The New Iberia Blues (Dave Robicheaux 22)

“Not for certain.”

But there was something he was not telling me.

“Where was his Subaru when you left?”

“I didn’t see it. That doesn’t mean anything, though.”

“Does he drive a black SUV sometimes?”

“He has access to them. We rent a number of them. Look, maybe he was out. He’s got a girlfriend or two. Locals. Sometimes they drop him off and he lets them tool around in his convertible. He lives a bachelor’s life.”

“He’s hunting on the game farm?” I said.

“No. This is harassment, Dave. You’ve got the wrong guy. You may not like to hear this, but Antoine is not the evil bastard he pretends he is.”

“He fooled me.”

“He majored in sackcloth and ashes.”

“Sell it to someone else, Des.”

“This is why I don’t live here anymore. You taint every beautiful thing in your lives and put it on outsiders. Y’all would strip-mine Eden if the price was right.”

“Then why make your films here?” I said, my heart thudding.

“Louisiana is anybody’s blow job,” he replied. “You can buy it for chump change.”

I closed the phone and looked across Weeks Bay to where I had first seen the body of Lucinda Arceneaux floating with her arms spread on the cross, her hair undulating like serpents around her throat. Then I went back inside, the wind whistling in my ears.

“You’re out of luck, partner,” I said to Butterworth. “Desmond doesn’t back you up. Your bedroom door was closed when he left yesterday morning, but your car was gone.”

“Because I gave it to a lady friend to use,” he said.

“Des mentioned that as a possibility,” I said. “Who is she?”

“A lady who works in a blues joint.”

“A singer?” I said.

“Yes.”

“What’s her name?”

“Bella Delahoussaye.”

I kept my face empty.

“You got it on with her?” Bailey asked him.

“What is this?” he said.

“You know how it is out here in the provinces,” I said. “Family values, total abstinence, prayer meetings, Friday-night lights and such. We try to set the bar.”

“I realized that the first time I went to a cockfight in Breaux Bridge,” he said.

“Is there anything in your room you want to tell us about before we find it?” I said. “Hallucinogens, uppers, China white?”

He twisted his neck, his skin pulling tight on his face like a turtle’s. “You’re behind the times. What was the name of the deputy who was killed?”