Alligator Moon

by Joanna Wayne

  They were in her car, and she parked beneath the security light, making it easy for me to catch the full show. They were laughing and she was hanging all over him, both of them slightly tipsy. Butch kissed Babs on the mouth before they reached the door. I expected her to get back in her car and drive away, but she went inside with him.

  I became physically ill and threw up at the edge of the parking lot. I spent the rest of the night driving aimlessly around Houston. I kept seeing Butch and Babs, as they looked walking into the apartment building, laughing and enjoying each other. I tried to remember how long it had been since Butch and I had been that loving and happy together.

  The truth was undeniable though I tried at first. Butch and I had never been like that, not even in the very beginning. He had never had that much fun or been that happy with me. And I had never been that happy with him.

  But I want to be. One time before I die, I want to feel that way about a man who feels that way about me. I plan to do what I can to make that happen. I only hope it doesn’t hurt Cassie too much.

  Butch read that last line, then went to the bar and fixed himself a very dry martini. Rhonda had known about him and Babs for three weeks before she left, but she hadn’t said a word about it to him. She’d just made her plans down to the most minute detail, packed her bags and left.

  He thumbed through the stack of mail that had accumulated while he was in London. When he came to that last postcard, he pulled it from the stack and studied the handwriting. It was the same as the writing in the journal.

  He didn’t understand why Rhonda had lied about her traveling companion or why Cassie had gotten the phone call requesting her to meet someone in Cocodrie, but if Rhonda had sent these postcards from Greece written in her own hand, she had to have been there. No matter what flight the airlines showed Rhonda booked on, she had to be in Greece unless…

  Unless she’d written the cards here, mailed them to Greece in bulk and had someone there mail them back at various intervals and from different locations.

  Damn.

  That was it. That’s why he’d found the Greek postcard in the brown envelope. She had someone mailing her postcards so that she could write her lying messages.

  Having them mailed from Greece would be no big deal. For a fee, a Greek tourist agency would have taken care of that for her. For the right fee, you can get anything done.

  And now that he’d read the journal, he knew exactly what was going on. Rhonda was going to divorce him, and she’d have all the details meticulously worked out before she told him and Cassie of her plans. This way there would be no complications and everything would go her way.

  This was so like her, so absolutely like her. She’d give them a lot of hogwash about how she’d come to this decision after much soul searching—Rhonda was big on soul searching. No one would ever know she’d been hurt and humiliated by his affair with a co-worker. Of course, she hadn’t expected him to go rummaging through the cabinets in her sewing room. Before this, he probably hadn’t even stepped into the room in years.

  Butch tossed the postcard back to the desk, then walked outside. He was upset, sure, but not as much as he’d have expected to be. He’d never meant to hurt Rhonda, and was really sorry about that. He’d never planned to divorce her, but he was pretty damn sure that’s what she was planning now.

  All’s out come in free.

  Funny that should pop in his mind now. They’d yelled that when he was a kid playing hide-and-seek. It meant you were ready to give up the hunt. He was ready to do just that.

  So come in free, Rhonda, and we’ll work this out together—one way or another.

  CASSIE WOKE with her legs tangled in the sheets. She stretched and tried to get out of bed quietly so as not to wake John, but he opened his eyes before her feet hit the floor.

  “Stay in bed,” he said. “I’ll make the coffee.”

  “You’re spoiling me.”

  “No, just afraid of what you might do to the kitchen after the way you kicked me around all night.”

  “Was I that restless?”

  “About like sleeping with a puppy on speed.”

  He gave her a kiss, then pulled the jeans he’d worn last night over his terrific, bare butt.

  “Where do I find the coffee and filters?”

  “The coffee’s in the short canister next to the coffee-maker and the filters are on the bottom shelf of the cabinet just above it.”

  “Sounds simple enough.”

  Cassie fluffed her pillow and checked the clock. It was already after eight. She hadn’t slept this late in a long time, but then, she’d lain awake until after three, unable to get her mother off her mind.

  She snuggled under the wrinkled sheet that held John’s scent. They hadn’t talked all that much last night, other than her filling him in on the details of her conversations with Brady Cates and with her father, but just having him there had made things easier.

  John Robicheaux of the dark, piercing eyes and sexy Cajun accent. Somehow she’d imagined he’d be out of his element here in her apartment, but he fit in her world far better than she fit in Beau Pierre.

  He’d had his own place in the city once, worn suits and ties, argued in courts of law and worked in an office instead of on a fishing boat. He’d had the notoriety and success lots of struggling attorneys would give an arm for, but John had given it all up and walked away. If he missed it at all, he showed no signs.

  John returned a few minutes later with the coffee. He handed her a cup then climbed back in bed with his, propping his pillows against the headboard and sitting upright with his legs stretched over the sheets.

  “Do you feel any better about the situation with your mother this morning?” he asked. John did have a way of cutting to the chase.

  “I’m calmer. I know she left of her own free will and that there’s no real reason to think she’s in danger, but it would sure help if any of this made sense.”

  “It must have made sense to your mother, unless she was mentally unstable when she made those decisions.”

  “She always sounded fine when I talked to her on the phone, and Dad’s never indicated she was having any emotional, health or mental problems. Actually, I can understand her need to do her own thing better than I can accept that she lied to Dad and me.”

  “So what’s your next move?”

  “Going to the police and filing a missing person’s report would be my first choice, but I’ll hold off awhile longer on that since Dad is so insistent that we not involve them yet. I know I overreact sometimes, but he swings too far toward the conservative stance. I think he’s in denial.”

  “And maybe a little worried about the publicity this will garner if you bring the police in,” John said.

  “Publicity would be good. That would get Mom’s name and picture out there and have people looking for her. But I doubt we’d get much media coverage. Flanders and Guilliot have the stranglehold on that.”

  “If the wife of a CEO of a Fortune 500 company is listed as missing, you’ll get publicity.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that angle. I guess it could cause some problems for Dad, but it’s not as if he’s responsible for her disappearance.”

  “People will still talk.”

  “And he won’t like that. Don’t get the wrong idea about him. He was a terrific father and a good provider, but he’s a workaholic and his career is pretty much his life. Today’s his sixty-second birthday. He probably doesn’t even know it. He never does until either Mom or I wish him happy birthday.”

  “You should call him.”

  “I will later.” She drank her coffee, but the issues of the birthday and phone calls stayed on her mind. “I guess that’s the thing that really makes this so strange. Mom normally calls two or three times a week, and always has, even when she’s been out of the country with Dad.”

  John linked his right arm with hers. “I predict she will make a birthday call to your father, maybe even show up with cake and ice crea
m.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  They had their second cup of coffee on the balcony. “You have a nice view,” John said, “for a city dwelling.”

  “It was the main reason I chose this condo, but it’s also convenient to my office—not that I’m in the office all that much. I need to go in for a while today, though.”

  “The work must go on.”

  “What about your work, John? I’d think this would be your busiest time of the year.”

  “It is. I canceled this week, but I’ll have to be back at it starting Monday. I have a group of six guys coming in from Dallas for a week of deep-sea fishing in the Gulf.”

  “Not in your pirogue, I hope.”

  “Not a chance. My fishing rig is docked at Grand Isle. It’s not a huge boat, but I can take twelve fishermen at a time along with my two-man crew. We provide the bait, equipment and food for the charters. All the fishermen have to do is show up with money.”

  His fishing guide business was more ambitious than she’d realized. That surprised her. Lots of things about John Robicheaux had surprised her over the last few days.

  “Let’s take a walk,” she said, suddenly restless. “We can cut through the French Quarter and have beignets at Café du Monde.”

  “Sounds good.”

  As good as anything would until she located her mother and knew she was safe. Cassie started to get up and go inside, then lingered. “I’m not sure I said this last night, but I really appreciate your being here.”

  He put his elbows on his knees and leaned closer to her deck chair. “I’m here because I knew you’d need someone if your mother wasn’t on that flight, but don’t read anything more into this, Cassie.”

  “I’m not reading anything into it. All I said was I appreciate your being here.”

  He nodded, but didn’t comment.

  “Will you stay the weekend?” she asked, not wanting to push, but not wanting him to go, either.

  “I’m not sure I can.”

  “Do you miss Beau Pierre that much?”

  He stood and tugged her to her feet, holding her hands and staring at her with that smoky gaze that she could never read. “It’s not missing Beau Pierre that’s the problem, Cassie. It’s…this. All of this. Going to bed with you. Waking up with you. Making love with you.”

  “Are those things so terrible?”

  “You know the answer to that. I wouldn’t be here if they were terrible. But you’ll start thinking I could do those things forever. I might even start thinking it. And then when we realize I can’t, we’ll both be hurt. Neither of us needs that right now.”

  “Are you so sure we couldn’t make it work?”

  “Would you be happy living in a trapper’s shack in Beau Pierre.”

  “Are you?”

  “Happy enough.”

  “And you don’t miss the life you had as an attorney at all?”

  “I never said that.”

  “If you miss it, come back. Give it another try.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Because you made one mistake? Because you defended a man you thought was innocent and found out later was a fiendish child molester?”

  “Let it go, Cassie.” The words had a finality to them, and he stood and walked to the edge of the balcony.

  He was withdrawing again, climbing back into his shell and if she pushed, she was almost certain he’d drive right back to Beau Pierre, and she wasn’t ready to risk that right now.

  The phone rang and she went inside to answer it. It was likely her father making sure she was all right, or Olson wanting her to cover some event this weekend.

  She was wrong on both counts. The caller was Brady Cates, already on the job.

  “I tried your father’s office, but they said he’s speaking at some kind of business breakfast and won’t be in until after ten. He doesn’t answer his cell phone.”

  “Is there something I can help you with?”

  “I had some news for him, but I guess I can give it to you.”

  “Good news, I hope.”

  “Looks like it. In fact, could be real good. I think I may have located your mother.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  JOHN WAITED on the balcony while Cassie took the phone call. For her sake, he hoped it was good news. For his sake, too. If things were okay with her mother, she wouldn’t need him around and he could leave before he let things go too far between them—not that he hadn’t already.

  “That was Brady Cates,” she said rejoining him on the deck.

  “Good news?”

  “News, anyway. He’s located a transportation service that sent a car and driver to pick up a woman named Rhonda Havelin at the New Orleans airport at 3:45 p.m. on May ninth.”

  “The date and time fit. Is there a record of where they took her?”

  “Yes. Are you ready for this?”

  He nodded.

  “The driver took her to the Magnolia Plantation Restorative and Therapeutic Center in Beau Pierre, Louisiana.”

  “Sonofabitch!”

  “That pretty much sums it up.”

  “Did they ever go back and pick her up?”

  “No. It’s conceivable that my mother’s been there the whole time. No one at Magnolia told me, but then there’s no reason to suspect they’d know that a patient named Rhonda Havelin was my mother.”

  “Is Cates certain this was actually your mother?”

  “He hasn’t talked to the driver yet. He’s trying to find him now. When he connects, he’ll show him Mom’s picture and see if he recognizes her.”

  “You don’t seem overjoyed with the news.”

  “Going to Dr. Guilliot’s surgery-slash-indulgent spa in the bayou is a far cry from vacationing with a friend in Greece.”

  “Maybe she wanted the surgery to be a surprise.”

  “I hope that’s all there is to this, but I have this scary feeling that I’m going to get to Beau Pierre and be sucked into some new complication.”

  “I’m not surprised after all you’ve been dealing with this week.”

  “I guess that’s it. Dennis’s murder. The cemetery sniping incident. My cabin vandalized and my laptop and notes stolen. And now I find out my mother may have been in the midst of all that, and no one even knew, except…”

  “Except what?”

  “Dennis mentioned my name in a phone call the night he died.”

  John’s muscles tensed, but he didn’t interrupt as she told him what Celeste had said. This was way too bizarre to be believable. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

  “I’m not sure. Do you have any idea what it means?”

  “No.” Hell, no, but he didn’t see a way in the world it could be good. “Is there anything else you haven’t bothered to tell me, Cassie?”

  “I did get this one strange phone call that ended up in a wasted trip to Cocodrie. I’ll tell you about it on our walk. We’ll take the cell phone with us, just in case Brady tries to call, though he said he may not be able to get in touch with the driver until he shows up for his shift this afternoon.”

  “Can’t he go to the driver’s house?”

  “He would, but the guy drove up to Baton Rouge this morning to visit his mother who’s in the hospital, so we have no choice but to wait it out.”

  “Then let’s take that walk.”

  BY THE TIME Brady Cates called back at 2:45 p.m., Cassie was a total mass of frayed nerves.

  “I showed the driver the picture,” Brady said.

  “And?”

  “He says it’s definitely the woman he drove to Beau Pierre that day.”

  “Did he say anything else?”

  “Said she was a nice lady, but that she seemed nervous.”

  “Did you give the news to Dad?”

  “I did. I actually got through to him this time. I told him the reason his wife hadn’t called might be that he’s too hard to reach.”

  “I’d love for that to be the only reason.”


  “I asked your dad if he wanted me to go to Beau Pierre and see if Rhonda’s still at Magnolia Plantation. He said to check with you first, that you might want to do it yourself.”

  “He’s absolutely right. I’ll take care of it from here.”

  “Good luck, and let me know how it comes out. If she’s not still there, I’ll keep looking until I find her.”

  Cassie went to find John after the call. He was on the balcony thumbing through old copies of the Crescent Connection.

  “That was Brady. The driver positively identified Mom as the woman he took to the plastic surgery center. Are you up for a trip to Beau Pierre?”

  “Sure. Home sweet home.”

  “I have serious doubts about the sweet part, John. Very serious doubts, but I’m going to Magnolia R and T and demand to see my mother. And if she’s not there, I expect to find out when she left the premises and how long she’s been gone.”

  “Then we’d better hurry. The business office probably closes by five, and I doubt you’ll find out anything from the night crew.”

  “That’s okay. I know where Dr. Guilliot lives and I’ll camp on his doorstep if it takes that.”

  John had a strong suspicion that it might.

  CASSIE OPTED to ride back with John in his truck rather than take her own car and fight the Friday afternoon traffic herself. She’d taken just long enough to pack a few essentials, but it was already five-thirty, and they were still about five miles north of Magnolia Plantation.

  “Mom withdrew fifty thousand from her bank account when she left Houston,” Cassie said, still racking her brain to make sense of the newest information. “Do you think that’s Dr. Guilliot’s fee for a face-lift and six weeks of recuperating in his Gone With The Wind setup?”

  John gave a low whistle. “Rhett Butler could have done a lot with that kind of dough. Might not cover the sticker price on the Porsche Guilliot drives or pay Annabeth’s charge accounts for a month, though.”

  Annabeth. With all that was going on, Cassie had forgotten abut her and the fact that she was carrying Dennis’s baby. Cassie was certain John hadn’t forgotten, no more than he’d gotten over Dennis’s death or lost his zeal to find the person responsible.