Chapter 3
CHAPTER 3
Kenneally got off the plane and headed to retrieve his bag at the luggage carousel, keeping an eye out for Remy Montagne. Hank had sent him Remy’s cellphone number and the two had texted briefly before he left Dulles International. Remy had been kind enough to send a photo of himself and Kenneally had done the same so they wouldn’t miss one another.
He’d just retrieved his suitcase when Remy texted he was waiting in his blue Silverado in the pickup line. So Kenneally hurried out the side door and found the vehicle straightway.
“This was nice of you to drive all the way into New Orleans to pick me up,” Kenneally said.
“I’m happy to do it. I was glad we were able to get a protector for Mayor Novak so quickly since my guys were unavailable,” Remy said. “Besides, I have a teething baby at home. I was glad to get out of the house this evening.”
“I feel sorry for your wife having to deal with that alone,” Kenneally said.
“She isn’t. She’s working. She’s deputy sheriff of Bayou Mambaloa. It’s her sister who has our little one and Aunt Chrissy eats it up. She has six of her own.”
“Six?”
“Oh yeah,” Remy said. “When I think that could have been me raising a brood with her if we’d stayed together back in high school… I shudder at the thought.”
Kenneally chuckled. “Wait, so you dated your wife’s sister in high school?”
“Briefly, but yeah. She broke it off, wanting more than to follow me into service. And neither one of us have regrets. She’s happy with the life she has with Alan Broussard. I’m more than happy that I found Shelby when I came back to Mambaloa.”
“Never married. Never had children,” Kenneally said.
“You don’t know what you missed out on, but there is still time,” Remy said as he maneuvered the truck through traffic and back onto the highway toward the bayou road. “I brought you a service weapon and two shot guns, different types for use out in the bayou. We have a stocked arsenal. Swede said you were coming with your own tech, but if you need anything the drive between your bayou and mine is less than an hour.”
“Okay. Good to know. And what do people do for entertainment?” Kenneally asked.
“It’s almost Christmas and every town in Louisiana has their own traditions. There will be plenty of activities going on to keep you occupied when you’re not on duty,” Remy assured him. “What are you going to do for a set of wheels?”
“I’m not sure yet,” he said. “I thought I’d get a rental at the airport, but then you offered to pick me up and drive me over to Bayou Dixie. I’ll just wait and see what the situation is once I meet up with the mayor there and then decide.”
“Okay. If you need help getting something, let me know,” Remy turned off the highway toward Dixie and it wasn’t long before they were coming into the town proper.
They passed several homes on the way before the street turned into shop after shop along the main strip into town. Every street post was decorated for Christmas, the shop doors with wreaths hung or their windows painted with seasonal scenes.
Kenneally gave him the mayor’s address and he drove him to the little house where she lived. The house was lit up like it was the fourth of July with white, red and green on the outside with her front porch wrapped with twinkle lights. A wreath of greenery and a big bow hung on her front door.
“Dixie has a light festival every year,” Remy said as he pulled into the driveway. “Among other festivities. But be sure to swing over to Mambaloa if you get the chance to enjoy ours as well.”
“I’ll try,” Kenneally said, getting out of the truck.
The front door opened and an attractive brunette stepped out and waved to them. Despite the jeans and cardigan, she wore, he could tell she had a nice figure by the way the knit fabric clung to her slim body. His eyes stayed on her longer than they should and he forced himself to look away.
“Good evening, Gertrude,” she called to the woman in the yard next door who was letting her poodle do its business as she came down the three steps to the sidewalk.
“Good evening, mayor,” the woman called back, not taking her eyes off of him or Remy as her dog jerked its leash wanting to move on.
“You must be, Ami,” Kenneally said.
“I am.”
“I’m Kenneally and this is Remy from Bayou Mambaloa.”
“Remy,” Ami said. “Good to put a face with a voice. Thank you for getting this arranged.”
“It was nothing really,” Remy assured. “Just a phone call to Hank really.”
“Still, you’re both here this evening when I called only this morning,” she said. “I made a pot a gumbo and cornbread. Won’t you stay for dinner?”
“I really should be getting back to Mambaloa. I always have dinner with my wife when she gets off work at night. She’s the deputy sheriff over there.”
“Then I won’t keep you,” Ami said. “If Bergeron gives her any trouble tell her to give me a call, he’s my cousin.”
“Didn’t know that, ma’am,” Remy said. “Now I really wish one of my men could have taken your case.”
“I’m sure, Mr. Kenneally is more than capable,” Ami said, glancing in his direction and smiling at him.
“That he is,” Remy said. “Hank recommended him personally.
For some reason, Kenneally felt uneasy by the look she gave him, as if she’d given him the once over in her look. Had he met muster in her eye? It was hard to tell.
“I’ll just get my things and you can be going,” he said to Remy.
“Sure,” Remy agreed and they both walked to the crew cab and unloaded the suitcase, duffle, gun cases, and box of ammunition as the last rays of the December sun vanished from the skyline. “If things get to the point that you need back up, be sure to call. We couldn’t take the case, but that doesn’t mean we won’t be able to drop whatever we’re doing and head over here.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Kenneally gathered up his gear to head toward the house. “Thanks again for the lift.”
“Stay safe,” Remy called, getting into his truck and backing out into the street before driving away.
Once they were alone, Kenneally looked at the attractive Ms. Novak. “Where should I stow my stuff?”
“Right. Come into the house and I’ll show you where you can get settled,” she said. “Has your day been as crazy as mine?”
“I doubt it,” he said. “I didn’t find out that someone wanted to kill me.”
Something in her direct gaze shifted to irritation as she held the front door open so he could enter. “You’re at the top of the stairs, first door on the right. Bathroom is across the hall. Clean towels and cloths are laid out on the vanity for you as well as a fresh bar of soap.”
“And your room is where?” he asked, stopping after three steps up.
“Downstairs, here, off from the living room.”
“Odd set up,” he said.
“It was my mother’s house. She didn’t need much space. The upstairs was for me when I visited,” she explained. “But after she got ill, I came home and moved in here with her and when she passed, I moved downstairs. Is there a problem with it?”
“No,” he said. “You down there while I’m upstairs will make for a difficult protection scenario, ma’am. That’s all, but I’ll work it out. I’ll keep you safe, regardless.”
“Of course.”
With that, he turned and hurried the rest of the steps under his burden, stowing his gear in the room, not taking time to unpack. He wanted to get back downstairs before it got any darker outside and check out the doors and windows to make sure they were securely locked tight. He grabbed a flashlight from his tech bag and headed down to do just that when he heard the sound of Christmas music coming from the living room below.
Lights twinkled on the artificial tree in the corner near the fireplace. The smell of gumbo wafted in from the kitchen and his stomach growled reminding him it had been hours since his last meal. He set to work checking the windows and hurried outside to check the perimeter.
Gertrude, her next-door neighbor was still outside walking her poodle and she followed him around back of the house keeping an eye on him, staying in her yard the whole time. She kept a good pace with her little dog trotting alongside her. “What are you doing?” she called. “Is there something wrong with the mayor’s house?”
“Nothing. Just checking the windows.” He turned the flashlight beam in her direction. “Are you home during the day?”
“Yes. Why do you ask?”
“Is there much traffic in the area? You’d notice if anyone came by the mayor’s place when she wasn’t home? Someone that shouldn’t be snooping about per se?”
“I’m not a busybody if that is what you are trying to get at,” Gertrude said, sounding indignant, “but I would notice if someone should be snooping around. Are you here because Tilda Jaynes was found dead this morning? And former mayor Judson Hawkins drowned last month, terrible accident that was out on the bayou?”
“Yes, both are terrible. But we can’t be too cautious with the new mayor, now can we?”
Her eyes widened in the dim light. “Of course.”
He placed one finger to his lips momentarily. “We don’t want to alarm anyone, but you do look like a trustworthy soul.”
“I am. I assure you. I am,” Gertrude said.
“Yes, that is why I am here. To make sure Mayor Novak is safe until we know what is going on. It’s just a precaution, of course.”
“Of course.” Gertrude gave him a wink. “My lips are sealed.”
“I’ll look forward to an update when you have something to report,” he said. She finally took her dog and went back in the house and he finished up outside, satisfied that all the windows were secure and even the backdoor was locked.
When he came back inside, Ami was setting the table in the dining room outside the kitchen and frowned at him. “What were you talking to Gertrude about? And was that you at the back door just now?”
“It was, I was checking to make sure the doors and windows were secure from intruders,” he explained. “I enlisted Gertrude in keeping watch over your home during the day. She came across as the busybody type even though she claimed not to be.”
“You pegged her right,” Ami said. “Do you think that was wise asking for her help?”
“I thought it would keep the questions down as to what I was doing here and she promised to keep it our secret,” Kenneally explained.
“Oh bother,” Ami muttered. “She’s the biggest gossip in Dixie.”
“Come again?”
“You heard me.”
He pulled out a chair and plopped down in it. “How was I to know that?”
“You weren’t,” she said. “Although, if you paid attention to my brief greeting with her, that might have given you a clue. I never say more to her than that on a regular basis.”
“I did say my being here was a precaution,” he added.
“Well, that is good.”
“And she promised her lips were sealed,” he said.
“Maybe she’ll keep her word,” Ami said going back into the kitchen. When she returned, she carried a soup tureen filled with the gumbo. Then she went back to the kitchen and came back with the plate of cornbread and glass pitcher of tea.
“I have sweet tea, but if you’d like something else to drink I can get it,” she said.
“That is fine,” he said.
“Are you certain? I don’t mind getting you something else?” she said. “Don’t folks from the north like their tea plain?”
“Some, but I grew up in the south,” he said. “I like my tea sweet.”
She sat with a smile. “Go ahead and help yourself.”
He ladled himself a few helpings of the chicken and shrimp gumbo into his soup bowl. The spices tempted him to hurry up and taste a spoonful before reaching for the cornbread from the plate.
“Hmm,” he murmured. “This is good.”
“I’m glad you like it,” she said, helping herself to the gumbo. “It was my grandmother’s recipe. The cornbread too.”
“I bet she was a good cook.”
“She was, so was my mother,” Ami said.
“That’s why you are,” he added.
Her cheeks flushed. “Thank you.”
He finished off his first bowl and helped himself to a second and another piece of cornbread before he spoke. “I suppose we should talk about your routine and how my tagging along will fit into it.”
“I hadn’t really thought much about it,” she admitted. “Do you have to come to work with me? Do you think I will be in danger seeing to my daily tasks?”
“We really don’t know, now do we?” he replied.
“No, we don’t.” She pushed her unfinished bowl away. “Then maybe you want to see the note that was left with Tilda’s body. It’s only a photo that I snapped at the medical examiner’s office when he showed it to me, but he thought I should see it.”
“That would be a start,” Kenneally said.
Ami picked up her cellphone and scrolled through her photos until she came to what she was looking for and showed it to him. “It was left with Judson Hawkins’ penis in Tilda’s jacket coat pocket. Her tongue was cut out, no telling where that will turn up.”
He dropped his spoon into his bowl, splashing gumbo over the side. “What? No one told me we were dealing with severed body parts. You don’t have photos of that do you?”
“Heavens no!”
“Thank God!” He wiped up the spilt liquid from the table with his napkin. “I’d like to talk to your sheriff tomorrow if I may.”
“I’ll give Tom a call,” she said. “Would you also like to meet with the medical examiner?”
He slowly stood and helped her clear the dishes from the table thinking about that. “Depends on what the sheriff tells me about the two murders. Do you think he will be forthcoming and transparent?
Ami shrugged. “I don’t see why not. It’s not like he has anything to hide, but if you feel he’s holding back let me know and I will speak with him.”
“Thank you,” Kenneally said.
Ami poured the uneaten gumbo from the tureen into the pot on the stove, put the lid on it, and then carried it the refrigerator. “I hope you like left overs,” she said. “We’ll be having this later in the week.”
“I don’t mind at all,” he said.
“I’ve tried cutting the recipe down, but it never turns out right,” Ami said. “So, I’ve found it is best to have left overs.”
“Nothing wrong with good left overs,” he said. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”
“I’m going to wrap up the cornbread and put the bowls in the dishwasher,” she said. “If you are tired from your trip, you can turn in for the night. I don’t mind at all. I normally leave for work around eight. I’ll give Tom a call and see if he can’t swing by before then for coffee and a chat with you. Breakfast around seven, then?”
“Sounds fine. Good night then,” he said and headed to the front door to double check it one last time even though he was certain he had locked it when he came in before he went upstairs.
Ami listened for footsteps on the stairs as she finished up in the kitchen and then she gave a sigh of relief. Alone again at last. She hadn’t realized she would feel so on edge having a man in the house with her. Especially a man as good looking as Mr. Kenneally. It was a sin that a man could look so good at his age, not that he was ancient, but he had to be in his forties, was so fit and strapping. If it wasn’t for the tell-tale signs of graying in his neatly trimmed beard or at his temples, she wouldn’t even think he was more than a few years older than Remy Montagne and he was definitely in his thirties.
When those two had stepped out of that truck she’d almost not dared go outside to greet them, but she couldn’t hide inside. It wouldn’t have been very hospitable of her.
She fanned herself with her hand and when that didn’t cool her off, opened up a cabinet and pulled down a glass and filled it with cool water, downing it. Feeling better, she stowed the empty glass in the dishwasher and left the kitchen, turning out the light and headed to her own bedroom for sanctuary after checking to make sure the front door was locked. It was.
She gave Tom a call asking him to come around in the morning before she got ready for bed and read for a while allowing her body to wind down from the day before turning out the light.
However, as soon as she was in the dark all she could think about was Tilda’s tongue being cut out and Judson’s severed penis being stuffed in her coat pocket with that note. Your Friend is Next.
Thank God that Kenneally was there to protect her. But could he protect her when they didn’t even know who the killer was?