by Liliana Hart
“Up you go,” James said, and Hank got under Gaston’s other arm and helped lift him to his feet.
“Get me out of these now,” Gaston howled.
“You big dummy,” Hank said. “We just wanted to ask you a few questions. Now you get to add assaulting an officer to your resume.”
“I didn’t even hit you,” he wailed.
“That’s the sad part, but you’re still coming with us all the same.”
Hank hurried in through the rear door of the sheriff’s office to make sure Martha wasn’t there. He’d asked that she remain in the county jail until they called for her, but there was no need taking a chance on a mix-up. He signaled for James to bring in Gaston, and James placed Gaston in the same interrogation room Martha had sat in the day before.
James uncuffed Gaston’s hands from behind him and instructed him to place his hands in the restraints that were bolted into the wooden table. Hank waited for Gaston to try and escape, but he complied with James’s request.
“I want my lawyer,” Gaston said. “I didn’t do nothing.”
“Even your lawyer will tell you assaulting an officer is a no-no.” He sat in the chair across from Gaston and waited. Gaston was a big man, and if he’d landed that punch it would’ve been Hank who’d been passed out cold on the floor.
“I said I want my lawyer,” Gaston growled.
“Sure, no problem,” Hank said, getting back to his feet. “Just write down his name and we’ll be in touch. Of course, sometimes it takes those big city attorneys a while to get to a little place like this. You could be here a spell. Hope you don’t have any place to be.”
Hank set a pen next to the small spiral notebook he’d put in front of Gaston, but Gaston didn’t move.
“Wait a second,” he said, licking his lips. “You can’t leave me here like this.”
“If you want your lawyer then there’s nothing I can do. I can’t talk to you. I thought we might be able to get this cleared up pretty quick, but I’m not going to stand in front of your rights to counsel. Somebody will be in to take you to a cell in a little while.”
Hank moved to the door and put his hand on the knob. “Wait,” Gaston said. “I don’t need a lawyer. We can talk. I’ve got plans tonight.”
Hank took his hand off the knob and went back to the chair. Again, he waited, not saying a word.
“Is this about Rowdy?” Gaston asked, licking his lips again. “Because I didn’t kill him. And I don’t think Martha did either. That’s a real special lady. I can’t believe you carted her away like that.”
“We’ll get to Martha in a minute,” Hank said. “Let’s talk about you and Rowdy. We found your text messages in your phone. It looks pretty suspicious for you to threaten to kill someone and then that person turns up dead.”
Gaston was sweating and his fists had clenched tight. “Okay,” he said. “I see how that might look bad. But he stole from me. I was mad. Where I come from, the quickest way to solve a dispute is with fists. And then when it’s over everyone has crawfish and beer. But Rowdy had no intention of ever settling anything. He stole my Great-great-granny Boudreaux’s recipe, and used it to win the final round last season. He took everything from me. My legacy, the money, and the job at the resort. It should all be mine. And now I got nothin’.”
Hank’s eyes widened. As far as motives for murder went, that was a pretty good one. “How’d he steal it?”
“We were roommates on the show once all the other guys got booted out. At night we’d talk about our plans for making it big. I told him about my dream of opening up a chain of Cajun restaurants called Clotilde, after my great-great-granny. I told him all about how the recipe was passed down from generation to generation. And I’m the last of the generations, so I’m the only one who has the recipe.
“I kept it in a file on my computer, and Rowdy got in and stole it. Then he deleted from my computer completely. As if it had never been there at all. Just poof, and it was gone.”
“You don’t have a backup copy?” Hank asked.
“That was it,” he said.
“And nothing to prove that the recipe was yours?”
“Just the court papers that the recipe was passed down to me, but it don’t say what it is,” Gaston said.
“You should’ve filed a police report,” Hank told him. “There are programs that can recover deleted information from a computer. But the recipe is the least of your problems right now. You just gave me a pretty good reason why you’d bash Rowdy in the back of the head and kill him.”
“I didn’t kill him,” Gaston said, pounding his fists on the table. “All I care about is the recipe. Why would I kill the one person who knew where the recipe was?”
Hank figured that was a pretty good point. “Why’d you come to the resort? You’re not a contestant this season.”
“The producer called and asked if I’d mind letting them film me for a ‘where are they now’ segment. I figured I would tell them how Rowdy stole my recipe on national television, and that would be that. I knew he was going to be here too, and I didn’t figure the coward could look me straight in the face and deny he took it. After I got eliminated last season, they immediately ushered me off the stage so Rowdy could have his moment of glory. Then he did everything to avoid me he could and I never got to confront him.”
“And you thought making an accusation on national television was the best way to handle this?” Hank asked.
“Martha told me it would be best that way. She said it was the best way to get the producers to realize that maybe Rowdy wasn’t the true winner and they might give me a shot at redemption. Now that Rowdy’s dead, the head chef’s position comes to me, but that’s not how I wanted to get it. I deserved to win, but it’s more important to me that everyone know the truth.”
“Martha called you?” Hank asked, surprised. “What’s she got to do with this?”
Gaston twitched uncomfortably in his seat and said, “We keep in touch.”
“Uh-huh,” Hank said. “Let’s not mince words here, Gaston. How long have you and Martha been having an affair?”
Gaston’s face turned even redder than it already was. “Pretty much from the start of last season. It’s against the rules for contestants to get involved with each other or the judges, so we were real careful about it.”
“Did the affair end with the show?”
Gaston shrugged. “Pretty much. There was no reason for us to be around each other. But when she called she suggested we, uh, start things up again. I can’t say I’m all that interested. I’m only here because I wanted my recipe back. She’s kind of high maintenance, if you know what I mean.”
“And how does she feel about you not wanting to start things back up again?” Hank asked.
“We haven’t really talked about it,” he said. “I just checked into the hotel yesterday, and before we could meet up Rowdy was dead and she was posting on social media. I saw her briefly at the production meeting yesterday when they were giving us all instructions, but then y’all busted in and hauled her away.”
“When did you realize Rowdy had stolen your recipe?” Hank asked.
“In the final episode, me and Rowdy had to describe the cook-off dishes we planned to prepare for the judges. I was already in a state because I’d been planning to cook Granny’s recipe, but I thought I was the one who’d screwed up and deleted it from my computer, so I’d prepared another dish. But I almost lost my head when I heard Rowdy say that his recipe would be a south Louisiana specialty with a secret roux. I knew from the list of ingredients he gave that it was Granny’s. She put a blend of special seasoning in that most gumbos don’t have.”
“Why didn’t Martha tell the other judges?” Hank asked.
“She was afraid if she told them that the producers would know we’d been hooking up. She said she had too much to lose. I guess she didn’t care about what I had to lose. But she told me to let her handle it her own way, and I believed she would.”
Hank’
s gut said Gaston was telling the truth. The text messages were damning, but it would be easy enough to check the security footage at the hotel and see when he arrived. Because the hotel catered to high-profile guests, they didn’t have cameras anywhere but in the lobby of the hotel, which was too bad because it would have made this case a whole lot easier.
“You have any theories about Rowdy? You think Martha could have done it?”
“I’m not sure,” he said. “It’s not like we had a lot of conversations. It was mostly physical between us. But she was starting to get a little clingy. I was glad the show ended. The chick wouldn’t let me breathe.”
“Really?” Hank asked. “Martha Magee? She seems so proper. And married.”
“It’s all an act,” he said, grinning. “She’s a wild card. Surprised the heck out of me.”
“Do you think Martha could kill someone?” Hank asked.
“I don’t know,” Gaston said. “She seems kinda small. And she doesn’t like to get dirty. She’s always polished and put together, you know? I saw her chip a nail once and you’d have thought the world was about to end.” Gaston shook his head and then leaned forward, close to Hank. “Listen, that recipe is my future. It’s the cornerstone of my restaurant. I’ve got to get it back.”
“Is there anyone else from last season that had a beef with Rowdy? Maybe another woman or another contestant he stole from?” Hank asked.
Gaston chuckled. “Man, everybody gets on everybody’s nerves at some point during the show. That’s the way the producers set it up. They need the behind-the-scenes drama. It don’t matter none who can cook. All they care about is who brings in the ratings.”
“I can see that, but above the regular drama, was there anyone else?”
“Rowdy was always arguing with the other two judges, Ronaldo Milan and Kimmie Lemon. He didn’t like them. Got tired of them talking down to him and treating him like a dummy. But when it came to the kitchen, he was no fool. Just a thief.”
“Who did he have the most trouble with?” Hank asked.
“Easy. Ronaldo Milan,” Gaston said. “He pushed Rowdy’s ravioli rolling pin behind the fridge, and Rowdy was almost disqualified because it took him so long to find it. They caught the whole thing on camera. The ratings went through the roof after that episode.”
“What happened when Rowdy found out?” Hank asked.
Gaston lifted his hands and spread his fingers. “Fireworks. We had to break things up, and they gave Rowdy a warning and said if there were any more fights he’d be kicked off the show. It wasn’t fair, but they were paying the judges big bucks to be there, so they weren’t about to get rid of them.”
“I don’t think you killed Rowdy,” Hank said. “But if I find out you’re hosing me things aren’t going to be pretty for you.”
“I swear I didn’t kill him,” Gaston said.
“Good. I’m cutting you loose. I want you back at the resort, and I want you to keep an eye out. You’re going to be my eyes on the inside. I want to know if anyone is acting strange, or if you hear rumors that someone had it in for Rowdy.”
“I’m a snitch?” he asked, appalled.
“Take it or leave it,” Hank said.
“Well then,” he said. “I guess I’m your snitch.”
Chapter Eight
Agatha texted Hank and told him she’d swing by the sheriff’s office to pick him up for dinner. There weren’t a lot of places to choose from in Rusty Gun, so they’d probably be eating at the Taco and Waffle. Again.
It was important to remain focused on their relationship. She was excited about the wedding, but she also knew the wedding was just the starting point of their future. They hadn’t asked for this murder to interrupt their plans. It had literally fallen into their laps. But she wasn’t willing to trade quality time for a case neither of them should’ve even been working.
She eased up on the speed as she turned onto Main Street. Her Jeep Wrangler idled noisily as she prepared to make a U-turn into the sheriff’s parking lot. She beeped the horn twice and then her mouth fell open as Hank walked right out front with Gaston Boudreaux as if they’d been friends for years. The last Agatha had heard, they’d arrested Gaston and brought him in for questioning. Things must have really taken a weird turn.
“Hi,” Agatha said. “Are we getting a table for three?”
“No, ma’am,” Gaston said. “Hank told me y’all have a lunch date. You two enjoy yourselves. I’ve got a job to do. I’m a chef turned spy. At least for a day or two.”
“I wrote a book once about that,” she said. “Those kitchen knives are killers.”
“Ha,” Gaston said, clapping Hank on the back. “You picked well, my friend. Enjoy your lunch.”
Hank and Gaston shook hands, and Agatha noticed Hank wince as the big man grasped his hand. It was the same hand Hank had punched him with, and no doubt Gaston was reminding Hank of the fact. The handshake went on longer than normal until Gaston threw his head back and starting laughing. The man sounded like a lunatic.
“You all right, Davidson,” Gaston said, letting his hand go, walking over to James’s squad car, taking the front passenger seat this time.
“Where are we eating lunch?” Hank asked as he got in the Jeep.
“Where else?” Agatha said, nodding toward the Taco and Waffle. She bit her cheek trying not to smile. “What’s wrong with your hand?”
“Not a thing,” he said.
“You don’t always have to be the tough guy, you know. I know it hurts. Coil said it was like watching someone punch a concrete wall. You might have broken something.”
“It’s no big deal,” Hank said. “And before you can suggest it, I’m not going to the doctor.”
She rolled her eyes. “Okay, tough guy, but when you change your mind, let me know.”
“Wow, did that seem like a longer ride than usual?” Hank asked.
“No,” Agatha said. “It was about a forty-five-second drive from where I picked you up to this parking spot. Do me a favor, okay?”
“I promise I’ll tell you if my fist hurts.”
“Not that,” she said, waving her hand dismissively. “No shop talk during lunch. I’m not going to talk about my book and you don’t talk about the case. We’ve got the rest of the day and night to talk about work.”
“Deal,” Hank said.
They walked into the restaurant and were able to grab a table far from the front door. It was nice to spend a little time, just the two of them. At least until the crime lab came back with the rest of the report.
“Have you given any more thought to who you’d like to invite to the wedding on your side?” she asked. “Have you changed your mind about your family?”
Hank blew out a breath of frustration. She had no idea what the deal was with his family. She hadn’t even known he’d had one until recently. He always seemed like kind of a lone wolf. And she really didn’t understand why he didn’t want to invite them to the wedding. But she was trying to be patient. Though patience was never something she’d excelled at.
“I’m fine with whoever you want to invite on your side,” he said. “And our mutual friends list looks good to me. But I’m not feeling great about bringing my family down here. This is about you and me, Aggie. Not a bunch of strangers you’ve never met.”
“They’re not strangers to you,” she said.
“They’re crazy.”
“Your family is crazy?” she asked. “Like institution crazy or just like a regular family crazy?”
“They’re…well, I don’t know how to explain it. They’re just a bunch of crazy women.”
“They’re crazy because they’re crazy, or they’re crazy because they’re women. You should probably think carefully in how you answer that question, because I’m pretty tempted to stab you in your hand that doesn’t hurt with my fork.”
Hank’s lips twitched. “I have five sisters. It’s a nightmare. I haven’t been in the same room with all of them since I was eighteen years old.
They’d drive a nun to drink. It’s like having five mothers, only none of them are the least bit maternal.”
“You haven’t been in the same room with all five of them in all this time?” she asked. “Not even your first wedding?”
“Nope,” he said. “They were all fighting during my first wedding, so no one came. It was for the best. Believe me.”
“I had no idea you had five sisters,” she said. “I thought you had no family.”
“When I moved out here it seemed best that I didn’t have family. I wasn’t sure who was who when I came to Rusty Gun, and it was safest for everyone for my family not to exist.”
Agatha slouched back in her seat, her spirit defeated. She wondered how many secrets he was still keeping from her because of his career. Not mentioning that he had five sisters seemed like a pretty big deal. Like something a fiancée should know before she agreed to holy matrimony.
“You know, Hank,” she said, her gaze fixed on the chip in her hand she’d broken into tiny pieces. “The truth is we really don’t know much about each other. Do you think we’re rushing into this?”
Hank reached out and took her hand.
“Aggie, I love you. And we’re not young kids. I want to spend my life with you. It’s going to take some getting used to. We’ve been living our own lives for a long time, and figuring out how to adjust in each other’s space will take some work. We have the rest of our lives to get into the nitty-gritty. My life before coming to Texas seems like it’s a million miles away. Once my folks passed away, our family drifted apart. Them all coming here would either open old wounds or make for more chaos than this small town can handle.”
“I’m good with whatever you’re comfortable with,” she said. “But if I can make a suggestion, their feelings might be hurt if we don’t invite them at all. Why don’t we send the invitations and then they can make a choice for themselves on whether or not they want to come. And if they don’t, we can go visit them later like you said.”
