Crusader's Cross (Dave Robicheaux 14)

I studied her eyes. They were dark brown, like warm chocolate, possessed of visions and privy to voices and sounds that I believed only she saw and heard. They were the eyes of someone who would never be changed by therapy, analysis, Twelve-Step programs, religion, or medical treatment.

"Do you know what you did in your sleep last night?" she said.

"Nothing," I said.

"Have it your way. I don't kiss and tell," she said.

"This bullshit ends now, kiddo. The Robicheaux Fun House is officially closed. Thanks for fixing breakfast," I said, and dumped my food into a sack under the sink.

She took a half pint of gin from her purse, poured a three-finger shot into a glass, and drank it at the back door, staring in a desultory fashion at the yard. "Have you ever spent the spring in Paris? I fell in love there with a boy who was gay. My father hounded him without mercy. He drowned himself in the Seine," she said.

But I was all out of Purple Hearts and had decided that Honoria was going to leave of her own accord or be picked up by a cruiser. My determination suddenly dissipated when I looked out the front window and saw the Chalonses' handyman, with his son and Sister Molly next to him, turn into my driveway.

"I'm going to talk to some people out front. There's no need for you to leave right now," I said to Honoria.

"Too late, my love," she said. She walked out the front door and down the street toward the Shadows, her purse swinging from a shoulder string.

I stood on the gallery, barefoot, unshaved, looking down at Molly Boyle, my face burning.

"I should have called first, I guess, but Tee Bleu says he knows where the boat is," she said, speaking awkwardly and too fast, trying to hide her embarrassment at my situation.

"Which boat?" I said.

"The one the man with the gun was in. Tee Bleu says it's moored in a canebrake the other side of the drawbridge."

But I couldn't concentrate on her words. "There's a misunderstanding about what you just saw here. The lady who just left has some mental problems. I left my door unlocked and she —"

"I know who she is. You don't have to explain."

"No, hear me out. She hooked me up to my bed with my cuffs. I was trying to get her out of the house when you arrived."

"Locked you in your own handcuffs?"

"Right. I was asleep."

"I didn't mean to intrude. I thought you should know about the boat."

"You didn't intrude. Y'all come inside."

"No, we'd better run. Thank

you. It's a beautiful day, isn't it?"

She tried to smile over her shoulder as she got into her car.

Way to go again, Robicheaux, I thought, my stomach churning. "Give me ten minutes. I'd really appreciate it," I said.

I followed Molly and the handyman and his son to the drawbridge south of Molly's agency. The little boy pointed at a boat that had floated into a flooded clump of reeds and bamboo. I waded into the water and dragged the boat's hull up on the mudbank. The boat was old, made of wood, the stern printed with rust where the engine mounts had been removed. There were no tags or registration numbers of any kind on it. "What makes you think this was the man's boat, Tee Bleu?" I asked.

"It got blue paint on the front end," he replied.

"Thanks for telling me about this," I said.

"I seen the gun. I ain't made it up. Seen the man, too. He was old," he said.

"Y'all gonna dust the boat for fingerprints?" his father said.

"It doesn't work quite like that," I said.