Death of a Beauty Queen by Mallory Kane

Author:Mallory Kane
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Suspense
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2012-06-01T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

It took Dixon over two hours to drive up to Angola. On the way, he’d called Shively, hoping he still had the same number. He hadn’t talked to his old partner in several months.

After exchanging pleasantries, Dixon told Shively why he’d called. “You said something in your report about a couple of kids nipping at Innes’s heels.”

“Yeah,” Shively said. “There was always a lot of controversy about Innes—where he got all the money he seemed to have access to. Folks had basically two theories.”

Dixon could picture his partner counting off on his fingers. “One, Innes was a front for some truly wealthy SOB who didn’t want to get his hands dirty but liked the return on investment, or two, the money was coming from out of town. Some people thought it might be Tito Vega, who operated on the Mississippi Gulf Coast, but nobody was ever able to pin him down.”

“But Innes was pushing eighty back then. Who took over?”

“I don’t know. There were a couple of guys nipping at Innes’s heels. Seems like I heard they agreed to divide up the territory.” Shively paused. “I’ve got a buddy on the Gretna police force you could call. But seems like an

import from up north named Wasabe was bidding on Touro Bouligny and the Channel.”

“Wasabe?”

“Yeah. I forget his first name. Allen or Aaron or something like that. I think he owns an accounting firm somewhere on Tchoupitoulas. So,” Shively said, “what’s got you dredging up ancient history?”

Dixon explained as much as he could without giving Shively any specifics.

“You know, it’s odd,” Shively said. “That case was your first homicide, and it was nearly my last.”

Dixon knew exactly what Shively was talking about. A few months later, as he and Shively were working a faked suicide, Shively was shot. After he recovered, he sat at a desk for about a year, then retired.

“For some reason,” Shively went on, “it stuck with me. All that blood on the floors, the bed, the bathtub.”

“Yeah,” Dixon said, his mouth twisting wryly. “It stuck with me, too.”

After another minute or so of catching up, Dixon thanked Shively and hung up, promising to get by to see him and have a beer soon. It was after two by the time he found himself waiting at one of the tiny scarred tables in the visitation room.

When the guard brought T-Bo Pereau in, and he spotted Dixon, the wiry Cajun’s swarthy face turned a sickly green. He balked, but the guard half dragged him over and pushed him down in the chair.

Dixon met the guard’s eyes and angled his head dismissively, then turned to T-Bo. “Afternoon,” he said cheerily.

T-Bo was half-turned in his chair, not looking at Dixon. He tried to speak without moving his thin, pinched lips. “What you call me out here for, eh? Folks see me talking wit’ you, I’ll be dead for sure.”

“Then you might want to hurry up and tell me what I need to know.”

“I told you everything already. Dat’s all I know.

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