Black Cherry Blues (Dave Robicheaux 3)

“The what?”

“It’s not a time for humor, Dixie.”

“Go to a meet. Get your mind off it. They got his butt dead-bang. You’re out of it, boy.”

“You have them dead-bang when you weld the door on them.”

Finally I called Nygurski’s office. He wasn’t in, he had left no message for me, and when I called the Teton sheriff’s office a deputy there refused to talk with me. I had become a spectator.

I sat down at the kitchen table and started buffing my loafers again.

“While you were gone yesterday I put all Clete’s stuff in the basement,” Dixie Lee said. “Was that all right?”

“Sure.”

“He’ll probably get out in a couple more days. He’s got one rib that’s broke bad, though. The doc says he’s got ulcers, too.”

“Maybe he’ll go back to New Orleans and get started over again.”

“There was something funny in his jeep.”

“What’s that?” But I really wasn’t listening.

“A pillowcase. With sand in it.”

“Huh.”

“Why would he put sand in a pillowcase?”

“I don’t know.”

“He must have had a reason. Clete never does anything without a reason.”

“Like I say, I don’t know.”

“But it’s funny to do something like that. What d’you think?”

“I don’t care, for God’s sakes. Dixie, cut me some slack, will you?”

“Sorry.”

“It’s all right.”

“I just thought I’d get your mind off of things.”

“Okay.”

“I want to see you loosen up, smile a little bit, start thinking about Louisiana, let them people handle it.”

“I’ll do all those things. I promise,” I said, and I went into the bathroom, washed my face, then waited out on the front porch until it was time for Alafair to get out of school.

But he was right. I was wired, and I was thinking and acting foolishly. In finding the bodies of the Indians I had been far more successful than I had ever thought I would be. Even if the FBI or the locals didn’t find the Tokarev, Mapes would still remain the prime suspect in the murder because of motive and Dixie Lee’s testimony, and he could be discredited as a prosecution witness against me in Louisiana. No matter how it came out, it was time to pack our bags for New Iberia.

And that’s what I started doing. Just as the phone rang.

“Mr. Robicheaux?” a woman said.

“Yes.”