by Jana DeLeon
“Why not?”
“Many reasons. The car lot forgot. The buyer didn’t want the vehicle in his name. Some are trying to avoid taxes.”
I sighed. “So we still don’t know anything.”
“I’m afraid not in this regard. I did get another name for you to run down. Willie LeDoux. According to my source, he was a friend of the Seal brothers, but my source knew nothing about Mr. LeDoux beyond that. I’ve found no connection other than the club owner where they were dealing, and as far as my sources know, he’s still MIA.”
“Well, at least that’s one more name than we had before. I’ll see what we can find on this Willie LeDoux.”
“I am also still trying to locate the Seal brothers but haven’t had any luck. I will keep looking and let you know if I find anything else. Please let me know if I can help in any other way.”
I thanked him and headed back inside and filled Ida Belle and Gertie in on the conversation.
“So we should find this Willie LeDoux, right?” Gertie asked.
I had already entered his name into the Internet browser. “Doing it now,” I said, then groaned.
Over three hundred hits.
Gertie looked at the screen and shook her head. “Why can’t the bad guys ever be named something like Thadius Thistlebone? Where there’s only one of them in the country?”
“It would definitely make things easier,” I agreed. “Maybe I can narrow it down if I search by name and Louisiana.”
That got me down to forty hits, which was definitely better.
I scanned the hits for an obituary but didn’t come up with anything in the right century. Could be Willie was still kicking. Or could be that he died somewhere else or didn’t have friends or family who felt they needed to publicize his death. Too many variables.
Then a thought occurred to me—somewhat out of left field. I tried again, this time searching for Willie and the name Seal.
I got one hit.
An article about three men arrested for car theft—the Seal brothers and Willie LeDoux.
“Here we go,” I said.
Three men were arrested early Saturday morning during a theft in progress at a used car dealership in Belle Chasse. The three men were identified as brothers John and Bart Seal of New Orleans, Louisiana, and Willie LeDoux of Lafitte, Louisiana. Two black Escalades had already been removed from the lot by the time law enforcement arrived on the scene, and the whereabouts of the vehicles are still unknown.
The three men were wanted for questioning in connection with a heroin ring bust that involved several local nightclubs. The men were booked on charges of grand theft auto.
“Willie must have been working with the Seal brothers,” I said.
Ida Belle nodded. “And this is how they all got caught.”
“And ultimately sent to prison,” I said.
“Then Willie must have gone as well, right?” Gertie asked.
“Not necessarily,” Ida Belle said. “He might have flipped on the Seal brothers for a reduced sentence or even walked. Or he might not have been as deeply involved in the heroin dealing or perhaps not at all. He might just be a car thief.”
I frowned. “Which makes you wonder why the Seal brothers didn’t offer up information to get a reduced sentence. I mean, ten years for a first offense is pretty harsh.”
Ida Belle shook her head. “The brothers were bad news, but they weren’t smart. They might not have known anything.”
“They had to have a supplier,” I said. “Unless the guy wore a clown suit to exchange money for product, they should have known who he was.”
Ida Belle shrugged. “Maybe they were too scared to give up a name. Maybe the guy they dealt with was some middleman whose name wasn’t worth a deal.”
“True,” I said. “I wish we had a way to find out more about this case. The Internet is woefully underwhelming when it comes to details.”
“It wasn’t a big enough story to keep reporters on it,” Gertie said. “They’re looking for the big splash. Dirty politicians…that sort of thing.”
I shook my head. Things still didn’t fit. Why were three guys who were about to go down for dealing heroin taking the time to steal cars when they should have been hightailing it out of Louisiana?
Then something occurred to me.
“Black SUVs,” I said. “They were stealing black SUVs.”
Gertie’s eyes widened. “They were looking for the key then?”
“Maybe,” I said.
Ida Belle blew out a breath. “What the heck is hidden in that crypt?”
“Something big,” I said, “otherwise, they’d have been lying low or getting out of town.”
“It has to be money, right?” Gertie asked. “Enough money to skip the country.”
“That’s as good a guess as any,” Ida Belle said.
“But who did the money belong to?” I said. “If they were looking for the vehicle back then, who hid the key inside? Who hid something in a crypt? It couldn’t have been any of these three or they’d know what vehicle they were looking for. And if they’d known which crypt the key unlocked, they would have just taken a sledgehammer to it.”
“You’re right,” Ida Belle said. “This whole thing is a question without an answer.”
“It’s a mess,” I agreed. “So, we don’t know how, but someone knew Hot Rod had the SUV with the key.”
“But they didn’t know which vehicle it was,” Ida Belle said.
I nodded. “And all of this happens when the Seal brothers get out of prison. It’s not a coincidence.”
“I agree,” Ida Belle said. “Whatever they were looking for before, it’s valuable enough to look for it again. But if they didn’t know what SUV the key was in then, they’d have an even harder time now.”
“Except that if you hadn’t bought the Blazer, they would have had the key this time,” I said. “Which means they figured out some way to narrow down the search to Hot Rod.”
I blew out a breath. There were entirely too many tentacles on this octopus.
“We need to find Willie LeDoux,” I said. “Little hasn’t come up with a line on the Seal brothers, so he’s our only lead. If he was helping them steal vehicles before, then he has to know something.”
“But how do we find him?” Gertie asked. “The name’s too common. We can’t run down every Willie LeDoux mentioned online. We’d be at this forever. If we were cops we’d have access to arrest records and driver’s licenses and all kinds of other cool things, but we don’t know anything else about him.”
“Except that he used to live in Lafitte,” I said. “What’s that town like? Maybe we start there.”
Ida Belle nodded. “It’s Sinful with a different name. About thirty miles south of here.”
“So, small and packed with a bunch of nosy people who probably know all the latest dirt on any local criminals,” I said.
“Exactly,” Ida Belle said.
“But can we get them to talk to us?” I asked.
“Leave that to Gertie and me,” Ida Belle said. “We know their language.”
“Okay. Then I guess when we’re done here, we’re taking a drive to Lafitte.”
Chapter Twelve
I pulled into Lafitte a little over an hour later and studied the row of buildings that constituted both businesses and homes. It was more or less what I’d expected based on Ida Belle’s description, but it lacked the charm and quaintness of Sinful. I hoped it wasn’t lacking in the nosy citizens who liked to gossip.
Ida Belle pointed to a convenience store, and I pulled up in front.
“Wait here,” she said, and she hopped out and walked into the store. She exited a couple seconds later and gestured to Gertie. “You’re up. There’s an old woman sitting behind the food counter knitting.”
Ida Belle looked at me. “Wait a bit, then come in after us. She’s more likely to talk if she thinks we’re two dithering busybodies from another bayou town.”
I grinned. “What you’re sa
ying is you don’t want my youthful appearance and Yankee accent ruining your ploy.”
“I look youthful,” Gertie said.
“Sure you do,” Ida Belle said. “Especially with all that hobbling around. You could easily pass for a hundred and eighty-two.”
Gertie gave her a dirty look and climbed out of the back of the Jeep. Then she started up the sidewalk, and I could tell she was trying not to wobble. Ida Belle shook her head and trailed into the store behind her. I waited a bit, then finally decided enough time had passed and my desire for a cold drink was high, so I headed inside.
Gertie and Ida Belle were standing at a food counter at the back of the store, pointing to stacks of odd-looking fried things and murmuring between themselves. The woman Ida Belle had spotted sat in a rocking chair behind the counter, studying her knitting and not even glancing up at Ida Belle and Gertie.
Five foot four. One hundred ten pounds with the knitting bag. Blind or deaf or dislikes people as much as I do.
I headed over to the soft drink cooler that was about ten feet away and proceeded to study my options while sideways glancing at the food counter, waiting to see Ida Belle and Gertie in action.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” Gertie said. “Can you tell me how these gizzards were seasoned?”
I looked again at the stack of fried stuff. Gizzards? Yuck.
The woman kept rocking and knitting and never so much as blinked.
“She’s deaf as a doornail,” Ida Belle said. “This ought to be fun.”
Gertie waved her hands in the air and yelled. “Excuse me, ma’am!”
The old woman looked up from her knitting, then put it down and pushed herself out of the chair, struggling a bit to rise.
“Sorry about that,” she said, and fiddled with something on her ear. “I’m getting a bit hard of hearing, but when this darn thing is turned up, I can hear rats pooping on a leaf in the bayou. I keep it off unless I have customers. What can I do for you?”
“I wondered about the seasoning on the gizzards,” Gertie said.
The woman launched into a discussion of the many sauces and flavors she’d used on the gross gizzards and her preparation techniques. Gertie nodded the entire time, looking more interested than I felt the conversation required, but it was Louisiana. Last week, I’d heard two women at Francine’s Café discuss the best way to clean socks for well over an hour. I figured if socks needed that much cleaning, it might be time to just buy new ones.
“I’ll take two orders,” Gertie said. “You’re old-school in your preparation. So many people go for the fast methods these days, but the taste isn’t the same.”
The old woman gave her an approving nod and started putting the icky gizzards into a foam container. “Whereabouts you from?” the woman asked.
“Sinful,” Gertie said.
“You’re a ways from home,” the woman said. “You come to fish?”
“No,” Gertie said. “Wasting time is more like it. I have an old Cadillac with some rusted-out spots, and one of the old fishermen said he knew a guy from here a while back that could fix anything car-related. I couldn’t find a phone number for him, but my friend and I had nothing better to do so we figured we’d take a drive this way and see what we could come up with.”
The woman nodded and handed Gertie the container. “Lots of hidden talent out in these swamps. What’s this feller’s name?”
“Willie LeDoux.”
The woman scowled.
“Is there a problem?” Gertie asked.
“Willie LeDoux’s been nothing but a problem his entire life. Hell, he was even a problem in the womb. Got sideways there too, and had to be taken out. Darn near killed his mama.”
“His father couldn’t get him in line?” Gertie asked.
“Ha,” the woman said. “That no-account ran off when Willie was still a baby. His mama sent Willie to live with his daddy in New Orleans when he was a teenager. I think she was hoping he could get Willie straight, but his daddy wasn’t exactly an upstanding citizen so I don’t know where she got that idea. He got himself killed trying to rob a convenience store a couple years back.”
The woman shook her head and sighed. “Oh well, at least his mama passed before Willie went to prison.”
Gertie gave her a sympathetic shake of the head. “I’ve known a few like that myself. Such a hard task to parent a child who’s determined to go the wrong route. So I guess he’s not around anymore?”
“Oh, he’s around. That no-account came back here last month after he got released from prison. Dealing drugs. Stealing automobiles.” She shook her head. “Then he waltzes back into town like he’s been on vacation all that time. I ran him right out of the store. Once a thief, always a thief, I say, and I don’t want his kind hanging around.”
“Well, that’s disappointing,” Gertie said. “I was really hoping he could fix my car. I’ve talked to several other repairmen, but none of them would touch it.”
“He’d probably do the work,” the woman said. “I’m sure he needs the money, and much as I hate to admit it, the boy did know his automobiles.”
Gertie bit her lower lip and glanced over at Ida Belle. “I don’t know, of course. I mean, if it’s not safe then I’ll just figure out a way to put together money for a new car even though Social Security being what it is makes it kinda hard.”
The woman nodded. “I don’t think he’d hurt you, if that’s what you mean. He never was violent. And as much as I don’t want to send him business, I don’t want you trying to manage buying a car on the pittance we draw.”
She reached for a pad of paper and started writing. A minute later, she handed the sheet of paper to Gertie. “That’s a map to his place. Was his mother’s place before she passed, God rest her soul. There’s no road names, so I drew some landmarks.”
“Thank you,” Gertie said. “I really appreciate the information. And the gizzards.”
The woman nodded. “You ladies have a nice day and good luck with your car repair.”
I hurried to the counter and paid for my soda, then headed outside and hopped into the Jeep. A couple minutes later, Ida Belle and Gertie climbed in, and I gave Gertie a high five.
“Great work,” I said.
Ida Belle smiled. “Gertie always knows just the thing to say to get the old gals talking. I never was good at it.”
“That’s because you don’t know how to make all the sympathetic faces,” Gertie said. “When you’re talking nonsense, you mostly just look like you smelled something bad. People don’t get chatty with someone who looks like they just sniffed a horse’s butt.”
“This butt-sniffing discussion is incredibly interesting and probably useful, but it needs to wait,” I said. “Pass me that map.”
I took the sheet of paper from Gertie, looked at the squiggles, then read the cryptic phrases, identifying the turns.
“Right at the lightning tree. Left at the beehive. Left at the Millers’ old barn…what the heck is this?”
“Typical local directions,” Ida Belle said, and took the paper from me. “Just head south kinda slow and I’ll let you know where to turn.”
I pulled out of the parking lot and drove out of town, all fifty yards of it, scanning the trees even though I had zero idea what I was looking for. We were about a mile past the downtown area when Gertie grabbed my shoulder and pointed.
“There!” she said, clearly excited. “That’s the lightning tree.”
I looked at the giant cypress tree that looked as if it had been torn down the middle. What the heck. It made as much sense as anything else in Louisiana.
“Great,” I said, and I made a right turn onto a dirt road. “Find me a beehive, preferably one we can drive quickly by. They can come in through air vents.”
The dirt road led into a forest, so I slowed down some, partly because of the crappy road but mostly because I figured it might be hard to spot a beehive in all the foliage. I wasted my time worrying.
The hive was huge. Like the size
of guest bathroom.
“What the heck kind of bees made that?” I asked as I made a left turn onto an even smaller dirt road. “It’s like something out of Jurassic Park.”
“They’ve been at work there for a long time,” Ida Belle said. “I bet there’s some stellar honey in it.”
The noise of the Jeep must have alerted the bees to an invader present. A group flocked out of their McMansion and flew straight for us. I swear, they were the size of small birds.
Gertie leaned forward, watching them fly back and forth across the front of the Jeep. “Well, at least we don’t have to worry about them getting in an air vent.”
Ida Belle nodded. “You’d need a heavy-duty flyswatter to take out one of those babies.”
I stared at her. “You’d need a nine-millimeter to take out one of those things, which is precisely why that hive is so big and undisturbed. It’s guarded by prehistoric creatures.”
“I hope they don’t follow us all the way to Willie’s house,” Gertie said. “Without my purse, I’ve got nothing to take them out with.”
Thank God for small favors. If Gertie’s purse of death were still with us, she’d probably have been shooting at the bees through the windshield.
“I’m sure they’ll leave before we get to the house,” Ida Belle said. “After all, someone’s been living there for decades. If those monsters were hanging around outside, they would have moved years ago.”
“Maybe that’s what happened to the Millers,” I said, and pointed to a dilapidated barn with an overgrown path leading up to it. “And their livestock. They were probably carried away under the cloak of night and used for parts to build that hive.”
I made the last turn after the barn and we inched along on a narrow slit of dirt, trees branches rubbing both sides of the Jeep.
“How do people keep paint on their cars out here?” I asked. At the rate I was going, I was going to owe the real Sandy-Sue a paint job, at the least, when I turned over her inheritance. Possibly even a new vehicle.
“When you’re driving a road regularly,” Ida Belle said, “it stays cleared better, and most people cut the worst of the branches out of the way.”