Alligator Moon

by Joanna Wayne

  “Did you try all the hotels?”

  “Every last one of them. She’s not registered in a hotel and hasn’t been at any time over the past six weeks. I’ve checked most of the apartment complexes, as well. Nothing. We’re working on new wireless contracts for the area now, in case she got a new cell phone.”

  “What about the hospitals?”

  “I checked those first, so I guess you can count that as your good news.”

  “I hope this is all a waste of time,” Butch said. “I guess we’ll know tomorrow.”

  “I’ll be at the airport for her scheduled flight. If she’s there, I’ll call and give you a heads-up.”

  “My daughter Cassie will be at the airport, as well. She booked a flight on the same plane. If her mother’s on the plane, she’s flying over with her.”

  “And if not, I’ll be out combing the streets again. In the meantime, I’m showing her picture around the Quarter.”

  “I doubt that will provide results. I’ve taken her to New Orleans with me a few times for conferences and she always insists we stay outside the French Quarter. She never feels safe there.”

  “But you just never know. A couple of other quick questions. Does you wife have a gambling problem?”

  “No. We’ve been to Vegas a couple of times, but not in several years. When she was there, she fed a couple hundred bucks into the slots, but that’s it.”

  “What about religion?”

  “We’re Methodist.”

  “Then she hasn’t joined any of those weird cults that believe the world’s going to end next week or gotten involved in some kind of voodoo.”

  “No. She shops. And reads. And goes to museums. That’s pretty much it.”

  “I’m guessing she didn’t run away for six weeks to go to a museum.”

  “I haven’t a clue why she left home, but I’m counting on her being on that flight on Thursday. If she’s not, I expect you to find her so I can get some answers.”

  “I understand, Mr. Havelin. Like I told you, nine times out of ten, there’s a man involved, and if the picture you gave me is accurate, she’s still a nice-looking woman.”

  They finished the call and Butch hung up his office phone. It was after six. Most of the staff had left for the night, including his secretary. He imagined that Babs had left, too.

  In the past she wouldn’t have gone home without telling him she was leaving and checking out his plans, but since their talk the other night, their encounters had been all business.

  Breaking up with her was supposed to have been so easy. When the time came, he’d planned to say goodbye and walk away. Now the time had come and he’d walked away—at least for the time being—but it was about as easy as having open heart surgery without getting anything for pain.

  Still, he was worried about Rhonda. It wasn’t like her to lie. It wasn’t like her to leave the country for six weeks. It wasn’t like her to just disappear.

  After thirty years you’d think a man would know his own wife.

  THE HUMIDITY and temperature were still in the nineties when Cassie pulled into the parking lot at Suzette’s. She dreaded killing the engine and stepping into the heat, but she wanted to talk to Celeste again before the dinner crowd claimed all her attention.

  She hadn’t mentioned to John or the sheriff the fact that Celeste had overheard Dennis use her name the night he was killed, yet it had been on her mind constantly. She’d been too aggravated with Babineaux after the way he’d handled the shooting at the cemetery and the break-in at the cabin to trust him with the disturbing information. He’d investigated the incidents, but suggested that she was blowing things out of proportion. He said it was likely some teenagers who’d been out to antagonize a reporter and that they’d never meant to hurt her.

  She wasn’t sure why she hadn’t mentioned Celeste’s comment to John. She trusted him, at least she thought she did. Her feelings about him were so confused at this point that it was difficult to know how she really felt. The sexual attraction was all but overwhelming, but how could she trust her feelings when her emotions were in such turmoil.

  Her life had been solid and secure when she’d met Drake, and still she’d made a huge mistake. Looking back she didn’t know why he’d married her when he had no intention of being faithful. She’d asked him that after the divorce was in process but had never gotten a straight answer.

  A couple more cars pulled into the parking lot. She killed the engine, climbed out of the car and headed toward the front door of Suzette’s.

  Cassie scanned the restaurant and quickly spotted Celeste waiting on a table of four men who looked and smelled as if they’d just stepped off a shrimp boat.

  Cassie took the nearest empty table in spite of the smell, hoping that meant Celeste would be her waitress.

  “I heard what happened the other night,” Celeste said when she stopped at Cassie’s table. “Messed your cabin up good, huh?”

  “Real good, and the person who did it stole my laptop and notes.”

  “Had Suzette hopping mad. She screamed at the sheriff when he came in Saturday night. Said he better watch her cabins.”

  “Good for Suzette.”

  “Staying at the dead man’s brother’s house now, huh?”

  News did get around in Beau Pierre, and Celeste didn’t even live here.

  “I’ll be staying in my condo in New Orleans after tonight.”

  “So you came in for your last meal at Suzette’s?”

  “Actually, I came in to see you, but you can bring me a diet soda over ice.”

  Celeste nodded. “I’ll get it and stop by your table in a few minutes.”

  “I’d appreciate that. I only have a couple of questions.”

  Celeste dropped the soda off on the run, but Cassie knew she’d stop and talk when she got a minute. She was in no rush. It was her last night at Suzette’s, so she might as well soak up the atmosphere and the spicy odors coming from the kitchen.

  Someone fed the jukebox and a Cajun ballad blared over the noise of friends laughing and chattering and sucking the juices from crawfish heads. A week and a half in Beau Pierre had been an experience she’d remember.

  “I got only a minute. Suzette don’t like me to keep the customers waiting.”

  “I understand. I know you hear a lot of stuff working in here.”

  “Everybody talks all the time. Lots of talk about you.”

  “What kind of talk?”

  “Mostly stuff about how you look, you know how men talk. Women and fishing. That’s all most men in here know about. And some of them, they think you’re messin’ with John Robicheaux’s mind.”

  “They underestimate John Robicheaux if they think I can do a lot of messin’ with that hard head of his.”

  Celeste laughed but glanced around the room. “I gotta get back to work.”

  “I know. Mainly I came in to see if you’d remembered anything else Dennis had said about me the night he was killed.”

  “No. I mean he could have said a lot more, but I didn’t hear nothing else. I was working and it was real noisy in here that night.”

  “Okay. One more quick question. Does anyone have an idea who may have trashed my cabin? Not evidence, just talk, like they do in here.”

  “No one. Not even the sheriff. They say it’s a mystery.”

  “I’ll be here a few more minutes. If you think of anything else people have said about me, especially about my figuring out something or the break-in, let me know.”

  “Yes ma’am.”

  Celeste looked to the door as it opened again, then shot the newest arrival an overly friendly smile. Cassie’s jaw dropped. Speak of the devil. Drake Pierson in the flesh.

  She rummaged in her purse for change to pay for the soda. If she hurried, she could scoot out the back door before he noticed her. It had been a tough week, and she wasn’t sure she could handle dealing with Drake right now.

  She wasn’t fast enough. He spotted her and headed straight for her t
able.

  “Hello, Cassie.”

  “Hello, Drake.”

  He pulled out a chair and joined her without waiting to be invited. “You’re looking great.”

  So that’s how it would be tonight. Last time it had been all accusations. This time, sweetness and light, which meant he wanted something.

  “Thanks,” she said. She sipped her soda, noticing how out of place his designer shirt and expensive trousers looked in Suzette’s. “What are you doing in Beau Pierre, spying on your spy?”

  Drake took a paper napkin from the dispenser and rubbed at a greasy spot that had been left on his side of the table. “I’d like to check the climate of my opponent’s before a trial. How have you been?”

  “I’m doing fine.”

  “And your parents?”

  The question of the day. Leave it to Drake to ask it, though he couldn’t possibly suspect the angst surrounding the correct answer—not that she’d dare go into her mother’s disappearance with him.

  “They’re okay.”

  “Good. That’s good.”

  “How’s the Flanders trial going?” she asked

  “Extremely well. I understand you’ve become close to the dead anesthetist’s brother.”

  She grew uneasy, felt almost guilty, which was really absurd considering Drake had never stopped having intimate friends even when they were married. “John’s a friend.” She pulled some money out of her wallet to pay for her drink. “Nice running into you,” she lied, “but I need to go.”

  “Sure. You’ve got plans. I understand.” He reached across the table and put his hand on top of hers as she lay the money on the table. Odd how his touch meant nothing now.

  “I need to ask a favor, Cassie. I wouldn’t, but it’s important, could even be a case breaker.”

  “What would this favor entail?”

  “I need John Robicheaux’s testimony. Or at least some kind of statement from him as to why he thinks his brother was murdered.”

  “I don’t speak for John.”

  “But you can talk to him and persuade him to at least hear me out. Otherwise, I doubt he’ll take my call.”

  “So, all you want me to do is impose on my friendship with John to help your case. That is what you asked, isn’t it, because I want to be sure I have this straight.”

  “You’re twisting things, Cassie.”

  “So like me to do that, isn’t it? I just twist things all around and completely misjudge your unselfish requests. How did you know I’d be here, Drake?”

  “Actually, I stopped in to talk to a friend, but I was going to give you a call later.”

  “Another friend you need a favor from?”

  “You used to be a lot nicer, Cassie. Just talk to John for me. For old times.”

  “For old times,” she repeated as he stood and walked away. He stopped when he passed Celeste, leaned over and said something that produced a satisfied smile on her face before going to the bar. The bartender greeted him like an old friend—or one of his paid spies.

  Same old Drake. But not the same old Cassie. She wasn’t tied to him in any way that mattered anymore, didn’t respond to his touch and saw right through his flimsy manipulations. It was a very freeing discovery to make.

  And all of a sudden she couldn’t wait to get back to John’s. She had a request to make of him, a very personal request, and it had nothing whatsoever to do with Drake Pierson.

  And if he turned her down, she’d just have to take things into her own hands. She knew just where to start.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CASSIE WAS LEAVING Beau Pierre tomorrow. There would be no undies hanging over John’s shower curtain to drip in his hair when he crawled in the shower. No toothpaste cap left askew on top of the tube. No sleeping on the sofa. And no chattering and asking questions when he was trying to watch the evening news.

  God, he was going to miss her! The old home place had come alive with her in it. Now it would go back to being just the shack he crashed in at night.

  The attraction between them was so real it sucked up the air and made it hard to breathe when they stepped too close to each other or let their arms or fingers brush in passing. But Cassie had been right in keeping her distance. If they kept it under wraps, the desire wouldn’t consume them and there would be no aftermath to face.

  And with women there was always an aftermath. They thought passion possessed magical powers that made everything right. Men were smarter than that. They saw passion as a consumable quality. You used it up, and then it was gone.

  And in the end nothing ever changed. He’d still be a failure. Cassie would still live in her world. He’d still live in his. Just him and the swamp and his old buddy, Jack Daniel’s.

  And this was way too much thinking for one night. Besides, it was getting late. Cassie should be back by now. He walked to the front porch, took a look around and breathed easier. She was tearing down the old dirt road, spitting gravel and spraying mud.

  One more night. A long one he suspected, since he was already feeling the pangs of arousal. He watched her park and jump out of the car, her skirt dancing around her shapely legs as she ran up the walk, her perky breasts jiggling seductively.

  She climbed the steps and threw her arms around him and pressed her lips into his. He stumbled backward, but held on, lifting her off the porch while his mind went reeling.

  “Make love to me, John. Right here. Right now.”

  “Cassie, do you know…”

  She covered his mouth with hers. “Don’t talk about it, John. Just do it.”

  And all the bunk he’d preached to himself all day flew out of his mind so fast he didn’t even feel it blow past his ears.

  THEY NEVER MADE IT to the bedroom. Cassie couldn’t have cared less. They were a whirl of arms and legs and kisses, tangling and clinging and exploring. She was so hungry for every part of John that she couldn’t have slowed things down if there had been a reason to.

  She ended up pushed against the living room wall, her shirt still on, its buttons scattered around the floor. John’s hands were everywhere at once. On her breasts, her back, sliding between her thighs as he nudged her panties away so that he could slip inside her. She was crazy with wanting him and with the need to stop holding everything inside.

  Once he was inside her, she pushed when he did, thrusting and moaning, the ache so sweet she could barely stand it. The orgasm started then, building like an explosion on a short, frayed fuse. She didn’t know if they came together or if she started and it set him off, but she could feel his heart beating against her chest and hear his breath, as sharp and quick as if he’d been running.

  “Wow!”

  A one word response, but it was better than she could do right now. She put her head on his shoulders and kissed his neck just under his ear, while the heated wetness of him grew sticky between her legs.

  To say she’d never made love this savagely would have been the understatement of the year. She hadn’t really believed anyone did it like that except in X-rated movies.

  “And here I thought reporters only did it in print,” John said, pulling away and tugging his jeans and shorts back over his hips.

  “That was just the teaser,” she whispered, “the little statement in front of the article that gets you excited about what’s yet to come.”

  “Yeah. Well guess what? It’s working.”

  JOHN WOKE in the middle of the night stretched out in his own bed with Cassie cuddled next to him. She’d left off the T-shirt tonight. There was nothing between their bodies but some sweet smelling lotion she’d rubbed on her legs and then let him smooth on to her back—and her front.

  He let his thumbs brush her nipples. He couldn’t see them under the sheet but he knew exactly what they looked like, felt like and tasted like now. He didn’t know what had changed things for Cassie, what had made her decide that tonight was the night, but he knew they’d been moving toward this moment ever since they’d met.

  Cassie squ
irmed beside him. He kissed the back of her neck and cradled her breasts in his hands. She was still leaving in the morning. She hadn’t mentioned not going and he hadn’t expected her to.

  Making love never stopped the world from turning, but when the time was right, it was only that way for brief moments of time. It had seemed that way for him tonight.

  CASSIE SEARCHED for ten minutes and finally found a space near the back of the third level of the airport parking garage. Airlines were still recommending checking in two hours early for a flight, but she seldom did. However, today she was there two and a half hours before the scheduled departure time. She’d never known her mother not to be exceedingly early for a flight.

  Cassie had reconfirmed last night. Her mother’s name was still on the passenger list for flight 622, departing for Houston at 3:25 p.m. Her seat was assigned. Everything was in place except that there was no return flight booked from abroad and New Orleans would not have been a connecting airport for Houston even if Rhonda Havelin had been returning from Greece.

  At this point, Cassie no longer cared where her mother had been or why. She just needed her to be at the airport today. If she wasn’t… No. She was booked on the flight. She’d be here.

  Cassie stopped at the gift shop and picked up copies of Vogue and The New Yorker, then stopped at the coffee stand for a large, iced caramel latte. She was eager to get to the gate, yet hesitant. Once she was there, the time would drag until she saw her mother walking down the corridor.

  A brown-haired woman in a black, two-piece warmup who had the same build as Rhonda was standing by the door to the women’s restroom. Cassie’s heart jumped to her throat and she hurried toward the woman, only to have her spirits crash to her toes when the woman turned around. Two hours of this was going to be murder.

  Any other day, Cassie would have had trouble thinking of anything but last night and making love with John. Today, the night of being deliciously aroused and totally fulfilled had to take a back seat to the building apprehension that her mother might not appear.