Creole Belle (Dave Robicheaux 19)

But when she went to bed that night with her cell phone under her pillow, she didn’t feel like taking anything to the bank. Her dreams made her frown in her sleep, as though a hot red light were shining through her eyelids. She woke and opened the door and looked outside, although she wasn’t sure why. The trees above the cottage were thrashing in the wind, and lightning snapped across the heavens, the thunder so loud that the surface of the bayou trembled as though the earth were shaking.

It was 12:14 A.M. when her cell phone vibrated under the pillow. She sat on the side of the mattress and opened the phone and placed it against her ear, knowing that only one person would call her at this hour. “Raymond?” she said.

“You’re close. Call me Raymond’s successor. I’m talking to Caruso, right?” an unfamiliar voice said.

“No, you’re talking to Gretchen Horowitz.”

“I’ve seen you around Key West. When we get our business out of the way, I’d like to hook up with you.”

“I hope you’re imitating a jerk. Because if you’re not, you’ve got a real problem. Where’s Raymond?”

“Swimming to Havana.”

“Did you hurt Raymond?”

“Me? I don’t hurt anybody. I make phone calls. If I was you, I’d listen and stop asking questions.”

“I didn’t catch your name.”

“Marco.”

“You don’t sound like a Marco. How about I call you asshole instead?”

“We’ll talk about that in a minute. We’ve got another job for you.”

“I told Raymond, and now I’ll tell you. I’m in the antique business full-time.”

“Wrong. You’re in the life, and that’s where you’re gonna stay. You’ve got three targets. Guess who they are.”

She had left the blinds open, and she could see the leaves of the live oaks flickering against the sky and hear thunder rumbling in the south. Across the bayou a large, thick-haired dog had wound its chain around an iron pole and was trying to run to its doghouse, clanging the chain taut each time it tried. The dog was wet and trembling with fear. Gretchen cleared her throat before she spoke. “I think you’ve got a hearing problem,” she said. “I’m out. I wish I’d never been in. But I’m out. That means don

’t push your luck.”

“This is the threesome: Clete Purcel, Dave Robicheaux, and the daughter, Alafair. If you want to, you can clip Robicheaux’s wife for a bonus. You can make it look like an accident, or you can cowboy the bunch. It’s your call. But Purcel and Robicheaux and his daughter all go down.”

“Who’s the client?”

“It don’t work that way, Gretchen.”

“Don’t call me again. Don’t send anybody else here, either. If you do, I’ll cancel their ticket, and then I’ll cancel yours.”

“We dropped by your mother’s place in Coconut Grove. I’ll put her on. Be patient with her. She’s a little woozy. I don’t think she’s used to China white.” He took the phone from his mouth. “Hey, Candy. It’s your daughter. She wants your advice about something.”

Gretchen heard someone fumbling with the phone, dropping it once and picking it up. “Hello?” said a woman’s voice in slow motion.

“Mama?”

“Is that you, baby? I was so worried. Are you having a good time in New Orleans?”

“Listen to me, Mama. You need to get away from these guys. Don’t let them give you any more dope.”

“I’m in recovery now. I just shoot twice a day. Marco said you wanted some advice.”

“Mama, answer by saying yes or no. Are you in Miami?”

“Of course I’m in Miami. That’s where I live. That’s where you bought me the house.”

“You’re not at the house now. You’re somewhere else. I need to know where that is,” Gretchen said. “Tell me where it is without them knowing. Can you do that, Mama? Tell me how long you were in a car before you got to where you are now.”