it as a good
thing. After all, I helped Claude make Batton Chemical an
internationally profitable company. You really have everything to
gain with me still in the picture."

"And you've told no one this?"

"You have my word. It'll be our little
secret. Now I've made a few notes about my new benefits package.
Since Claude left his affairs in such good order, the probate will
go smoothly. With your stocks, your grandmother's, and mine, the
board will have little choice but to agree to let me step in as
CEO. Well, that about does it I think. Good evening, my boy."
Singleton strolled out whistling.

Quentin slammed a clenched fist against the
arm of his chair.

*****

"You sure 'bout this doc?" Sheriff Triche
waved the autopsy report in the air between them.

"With reasonable certainty. He was dead when
he went in the water. The cause of death was a powerful blow to the
abdomen, organ hemorrhaging did him in. Liver, spleen, and pancreas
crushed. Died within an hour or so. He had other relatively minor
bruises that could've come from falling or being hit, can't say for
certain."

"Bruises such as?"

"He had scratches on his face and neck.
Several yellow bruises on the upper chest." Doc Vidrine shifted his
plump body in the uncomfortably small chair.

"But what about the stab wounds?"

"Those were superficial, maybe got 'em during
the fight. He had a few shallow cuts on his hands like he mighta
grabbed the weapon."

"Lord. This some kinda maniac maybe?" Sheriff
Triche raked stubby fingers through his thinning grey hair.

"Or somebody that plain didn't like him. This
is just speculation understand, but I'd guess he was dyin' while
the killer figured out what to do with the body or was carryin' him
to where he was dumped. Well, you know where to find me if you need
me." Doc Vidrine huffed to his feet.

"Thanks, Doc."

"Is it true you goin' to question Quentin
Trosclair again?"

"Yep."

"You sure you wanna get them Trosclairs mad
at you? They got a lotta pull, even if old Claude dead. They gonna
figure to get in good with Quentin since he'll likely take over
Batton Chemical.

"Now Doc, you done knowed me long enough to
know when I got me a serious matter like this, that don't mean
diddly boo to me. Sure I get some of our leadin' citizens and their
relatives out of a few embarrasin' situations over the years. But
not with murder involved, no sir. And I don't need to tell you the
state police watchin' my every move on this one."

"Hey, Doc. Sheriff, Miss Rousselle is here."
Deputy Lonnie Dupuis stuck his head in the door.

"That oughta be one interestin'
interrogation." Doc Vidrine winked at the Sheriff and deputy before
leaving.

LaShaun wore a long brick red dress belted at
the waist with a colorful scarf that hung to one side. The flowing
skirt of her dress moved in whirls a she walked with hips
swaying.

"Have a seat, Miss Rousselle. How's Monmon
Odette feelin' these days." Sheriff Triche sat on the corner of his
cluttered desk.

"Pretty good, thank you." LaShaun cocked her
head to one side, her expression was one of mild curiosity.

"Glad to hear it. I'm sure you know all about
this terrible thing with Claude Trosclair bein' found dead."

"Shocking. What is this world coming to? When
even a prominent man like him is attacked for pocket change."

"You heard it was robbery, ma'am?" Sheriff
Vidrine's eyes went to the deputy standing behind her.

"Why what else could it have been? I mean,
that's all you hear on the news these days." LaShaun looked from
the Sheriff to the deputy and back again.

"He was killed by somebody, but not for
money. At least, not what was in his pockets."

"Really?"

"How well did you know Claude, ma'am?"
Sheriff Vidrine moved on without further explanation.

"Just to know who he was on sight, that's
all."

"And his grandson?"

"Same thing."

"You haven't spent time with either
gentleman? Mr. Claude or Mr. Quentin?"

"Of course not. What are you trying to
say?"

"Seems there's been some talk that you been
keepin' company with one of them."

"You got me here to ask about some trashy
gossip? It's a lie." LaShaun met his gaze boldly.

"So you sayin' it ain't true."

"That's what I just said. I hardly know
Quentin Trosclair."

"I only said with one of them, I didn't say
which one." Sheriff Vidrine stared at her hard.

"I meant, uh, it wasn't either one of them.
Look, I'm not answering no more questions without knowing what
you’re trying to pin on me!" LaShaun snarled.

"Why you gettin' so upset? Unless you've been
goin' with the boy. Fact is, we got word that you been visitin' his
apartment in New Orleans quite regular for almost a year or
more."

"How did you--"

"Is that so?"

"What if it is? It's got nothing to do with
his grandpapa getting killed by some thug."

"Let's start all over, all right? You been
sleepin' with Quentin Trosclair. He been givin' you money, too."
Sheriff Triche had picked up a note pad and was consulting it.

"Since you know so much, why are you
bothering to ask me?" LaShaun glared at him.

"When did Claude find out about you two?"
Sheriff Triche spoke sharply, his eyes boring into her.

"What-- he didn't know. I mean, uh--"

"I b'lieve he did. You see he had somebody
checkin' his grandson ever so often, a private security firm. Seems
he didn't trust the boy. 'Bout three months ago they did their
regular check, found out he was meetin' up with you in that fancy
apartment. They was a little reluctant to tell us, but Lonnie here
reminded 'em 'bout the penalty for obstructin' justice." Sheriff
Triche let a long silence stretch.

"That doesn't mean a thing." LaShaun wound
and unwound the ends of the scarf that rested in her lap.

"Now I don't think he would be too concerned
'bout him seein' you, Quentin has had a long list of lady friends
in his young life. But the money part is somethin' else. Seems it
was more than money. He got the company to give y'all top dollar
for some land Monmon Odette owns. And then there's a matter of some
investments you made that were very profitable?" Sheriff Triche ran
a finger down the page of the note pad.

Another deputy tapped on the glass window
that made up half of the front wall of the Sheriff's office. Lonnie
stepped out and spent several minutes in muted conversation with
him. LaShaun twisted around to watch them.

"He's here, Sheriff," Lonnie said as he came
back through the door.

Quentin came in accompanied by another
deputy. Arguing loudly, he resisted attempts to lead him into an
office opposite the Sheriff's with mini-blinds that were closed.
Whirling around, he snatched his arm from the deputy.

"How dare you come to my home at this time of
the day and interrupt my dinner. Dragging me here as though I were
some criminal. Where is Sheriff Triche? I'll see he doesn't get
elected street sweeper come next election. Ah, there you--" Quentin
stopped dead upon seeing LaShaun with the Sheriff.

"Stay right here with Miss Rousselle,
Lonnie." Sheriff Triche walked briskly out to Quentin. "Well now,
thanks for comin' in, Mr. Quentin."

"What the hell is the meaning of this?"
Quentin's voice had lost some of its intensity. He peered over the
Sheriff's shoulder to his office and LaShaun.

"Why don't we step in here. Right here."
Sheriff Triche pointed to the office. He moved directly in front of
him, effectively blocking Quentin's view.

"Why am I here?" Quentin sat on the edge of a
metal folding chair.

"Well, sir, we need to corroborate some
information we've received." Sheriff Triche sat heavily in a brown
vinyl chair next to him.

"Information about what?"

"You know Miss Rousselle, don't you."

"What lies have you been listening to?"

"We know you do, Mr. Quentin. We know she's
been livin' high since she's been... seein' you."

"What the hell has any of this got to do with
my grandfather's death?"

"Mr. Claude found out what you was up to,
givin' her money, stock tips. Putting his business interests
second."

"My grandfather could care less about what
woman I happened to be sleeping with at the moment. And the money
was nothing." Quentin visibly relaxed as his arrogant look
returned.

"Is that a fact?" Sheriff Triche brows drew
together in puzzlement at his reaction.

"Where is he? Take me to him. Quentin, where
are you?" Annadine's voice rang through the station.

"Miss Annadine, come on now. Let's go on
home," Jim, the gardener who doubled as a chauffeur, pleaded with
her.

"No. I've got to find out what they've done
to him. Sheriff, listen to me. He didn't do anything. She's lying,
Quentin wasn't anywhere near Claude's office that night."

"Now now, Miz Trosclair. You oughten get
yourself worked up like this. Why don't you let Jim take you on
back home." Sheriff Triche pulled the office door closed behind
him. He spoke in a soothing tone.

"But you’re wrong to hold him here. Please,
listen to me."

"Miz Trosclair, we got to question everybody.
We--"

"I killed him. I killed Claude. I did. He was
a vile, mean man. We argued, I picked up a letter opener and
stabbed him. He fell dead. It was me." Annadine swayed on her
feet.

"Grandmother, don't say anymore until I
contact our attorneys. She's obviously in an unstable mental state.
She doesn't know what she's saying."

"Ain't dis one big mess!" Sheriff Triche said
as he looked around his office.

"Sheriff, can I talk to you a minute?" Lonnie
stepped forward.

"Lonnie I got somethin' on my hands right
now. You s'pose to stay with that Rousselle woman." Sheriff Triche
shouted over the voices of Quentin, Annadine, and the other
deputy.

"You got to see this, Sheriff." Lonnie waved
a sheet of paper high in the air.

"Quiet!" Sheriff Triche boomed everyone into
silence. "Floyd, you take Miz Trosclair into that office down the
hall. And let her call her lawyer. You," he barked to another
deputy, "take him back in there. Now who is with--"

"Myrtle." Lonnie stepped back so that the
Sheriff could see the female deputy standing in his office.

"What is so damn important that I got to stop
hearin' a confession?"

"Look at this report from the private
investigator. Seems Mr. Trosclair checked up on several
people."

"My, my, my," Sheriff Triche said as he
scanned the first few sentences.

*****

"Paul? Claude Trosclair's grandson?" Savannah
leaned against her father for support as they stood in the shop. "I
can't believe this."

"Seems Paul's grandmother and Trosclair had
an affair years ago. She got pregnant and left town. It was all
hushed up. Her son, and Claude's, is Paul's father.," Gralin said.
He had come over to the shop after hearing the news from a friend
working at the Sheriff's office.

"That was nothin' but a rumor," Tante Marie
snorted.

"You knew? You actually knew who he was and
didn't say anything to me." Savannah turned on her aunt
accusingly.

"Wait now, missy. I didn't know who his
grandmother was. Even if I had, I wasn't gone say nothin' like
that. How was I to know if that lady and her husband wasn't still
alive. And if she wasn't, they got kin people still livin'
here."

"I knew." Antoine took a deep breath when
Savannah gave him a wounded look. "I felt like Marie, it was just
old gossip that I didn't think was right to be repeatin'. Besides,
I figured it was his place to tell you."

"I'll be-- Sam never said a thing to me."
Charice stood open-mouthed, a stunned look matching Savannah's.

"Poppy, it doesn't matter what you thought
about it being just gossip. You knew I had suspicions about Paul
and his dealings with Claude Trosclair. You should have said
something." Savannah shook with emotion. "He lied to me, deceived
me and you helped him."

"You wait until I see Sam tonight. He is
going to get the cussin' out of his sleazy life!" Charice placed
her hands on her hips.

"Savannah, I was kinda suspicious of Paul
when he first come to town. But he was always straight forward with
us 'bout what was happenin' at Big River and how he felt. I got a
lot of respect for the way he carried himself."

"He's a liar. You don't know what kind of
dirty deal he secretly cut with Trosclair. Paul was out to get
anything he could, probably used his relationship to get that
contract."