Kent Conwell - Tony Boudreaux 07 - The Swamps of Bayou Teche by Kent Conwell

Author:Kent Conwell [Conwell, Kent]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery: Thriller - P.I. - Louisiana
ISBN: 0803498586
Publisher: Thomas & Mercer
Published: 2007-08-03T00:28:00+00:00

I remember clearly Josepphine Hardy’s words. “My son is missing. I want him found. If he has been hurt or worse, then I will triple your fee to find those responsible.”

There was no question in my mind that I will continue.

On the way back to Maida, I called Marty with the information I had. “I’m certain the body is John Hardy, so I’ll pursue the case as a homicide.”

“Fine with me, Tony. Just cover your keister with them Louisiana police. They got a reputation for tossing folks in the can just to hear them rattle around”

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll cross all my T’s and dot all the I’s”

“And make me proud!” His favorite expression, and one that invariably drove me up the wall.

Before I visited Fawn Williams, I had Jack pull into a convenience store where I made a photocopy of the receipt I had taken from her Jeep a few nights earlier. I folded back the original into my wallet.

I blinked twice when Fawn Williams opened the door of her apartment. Slender and curvaceous with rich auburn hair falling over her honey-colored shoulders and full lips matching the color of her shiny hair, she was, unlike Laura Palmo had surmised, anything but over the hill.

And, she, along with probably hundreds of others, fit the vague description given me by old Jean Baptiste at Venable’s Convenience Store-red hair, dusky complexion, and shapely. In fact, the outline the old Cajun had sketched in the air with the shrimp deveiner failed to do her justice. He should have curved in and out just a little more.

Fawn lifted an eyebrow warily when I introduced myself. She shook her head and started to close the door, but when I blurted out that I knew she had attempted to blackmail John Hardy, she hesitated, then reluctantly invited me in. “Blackmail is a harsh word, Mr. Boudreaux” Her words were edged with ice.

“Just repeating what I was told, Miss Williams”

“Probably from Laura Palmo”

I grinned. “I did speak with her.”

“I’ll bet,” she sneered.

In my job I’ve dealt with many ladies of the evening, both retired and currently employed, and one thing that I discovered quickly was that not a one of them wore a scarlet letter on her chest. In fact, most of them were charming, excellent conversationalists, and bubbling with charisma, qualities essential to maintaining a lucrative clientele.

Her apartment was tastefully decorated with earlyAmerican appointments, none of which appeared cheap. She indicated a tweed-covered couch with white ruffles about the base. With a weary sigh, she plopped down in an adjoining chair and remarked. “I figured John was finished with me. What does he want now?”

The question caught me by surprise. Either she was a clever, cool liar or she was as innocent as the Vestal Virgins. I had not decided just how much I should tell her, so I just played it by ear. “He’s missing. That’s why I’m here, Miss Williams.”

She pursed her lips and arched an eyebrow. Her response was cutting. “You’ve come to the wrong person if you think I’ve seen him, Mr.

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