“Not so fast.” Lance pinned the teen’s arms to his sides. “Walk away from him, Hollis. He’s not worth it.”
Hollis couldn’t, or wouldn’t, listen to him. He continued to struggle, his eyes wild. “He can’t get away with this. And he can’t say that about Grandma. Of course, people care. Let…me…go.”
“No way.” Unlike Hollis, Lance sounded completely calm. He held the teen for several seconds, until the boy’s body gradually went limp. “There. That’s better.”
In the meantime, Ambrose had headed for the dock too, and he slung his arm around my shoulders the moment he reached me. “Are you okay?” Worry clouded his face.
“Yes.” I nodded, finally able to catch my breath again. “I’m fine.”
The policewoman marched Remy to her cruiser, and then she dipped his head low to maneuver him into the back seat. Once she slammed the passenger door shut, she walked over to the driver’s side.
“I really didn’t want to be right,” I said, to no one in particular.
The police lights threw shafts of red and white against the greenery as the cruiser pulled away.
“But I knew it had to be Remy.”
Ambrose nodded. “And don’t forget about the mayor. Sounds like they were both to blame.”
“What’s next, Lance?” I asked.
He stood beside Hollis, with his arms around the teen. The struggle seemed to have knocked the wind out of both of them. “Whew,” he said. “Guess it’s time to pay a visit to our illustrious mayor.”
“That’s what I thought you’d say.” I knew the routine by now, and I knew the next step would be to take Mayor Turcott into custody.
“’Course…I could use some help.” Lance grinned, even though he was breathing hard. “You know your way around the Factory better than anyone. And I’m guessing that’s where we’ll find the mayor.”
“Are you asking me to go with you?” While I normally wouldn’t hesitate, I was surprised to hear that, since our last phone call didn’t go so well.
“It depends. Are you offering to help?”
“Maybe.” I glanced at Ambrose, who waited patiently beside me. “As long as my fiancé doesn’t mind.”
“I don’t think I could stop you if I tried,” Ambrose said. “Go get ’im, Missy.”
Chapter 25
Now that I had Ambrose’s blessing, the bayou didn’t seem nearly as ominous as we cruised along a back road in Lance’s Oldsmobile.
Of course, I had to sweep aside an empty Doritos bag before I could plant my feet on the floorboard, and a week’s worth of old Diet Coke cans rattled around in the back seat, but that was par for the course. I even stashed the red Solo cup in the glove compartment, once I told Lance about the find, so it wouldn’t get lost with the other trash.
But, all in all, there was nowhere else I’d rather be.
To think Mayor Zephirin Turcott had waltzed into Bleu Bayou maybe six months before his election, if my hunch was correct, was inconceivable. He obviously didn’t care about the people who lived in our town. If he did, he would’ve tried to protect someone like Ruby, instead of helping orchestrate her death.
And what about the money he accepted from the Goode family? Although I didn’t know how much the Louisiana legislature allowed people to donate to a mayor’s campaign, I suspected he accepted much more than the law allowed. Maybe I’d contact the state’s attorney general’s office after everything was said and done because they’d, no doubt, want to know about it.
“Lemme see if I’ve got this straight.” Lance navigated the Buick down Highway 18. “Remy delivered a package to the mayor’s office and it held the used prescription bottle. A prescription for Xanax.”
I nodded distractedly. Now, instead of seeing the Atchafalaya River beyond my window, I spied one sugarcane field after another as we drove along, the stalks fat and ripe for the fall harvest. We’d soon approach the Marathon Oil refinery, which culled its oil from the river’s depths, and after that would come Bleu Bayou.
“Yep. Remy and the mayor must’ve struck a deal. Once Remy knocked out Ruby with the medicine and pushed her into the river, he was supposed to take the evidence back to the mayor’s office. I’m not surprised…Mayor Turcott strikes me as arrogant enough to think no one would ever suspect him of being involved.”
“They almost got away with it too,” Lance said. “Without an eyewitness, it would’ve been hard to prove who was behind Ruby’s death. The medical examiner could confirm the alcohol and drugs, but none of us knew who gave them to her. Unfortunately, they don’t have security cameras out on the bayou.”
“Thank God for that.” When Lance threw me a funny look, I quickly spoke again. “Would you really want them there? I don’t think technology will ever replace plain-old conversation. It was Miss Lucy’s tip that helped us crack the case.”
“True, but sometimes people down here trade in gossip instead of news.”
“That’s because there’s not a whole lot of difference. My point is you don’t need high-tech gadgets when you’ve got neighbors to watch out for you.”
“Amen to that,” he said. “And did you notice how fast Remy ratted out the mayor? He couldn’t wait to turn on him.”
“Guess he never had enough money to buy Ruby’s land after all. I wonder what kind of interest rate Turcott was charging him? Something astronomical, of course.”
“By the way, I called the circuit judge while you were talking to Ambrose. He ordered an emergency search warrant for the mayor’s office.”
“Good.” Our drive had finally taken us past the refinery, which blazed against the midafternoon sky. Sunlight bounced off its silvered sides, like a shiny jungle gym on a child’s playground.
“I just hope the mayor’s in his office,” Lance said.
“He will be. He’s spearheading a grand-opening party for Antonella Goode’s store. He told me he still had a ton of details to work out.”
“You mentioned something about that girl before. Who is she, and why’s she so important to you?”
“She’s not important to me.” I spoke quickly, before I could change my mind. To be honest, I’d probably given my competitor way too much thought, given everything else that’d happened over the last few days. Maybe it was time to let Antonella’s store thrive or fail on its own, without any interference from me. I might not like it, but I’d come to realize there was precious little I could—or should—do about it.
“Okay…maybe she’s a little important to me. But mainly because she’s the reason I got to see the mayor’s true colors. I foolishly went to him when I found out Antonella was breaking the law, but the Goode family supported his election campaign, and he wasn’t about to mess with one of their daughters.”
“Gotcha. Are you ready to do this, then?” He nodded toward the windshield, where the outline of the Factory appeared. Like always, the two-story building soared above its neighbors, with a saw-toothed roofline that rose and dipped against the horizon.
“I am. I’ll let you take him into custody, but I can’t wait to see what he has to say for himself.”
The parking lot was nearly empty when we arrived. Since the afternoon was half over, even the Saturday appointments had gone home. But, hallelujah, the mayor’s powder-blue Thunderbird sat front and center in the first row, with its convertible top down and its rich leather upholstery exposed to the elements.
Lance pulled up next to the T-bird and gingerly stepped from the car. I did the same, before I joined him on the sidewalk and we headed for the building’s lobby.
Our footfalls sounded hollow once we entered the glass pyramid and trekked across its marble floor. After riding the elevator to the second floor, we exited the car and made our way down the long hall.
For some reason, the air seemed thinner by the time we reached the last crate label, and I had trouble catching my breath. I
t wasn’t exactly the thought of apprehending the mayor that frightened me. After all, the man had nothing to gain, and everything to lose, by resisting arrest. No, the problem lay in not knowing. Sometimes people reacted exactly as you expected, while other times they behaved completely out of character. Those were the times when anything could happen and nothing was a sure bet. Mayor Turcott might surprise us yet, and that was what made it hard to breathe.
“What are we going to do first, Lance?” I asked, as we approached the mayor’s office. By now, the sun had traveled westward, to the other side of the building, which left the beige walls looking muddy from the weak light that shone through a few windows.
“If I’m remembering right, there’s a front lobby when you get through the door to the mayor’s office.”
I nodded. “You’re right. A receptionist usually sits behind a desk there. But not on weekends.” It seemed a lifetime had passed since I’d last entered this door, and not just a few hours. “Once you get inside, look for another door near the bookcase. That’ll lead you to the mayor’s personal office, which is on the left.”
“See? This is why I take you places.”
“Very funny. I thought it was because of my sparkling personality.” I couldn’t resist the urge to tease him, even though tension electrified the air.
“I want you to stay in the front area. Let me go into the mayor’s office by myself.”
“Gotcha. Just so you know…there’s also a washroom next door. If he’s not behind his desk, he’s probably there.”
“Okay.” Slowly, Lance withdrew a Glock 22 from the waistband of his slacks and moved to the door. The knob turned freely, like before, and he quietly slipped into the office, with me on his heels.
The overheads cast yellow light across the room, which dulled the varnish on the mahogany furniture. I cautiously perched on the edge of a straight-backed chair, while Lance approached the inner door. Before he could turn the knob on that one, though, it swung open and Mayor Turcott burst into the anteroom.
“What the…?” He looked as surprised as I felt.
Lance didn’t hesitate, though. He leveled his gun at the mayor with a steady hand. “You need to come with me.”
The man blinked, but he didn’t back away. “You’re kidding, right? On what grounds?” His gaze ping-ponged around the room, until it landed on me. “Miss DuBois? What’s going on?”
“You’re wanted in the murder of Ruby Oubre,” Lance spoke on my behalf, and he sounded surprisingly calm. As if he did this kind of thing every day, and he’d probably do it all again tomorrow.
“Murder? What the devil are you talking about?” The mayor’s tone was condescending, as if Lance’s words were pesky houseflies he could somehow shoo away with a flick of his wrist.
“We know you were behind the murder of Ruby Oubre,” Lance repeated. “We talked to Remy Gaudet a few minutes ago.”
“Remy?” At the mention of the swamp boat captain’s name, the mayor’s demeanor changed once again. Now he tried to laugh, but it was too shrill to be real. “The guy that runs swamp tours? You know he’s crazy, right?” He leaned forward conspiratorially, as if he was going to let us in on a little secret. “He might be a little touched in the head. Probably has sunstroke from all those hours on the river.”
“Nice try.” Lance reached for a pair of handcuffs stuffed into the other side of his waistband. “You have the right to remain silent—”
At that moment, something loud banged into the wall next to us. Cccrrrasshhh!
The mayor recovered first, and he lurched back, retreating through the doorway to his inner office. Lance was only a heartbeat behind him, though, and he lifted the Glock to fire a single warning shot at the ceiling. Bits of fiberboard rained down on us, and I automatically covered my head with my arms.
Everything slowed at that point. After the shot, the mayor once again froze, openmouthed, in the doorway to where his office lay. Lance plunged forward and grabbed the man’s wrists. An instant later, with a flash of silver and the click of a lock engaging, the two men stood face-to-face, with Turcott safely bound in a pair of handcuffs.
“This…this is an outrage!” the mayor huffed, apparently grasping at straws now. “I already told you where I was Thursday morning. It was all over the news. Are you stupid?”
Lance didn’t bother to respond. Instead, he took up the Miranda rights again, exactly where he’d left off. “Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”
“Miss DuBois?” The mayor looked at me with drowning eyes now, as if I was his last hope. “Say something.”
“Fine,” I said. “You’re wanted for the murder of Ruby Oubre.”
He glared at me angrily. Thank goodness for the handcuffs and Lance’s firm grasp on his arm.
By the time we were ready to leave, the last of the splintered ceiling tiles had floated to the ground, and Lance pushed the shackled man toward the doorway. I slowly rose from my perch and joined them, eager to put the scene behind me. While an ordinary person would’ve realized he didn’t stand a chance in this situation, the mayor was anything but ordinary. He thrust out his chin and marched toward the elevator as if he expected a welcome parade when the doors whisked open.
The arrogance was overwhelming. Either that, or he was a wonderful actor. Which sparked another thought as I followed the two men into the empty elevator car.
“I just thought of something.” I tried to focus on Lance, since I didn’t want the mayor to intimidate me, but I couldn’t help watching him from the corner of my eye. “What if Mayor Turcott here has a police record back in Oklahoma?”
Sure enough, the mayor blinked. Just once, but it was enough to convince me I was right.
“I mean, how much did we really know about him before the election?” I asked.
“That’s preposterous.” Out came the mayor’s condescending tone, which I’d expected. “Now you’re the one who sounds stupid.”
“That’s not a bad hunch, Missy.” Lance punched a button to send the elevator down one floor. “And it’ll be easy enough to prove, once we get back to the station. There’s no telling what our boy here has done.” He jerked his head to indicate the mayor, who’d abruptly fallen silent. Apparently, the man who’d fooled an entire town couldn’t even remember his next line.
“Cat got your tongue?” Lance asked.
“I’m warning you,” the mayor said. “Let me go or my lawyer will eat you alive. You’ll be sorry you ever started this.”
Slowly, the elevator door creaked open to expose the empty lobby.
“Don’t count on it,” I said. “Lance here is four for four when it comes to putting murderers behind bars. Once he starts on something, he always finishes it.”
Epilogue
The pirogue sluiced through the calm waters of the Atchafalaya, the soft whhhiiirrr of the outboard motor accompanied by the caw of a spoonbill overhead.
This time, it wasn’t my assistant who manned the tiller, but Ambrose, who’d bundled up against the late-spring cold in a Columbia jacket and faded blue jeans.
He carefully steered the pirogue around clumps of floating hydrilla, lily pads the size of throw pillows, and knobby tupelo roots that dimpled the water.
“We’re almost there,” I said. “It’s just past that big stump.”
A lot had happened since my last trip down the river. For one thing, a jury of his peers had found Remy Gaudet guilty of first-degree murder, given the crime was willful and carefully orchestrated.
For his part, Zephirin Turcott received a life sentence for solicitation, since he’d put Remy up to the crime. Both of those rulings stashed the men behind bars for good, which no one mourned. Other than the defendants, of course.
My hunch about Zephirin Turcott’s criminal record? Easy enough to prove once Lance connected with the Oklahoma City Police Department on Col
cord Drive. The man had a rap sheet several pages long, and his “record of arrests and prosecutions” was well-known in that city’s police department.
The record mostly consisted of petty larceny, since Zephirin had a fondness for separating wealthy widows from their Tiffany jewelry, but he also faced another solicitation charge when he bribed a Jiffy Lube mechanic to jackknife his ex-wife’s Mercedes. Too bad that charge was dropped because it could’ve alerted the Bleu Bayou Impartial Reporter to the man’s criminal record and quashed his bid for mayor.
“Did you see that one?” Ambrose pointed out a pink spoonbill, just like the one I’d admired on my earlier journey.
“Pretty, isn’t it? The birds around here eat shrimp that turns them pink.”
“Listen to you.” He laughed. “Three years down South and you’re already sounding like a local.”
To be honest, I couldn’t wait to come back to the river. Once the dust settled with the criminal trials and whatnot, it was the first thing I wanted to do. Especially after I got a phone call from Hollis, which happened about a week ago.
He called me on a Saturday morning, just as I was settling into a backyard swing to survey my pretty birdhouse. A kiskadee shyly approached the quarter-sized opening that led inside the birdhouse when…bbbrrriiinnnggg!
“Hello?” I didn’t even bother to answer with my name this time, since the call had interrupted a perfectly good reverie.
“Is that you, Miss DuBois? It’s me…Hollis.”
“Hollis! So good to hear from you!” I hopped from the swing and walked a bit closer to the live oak. What with the early hour, my breath fogged the air as I spoke. “What’ve you been up to?”
“This ’n’ that,” he said, in that casual way of his. “I have a surprise for you.”
“A surprise?” I squinted at the cell phone. “What kind of surprise?”
“I’m not telling you until you get here. Can you come to my grandma’s property?”
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