by Laura Childs
Carmela quickly explained about the two murders. And how they might or might not be connected.
“Murder,” Moony said slowly. “That’s serious business. A person crosses that line, they end up with a life sentence. Not just a slap on the wrist for poaching. So why call me when your boyfriend is a hotshot police detective?” He pronounced it po-lice.
“I have kind of a strange request,” Carmela said. “I need a guided tour through the swamp down in your parts. Just a little south of Boothville where that developer I told you about was going to build some townhomes, called Parson’s Point.”
Moony was instantly accommodating. “Why didn’t you come right out and say that in the first place? Cruising around the swamp? That’s what I do best. Better yet, I’ll give Squirrel a holler and tell him to gas up his flatboat. Of course, if we happen to trap a couple of nutria or shoot us an alligator along the way, that would be what you’d call your lucky strike extra.”
“Just as long as we don’t get arrested.”
“Say, is that hot chick girlfriend of yours coming along, too?”
“You mean Ava?” Carmela glanced at her friend, who’d just dumped her entire cosmetic bag on the table and was dabbing on eight coats of bulletproof mascara in preparation for a foray into the swamp.
“That’s the one.”
“She’s coming.”
There was pure delight in Moony’s voice. “So what are you waiting for? Get on down here—I’ll close up the bait shop and see you gals in an hour or so.”
* * *
Flying down Louisiana’s State Road 23, Carmela violated the speed limit about twenty-seven times before she skidded into the gravel parking lot at Boomer’s Boat and Bait. Moony’s place of employment, if you could call it that, was a rickety cabin built on stilts. It was located on the swampier side of Tide Basin Road right on the edge of Venice, deep in bayou country.
Carmela pulled in behind an ancient Silverado with a rusted-out truck bed and honked her horn.
Moony burst out the front door and flew down the half dozen steps, waving and hollering, “How do!” the whole time. He wore a plaid shirt, tied at the waist but hanging open, to reveal his suntanned chest. His cutoff jeans were slung low on narrow hips. A tangle of sun-bleached blond hair completed his bayou biker look.
“I forgot how cute Moony was,” Ava purred as she watched him boogaloo across the parking lot. “Look at those high cheekbones, that cute nose.”
“We’re here on business,” Carmela reminded her. “Keep your mind on Roman Numeral and off present company.”
“But will Roman Numeral keep his mind on me?”
Then Moony was leaning into the car, smiling broadly, his green eyes flashing. “You two are looking finer than a Mardi Gras float on Fat Tuesday,” he proclaimed.
“Hey there,” Ava said, batting her eyelashes.
“Hello, beautiful,” Moony said. Then he gestured to his truck. “We best use my vehicle if we’re fixin’ to get to Squirrel’s place in one piece. I hear his road is pretty torn up.”
They piled into Moony’s truck and took off. Two minutes later, they were bumping down a rutted road while the swamp closed in around them.
“Peaceful down here,” Ava observed. “A person could get . . . lost.”
They humped along, twisting and turning, following what was barely a trail as brackish water lapped up on both sides of the road. Clumps of tupelo trees, at least fifty feet high, stretched upward to block out the sun, their roots intertwined like ancient sculpture. In some spots, swamp water had seeped across the road, turning it to mud. Still they muscled on, past stands of bald cypress, once clattering across a narrow wooden bridge. Drifts of grayish-green Spanish moss hung down from the trees, swishing against the windshield, making it feel like they were clawing their way through some kind of strange, primordial world.
When they finally went from bumpy to rutted to no road at all, the trees parted and a clearing seemed to magically open up. They’d arrived at Squirrel’s place.
“I see Squirrel is still using the same decorator,” Carmela remarked.
Squirrel’s house was a weathered silver-gray cabin with a corrugated metal roof that was tarnished and corroded in so many places, Carmela was sure it probably leaked like a sieve during even the lightest sprinkle. Animal hides and antique traps were tacked to the walls. Shoved up against one side of the building (helping to prop it up, perhaps?) an old truck rested on cinder blocks. Brown and white hound dogs barked and spun all over the place and two boats were anchored at a rickety dock that stuck out into a small lake.
Moony clambered out of the truck and waved a hand. “Howdy, Squirrel.”
Squirrel waved back from where he was lounging in a torn canvas hammock. He was drinking an Abita Beer and eating crawfish that were liberally sprinkled with Pleasure & Pain Hot Sauce. When he saw the three of them ambling toward him, he hopped out of his hammock, pulled a baseball cap on his head, and grinned.
“Bless my soul,” Squirrel said. “Moony brought me a gift from heaven. Two fine ladies.” He gave a deep bow. “How you been. Anybody want some crawfish?”
Ava murmured “yum” and Carmela had the feeling it wasn’t the crawfish she was eyeing. It was Squirrel in his cutoff jeans and tight T-shirt. At least three days’ worth of stubble on his face gave him a bad boy action hero look.
Squirrel grabbed Ava in a giant hug and swung her around so hard her feet flew off the ground. “Girl,” he said, “you are hot as fish grease.”
“Aren’t you the sweet talker,” Ava giggled.
“Honey, that’s why they call me the Cajun Casanova.”
After grabbing a six-pack of Abita Beer—“For emergency purposes only,” Squirrel said—he led them onto a shaky dock and they all gingerly stepped aboard an ugly green boat.
“What kind of boat is this?” Ava asked as she sat down.
“This is your basic sixteen-foot aluminum flatboat,” Squirrel told her. “With a Mercury outboard engine.”
“That’s good, huh?” Ava asked as Carmela sat down next to her.
“The best,” Squirrel said.
“Does that mean we . . .” Carmela began, just as a floppy-eared hound dog took a flying leap from the dock and landed in her lap. “Whoa. Nice doggy,” she said as his pink tongue tried to wiggle across her face.
“That friendly guy is Cooter,” Squirrel said. He cast off from the stern while Moony jumped into the bow of the boat. “He likes to ride along.”
“What about his buddies over there?” Carmela asked. Two other mangy dogs had padded out onto the dock and were gazing at them with crazy, rolling eyes.
“Lobo and Bufford,” Squirrel called out to the dogs as he pulled the starter cord and the engine roared to life. “You guys stay home and take care of Dixie, Dolly, and Banjo.”
“How many dogs do you have anyway?” Ava asked.
“Uh . . . six,” Squirrel said.
“What about that spotted one lying under the porch?” Carmela asked.
“Seven,” Squirrel said. “I forgot about Mateo. He isn’t home all that much. He’s what you’d call a part-timer. Likes to wander. Visit the lady coonhounds.”
“I can identify,” Moony said.
Squirrel guided the boat out into the middle of the lake, where a green flotilla of water lilies bobbed on the waves.
“Gorgeous out here,” Carmela said.
“There’s nothing like it,” Moony agreed.
“So where we headed?” Squirrel asked.
Carmela turned around to face him. “I want to look around just a little south of here. Where a developer by the name of Trueblood was supposed to build a neighborhood called Parson’s Point Townhomes.”
Squirrel bobbed his head. “I know where that is. Too bad somebody’s going to throw up a bunch of ticky-tacky houses and ruin all that
natural beauty.”
Ava rolled her eyes at Carmela. “He’s worried about ticky-tacky houses?” she said under her breath.
Carmela shrugged. Then, “We’re not sure he’s going to build the town houses after all. But I still want to look around over there.”
“Then hang on to your hats, folks.” Squirrel goosed the engine, there was a deafening roar, and they were suddenly flying across the lake.
“This is terrifying,” Ava shouted, trying to make herself heard above the thunder of the engine.
But Carmela, speed demon that she was, found the trip totally exhilarating. The wind whipped her hair, the prow of the boat practically lifted up and hydroplaned across the water, tiny beads of water spattered her face. She was having the time of her life even though . . . oh my . . . they did seem to be closing in on the shore at a most alarming rate.
“Are we going to hit the . . . ?” Ava cried.
At the very last moment, Squirrel throttled back. There was a high-pitched whine as he cranked the boat hard left into a dizzying one-eighty-degree turn and they suddenly found themselves spinning down a narrow creek.
“Wheee!” Moony called out. “I think I lost my sunglasses back there.”
“I almost lost my lunch,” Ava said.
But Squirrel was dialing back his speed even more, floating them gently down the narrow waterway as if they were on an adventure ride at Disneyland. Tupelo trees rose like silent sentinels while bald cypress poked bulky knee-like knots out of the water to capture oxygen for their underwater systems. A brown and black marsh hawk flew low over their heads, causing Cooter to look up and growl. The hawk circled their boat complaining, “Pee-pee-peeeee.”
They cruised down one channel and then another, Squirrel seeming to have some kind of bayou GPS embedded in his head.
“This is very spooky,” Ava said. She swatted at an insect. “And buggy.”
But Carmela loved it. Being in the bayou reminded her of the times she used to spend with Shamus, back when they were first married and actually got along with each other. They’d paddle a pirogue out to his camp house in the Baritaria bayou and spend the weekend. Light a fire, cozy up in the loft, fish for redfish. But that was then and this was . . .
“We’re getting close,” Squirrel said. The narrow channels, the press of bright green flora and foliage, had caused everyone to reflect inward and speak a little more quietly.
“You sure you know where we’re going?” Moony asked. “Because I would’ve thought we had to veer more to our left.”
Squirrel nodded at something just ahead of them. “We gotta go past that capped energy pipe up there.”
They were all silent as they glided past a white standpipe that rose out of the brackish water. A battered sign on it said, WARNING DO NOT TOUCH.
“What happens if you touch it?” Ava asked.
“I don’t know,” Squirrel said. “I guess there’s a big explosion or something.”
They motored on for another ten minutes and then Squirrel said, sounding pleased, “There you go. That’s where your town houses were gonna be built.”
Moony stood up in the front of the boat and pointed to an opening in the trees. “Doggone it, Squirrel, you brought us right in on the money.”
“What a gorgeous area,” Carmela said as Squirrel swung them in closer.
“But look,” Moony said. “They cleared out most of the trees and vegetation.”
As they pulled closer, Carmela could see that Moony was right. A large area had been clear-cut and a gravel road led out through the far stand of pine trees, presumably out to Highway 23 and civilization. All that occupied the clearing now was a large painted sign with an architect’s rendering of a row of contemporary-looking townhomes and the words PARSON’S POINT TOWNHOMES.
Chapter 27
“NOTHING but a big sign,” Carmela said, sounding disappointed.
“Not what you were hoping for?” Moony asked her.
Carmela shook her head. “I . . . I don’t know.” She hadn’t expected to find an X-marks-the-spot type of clue, but she’d been hoping for something.
Squirrel sensed her dilemma. “Do you want to go a little deeper into the swamp?”
“I’d like to,” Carmela said. “As long as we can find our way back out again.”
Moony grinned. “That’s no problem. Squirrel here can navigate by the sun.”
“Can you really?” Ava asked.
Squirrel gazed up at the partly cloudy sky. “Sure. When the sun’s out.”
He putt-putted the boat out from shore, spun it around, and headed down a waterway that bent like an elbow. Tupelo stood like tiny islands, surrounded by stands of reeds and large ferns. Dwarf palmettos waved their fronds, green velvet moss crawled up the banks on either side of them. They twisted and turned in a dizzying tangle of ever-narrowing waterways.
“It’s funny we haven’t seen any alligators,” Ava said.
“Oh, they’re here,” Squirrel said. “They just don’t want you to see them. But they’ve seen us, I guarantee it.”
“Now I don’t feel so safe,” she said.
Squirrel reached forward and patted her knee. “You’re safe with me, darlin’.”
Moony, who’d been crouched in the bow of the boat, suddenly stood up. “Look at that.” He pointed ahead. “Another sign. Damnation. This bayou’s filling up with billboards like it was a superhighway. Pretty soon there’ll be a sign that says McGATOR BURGERS, FIFTY GAZILLION SERVED.”
Carmela squinted in the direction of the sign, curious. “What does the sign really say?”
“Not entirely sure,” Moony said. “Better take us in closer, Squirrel.” When they were ten feet from the sign, Moony read aloud, ‘Recreational and Commercial Fishing Prohibited in These Waters.’”
“What?” Squirrel said.
“What’s it say underneath?” Carmela asked. Now she was half standing, too. “There’s more letters.”
“It says ‘By Order of the Environmental Justice League,’” Moony said. “Who dat to post a sign like this?”
“That’s very weird,” Carmela said. But she remembered Roman Numeral talking about being harassed by the vitriolic Martin Lash. Had Lash been posting signs all over the bayous? Had he really been—kapow—crazy?
Squirrel scrunched up his face in an approximation of deep thinking. “That doesn’t sound right to me. My uncle Eustus and I used to fish here all the time. We never ran up against any kind of pro-hi-bitions.”
“Maybe things have changed,” Ava said. “There are lots more rules and regulations these days.”
“Like from the IRS,” Moony said. “The Infernal Revenuers.”
“Like you pay actual taxes,” Squirrel scoffed.
“But the Environmental Justice League doesn’t have any real jurisdiction here,” Carmela said. “To prohibit fishing in these waters, that order would have to come from the Louisiana State Fisheries, wouldn’t it?”
“I guess,” Squirrel said. “Sounds right to me.”
Carmela furrowed her brow. This was awfully strange. If Lash were still alive she would have wanted to grill him hard about the sign. Demand what right he had to decide who could or couldn’t fish here. But dead men tell no tales . . .
“Let’s keep going,” Carmela said. “As long as we’re here.”
“Makes no never mind to me,” Squirrel said. He goosed the boat speed just a little and they continued up the channel. They stopped to explore a number of inlets and shallow areas, but didn’t find anything unusual beyond a few nesting spots for egrets and herons.
“Not much here,” Ava said.
“Except for nature’s bounty,” Carmela said.
Painted turtles dove off logs as they approached, a barred owl screeched from overhead.
“It’s getting late,” Ava said. She was more than ready t
o turn around.
“Time to head in?” Squirrel asked.
“I guess,” Carmela said. The sun was low now and elusive through the dense foliage. Here and there she caught a few fleeting shafts of fading, dying rays. Carmela knew it was time to turn back. And realized that her journey down here—though it had proved to be an amusing diversion—was ultimately futile.
Squirrel turned the boat into an inlet and was about to nose it around when Carmela craned her neck and caught a flicker of something in the rapidly descending dusk. “Wait a minute.” She held up a hand. “Keep going.”
“You see something?” Ava asked. Her voice was filled with doubt.
“I’m not sure,” Carmela said.
Squirrel cut back the motor until it was just putt-putting every few seconds and they were practically drifting up the small stream.
Carmela half stood in the boat and pointed. “There, up ahead. What is that?”
Everyone stretched to see.
“It looks like a hunk of fence,” Moony said. “It’s half submerged in the water, almost blocking the stream.”
They pulled even closer and saw two feet of faded blue plastic fence sticking up out of the stream.
“Dang,” Squirrel said. “It is blocking the stream.”
“End of the line,” Ava said.
“No, it isn’t,” Carmela said. “Keep going. Squirrel, see if you can pull up right next to it.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He maneuvered the boat even closer and then guided it around so they were parallel to the fence.
“What’s a fence doing out here?” Ava asked. “I mean, what would it be keeping out?”
“I think,” Carmela said, “that it might be keeping something in.”
“What are you talking about?” Moony asked.
“Take a look over there,” Carmela said.
They all looked over to where she was pointing.
Moony did a kind of herky-jerky double take. “The water’s bubbling,” he said, sounding surprised. “Almost like there’s some kind of hot spring coming up from underneath.”
“Is that normal?” Ava asked.
“I guess there could be natural springs out here,” Moony said, though he didn’t sound sure of himself.
