Sitting alone was okay for a while, but he couldn’t stay that way all night without attracting notice. When a middle-aged guy sat two stools away, Remy leaned over and made a comment about the weather.
Within minutes they were discussing the possibility of an early hurricane season and what bullshit it was to start naming storms after men. When they’d exhausted that subject, they started in on boats. The guy’s denim shirt had a boat company logo over the pocket.
Apparently airboats were faster, but noisier, and lacked reverse. Fine when traveling through wide canals, but a disadvantage in narrow, twisting bayous.
Remy nodded and acted impressed with the man’s knowledge, even throwing out an occasional question.
“Is this your regular route?” Remy twisted to face the guy. He hadn’t seen a security camera, but no reason to take chances.
“It was. This is my last trip. I haven’t sold a boat of any kind in this parish for months. Bunch of weenies. Everyone’s turned scared of the swamp.”
At least some people had sense.
By nine o’clock the bar had filled nicely. Remy took a trip to the bathroom to scout the back exit. Boat Guy left, and Tractor Guy joined him and the conversation turned to sugarcane.
What if Danny Cryer was here already? How would he know? Did he think it would be like the TV show Cheers where everybody knew your name and people would call out to him when he walked in the door?
He let Tractor Guy drone on for another fifteen minutes and decided not to order another beer. What were the odds, anyway?
He was ready to call it a night when a big man pushed through the door. He couldn’t have been any more than twenty-one, and the girl on his arm was younger, although she had a hard look that would help her pass for more. A plus when trying to order drinks, but a big minus waiting for her down the road.
She wasn’t going to age gracefully. He thought of Yvonne Landry and how differently she’d aged than Gabby. And it wasn’t just looks. Sure, Gabby had kept hers, but she had something else, something that had called to him since he was fifteen years old. Something that called to him still and probably always would.
Something that would call to any man in his right mind.
Remy shook his head to clear his mind and focused on the man.
The guy probably topped six-one and close to two hundred pounds, with sandy hair, fat lips, and a gap between his front teeth. And he looked exactly like Dan Cryer had in high school, before he went to seed.
Remy ordered another beer and settled back to ask Tractor Guy if he knew anything about soybeans. It took Danny forty-five minutes and three beers before he stumbled toward the bathroom.
Tractor Guy had already moved on and Remy was sitting alone, nursing a warm, stale beer. He used his wadded paper napkin to discretely wipe any fingerprints off the bar where he’d been sitting for the last three hours. If everything went according to plan, an unnecessary precaution. But how often did things go according to plan? His marriage to Gabby certainly hadn’t.
He swiveled on his bar stool and dropped his beer bottle into the trash along with a hundred other empties.
Guess they didn’t worry much about recycling in Lafonte.
He followed Danny toward the back, keeping his head low. As soon as he reached the narrow hallway, he stuck the fake glasses into his back pocket.
As Danny raised his hand to push the bathroom door open, Remy grabbed his wrist, twisted his arm behind his back, and shoved him through the back exit, thankful he’d disabled the alarm earlier in the evening.
Danny stumbled and Remy slammed him face first onto the alley’s garbage-strewn blacktop. Damn. Danny wasn’t as drunk as he’d hoped. The kid bucked and twisted, struggling until Remy almost lost him.
He yanked the kid’s wrist higher up his back. “Quit fighting or I’ll break your fucking arm.”
“Try it, asshole, cuz I’m about to break your motherfucking neck.” Danny pushed off with his good arm and broke free, sending Remy to his butt.
Gabby paced and watched out the window. This was worse than last night. Then, she’d had an idea when to expect Remy. Now she felt lost.
Remy had left almost six hours ago to run by the sheriff’s station. She’d tried calling him but his phone rolled straight to voice mail. She’d even gotten in her car and driven over there, but the building was closed and locked for the night.
His car wasn’t anywhere for a block in either direction.
She’d felt like a fool, but she’d even knocked on the station door and called his name. She’d held the tiny penlight attached to her car keys to the window and shone the narrow, yet powerful, beam around. But there was no sign of anyone inside the building.
She’d sat in her car for five minutes, staring at the darkened building before heading home.
Where could Remy be? Was he hurt? Had whoever took Adrienne taken him, too? Gabby chewed on a thumbnail and looked out her window again.
The lights were off in the living room so that she could see out better, but a blue glow from the TV set showed ten twenty-seven.
A spike of anger shot through her. How dare he leave her alone like this? Again.
Finally exhaustion swept over her and she lay down on the sofa. She’d be able to see headlights if they turned into her driveway.
Remy felt the glasses in his back pocket crunch as he hit the unforgiving alley blacktop. Shit. He’d used those for years. Now he’d have to find another pair.
Danny rolled twice and started to get up, but Remy beat him to his feet. He rushed the kneeling man, but Danny came up with a beer bottle from the trash collecting by the bar’s back wall.
The crash of broken glass when Danny hit the bottle against the brick wall caused Remy to stop in his tracks.
“Come on, you little shrimp,” Danny beckoned, holding the jagged edge toward Remy. “I’m waiting for you.”
What the hell? He was five-nine. That hardly qualified as a shrimp. Okay, five-eight and three quarters, but still.
Remy jump-kicked him Jean Claude Van Damme style. Man, those years of martial arts training paid off.
Danny went down, the bottle flying from his hand. Then Remy’s foot landed in something smelly and squishy and his leg flew out from under him. He fell hard on one knee and pain shot up his spine.
He had to get control of this guy fast.
Danny growled and rushed him, arms straight out in front as if lunging for his throat. Remy waited till he was within reach, grabbed his wrist, pivoted, and sent him flying over his shoulder.
Danny hit hard, the air rushing out of his lungs in an audible whoosh. Remy flipped him over and dug his bad knee into the base of his neck, a fresh wave of pain telling him he’d regret the move tomorrow. He cocked his backup piece and placed the barrel against Danny’s temple.
“My wallet’s in my back pocket,” Danny wheezed.
“Money’s not going to get you out of this fix. You might actually have to atone for your actions. Now, what have you done to Adrienne Hough?”
“That bitch? Nothing she didn’t deserve.”
Remy ground the barrel deeper into Danny’s skull and the guy almost whimpered. “You know how it goes with girls that age. They wiggle their newfound tits under your nose then act all insulted if you reach for them. Someone needed to teach her not to be a cock tease.”
He didn’t have much time before the asshole’s friends came looking for him. They might have to continue this discussion another day.
“When was this?”
“I dunno, months ago. The cold air nearly shriveled my dick. She jumped out of the car and stomped off.”
This little prick let Adrienne walk home alone in the dark?
Remy’s finger twitched. Only a fraction of an inch and this piece of human shit wo
uld be gone. But then how would he find Adrienne?
“I’m talking about last Thursday,” Remy growled. “What did you do to her on Thursday? Where did you take her?”
“What the fuck you talking about? I haven’t set eyes on her more than a couple of times since then. I was out of town doing a job for my father. Left Wednesday and came back today.”
Remy thought he heard voices, but with the canned music pouring out of the bar, it was hard to be sure.
“What kind of job and where did you go?”
“I don’t even know. He sent me to De Lyon to wait for a delivery. He didn’t tell me what, but he said I’d like it. Whatever it was, it never showed up and I came home a few hours ago, took a nap, and called JoNell. You can check the motel where I stayed. They’ll remember me. I might have left a little mess. The waiting got boring, so I had a party in my room and watched some porn.”
Remy’s hand shook as he drew the gun back. Voices were definitely calling Danny’s name. “You felt sick and came outside to get some fresh air. You slipped on some of this garbage, didn’t you?”
Danny didn’t move, so Remy tapped him on the head with the barrel of the gun, a little harder than necessary to get his point across. “Didn’t you?”
“Yes, yes, okay. I needed air and tripped.”
Satisfied, Remy eased back. The kid wouldn’t talk, at least not right away. He wouldn’t want his buddies to know he’d been bested in a fight by someone twice his age and half his size.
How Danny planned to convince anyone he came out to this stinking garbage pit for fresh air was a mystery.
God knows, he sure didn’t want to explain his filthy clothes to Gabby. Thank the stars she’d be asleep by the time he got home.
Chapter 9
Gabby never closed her eyes, yet somehow she jerked awake to the sound of her front door opening. Remy, or someone else? She couldn’t tell in the dark.
A distant light shown through the open curtains and cast the intruder’s shadow onto the wall. He must be huge. The shadow reached almost to the ceiling.
Whoever it was started across the room toward the sofa.
Her breathing sounded like a bellows. He’d have to hear it, how could he not? What should she do? Her hand patted the coffee table, but the only thing she could find was the TV remote. Would something that flimsy do any good?
She gripped the cool plastic in her right hand in case he came any closer. As her fingers tightened on the device, the screen flicked on and voices boomed through the room.
A gun appeared near her face and she screamed.
“Son-of-a-bitch. I nearly shot you,” Remy said. “What are you doing, hiding over there?”
“What are you doing, sneaking into my house and pointing a gun at me?” She hated that he’d be able to hear the tremble in her voice.
“I wasn’t sneaking. I thought you’d gone to bed. This room’s dark as pitch.”
“Where’s your car?”
“In the driveway, right behind yours.”
How could she not have seen his headlights?
The fear, the worry that had eaten at her stomach for hours faded away, but something else took its place. He couldn’t treat her like this. “Where have you been?” she shouted.
“Looking for Adrienne,” he answered, innocence personified. “I told you I had to go out.”
“You told me you were going to the Sheriff’s. That was hours ago. You couldn’t call? You couldn’t let me know you were okay? You couldn’t even answer your phone?” She switched on a lamp and fumbled with the remote, looking for the power button.
The sound died as quickly as it had come on. Remy crossed the room and yanked the curtains closed before flipping on the overhead light.
A whiff of rancid air swept passed her and she wrinkled her nose. Could that be Remy? Had he been out drinking while she sat at home and panicked?
Even Remy wouldn’t do that to her. Would he?
He twisted toward her and cocked his head. “Of course I’m okay. Why wouldn’t I be? I do this for a living, you know.”
I do this for a living, you know. What a horse’s ass. Leave her waiting without a word of explanation, then act like she was the crazy one. And to think, she’d actually cooked supper for him.
“Tu me rends fou,” she yelled. “Crazy, I tell you.”
“I’m sorry if I frightened you. I’m not used to having anyone worry about me.”
How sad for him, if that was true.
He gave her that smile that always went right through her and tugged his shirt over his head. “I need to take a shower. Any chance I could get you to wash these for me if I asked pretty please?”
Holy shit, she was in trouble. They were both the same age, thirty-six. Weren’t men that age supposed to be getting soft? Developing a little belly fat? If he’d looked yummy at eighteen, now he looked like lobster bisque, filet mignon, and bread pudding with bourbon sauce, all rolled into one.
He tossed her the shirt, and the fumes made her eyes water. What had he been doing, wallowing in garbage?
She couldn’t stop herself, her eyes followed him as he toed off his shoes and stepped into the bathroom, leaving the door open just wide enough for a good view as he slipped off his jeans and boxers. He gave her that smile again as he tossed them her way.
He knew exactly what he was doing. Damn him.
Remy stood under water so hot his skin stung.
He drove her crazy? How many times had he heard her say that? Well the crazy train ran both ways. At one time he’d naively thought he understood her. He wouldn’t make that mistake again.
Had anything changed in eighteen years?
Maybe the bathroom, but not much else.
Gabby had not only added a shower to the old claw-foot bathtub, she must have replaced the water heater. The old one gave you three inches of hot water, or five inches of tepid. Any deeper than that and you froze your nuts off.
A teenage girl living in the house might have had something to do with the update. Another expense he should have helped with.
He reached for the faucet handle when, suddenly, the water pressure dropped in half and a frigid stream hit him in the face. What the . . .?
Damn. Gabby must have started the washer. Oh, she knew. This was her house. She knew what would happen when she turned the machine on. Payback for not calling?
He jumped from the shower then took his time dressing. Give her a chance to cool off. He was plenty cool himself, thanks to her little trick. Probably a good thing, considering the effect being under the same roof with her seem to have on his body.
When he stepped out of the bedroom, the aroma of Cajun spices filled his senses.
Maybe Gabby wasn’t that mad after all.
He planted a smile on his face and tried to gauge her expression as he entered the kitchen. “That smells fantastic. When did you have time to cook?”
Her eyes narrowed and her lips formed a tight line.
Damn. Wrong thing to say.
Gabby slammed a bowl on the table without a word.
All his senses smiled. Jambalaya, a poor man’s ambrosia. He slid into the ladder-back chair as silence filled the kitchen.
With the first spoonful, flavors exploded in his mouth. Just enough spices to wake you up and warn you that you were in Louisiana, but not enough to burn the inside of your stomach. Some crusty French bread to sop up the juices, and you were in heaven.
She let him enjoy half the bowl before she started in. “Where were you, Remy? I have a right to know. You left here to talk to the sheriff, a ten-minute drive. You didn’t come home for hours. And when you did show up, you reeked of garbage, cigarette smoke, and beer.”
She took a deep breath and bit her lip. “I know you were looking for Adr
ienne. I do trust you. But I was in a panic. I felt sure whoever took her took you, too. Can you even imagine what I was going through here?”
Damn, he hadn’t given that a thought.
He set his spoon down and reached for her hand. “You’re right. That was a jerk move on my part. I didn’t even consider how it would make you feel. There were a couple of people I wanted to question and I figured it would work best without you.”
“Then you should have just told me. I might not have liked it, but I wouldn’t have spent the evening picturing you as alligator bait.”
He managed another couple of bites before he answered. “I went by Jean-Paul’s house. You’d already told me you didn’t get along with his mother, but you neglected to mention she was Yvonne Landry.”
“Yvonne Dupre now.” Gabby made circles on the table with her cup of tea. “Although Frank Dupre didn’t stick around long.”
Longer than he had? Probably not a good idea to ask, but Gabby did seem a bit calmer.
“Whatever her name, she hasn’t changed much,” he said.
Gabby gave a weak smile. “She’s changed. Life has been hard on her. Frank never sent any child support and the only job she could get was working nights at the nursing home, and even that’s just part-time. I think she splits it with Sherri Lynn’s mom. Did you find out anything from Jean-Paul?”
“He agrees Adrienne changed sometime last fall. Does he have any idea where she is? No.”
Her shoulders slumped. “That’s when I got my new job and started working longer hours.”
He felt the heat rise up the back of his neck. “That’s not why she changed. It had to do with that creep, Danny Cryer.”
Gabby let out a sob. “But if I’d been around more, I might have been able to help.”
He shoved his chair back and went to her. “Don’t you dare take the blame for this. We’ll figure out what happened, and we’ll find Adrienne. You’re not in this alone. I’m here with you.”
Voodoo on Bayou Lafonte Page 7