Rebel Without a Cake Page 17

  River looked disappointed that I wasn’t Edie. He nodded toward the megasized drink cup beside the computer and asked, “Is she in?”

  I leaned over to get a better look at the flowers. The pot was ceramic and whimsical—pink with green polka dots and a handle that made it look like a giant teacup. I liked it, but I couldn’t predict Edie’s reaction. “She’s here, just away from her desk for a minute. You’re welcome to wait.”

  He glanced around nervously and then sat. “How’s she doing?”

  “You haven’t talked to her?”

  “I’ve tried. Believe me, I’ve tried. She won’t answer my calls, won’t reply to my texts, and won’t respond to any of the messages I’ve left. I’m running out of ideas. If the flowers don’t work, it may be the end of the road for me.”

  I gave him a noncommittal smile—one that I hoped conveyed, I understand but I won’t get involved, then turned back toward the computer. “Well, let’s hope the flowers work.”

  Full of nervous energy, River stood and took a couple of steps toward the front door. I pretended not to watch as he hesitated, pivoted on the balls of his feet, and strode back to the chair he’d just vacated. “She’s driving me nuts, you know.”

  I wanted to welcome him to my world, but I thought that might sound rude so I stated the obvious instead. “She’s eight months pregnant.”

  “It’s more than that.” He sat on the edge of his seat and leaned forward. “I thought she and I had a connection, you know? I mean, that night we met at the Dizzy Duke, we just . . . clicked. I had no idea about the baby until I came back to the States. If I’d known . . .”

  He looked so miserable I decided to break my noninterference rule, just a little. “I know. She told me. Which means she knows that. Edie never expected you to come back at all, and she had absolutely no idea you were Sparkle’s brother. I think it threw her for a major loop. She’s still trying to absorb it.”

  “Yeah, well, that makes two of us. I had no idea she worked with my sister either, but I don’t consider it a disaster. She does.”

  I abandoned my computer game and linked my hands together on the desk. “Would it have made a difference? If you had known who she was, I mean. Would you have done things differently?”

  He rubbed his neck and hung his head. “Yes. No.” His head came up again. “I don’t know. Maybe. But I didn’t know, and I didn’t do things differently. And neither did she, by the way. So now this is the hand we’ve been dealt and we need to accept it. Why is she acting like I did something horrible to her?”

  “I don’t think that’s what she’s feeling,” I said. I wondered how much to share, but I didn’t have a lot to work with. Edie doesn’t confide much. Also, I’m new at this BFF thing. So while I didn’t want to cross the line, I wasn’t even sure where the line here was.

  “I don’t think she blames you for getting her pregnant,” I said. “That would be silly. It takes two. I think she’s scared to death that you won’t be there for her and the baby down the road when things get tough.”

  “I’ve told her a million times that I’ll be there. That’s my kid she’s carrying.”

  “Not necessarily a slam-dunk argument,” I said. “Sharing DNA with a child doesn’t automatically qualify someone for Father of the Year.”

  “You don’t have to tell me,” River said with a humorless laugh. “I know what it’s like to grow up without a dad. I know what it’s like to wonder who your dad is and whether he even knows you exist. There’s no way in hell I want my kid to go through that.”

  “For what it’s worth, I believe you. And I’m a pretty hard sell. But Edie’s the one with the baby kicking her insides all hours of the night.” I heard a door open down the hall so I lowered my voice and gave him my best counsel. “Just hang in there. It takes time to build trust. If you don’t give up, eventually she’ll realize that you mean what you say.”

  Edie waddled back into the reception area, saw River sitting there and the flowers on her desk, and burst into tears. “What are you doing here?” she demanded. “What is this?”

  He stood uncertainly. “I came to see you. We need to talk.”

  That was my cue to vamoose, so I beat a hasty retreat into my office and closed the door to give them some privacy. I’d briefly considered leaving the door open a crack so I could hear what was going on, but decided that would be crass.

  I went back to work, opening a new game of solitaire and trying to remember what I’d been thinking about when River arrived. Before I even found the first ace, the phone rang. Not wanting the call to give Edie an excuse to avoid talking to River, I snagged the phone myself.

  “Ms. Lucero? That you? Deputy Georgie Tucker here. You remember me from the Terrebonne Parrish Sheriff’s Department?”

  Even though I’d given her my number, she was still the last person I’d expected to hear from while I was at work. “Of course I remember. Are you calling with news about the case? Have you figured out who killed Silas Laroche?” I really hoped she would say yes, and that it was anyone except Bernice’s cousin Eskil. I couldn’t keep running back and forth to Baie Rebelle, and I had a feeling that’s exactly what I’d be doing as long as Miss Frankie and Bernice were there.

  Not that I was ready to see Miss Frankie. I was still working out how I felt about knowing she’d handpicked another woman to be Philippe’s wife, and had apparently opposed Philippe’s decision to choose me instead.

  “Not yet, I’m afraid,” Georgie said. “We’re working on it, though.”

  “Do you have any leads? Were you able to identify any fingerprints on that toilet tank lid?”

  “We have a few leads, but honestly not many. No usable prints on the murder weapon, but we’re not letting that get us down. Listen, the reason I called is that I need to get an official statement from you. I should’ve taken care of that while you were here, but I thought I had what I needed. Turns out, I was wrong.”

  I do my best to cooperate with the police, especially when they’re not accusing me of anything, and I was feeling especially cooperative that morning. “No problem. Do you want to do it now or make an appointment to talk later?” I was good either way. I mean, I did have an important solitaire game going, but I could put that off to do my civic duty.

  “I wish I could do it over the phone,” Georgie said, “but Sheriff Argyle is insisting that I get your statement in person, complete with original signature.”

  “Oh.” My eagerness to cooperate evaporated, but I saw nothing wrong with negotiating. “Any chance you could come to New Orleans, or do I need to go all the way back to Baie Rebelle? Or could we split the difference and do this in Houma?”

  “Baie Rebelle, if you don’t mind. I’ll be down there all day tomorrow so we could meet up whenever it’s good for you.”

  I did mind, but what was the point of saying so? I didn’t want to make a fuss about Georgie’s request and look as if I had something to hide. “Okay. I’ll drive down in the morning. Where should I meet you?”

  “You know the Gator Pit? It’s a bar in town.”

  “The one next to T-Rex’s? Yeah, I know it.”

  “It opens at eleven for lunch. How about we meet then? Is that okay with you?”

  I said I’d see her then and hung up the phone. This would be my third trip to Baie Rebelle in less than a week. Maybe I should think about starting a shuttle service. It might be a great way to supplement my income.

  * * *

  I pulled up in front of the Gator Pit right on time on Thursday morning. I didn’t see Georgie’s patrol car, but I trusted that she’d be there soon. With a few minutes to kill, I decided to wait inside so I could see how the locals lived. I almost changed my mind when I opened the door, but by then I’d already committed to the adventure and I like to follow through with what I start.

  The Gator Pit was a small dark room with a short bar on o
ne wall and six small round tables for customers. Cheap accordion-pleated paper jack-o’-lanterns and bats drooped on the tables, and a couple of dusty plastic ghosts bobbed on fishing line overhead. All the tables were empty, but a couple of bearded men sat at the bar. They were so dirty and hairy I thought they could have passed for the rougarou. The fact that they were sharing hunting stories with a long-haired bartender did little to reassure me.

  Several dim lights hung from wooden ceiling beams, but they barely chased away the gloom. The door shut behind me and I felt my way toward one of the tables.

  As soon as I sat down, a middle-aged woman with long curly hair held back with a headband tossed a napkin on the table in front of me. A pair of new-looking jeans stretched across her broad hips, and a too-small T-shirt hugged every curve above her waist and showed an impressive cleavage. “What can I get you, hon?”

  “Diet Pepsi?” I said hopefully.

  “Diet Coke okay?”

  “That’s fine. Thanks.”

  “You’re new around here, aren’t you?”

  I gave her a second look, wondering if I’d seen her before. She didn’t look familiar, so I shrugged and shook my head. “Just visiting.”

  Both hunters glanced at me and the waitress asked, “Oh? You have folks around here?”

  People in small towns can be friendly, but they can also be suspicious of strangers. Folks in the swamps of Louisiana are generally considered more suspicious than most. Under normal circumstances, establishing my tenuous connection to the Percifields might have been smart, but two things stopped me. First, I assumed that the murder of Silas Laroche was front and center in everyone’s mind; and second, I wasn’t sure I wanted these potential suspects to know that I was the one who’d found the body—at least not while I was alone.

  I smiled and shook my head. “No relatives, I’m afraid.”

  They all waited expectantly, as if my next move was to offer my family history.

  I tried not to look nervous and turned the tables on her. “Have you lived here long?”

  “All my life.” Her answer was cool and crisp. “Sure I can’t get you anything else?”

  I assured her that I would be fine with the soda and settled back to wait for Georgie. Five minutes later, I realized this was going to be a long wait. Two more customers wandered in. One of the originals at the bar wandered out. Those were the highlights.

  The waitress was obviously friends with everyone there. She joked with customers about inconsequential things and argued mildly with the bartender about inventory and her schedule. She wanted Saturday off. He said their deal was one Saturday a month and reminded her she’d taken off the previous Saturday.

  I swallowed a yawn and chided myself for forgetting to bring a book. Not that it mattered. It was so dark in there, I wouldn’t have been able to see the words on a page. I briefly considered taking a nap, but I put my elbow in something sticky on the table and changed my mind.

  I’m not sure how long I’d been sitting there when the door opened and Junior Laroche ambled inside. My day brightened considerably. At least now my eavesdropping had the potential to be interesting. Junior greeted his friends and neighbors and nodded to the waitress. He ordered a beer and perched on a bar stool.

  Maybe I should strike up a friendly conversation with him. Or maybe I should just keep listening to see if he said something important. I contemplated the options for about three seconds, decided he’d probably say more to friends than he would to me, and scooted back into the shadows so I could implement Plan B.

  For the first little while, the conversation was blindingly dull. The guys talked about hunting and fishing and debated the merits of different types of bait and the use of treble hooks when fishing alligators out in the open. Apparently the waitress also dipped her toe (figuratively) into the swamp now and then because she offered an opinion or two of her own between wiping down tables and sweeping the floor.

  I found myself drifting off and trying to ignore the nudge from my conscience that told me I should check up on Miss Frankie and Bernice while I was in town. At some point the waitress stopped cleaning, and sat down beside Junior. I didn’t notice until Junior raised his voice and thumped the bar with his fist, which pulled me rudely away from my daydreaming.

  “You’re not listening to me, Nettie. Kale needs boundaries. He’s running around town like a loose cannon.”

  The waitress was Nettie? Silas Laroche’s widow? Well, well, well. I made a real effort to pay attention.

  Nettie tried to placate her brother-in-law. “He’s upset, Junior. I know you don’t care about Silas, but Kale always cared about his daddy, for all the good it did him.”

  “The boy’s too damned soft,” Junior complained. “It gets him into trouble. So his old man never cared about him. So what? My mama always liked my brother best. Did I let that bother me? Hell no. That kid’s got to toughen up, Nettie. He’s got to start doing what’s expected of him. That’s not going to happen if you keep coddling him.”

  Nettie left her seat and slipped behind the bar, where she started putting away a stack of clean glasses. I couldn’t be sure, but I suspected she wanted to keep her hands busy so she wouldn’t punch Junior in the face.

  “I don’t coddle him,” she said in a low voice. “But I don’t expect him to just shrug off all the crap life has heaped on him either. He’s got a lot to work through. It wasn’t his fault Silas took off the way he did.”

  “It wasn’t my fault either,” Junior said. All at once his voice lost its angry spark. He leaned up from his stool and touched her cheek. “Taking care of the two of you wasn’t my responsibility, Nettie, but I did it anyway. Why do you think I did that? For the fun of it?”

  Nettie looked too stunned by his touch for me to think they’d been having an affair. I wondered what he had up his sleeve. “You know I appreciate all you’ve done, Junior. You’ve been better to the both of us than Silas ever was.”

  “Then talk to Kale. Convince him to do the right thing.”

  Nettie looked like a deer caught in the headlights, but she nodded slowly. “I’ll talk to him but I can’t promise he’ll do what I say.”

  Junior pulled his hand away from her face and smiled. “You can convince him, baby. I know you can. Just tell him how much it’ll mean to you. And remind him that if he comes to work for me, he’ll be building his future. He can help get things back on track for all of us. Isn’t that what we both want?”

  I don’t know what Nettie’s answer would have been because that was when Georgie arrived—thirty minutes late—and Junior beat a hasty retreat. He left so quickly I wondered if he was trying to avoid being in the same place with the sheriff’s deputy. Maybe his rapid departure had nothing to do with Georgie’s sudden arrival, but it looked that way to me. Gut instinct told me that Junior Laroche had more than one trick up his sleeve, and when my gut started speaking, I tried to listen.

  Twenty

  Georgie didn’t look twice at Junior. She just planted herself across from me and tossed a clipboard onto the table. With a heavy sigh, she tugged off her cap and dropped it beside the clipboard. I thought she looked tired. Even her freckles seemed faded.

  “Sorry to keep you waiting. I got tied up on a call.” She pulled a pen from her pocket and sat with it poised to write. “You ready to do this?”

  “Sure.” I glanced at the door. “But before we get started, did you see that?”

  Georgie followed my gaze. The bartender was watching something on a small black-and-white TV behind the bar. Nettie was chatting with the two men still bellied up to it. “See what?”

  “Did you notice how quickly Junior left when you walked in? What do you know about him? Do you think he could have killed his brother?”

  Georgie gave that a moment’s thought and then shrugged it off. “Sure he could have, but why would he? Silas didn’t have anything Junior
wanted. Junior had it all. He had the money, the property. I mean, no, he doesn’t have a wife or kids, but he has a good relationship with Silas’s family. Way better than Silas did, that’s for sure.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” I said reluctantly. There was something about the way Junior had touched Nettie’s cheek—and her reaction to it—that made me uneasy. “You don’t think he and Nettie are having an affair, do you?”

  Georgie’s eyes grew a little wider. “You think so?”

  “Not really,” I said quickly. “It’s just they were discussing Kale, and Junior—” I broke off and shook my head. “He touched her face but I could swear she seemed surprised by it. Do you think it’s possible that he’s been waiting for his brother to die so he could make his move?”

  Georgie snorted softly, “Would he really wait around for twenty years? Why wait all that time to make his move?”

  “It does seem unlikely,” I agreed. “Especially if it’s true that their father cut Silas out of his will.”

  “That’s pretty much common knowledge around here. The way I hear it, the old man was furious when Silas turned his back on his legacy.”

  “Junior said Silas did that because he doesn’t believe that people can actually own property. Is that right?”

  Georgie put down her pen and nodded. “Silas was a weird guy. In general, the people out here aren’t too fond of rules and regulations, but most folks are real respectful of the rules when it comes to hunting and fishing. They know where they can go and they’re careful not to encroach on each other’s territory. But Silas didn’t care. He had the idea that owning property was some kind of abomination against nature. He said that God made it for everyone to use. And he saw nothing wrong with taking the catch right off someone else’s line or hunting out of season.”

  “He forgot that God wasn’t happy about stealing?”

  “Oh, Silas didn’t consider that stealing,” Georgie said. “In his mind, anyone who tried to claim ownership was taking away from everyone else. You know he and Eskil butted heads over that very thing, right?”