The upturned nose of an airboat emerged from around the bend. It was a ruby red boat with forest green trim, wide enough to sit at least three people side by side.
The boat skimmed over the water, propelled by a giant fan attached to its stern. The boat’s driver perched in a metal chair high above the deck, like the lookout on a pirate ship.
“I can guess who owns that boat,” I yelled to Ambrose. “It’s painted just like the Riverboat Queen.”
“Really? That’s weird.” Ambrose raised his voice too, which caught the attention of the dog.
By now, Jacques had been the only one not making noise, so he decided to bark at the approaching airboat for all he was worth.
Miraculously, nothing stirred inside the mobile home. While I expected the front door to crash open at any second, it didn’t happen.
The bullhorn clicked on again. “There are only a few properties like this left. These people grew up on the bayou, eating gators and frogs’ legs and anything else that moved. When I get my hands on the property…” The churning fan blades drowned out the next few words, as the boat pulled closer to the dock.
“What’d he say?” I yelled to Ambrose.
“He said something about getting his hands on the property.”
“He can’t say that! He has no idea what’s going to happen to it.”
After a moment, the guide finally noticed we were standing on the shore, and he lowered the bullhorn. Sure enough, it was Christophe d’Aulnay…all five feet, five inches of him.
“Greetings, friends!” Not surprisingly, he didn’t really need the bullhorn, because his voice boomed across the water. “Bonjour.”
Our exchange seemed to pique the interest of his passengers, and several lifted their cell phones to snap a picture of the strangers on the shore.
“What do they want us to do?” I asked in a stage whisper. “Tap-dance?”
“Beats me.” Ambrose shrugged as he thought it over. “I guess they think we live here. Act like we’re natives.”
He started to wave his arms in the air like a madman, until I shushed him.
“Stop that! They’ll think we’re crazy.”
“Let ’em. I don’t care,” he said.
By now, the boat had drawn even closer to the dock, which drove the dog wild. Jacques ended up spinning around in circles like a whirling dervish.
Once the boat reached the edge of the planks, the driver cut the motor, and the fan blades slowly ground to a halt.
“What’re you doing here, Captain?” I called, when the noise finally dimmed.
“We always stop here on our tour.” As always, the man spoke much too loudly. “I like to give my customers a taste for how people out here live.”
“Does Hollis know you come out here?” It seemed to me the teen might have a few choice words to say about being included in Captain Christophe’s riverboat tours.
“Tot ce que. Whatever. Since we’re on the river, there’s not a whole lot he can do about it. Now, is there?”
While I didn’t want to make a scene, I also didn’t like the captain’s attitude. He acted like he already owned Ruby’s property, which couldn’t be further from the truth.
“Why do you say that?” I yelled. “This is all Hollis’s property. Not yours.”
“Not yet anyway,” he yelled back to me. “Okay, folks. Say good-bye to our friends. It’s time to move along.”
I was about to say more when the driver suddenly switched on the engine and the giant fan blades roared to life. Within moments, the sound of metal slicing through air eclipsed everything else on the bayou.
“Well, he has a lot of nerve,” I said, once the boat slipped around the bend again.
“You’re right. Guess he thinks he can do anything he wants out here because he’s Christophe d’Aulnay.”
“That’s not all, Bo.” I cast a worried glance back at the dock, where Jacques had flopped down in a heap. “I’ve got a funny feeling the captain already knows something we don’t.”
Chapter 19
A few moments later, the door to the mobile home finally swung open, and Hollis stuck his head out.
“What’s going on?” He sounded sleepy, and his hair stuck out in all directions, like the quills on a fair-haired porcupine.
“Captain d’Aulnay came by,” I explained. “He brought a boatload of tourists over here.”
“He what?”
“He said he always includes your grandma’s house on his river tours. It’s to give his customers a look at how the locals”—I flicked my fingers a few times in the air to indicate quote marks—“live around here. Whatever that means.”
“He can’t do that,” Hollis said. “Can he?”
“’Fraid so.” Ambrose had turned toward the mobile home too. “He can do pretty much anything he wants out on the river. The waterways are fair game.”
“Whaddya know. Say…do you guys wanna come inside?” Hollis asked.
“We’d love to.” I answered for Ambrose too, since the meeting with the captain had left me discombobulated. I wanted nothing more than to sit down for a few minutes and think.
Bo moved toward the stairs first, the football tucked tight by his side.
“Wait for me!” I hurried to catch up, since there was no telling when Jacques would revive. While I pitied the poor dog, nothing said I had to spend any more time with him than necessary. Who knew a dog’s tongue could stretch out that far?
Once I climbed the stairs, I stepped through the shredded screen door and entered the living room. It took a second for my eyes to adjust to the dim light. Nothing had changed inside, as far as I could tell. Over there, on the flowered couch, sat the puddle of newspapers I’d somehow managed to wrangle into a pile. On top of it was the letter of intent from Remy Gaudet, which Ruby may, or may not, have read before she died.
I followed Hollis into the kitchen, which was sunny and cheerful by comparison. “Lance came over here last night, right?”
“Yeah. We hung out and watched some football.”
My gaze fell to the pine picnic table, where the drawing of the bell curve still sat. I’d used the curve to explain supply and demand to Hollis, and it hadn’t moved since Thursday. “Hard to believe I was here only two days ago.”
“I know.” Hollis’s gaze followed mine. “I tried to look at your notes again. I really did. But I couldn’t concentrate.”
“Of course you couldn’t.” I sat on the bench by the picnic table, while Hollis leaned against the kitchen counter. Ambrose must’ve gotten waylaid in the living room, because he didn’t join us.
“By the way,” I asked, “did you have a chance to call your grandma’s sister and tell her about what happened?”
Hollis nodded. “Yeah. She’s coming out for the funeral. We’re gonna have it on Monday. You can come, right?”
“We wouldn’t miss it.” Ambrose wouldn’t mind if I spoke for him again, since he’d want to be there as much as I did.
“Good.” Hollis sounded relieved. “The guy at the funeral home helped me pick out a coffin and stuff. And lots of people said they’re gonna come to the funeral. Guess Grandma had more friends than I thought.”
Uh-oh. He’s right. Half the town probably will show up. “Say, Hollis. Did the funeral director mention anything about a reception afterward?”
“A what?”
I winced, since he had no idea what I was talking about. “There’s usually a reception after a funeral. We have to think about what to serve everyone. It doesn’t have to be fancy, but you should probably offer people cookies and punch, at least.”
“You mean I have to feed all those people? I don’t—”
“Hold on.” While I didn’t like to interrupt him, I also didn’t want him to panic. “I’ll make a few phone calls this afternoon. I’m sure everybody would love to help you.
No one expects you to do everything by yourself.”
“Thanks. I don’t know about any of that stuff. I’ve only been to one funeral and I was, like, in kindergarten.”
“Let me take care of it. As a matter of fact, I know someone who might be able to do the whole thing.” The minute I’d mentioned food, the thought of Miss Odilia’s Southern Eatery popped into my head. She’d know what to make for the funeral, and she could feed any sized crowd. “I’ll bet Odilia LaPorte would love to help out.”
“She’s the lady who let me borrow the jacket at her restaurant, right?”
“That’s her. I’ll call her later today and get everything all set up.”
Now that he’d been thrown a lifeline, Hollis’s breathing grew normal again. Earlier, it’d come in fits and starts, and I worried I might have to revive the teen right there on the kitchen floor.
“Thanks again, Miss DuBois. You’re the best.”
“Who’s the best?” Ambrose wandered into the kitchen, apparently finished with whatever he was doing in the front room.
“We were just talking about the funeral,” I said. “It’s going to be Monday, and Hollis asked us both to be there.”
“Of course we’ll come.” Ambrose didn’t hesitate. “What about afterward?”
“We were talking about that too,” I said. “I’m going to call Miss Odilia and see if she’ll bring the food. Knowing her, I don’t even have to ask.”
“You’re right. Say, Hollis.” Ambrose moved over to where the teen stood by the sink. “I heard someone called you yesterday and tried to threaten you. Did they ever call back?”
“Nah. At least I don’t think so. I probably wouldn’t hear it if they called when I was sleeping anyway. I don’t hear anything then.”
“So, you are a heavy sleeper. I knew it.” While I knew he liked to sleep late, I only guessed Hollis also slept like a log. And that reminded me of something else Lance had said during our phone call. “One of your neighbors gave Detective LaPorte a tip this morning.”
Hollis squinted. “A tip?”
“She called the police department and said Jacques was going crazy the morning your grandma died.”
Recognition sparked behind his eyes. “I’ll bet you anything it was old Miss Lucy. She’s been here a billion years, and she hates Jacques.”
“She didn’t call to complain,” I quickly added, “but to tell him something else. She heard Jacques first, but then she heard a man shouting at your dog to stay quiet.”
“That’s what she said?”
“Yeah. I guess Jacques surprised the guy, so he started yelling.”
“I don’t get it,” Hollis said. “Most people around here know Jacques, and they know to watch out for him.”
Before I could say more, the cell phone in my pocket began to vibrate. I tried to grab it before the ringer exploded, but soon the kitchen filled with the sound of Harry Connick Jr.
“Sweet baby Jesus.” I shoved my hand in my pocket and whipped out the noisemaker. I also shot Ambrose a recriminating glance, since he’d promised to remind me to turn the darn thing down.
“Oh yeah,” Ambrose said with a grin, “you’re supposed to fix the volume.”
“Thanks. Thanks a lot.” I quickly accepted the call, which silenced the ringer. “Hello. This is Missy DuBois.”
“Oh, thank God!” It was a woman’s voice, and she sounded clearly relieved to be speaking with me.
“Can I help you?”
“I sure hope so. It’s me, Missy…Sabine d’Aulnay. Do you remember me?”
“Uh, yeah.” How could I forget? While that’s what I wanted to say, it didn’t seem very polite, or very wise, at the moment. “Of course I remember you. How can I help you today?”
“I’ve made a terrible mistake.” She lowered her voice a few notches. “I need to see you right away. This can’t wait.”
“You mean now?” I glanced at the cat-shaped clock, where the long paw stretched toward eleven and the short paw rested on twelve. At this rate, I’d never finish my errands by noon. “I…I guess so. Can you tell me what’s going on, though?”
“I can’t talk right now. But I’ll explain when we get together. I can be at your shop in ten minutes. Will that work?”
I brought my gaze from the clock to Ambrose. While I didn’t want to leave him, Sabine sounded panicked. And I knew he’d take care of Hollis, so I wouldn’t have to worry about that.
“I guess I can meet you,” I said. “Let’s make it fifteen minutes, though, so I can wrap up things over here.”
“Great! I’ll see you then.”
As soon as she clicked off the line, I slid the cell back in my pocket. “There’s been a change in plans, gentlemen. This day keeps getting stranger and stranger.”
Chapter 20
Ambrose didn’t look surprised by my announcement. “I figured something was up.”
Slowly, I rose from the bench. The room didn’t seem nearly as bright, or as comfortable now, since I’d been asked to leave it. “Remember Sabine d’Aulnay?”
“Yeah. She was your problem client, right?”
I hesitated before answering. It wasn’t polite to criticize clients in public—although this one surely deserved it—and Hollis was listening in, after all.
“Let’s just say we’ve had our disagreements. I’m afraid she wants me to meet her back at Crowning Glory.”
“That’s okay.” Hollis didn’t look surprised by my news either. “You go ahead if you need to leave. I don’t mind.”
“But what about you, Bo?” I asked. “Do you care if I go?”
“I’ll miss you, if that’s what you mean. But I understand.” He pulled out the keys to the Audi, which he tossed to me. “Here. You take my car. And don’t worry about Hollis and me. We’ll be fine.” He patted the football’s laces, which gave me a pretty good idea of what the guys would be doing while I was away.
“Great.” I gave him a quick kiss on the cheek as I passed the sink. “I’ll call you when I find out what she wants. And thanks for letting me use your car.”
I waved good-bye, and then I moved into the living room. At the last second, I remembered the leftover rawhide in my pocket, which I’d no doubt need to toss to Jacques before I left the property.
“See you soon!” I yelled over my shoulder as I stepped outside.
The dog had disappeared again, but I kept one eye on the dock, nevertheless. His modus operandi seemed to involve hiding behind a tree or crouching next to a weathered piling and then jumping out at his unsuspecting victim. No wonder he’d surprised the visitor on Thursday.
“Here, Jacques!” I approached the dock. Better to head him off at the pass than become his next victim.
After a minute, the familiar click-clack of the dog’s nails on hardwoods rang out as he padded down the dock. I tossed him the rawhide, which he once more grabbed before he retreated to his hiding spot. Amazing. That dog could appear and disappear like a vapor, even with the telltale click of his toenails.
I hopped into the Audi and sped away, my thoughts a million miles away. Thank goodness Ambrose had chosen to stay behind with Hollis. What if the crazy caller made a repeat performance and tried to get in touch with him again?
Or, worse yet, what if the caller decided to deliver the message in person this time? True, Lance had stationed a backup officer nearby, but suspects had been known to skirt around a police officer at the scene of a crime.
As a matter of fact, not long ago, Lance told me about a particular thief he’d run across. This man liked to hang around a house after he’d burglarized it, just so he could watch the faces of his victims when they discovered they’d been robbed. He’d sneak away from the property to stash his loot and then return to gawk at the chaos he’d caused. That was when I realized how evil some people could be.
I shuddered and forc
ed myself to think about something else. Something like Sabine d’Aulnay. Why in the world would the girl call me only one day after she came to my shop to ask for her Tiffany ad back? What did she want from me now? To tell me she was taking her business elsewhere, which I already knew?
By the time I mulled that question a bit, I’d arrived at the Factory. Most of the parking lot sat empty, since lots of the shops had closed for the weekend. Brides and their maids could drop in anytime they wanted Monday through Friday, but Saturdays usually required an appointment.
A powder-blue Thunderbird convertible had the entire front row to itself, so I pulled up next to it. The car’s license plate read POLITICO, which gave me a pretty good idea of whom it belonged to. Not only that, but I recalled Mayor Turcott and his assistant heading to a similar car yesterday when I stopped them to speak to the mayor.
Our new mayor obviously had excellent taste in both cars and clothes. I passed by the gleaming, sloped hood of the convertible as I made my way to Crowning Glory. Outside of a few banged-up delivery vans and FedEx trucks, I didn’t spot anything that would pass for Sabine’s car, which meant I’d arrived before her.
Come to think of it…nothing said I had to be early for our appointment, and it might do her a world of good to have to wait on other people for a change.
Besides, this might be my one and only chance to speak with the mayor without his assistant eavesdropping. So, I turned around and began to walk back the way I’d come. I could tell Mayor Turcott all about Antonella’s new shop, since I’d seen it only yesterday, and I could relay what the repairman had to say. I’d never forgive myself if a fire broke out in that shop and I hadn’t done a thing to prevent it.
That was the excuse I gave myself, anyway, as I made my way across the parking lot. After a moment, I arrived at the sparkling glass atrium that bisected the Factory.
Like always, sunlight glanced off the walls of glass and lit the interior, although the air inside felt cool and comfortable, once I entered the building. Two Mies van der Rohe couches faced the front door, neither of them occupied. Ditto for some modern chairs placed catty-corner to the couches. I rode up to the second floor in the building’s elevator, where it deposited me at the start of a long hall.
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