A Murder in Longhand by Lisa Pevey

Author:Lisa Pevey [Pevey, Lisa]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2024-04-06T00:00:00+00:00

8

The next morning’s weather turned out to be spectacular, and I could hardly contain my excitement as I sipped my coffee and looked out over the lake towards the renovated cabins. While I did, I briefly scanned the resume that Xavier had given me. It contained no big revelations. Just that Leona was in her late twenties, and had bounced around from job to job quite a bit in south Louisiana, working mostly in the service industry. There was also a gap in her employment history that she simply listed as “personal reasons” about a year ago. Probably wise of her not to go into details regarding her stint in rehab. Then, of course, there was her current address, which just so happened to be a trendy new spot right here in the town of Monchac. I knew that this gift Xavier had given me was probably nothing more than him just throwing me a bone. But I didn’t want this to be over. Not until I’d done everything I could.

Cherie was not about to let me go unaccompanied, and boldly declared that today would be the first day she left Robespierre and Serif alone together on the boat, an arrangement I had quite a few misgivings about. But she claimed they had come to actually like one another, and had mutually promised her to be on their best behavior. All I could do was take her word for it.

We met up with Xavier and took a walk down the wooden, elevated walkway. We wended our way through the ancient cypress swamp, past the graveyard and the patchy repair work that had been done to the boards. Today’s stroll was slightly less romantic than usual, but I didn’t mind so much.

“Your auntie really used to date Gio DeLuca?” Cherie asked.

“And he broke her heart. Would you believe that? Seems like if you pull a single strand of thread around here you find out it is connected to a hundred people.”

“That’s about right, Mila. But dang, he just don’t seem much like her type,” Cherie said.

We stuck to the wooden path through the swamp until the three of us came to the lonely group of ex-fishing camps. Though, with fresh siding and windows, slick coats of paint, and shining tin roofs, the camps now looked far more cute and trendy than utilitarian. I doubted anyone had gutted a fish inside them any time recently, anyway.

We came down off of our path and wandered a bit. As the homes themselves were perched high above the flood line, we found ourselves walking among the forest of creosote poles that supported them. We had to crane our necks to try and catch the address of each one. The particular place we were seeking turned out to be nestled right in the middle of the cluster, and we climbed the steps that led from the lake shore to the camp.

We found a cozy cottage with an oversized front deck that seemed to be communal to several of the residences.

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