Race with Death

by Gilbert, Morris

  “What is it?” Ellen asked, and waited as Dani gave her a review of the details of the agency. Ellen listened avidly, and Dani went into more detail than she once would have. Her mother was alone now, cut off by the loss of her husband. Dani knew they had talked for long hours, Dan Ross sharing all the events of his busy life—but now there was a silence in Ellen Ross’s life.

  Ellen drank coffee as Dani ate, speaking quietly of the little things that now made up her life—the house, the grounds, Allison’s problem with a teacher, her concern over Rob’s apparent aimlessness. These things were not enough, Dani realized, and she tried to spend as much time as possible with her mother.

  The two women lingered over coffee, Dani concealing her anxiety to be off. Ellen finally said, “You’d better go to work, Dani.”

  “I guess so, Mom. I’ll be home tonight if I can, but it’ll probably be around ten or so. Don’t wait up for me.”

  Ellen’s face was drawn, but a slight smile came to her lips. “I’ll be awake,” she said quietly.

  Dani looked at her quickly, but said only, “I’ll be having some free time in about two weeks. Why don’t we go down to the Keys? Maybe we could get a little tan.”

  “Oh, that would be nice!”

  Dani rose, and Ellen said at once, “I’ll clean up, Dani. You go on.”

  “All right, Mom.” Dani gave her mother a hug and kissed her on the cheek. “See you tonight.”

  Five minutes later she was driving the Cougar west toward Baton Rouge, thinking of how the death of her father had created such a vacuum in her mother’s life. The loss had thrown them all into a numb shock that had faded only slightly. Every day, Dani thought of her father, missing him more than she had dreamed possible. What her mother was going through she could only imagine.

  As she drove along the ribbon of highway that wound between tall trees, the lines of a poem by Emily Dickinson came to her:

  The bustle in a house

  The morning after death

  Is solemnest of industries

  Enacted upon earth.

  The sweeping up the heart,

  And putting love away

  We shall not want to use again

  Until eternity.

  Putting love away, she thought suddenly. I can never do that! And she knew with an iron certainty that as long as she lived on planet Earth, she would think of her father. With one part of her heart, she knew that she would see him one day, when all her business on earth was done—but the world seemed hard and empty without him. She could put thoughts of him out of her mind for a time, but one little thing brought it all back. She had stepped on something in a corner of the den two days earlier, and bending over had found herself holding her father’s Old Timer pocket knife. As her fingers had touched the rough bone surface, the sense of loss had swept over her, and she’d been unable to move as the tears overflowed, spilling down her cheeks.

  Dani knew that the keen edge of grief would pass, but she felt vulnerable and, as she sped along the interstate, had to force her mind away from the thoughts of her father that brushed against her.

  She reached Baton Rouge an hour later, winding around the city, which was just beginning to stir. Taking Interstate 10, she drove steadily until she came to the turnoff that Rev. Leon Williams had marked on the small map he’d drawn. She followed a twisting road that wound around the bayou, coming at last to the brink of a branch of the Atchafalaya River, and saw a bait shop with a large hand painted sign: BEAUDREAU’S BAIT SHOP—NO CREDIT nailed on the side of one of the soaring cypress trees that rose out of the boggy ground.

  Parking the Cougar on the small patch of gravel, she got out and went inside. It was a long, low building with a concrete minnow bay along one end and a counter that ran in front of some shelves at the other end. A short man wearing a dirty T-shirt that read Don’t Mess with Texas looked up from where he sat in a cane-bottomed chair. He had a three-day crop of whiskers and could have been anywhere from thirty to sixty years old. When he spoke, it was with a thick Cajun accent. “Can I help you, me?” he asked.

  “I want to rent a boat,” Dani said.

  “Oh, yes, we got four or five of dem,” the man said agreeably. “You need some shiners, mebbe some crickets?”

  “No, I’m not going fishing,” Dani answered. “I’m going to Bejay Guidry’s place. Do you know it?”

  The man’s sharp brown eyes lit with interest. “Oh, I know it, miss. My name’s Simon Beaudreau. I know everybody around Whiskey Bay.” He got to his feet and asked curiously, “You a friend of mah friend Bejay?”

  “I never met him—but I need to talk to him.”

  Her remark interested the Cajun. He studied her carefully, as if she were a rather unusual specimen, then said, “You ain’t no law, I don’t think? No, you ain’t none of that.”

  “Well, in a way, I am,” Dani admitted. She usually didn’t like to tell people so much, but she had the idea that Simon Beaudreau was an exception. “I’m a private investigator, Mr. Beaudreau.”

  The dark face of the Cajun was reposed, but there was a quick light in his dark eyes. “Must be about Eddie Prejean, no?”

  Dani knew she’d guessed right—this was indeed a sharp man! “I hope you won’t talk about it, Mr. Beaudreau, but you’re right. I need to talk to Bejay about Eddie.”

  A fatalistic note was in the man’s voice as he said, “Ain’t nobody but the good Lord can help that sucker. He done got his tail in a crack, him!”

  “Can you tell me how to get to Bejay’s house?” Dani asked. She pulled out the map Leon Williams had sketched and, unfolding it, handed it to the stocky man. She saw that he was suspicious and suspected that it was part of his character rather than a personal thing.

  Finally he said, “I draw you a better one. You git lost good if you don’t be careful.”

  Dani stood there as he located a Red Horse tablet, carefully sharpened a stub of a short yellow pencil, then traced a surprisingly well-drawn map on the rough paper. “You follow dem white flags tied to saplings,” he instructed. “Bejay’s folks live way back in de bayou. And be a little careful when you gits close. Old man Guidry, he’s a caution,” Beaudreau warned. “Suspicious of everybody whose last name ain’t Guidry. Las’ month he took a shot at a hunter.”

  “He shot him?”

  “Ah, no! He jus’ shoot his hat off a little bit! It give the man to know he was serious.”

  Dani smiled nervously. “I’ll go in waving a white flag.”

  “You come and I get you a good boat, me.”

  Dani followed Beaudreau out of the building and stopped beside a line of flat-bottomed boats anchored to cement blocks. “You know boats?” the short man inquired.

  “Yes, I can handle one of these.”

  She got into one of the boats, opened the choke on the Evinrude, gave the rope a sharp pull, and grinned when the engine coughed once, then broke into a full-throated roar. “Got plenty of gas,” Beaudreau nodded. “Tell old man Guidry I say for him to treat you right.”

  Dani backed the boat out into the deeper water, turned it smoothly around, and opened the throttle. She looked back to wave at the Cajun, who waved back with a smile.

  The wind was chilly, and she shivered as it whipped around her. The lightweight, nylon jacket was not warm enough at this early hour, but it would be getting warmer soon. She guided the boat down the channel, enjoying the sensation of the throbbing engine and the water slapping the square end of the boat as it bounced up and down.

  Half a mile downstream, she saw a fork in the river and swung the boat into a much smaller branch. The bayou began to close in, and soon the stream had lost itself in a swamp. Towering cypress closed off the sky as she slowed the boat to a crawl, dodging old logs that lay half submerged. It wasn’t too difficult to follow the trail of small white rags, though some of them were weathered and difficult to see. She lost her way at one point, forcing her to backtrack until she picked it up again.

  The swamp was silent except for
the throbbing of the Evinrude, and she slowed the engine back until the boat was creeping along. White egrets rose from the glistening black water, and a coon peered at her from his perch on a limb, his eyes bright as buttons, as she passed beneath.

  It grew warmer as the sun rose, and the green-gold morning light that fell through the canopy of limbs overhead made the glade seem like a sanctuary of some sort. Dani saw that the lily pads bloomed with purple flowers even this early in the year. She enjoyed the smell of the trees, the moss, the wet green lichens on the bark, and the sprays of crimson and yellow four-o’clocks that grew on the small islands.

  She passed into a large, open body of water, and high up against the blue dome of the sky, a large brown pelican drifted by. Suddenly, his wings collapsed, and he plummeted like a small bomb into the water, erupting quickly with a fish dangling from his pouched beak.

  She came upon the house suddenly. It was hidden from the open water by a small grove of trees and was set well back from the shore. She caught a glimpse of three boats anchored to cypress knees inside a small cove that hooked around like Cape Cod, and she turned toward it at once, shutting off the engine.

  The silence that followed the sudden cessation of the Evinrude was complete, and as she glided in toward the shore, Dani spotted a five-foot gator up close to the cypress roots, his barnacled head and eyes just showing above the waterline like a brown rock. He would have been invisible to many, for he looked like just another half-sunken log.

  The prow of the boat touched the shore, and Dani was mindful of the Cajun’s warning. “Hello! Anybody home?” she called out. The metal prow slid in over the mud, and Dani got up and stepped ashore. As she lifted the concrete block from the bow and dropped it into the mud, a voice came from her left, startling her.

  “You lost, lady?”

  Dani turned quickly to see a tall young man standing in the shadow of a thick-bodied cypress tree. He wore a red and black checked shirt hanging over a pair of tattered jeans, and Dani thought she could see the outline of a pistol against his flat stomach.

  “I’m looking for the Guidry place,” Dani said carefully. She was aware of the .38 pressing against her spine, barely covered by the nylon jacket, but she was certain that this was the man she was looking for. Leon William had said, “Bejay, he looks like a cat.” And there was definitely something feline about the young man who was watching her, Dani decided.

  He was not effeminate, but catlike in the sense of watchfulness. He had round eyes, blue-gray in color, and a mass of glistening black curly hair that fell around his ears and almost touched the collar of his shirt. He was lithe and strong-looking, with powerful looking hands covered with small white scars.

  “Which Guidry you looking for?” he asked, and looked over her shoulder out into the open waters. His eyes swept the scene, then came back to rest on her, wary as those of an animal.

  “I’m Dani Ross—and I’m looking for Bejay Guidry.”

  “That right?” Guidry studied her, and a smile touched his thin lips. “That’s me. What can I do for you?”

  Dani hesitated. Now that she was here and had the man before her, she wasn’t sure how to proceed. All she knew was that Leon Williams felt Guidry was aware of something that would help her.

  “It’s—a little complicated, Mr. Guidry,” she said slowly. “Can I talk to you?”

  “Come on,” Guidry nodded. “I was just making breakfast. Been out running a trap line.”

  Dani hesitated, asking, “Is your father around?”

  Guidry laughed, his teeth very white against his tanned skin. “No, he’s gone to Lafayette. Ma went with him, so we can have a private breakfast. Come on inside.”

  Dani followed him across the open ground and stepped into the cabin when he paused and held the door open. The smell of frying meat and coffee was strong, and Guidry stepped over and picked up a frying pan. “How does bacon and eggs sound?”

  “Oh, I’ve already eaten, but you go ahead. I could drink some coffee, though.”

  Guidry shrugged, and proceeded to put the skillet on the gas stove. He picked up the blackened coffeepot, poured what looked like tar into a cup, and handed it to her. He grinned when Dani sipped it and her eyes went large. “A little strong, I guess.” He turned and took up the bacon, cracked two eggs and fried them, then put them on a plate and sat down. He began to eat, and the silence became oppressive to Dani.

  “I know it seems strange, Mr. Guidry, my coming here like this, but I need some help.”

  “What kind of help?”

  Dani was aware of the terse note in Guidry’s voice, and knew that this was not going to be an easy matter. She had discovered that the best way to approach things with simple people was to just be simple. “I got a call from Eddie Prejean, Mr. Guidry—”

  Bejay Guidry ate steadily, saying nothing as Dani related what had occurred at Angola. He seemed almost uninterested, and when she was finished, he leaned back and asked, “What’s all this got to do with me?”

  “You were working at the party the night the girl was murdered, weren’t you?”

  “Sure. You know that already. No other reason why you’d come all the way out in the bayou to see me—unless it was because you heard I was so good-looking.” He put his large hands around the coffee cup and saw that she was watching them. “I got those scars shuckin’ oysters,” he remarked. “Don’t advise you to take it up for a profession.”

  “Mr. Guidry—”

  “Bejay is good enough.”

  “Well—Bejay, then,” Dani agreed. “I’ll put it to you straight. I think there’s something fishy about Eddie Prejean’s trial.”

  Bejay smiled and leaned forward. Before Dani could move, he reached out and took her hand, holding it fast. She tried to withdraw it, but he was far too strong. He studied her hand, saying, “Smooth—and sexy, too.” He looked across the table at her, asking, “You sure you didn’t come out here because you heard something about me from the girls at Sally’s place?”

  Dani wrenched her hand free, and he laughed at her. “Do you know Eddie Prejean?” she asked.

  “Met him once or twice. He fishes sometimes. Good guy, Eddie.”

  “He’s going to die if I can’t find some proof that he didn’t kill that girl.”

  Guidry studied her carefully. “I hear lots of women go for prisoners. Some even marry guys in the slammer and wait for them till they get out. I hope you ain’t fallen in love with Eddie. Be a short romance.”

  Dani took a deep breath, then tried again. “Clyde Givens swore he saw Cory Louvier leave the party with Eddie. But Eddie says Givens lied.”

  A fly buzzed around the table and Bejay brushed it away absentmindedly, then plucked up his coffee cup, his eyes fixed on Dani. “Sounds like you better talk to Clyde. He’s the man putting Eddie in the hot seat.”

  “I think he’s lying,” Dani said quietly, then asked, “Did you see Eddie leave, Bejay?”

  The young man showed nothing in his face, but his fingers tightened on the cup. Dani saw them splay out and turn white—and knew that Guidry had a secret.

  “No, I didn’t see him leave.”

  Dani sat there, not knowing what to say. She had no authority as a law enforcement officer—and even if she had, what could she have done? Vainly she tried to think of some way to get at the secret she was sure lay locked behind Bejay’s smooth face, but could think of nothing.

  Finally she said quietly, “Death’s not such a big thing anymore, is it, Bejay?”

  “What?” Bejay was startled, and stared at Dani with confusion making him blink.

  “Every day somebody gets blown away in New Orleans—a corpse a day,” Dani said, her voice even, and her eyes locked onto Guidry. “The cemetery’s filling up. Cars with their lights on parading down the streets with the long black one in front.”

  “Hey—what is all this?”

  “But they don’t mean anything to you, do they, Bejay?”

  “Listen, I don’t go around offing peo
ple!”

  “No, but you won’t do anything to stop a man from dying either, will you?”

  Bejay’s forehead was glistening with sweat and his fingers were still white around the cup. “Get out of here!” he snapped. “Nobody sent for you.”

  “I’m going,” Dani said, and rose to her feet. She moved to the door, but when she got there, she turned and said, “You ever visit Angola, Bejay? Drop in sometime and ask them to show you the electric chair. They like to show it off.” Dani stared at the man, who had dropped his head, then said, “Eddie Prejean’s a pretty good man, I think. He’ll be sitting down in that chair in a few days. But that’s nothing to you, is it, Bejay?”

  “Get out before I bust you!” Guidry stood up, his face tight with anger. “I don’t like to see nobody get burned—but what can I do?”

  “You can tell the truth, Bejay!”

  For one moment Dani was hopeful, for a strange expression had come to Guidry’s face—something like relief, she thought. But then his lips drew across his face in a thin line. “You don’t know what you’re asking,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I’d like to see the guy walk—but I ain’t sticking my neck out and getting it chopped off. Now get out of here.”

  Dani considered the face of Guidry and knew she could do nothing. She said quietly, “I hope you sleep well, Bejay.” Then she turned and walked out of the cabin. She walked slowly to the water, put the concrete block inside the boat, then started the engine and headed back.

  He knows something, she thought, but I can’t make him speak out. I should have done it differently.

  Dani was depressed, and when she was paying for the boat, she could not hide it from Beaudreau. The stocky Cajun took the money, put it in a battered cash box on the counter, and said, “Well, come back, lady. Maybe you’ll do better next time.”

  Dani looked at him, startled for a moment. But she saw that he was merely being nice. “No, I don’t think so,” she murmured. “Thank you and good-bye.”