Alligator Moon

by Joanna Wayne

  “He handles things differently than you, but I’m sure he’s worried.”

  “I don’t know. I think he still thinks this is no big deal, that Mom’s going to appear at any minute with a logical explanation.”

  “That’s not such a far-fetched scenario when you look at the facts. Your mother told both of you she was leaving and she took enough cash to live on so there’s no necessity for her to use credit cards.”

  “Why lie? Why leave at all if she wasn’t going to Greece with a friend?”

  “Women leave all the time, Cassie, for lots of reasons. It could be the marriage isn’t what she wants and she decided to see if living alone worked for her before she talked about divorce.”

  “After thirty years?”

  “Five, ten, thirty, what’s the difference? If something is over, it’s over. You let it go. Maybe your mother was at that point, or thought she might be.”

  “How would that explain her visit to Magnolia Plantation?”

  “That does throw a couple of kinks into the mix, but she might have been thinking about plastic surgery so she’d feel younger and more attractive in her new life.”

  “Dr. Guilliot claims he never saw her. Give it up, John. You don’t believe any more than I do that there’s a logical excuse for my mother’s disappearance. There are too many inconsistencies, too many lies.”

  This time John didn’t argue the point. He just stared straight ahead, with a look of deep concentration on his face, likely lost in his own worries.

  So here they were, both struggling to find answers. Him with his grief, her with a dread that at times all but consumed her, and the only thing they had to hold on to was each other.

  But what she felt for John was a lot more than gratitude for broad shoulders to lean on and a pair of strong arms to hold her. She liked him a lot, probably too much, might even be falling in love with him. When this was over, she’d have to deal with all of that and might have her heart broken in the process.

  For now, she was just glad to have him in her life.

  “ALMOST TO BEAU PIERRE,” John said, finally breaking the silence that had existed most of the trip.

  Cassie glanced out the window. “Let’s make a stop at the cemetery before we go to your place. The road’s just ahead.”

  “It’s almost dark. The mosquitoes will be out.”

  “I have some spray repellent in my handbag, and we won’t stay but a minute.”

  He slowed, but she could tell he didn’t want to do this and now she felt bad for asking. “We don’t have to stop if you’d rather not.”

  “It’s okay. Maybe I need a visual reminder that all that’s left of Dennis is rotting in that old mausoleum since I haven’t found his killer yet.”

  Now she was really sorry she’d suggested stopping. It was silly for her to want to go back to the grave site again anyway, but she just kept thinking that whoever left those roses held the key. She had no idea what the key would open.

  John pulled to the side of the road in front of the cemetery. Cassie stepped out of the car and was hit with the eerie reminder that this was the same time of day she’d gotten shot at and chased into the swamp.

  They both sprayed the repellent liberally before starting across the maze of family mausoleums.

  “Looks like we have company,” John said.

  Apprehension hit in a heartbeat. “Where?”

  “Right in front of the Robicheaux crypt.”

  Cassie hurried to get past a tall stone structure that blocked her view. Once past it she saw Annabeth, standing in the shadow of the cross holding one white rose.

  Annabeth spotted them and waved. “I didn’t expect to see anyone else out here this late,” she said, dropping the rose to the grass.

  “Neither did we,” John said. “I didn’t see your car when we drove up.”

  “I parked it around the curve, where the road dead-ends. I’d rather Norman not know I’m out here.”

  “Did you tell him the baby is Dennis’s?” John asked.

  “I had to. He kept pressuring me.”

  Finding out that your wife had been impregnated by the anesthetist on your surgery team must have been a shock, Cassie decided, unless Norman had already known about the affair.

  Adultery. Motive to kill. Cassie shuddered at the thought.

  “But you’re back with him,” John said, “all lovey dovey from the way it looked when Cassie and I saw you last night.”

  “Norman’s still upset, but things will get better.”

  “Guess that means you’re staying with him?”

  “I know you don’t care for Norman. Dennis told me that the two of you had some kind of clash years ago, but he’s not all bad, John, and he is my husband.”

  “If you stay with him, he’ll be raising my nephew.”

  “I won’t let him hurt my child. You surely know that.”

  “No, Annabeth. I don’t know a damn thing these days except that Dennis is dead and still getting screwed over.”

  Cassie stooped and picked up the rose. This time half the petals were missing, all on one side, as if someone had peeled them away. “I wondered who was bringing these,” Cassie said. “I thought it might be you.”

  “I didn’t bring the rose. It was lying in the grass when I got here. This is the first time I’ve been to the cemetery since the burial service.”

  Cassie wasn’t sure she believed her, especially when Annabeth kept looking around as if she expected a ghost to spring from one of the mausoleums or someone to jump from behind one.

  “I should get home,” Annabeth said.

  “Before your loving husband finds you here?”

  “Be fair, John. It’s Dennis and I who did wrong by having the affair. Not Norman.”

  They started back to the road. Annabeth matched her pace with Cassie’s. “Norman said your visit last night had to do with your mother. He said you thought she’d come to him for surgery.”

  Cassie considered her answer before she spoke, not sure how much she should reveal to Annabeth. It was clear the woman’s loyalties lay with Guilliot, but Cassie desperately needed a friend on the inside, and Annabeth might unwittingly turn out to be that friend.

  “My mother was driven to Magnolia Plantation on May ninth.”

  “If she was there, she didn’t see Norman. Perhaps she had a consultation with Fred.”

  Cassie hadn’t even thought of that. Fred was doing a fellowship with Guilliot, but he was a fully licensed plastic surgeon, certainly qualified to do a patient consultation to consider surgery. This conversation was paying off already.

  They reached the car a few minutes later. John walked Annabeth to hers, but Cassie said her goodbyes, got in the car and pulled out her notebook. The first word she wrote was motive. The second was Fred Powell.

  “ANNABETH LOOKS SO SAD,” Cassie said.

  “Not sad enough that she’ll walk away from the money and the lifestyle Guilliot offers. I don’t care what she does, but I hate to think Dennis’s child will grow up with Annabeth and Norman Guilliot for parents. It’s a rotten legacy to leave a kid.”

  “Annabeth mentioned a clash between you and Norman. What was that about?”

  “A typical Guilliot stunt. He and a contractor friend from Florida wanted to build a golf course on some land he owns near my place. They were going to haul in a lot of dirt and make it into a high-priced resort. My grandfather got wind of it and started a petition to keep him from doing it.”

  “Why?”

  “Didn’t want a bunch of yuppies around. Bottom line, Guilliot stormed over to my grandfather’s place and threatened him with everything from mayhem to getting him kicked off his own land. Puh-paw took his shotgun and fired a few shots into whatever expensive vehicle Guilliot was driving at the time, and Guilliot smacked him with a lawsuit.”

  “What happened?”

  “Guilliot finally dropped the suit and things settled down.”

  “There’s no golf course.”

&nb
sp; “The state declared the whole area under wetland protection right after that.”

  “And you wouldn’t have had anything to do with that?”

  John smiled. She’d forgotten how great one looked on him. “Perhaps a bit,” he admitted.

  Or perhaps a lot. “Obviously Guilliot’s anger didn’t extend to Dennis.”

  “Who knows what goes on in Guilliot’s mind?”

  “Do you think he suspected that Dennis and Annabeth were having an affair?”

  “No.”

  “Why not? That would have been motive for the murder you seem so certain happened.”

  “If Guilliot had known, he’d have come to Annabeth with the accusations, not waited until she told him she was pregnant to explode.”

  “Then you still think this has to do with Ginny Flanders’s death?”

  “Yeah, I do. Hopefully I’ll find some proof of that soon.”

  “Are you still thinking of breaking into the clinic?”

  “I’m past the thinking stage. I’m going in tomorrow night, late, after the residents are asleep and the night staff has settled down.”

  “How will you get through the gate?”

  “I won’t. I’ll go the back way, by water. It will be a moonless night, pitch-dark in the swamps. No one will see me slip my pirogue into the bayou just north of the plantation. No one will see me when I dock a few yards behind the house.”

  Just the thought of the pitch-dark swamp made Cassie’s skin crawl. “There’s no guarantee you’ll find anything,” she said, wishing he’d change his mind.

  “There are no guarantees of anything.”

  “If you get caught, you could go to jail.”

  “I won’t get caught.”

  There was no use arguing with him. His mind was made up and she didn’t want to think of dark bayou waters right now. But the thoughts were already planted in her mind. Slow-moving, murky water. Alligators.

  Body parts.

  John stretched his arm along the back of the seat and rested it on her shoulder. “Are you okay?”

  “No. Not until I find Mom.”

  “We should stop at the grocers,” he said, no doubt trying to get her mind off the fears that must shadow her face the way they shadowed her soul. “What are you hungry for tonight?”

  “Nothing. I just want a quiet evening with you.”

  He massaged her shoulder, but didn’t answer.

  A few minutes later they stopped in front of Dubois Super Mart. Apparently John needed food.

  JOHN FOLLOWED Cassie into the store. “I put some filets in the refrigerator to defrost, so all we need is the fixings for a green salad and a loaf of French bread—unless you don’t like steak.”

  “Ordinarily, I love a good steak,” Cassie said. “I’m not sure I can do one justice tonight, but I’ll try.”

  They stopped at the produce section first. The choices were limited in the small family-owned establishment. The only two kinds of lettuce were iceberg and Romaine. Cassie put a head of each in the basket John had picked up at the door.

  What Dubois Super Mart lacked in lettuce varieties, it made up for by having vine-ripened creole tomatoes grown in the rich soil of the Mississippi Delta region. There were no better in the world, and Cassie searched through the bin to select the best.

  “Hello, Cassie.”

  Cassie looked up to see Fred Powell standing a few feet away. Every muscle in her body tightened. He might well be the only link she had to finding her mother. The produce section isle of the grocery store wasn’t where she’d planned to confront him, but it would have to do. She murmured a hello while she strived to get her thoughts together.

  A stunning young woman walked up and took a possessive hold of Fred’s arm. She was tall and thin with long, straight black hair that was so shiny it glistened even under the artificial store lighting. They went through the introduction, and even her voice was seductive, low and breathy.

  “So what brings you two to Beau Pierre on a Saturday night?” John asked.

  “The doc met with his attorney again this afternoon,” Fred explained. “Jacobbi sent some questions back with him that he wants me to look over before Monday so Gina and I drove over to pick them up.” Fred rested his basket of groceries on top of a stack of apples and turned his attention to Cassie. “How’s the article coming?”

  “The one that mentions you is finished and will be on the shelves next Friday.”

  “I’ll be sure and pick up a copy. It might be my only fifteen minutes of fame. Will you be covering the trial?”

  “Most likely.”

  “I’m sure I’ll see you around the courthouse then.”

  “I thought you might be spared the hassle of the trial,” John said, “since you were out of town the day of Mrs. Flanders’s surgery.”

  “I’m not named in the suit, but Clayton Jacobbi thinks it will look better if I’m in court every day with the others, and he wants me to take the stand. Mostly he wants me to reinforce the fact that we take all reasonable precautions to avoid problems once the patient is under the knife.”

  “Sounds like the court proceedings aren’t going to leave much time for operating on patients,” John said.

  “There’s no surgery at all scheduled for the next two weeks. We’ll take turns checking in on the patients staying at Magnolia, and Dr. Guilliot will be available if he’s needed.”

  “Sounds as if you have it all covered.”

  “Dr. Guilliot makes sure everything is covered.”

  “Do you live in Houma, too?” Cassie asked, directing her question to Gina.

  “For now.”

  “Gina’s my fiancée,” Fred said. “We live together.”

  Cassie glanced at Gina’s hand, the ring was a very impressive Marque diamond, at least a couple of carats surrounded by rubies.

  “We better go and let you two finish shopping,” Fred said.

  But Cassie had no intention of letting him walk away just yet. “I need to ask you something first.”

  “Sure, as long as it’s not about Ginny Lynn Flanders or anything to do with the trial.”

  “It’s not about Ginny Lynn. It’s about another patient, Rhonda Havelin.”

  Fred’s expression didn’t change, but he took a quick glance over his shoulder before answering. “I don’t know a Rhonda Havelin.”

  He picked up his basket and hooked it over his arm, but Cassie wasn’t ready to give up yet. She pulled out her mother’s picture and handed it to him. “She may have gone by another name, but I know she was at Magnolia and I think she had some type of surgical procedure performed.”

  Fred looked at the photograph, then shrugged his shoulders and handed it back to Cassie. “I’ve never seen her. Did you ask Dr. Guilliot about her?”

  “Yes, but he claims he’s never seen her, either.”

  “Then I guess you must be mistaken about her having had surgery at Magnolia. See you around.”

  “No, wait!” She worked to keep the panic from her voice. “I know she was there. If you know anything at all about this, please tell me.”

  “Of course, I would tell you. Why wouldn’t I? Who is she anyway?”

  “My mother.”

  His eyes narrowed. “I don’t understand. If you’re wondering if your mother came to the clinic, why don’t you just ask her?”

  “It’s a long story.” And one that hurt so much right now Cassie was having to bite back the pain and frustration just so she could maintain a reasonable semblance of control. “Thanks anyway, Fred.”

  Cassie stood there and watched him walk away with his arm around Gina.

  John put a hand on Cassie’s shoulder.

  “I’m sorry, really sorry. But hang in there. We’re going to find your mother. Things like this just take time.”

  “But what if we don’t, John? What if we don’t?”

  John led the way down the short grocery aisle. “Did you notice the size of that rock on Gina’s finger?”

  “Yeah. P
retty impressive.”

  “The guy must be in hock to his eyeballs.”

  “Trying to keep up with Dr. Guilliot, I guess.”

  John grabbed a loaf of French bread and a bottle of dishwashing liquid, then walked to the one check-out counter where Mrs. Dubois was busy ringing up the groceries for an elderly woman who liberally mixed her Cajun French with her English.

  “C’est pas de ta faute.”

  “Bien, merci.”

  “You heard about the nurse?”

  “What nurse?”

  “The jolie blonde who works for Dr. Guilliot?” Mrs. Dubois said as she weighed the woman’s bananas.

  Cassie stepped closer to hear the conversation better.

  “Don’ told me dere’s more bad news.”

  Mrs. Dubois nodded. “Pas trop bien. Heard it from Sheriff Babineaux himself. Poor Angela she found the body. Looked like the nurse choked to death on a bite of chicken.”

  “Mon Dieu.”

  “Mais, yeah.”

  Cassie looked at John, then back to Mrs. Dubois. “Did you say Susan Dalton is dead?”

  Mrs. Dubois nodded. “The sheriff himself, stood right here and told me.”

  “I’m going to look for Fred,” Cassie told John. “Someone should let him know.”

  “You stay here, I’ll check.”

  John was back and shaking his head just as the woman in front of them left with her groceries. “No sign of him. I guess he checked out while we were getting the bread.”

  “Comment ça va, John,” Mrs. Dubois said.

  He pushed the basket within her reach. “I’m making it.”

  “I told you how sorry I am about Dennis?” Mrs. Dubois said as she rung up the bread the old-fashioned way, sans scanner.

  “You told me and I appreciate it,” John said.

  Cassie walked to the door and looked outside for Fred and Gina. She didn’t spot them, but stepped outside anyway. She needed a breath of fresh air, but only found more suffocating heat and humidity.

  And more dread. Yet another death. Choked on a bite of chicken. Cassie didn’t buy that for a second.