Swan Peak (Dave Robicheaux 17)

I think you’re a duplicitous man, Mr. Nix?”

Troyce’s gaze drifted to Jamie Sue and remained there for a beat. “I’m a founding company officer in a corporation that builds contract prisons. Right now I’m on medical leave from my job. But that don’t mean I’m necessarily off the clock,” he said. “I think we’ve got what some call commonalities of interest.”

“I think I’ve had all of this I can stand,” Jamie Sue said. She set down her drink and walked out of the room.

La-de-da, Miss Poopah, Candace said to herself.

Ridley Wellstone lifted himself up on his braces and looked at his brother. “You clean this up,” he said, and clanked down a hallway toward a study filled with shelves of books.

Now only Candace, Troyce, Sonny Click, and Leslie Wellstone remained in the room. “Sonny, would you wait outside?” Leslie said.

“Beg pardon?” Click said.

“Outside,” Leslie repeated. “There’s a rainbow up in the hills. See, right up there where it’s green from the rain. Why don’t you go into the yard and enjoy the view?”

“The man said he was hooked up with a lot of money down in Texas. What was I supposed to say? ‘Wipe your horse’s ass with it’?” Sonny Click said.

“You did exactly the right thing. You run along now, and don’t worry about a thing.”

Click got up from his chair, shame-faced, the top of his forehead shiny with hair oil. He opened the French doors and stepped onto the patio, trying to appear composed and natural.

Leslie Wellstone took a peppermint from a glass container on the coffee table and stuck it in his mouth. He did not offer one to Candace or Troyce. He cracked the mint on his molars. “Care to tell me the true nature of your errand?”

Troyce lifted one finger toward the French doors. “That fellow driving the mower across your lawn? It was me what busted up his face on the rim of a toilet bowl,” he said.

“My,” Leslie said.

“I done that ’cause he was disrespectful to Miss Candace. He also told me he might take me down in pieces. He don’t strike me as overly religious in nature.”

“What’s the purpose of your visit, sir?”

Troyce removed the booking-room photo of Jimmy Dale Greenwood from his shirt pocket and handed it to Leslie Wellstone. “You know this old boy?”

“Oh, yes,” Leslie said.

“He’s around here somewhere, ain’t he?”

“Possibly,” Leslie said, returning the photo to Troyce.

“Either he is or he ain’t.”

“What do you plan to do with him?” Leslie asked.

Troyce kept his eyes locked on Wellstone’s and didn’t answer.

“You’re that serious about him?” Leslie said.

“We got us a mutual interest, is the way I see it.”

“I don’t believe that’s the case at all. What do you think, Ms. Sweeney? You seem like a nice young woman. Do you understand what Mr. Nix is suggesting?”

“No,” she said.

“You don’t?” he said.

“It’s not my business.”

His eyes roved over her face, her mouth and throat, dropping briefly to her breasts. “Well, it’s been a pleasure meeting you all. Perhaps you can come back another time. We’re having friends over for a late lunch.”