by Jana DeLeon
“But Margarita took Junior with her when she left,” I said.
“Parents still have rights,” Walter said. “Even fathers. Even if they’re a lousy father and don’t pay support. Courts still say they have rights. Everyone knows the truth is Hooch didn’t care to see the boy, so he didn’t bother to try.”
“Can’t really blame him for being quiet then,” I said. “What’s he supposed to say?”
Ida Belle glanced over at me and I knew that she’d caught something in my tone. I’d tried for nonchalant, but apparently I hadn’t been completely successful. Lousy, dead fathers were kinda a sore spot with me. I needed to remind myself not to let it color my judgment. Regardless of how crappy a father or a contractor Hooch was, neither was a reason for someone to kill you.
“Can’t imagine he’d have much more to say than he did,” Walter said. “Margarita said Carter had searched Hooch’s house but hadn’t found a will or any other legal documents.”
“No surprise there,” Gertie said.
“No, but it complicates things,” Walter said.
Ida Belle nodded. “As only Louisiana can.”
“So does everything go into probate then?” I asked.
“Succession,” Ida Belle said. “That’s Louisiana’s version of probate. And the answer is yes for some things, maybe for the rest. Real estate goes into succession because you need a change of deed. Vehicles can go through a lesser process and title can transfer by affidavit. Personal property that isn’t worth anything to speak of usually just transfers to next of kin without much pomp and circumstance.”
“Ha!” Gertie said. “You make it sound so simple, but this state is all about the drama. If someone dies with more than one kid, bet your heinie the fight is on. We’ve seen more than our share.”
“True,” Ida Belle agreed, “but in this case, there is only one child, so no drama.”
“So how long does succession take?” I asked.
“Might as well ask how high is high,” Gertie said. “Best case, a couple months.”
“Worst case?” I asked.
“People he owes money to file claims against his estate,” Ida Belle said. “Then there’s no telling how long it could be tied up.”
I glanced at Ida Belle and frowned and she gave me a barely imperceptible shake of her head. She didn’t want to say anything in front of Walter, but she knew exactly where my train of thought had gone. Potential debts were one of the reasons we’d deduced Hooch was trying to sell out to the Heberts rather than go about things openly.
“So Margarita and Junior can collect the things in Hooch’s house?” I asked. “I’m assuming he doesn’t have any antique furniture or Da Vincis lurking around in there.”
“Not likely,” Walter said. “I was there about a month ago to deliver some lumber. Hooch’s truck was broken down, again, and he had a hole in his roof he needed to patch before the next storm. The furniture looked about as good as something you’d find sitting on the curb for trash pickup. Nothing hanging on the walls but stuffed dead things.”
“No velvet Jesus?” I asked.
“No,” Walter said. “But he had beer cans hanging from a Christmas tree in the corner of his living room.”
“You were there in August,” Gertie said.
Walter nodded. “Looked like this wasn’t the first August that tree had seen, either. Probably been there for years.”
“So Junior will be able to load up anything worth keeping and take it with him?” I asked.
“Yes, but not quite yet,” Walter said. “Carter says the house could be part of a crime scene and it’s off-limits until he gives the word.”
“How is that?” I asked. “Hooch died in his boat.”
“Which is also a crime scene,” Walter said. “My guess is Carter’s going overboard because of this state police thing.”
I nodded. “Did they show up before you were done with Carter?”
“No,” Walter said. “They called and said they were delayed in getting someone out and it would likely be tomorrow. Honestly, I doubt they’ll ever send someone out. I think they’re just yanking his chain.”
“Making sure he goes out of his way to do everything by the book since the threat of them getting involved is hanging over his head,” Ida Belle said. “That sounds about right.”
“I bet Margarita isn’t happy about the holdup,” Gertie said. “She’ll just see it as Hooch screwing with her from the grave.”
“I got the impression she wasn’t thrilled about any of it,” Walter said, “but I’m pretty sure being delayed longer than she expected didn’t thrill her.”
“Why should it matter?” Gertie said. “Not like she was going to sleep in the same bed that Hooch had been sleeping in. Hell, she’ll probably have a priest perform an exorcism before she enters the house. She can help Junior make arrangements for the funeral, then they can head back home until Carter says everything is clear.”
“I got the impression she was just wanting it all settled so they could move on and close this chapter forever,” Walter said. “They’re staying at the motel for a couple days, hoping Carter gets things wrapped up enough for them to start all the legal stuff.”
“I feel sorry for Junior,” Gertie said. “Hooch wasn’t much of a father but as long as he was alive, there was always that hope that he might change his mind and try to be.”
“A little late now,” Ida Belle said. “The boy’s grown.”
“Still,” Gertie said. “It probably would have meant something to him to know his father gave a damn.”
“Maybe,” Ida Belle said. “Or maybe he decided long ago that his father wasn’t deserving of any mental space.”
There was an edge to her voice that I didn’t hear often, and I remembered the comments she’d made in passing about her own father. About how he’d wanted a son but Ida Belle had been his only child. I wondered how much of her childhood had consisted of her trying to fit into a role that biology would never allow her to assume. I could appreciate the dilemma. It was one of the many things Ida Belle and I had in common.
Walter rose from the table. “Well, ladies, I have a steak marinating and a dog waiting to be fed, so I’m going to leave you to whatever it is you’re doing that I don’t want to know anything about.”
“That’s it?” Ida Belle said.
Walter looked confused. “That’s all I know.”
Ida Belle narrowed her eyes at Walter. “Things sounded kinda heated in Carter’s office when we arrived. Sounded like a lot more than an argument over bottled water.”
Walter looked down at the ground for a couple seconds, then back at Ida Belle. “I’m not happy about some of the choices my nephew has made recently. I get that he has a job to do, but I disagree with the way he has to go about it.”
“And what did Carter think of your disapproval?” Ida Belle asked.
“He wasn’t impressed with it,” Walter said. “My nephew is a stubborn man. I don’t expect he’ll admit he’s been wrong a time or two, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to stop pointing those times out.”
Ida Belle nodded. “I wouldn’t expect any less. I’m sorry he wasn’t interested in hearing what you had to say.”
Walter nodded, the tension slipping from his expression. “I know there’s no point in my telling you not to stick your nose in, what with Ally in the mix and all, so instead, I’ll just tell you to be careful.”
“We’re always careful,” Gertie said. “Why do people think we’re not careful?”
Ida Belle stared at her. “Seriously?”
Walter smiled. “That’s my cue. You ladies have a nice night.”
I handed Walter his keys and walked him to the door, raising my hand as he climbed in his truck. Then I headed back into the kitchen and plopped into my chair.
“You buying that?” I asked.
“No way,” Ida Belle said.
Gertie looked confused. “What did I miss?”
“Walter lying,” I said. “O
r to be fair, more like leaving out a big chunk of the truth.”
Ida Belle nodded. “I have no doubt he had words with Carter over you and Ally spending a night in jail, but that wasn’t what they were fighting about when we arrived.”
“Carter said ‘You should have told me,’” I said. “That doesn’t fit the narrative of Walter complaining about the way Carter handled Ally and me.”
“Nor does it fit the water bottle scenario,” Ida Belle said, “because everyone knew Walter supplied the water. It was hardly a state secret.”
Gertie clapped her hands. “Two mysteries! It’s like Christmas came early.”
“Yeah,” Ida Belle said. “One being slightly less dangerous than the other.”
“I don’t get it,” Gertie said.
“One is a murder,” Ida Belle said. “The other is probably a family matter.”
Gertie’s eyes widened. “Oh. I see. Yeah, the murder might be the less lethal. Getting in the middle of family business, especially Southern family business, was never a good idea. So what do you think is going on?”
Ida Belle shook her head. “No idea. But it must be something good for Carter to be that mad.”
“And something he doesn’t want anyone else to know about since he hauled Walter to the sheriff’s department to confront him,” I said. “Twenty bucks says that had nothing to do with Hooch’s murder, regardless of the state police excuse.”
“If Carter pulled police rank to question Walter about family business, he’s really got his underwear in a knot,” Gertie said. “Carter never blurs those lines.”
Ida Belle laughed. “Are you kidding me? Carter’s been blurring those lines since Fortune blew into town.”
“That’s different,” Gertie said. “He’s having sex with Fortune. Men lose their minds over sex. Some women, too. I remember this hot navy guy I met in Japan—”
“Nope!” Ida Belle held up her hand. “I am not about to listen to the hot navy guy story again. The first time almost sent me to therapy.”
“That was over fifty years ago,” Gertie said.
“I promise you, hearing it now would be worse,” Ida Belle said.
Gertie crossed her arms over her chest. “Well, maybe I’ll just have Fortune over one night for a retelling and you won’t be invited.”
“Do I have to be invited?” I asked.
“Et tu, Brute?” Gertie asked.
“I’m more of a leave-it-to-the-imagination sort of girl,” I said.
“I wouldn’t even imagine,” Ida Belle said. “Not if you plan on eating again anytime soon.”
Gertie gave her the finger.
“In other news,” I said, “if Carter declared Hooch’s property a potential crime scene, then that makes checking it out an even bigger problem. I imagine there aren’t fifty entrances to the place, and there’s always a chance that Carter will have the ones that do exist watched.”
“Or just be sitting on the front porch himself,” Ida Belle said. “I wouldn’t put it past him if he really thought there was something of value inside, but in this case I don’t see it.”
“Maybe Hooch has money stuffed in his mattress,” I said. “I mean, there has to be some reason that Carter won’t allow his son into the house. The murder didn’t happen there and I don’t think anyone would buy that Hooch poisoned himself, so the preparation of the poison didn’t occur there either.”
Ida Belle nodded. “It is interesting and makes one wonder. Usually the police only control access to property if it’s part of the investigation or there is likely to be pilfering by relatives before the courts settle things up. But in this case, there’s only the one child.”
“Carter must know something,” I said.
“You don’t think you could get it out of him?” Gertie asked.
“Not even if I had him handcuffed to a chair and was standing there naked with a gun to his head,” I said.
“I have to agree,” Ida Belle said. “Carter’s not going to give up information to Fortune. One, because he’s serious about his job and the responsibilities that go with it. Two, because he knows we’ll use that information to insert ourselves into his investigation.”
“He’s just prolonging the agony,” Gertie said. “We’re in full insertion mode anyway.”
“Why don’t you call him up and tell him that and see if he changes his mind,” Ida Belle said.
“Well, you don’t have to get condescending,” Gertie said. “Anyway, this doesn’t change my mind. I still think we need to check out Hooch’s property, and it’s best to do it before Junior douses it with gas and lights the whole thing on fire.”
“Hold on,” I said. “We were going to check out the ground for signs of oil exploration. No one said anything about breaking into Hooch’s house.”
Gertie rolled her eyes. “And do you think Hooch would have stored any paperwork from oil companies outside? Come on, if Hooch really had property worth the kind of money he asked the Heberts for, then there will be some indication of it inside his house.”
I threw my hands up and looked over at Ida Belle. “I can’t get through to her. You try.”
Ida Belle slowly shook her head. “I agree with her. In theory, anyway. Hooch had a huge distrust of banks and the government so I guarantee you he didn’t have a safe-deposit box. Anything he had to document the value of the property would be in his house.”
I sighed. “Fine. Then we’ll trespass and break and enter on a property that the police have specifically designated as off-limits. What could possibly go wrong? How are you planning on getting there? You buy a teleportation device off of eBay?”
“Not yet,” Gertie said, “but I keep looking for one.”
Ida Belle shot her a worried look, then looked back at me. “There’s two ways in—road or bayou. One road, one bayou.”
Gertie shook her head. “That’s not true.”
“They built a new road to the middle of nowhere?” Ida Belle asked. “God carved out a new bayou?”
“Of course not,” Gertie said. “But we could parachute in. Bomber Bruce said we could do it anytime for free.”
“And hike out?” Ida Belle asked. “Or would you prefer a midnight swim in alligator-infested bayous? Walter won’t be next door with a truck. I swear that whole skydiving thing has scrambled your brain even worse than usual.”
“I guess I forgot about that whole extraction part,” Gertie said.
“Hey, why worry about the small details?” I asked. “I personally vote for road. The thought of taking an unplanned dip in the bayou in the middle of alligator lurking time is not anywhere on my agenda. Not tonight or ever.”
“No one said anything about taking a dip,” Gertie said.
“No one had to,” I said. “It’s us. It’s bound to happen. Besides, no way we can approach by water without the sound of the engine echoing across the water. And since boating at night is reasonably limited, anyone watching Hooch’s house will hear us coming a mile away.”
“I have an idea,” Ida Belle said. “Pull up a satellite image of Sinful.”
I grabbed my laptop and pulled up the image.
“Move northeast,” Ida Belle instructed, “and zoom in. There. That’s the road to Hooch’s place.”
“Is that thing at the end of the road that looks like an abandoned building his house?” I asked.
Ida Belle nodded. “But see over here?” She pointed a bit west of the road. “There’s another road that runs parallel. They’re about a quarter-mile apart when you exit the highway, but the gap narrows a bit toward the end.”
“So you’re thinking take the first road and then hike through the woods to Hooch’s place?” I asked.
“Exactly,” Ida Belle said.
“What about this?” I pointed to a shack at the end of the road Ida Belle suggested using. “Who lives there and how handy is he with a shotgun at night if he hears people on his property?”
“That’s Young Huck’s place,” Gertie said. “He owns all th
e property from the highway clear to the bayou.”
“Young Huck?” I asked.
“As opposed to Old Huck, his father,” Gertie said. “Young Huck is only eighty.”
“Only?” I asked. “I assume his father has passed?”
Gertie shook her head. “If he’d passed, we could just call him Huck. Old Huck lives in New Orleans in one of those retirement homes. He likes daily poker and the ladies.”
“So how strict is Young Huck about trespassing on his land?” I asked. “Because I really don’t want to deal with some old guy with shaky hands and faulty eyesight shooting at me.”
“Don’t worry,” Ida Belle said. “I can handle that end of things.”
“Okay,” I said. “I guess that could work. I mean, nothing says ‘good time’ like hiking through a Louisiana swamp on a hot September night.”
I mean, what could be better? A sketchy road among the bayous of Louisiana. A hike through woods with any number of creatures that could maim you, while wearing long sleeves to ward off mosquitoes the size of prehistoric birds. Then we search a property that is likely being guarded by law enforcement, and attempt escape without being arrested.
I smiled. Better than a good thriller and a case of beer.
Chapter Sixteen
It was close to midnight when we drove out of town in Ida Belle’s SUV. We’d taken the back way around downtown and driven with no headlights until we reached the highway. So far, there had been no movement along the way, but it was Louisiana and we were about to trek through the woods, so all bets were off on the quiet continuing.
“So explain to me again about the rifles?” I asked.
“It’s our cover,” Gertie explained. “We’re hunting possums.”
“Why would we do that?” I asked.
“We wouldn’t,” Ida Belle said. “Some people like them but I think they taste like death. But we need a reason to be out in the middle of the woods at night with weapons, and this is the one that fits. There’s no hunting season for possum and it’s one of the few things you can hunt at night.”
“Uh-huh,” I said. “And we brought Bones with us, why?”