Postcards from the Dead (15 page)

The guy made a face. “Jeez, I hope not.” And went back to packing his equipment.

Ava was suddenly plucking at Carmela’s sleeve. “Guess what?” Excitement shone on her face.

“What?” said Carmela.

“I’ve got a date with Sully.”

“Now you’re calling him Sully? You do fast work, lady.”

“Better believe it,” said Ava, giving a wink.

“So you two are going out . . . when?”

“I invited Sully to Baby’s party,” said Ava. She hesitated. “You don’t think she’ll mind, do you?”

“Baby loves extra guests.”
But I’m not so thrilled.

Ava peered at Carmela. “You look like you just ate a sour pickle.”

“It’s that apparent?”

“Yeah,” said Ava. “You don’t like Sully, do you?”

“I don’t know Sully.”

“But you’ve got your pretty pink thong in a twist all because of that clown painting last night. And that death portrait. Those paintings kind of freaked you out.”

“Yes, they did. And for your information,” said Carmela, glancing around, “I don’t wear thongs. Not my style.” She’d caught a glimpse of Kimber’s brother out of the corner of her eye. Now she was wondering where he’d gone? She wanted to meet him and offer her condolences. And maybe ask a few questions, too. “What happened to Billy Laforge?” Carmela said to Ava.

Ava looked around. “I don’t know.”

“Doggone, I wanted to talk to him.”

“Now who’s pushing the envelope?”

Carmela considered this. “Me, I guess.” She searched the crowd again, looking for Laforge. What had been a large group had dwindled down to about three dozen people, but Laforge was still nowhere to be seen. Had he dashed off as soon as it was over? Probably. Carmela thought about the address she’d cribbed from Babcock’s cell phone. Was it worth going out there? Try to converse with Laforge on his own turf? Well . . . why not? What did she have to lose? After all, this whole case was really quite fascinating.

“Would you be willing to take a ride out to Theriot with me?” Carmela asked.

Ava stared blankly at her.
“Pour quoi?”

“I was able to, um, obtain Laforge’s address from Babcock. And I’d kind of like to corner the guy at home, where he might be more relaxed and amenable to talking to me.”

“You think he’s going to confess to murdering his sister?” asked Ava.

“No, but we might be able to get some idea as to his state of mind,” said Carmela. “You know, is he sad? Is he angry? Is he indifferent?”

Ava considered this. “So a fishing expedition.”

“Well, yes.”

“I suppose I could ride along, sure. Miguel’s at the store today and so is Talley.” She looked suddenly hopeful. “If we’re driving out that way, maybe we could stop for lunch at the Blue Tick?” The Blue Tick was one of Ava’s favorite roadhouses, a place that served killer andouille sausage with sauce piquant.

“I think lunch could be arranged.”

“Excellent,” said Ava. “I’m just gonna run over and say bye-bye to Sully, okay?”

“Bye-bye away,” said Carmela. Her eyes had landed on Davis Durrell, who was shaking hands with Ed Banister. Then Durrell walked slowly over to Kimber’s coffin, placed his hands flat against it, and bowed his head. She wondered whether Durrell was feeling sadness, relief, or guilt. Or all of the above, or none of the above?

Then, like a signal to end his show of grief, Durrell’s phone jangled, and he whipped it out of his pocket and hastily held it to his ear.

Carmela could see Durrell’s mouth moving but couldn’t hear his words. Though she sincerely wanted to.

So . . . did she dare?

She dared.

Edging closer to Durrell, Carmela dodged around Kimber’s casket and tiptoed across the hideous funeral grass. Then, using a large white marble sarcophagus for cover, Carmela moved stealthily closer to Durrell. He was speaking loudly now and sounding almost argumentative.

Hassling with a client? Or someone else?

Carmela put her back against a tilting marker, feeling the cool of the marble, and slid around it. Durrell was ten feet away from her now, wandering slowly through a small grotto of head-high aboveground tombs. His black suit was in stark contrast to the whitewashed stone as he railed angrily at his caller.

Carmela cocked her head, trying to concentrate. And listen.

“What? Not until Monday night?” Durrell complained. “I got people
waiting
on me. Seriously heavy-duty people, if you catch my drift.”

Carmela strained to hear more. But now Durrell, as if sensing he was making too much noise, as if fearing someone might overhear his conversation, was hunched over and mumbling.

Carmela eased closer.

Durrell raised his voice a final time. “Yeah, yeah, I got it,” he snarled. “Eleven. Monday. Just be there!”

Durrell stabbed a finger at his phone, then whirled around. At the same time Carmela jumped behind her tombstone, hopefully out of sight. Her heart thudding with excitement, she wondered exactly what that call had been about. What was Durrell up to? And what, pray tell, was supposed to happen Monday at eleven?

Just as Carmela slid out from her hiding place, Babcock approached her.

“What are you doing over here?” he asked. Suspicion was written all over his face.

“Just looking around,” Carmela told him. “I haven’t been here for a while. It’s . . . interesting.”

Babcock grunted.

“I figured you’d show up here eventually.” Carmela smiled at him, but he seemed distracted. Maybe even distraught. “What?” she asked.

“Oh, nothing’s falling into place,” said Babcock. “This whole Kimber Breeze investigation’s a mess.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

“Are you really?” he asked.

“Yes! You know I’m your biggest booster.”

“I wish I could believe that,” said Babcock. His eyes focused on Durrell, who had rejoined the dwindling crowd of mourners. “Durrell was out last night.”

“How do you know that?”

“I have my ways.”

“What?” Carmela asked. “You tapped his phone?”

“Nothing that illegal,” said Babcock. “We had a squad sitting outside that enormous house of his. Really not that far from your old place.”

“Where did Durrell go?” asked Carmela.

“Bar in the CBD,” said Babcock. The CBD was the Central Business District, which had become revitalized of late with new condos and clubs. “A place called Augie’s.”

Carmela knew that Augie’s was one of the hot new places. A sleek, contemporary bar where thirty-something ad guys, lawyers, and media people got together to drink, put each other on, and hook up.

“So what happened?” she asked. “Did Durrell pick someone up? A woman?

“No,” said Babcock, “but he met with someone.”

“Who? Somebody from his firm? Another money guy?”

Babcock made a face. “That’s what we’re trying to figure out.”

Carmela thought about the conversation she’d just overheard. Should she tell Babcock about it? Tell him that Durrell was supposed to connect with someone? Or just let it go for now? Something inside her head flashed a yellow warning light that said . . .
just let it go. For now.

Chapter 15

“I
’VE
got the burps,” said Ava. They were in Carmela’s car, speeding south along Highway 315. They’d just passed through Houma and were coming up on Theriot. Just as Ava had hoped, they’d stopped at the Blue Tick, a roadhouse that served gumbo, po’boys, and red beans and rice, and had themselves a proper lunch. Carmela had ordered crawfish cakes topped with spicy aioli. Ava had thrown caution to the wind and ordered andouille sausage smothered in onions, okra, and green peppers, and a bowl of turtle soup for a chaser. Now she was paying the price.

“You gonna be okay?” asked Carmela.

“I think I need an entire jar of Pepcid AC,” said Ava. She was holding her stomach and grimacing every couple of seconds. Ava cupped a hand in front of her mouth. “Plus I’ve got dragon breath from all that spicy food.”

“I’m sure the alligators will be highly offended,” said Carmela.

“No, they won’t,” said Ava, “because we’re not gonna get that close.” She hesitated. “Are we?”

“We just want to talk to Kimber’s brother,” said Carmela. “Not check out the actual farm.”

“What do you suppose they do on an alligator farm?” asked Ava.

“Mmm . . .” Carmela was trying to drive and read the directions on her cell phone, though she’d be the first to admit she wasn’t the most skilled multitasker. “I suppose they raise baby alligators into big ones and then sell them.”

“For meat?”

“And hides,” said Carmela. “Alligator’s crazy popular right now. You go into any fancy store and they’ve got all these cool-looking alligator bags and shoes.”

“In great colors,” said Ava. “Though I suppose those skins are dyed.”

“No,” said Carmela, “I think there really are genetically engineered purple and red alligators.”

“Purple . . . ?” Ava burped again, then grinned. “Oh
you
!”

* * *

“I THINK IF WE TURN ONTO COUNTRY ROAD SIX, WE’LL
coast right in,” said Carmela. “Or at least come close. In theory.”

She hung a left onto a narrow blacktop road that took her through large fields of sugarcane, then dipped and curved its way through stands of pine and oak. After eight miles, she turned onto Longfellow Road, a humpy bumpy dirt road that jangled their fillings as well as their nerves.

“This is awful,” Ava complained. “My stomach finally settled down and now it’s gettin’ all twittery and nervous again.”

“Hang tight,” said Carmela. They spun around a sharp curve and suddenly a silvered wooden sign peeped out from a copse of ragged bamboo. It read
Laforge Alligator Farm
.

“Dear Lord,” said Ava, “this is it? Are we here?”

Carmela took her foot off the gas and let her car coast to a stop. “I think so.” Across an acre of green, she could see blue glints of water. Slightly off to their right was a small wooden house built on stilts. Next to that was a tumbledown structure that could be a barn or a garage. Hard to tell from this distance. In front of all that was a maze of dilapidated wooden and wire fencing.

“Now what?” said Ava.

Carmela tilted her head back and squinted. “I see a pickup truck parked over by the house. So I guess we just head thataway.”

“Can we drive over?” asked Ava, still mindful of her shoes.

“Mmm . . .” Carmela pulled forward a couple of feet. “The gate’s chained and padlocked, so no. We’re gonna have to go in on foot.”

“How are we going to slip through the gate?”

“We’re not,” said Carmela, “we’re going to go
over
it.” She opened the car door and stepped out. Humidity riding on a cool breeze struck her, lifting the hair gently off her neck. The air felt thick, but refreshing at the same time. And the long vista was peaceful and lovely. A symphony of crickets serenaded them.

But Ava hung back, half in, half out of the car. “You think we’ll be okay?”

Carmela was anxious to get going. “Sure, why wouldn’t we?”

Ava gingerly extricated herself from the car. “I guess we’ll be okay.”

“You worry too much,” said Carmela.

“And sometimes you don’t worry enough,” said Ava.

They hoisted themselves over a metal swing gate that hung off a tall wooden pole and started hiking up the curved driveway.

“Kinda muddy here,” observed Ava.

“Let’s walk on the grass,” said Carmela. They stepped out of the muddy track and onto soft, spongy grass. “Better.”

“I still don’t see any alligators,” said Ava.

“And you don’t want to,” said Carmela. “Besides, they’re probably all in pens. Past the house, way down where that bayou comes in. The gators probably like it all damp and swampy.”

Yeah, probably,” said Ava, picking her way carefully, moving farther off to the right. But after five minutes of twists and turns, they didn’t seem to be any closer to the main house.

“This is a pain,” complained Ava.

“The shortest distance between two points is a straight line,” said Carmela. She raised a hand, held it vertical, and sighted the house up ahead.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means we aim directly for the house, even if it means climbing over a couple of fences. Kind of like . . . orienteering in the woods.”

“I was never a Girl Scout,” said Ava, “but count me in. This slogging is getting tedious.”

“These must be old alligator pens,” said Carmela, after they’d climbed over three separate fences.

“Good thing they’re not
ocupado
,” said Ava.

“Laforge probably sold off most of his stock for the season,” said Carmela.

“You think?” said Ava. “Then how does he get baby alligators?”

“I don’t know,” said Carmela, “maybe you just need the eggs or something. You keep them warm under special lights and they just hatch by themselves.”

“Sounds right,” said Ava. “Maybe they even feed them using little baby gator bottles.” She paused. “Do gators even drink milk or are they—”

“What?”

“I said do they . . .”

Carmela stopped in her tracks and flapped a hand. “No, I heard something.” She listened again. “Do you hear a hissing sound?”

Ava stood stock still and listened. She shook her head, her dark hair swishing about her face. “No.”

“Because I thought . . .”

“I hope—”

“Sssh,” said Carmela. She touched a finger to her mouth.

Startled, Ava cocked an ear and listened carefully.

A low hissing sound seemed to emanate from the tall grass off to their left.

“Sounds like a tire losing air,” said Ava, taking a step forward. “Nothing to . . .”

Carmela reached out and grabbed Ava’s arm, then jerked her backward. “I don’t think so. I think it’s . . .”

Ava hesitated for all of one second, then screamed, “Alligator!”

They both backpedaled like mad, then spun about and sprinted for the fence they’d just clambered over.

Even with their feet pounding the damp earth, the two women could distinctly hear something following them. A whooshing sound, almost like a reptile effortlessly skimming its belly over wet grass.

“Faster!” screamed Ava. Her longer legs had put her a step ahead of Carmela.

Carmela watched Ava leap up and over the fence. And then, one step from the fence herself, she managed a quick glance over her shoulder and wished she hadn’t. A ten-foot-long alligator, its mouth wide open, rows of jagged teeth sparkling, was slithering toward her. Its body made little swish-swish sounds as it moved in a super-quick rocking motion toward her.

“Hurry!” screamed Ava, as Carmela made a flying leap onto the fence.

Then Carmela was scrambling up the wooden fence, which was reinforced at the bottom with metal screen.

Just as Carmela cleared the top rail, she ventured another look back. There was a rushing sound as the alligator leaped, propelling itself almost four feet into the air, and then there was a tremendously loud snap as his jaws clapped together!

“Holy buckets!” cried Ava. She was standing on the other side of the fence, breathing hard, clutching her side. “That monster almost had us!”

“Almost had us for lunch!” cried Carmela. She stood rigid with fear, still panting from her exertion, while the alligator gazed at them with a placid look, then languidly spun around and slithered off.

“Next time I buy a pair of alligator shoes,” said Ava, “I’m gonna hope they were cut from that critter’s hide! I want some serious revenge!”

“What are you doing over there!” called an angry voice.

Carmela and Ava looked around and finally spotted a skinny man who was now hustling over toward them. Dressed in olive-drab coveralls and wearing black, knee-high rubber boots, he had dark hair that hung lank about his angry, dark face. This guy was dressed in work clothes, but Carmela was pretty sure it was the same guy who’d attended Kimber’s funeral this morning.

“Is that him?” Ava asked in a low voice. “Kimber’s brother?”

“I think so,” said Carmela. “Looks like the same guy.” He had a hound with him, a dog with a brown spotted coat and gray muzzle.
Old dog
, Carmela thought. The dog looked sorrowful, as if it knew this was all a big mistake.

Billy Laforge tromped over to them and glared. “Are you girls crazy?” he screamed at the top of his lungs. “This is private property! Can’t you read the signs? This is an
alligator
farm! You don’t just stroll through these pens! That’s pure crazy!”

“Sorry,” said Carmela, feeling thoroughly chastised.

“I’ve got traps set out here, too!” cried Laforge. “For nutria.”

“Really, we meant no harm,” said Ava.

“You’ve no reason to be here!” Laforge shrilled. “Now get out!”

“We knew your sister,” said Carmela. She said it in a quiet voice meant to disarm him.

It didn’t.

“You’re not hearing me!” Laforge screamed. “Get out!”

“We were at the funeral this morning,” said Carmela.

“We’re sorry for your loss,” said Ava.

That seemed to punch the air out of Laforge. He shook his head, as if in disbelief, then placed both hands atop it. “What are you
talking
about?” he asked. But this time some of the venom had gone out of him.

“We know your sister was murdered,” said Carmela.

“That’s right,” chimed in Ava. “We were there. Carmela went out on the balcony and found her.”

“What right do you have to come here and say these things?” asked Laforge in a quavering voice.

“None whatsoever,” said Carmela. “Except we’re looking into things.”

“The
police
are looking into things,” said Laforge. “You’re obviously not the police!” He glowered at them.

“But we’re kind of working with them,” said Carmela. It was a little white lie, but she had to tell him something.

“Who are you again?” asked Laforge. He pulled a faded blue kerchief from his pocket and swabbed at his face. Now he just seemed exhausted and confused.

Ava pulled her iPhone from her purse, aimed it, and snapped a picture.

Laforge threw up an arm. “Stop that! Go back to wherever you came from and leave me alone!” With that, Laforge turned and stalked away.

“Nice guy,” said Ava.

“You didn’t really think he’d welcome us with open arms, did you?” said Carmela.

“I didn’t think we’d get chased by an alligator, either!” said Ava. She reached out, touched Carmela’s arm. “Come on, let’s go home. This trip is a bust.”

“At least we learned one thing,” said Carmela, as she turned to go.

“What’s that?” said Ava.

“Kimber’s brother is a lot more than angry, he’s also fearful.”

“Fearful of what?”

“I don’t know,” said Carmela. “That maybe he’s next?”

“Are you trying to freak me out?” asked Ava, as they walked back down the road.

“Nothing of the sort. I’m trying to figure this out.”

“Maybe we should leave that to Babcock and company,” said Ava.

“Maybe,” said Carmela, though she didn’t believe that for one instant.

“This whole alligator episode has given me a splitting headache,” said Ava. She put two fingers to her forehead and massaged gently.

“I read about a surefire headache remedy in of those women’s magazines you see at the checkout counter,” said Carmela.

“Like the
Tattler
or
Shooting Star
? Now Ava was interested. “I love all that celebrity news. I mean, those magazines are
good
.”

“What you do,” said Carmela, “is cut a lime in half, then rub it against your forehead. The sugar or enzymes or whatever supposedly make the throbbing go away.”

“Yeah?” said Ava. “If I had my druthers, I’d rather drop a lime into a nice glass of vodka.”

“I hear you,” said Carmela.