by Jim Riley
Dalton winked at Drexel and Donna. He had no intentions of letting Niki get off the ranch until he knew the identity of the responsible party.
"At least, I can cook for you guys," she said.
Drexel coughed. "I think I'd rather try young Donna's food. At least, she’ll burn it so bad we’ll have to order out. We might have to actually eat yours."
Both Donna and Niki through pillows at the senior investigator. Only the one from Donna had enough force to hit him.
"I'll get my cook to come in," Dalton said. "I've used her for years, and never had any complaints. I'll also get a home nurse to come by every day."
"Good. What time can she get here? I'm hungry." Donna looked anxiously at the kitchen.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Thursday afternoons
Dalton is Exotic Ranch
“Now that’s what I call a meal,” Drexel pushed his plate away after a late lunch.
Fran Thibodeau had fixed a scrumptious combination of crawfish Etouffe and fried crawfish tails. The side dishes of corn Machu and a stew of potatoes and spicy tomatoes highlighted the late lunch highlighted with hot water cornbread.
"If I ate as much as you, I guess I'd be just as fat," Donna teased her elder colleague.
Drexel patted his expanded stomach. "All the girls love my little love handles. It gives them something to hang onto."
"Ugh. Perish the thought. You'd better be careful. At your age, you're liable to have a heart attack."
"I give 'em," Drexel grinned. "I don't get 'em."
A huge slab of bread pudding followed the meal. Topped with a dapple of whipped cream and a shot of bourbon, it was perfect.
"I don't know if I can eat all of mine," Donna complained.
"That'll be the day," Drexel responded. "I saw you eyeing mine like a fox slobbering over a hen house.
He ducked as the piece of ice sailed past his ear.
"Now, children. We may be here for a while, so let's try to play nice," Niki told her two coworkers.
"There might be a murder here that doesn't include you, Niki," Donna giggled. "If I have to live with him for very many days, I may not be able to restrain myself."
"Do your best. Sometimes old people don't realize when they start to lose it," Niki replied.
"I can still run circles around you two youngsters. The wisdom of experience will always overcome the eagerness of youth." Drexel rose and sauntered into the den.
"What do we do next?" Donna asked.
"What have you come up with on Omar's finances?"
"He's got one huge account in his name in the Caymans. Money has been trickling into it over a bunch of years. Every since he started off in Congress."
"How much is in it?" Niki asked.
"Don't tell anyone where you got this number, but he has more than ten million in the account. Four million came in this past year."
Niki whistled.
"Who sent it?" She asked.
"I'm still working on that. The deposits came through a series of bogus corporations, and I haven't unraveled the trail yet," Donna answered.
"Drexel, have you made any progress on your end?"
"Not a hell of a lot. Everyone I talked to has at least one reason to hate Omar Philbin. I don't see how this guy could get elected to latrine duty, much less the Congress."
"From what I understand, there are two reasons. George Thomas and money. They go together like beignets and powdered sugar. George uses the money wisely."
"How did those people know you were here?" Donna directed the question to Niki.
Niki pushed her half-empty plate to the center of the table. She took a long drink of iced tea before answering.
"I don't know," she slowly responded. "Only the three of us, Dalton, and Samson knew where I was. None of us told anyone else. It's a mystery to me."
"How about the private nurse? Could she have let the cat out of the bag?" Drexel asked.
"She was only here once. She is supposed to come back this afternoon."
"I'll check her out just to make sure. The other possibility is the cook."
"Dalton has used her forever. He trusts her more than any of the people that help him run the ranch. I don't think it's her."
"Good," Drexel responded. "Anybody who can fix this kind of meal we just ate can't be all bad."
"You only want to eat something besides frozen pizza," Donna laughed. "If you stay out here for a week, you're going to have to order some bigger britches."
"Wouldn't hurt you none to spend a little time in the kitchen watching her. Triple cheese Mac is not that endearing to all those boys chasing you."
Chapter Twenty-Five
Thursday night
Central
Jackson Place Subdivision
"I'm Drexel Robinson. Miss Dupre asked me to talk to you. She got tied up unexpectedly." The senior investigator said to Jimmy Gill.
Gill lived in one of the older, more expensive subdivisions in Central. The candidates two-story brick home on a beautifully landscaped yard stood out even among these more upscale residences. A swimming pool was covered with a tarp in the backyard.
Gill stood a bit under six feet tall and wore an exquisite button-down shirt with a logo that Drexel found unfamiliar. The senior investigator had worn shirts from most of the designers of expensive clothing, having adorned them throughout his career.
The interior was much like the exterior of the house. Well kept with ornate declarations that added value to the first impression. Everything was in its place. No used dishes or coffee cups on the tables. No newspaper strewn randomly after reading. No dirty clothes exposed.
"I don't know what I can tell you, Mr. Robinson," Gill said, while kicked back in his recliner. "I didn't know Omar very well."
"Why are you running for his position?"
"I feel like someone needs to provide our folks with better representation in Washington. Philbin's voting record was atrocious. That is, when he bothered to show up to vote."
"My guess," Drexel chuckled, "is you might be a conservative. Republican or independent?"
"I'm registered as a Republican, but I probably more of a libertarian. I believe in a lot less government and more independence."
"I can see where you and Omar might have had some conflicts," Drexel said.
"I didn't dislike Philbin for his positions. I didn't agree with most of them, but that isn't the reason I detested the man."
"Detest is a harsh word, Jimmy."
"Not harsh enough for the kind of man he was. He was worse than a grave robber. At least, a grave robber waits until you die before taking away everything you have left."
"What did he take from you?"
"He tried to take away my family," Jimmy replied. "He also tried to impugn my reputation."
"Is this about the rumors about your daughters?"
"You heard about it?" Gill's hands involuntarily curled into tight balls.
"How did you hear the rumor?"
"A friend called me. He couldn't believe how low the Philbin campaign was stooping."
"What did you do about it?" Drexel asked.
"I went over to Philbin's house."
"Was he home?"
"He was, but I bet he was sorry he was. I was ready to kill the man."
"What happened?"
"I was choking him. Then that little girl working for him came out of a bedroom. You can figure out for yourself what they were doing back there."
"Did she stop you?" Drexel asked.
"I eased up for a bit, but I still had my hands on the coward. He was crying like a baby."
"And then?"
"The weasel denied everything. He said he didn't have anything to do with those rumors."
"Did you believe him?"
"Of course not. Who else could go around spreading those kind of things?"
"It might have been someone on his staff. Either George Thomas or Chrissy Becker."
"The little girl was right there. She didn't of
fer a confession to save his sorry life."
"What do you know about poke salad?"
"What has that got to do with Philbin's death?"
"We're following all the leads," Drexel replied. "Omar might have ingested some poke salad right before he died."
"Then he was stupid. Nothing I didn't already know that."
"Are you familiar with poke salad?"
"I grew up hunting in the basin," Jimmy replied, as though that was a definitive answer.
"Did you eat poke salad while hunting in the Atchafalaya?"
"Everybody does. It's great. You have to know what you're doing, but it's one of the greatest secrets in Louisiana."
"Then why do you say Philbin was stupid for eating it?"
"Because I’d bet you everything in this house Omar never set a foot in the swamp. He was a pussy. He didn't support guns, and he didn't believe in hunting."
"That doesn't mean he didn't eat poke salad," Drexel countered.
"You don't know much about poke salad," Gill said.
"I must confess my tastes are more accustomed to a Cobb salad or a Caesar salad. I'm afraid the finer restaurants in town do not offer poke salad on their exquisite menus."
"Then I suggest you not try it. If you don't wash it as soon as you pick it, then it forms an acid you can’t wash away."
"Is that acid poisonous?"
"Deadly. A teaspoonful will kill a grown man."
"Could someone have injected poke salad into his drink?"
"Could have," Jimmy paused. "Is that what killed him?"
"That is the preliminary finding from Doc Hebert."
"That means Philbin hurt like hell for the last few minutes of his life. That acid turns a man’s guts inside out. It turns them to mush."
"Did you do it?" Drexel asked.
"I wish I’d thought about it. I can't think of a more deserving slime ball or a more deserving way for him to leave this planet."
Chapter Twenty-Six
Thursday night
Central
Greenwell Springs Road
"Did you go to a nude beach in Belize?" Drexel asked.
Kenny Long did not respond immediately. He looked around the apartment he shared with his girlfriend.
The gated complex was a new one built to keep up with the booming population of the popular city. Drexel lost track of the vast number of units while meandering through the separate parking lots.
The apartment was modestly furnished. Drexel suspected the furniture came with the apartment. Sturdy, but cheap.
Kenny's girlfriend was a short top-heavy brunette with what appeared to be ever-expanding hips. The stress was apparent on the seams of the undersized bluejeans.
She sat on a kitchen chair in the opening to the living area. Kenny was hesitant to open up in her presence.
"It wasn't the way Omar said it. He told the story the wrong way."
"What is the right way?" Drexel asked.
"I went down there with a friend of mine for his bachelor’s party. He thought it would be a great way to celebrate his last few days of freedom."
A quick glance at his girlfriend caused Kenny to adjust his answer.
"I mean, his last few days of being single. He was looking forward to getting married. We all are."
Drexel chuckled under his breath. He wondered how different the answers would be if the young lady was not there. He expected the difference was vast.
"Did you go to a nude beach?"
Another sneak peek at the girlfriend before answering. "We didn't know it was a nude beach. We asked the guy at the hotel for a nice place that was quiet. He told us about that one."
"So the guy the hotel directed you to a nude beach? You guys were just looking for place to throw back a few beers?"
Long relaxed, liking the story as Drexel told it.
"Why didn’t you leave once you found out it was a nude beach?"
"Are you kidding?" Kenny answered before he caught himself. "I mean, we didn't object to those people swimming without their clothes. It wasn't our place to tell them what to do."
"How long did you stay?"
"Uh-not long. We had a couple of beers and left."
“Did you guys take your clothes off?”
Another glanced at his girlfriend. "Some of the guys did. They wanted to fit in, you know. They didn't want to be different."
"Were you one of those guys?"
Kenny nodded, but did not look at Drexel or his girlfriend, who remained quiet in her chair.
"And somebody took pictures?" Drexel asked.
"I didn't know about that. But a couple of guys had a few beers and took out the phones. They weren’t thinking real straight."
"And you happened to be in some of the photographs?"
"I guess it was after I had a few beers myself," Kenny admitted without looking at his girlfriend.
"How did you pay for the trip?"
"I borrowed the money for my campaign fund, but that's only telling part of the story. I planned to pay it back after I got elected."
"And if you didn't get elected?" Drexel asked.
"I don't know, but I'd think of something."
"Were you upset with Omar?"
"A little," another glanced at the girl.
"Just a little? C’mon now, he put you in an awkward position with your donors and your girlfriend, and you were only a little upset? Why am I having trouble believing that?"
"Because it's true," Kenny answered. "I don't really want to get elected to Congress."
"Then why are you running?"
Kenny nodded toward his girlfriend. "Because she wants me to do. She wants me to be somebody important."
Drexel turned to the girl. She stared daggers and Kenny Long.
"Is that true?" He asked her.
"I don't want to stay in this crappy apartment listening to everything our neighbors are doing all night long for the rest of my life." She answered without removing her gaze from Kenny.
"How did you react when you heard about the pictures?" Drexel asked her.
"I tried to decide if I should kill this idiot first or the other one. Somebody beat me to it."
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Thursday night
Fenwood Drive
Zachary's
Nurse Betty Devereaux enjoyed her career now. No longer was she cooped up at the hospital waiting on and serving ungrateful patients. Often, they treated her and her colleagues with contempt and ridicule.
Most of the patients grumbled every time they were awakened to take the very medicine necessary to keep them out of the hospital. The televisions in each room were too loud or not loud enough, and the patients were unable to change it.
The doctors consider themselves to be the gods of the kingdom and had little time for the people that did not matter, including the nursing staff. All mistakes were immediately blamed on the nurses no matter the physicians’ instructions.
Then there was the gossip. The hospital was the command central for all types of tidbits. Which nurse was now the target of a doctor's ardor? Which surgeon hid a flask in the operating room to calm his nerves? Which patients weren't really sick, but loved to be waited on by an understaffed crew?
Betty determined to try something different. An older semi-retired doctor quit the every day routine and began making house calls. Soon his phone was ringing nonstop. He decided to hire some nurses to help him monitor the home bound patients and deliver the required medicine to them.
Betty loved the new challenge. Her hours were flexible, and the patients were truly appreciative. She would go to their homes. They looked at her as a nurse instead of as a maid. She had time to listen to them instead of having to hurry to the next patient who insisted on punching the distress button to get their water glass refilled.
She did not make as much money as she did at the hospital, but that was more than offset by her new attitude. Now, she was eager for each new day, to meet new patients in a variety of settings, t
o be the intermediary between the doctor and the patient. Most of all, she enjoyed feeling like a nurse again.
It had been a busy Thursday. Her first stop was Mr. Theriot's house. Nobody really knew how old he was. He was born in the swamps of the Atchafalaya Basin before roads were built in the massive swamp. There were no doctors, no paperwork, and no records kept of his birth.
His mind was still razor-sharp despite a quick decline in his physical health. He loved to tell stories about his beloved basin. The alligators. The invasion of the nutria. The mythical monsters he called rougarous. Betty enjoyed hearing the oral history of the historic area so near the capital city of Louisiana.
When she checked Theriot's blood pressure and sugar levels (he had a hankering for all things chocolate), he told her about an encounter with a Rougarou. According to him, the monster was over ten feet tall and weighed more than four hundred pounds. It was covered with long, brown hair and had hands the size of baseball gloves.
Next on her list was Sara Sue Albert. Mrs. Aubert was a widower. And not a single time either. She had been married four times, and each time her husband had died of mysterious causes. The elderly lady considers herself to be the most unlucky person in Louisiana.
Every time Betty dropped in on Miss Sara Sue, the lady offered some kind of pastry or sweet. Sometimes it was cookies. Sometimes it was pie. Sometimes it was cupcakes. This morning, Miss Sara Sue offered Betty a brownie. She always took whatever food was being offered, but told the older lady she would eat it later at home.
The first time this happened, she felt the angel food cake to her pet collie when she got home. The poor dog was sick for three days. After that episode, Betty disposed of the goodies in a trashcan.
Four stops later, and Betty was almost through. She had a new patient. Once she had heard about, but had never met. This new patient was a famous private investigator, Niki Dupre. From what Mrs. Sara Sue told her, Niki was the fiancée of Senator Dalton Bridgestone.