“All right. All right. I’ll be there in five. But I expect some coffee when I get to your place. The good stuff too. Not that sludge you usually make.”
“You got it. I’ll make you a pot of Community coffee.”
With that, Lance clicked off the line, and I did the same. After making a quick U-turn, I drove for five minutes or so, until the police substation came into view.
Traffic was light on this road too, probably because the weekend wouldn’t kick off until tonight, when everyone got off work at five. That was when the streets would come alive and people sloughed off the memory of the workweek by visiting one of their favorite watering holes. Although Bleu Bayou was a far cry from New Orleans crime-wise, we still had our fair share of DUIs, domestic violence calls, and whatnot. One time I even watched the police bust up a fistfight at Antoine’s Country Kitchen, only to nab a purse snatcher on their way out the door. Such was life in a small town when there were big cities nearby.
But today was different. Today I had the whole road to myself, and then I had my choice of parking spaces once I reached the police station. I pulled Ringo into the first row, next to an unmarked squad car. Lance’s Oldsmobile was nowhere to be found, which meant he must’ve left it at home. Although I liked to tease him about his grimy Buick, it was probably for the best, since it wasn’t exactly the best advertisement for a police department. Better for him to borrow a shiny new squad car and leave the clunker at home.
I skirted around the hood of the unmarked car and entered the station through a plate-glass door. Lance stood behind a counter that reached his waist. It separated the lobby from the rest of the room. Everything from the filing cabinets to my right and the windowsills behind me to the ceiling tiles overhead had been slathered with gray paint. Either they had a paint sale at Homestyle Hardware, or the maintenance person lacked imagination.
In contrast, Lance wore a spit-and-polish navy-blue police uniform, complete with gold piping and epaulets on the shoulders. The epaulets were a tad much, in my opinion, but he did look official in the regulation garb.
“My, my,” I said, as soon as I caught his eye. “Don’t you look snazzy.”
He smirked as he reached for a button that was hidden beneath the counter. One pop and a gate swung open, which allowed me to enter the area where the police officers sat.
“Long time, no see.” I quickly walked over to where he stood. Although he’d joined me on the banks of the Atchafalaya River only the day before, it felt like a lifetime had passed. I remembered watching a police diver telescope the snag pole that he’d use to catch Ruby’s clothing under the water; the way the doors to the coroner’s van stood wide open, inviting anyone to get an eyeful of the contents inside; and the drive back to Ruby’s house, when Hollis fell asleep on my shoulder before we even got to the property.
“Let’s go back to my desk.” Lance motioned me to an area near the far wall.
I followed him past a half-dozen tidy work spaces, decorated with plastic photo frames, neatly organized files, and coffee mugs imprinted with WORLD’S BEST MOM or #1 GRANDDAD. Then we got to Lance’s desk.
Heaven help us. Unlike the rest of the workstations, Lance’s desk groaned under the weight of file folders, fat notebooks, and whatnot. I half-expected the table to crumble under the weight of the debris right then and there.
At least the chair he pulled out for me was clean, so I quickly sat. “Hmph.”
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“There could be a family of racoons living under all that paper, Lance. How can you even find anything?”
“Very funny.” As if to prove me wrong, Lance plunged his hand into the pile and yanked out a black folder decorated with a seal for the St. James Parish Coroner’s Office. The foil seal winked at me as he waved it in the air. “Aha! Right where I put it.”
I gave him my signature eye roll. “Bravo.”
“And now, for my next trick…” He smiled before he handed me the black folder. “Just kidding. Here you go.”
I cautiously took the folder, since I knew the drill by now. Ever since I helped Lance solve a murder at Morningside Plantation, some two years ago, I’d read more than my fair share of coroners’ reports and medical examiners’ notes.
According to Lance, he always included me in his police investigations because I possessed an unusually fine-tuned intuition. Although sometimes I wondered whether it was because he trusted me, seeing we were knee-babies together back in Texas. Either way, we’d successfully solved three other cases before this one, so who was to say he was wrong?
“It’s only two pages for now,” Lance said. “Just the preliminary. But the ME got suspicious when he saw the victim’s hands.”
“Her hands?” I flipped open the cover to see a typewritten page awash in black ink.
“When people drown, they usually clench their hands, because they’re trying to fight to get to the surface. But that didn’t happen here. Sometimes the ME will even see bruised muscles from the struggle.”
“Well, that doesn’t make sense. Someone strong, like Ruby, would fight like crazy to get out of the water.”
“Bingo. And we know she wasn’t killed on land, because she’d curled up in a semi-fetal position under the water. That meant she was alive when water filled her lungs.”
I crinkled my nose. “I’m not following you. If she didn’t die on land, and she didn’t fight to get to the surface, what happened?”
“C’mon, Missy. You’re not thinking. There’s another possibility. What if she couldn’t fight? What if someone drugged her?”
“If that’s the case, then the ME would’ve found drugs in her system, right?”
“True. But this is just a preliminary report, so it doesn’t have the results of a full drug panel. That’ll take about a week to get back. But the ME did get lucky in this case. He suspected a ‘knockout drug.’ Something that relaxes the muscles quickly. The most popular drugs are Xanax and something called lorazepam. They act fast, and you can’t smell them. Criminals love those drugs because they don’t make people nauseous, so their victims never realize what’s happening to them.”
“That’s diabolical.” I shuddered, and it had nothing to do with the freezing air-conditioning. “And that’s what the ME found in her system?”
“Yep. The lab did a quick blood analysis and it came back positive. Now, will they find other drugs in her system? Maybe. But those are the ones he zeroed in on because they made the most sense.”
“I’ll be darned.” It sounded like something from a Hollywood movie, or maybe a news story ripped from the pages of the Times-Picayune in New Orleans. Used to be that kind of thing would never happen in Bleu Bayou, although I couldn’t say that anymore.
“You can read the report for yourself.” Lance nodded at the pages in my hand. “It won’t take you long.”
“Okay. And I’ve got a great idea. How about some of that coffee you promised, so I can focus on the report?”
“You got it.”
While Lance left to fill a Styrofoam coffee cup for me, I glanced at the first page in my hand. It was simple enough to follow. First came a basic checklist under the heading Information About the Decedent, which captured routine stats, like the victim’s marital status, eye color, and weight. Next came a space for information about the incident. Did the victim die in someone’s home? A swimming pool? That sort of thing.
I noticed a bold red checkmark in the next section, which asked for the manner of death. Given the choice of natural, homicide, accident, suicide, undetermined, or pending, the ME had chosen the very last option.
Wonder why he didn’t just label it a homicide?
By now Lance had returned to his desk with a steaming cup of coffee, which I gratefully accepted. Since I couldn’t find a clean spot for it on the desk, I carefully balanced the cup on the chair’s armrest.
“Say, Lance. Why didn’t the ME just call it a homicide, since the test for the knockout drug came back positive?”
“Because he wanted to keep his options open. By calling the ruling ‘pending,’ he’ll get an autopsy, but he doesn’t have to make a final determination until all the results come back.”
“Gotcha.” I once more dropped my gaze to the report. Another section bore the title Means of Death—If Other Than Natural, and it included a subsection on drugs. Here, someone had scrawled a handwritten note:
In the absence of full blood or urine panels, suspected Xanax/lorazepam discovered in bloodstream and gastric contents.
I finally glanced away. “Okay, so tell me a little bit about this knockout drug. I’ve never heard of it before.”
“You’ve probably heard of it. You just didn’t realize it at the time. It’s used in a lot of sexual assaults. Say a woman goes to a bar and accepts a drink from a guy she doesn’t know. He slips the knockout drug into it when she’s not looking, and bingo…she’s out cold and he can do anything he wants.”
“You’re not saying…”
“No, no. Ruby wasn’t assaulted that way,” Lance said. “But she was given enough of the drug to render her unconscious. Like I said, it doesn’t have any odor or color, so her assailant could’ve mixed it with anything. Something as simple as that cup of coffee you have.”
I glanced at the Community coffee steaming away at my elbow. Given the timing—Beatrice and I had arrived at the bayou yesterday morning—it all made perfect sense.
“What’re you going to do next?” I carefully returned the report to Lance before I lifted the coffee and slowly took a sip.
“Gotta round up the suspects. We all know Ruby was sitting on a prime piece of property out there on the river. Maybe someone killed her for the land.”
“I agree. I saw a real estate letter sitting on Ruby’s cocktail table. It looked like someone offered to buy her property before she died.”
“Did you leave it alone?”
“Of course.” I gave him my signature eye roll, since I knew better than to disturb a crime scene by now.
“Good,” Lance said. “Plus, what if Ruby found out something in one of her jobs she wasn’t supposed to know? After all, she worked for some powerful people back in her day.”
“Interesting.”
Ruby had served as a caretaker for several mansions before she retired. Her bosses included Herbert Solomon, a wealthy billionaire out of Baton Rouge, and Hank Dupre, who purchased the Sweetwater mansion a few years back. But Mr. Solomon died in August, and Hank was trustworthy to a fault. Could she have crossed someone else along the way?
“That’s why I want you to keep your eyes and ears open,” Lance continued. “Especially around Hollis. He might’ve heard something important without even realizing it.”
“He’s staying at my house right now, so I can talk to him anytime I want. He was still sleeping when I left for work this morning.” I quickly glanced at a bald-faced clock over Lance’s desk. “Yikes! It’s already nine. If I don’t get to work soon, Beatrice’s going to send out a search party. I’ve gotta run, but I’ll call you soon.”
I hurried away from Lance’s desk, with one eye on the ticking clock.
Thankfully, traffic remained light on Highway 18 as I made my way toward Crowning Glory. Only a few Marathon Oil tankers dotted the road, and even those would turn off after only an exit or two.
All was well until I approached the parking lot at the Factory and found it stuffed to the gills with delivery vans, SUVs, and fancy sedans. Sweet mother of pearl!
The vehicles sat cheek-by-jowl on the asphalt, their owners long since swallowed up by the Factory’s studios. After cruising around the lot three times, and cursing my bad luck on each go-round, I finally spotted a place in the very last row, sandwiched between an enormous Lexus SUV and a telephone pole. I swerved into the tight space and dashed from my car, ducking around chrome bumpers, extra-long side panels, and sloped hoods on my way to the studio.
Once I arrived at Crowning Glory, I threw open the door and braced myself for the chaos I’d surely find inside.
“I’m back!” I yelped, as I skipped over the welcome mat.
“Hey, there.”
Contrary to my opinion, Beatrice languidly perched on a bar stool in front of our counter, and she barely turned her head to acknowledge me. Her uncle Hank sat beside her, and they both had fresh Starbucks coffees. Obviously, I’d interrupted a family chitchat, and not a full-blown crisis, like I’d expected.
“Good morning, Missy,” Hank said, as I scurried across the room.
“Good morning. Sorry I’m so late! I had to stop by the police station—”
“Whoa. Slow down.” He immediately rose from his chair. “Here. Take my seat. We were just chatting about this and that.”
“That’s okay. I’m fine.” I waved away his offer, nice as it was. “It’s good to see you, Mr. Dupre, but I’ve got a gazillion things to do around here.”
“Missy.”
The minute he cocked an eyebrow, I realized my mistake. “I’m sorry. I meant to call you Hank.” How many times did the poor guy have to remind me? For some reason, I never could use his first name. Maybe it was his age—he was at least twenty years older—or his senatorial demeanor, but his first name stuck in my throat whenever I tried to use it.
“That’s better.” He nodded briskly. “One of these days I’m going to strike that ‘Mr. Dupre’ stuff right out of your vocabulary.”
“And you don’t have to rush around,” Beatrice added. “Things are pretty calm right now. Sabine d’Aulnay called a few minutes ago to say she wants to come back to the studio this morning. But she won’t get here until around nine thirty, so we have plenty of time.”
“Huh. What a coincidence. I ran into Sabine’s father last night at dinner.”
“You ran into Christophe d’Aulnay?” Hank looked amused. “Let me guess…he talked your ear off in that loud voice of his.”
“Sure enough,” I said. “Doesn’t he realize he could wake the dead with it?”
“Of course, he does,” Hank replied. “He does it on purpose. He’s like a dog that wants to mark its territory and let everyone know he was there.”
“Uncle.” Beatrice shot him a stern look. “That’s not very nice. You’re always telling me I shouldn’t say something if it’s not nice.”
“That’s only for normal people. It doesn’t apply to someone like Christophe d’Aulnay. Then you can go ahead and be as mean as you want.”
Now that things had turned interesting, I debated whether to take that empty chair after all. Although I had a million things to do this morning and only a few hours to get them done, Hank’s comment had piqued my curiosity, so I slid onto the bar stool. “Why don’t you like Christophe d’Aulnay?”
“Because he thinks he walks on water. They all do. I wouldn’t be surprised if one day Christophe tries to get our mayor to change the name of Bleu Bayou to d’Aulnay Bayou.”
“C’mon, Uncle.” Beatrice shot him another look. “He’s not that bad.”
“You’ve said it yourself about the family.” Hank playfully elbowed her in the side. “I don’t see you hanging around with any of his daughters.”
“Ugh. I have to side with Beatrice on that one,” I said. “I’ve met his firstborn. But, listen. I interrupted you two, and your coffees are getting cold. Don’t let me get in the way of your conversation.”
“It’s okay,” Hank said. “We were just talking about what happened yesterday. That’s the big topic around here.”
Beatrice tilted her cup at me, but I shook my head at the offer. One cup of coffee with Lance was more than enough for now. Otherwise, I’d be bouncing off the walls by the time Sabine showed up at my studio.
“What was it like on the river yesterday?” Hank asked.
“It wasn’t pleasant,” I said. “It still rattles me. It felt like we spent a week out there, and not just a few hours.”
The scene seemed surreal, even now. The way daylight had glinted off the water like shards of glass. The muddy knob that protruded from a blanket of emerald hydrilla. The look on Hollis’s face when he came up for air with his grandmother’s clog in his right hand.
“Hollis was the one who found her body,” I said.
“We know,” Beatrice said. “I can’t imagine finding your grandmother’s body like that. I’m so glad you took him in, Missy.”
“You heard about that too, huh? He didn’t have anywhere else to go. When that smarmy Remy Gaudet showed up at the property, I knew Hollis couldn’t stay there overnight. Heck, the two of them almost clobbered each other, and I was standing right there.”
“Remy Gaudet?” Hank said. “I didn’t know he went out to Ruby’s house yesterday. I told him to stay away from that property. He obviously didn’t listen to me.”
“You what?” Maybe I needed that second cup of coffee after all, because I didn’t understand what he was saying.
“Remy asked me to draft a letter of intent for Ruby’s property, which I did,” Hank said. “But I counseled him to stay away from Ruby. He’s another one who comes off as a bit strong, and I didn’t want Ruby to bolt before she had a chance to read the letter.”
“I can see why you’d do that. He basically trespassed onto the property yesterday afternoon. We caught him right in the middle of measuring the dock. Which was pretty nervy, because he had to know Hollis would return to the house at some point.”
“Maybe he didn’t care,” Beatrice said.
“Maybe.” I remembered the way the swamp guide accused me of sneaking up on him. As if I was in the wrong. “The funny thing is, he never apologized to Hollis. He acted like it was our fault for not welcoming him with open arms.”
“That’s Remy, all right,” Hank said. “He’s a legend in his own mind too. Sorry you and Hollis had to run into him like that. There must be something in the river water that makes those guys act so crazy. Both Remy and Christophe think they own the Atchafalaya.”
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