Swamp Spook

by Jana DeLeon

  “I suppose that’s exactly what happened,” Wilkinson agreed. “But I must admit, it is surprising. I was convinced Garrett Roth was a man very much interested in living out every fulfilling day he could get.”

  “Hey,” I said. “I saw this news report thing back a couple months ago, and they said that some pharmaceutical company was making the drugs on the cheap and the effectiveness wasn’t what it was supposed to be. Maybe that’s what happened. Maybe he was taking the drugs, but the drug company was putting out a crap product.”

  “That’s highly unlikely,” Wilkinson said. “These things are very regulated and the few times when things have slipped through have only served to tighten an already very tight noose. Besides, if there were a problem with the meds, Garrett wouldn’t have been the only unexpected death. There would likely be an outcry.”

  “I’m sure you’re right,” I said. “I guess we’ll just never know why he stopped taking them.”

  Wilkinson frowned and I could tell he wasn’t remotely interested in a lifetime of not knowing. But what more could he do?

  “Yes, well,” he said as he rose from the table, “I need to get in to work. It was nice speaking with you ladies. Ms. Hebert, make sure you reschedule. There won’t be any charge for the testing.”

  Gertie nodded and we watched as he left the café.

  “He doesn’t look happy,” I said.

  “No,” Ida Belle agreed.

  Ally popped over with coffees and put them on our table, giving Gertie’s hair the side-eye. “How are you this morning? Have you recovered from all the festival craziness?”

  “I recovered fine from the festival,” Ida Belle said. “I’m having a harder time adjusting to Gertie’s wig.”

  Gertie held up her coffee mug and gave her the finger.

  “Recovered from which part?” I asked. “The body in the maze? The exploding popcorn event? Celia trying to frame me for everything with the state police?”

  Ally sighed. “I wish she’d find something else to do besides fixate on the three of you. That road is always going to lead to disappointment.”

  “The day Celia stops harassing us,” Gertie said, “is the day she goes in the grave. And even that might not stop her.”

  “It’s really embarrassing being related to her,” Ally said.

  A bell dinged and Ally looked over to see the cook place plates of food in the pass-through window. “That’s me. Do you guys want eggs or pancakes? No sausage today. Shorty had to make an emergency trip to New Orleans last Thursday to take care of his nephew. His sister came down with the flu and the guy he’s got filling in for him is horrible at sausage making. Francine’s taken it off the menu until Shorty gets back. Hopefully today.”

  “Eggs for me,” I said. Gertie and Ida Belle nodded and Ally hurried off.

  I brightened. “There’s one more off our list. If Shorty was in New Orleans minding his nephew then he wasn’t stealing bodies or helping build the maze.”

  “So down to three,” Gertie said. “What’s the plan?”

  “Carter’s going to run some background checks on the remaining three,” I said. “He’s promised to be careful and to not take things any further than that.”

  Ida Belle nodded. “On the surface, those three have no connection with Garrett, so the risk is low.”

  “I might have also asked him to run the butler,” I said. “I still think he’s kinda creepy.”

  “That’s as good a reason as any, I suppose,” Ida Belle said.

  “So what’s our plan for today?” Gertie asked.

  “Reconnaissance,” I said. “Carter’s doing background but that’s only going to show the stuff that went through the system. We need more information on everyone on that list.”

  “That covers the maze situation,” Gertie said. “What about the Garrett situation?”

  “I think we need to see what Francesca does with her time,” I said. “And it has to be today.”

  “Because Abrams is going back New Orleans,” Ida Belle said.

  I nodded. “If Francesca has been up to anything, today is her opportunity to get back to it.”

  “But what do you think she’s up to?” Gertie asked.

  “If she somehow killed Garrett,” I said, “then I think she’ll be up to the ‘why.’”

  “You agree with me,” Gertie said. “You think there’s another man.”

  I nodded. “Director Morrow once told me that people only commit murder for two reasons—love or hate. You just have to figure out who or what they love or why they hate.”

  “It could just be the money,” Gertie said.

  “But we’re back to the ‘why now?’” I said. “If Francesca was somehow involved in Garrett’s death then something shifted. Something that wasn’t there the past twenty years.”

  “I agree,” Ida Belle said. “So what’s the plan for surveillance?”

  “We have to infiltrate from the woods,” I said. “Get close enough to see anyone coming or going. Maybe watch her through the windows. Our binoculars can easily handle the distance between the woods behind the property and the back of the house. If she’s in the library or out by the pool, we might be able to see something.”

  Ida Belle nodded. “And since the house is surrounded by pasture, we’d be able to get a good look at any vehicles coming and going.”

  “Exactly. So what I need from you guys is the best way to access those woods,” I said.

  “What do you take us for?” Gertie asked. “Davy Crockett?”

  “No,” I said. “Local hunters.”

  Ida Belle pursed her lips. “There’s not much hunting near the Roth estate. They own so much land. Bought up intentionally, as a matter of fact, specifically to keep hunters away. Garrett’s mother always had this fear of stray bullets.”

  “She thought Garrett might get shot accidentally?” I asked.

  “No,” Ida Belle said. “Her horses. The woman existed only for her horses.”

  “I get the feeling self-absorption was a national pastime in the Roth household,” I said.

  “There’s always the bayou,” Gertie said. “It runs through the woods behind the Roth property. It’s probably dense as heck because no one goes back there, but we could pick our way through it. Not like we’re going to have to run or anything.”

  “You hope,” Ida Belle said. “But she’s right. The bayou runs past the Roth estate probably a quarter mile into the woods.”

  “How heavily is that stretch traveled?” I asked. “Is it good for fishing?”

  “Everywhere’s good for fishing if you know what you’re doing,” Gertie said. “But that bayou dead-ends about a half mile up from the estate, so it doesn’t get any through traffic. There’s always a chance someone will spot us, but why would they think anything of it?”

  “If we’re in the boat with fishing equipment, they wouldn’t,” I said. “But if the boat is hanging out empty, people might get concerned.”

  “That whole area is dense with cypress trees and overhangs,” Ida Belle said. “We can probably find an inlet where roots have collapsed the bank and stash the boat in there. Worst case, someone stops and goes looking for us.”

  “Or calls the sheriff, who sends out the state police,” Gertie said.

  “We’ll have to risk it,” I said. “They can’t arrest us for fishing, right? And if they want to take it to trespassing, we’ll tell them we had to pee. I don’t think they want to take having to pee before a judge.”

  “Probably not,” Ida Belle agreed.

  “Then it sounds like we’re going fishing,” I said.

  An hour later, we were headed down the bayou in my airboat. Ida Belle, of course, was at the helm. I was in my passenger seat, a death grip on the armrests, and Gertie was secure in the bottom of the boat on her custom cushion, the bald spot on the back of her head practically staring at Ida Belle and me. We’d both been grinning ever since she’d sat down and taken off the ball cap I’d lent her.

  The Ro
th estate wasn’t far from downtown as the crow flies, but boats were restricted by water, and winding around the bayous to get to the stretch behind the estate took a good twenty minutes. We saw a couple of locals fishing along the way but just gave them a wave and kept going. Nothing looked out of order. Just a typical morning on the bayou. We’d traveled about two hundred yards on the current channel when Ida Belle cut speed to a slow crawl.

  “I think this should be about right,” Ida Belle said.

  Since there were no indicators in the woods of where the estate began and we couldn’t see any of the structures from the bayou, she had to estimate based on the distance traveled and her earlier review of a satellite image of the area.

  “Looks good to me,” I said. “What about hiding the boat there?”

  I pointed to a section where the cypress roots had eroded the bank, causing it to collapse. The trees that had caused the collapse had long since washed away, leaving a little inlet complete with mossy overhang from the trees still clinging to what was left of the bank.

  “Perfect,” Ida Belle said, and guided the boat into the slot.

  “This moss is almost as good as a curtain,” Gertie said.

  Ida Belle cut the engine and nodded. “No one will see this just driving by. They’d have to be looking for it.”

  “Now for the fun part,” I said and pulled myself up the roots and onto the bank. I turned around and extended my hand to Gertie, who made the climb with Ida Belle pushing on one end and me pulling on the other. Ida Belle handed me the backpacks and climbed up last and we were ready to hike.

  “I think the best course of action is to go straight west,” Ida Belle said. “Then when we’re coming back, we just retrace our steps. Even if we get off a bit, as long as we stick with due east, we should still come out close enough to the boat to locate it.”

  I motioned to her to lead the way. Gertie fell in step behind her and I brought up the rear. As Ida Belle had predicted, the brush was thick and unforgiving. It was obvious that no one traveled through this stretch of the woods except the creatures that lived here and could easily navigate all the foliage. The only upside was that at least the weather was cool.

  “Make sure you don’t touch your face,” Ida Belle said to Gertie. “The last thing you need is another bout of poison ivy. And you’re throwing away those clothes when we get home.”

  “I’m pretty sure a good run through the washing machine will get rid of any poison ivy I might rub against,” Gertie said.

  “Who said anything about poison ivy?” Ida Belle said. “I just don’t like the outfit.”

  Gertie gave her the finger, but it was ineffective, as the only person who could see it was me. And all I did was grin.

  It felt as though we’d been shuffling along one inch at a time forever, but finally Ida Belle glanced back. “I think I see the barn,” she said.

  We moved forward another ten feet and peered out of the woods and across the pasture at the Roth estate. And it was the perfect angle. The house was off to our left so we had a clear view of cars coming up the drive. It was also a good angle for seeing into the back of the house.

  “You were right on the money with the location,” I said as I lowered my backpack to retrieve my binoculars. “Now let’s hope this morning of exercise wasn’t for nothing. There’s a fallen tree a couple feet over. We can take turns watching. No use in us standing here in a line all looking at the same thing.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Gertie said, and headed for the log. “I’ll take the first sitting shift.”

  “Go ahead,” I said to Ida Belle. “I’ll watch first. We’ll switch every twenty minutes.”

  Ida Belle checked her watch and headed for the log. I took a quick drink of water, then lifted the binoculars and zeroed in on the back of the house.

  “The library curtains are open,” I said. “But I don’t see anyone in there. Looks like the green Ford that was in the driveway yesterday is gone. I figure that was Abrams’s car, right?”

  “I’m sure,” Gertie said. “Francesca drives a Mercedes. So did Garrett.”

  I leaned back against a tree and lifted my binoculars every ten seconds or so to see if anything changed. The postman was the one vehicle to pass during my shift and he only stopped at the box, then continued on. Otherwise, there was no movement.

  Ida Belle was up next and she adopted my approach to things. About ten minutes into her stretch, there was finally some action. Sort of.

  “Francesca just walked into the library,” Ida Belle said.

  “Is she with anyone?” Gertie asked.

  “Who would be with her?” Ida Belle asked. “The butler is gone and no cars have approached. Unless someone parachuted in, there can’t be anyone else inside. And I’m pretty sure we would have noticed a parachuting.”

  “And the plane,” I said.

  “If he was really being sneaky,” Gertie said, “he might park somewhere down the road and walk to the house.”

  “No reason to at this point,” Ida Belle said. “No husband or butler to catch him and even if Abrams returns early, he could always say he was paying respects. Any smart man would make a trip like this with a casserole or at least a potted plant, just in case.”

  “And you really think a smart man would have an affair with Garrett Roth’s wife?” Gertie asked.

  “She has a point,” I said.

  “There’s a truck coming,” Ida Belle said. “Black.”

  “Do you recognize it?” I asked.

  “Could be any number of people,” Ida Belle said. “Lots of black trucks around here. He’s turning in the drive.”

  Gertie and I jumped up and hurried to the edge of the woods with our binoculars. I sighted in on the truck and watched as it parked in the circular drive. Unfortunately, he hadn’t pulled far enough forward to get a look at the driver when he got out.

  “It’s a Chevy,” I said. Unfortunately, given Louisiana’s lack of requirement for a front license plate, that’s all the information I could get at the moment. I’d have to wait until he left and make a note of it then.

  “The back door is opening!” Gertie said.

  I shifted to the pool area and watched as Francesca exited the house, followed by a man.

  Midthirties. Six feet even. One hundred sixty pounds. Muscular build. Very little body fat. Slight limp on the right side. Possibly a knee injury.

  “That’s Dylan Sims!” Gertie said.

  “Let’s not get excited just yet,” I said. “He’s a contractor. He might be there about work or to collect payment. He might even be there to pay his condolences.”

  Francesca stopped at the side of the pool and turned to face Dylan, who drew her into his arms for a passionate kiss.

  “He’s definitely collecting payment,” Gertie said. “Holy crap. You were right, Fortune. There’s your something different.”

  “It’s only proof she’s a liar and a cheater,” Ida Belle said. “It doesn’t prove she killed her husband. And with the death ruled natural causes, this information probably still won’t matter to the cops.”

  “But it might matter to Meg,” Gertie said. “Bet your butt Garrett had a clause in his will that excluded Francesca from anything if she was caught cheating.”

  “Probably so,” Ida Belle said. “But Garrett had to be loaded. Do you really think a bit more money will matter to Meg?”

  “No, but Francesca not getting any of it will,” Gertie said.

  “Probably true.” Ida Belle lowered her binoculars and looked at me. “So what now? We have a motive. We have opportunity. But technically, we don’t have a murder.”

  “Honestly, I don’t know,” I said. “Unless Wilkinson or the assistant ME comes up with something new, I think the state police are going to be just as happy to call this matter closed. Without a suspicious death ruling, they’re not going to take a closer look at Francesca, and even though all of this is damning, it still doesn’t mean she killed Garrett.”

  Ida Belle nodde
d but she didn’t look happy. “I think you’re right. We’ve taken this as far as we can.”

  “So how does this play into Garrett’s body in the maze?” Gertie asked.

  “Definitely not Francesca,” I said. “If she managed to kill him without drawing any attention to it, she’d want him in the ground as soon as possible. This whole maze thing has done the opposite.”

  “So if love is the motive for the death,” Ida Belle said, “then hate must be the motive for the maze.”

  “But who hated him enough to cut off his head?” Gertie said. “That’s sorta extreme. Most people settle for spitting on the grave.”

  “Someone seeking to humiliate?” I suggested. “Garrett was private and didn’t like his life on display. The maze scene was garish.”

  “Do you really think that’s enough?” Gertie asked.

  “If someone hated him enough and was crazy enough, then anything’s possible,” I said. “I saw some pretty awful things in the Middle East. The one thing I learned was to never underestimate the conviction of someone who feels they’ve been wronged. If you combine that with questionable mental health then you can get all manner of horrific behavior.”

  “So who did he do wrong?” Gertie asked.

  “That’s what we need to find out,” I said. “Let’s get back home. I want to see if Carter got those background checks.”

  “You think they’ll tell us something?” Gertie asked.

  “I hope so,” I said. “Because I have to admit, I’m officially out of ideas.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  I sent Carter a text but he didn’t reply, which meant he was probably tied up with Thing 1 and Thing 2. Since the Carter end of things was in limbo, we decided to do some work on the last name on the list.

  Greg Bullard.

  We knew he was a cook at the hospital, so we called there first to see if he was working that day. He had the later shift and wasn’t due to come in until three, which meant we might be able to catch him at home. Ida Belle and Gertie worked up a cover for our visit and we headed out.

  Greg lived in a small frame house with clapboard siding and in need of a good paint job. The landscaping could use a trim and the grass had clumps of weeds in it that had probably been multiplying for years. I guessed he either didn’t care or didn’t have the time or money to address the problems himself. I was leaning toward didn’t care. He’d inherited the house, so no note, taxes were low, and given the size, it couldn’t possibly cost much to heat and cool. I figured a cook didn’t make much money, but if it was only him and he didn’t have any vices like gambling or drugs, then he could probably easily get by on very little.