Alligator Moon

She tossed the name around in her mind. “Doesn’t sound familiar.”

“It was eight years ago.”

“I was twenty-four and finishing up my master’s in journalism at the University of Texas back then.”

“Benson kidnapped a ten-year-old girl in south Mississippi and killed her. Only he kept her alive for a few days, raped and tortured her repeatedly before he finally drowned her in the Pearl River.”

“Don’t tell me John Robicheaux got that guy off.”

“Not that time, but he had just six months earlier—won an innocent verdict on rape and murder charges against Benson in the death of a young teenager in Slidell.”

“Sonofabitch.”

“Yeah. That’s what a lot of people said. John didn’t say anything in his own defense, just gave up his practice and left town.”

“I don’t blame him for taking down his shingle and moving back to the swamp. I don’t see how he can live with himself.”

“He was a lawyer, Cassie. He did his job.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Don’t go all rigid and righteous on me. This is a big story, the kind that can get Crescent Connection the type of clout we’re looking for. And that will require your being friendly to the guy. Keep him talking to you.”

“In other words, you want me to suck up to him.”

“That’s one way of putting it. And that’s just the beginning. I want you to dig into every aspect of the situation. Find out who Dennis was dating, who he might have talked to about Ginny Flanders’s death, if he had a drinking or a drug problem. Snoop into every niche and corner of his life, or at least the life he had until the wee hours of Saturday morning.”

“That won’t be easy. The population of Beau Pierre is primarily Cajun. They’ll bond together against an outsider.”

“Then don’t be an outsider. Become a fixture in Beau Pierre. Get a room down there. Hang out with the locals. Make yourself available. There’s always someone who will talk.”

“You’re not serious about my renting a room down there, are you?”

“Serious as a street flooding in May. Keep me posted on everything. I’d like a couple of stories before Saturday’s print deadline. Hell, if this is as big as it sounds, we might even do a special issue on the ‘Beau Pierre Mystery.’ Sales numbers could swell by a hundred thousand. Dr. Guilliot. The Reverend Flanders’s dead wife. John Robicheaux’s past. And a possible murder. We’ve got it all.”

And Olson was going to start salivating any minute—which was reason enough to clear out of his office. She’d go home, pack a few things, then drive down to Beau Pierre and try to find a decent motel with a vacancy somewhere in the area.

But first she had a phone call to make.

Back in her office, Cassie called information and requested the phone number for Minden High School. She’d given up on the idea of joining her mother in Greece, but all the talk of scandals and murderous secrets was upping her apprehension level, probably unnecessarily so.

Her mother was perfectly fine, off with an old high school friend on the adventure of a lifetime. And at fifty-nine, it was about damn time.

Once she had the number, Cassie called the school and made her request.

“Could I ask why you need that information?”

“I have a lost mother,” she said, teasing, but was immediately sorry she’d put it that way. The words had an ominous ring to them and they seemed to hang in the air after she’d blurted them out.

She explained about the trip in as few words as possible, focusing on the fact that she couldn’t locate an itinerary. Then she gave them both her mother’s maiden name and Patsy David. “I’ll feel better if I can talk to my mother and be assured that the trip is going well. So if I can get a contact number for Patsy David, I’d really appreciate it.”

“I understand. I’d be worried half to death if it was my mother, but then she’s never gone farther than Shreveport without Dad. Did you check the Minden phone directory for a phone number for Patsy David?”

“I did. There was no such listing. That’s why I thought I’d see if you had some kind of alumnae records that include a current contact number.”

“We don’t that I know of, but I’m new here. Give me a few minutes and I’ll see what I can find out. Would you like for me to call you back?”

“No, that’s okay. I’ll hold.”

Cassie scribbled a few notes as she waited, her mind shifting back to John Robicheaux. She tried to picture him pleading a case in front of a jury, imagined that hard body in a suit, the tie a little loose around his neck, his dark eyes peering into those of the jurors.

“Are you certain you have that name right?”

“Patsy David, class of ’64. That’s her maiden name, but I understand she never married.”

“That’s right. Patsy David from the class of ’64 never married.”

“Do you have a current name or address for her?”

“Patsy David is dead, Ms. Pierson. She died in a car accident her senior year of high school.”

CHAPTER FOUR

CASSIE PICKED UP the postcard, this time checking the postmark. It had been mailed from Athens, Greece, on the fourteenth of May, five days after her mother had left Houston. She picked up the second one. Santorini. Mailed May 20.

Her mother had clearly lied about her traveling companion, but not her destination. But if she wasn’t with Patsy, who had she gone with and why had she felt the need to lie? Could this possibly be a romantic tryst far from the prying eyes of anyone who knew her?

Cassie tried to picture her mother in the arms of a man other than Butch Havelin. The image was too ludicrous to jell. But then, how much did she really know about her mother these days? She’d been so caught up in her own problems with Drake that she’d seldom gone home for visits and she couldn’t remember the last time she and her mother had actually had a conversation about anything more important than plans for holidays or a sale they were having at Nieman Marcus.

But, a lover? It was extremely unlikely.

The phone rang, startling Cassie from her troubled trance. She grabbed the receiver. Surely it was the school secretary calling her back to say everything she’d told her a few minutes ago was a mistake.

“Hello.”

“Is this Cassie Pierson?”

A male voice, rich with a Cajun accent. “Yes. How can I help you?”

“I understand from Lily and Robert you were in Beau Pierre yesterday asking questions about the Magnolia Restorative and Therapeutic Center.”

“I was. Who is this?”

“Dr. Norman Guilliot. I’m assuming you’re interested in the center as a reporter rather than a potential guest.”

“I’d like to do a story on Magnolia Plantation for the Crescent Connection. We’re a cutting-edge magazine that focuses…”

“I’m familiar with the magazine. If you’re coming out in the hopes of digging up dirt, then don’t waste your time. There is none.”