All Hats on Deck

by Sandra Bretting

  Before I could comment, though, she hopped from the bar stool and whisked the bookbag off the counter.

  “Well, I’d better get going.” She sounded giddy now, far different from when she first arrived. “I can’t wait to see what you’re going to come up with! I thought for sure you’d tell me to take a hike. See you later!”

  With that, she twirled away from me and practically skipped to the front door. I waited long enough for her to pass through the exit before I whipped out my cell phone and tapped Lance’s number at the Louisiana State Police Department on my speed dial.

  At this rate, I didn’t know what to tell Lance first. How I’d discovered an almost-empty bottle of Xanax in the mayor’s office or how Captain d’Aulnay planned to take over Ruby’s land.

  Neither of the stories cast the men involved in a good light.

  Chapter 22

  I willed Lance to answer the telephone when the call went through, which he finally did on the fourth ring. “Hallelujah…you’re there.”

  “Of course I’m here. I’m still working on the tip from Ruby Oubre’s neighbor. Why? What’s up?”

  What isn’t up? I wanted to say. First of all, I’d stumbled across a used pill bottle in the mayor’s office. And not just any bottle…a prescription for Xanax, which just happened to be the medicine used to knock out Ruby before she drowned.

  Plus, I had surprising news about Christophe d’Aulnay to consider. Not that he wanted Ruby’s land—we all knew that—but how he needed it now to save his failing business.

  Since I had to start with one topic, I chose Mayor Turcott because I had tangible evidence on that one.

  “I found something in the mayor’s office today, Lance. Something you should know about.”

  “First of all…what were you doing in his office?” He sounded peeved, as if he didn’t approve of my wanderings.

  “I had to go back to the Factory, and I noticed his car in the parking lot. Once I went upstairs, I found a used pill bottle in his trash can. It was a prescription for Xanax. Someone had crossed the patient’s name out on the front.”

  “I have to be honest with you. I’m not sure it means anything. Think about it. Would you want people to know you were taking Xanax if you were the mayor?”

  “No, I guess not.”

  “Most politicians have their assistants, or even their attorneys, have the prescription filled in their name. That way, a reporter can’t get ahold of the information and use it against them.”

  “I’m sure it happens all the time. But, Lance—”

  “It all started in the seventies.” He spoke right over me. Luckily, we’d known each other long enough to know that neither of us would take offense when the other one interrupted. “I remember when my mom told me about it. She said some governor—I think it was the governor of Missouri—had to step down because people found out he’d been in a mental hospital. After that, politicians got real tricky about how they handled hospitalizations, medical tests…even prescriptions.”

  “You’re talking about Governor Eagleton.” Even I could hear the exasperation in my voice. “And I think it was the vice presidential ticket. But it doesn’t matter. I’m trying to tell you something else. The pharmacist filled the bottle with thirty capsules on Wednesday. Now it looks like only three are left, at the most. Who takes that many Xanax in three days?”

  The phone fell silent, and I could almost hear Lance’s mind whirring. After an eternity, he came back on the call. “Normally, I’d agree with you. But there’s something else you should know.”

  “What now?”

  “I spoke to the mayor this morning because Hollis told me he came out to see his grandmother at the start of the week. The man has an airtight alibi for Thursday morning, when Ruby was killed.”

  “He does?”

  “He was at a press conference to announce the opening of St. Bartholomew Health Center,” Lance said. “His story checks out. KATZ covered it, plus a few other stations up in Baton Rouge.”

  “Oh.” I tried not to sound disappointed, although I was sure Lance could read it in my voice.

  “He got to the conference around six that morning. Apparently, radio reporters get to work extra early.”

  Now it was my turn to fall silent. I simply couldn’t reconcile my hunch with what Lance had said. To be honest, the mayor seemed like the perfect suspect in Ruby’s killing. He was arrogant; he was an outsider, since he hailed from Oklahoma, according to Hollis; and he was slick as anything. Too bad my jaded opinion of him didn’t jibe with Lance’s facts.

  “Well, there’s something else.” I guessed it was time to revert to theory number two, which revolved around the d’Aulnay family and their dwindling fortune. “There’s also Christophe d’Aulnay to consider. One of his daughters—Sabine—told me the family’s going broke. Her father can’t even pay for her wedding now.”

  “Hmmm,” he said. “I’d heard tourism was down on the river.”

  “It’s true. I don’t know whether it’s just affecting the d’Aulnay, or all the tour operators, but now Christophe d’Aulnay is scrambling for cash.” It was hard to forget the desperation in Sabine’s voice when she told me the news. “He wants to add another dock, and it looks like the dock he wants is Ruby’s. Now, more than ever.”

  “I’ve spoken to him once, but only briefly. Think I’ll pay him another visit today.”

  I glanced at the digital clock on my cash register, which read one. Since I’d left the bayou a while ago, I’d stranded Bo without a car and without any way to get lunch. “I need to head on back to Ruby’s. I’ve got Ambrose’s car, and he might need it. Let me know what you find out about Christophe d’Aulnay, okay?”

  “Will do.”

  Once we said good-bye, I quickly extinguished the lights in the studio and headed out to the parking lot. Mayor Turcott’s classic Thunderbird convertible was long gone by now.

  Just as well. Since Mayor Turcott had an airtight alibi for Thursday morning, he wasn’t a suspect in Ruby’s killing anymore. Which meant it was time for me to focus on the real suspects, such as Christophe d’Aulnay.

  By the time I arrived at the bayou, a headache niggled at the back of my brain…and that wasn’t the worst part. A deep rumble also had wended its way through my stomach and settled just under my rib cage. If I didn’t get some food soon, I’d surely faint.

  I quickly pulled the car behind the dock and gingerly stepped out of it. After a few feet, though, I paused. Something was amiss, although I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. Had I forgotten something?

  One glance at the dock, and I had my answer. I forgot to bring more rawhide bones, so I was at Jacques’s mercy, if he decided to surprise me again.

  Head ducked and legs pumping, I hurried toward the staircase. In a flash, a low growl sounded behind me, which stopped me in my tracks.

  This time it wasn’t an airboat motor. Sure enough, as soon as I turned, I spied Jacques on the edge of the dock, his lips curled around something red and round and shiny. He seemed torn between wanting to ambush me and wanting to chew on his newfound toy.

  “Ambrose? Hollis?” My voice sounded weak, compared to Jacques’s growl. Plus, I didn’t know if they’d even be inside the mobile home, since they might’ve walked somewhere.

  “Anyone home?” Once more, my voice sounded squeaky. I quickly pondered my options. I could either wait for Jacques to make up his mind to pounce on me, or I could marshal my strength and call in the cavalry.

  “Help!” This time, I screamed loudly.

  The dog dropped the treasure on the dock and cocked his head in surprise.

  Hallelujah, the ploy worked. The door to the mobile home banged open, and Ambrose flew down the stairs. He still carried the football, which he poised above his shoulder before he let the ball fly. I couldn’t imagine what he had in mind, but at this point, I didn’t
care. As long as it kept Jacques away, I was on board.

  “Hang tight,” Ambrose said, as the ball sailed over our heads. It quickly spiraled toward the dog, where it glanced off its front paws.

  Arrrrooo! The moment the dog stopped howling, he jumped off the dock and landed in the river with a splash.

  Now I was the one to cock my head. “What was that all about?”

  “Heck if I know,” Bo said. “I just wanted to scare him off. I had no idea he’d head for the river. I didn’t even know he could swim.”

  We watched Jacques dog-paddle toward shore, ribbons of water flying everywhere. He’d abandoned his treasure on the dock, and he seemed frantic to retrieve it.

  “Of course he can swim. He’s a water dog.” It was Hollis, who had come up behind us.

  I quickly turned. “What happened to you guys? I yelled your names, but no one answered. I thought I was all alone out here.”

  “We were messing around with the football on the other side of the house,” Hollis said. “We went inside when we saw your car come up the road.”

  “Thank goodness. I thought I was a goner.”

  By the time I glanced over at Ambrose, he’d already stepped away from us. He’d begun to walk toward the dock, which seemed like a foolish thing to do, since Jacques could return at any moment. Why tempt fate again?

  “Ambrose?” I tried to call him back, but he’d already arrived at the dock. Instead of reaching for the football, though, he lifted Jacques’s red chew toy off the ground.

  “What’s that?” I asked Hollis, since Ambrose seemed preoccupied now.

  “Beats me,” Hollis said. “Looks like some trash Jacques found in the bushes. He likes to retrieve stuff and bring it back here.”

  We watched Ambrose gingerly appraise the object. First, he delicately turned it over in his palm, as if it might break, and then he held it up to the sun. It looked like a piece of plastic. Red plastic, with one end chewed off.

  Once he finished studying it, Ambrose dropped his arm and returned to where we stood. “Look at this.” He gingerly showed me his discovery.

  I’d been right about the plastic. It was a used Solo cup, with the rim torn off in spots. Bits of the rim still clung to the cup, but barely.

  “May I see that?” I asked.

  Ambrose shrugged and handed it over. I gently took it from him, and then I quickly studied the cup’s bottom, which Jacques had yet to gnaw.

  “Just like I thought,” I said, once I finished. “Someone put tomato juice in there.”

  “Huh?” Hollis pursed his lips. “We don’t drink tomato juice. Gross. Maybe it came from the neighbor’s trash.”

  “Maybe, but didn’t you say your grandmother loved Bloody Marys? That’s basically tomato juice and vodka.”

  Hollis didn’t look convinced. “But she’d never use a cup like that. She had a special glass for her ‘tonic.’ Something she got in New Orleans one Mardi Gras.’”

  I pointed the cup at Ambrose. “Here. Tell me what you think.”

  Sure enough, once Ambrose had a chance to study the cup, he nodded. “You’re right. It looks like it used to be a Bloody Mary. That’s dried tomato juice and some leftover celery.”

  “We need to give it to Lance for evidence,” I said. “This could be the cup someone used to drug Ruby.”

  Considering the medical examiner had discovered alcohol in Ruby’s bloodstream, along with the knockout drug, a Bloody Mary only made sense. The killer must’ve known that something strong, like vodka, could make the sedative work twice as fast. Not only that, but Hollis said it was Ruby’s favorite drink, so she’d happily accept one if someone offered it to her.

  Uh-oh. “I just thought of something else.” Ambrose and Hollis gazed at me curiously, as they waited for the other shoe to drop. “Whoever killed Ruby knew her favorite drink. That means they weren’t strangers.”

  The thought chilled me, and I fell silent. To think a friend, neighbor, or former employer even, could have killed Ruby was mind-boggling. Worst of all…who was to say they wouldn’t kill again?

  Chapter 23

  We all studied the ground for a moment or two. Across from us, the dog sulked at the river’s edge, mourning his lost toy. Every once in a while, he shot us a recriminating glance, as if he could guilt us into returning his treasure to the dock.

  My stomach finally broke the silence with another—even louder—growl. “Heavens to Betsy.” I’d been able to ignore the hunger pangs until now, but this was getting ridiculous.

  “What was that?” Hollis asked.

  “My stomach. I’ve hardly had anything to eat all day.”

  “We need to fix that.” Ambrose took my hand and led me away from the dock.

  I still held the crumpled Solo cup in my other hand, which I fully expected to give to Lance as soon as possible.

  Before we got very far, though, someone’s cell phone burst into song: “Gimme Three Steps.”

  I turned to Hollis, who was a huge Lynyrd Skynyrd fan, judging by his wardrobe.

  He quickly reached into the pocket of his shorts and pulled out the ringing cell. “Hello?”

  Ambrose smiled and leaned over to whisper in my ear, “Not a bad ringtone.”

  “True,” I agreed, in an equally soft voice. “But he could’ve picked ‘Free Bird.’ That one has even better guitar riffs.”

  Before Ambrose could argue with me, Hollis turned away. He also stuck his index finger in his right ear, probably because he couldn’t hear anything over our chatter.

  “Where do you want to eat?” I whispered to Ambrose.

  “Maybe some barbecue. That place on fourth street just reopened and I heard—”

  “WHO IS THIS?” Hollis’s voice boomed in the quiet.

  I dropped Ambrose’s hand and moved over to the teenager. “What’s wrong?” I mouthed.

  Hollis ignored me, though. “If you don’t tell me who this is, I’m gonna hang up,” he yelled into the phone.

  “Don’t do that,” I hissed. “Lance needs to trace the call.”

  Finally, Hollis listened to me, and he even tilted the cell forward, so I could eavesdrop on the conversation.

  The sound of static crackled over the line. Then a man’s voice, or, more precisely, the hollow sound of someone speaking through a voice scrambler, filled the air.

  “I can see you, you know,” the wheezy voice said. “Get away from the house.”

  He sounded like Darth Vader breathing into his helmet. Either that, or a demon from the underworld trying to communicate with the living. A very angry demon from the underworld.

  Hollis glanced at me helplessly, so I quickly spun my hands around—like a barrel rolling downhill—to signal he should keep talking. Fortunately, he caught on, and he brought the receiver back to his mouth.

  “I’m…I’m sorry,” he said. “But I can barely hear you. What’s that you said?”

  I braced for the wheezy voice to return, but the line had fallen silent.

  Click.

  “Dagnabbit!” I said. “He must’ve realized what we were up to.”

  “Did I blow it?” Hollis looked mortified. “I’m sorry, but I didn’t know what to say.”

  “That’s okay. It’s not your fault.” No need to make him feel bad. Anyone would’ve panicked in the same situation. “I’ll bet you Lance had enough time to trace it.”

  “Do you think so?”

  “Sure.” I had no idea how long Lance would need, and the call seemed incredibly short, to be honest. “It’s amazing what those machines can pick up nowadays.”

  “She’s right.” Ambrose had moved over to us, and now we formed a tight circle. “The police have great technology now. I’ll bet Lance can ID the location.”

  “But the guy sounded so mad.” Hollis looked worried, and at least a dozen tiny wrinkles pleated
his pale forehead now.

  “Yes, he did sound mad,” I said. “That’s why we need to take the threat seriously. Let’s get out of here for a while. I’ll call Lance from the road.”

  Now that we had a plan, we walked back to Ambrose’s car. I clicked the doors open with his fob, and then I handed the key ring back to Bo. Once I claimed the passenger seat, the red Solo cup still in my hand, Hollis hopped into the back and Ambrose slid behind the steering wheel.

  I spied the dog from the corner of my eye as we pulled away from Ruby’s property. He must’ve forgotten all about his earlier injury, because he padded toward the dock, aimlessly searching for the lost treasure.

  “Where do you want to go?” Ambrose asked, once he’d driven us onto the surface road.

  “As far away from the house as we can.” Although I hated to admit it, the thought of someone watching us made my skin crawl.

  The caller could be anywhere…behind that tree over there; beside that clump of kudzu; even within spitting distance of the cruiser driven by Lance’s backup, which hadn’t moved since this morning.

  “Say, Ambrose.” I craned my neck as we approached the police cruiser. “Can you please stop for a second? I want to talk to the police officer.”

  “No problem.” He steered the Audi alongside the squad car. Once he lowered the driver’s side window, I leaned over him to speak to the person in the other car.

  “Hollis just got another phone call,” I said. “Someone was using a voice scrambler again.”

  “I know.” The policewoman, a pretty Hispanic with brown eyes and an ebony ponytail, nodded. “Lance just radioed to tell me about it. He’s tracing the call now.”

  “Do we need to stick around?” I wanted her to say no, but there was no telling whether Lance would want us to stay put.

  “No. It’s okay if you leave. Once Lance gets the coordinates, he’ll head over to the caller’s location. Don’t go too far, though. We’ll need you to come to the station later.”

  “Gotcha. We won’t go far.”

  With that, I leaned back in the passenger seat, raised the window, and felt the engine kick back into Drive. The scenery flowed by my window as we moved down the road. The kudzu reminded me of a lumpy green carpet someone had thrown over the tree branches. Bits of the river appeared when the foliage parted, and sun glanced off the water’s surface.