Ghost River

by Jon Coon

  When reporters approached Gabe, he just smiled and waved at the cameras, keeping as much distance as possible. Not feeling in the least heroic, he was just thankful big Mike hadn’t strangled him before they could make it to the surface. Uncomfortable in the spotlight, Gabe was relieved when his radio squawked, ordering them to respond to another emergency. But before loading back into the boat, Gabe asked the McFarland foreman who the passenger in the truck was.

  “Clayton Mayweather, one of our best engineers. Intended to retire this year. Over forty years with the company. He helped build this bridge. Ironic it got him like this.”

  “Clayton Mayweather?” Gabe asked, repeating the name to lock it in his memory.

  “Yeah, you ever meet him?”

  Not yet, but I’m certainly looking forward to it. “No, no. Just curious,” Gabe said. “Sorry for your loss.”

  The rest of the night and until nearly noon they ferried homeowners to safety and chased drifting cars. The rain had eased by ten that morning, and the sky was clearing. Calls for help stopped, and he and Jim were able to load the inflatable back on the trailer and return to the dive locker before noon. Gabe was exhausted and ready to call it a day. The news reported they’d been blessed with eleven inches of rain in less than nine hours. Not a record but ample. The news also reported the state police rescue teams had saved over fifty lives that night.

  Gabe climbed into the cruiser for the drive home. On the way he worried. How on earth will I ever be able to prove construction fraud with no blueprints, no reports, and half the bridge and all the evidence on the bottom of the river?

  Emily was the first to greet him as he came up the porch steps.

  “We saw you on TV!” she began and gave him as big a hug as a four-and-a-half-foot, exuberant eleven year old could manage. “You were awesome!”

  “Thanks,” Gabe said and rubbed her head. “How were things here?”

  Carol answered from the kitchen, “We ran out of pots for the leaks, but we managed. Have you had anything to eat?”

  “Not since yesterday. I’m hungry enough to eat your buckshot gumbo, Alethea.”

  She scowled at him and then laughed. “I only use steel shot. A little extra iron is good for you.”

  The dogs were both curled contentedly with Mickey on the couch and had not gotten up to give their usual enthusiastic welcome-home-dad greeting. Both managed a tail wag, but that was it. Cher was by herself on a rug in the fireplace corner. She looked up briefly, then dropped her head back on her paws.

  “They had a rough night with the storm,” Mickey offered.

  “Where are the guys?” Gabe asked.

  “Zack is looking for snakes,” Mickey said. “He has a thing about them. He said high water drives them into the open. Is that true?”

  “True,” Alethea confirmed.

  “Zack used to bring them home and scare his mom out of her wits. She hates them. I don’t know why she let him do it,” Mickey continued.

  “What are sons for?” Carol asked with a laugh.

  Alethea sat in a straight-backed rocker quietly smiling. Gabe looked at her and winked.

  “Chili and cornbread?” Carol asked.

  “Perfect. Do I have time for a shower?”

  “Sure, cornbread will take ten. Any news on that other thing?”

  “Nothing. There’s a warrant, but our guys haven’t found him yet. We just need to be careful.”

  As Gabe was undressing in the bathroom, he heard the boys come in, and Carol say adamantly, “No snakes in the house!”

  “Aw, Mom . . .” Paul answered as if she’d just shot a hole in his favorite balloon. “They aren’t poisonous, promise.”

  “No snakes. No arguments.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Gabe took a quick shower and joined them at the dinner table. He was still exhausted and starved. Yet it had been a good day. Later he fell asleep on the couch while Carol was telling him about her conversations with Alethea. When he awoke well before dawn, he realized she had covered him with the sleeping bag, and he was still in his clothes. It was still dark when he made coffee and let the dogs out. The sky was clearing. Stars winked through the trees, and he thought about his forthcoming meeting with Clayton Mayweather.

  CHAPTER 17

  0700

  At dawn Alethea and Cher were ready to go home. Hugs were exchanged, and the cruiser, covered with mud, returned to her cabin, but high water blocked the road. Looking down the drive, they could see the waterline had come over the porch to the bottom of the windows. Most of the roof was gone, as was the outhouse. Two large live oaks had fallen, and Alethea’s chickens roosted in the branches. Souriciere was nowhere in sight.

  “Looks like I’m going to need a house to go under that new roof,” Alethea said sadly.

  “The good news is we’re looking at twenty years of firewood. My back hurts just thinking about it,” Gabe said. “What would you like to do now?”

  “Go to New Orleans, I guess. Casilda’s in the Garden house. I could take a bus, or she can come and get me.”

  “Nonsense. Let me call in, and I’ll drive you. I can be back by tonight.”

  West on I-10, Gabe hit cruising speed, tilted his seat back a bit and yawned.

  “Hard day yesterday?” she asked.

  “Yeah, but it could have been worse.”

  “Fatalities?”

  “Only one so far. An old engineer in a truck that went in when the bridge collapsed.”

  “What were people doing on that bridge in the storm?” she asked.

  “Two McFarland guys. Being on that bridge deserved a Darwin awards nomination. I saved the driver, but the other one didn’t make it.”

  “Did you bring him out too?”

  “Not yet, as soon as I get back. I’m hoping he knows things that will help.”

  “Do you still have the dreams, Gabriel?”

  “Not for a while now, thank God.”

  “Yes, thank Him. Carol asked me questions about Katrina. She said you changed.”

  “What did you tell her?”

  “That it was hard, and she needs to ask you if she wants to know more.”

  “Thanks.”

  “She loves you, you know, and like we said before, she’s going to want you to take Charlie’s place.”

  “That’s a problem. Charlie wanted me to promise I’d take his place, but I don’t think that’s a good idea. If she knew about me, she’d probably forget that idea in a heartbeat.”

  “Maybe. You need to be careful, for sure. It’s much too soon.

  There’s the other thing . . .” he said.

  “Yes?”

  “How is Cas?” he asked.

  “She’s still in love with you if that’s what you mean. First loves are hard to forget. She still doesn’t understand your leaving.”

  “Neither do I. The closer we got the more I panicked. I thought I loved her, I did, but I couldn’t breathe. Does that make any sense?”

  “It’s not uncommon. Especially for one with your history.”

  “You never said anything.” He hardened his grip on the steering wheel.

  “She’s of age. It was your business, but I was worried.”

  He turned in the seat to look at her. “Do you think I’ll ever be able to have—?”

  “A normal relationship? What’s normal?” Her tone was gentle, maternal.

  “Being able to breathe, for starters.”

  “I don’t know, Gabriel. Truly, I don’t know.” She put a hand on his arm and let it rest there for a while. “Maybe, but if I could answer that I’d buy lottery tickets.” She withdrew her hand and looked out the window.

  They were quiet for the next hundred miles to Biloxi. They stopped for breakfast, and two hours later they were driving down St. Charles along the streetcar tracks, toward Tulane University. Past the world-famous Commander’s Palace restaurant on Washington and Coliseum and two more blocks to an antebellum two-story, which looked like something from the pages
of Architectural Digest.

  Casilda came out of the porch swing, leaving her book and glass of mint tea, to kiss her mother and give Gabe a lingering hug. It was the first time he’d held her since his visit after Katrina. She’d been eighteen and had just started college at Tulane, where her mother was a legend.

  “Let me look at you,” Gabe said and eased her away. “More beautiful than ever.” She was. Light olive skin, shiny dark hair, full figure. The image of her mother forty years ago. White slacks and a loose-fitting flowered blouse perfectly matched the setting of the large porch with wicker furniture, hanging ferns, and potted plants. She pulled against him as if she had no intention of letting go.

  “For an old guy, you’re not so bad yourself, sha,” she teased. “For an old, old guy,” she repeated with a smile.

  “If you two can pry yourselves apart, Cher needs to walk, and I need help with this luggage,” Alethea said with a frown.

  As they passed through the foyer with a grand staircase leading to the second-floor bedrooms, they passed a stunning portrait that dominated the room.

  Hanging over an elegantly inlaid sideboard decorated with several candleholders, a honey-skinned woman with kind eyes and delicate features, who might have been a younger Alethea, greeted her house guests warmly. She wore a dark dress, a red shawl, and a bright yellow and red-patterned tignon head wrap, like the one Alethea wore to Charlie’s funeral.

  Gabe remembered Alethea laughing when she explained there was some question of the painting’s authenticity. There was no doubt in Alethea’s mind. This 1835 work was the original portrait of her great grand-mére, the voodoo queen, Marie Laveau. The other, on display at the Cabildo Museum, one of the main historical buildings forming iconic Jackson Square, was only an excellent copy.

  Gabe stopped to admire Marie. Her elegance set the tone for the rest of the home and made Gabe wonder again how Alethea could ever leave here. The home was as Gabe remembered. Glossed hardwood floors, floral-papered walls, high windows with plantation shutters inside and stylish storm shutters outside. The antiques were priceless, most from decades before the Civil War and some from the original Glapion home before misfortune and poor planning destroyed Marie’s common-law-husband’s family wealth.

  “Brennen’s or Court of Two Sisters?” Cas asked from where she sat at the wrought iron garden table. The fragrance of honeysuckle and flowers whose names Gabe couldn’t remember was heavy. Herbs and spices grew along one wall, and ivy clung to ancient brick across the back.

  Broken wine bottles were cemented along the top of stone garden walls, an early defense precaution. A large moss-coated, three-tiered fountain gurgled cheerfully, while cardinals and hummingbirds flitted among the feeders and flowers.

  “I really should be getting back—” Gabe said.

  “Nonsense,” Cas pounced. “The least we can do is treat you to a welcome home meal. Tell me you wouldn’t love some crawfish étouffée and shrimp remoulade. When was the last time you had real oysters Bienville or Cajun redfish and rice?”

  “You had me at crawfish étouffée. I’ll need to make some calls.”

  His childhood memories, living just outside the French Quarter, were usually focused on only the horrific death of his mother. But as they walked Bourbon and Royal streets and saw familiar storefronts and heard the music, he found himself looking at Cas and remembering their time together. She guessed what he was thinking and returned his smile by wrapping in his arm. They entered the Court of Two Sisters and read again of duels fought over dark-eyed ladies and imagined the blood on the floor.

  Well after midnight, in the upstairs bedroom he’d lived in following Katrina, he sank into a real feather mattress and a deep sleep.

  CHAPTER 18

  1540

  The Greenly Home

  Carol had taken Emily and Paul for dinner and a movie. Zack was looking forward to the time alone with Mickey, who currently sat on the couch with the dogs reading, but his thoughts kept returning to Gabe’s comment that his father, Richard, had not died accidentally. Contrary to what the police report stated. Zack paced in front of the fireplace, “Dad’s old computer is at my mom’s house, up there in the attic,” he said to himself as much as to Mickey.

  She looked up from her book, “What?”

  “I said my dad’s old computer is up there in the attic, and there are boxes of floppy disks I haven’t read. There might be stuff on those disks that would help us. Especially now that we don’t have the stolen reports.” Zack picked up his cell phone and made a call. When there was no answer, he said, “Mom’s not home. Let’s go.”

  “Okay, let me get a sweater. I’ll meet you at the truck.”

  When she came out, she was wearing a snug fitting sweater, jeans, and sandals and carrying a small overnight bag. “Can I take a shower at your place? It would be nice to soak and not have to worry about running out of hot water.”

  “Sure. And we can stop for dinner on the way back.”

  “That sounds almost like a date. It’s been a while.”

  “Yeah, I miss our alone time.”

  “Me too.” She slid next to him on the truck’s bench seat and kissed his cheek.

  They came to the end of the gravel road and turned left. Zack might have been distracted by Mickey snuggling because he didn’t notice the headlights that came on behind them as they turned and headed for the highway.

  “What do you make of Gabe?” she asked.

  “He’s more stoic than anyone I’ve ever met. Like he’s emotionally constipated. You’d get more affection from an oyster. Shall I go on?”

  “Emotionally constipated, that’s pretty good.”

  “Yeah, he just needs to let it go.”

  “Stop it. That’s awful. You’ve got a sick, sick mind,” Mickey laughed.

  “Don’t you think he’s got secrets that have made him the way he is?”

  “I suppose, but Carol loves him,” she said. “I know they’re both conflicted. But if he made a move, she’d go with it. I know it’s only been a month, but Carol and Emily both love him. I don’t know why he doesn’t get it.”

  “Perhaps in time?”

  “Not unless those walls come down. It’s sad really. If he could get with the program, they’d make a great family.”

  “Like us?”

  She kissed his neck. “Yeah, just like us. In five or ten years.” She laughed and kissed him again.

  He checked the rearview mirror as he made the first of three turns toward his mother’s house and noticed a twenty-year-old Lincoln Town Car behind them.

  “Are you sorry about what we did?” she asked.

  “I’m really sorry Paul’s dad died. I never thought anything . . .” He choked for a moment, thinking about Charlie’s death. “I never thought anything like that would happen. I just wanted to know what happened to my dad.”

  “Would you risk it again, if we were certain no one would get hurt?” Mickey asked. She was quiet and serious.

  “Do you mean would I risk going to jail to find out what happened to my dad? Yeah, sure. He deserves to have the truth come out,” he replied. “How about you? Would you do it again?”

  “I love you, and I believe what you were trying to do was for the right reasons. So if that were the only way, I would. But I still hope it doesn’t come to that. Jail, I mean.”

  “Yeah, me too.” He looked over, took her hand, and kissed it. When he looked back at the road and the rearview mirror, the Town Car was still following a few car lengths in back of them.

  “You too, what?” She demanded.

  He refocused in response to her elbow nudge, “I love you too, and I hope we don’t go to jail. I can’t imagine there’s anyone else who would have risked so much for me. I’ll love you. Always.”

  She kissed his neck again and sighed, “You better!”

  In the Lincoln, Wes Rogers was riding shotgun and D. B. “Dirty Billy” Johnson was driving. A former Army diver, Dirty Billy was Rogers’s first choice when t
rouble was calling.

  “Looks like he’s headed to his mom’s,” Rogers said. “Ease off a little. We’ll park and let them get comfortable before we go in.”

  Zack pulled into the driveway, killed the engine, got out, and walked around to open Mickey’s door. She slid off the seat into his arms and lingered for a minute before pulling away. “Hot shower here I come.”

  As he held her, the Lincoln drove past the driveway and turned around the block. Zack thought he must be getting paranoid. He kissed her and led her to the front door.

  Inside she went straight to the bathroom

  Zack went to the bedroom hall and pulled down the creaky folding stairs to the attic. He climbed the squeaky stairs and turned on the attic light. The computer was on an antique door used by his father as a desk, and there were two boxes of floppy disks, some labeled with numbers, which meant nothing to Zack. He wiped off the years of dust, pulled up the chair, and booted up the ancient Tandy 1000-TX. The Windows 2.3 home screen came up, and he opened the disk still in the top floppy drive.

  Hopefully it was what his dad was working on the last time he sat in this chair. The screen showed nothing but months of work schedules. Travel and expense reports, showing work site locations and divers logs. What was that about? He ejected the disk and replaced it with others. Nearly an hour passed.

  Zack could hear Mickey walking around. Clearly she was out of the shower and finishing getting ready. He collected the disks, and as he stood from the desk, through the dormer window, saw a black Lincoln Town Car ease into the driveway. Two men got out and started toward the front door. They didn’t look like Mormon missionaries.

  He shouted down to her, “Mickey, are you dressed? We’ve got company.”

  He pulled open a file box next to the desk to hide the disks, and there was his father’s Colt Woodsman pistol and a box of shells. He stuffed the computer disks into the back of the box, grabbed the gun, flew down the steps, and folded the steps back up into the ceiling. He heard the front doorbell and ignored it. The towel was on the floor, and Mickey was in a T-shirt and pulling on jeans when he burst into the bedroom. Zack tossed the gun and shells on the bed and said, “Stay here, load the gun, and keep quiet. I don’t like the looks of these guys.”