Light of the World (Dave Robicheaux 20)

“Sometimes I’m not sure.”

“Don’t ever say that to me again,” he said.

“Why do you talk to me like that?”

“Because sometimes I feel like it.”

“You really know how to treat a girl, Clete. Fuck you,” she said.

ALBERT CAME DOWN to the cabin Saturday morning and told Gretchen someone had left a message for her on his answering machine. The call was not from Asa Surrette but from a woman who sounded as though she were reading a prepared statement. “This is for Gretchen Horowitz from her friend up on the ridge,” the female voice said. “You’re correct about me having written a novel. Maybe Mr. Hollister might like to read it sometime. He might even like it. I would also like to talk with you about the biopic. Will Alafair be working on the project? Take care of yourself, munchkin. I think you and I might have great fun together.”

The woman gave a number and broke the connection. Gretchen jotted down the number and turned around. Unbeknownst to her, Albert had been standing two feet behind her. “What was that about?” he said.

“A project I’m working on,” she replied.

“We need to understand something, Miss Gretchen. I don’t impose my way on others. But my name was used in that message. I want to know what this is about.”

“Asa Surrette,” she replied.

“You’re going to bait him out of his hole, are you?”

“If I can.”

“What are you going to do when you catch up with him?”

“That’s up to him.”

“You have a gift. It comes from a source outside of yourself. It was given to you for a reason, and eventually, that reason will manifest in your life. Don’t let the world taint it or take it from you. Men like Surrette despise you for the talent and intelligence that were given to you for a higher purpose.”

“I doubt if a guy like that dwells on the arts and humanities, Mr. Hollister.”

“You’re wrong. The Surrettes of the world despise you because the Creator gave you the gift and not them.”

“Surrette has always operated in rural areas that lack sophisticated law enforcement,” she said. “That means he’s an amateur and he’ll slip up.”

“Don’t bet on it,” he replied.

WITHOUT TELLING CLETE, Gretchen drove down the road to the two-lane highway, where she could get cell service, and dialed the number the woman had left on Albert’s machine. She believed the number belonged to a stolen phone and that Surrette probably paid someone to leave the message for him. The question was who would pick up on the other end. She didn’t have to wait long to find out.

“Is that you, Gretchen?” a man’s voice said.

“It sure is.”

“Did you tell the police I contacted you?”

“I’m not a big friend of the cops.”

“I understand you were a bad girl in Florida.”

“Not so much. Think you’d like to make a movie with me?”

“Ever hear of a guy named Bix Golightly?” he asked.

“I’ve heard the name.”

“Bix Golightly from New Orleans?”

“What about him?” she said.