Gators and Garters

by Jana DeLeon

  “I’m sure you’re right, but like you said, he didn’t set it up legally and with them not being married…”

  Mel nodded. “I tell you what, though. It prompted a lot of people to get their affairs in order, especially those working on the water. You never know what can happen. If a man like Johnny can get bested by water, then people start paying more attention.”

  “Then I guess one good thing came of it,” I said. “I appreciate you talking to me.”

  “You know anything about what happened to Molly?” he asked.

  “Probably not any more than you’ve heard,” I said. “The sheriff’s department has ruled her disappearance suspicious, though.”

  “But no body’s been found.”

  “No, sir. I and my friends here worked on the search ourselves. Most everyone with a boat did. I can’t tell you how much we all wanted a different outcome.”

  His eyes widened a bit. “Didn’t realize you knew her personally. I was real sorry to hear about it. We all were. If there’s anything I can do, you’ll let me know, right? Melvin Thibodeaux. I’m in the phone book.”

  I was somewhat charmed that he referred to himself as in the phone book. “I will. And thank you for talking to us. If you can think of anything else—no matter how insignificant it might seem—give me a call. Or if you ever need my help yourself.”

  He nodded and stuck my card in his shirt pocket. “I hope you find something. Anything that can explain why two good people had to go that way.”

  He stared out over the water and I could tell his thoughts were on Molly and Johnny as we left. As we headed out, we were all silent for a bit. Mel’s recounting had been somewhat somber and had reminded us once again that people felt the loss of Molly now and still hadn’t stopped feeling the loss of her brother.

  “Well, that was a dead end,” Gertie said, then sighed. “And that was a horrible way to put it.”

  “But accurate,” Ida Belle said.

  I stared out the window, recalling everything Mel said and trying to find something that led to an aha moment. Unfortunately, I was coming up short.

  “You get anything from that?” Ida Belle asked me.

  “No,” I said. “I had this wild thought that maybe Silas had killed Johnny somewhere else and carried him onto the boat to get rid of the body, but Mel nixed that theory by saying he didn’t have anything with him.”

  “I don’t think Silas could have gotten a body down that dock and into the boat,” Ida Belle said. “Not with his health issues.”

  “Probably not,” I said.

  Ida Belle shook her head. “It’s looking more and more like Johnny took that boat out and had some sort of freak accident.”

  “Do you really think he was going shrimping?” I asked. “In that weather?”

  “No,” Ida Belle said. “But we don’t know what else might have been going on with him. Maybe he took the boat out to think. Plenty of people do. He probably figured he would be fine in the storm as long as he was in the cabin and secured somewhere or in the middle of the lake where he couldn’t be lodged against something underwater.”

  “That isn’t the worst idea,” Gertie said. “It sounds like the boat was where he felt the most comfortable. If he had something to contemplate, then a storm might not be a deterrent.”

  “But Angel didn’t say anything about contemplation,” I said. “She said he was going to work in the garage.”

  “Maybe the contemplation was about Angel and he didn’t want to do it at home,” Ida Belle said.

  “Maybe so,” I said. “I guess it doesn’t matter in the big scheme of things. He went out, he died, and the only person who benefited couldn’t have done it unless he turned into Superman and the Invisible Man.”

  “I’d be okay with those as long as we could prove he did it,” Gertie said.

  I slumped down in my seat. “Me too.”

  Chapter Twenty

  The insurance agency was easy to locate. In fact, we spotted the sign from the service road. Based on the hours printed on the door, the office was open so we all headed inside. No one was at the desk up front and based on the layer of dust on the top, I wondered if it was even used. There were two doors behind the desk. I figured one was probably to the agent’s office and another to a restroom. That would be about the minimum amount of space to run the business. I was contemplating knocking on both doors when the door to the left opened and a gentleman poked his head out.

  Age somewhere between Gertie and the grim reaper, five foot ten, a hundred fifty pounds including the suit and dress shoes, maybe the wallet. No muscle tone that I could see. Threat level less than zero unless I considered possibly having to perform CPR a threat.

  I’m not sure if it took him a second to figure out there were really people standing there or that he should say something. Finally, he stepped out of the office, his hand extended toward me.

  “Pardon my rudeness,” he said. “I wasn’t expecting anyone so you surprised me. You know how it is when you get buried in actuarial tables.”

  “More riveting than golf,” I said.

  He nodded. “Isn’t it though? My name is Norbert Kent. How can I help you?”

  Deciding the PI hired by insurance companies was my best route of getting confidential information out of Kent, I pulled out my ID and a business card and handed the card to Kent. He leaned in to inspect my ID, his eyes growing even larger behind his thick glasses.

  “As you know, the company hires PIs to check into policy claims from time to time, especially if anything appears irregular,” I said. “These are my assistants, Ida Belle and Gertie. We’re doing some fieldwork on a policy issued on Molly Broussard.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t recall that name.”

  “Sorry,” I said. “Mary Olivia Broussard.”

  “Yes, of course,” he said. “That wasn’t long ago. Come into my office and I’ll try to clear up any questions the company has. Has something happened to Ms. Broussard?”

  “Unfortunately,” I said as we walked in and sat in chairs opposite his desk. “She’s gone missing from her boat.”

  “Oh, how horrible. This can be a lovely place to live but also a dangerous one.”

  “Very true. Did you issue the policy for Ms. Broussard?”

  “I’m the only one working in this office so there’s no other option,” he said. “Transferring to a small office was my idea of semiretirement.”

  I wondered briefly if his plan was to move from retirement straight to hospice but figured it was rude to ask.

  “So you met with Ms. Broussard to write the policy?” I asked, making sure I was crystal clear on everything.

  “Of course,” he said. “That’s the way it’s done at Coastal. You always meet with an agent.”

  “Can you describe her to me?” I asked.

  He shifted in his chair, looking more than a bit uncomfortable. “Well, I don’t wish to sound indelicate but I suppose this is necessary. She wasn’t a petite woman. Taller than me and large-boned. But the thing I remember most was her hair. It stood up straight on the top of her head. I’d never seen anything quite like it. And it was painted bright purple. I remember having to work harder to focus because it was so distracting.”

  I pulled out my phone and showed him a picture. “Like this?”

  He nodded. “That’s her. Very interesting woman. She said she used to fight in a cage. I don’t understand the meaning of that but apparently she changed to cooking, which seemed a much nicer pursuit.”

  “So Molly asked you to draw up the policy and she specifically asked for her father, Silas Broussard, to be the beneficiary?” I asked.

  “Let me see,” he said, and tapped on his keyboard. “Yes, that’s correct. I remember now, Ms. Broussard said her father’s health wasn’t good and he was getting on in years. If something were to happen to her, he wouldn’t be capable of running her business, so she wanted to ensure he was taken care of another way.”

  I glanced over at Ida
Belle, who raised an eyebrow.

  “So did Ms. Broussard indicate she was taking care of her father monetarily at that time?” I asked.

  “I don’t recall that she said that outright but that’s what I took away from the conversation,” he said.

  “Did Ms. Broussard and her father ever come here together?” I asked.

  “No,” he said. “I had the original meeting with Ms. Broussard to go over the options and help her make her selections, then I contacted Mr. Broussard to come in and sign the documents.”

  “Is that normal?” I asked. “That a beneficiary has to sign?”

  “I’m afraid in Mr. Broussard’s case it was necessary. He can’t write, so I needed to do some additional identification items so that no one could make a false claim in the event that something happened to Ms. Broussard.”

  “So what do you do for identification?” I asked.

  “A driver’s license or state identification and I take a few pictures for the file,” he said.

  I drummed my fingers on my chair. All of this sounded completely aboveboard unless you took into account the fact that Molly was supposed to hate her father. Then the train ran completely off the tracks.

  “Did you get a copy of Mary’s driver’s license as well?” I asked.

  “Of course,” he said.

  “May I see it?”

  “I really shouldn’t,” he said. “If you want documents, they should come from corporate.”

  “I only want to take a peek.”

  He opened a drawer in the credenza behind him and pulled out a file, flipped a few pages over, then handed it to me. Sure enough, there was Molly’s face on her state-issued driver’s license. I made a mental note of the number to verify later but the license looked like the real deal. I flipped the pages over and saw the last page contained her signature. I looked at the signature, then flipped back to her license. Then did it once again.

  They didn’t match.

  Molly’s license contained a scribble, then mostly a straight line. The insurance policy had a very definite signature in loopy, round lettering.

  I gave Gertie an elbow to the side while Kent was fiddling with his file and she glared at me. I looked at Kent, then the door, and she got the hint.

  “May I use your restroom?” Gertie asked.

  “Of course,” Kent said. “It’s just next door.”

  Gertie stepped out and was back a couple seconds later. “The door seems to be locked,” she said.

  “Oh that thing,” Kent said as he rose. “I keep meaning to change that doorknob.”

  As soon as he exited the room, I pulled out my phone and took pictures of the signature page and Molly’s driver’s license. Ida Belle motioned to me that Kent was returning, and I shoved my phone in my bra, flipped the pages over, and put the file back on his desk.

  “Well, Mr. Kent,” I said and rose. “I think that’s all I need. Thank you for your time.”

  We all headed out of the office and waited in front of the reception desk for Gertie to exit the restroom.

  “I really appreciate you seeing us without an appointment,” I said loudly.

  The doorknob on the restroom jiggled but the door didn’t open. It jiggled some more and finally Gertie’s voice sounded through the wood.

  “Now I’m locked in.”

  It took another couple minutes of finagling with the crappy lock to get Gertie out of the restroom, then another minute of apologies from Kent before we were finally back on the road to Sinful.

  “I hope whatever you wanted was worth it,” Gertie said as Ida Belle guided the SUV down the highway. “He has this absolutely horrible room deodorizer in there. I’ll probably have to take a Benadryl and smell coffee all night.”

  “Smelled like ragweed and dirty socks,” Ida Belle said. “The odor rushed out of the bathroom the same time you did. I held my breath through all of Kent’s apologizing. Thought I was going to have to make a bolt for it.”

  “It was rather off,” I agreed. “Maybe his smell is starting to go.”

  “More like gone for a long, long time,” Gertie said. “So?”

  “Right,” I said and told them about the signatures. “I know people don’t always sign correctly, but this was such a big change that I thought it needed some looking into.”

  “Sure,” Gertie said. “But we need Molly’s signature to check against.”

  “I was hoping Ida Belle might have it,” I said. “The catering contract, maybe?”

  Ida Belle frowned. “She never sent it. I guess she went out on her boat before doing the scan.”

  I sighed. “Crap.”

  “There might be another way,” Ida Belle said. “Sometimes Molly picked up the odd item at the General Store. If she paid by credit card, Walter would have a receipt with her signature.”

  “Perfect,” Gertie said. “No way Walter is going to say no—not to the two of you.”

  An hour later we were standing in front of Walter at the cash register in the General Store and he was shaking his head.

  “I’m not getting in the middle of this,” he said.

  “The middle of what?” Ida Belle asked. “You don’t even know why we’re asking.”

  “And I don’t want to know,” he said. “And as long as I don’t get involved, then I never have to answer to my nephew about why I got my nose in with you three over a law enforcement issue.”

  “Look,” I said. “This isn’t what Carter is looking into. It’s something else. Yes, it involves Molly but not her death.”

  He narrowed his eyes at me. “Then what does it involve?”

  “Fraud,” I said. “And unless you want to have to explain everything to Carter, then that’s probably all you want me to say.”

  He stared at me for several seconds, then sighed. “I just got a load of toilet paper in that I need to get off pallets in the back. I don’t suppose you three can watch the store while I do that? If anyone comes in wanting a copy of an order for the last week, they’re in the box under the counter. I haven’t had a chance to file them yet.”

  “Thank you,” I called to his retreating back.

  “Didn’t do anything,” he grumbled as he went.

  I jumped behind the counter and pulled out the box, then shoved a stack of receipts at Ida Belle and Gertie. We all started flipping through them as quickly as we could, praying that no one needed to buy something and wondered what the heck we were doing.

  “Got it!” Gertie yelled and handed me the receipt.

  I pulled out my phone and took a quick shot of it just as the bell above the door jangled. Ida Belle shoved the receipts at me and I used my arm to pull them all in the box, barely getting it back under the counter before Celia stepped up, frowning.

  “Don’t tell me Walter has left you in charge,” she said.

  “As a matter of fact, he has,” I said. “Is there something I can help you with—prune juice maybe? You have that blocked look.”

  “How about the jaws of life?” Gertie said. “We can get that stick out of her butt.”

  Celia turned beet red and tried to reply but only managed a sputter. Finally she whirled around and headed out of the shop, slamming the door behind her. Walter appeared a couple seconds later and I gave him the side-eye.

  “You knew Celia was coming in, didn’t you?” I asked. “That’s why you let us dig through the receipts.”

  Walter grabbed a rag and started polishing the cash register. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Gertie grinned. “Well played.”

  “Do you ladies need any groceries to go with your illegal activities?” he asked.

  “No, I think we’re good,” I said. “We have illegal booze, Cuban cigars, and the usual store of dynamite.”

  “You have Cuban cigars?” he asked.

  I waved a hand in dismissal. “You wouldn’t be interested in breaking the law. Forget I said anything.”

  “The law isn’t exactly up-to-date on certain things,” Walt
er said.

  Gertie shook her head. “So easily converted. Today, it’s cigars. Tomorrow, it will be knockoff purses and hand grenade displays in the store windows.”

  Walter drew himself up straight. “I would never sell purses.”

  “Thanks, Walter,” I said as I headed for the door. “We’ll let you get back to business.”

  As soon as we climbed into Ida Belle’s SUV, I pulled up the photos and showed them the signatures.

  “They don’t match,” Gertie said. “Not even close.”

  “Nope,” I said. “The signature on the insurance policy is fat and loopy. Molly’s signature on the receipt is narrow and has points at the top and bottom of the letters.”

  “I know people’s handwriting differs at times,” Ida Belle said, “but this isn’t even close.”

  “So what the heck is going on?” Gertie asked.

  “I’m not sure,” I said.

  “But you have a guess,” Gertie said.

  I nodded. “My guess is that Silas got a fake license for Molly and had someone pose as her to take out the policy.”

  “If he’s in with bookies, they’d know people who could get that done,” Ida Belle said.

  “But he’d have to pay the premiums,” Gertie said. “And he was broke.”

  “Maybe he didn’t plan on being broke for very long,” Ida Belle said.

  “But Kent ID’d Molly from that photo you showed him,” Gertie said. “And his description was dead on.”

  “Was it?” I asked. “He seemed mostly taken in by the hair and that’s the easiest part to fake. So a large, tall woman with a wig could pull it off. Kent didn’t strike me as the most observant person.”

  “You think everyone over the age of forty is half blind,” Gertie groused.

  “No,” I said. “I think you need to up your prescription. I think Kent was so distracted by the hair and her size that he probably didn’t look closely at anything else.”

  “But who would Silas get to help him?” Gertie asked. “He hates everyone and the feeling appears to be mutual.”

  “I didn’t say it had to be a friend,” I said. “Like Ida Belle said, given his gambling habits, he probably had access to all types of people needing a quick payout.”