Read Online Voodoo River (1995) by Robert - Elvis Cole 05 Crais - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Robert - Elvis Cole 05 Crais
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from the Johnson family to the Taylor family to be positive, but Edith Boudreaux and Jodi Taylor were clearly related. Maybe Jimmie Ray Rebenack wasn't the world's worst detective, after all. I said, "Are you Ms. Boudreaux?"
"Why, yes. Have we met?"
I told her no. I said that her shop had been recommended and that I was browsing for something for my wife, but if I had any questions I would be sure to ask. She told me to take my time and she returned to her stock. I browsed around the store another few minutes, then let myself out, walked to a pay phone on the other side of the square, and dialed Lucy Chenier. I said, "Well, I've done it again."
"Tied your laces together and tripped?" Maybe she had a laugh button, after all.
I said, "I have found a gentleman named Monroe Johnson. Thirty-six years ago on Jodi Taylor's birthday, his wife, Pamela Johnson, delivered a baby girl. They gave the child up for adoption. I saw his adult daughter, a woman named Edie Boudreaux, and she is Jodi's spitting image."
Lucy said, "You've done all this in two days?"
"It is not for nothing that I am the World's Greatest Detective."
"Perhaps you are." She sounded pleased.
"Also, Rebenack found them for me." I told her what I had found in his office.
"Oh." She didn't sound as happy about that.
I said, "I still don't know what Rebenack's interest in all this might be, but if these people are, in fact, Jodi's biological family, Edie Boudreaux should be able to provide whatever medical information Jodi wants." I gave her Bogart. "So it's all yours, shweet-heart."
"Was that Humphrey Bogart?"
Some people are truly cold.
She said, "The next step is to approach these people. Perhaps we can figure out a plan of action over dinner."
I said, "Is this an invitation, Ms. Chenier?"
"It is, Mr. Cole, and I advise you to accept. There may not be another."
"Dinner sounds very nice, thank you."
"Where are you?"
"Eunice. The family lives here."
She said, "Can you be back at the Riverfront and ready to be picked up by six-thirty?"
"I think I can manage." If I grinned any wider I'd probably split my gums.
"Good. I'll see you then." She paused, and then she said, "Good work, Mr. Cole."
I hung up, went to my car, and sat there with the grin until a guy in a Toyota flatbed yelled, "Hey, pumpkinhead! You're gonna catch bugs that way?"
Southern humor.
Chapter 8
I went back to the motel in Ville Platte, showered, shaved, then drove back across the Atchafalaya Basin to Baton Rouge . It seemed a lot faster than when I had driven from Baton Rouge to Ville Platte, but maybe that was because I was looking forward to getting there. I am nothing if not goal oriented. I checked into the Riverfront again and was nursing a Dixie beer in the lobby bar at six-thirty when Lucy Chenier walked in wearing a rose blazer over a clay-colored blouse and tight jeans. Two businessmen at a little round table watched her walk in. So did the bartender. She smiled when she saw me and her eyes seemed to fill the room. She offered her hand. "Did you satisfy your urge for local cuisine, or are you still feeling adventurous?"
I said, "Adventure is my middle name."
She smiled wider, and her teeth and eyes sparkled, but maybe that was just me. "Then you're in for a treat."
Lucy waited while I paid the bar bill, then we went out to her car. She was driving a light blue Lexus 400 two-door coupe. The sport model. It was clean and sleek and had been freshly washed. There was an ATT car phone, and the small backseat was littered with CDs, mostly k. d. lang and Reba McEntire. She looked good behind the wheel, as if she and the car were comfortable together. "Nice," I said.
She flashed the laugh lines, pleased. Lucy Chenier drove cleanly and with authority, very much the way I imagined she practiced law or played tennis, and pretty soon we turned into a great warehouse of a building with streams of people going in and coming out. Ralph Kacoo's. She said, "Let me warn you. The decor is
"Why, yes. Have we met?"
I told her no. I said that her shop had been recommended and that I was browsing for something for my wife, but if I had any questions I would be sure to ask. She told me to take my time and she returned to her stock. I browsed around the store another few minutes, then let myself out, walked to a pay phone on the other side of the square, and dialed Lucy Chenier. I said, "Well, I've done it again."
"Tied your laces together and tripped?" Maybe she had a laugh button, after all.
I said, "I have found a gentleman named Monroe Johnson. Thirty-six years ago on Jodi Taylor's birthday, his wife, Pamela Johnson, delivered a baby girl. They gave the child up for adoption. I saw his adult daughter, a woman named Edie Boudreaux, and she is Jodi's spitting image."
Lucy said, "You've done all this in two days?"
"It is not for nothing that I am the World's Greatest Detective."
"Perhaps you are." She sounded pleased.
"Also, Rebenack found them for me." I told her what I had found in his office.
"Oh." She didn't sound as happy about that.
I said, "I still don't know what Rebenack's interest in all this might be, but if these people are, in fact, Jodi's biological family, Edie Boudreaux should be able to provide whatever medical information Jodi wants." I gave her Bogart. "So it's all yours, shweet-heart."
"Was that Humphrey Bogart?"
Some people are truly cold.
She said, "The next step is to approach these people. Perhaps we can figure out a plan of action over dinner."
I said, "Is this an invitation, Ms. Chenier?"
"It is, Mr. Cole, and I advise you to accept. There may not be another."
"Dinner sounds very nice, thank you."
"Where are you?"
"Eunice. The family lives here."
She said, "Can you be back at the Riverfront and ready to be picked up by six-thirty?"
"I think I can manage." If I grinned any wider I'd probably split my gums.
"Good. I'll see you then." She paused, and then she said, "Good work, Mr. Cole."
I hung up, went to my car, and sat there with the grin until a guy in a Toyota flatbed yelled, "Hey, pumpkinhead! You're gonna catch bugs that way?"
Southern humor.
Chapter 8
I went back to the motel in Ville Platte, showered, shaved, then drove back across the Atchafalaya Basin to Baton Rouge . It seemed a lot faster than when I had driven from Baton Rouge to Ville Platte, but maybe that was because I was looking forward to getting there. I am nothing if not goal oriented. I checked into the Riverfront again and was nursing a Dixie beer in the lobby bar at six-thirty when Lucy Chenier walked in wearing a rose blazer over a clay-colored blouse and tight jeans. Two businessmen at a little round table watched her walk in. So did the bartender. She smiled when she saw me and her eyes seemed to fill the room. She offered her hand. "Did you satisfy your urge for local cuisine, or are you still feeling adventurous?"
I said, "Adventure is my middle name."
She smiled wider, and her teeth and eyes sparkled, but maybe that was just me. "Then you're in for a treat."
Lucy waited while I paid the bar bill, then we went out to her car. She was driving a light blue Lexus 400 two-door coupe. The sport model. It was clean and sleek and had been freshly washed. There was an ATT car phone, and the small backseat was littered with CDs, mostly k. d. lang and Reba McEntire. She looked good behind the wheel, as if she and the car were comfortable together. "Nice," I said.
She flashed the laugh lines, pleased. Lucy Chenier drove cleanly and with authority, very much the way I imagined she practiced law or played tennis, and pretty soon we turned into a great warehouse of a building with streams of people going in and coming out. Ralph Kacoo's. She said, "Let me warn you. The decor is
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