Read Online Wolfsbane by William W. Johnstone - Free Book Online Page A

Sheriff?”
    Confusion passed over the sheriffs face. “No, Madame, I really don’t.”
    She smiled. “You have lived in this parish long?”
    â€œAbout twenty years, Madame. My father moved here from Vermillion Parish.”
    â€œAh,” Victoria said. “Well . . . my husband was not well liked in this parish, Sheriff.” She waved her hand, indicating the mansion, the grounds, Janette. “We are not well liked.”
    Sheriff Vallot remained silent. He knew almost nothing about the Bauterre family. Nobody ever said anything about them. Some . . . tiny bit of memory flashed through his brain, moving too quickly to be seized. Something his father had said just days before he died.
    â€œYou know, of course, how my husband died?” Victoria asked.
    â€œNo, Madame. I do not know.”
    â€œThe records . . . ?”
    â€œThere are no records,” Sheriff Vallot said. “The courthouse burned some years ago. A very mysterious fire, I’m told.” He smiled. “I was only four at the time.”
    A child, Victoria thought. “Yes, I remember hearing about that.” She looked at Janette; her grandchild was poised on the edge of her chair. Victoria’s smile was not pleasant. “My husband was murdered in 1934, Sheriff.” Janette’s eyes widened. “His body was taken to the local forgeron’s shop and burned to ash, the ashes buried in a steel box.”
    â€œMon Dieu!” the sheriff blurted.
    Janette was pale.
    â€œThe steel box was sealed in concrete at the cemetery,” Victoria finished.
    â€œWere the murderers caught and punished?” Sheriff Vallot asked.
    Madame Bauterre laughed. “How does one punish an entire village?”
    â€œ1934,” Sheriff Vallot said quietly. “Victor Cargol would have been in office then.” Briefly, his eyes touched those of the old woman. His eyes quickly fell away.
    â€œYes,” Victoria said. “There are those who still maintain—I am sure—that it was my husband who killed Sheriff Cargol.”
    â€œDid he?” Vallot asked.
    She shrugged. “I cannot say. I was not there when Cargol was killed.” A slight movement of her fingers dismissed the sheriff. “Good day, Sheriff. Do come back when you have something of substance to report, bon? Sylvia? Please see Sheriff Vallot to the door.”
    Â 
    Sheriff Vallot drove to the offices of the local paper and checked all the papers published in 1934. But the papers from October and November of 1934 were missing. He asked the owner/editor, Eli Daily, about the missing newspapers.
    Eli shrugged. “I don’t know, Edan. They’ve been missing since I took over from my dad in ’65.”
    â€œWho would know about them?”
    Eli shrugged; did not appear to be terribly interested. “My father, I suppose.”
    Sheriff Vallot waited, but the editor did not volunteer any information as to his father’s whereabouts.
    â€œYou mind telling me where I might find him this morning, Eli?”
    â€œIf he’s not home, he’s fishing.”
    â€œWant to ride out there with me?”
    â€œSure,” Eli replied, but Edan could detect some hesitation in his voice. And no enthusiasm at all.
    The sheriff and the editor found the elder Daily on - the banks of a bayou, engaged in his favorite pastime: fishing.
    â€œWhat happened in ’34?” the man said. “Oh, Germany invaded Poland; the war in Europe was heating up; Jews being persecuted. Let’s see, who won the World Series in ’34 . . . ?”
    â€œNo, sir,” Sheriff Vallot interrupted. “I mean, right here in Ducros Parish.”
    The old man grinned. “Well, that was the year Alon Sonnier was caught in the back seat of his Packard with Mayor Touchet’s wife. Fine-looking woman. Caught by some Boy Scouts coming back from a camping trip. I bet that really put the cap on that field