different from the turtle's. He moved the cigar at me. 'The only reason you're heah is because of this blackmail thing?'
'That's it.'
Milt chewed on the cigar some more. 'Rene, put ol' Luther back.'
Rene put Luther back in the pond. Luther slipped beneath the water, and the water grew still. Milt said, 'We feed ol' Luther there catfish heads. Had a fella from LSU out here once said Luther might be better'n a century old.'
Jimmie Ray was on his knees with his face in his hands. I felt embarrassed and ashamed both for him and for me. Milt Rossier went over to Jimmie and patted his shoulder. 'You see what dishonesty gets fo' ya? You go behin' my back, now this fella's heah. You see where ya get?'
'I'm sorry, Milt. I swear to God I am.'
Milt Rossier looked over at me with the Luther eyes. He stared at me, thinking, until LeRoy said, 'He was with some woman, Milt.'
Milt spit. 'Yeah. I guess so.' Disappointed, as if he had come to a serious decision about something, only now to change his mind. He patted Jimmie Ray's shoulder again, then helped him up. 'C'mon, now, Jimmie Ray. Get up and stop blubberin'. You get yourself on outta heah.'
Jimmie Ray said, 'I didn't think I was doin' any-thin' wrong, Milt. I swear to Christ.'
'We'll jus' forget about it. Go on, now.'
Jimmie Ray looked like a man who'd just won Lotto, like he couldn't believe that Milt Rossier was giving him a pass on this one. Milt Rossier said, 'Goddammit, get outta my sight.'
Jimmie Ray scrambled back to his Mustang, and the Mustang's rear end fishtailed hard as he drove away.
Milt shook his head, then turned back to me. 'You go on back where you come from and tell your woman everythin's over with. What we got down here, it don' have nothin' to do with her, and nothin' to do with you, either. You understand that?'
'Sure. You want me to go home. You want me to stop stirring things up.'
He nodded, looked at the cigar again, then tossed it in the pond. It floated for a second, sending out perfect circles, and then the water exploded and the cigar was gone.
Milt Rossier made a little dismissive gesture and walked away. 'LeRoy, you see this fella gets back real safe, you hear?'
LeRoy said that he would.
Rene and LeRoy brought me back to the motel in the gold Polara and let me out in the parking lot. I watched them leave, then went to my room and tried to let myself in, but I couldn't get the key in the lock. I tried as hard as I could, and then I sat on the sidewalk with my hands between my knees and pressed my knees together to try to make myself stop shaking. I pressed for a very long time, and finally the shaking stopped.
CHAPTER 12
I double-locked the door and showered, letting the hot water beat into me until my skin was red and burning and I began to feel better about things.
I was out of the shower and getting dressed when Lucy Chenier returned my call. She said, 'Sorry it's taken so long. I was trying to find out about Milt Rossier.
'I just came back from Milt's. Before that, I broke into Jimmie Ray Rebenack's home and found what I believe to be the entire state file on Jodi's adoption. I found other things, too, and I learned some things at Rossier's that we need to talk about.' Maybe there was something in my voice that the shower hadn't washed away. She didn't say anything about the break-in.
'Can you drive back to Baton Rouge this evening?'
'Yes.'
'I have to leave the office soon to be home for Ben, but you could meet me there and we could have dinner. Is that all right?'
'That would be fine.'
Lucy gave me directions to her home and then we hung up. I dressed, then got the papers together from under the mattress, and drove back to Baton Rouge. I brought flowers.
The late afternoon was clear and bright when I found my way through a gracious residential area east of Louisiana State University to Lucy's home. The streets were narrow, but the houses were large and set back on wide rolling lawns amid lush azaleas and oaks and magnolia trees, worthy digs for doctors and lawyers and tenured professors from LSU. I slowed several times for families on bicycles and young couples with strollers or elderly people enjoying a walk. Two girls and their dad were on one lawn, trying to launch a blue kite with no breeze; on another, an elderly man sat on a glider, gently swaying in the evening shade beneath an oak tree. Everything seemed relaxed and wonderful, the ideal environment in which to escape the realities of lying clients, enraged snapping turtles, and the loneliness of being far from home. Maybe I should move here.
Lucy Chenier lived in a brick colonial with a circular rock drive and a large pecan tree in the front yard. A knotted rope hung from the tree and, higher in the branches, several boards were nailed together into a small platform. Somebody's treehouse.
I crunched into the drive, got out with the flowers and the documents, and went to the front door. When I had stopped for the flowers I had picked up a folder in which to hide the documents. Can't very well be seen sneaking stolen documents into an attorney's home. Might get her disbarred. The door opened before I reached it and a boy with curly brown hair looked out. He said, 'Hey.'
'Hey. My name's Elvis. Are you Ben?' He was looking at the flowers.
'Yes, sir. My mom's on the phone, but she says you can come in.'
'Thanks.'
He opened the door wider and let me in. He was still with the flowers. Suspicious. 'Are those for my mom?'
'Unh-hunh. Think she'll like 'm?'
Shrug. 'I dunno.' Can't give stray guys too much encouragement, I guess.
From somewhere in the house Lucy called, 'I'm on with the office. I'll be off in a minute.'
I called back. 'Take your time.'
Ben stood straight and tall in cut-off jeans shorts and a gray LSU Athletic Department T-shirt. Every kid in Louisiana was probably issued an LSU T-shirt at birth. He led me through a spacious home that was neat and orderly, but still lived-in and comfortable and clearly feminine, with plenty of photographs in delicate frames and pastel colors and plants. The entry led into the family room and the kitchen. Everything was open and casual, with the family room flowing into the dining area, which looked out French doors across a brick patio and a large backyard. Tennis trophies filled the shelves of a wall-sized entertainment center in the family room, but pictures of Ben and books and ceramic animals were crowding out the trophies. I liked that. Balance.
Ben leaned against the counter that separated the kitchen from the family room, watching me. I said, 'You play tennis like your mom?'
He nodded.
'She's pretty good, huh?'
He nodded again.
'Can you beat her?'
'Sometimes.' He cocked his head a little bit to the side and said, 'Are you a detective?'
'Doesn't it show?'
He shook his head.
'I left my trench coat at the motel.'
'What's a trench coat?'
Times change.
