“Yeah. I’m sure.”
Was that a coincidence, or had Eskil been right about Uncle Cooch’s disappearance? My heart fluttered with excitement. “Do you know where it is?”
“Naw. I tried following him a few times out of curiosity. Had the idea that if I could find the still, I’d show him I was better’n him. Every time I tried, he lost me, though.” He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel and grinned. “Couple of times I thought I might be getting close, but both times he took a few shots at me to scare me. It worked, too. I backed off.”
Wow. Shooting at his own son to protect his illegal—and possibly stolen—moonshine operation? I guess Silas’s aversion to ownership didn’t extend to property taken from others. I’m no psychiatrist, but I diagnosed Silas as a certified looney tune. “How long did he have the still? Was it a recent thing?”
“He had it all my life, I guess. I wasn’t supposed to know about it at all.”
“You overheard him talking about it?”
“Not Silas,” Kale corrected me. “A couple of the men in town. They were customers of his, I guess.”
“And you’re sure they were talking about Silas’s still?”
Kale nodded. “They mentioned him by name, which is why I paid attention. There’s always talk if you know how to listen.”
A kid after my own heart. “Did you ever ask Silas about it?”
“Nope.” Kale spit something out his window and wiped his chin with the back of his hand. “Me and him never talked at all until a month or so ago. He came and found me after church one day. He said he had something important to tell me. I didn’t want nothing to do with him and I told him so. But that didn’t stop him from trying.”
“You didn’t actually speak to him?”
“Sure I did. I told him to get the hell away from me.”
“How did he react to that?”
“Same way he did to everything else. He didn’t care. He just did whatever he wanted.”
“So he kept trying to talk to you, but you don’t have any idea what he wanted to tell you?”
Kale shook his head. “I didn’t want to know. I wanted him to go to hell. The way he ignored Ma and me wasn’t right.”
We bounced over a series of ruts, and pain shot through my head.
Kale asked, “You don’t think that’s why Silas got killed, do you?”
“Because of whatever he wanted to tell you? I don’t know. It’s possible, but it also might have been completely unrelated. Does your mother have any idea what he wanted?”
Kale looked sheepish. “I never told her about him coming around. It would’ve upset her too much.”
“Are you sure it would have upset her? Is there any chance she was still in love with your dad?”
Kale actually laughed. “Oh, hell no. I think she liked Junior better’n she liked Silas—and she don’t like Junior all that much.”
“Well, then why did she stay married to him? And why did she let Junior take care of her all these years?” The questions popped out before I could stop them. I winced at my own audacity.
“What is this? Freaking CSI or something?”
“No,” I said quickly. “I’m not with the police or anything. I’m just curious. You have to admit, it’s a strange situation. Your father walked out on your mother twenty years ago but he lived just a few miles away the whole time. She knew where to find him, but she never filed for divorce and she let her brother-in-law take care of her and help raise her son. Anybody would be curious.”
“Yeah, but not everybody would be rude enough to ask about it,” Kale shot back.
I dipped my head in agreement. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m not feeling so good after the accident and I’m just trying to keep myself distracted.” I told myself to let it drop, but Kale’s assessment of Nettie’s relationships with the Laroche brothers had piqued my curiosity.
“I only asked because I saw her talking to Junior earlier today. I’m pretty sure they were talking about you.”
Kale curled his lip and cut a glance at me. “Let me guess. It was about me going to work for Junior?”
“Yeah. I take it you don’t want to do that.”
“Nope,” he said, and fell silent. I was afraid I’d lost him, but finally he said, “I know that Eskil hated Silas.”
“So I hear. Do you know why?”
Kale shrugged and this time he didn’t answer.
“I heard that maybe Silas helped Cooch Percifield disappear years ago. Do you think he could have done that?”
Our friendship was cooling rapidly. “What’s it to you?”
He’d been pretty honest with me—at least I thought he had—so I gave him a straight-ish answer. “Eskil’s cousin Bernice is a friend of mine. She’s worried about him. There are some people in town who think Eskil killed Silas, and if it’s true that Silas helped Cooch disappear, Bernice might have good reason to worry. It would give Eskil a pretty solid motive, wouldn’t it? So what do you think? Could Silas have done something to Cooch?”
“Sure. My old man was mean as a snake. But why would he?”
“The family still disappeared when Cooch did. Maybe Silas took over the operation.”
Kale looked intrigued, but he didn’t say anything. Junior’s place loomed into view but Kale didn’t even glance at it as we passed. “He used to give Eskil a rough time about Cooch disappearing the way he did,” he said at last, “but I never thought it meant anything. Silas was mean, but he wasn’t stupid. You can’t be dumb and survive in a place like this. I think he knew what Eskil thought, and he got a charge out of acting like it was true.”
Somewhere inside my head a bass drum of painful throbbing began to beat a steady rhythm. The thought of arranging for a tow truck and waiting inside T-Rex’s or the Gator Pit for someone to pick me up made me want to cry. I sighed, but it came out sounding more like a whimper.
“You okay?”
I offered up a weak smile. “Yeah. Just tired.”
“Tell you what,” he said. “I’ll take you on up to Miss Margaret’s if you want, but I’ve gotta stop by and take something to Ma first. You mind a quick detour?”
My smile gained a little strength. “I don’t mind at all.”
Twenty-two
Nettie Laroche lived in a small yellow house set back from the road behind a yard full of weeds and wild grass. If there had ever been a lawn, it had disappeared a while ago.
“This may take a few minutes,” Kale warned. “Come on inside so you don’t have to wait in the heat.”
I didn’t want to move, but I wasn’t in the mood to bake either so I followed him up an uneven sidewalk to the back door. We stepped into a tiny kitchen with cluttered counters and dirty dishes strewn over the table. I thought there might be chairs around the table, but it was hard to be sure. All I could really see were empty plastic bags and stacks of paper. A small window unit blew cool air into the room, and I could hear a television playing somewhere in another part of the house. The scents of sausage and old coffee hung heavily in the air.
Kale wiped his feet on a mat and I followed his example. “Ma?” he shouted. “We got a visitor.”
The television went silent and Nettie appeared in the doorway wearing a curious expression. She’d changed out of her jeans and T-shirt into a faded floral muumuu and a pair of pink fuzzy slippers, and she carried what looked like a whiskey and soda in her hand. She waved the glass in my direction. “I know you. Weren’t you in the Pit earlier?”
“I was. My name’s Rita Lucero.”
“You were talking to Georgie.”
“I was,” I said again. “She needed a statement from me.”
Nettie’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of statement?”
“She’s staying with the Percifields,” Kale explained to his mother. “She’s the one who found Silas.”
I watched Nettie’s reaction to the mention of her late husband’s name, but her face gave nothing away. “Okay,” she said slowly. “What are you doing with Kale?”
That was a perfectly legitimate question. I’d have wondered the same thing in her place. “I had an accident out there . . . somewhere. Your son was good enough to rescue me.”
“I’m taking her to Miss Margaret’s,” Kale said as he clomped through the kitchen and looked inside the fridge. “I’ve got that paint you wanted in the back of the truck. Where do you want me to put it?”
Nettie leaned against the door frame and smiled at her son. “In the garage. I won’t need it today.”
Kale turned away from the fridge and filled a glass with water from the sink. My mouth was dry and my chest still hurt from breathing the air bag smoke. I willed him to offer me a glass, but apparently the domestic variety of Southern hospitality wasn’t his thing.
“I hear you and Junior were talking about me today,” he said to Nettie when he’d emptied the glass.
Her expression sobered. “Where’d you hear that?”
I thought the answer to that question was obvious, but there had been other people in the bar, so maybe she wouldn’t know it had come from me. Just in case, I kept my mouth shut and tried not to look guilty.
Kale put the glass next to the sink and leaned against the counter. “What does it matter? What did he want? The usual?”
“Of course. It’s always the same old thing.” Nettie let out a heavy sigh and her shoulders sagged. “Why are you being so stubborn? He only wants to make sure you have what’s rightfully yours.”
“Yeah. I’m sure that’s why he’s doing it.” Kale rummaged in a cupboard near his head and found a box of crackers. He shook a few into his hand and dropped them one by one from his fist into his mouth. “Junior’s all about the other guy.”
“You’re not the ‘other guy,’” Nettie said with a scowl. “You’re his nephew.”
“Whatever.” Kale shoved another handful of crackers into his mouth.
I was uncomfortable listening to their conversation, but it wasn’t as if I was eavesdropping, so I tried not to feel guilty.
“Look,” Nettie said, “I know Junior and I have had our arguments, but at least he cares. That’s more than Silas ever did.”
Pain flashed across Kale’s face.
His mother didn’t seem to notice. “All I’m asking is that you try the job. If Junior pushes too hard or asks you to do anything that makes you uncomfortable, then quit.”
I wondered what kinds of things might fall into that category but I didn’t ask. Mostly because I didn’t want them to get nervous and stop talking. But also because my head was pounding and my face felt hot.
“I already don’t like what he’s doing,” Kale told her. “And it’s not like he wants me around. He just thinks I’m the best way to get to you.”
Nettie did the same deer-in-the-headlights thing she’d done when Junior caressed her cheek at the Gator Pit. “That’s crazy talk,” she said when she’d gathered her wits.
I stopped dwelling on my throbbing head so I could use my energy to file away details of their conversation. All at once Kale seemed to remember I was there and held out the box to me. “Crackers?”
I was almost hungry enough to accept his offer, but I managed to resist. “No. Thanks. I’d appreciate some water, though. And if you have a phone, I’d like to make a call. It’s long-distance, but I’ll pay the charges. And if you know the number of a local towing service, I need to arrange for someone to pick up my car.”
“Oh Lord. Where are my manners?” Nettie brushed past her son and fixed me some ice water. Kale went outside, probably to put the paint in the garage, and she handed me the glass with a smile and an apology. “Phone’s in there,” she said, nodding toward the living room. “Help yourself. There’s no towing service out here, but Kale can help you get the car back to town. No need to pay for the calls.”
When she left me alone, I dialed Sullivan’s cell number but the call went straight to voice mail. Strike one. I left a brief message explaining that I needed a ride from Baie Rebelle to New Orleans and told him I’d call again when I had the chance. I repeated the process, this time with Gabriel’s cell. He didn’t answer either, so I left the same message for him.
I briefly considered calling Zydeco, but I didn’t want to ask Ox for help. I shoved that idea on the “last resort” shelf in my head and slipped a ten under the phone just in case Nettie didn’t make a fortune at the Gator Pit and her phone plan didn’t include unlimited long-distance.
Kale had returned to the kitchen by the time I was finished, and the two of them were talking quietly when I rejoined them.
“Sorry to talk about family stuff in front of you,” Nettie said. “This kid of mine doesn’t know a good thing when he sees it. He makes me crazy sometimes.”
I don’t like to weigh in on other people’s problems, but since she’d pulled me into the conversation . . . “You think that his uncle’s offer is a good one but Kale doesn’t agree with you?”
She brushed some magazines and empty plastic bags from a chair and offered me a seat. “You don’t know Junior, but he’s a hard man. Tough. Unbending. And he’s been worse than usual lately, so I understand why Kale doesn’t want to work with him.” She glanced at her son and went on. “But half of what Junior has belongs to Kale by rights. It’s not Kale’s fault his idiot daddy threw it all away. I know Junior will do right by Kale, but Kale’s gotta give a little, too. He’s gotta cooperate with Junior.”
Kale’s face turned to stone. “I’m not going to hang around hoping that someday he’ll take pity on me. The land’s his. The money’s his. Just let it go, Ma. I’ll make it on my own.”
“You don’t have to make it on your own,” she said. “That’s the point. I can bring Junior around. I just need time.” She sighed with resignation and shook her head. “We’ll talk about this later. We’ve got company.”
“Yeah, and we’re leaving.” Kale opened the door and looked back at me. “You ready?”
Did I have a choice? I gulped down the rest of my water and followed him out to the truck. My head was still spinning from the wreck, and I felt more confused than ever. I couldn’t see any reason for Nettie or Kale to have wanted Silas dead. It seemed far more likely that if one of them had been wandering around with an extra toilet tank lid and nothing to do on a Saturday night, they’d have paid Junior a visit. And yet Silas was the one lying in the morgue.
Factoring in what Kale had told me about Silas having a still, the only person with a solid reason for wanting Silas dead was the person whose name I wanted to clear. Poor Bernice. Poor Aunt Margaret. They wanted so badly for Eskil to be innocent, but it was looking less likely all the time.
Twenty-three
Kale didn’t say anything as we trudged back to the truck and I didn’t pressure him to. Questions were zipping in and out of my head, but I’d already asked a lot and I didn’t want to spook him. If I came on too strong, he might shut me out completely.
I listened to the hum of tires on the pavement and watched greenery turn into a blur as we sped along the road. And I realized that in this maze of trees and swamp, I had no idea where Silas Laroche had lived. Was it near Aunt Margaret’s house? Was that why his killer had chosen to dump his body there? But why move the body in the first place? Why not just leave it where it fell?
Sullivan’s theory that the killer wanted the body found was the only thing that made sense, but why? I stewed on that question for a while but I couldn’t come up with an answer. I needed to know more about Silas before I could understand what had happened to him.
It wasn’t that I didn’t trust Georgie and the sheriff’s department to do the job right. I kept thinking about Bernice and remembering the look on Aunt Margaret’s face when she’d asked for my help. Which was
why I finally broke the silence. “Out of curiosity, where did Silas live?”
Kale looked startled by the sound of my voice. “Down this road a bit.”
“Close to the Percifields’ place?”
He lifted one shoulder. “I guess. It’s about ten miles on past Miss Margaret’s house.”
“So if you were going to Silas’s house, you’d have to drive past Aunt Margaret’s to get there? Is there any other way to get to and from Baie Rebelle?”
“Not by car. You could get there and back on the water, though. You can get anywhere on the water.”
Yeah, that’s what I was afraid of. “How many houses are there between the Percifields’ and Silas’s?”
“None,” Kale said. “Why? What are you thinking?” Far from being put off by my questions, Kale seemed intrigued.
“I’m just wondering how easy it would be for someone to get to Silas’s place without being noticed.”
“Easy enough,” Kale said. “You’ve seen how far back Miss Margaret’s house is from the road. It’s surrounded by trees. They might hear a car driving past but they probably wouldn’t see it.”
Which meant that although Eskil had (relatively) easy access to Silas’s property, he wasn’t alone. Almost anyone could have gone there and back without being seen. And that brought me right back to the question that seemed to have no logical answer: If Eskil had killed Silas, why would he cart the body home and dump it in his own ditch? It simply didn’t make sense, and that was the only thing that kept me hoping the police would eventually be able to clear him.
We were drawing close to Aunt Margaret’s house by that time and Kale surprised me by asking, “You want to see it?”
“See . . . what?”
“The old man’s place. You want me to show you?”
Seriously? I’d have preferred to wait until I felt better, but I might not get another chance. “Why not?” I said, hoping I didn’t seem too eager. It was a long shot, but maybe we’d come across something important. Something the sheriff’s department had missed when they went over the crime scene. Even if we didn’t, at least I’d know that I’d done my best to help Bernice’s family.
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