Creole Belle (Dave Robicheaux 19)

I peeled the tape off Alafair’s mouth and cut the ligatures on her wrists and ankles with my pocketknife. “Did you find Julie Ardoin?” she said.

“Yeah,” I said, looking back over my shoulder through the bars, not knowing whether she had witnessed Julie’s death.

“I couldn’t stop it,” she said. “I tried.”

“It’s not your fault, Alafair. They were planning to kill all of us.”

“Why do they hate us so?” she asked.

“Because we’re not like them,” I said. “Did you see Helen Soileau?”

“No. She’s here?”

“She’s being held in the kitchen. Do you know how many guys might be in there?”

“No, the only guys Gretchen and I saw were the fat one and the one with the grease in his hair.”

“Do you know where they might have any other guns?” I asked.

“No, they blindfolded us after they took us out of the park. I heard Varina’s voice, but I didn’t see her. Pierre came to the cell and watched us, but he didn’t say anything.”

“He did what?”

“He watched us like we were in a zoo. He was smiling. Alexis Dupree was standing behind him. Alexis said, ‘They’re attractive girls. Too bad they have to go up the chimney so soon.’”

“Keep Gretchen here,” I said. I hit Clete on the shoulder and pointed at the kitchen area. “How many rounds did you load in the magazine?” I said.

“The full thirty.”

“The two guys in the kitchen are dead as soon as we go in the door. We get Helen out of the freezer and take their guns and go aboveground.”

“What about Tee Jolie?”

“First things first,” I replied.

“Dave, I got to tell you something. I don’t know if I’m going crazy or not. I heard that song.”

“What song?”

“The one you’re always talking about. The one by what’s-his-name. You know, Jimmy Clanton. ‘Just a Dream’? That’s the title, isn’t it?”

“You didn’t hear that song, Clete.”

“I did. Don’t tell me I didn’t. I don’t believe in that kind of mystical mumbo jumbo, so I don’t make it up. It was calling us, Dave.”

I wasn’t interested anymore in

the year 1958 or the era that for me encapsulated everything that was wonderful about the place where I grew up. We had saved our daughters and now had the challenge of saving Helen Soileau from one of the worst fates a human being could experience—to wake inside total darkness, abandoned by the rest of the human race, the senses assaulted by a level of cold that was unimaginable.

Clete and I crunched over the broken glass down the hallway, past Tee Jolie’s bedroom, until we were at the painted-over metal doors that gave onto the kitchen. I looked at the stiff shape in his trouser pocket.

“What did you take out of that bathroom cabinet?” I said.

“Mouthwash,” Clete replied.

I looked at his eyes. They were flat, with no expression. “I’ll go in first,” I said. “Are you ready?”

He held the .357 upward. “Let’s rock,” he replied.