Chapter 7

DIGGING FOR CLUES

“Morning, sir,” Placide said when I slid in shotgun the next morning.

“Let’s ditch the formalities, Placide. Call me H from now on, OK?”

“OK, H.”

“Much better. I need to stop at a pay phone before we head to Lafayette. I’m afraid Aunt Ethel’s phone could be bugged.”

“Your daddy and me developed a code after that rig accident,” Placide said. “‘Let’s grab a cuppa’ meant, I’ve got a tail. ‘See you later’ meant, pick me up at the condo right away. Course we never got a chance to use none before…”

“That confirms that he knew the inundation was no accident. Jot some of those down for me when you get a chance, Placide. We might be able to use them in emergencies.”

He pulled into a 7/Eleven with a phone booth on the perimeter. “You can get down here and call, sir.”

“H,” I corrected him, as I stepped out and dug the slip of paper and some loose change out of my pocket. I instinctively scanned the area, though I knew Placide was way ahead of me. Just a few old pickup trucks and a middle-aged woman getting into an Olds 88. I dialed Gremillion’s number, a 504-number indicating the Baton Rouge-New Orleans area. I plunked in a handful of change, then dialed the extension at the prompt.

On the third ring, a sing-song voice came on the line: “Department of Natural Resources, Louisiana Gas and Oil Resources.”

“This is Major Doucet, Harvey Doucet’s son. I’d like to speak to Mr. Gremillion, please.”

“Hold a moment, sir.”

After a mind-numbing Muzak rendition of “Yellow Submarine,” Gremillion picked up.

“Major Doucet? Maurice Gremillion, here,” said the deep voice at the other end. “How can I help you?”

“Mr. Gremillion, I believe my father Harvey might have set up a meeting with you shortly before his death?”

“He did indeed. We were all shocked at the news. You have my sympathy, Major.”

“Thank you. Look, the reason I’m calling is to ask if you’d consider keeping that meeting with me instead. I have some things I’d like to discuss with you.”

“I’d be happy to meet with you. I have some things I’d like to share with you, too, but I’m tied up the rest of this week. Where are you located?”

“I’m in New Iberia, but I can come to your office. Or meet you anywhere you’d like.”

“I have a meeting in Lake Charles next Thursday. Could we meet, say 10 AM, at the Little Capitol there in Henderson? That’s my usual rest stop.”

“That’s great, thanks. I’ll be there.” Damn, I thought. A whole week wasted, with no weeks to spare.

When Placide and I pulled in behind Aunt Ethel’s Grand Prix outside Father’s condo, no thugs were in sight. I wondered with no little satisfaction how long they had sat here waiting for me before they realized I wouldn’t be back. And what had they planned if I showed up? Placide took the keys from me, then combed the car under the frame, under the hood, under the dash, before he started it up. “All clear, H. Follow me,” he said when I took his place behind the wheel.

Dumont greeted us with a smile. “I found a decent rear bumper on a ’70 Grand Prix that was in a head-on. Looks almost new. I got the guys to pull it and clean it up this morning. Another Grand Prix had a decent driver’s side door. Come take a look.” He walked us over to where the parts lay in the garage. “We’ll match the color on that door and get it painted.

“Perfect,” I said. “How long will it take to install them?”

“Well, for a Doucet, I can get right on it. Let’s say a week from today, around lunch time. Will that work?”

“Sounds good. We’ll be here.”

I joined Placide in Father’s car, and said, “Placide, I’ve been wondering if you’d consider being my driver and bodyguard? I know Father trusted you with his life, and I’d like to do the same if you’ll agree, now that I need a bodyguard. Of course, Earlene will keep you on the same payroll. You interested?”

“Yessir, H. I’d be glad to,” he said, grinning as though his life had been given renewed purpose. I knew he missed Father, but maybe teaming up with me would be second best. And I was getting used to having him and his piece next to me, especially now that the stakes had gone up. I had to qualify regularly with an M-16, so I could shoot with the best of them. But I never carried a gun. I might have to start, but I wasn’t excited about the proposition. Gun battles were not in any of my immediate plans. I was pretty sure any thug would think twice before messing with Placide, though. His reputation as a marksman preceded him.

When we got to Oka Chito, I leaned across Placide to greet my favorite wannabe cop through the driver’s window.

“Well, lookie here. If it ain’t Doucet. Now what?”

“I have an appointment to see Mr. Morton at 1100 hours. This is my driver, Placide.” I was beginning to enjoy getting under the guy’s skin.

“Oh. So, is that a standing appointment, now?” he sneered through clenched teeth. He seemed to be enjoying our little tête à têtes, too.

“So far, it’s just for today, but no guarantees. Who knows what tomorrow might bring?”

“Go on. Go on,” he growled, waving me through the barrier. At least he was getting used to me, and no one had ordered him yet to keep me out. And I was getting used to being growled at.

It was already a few minutes after 1100 hours when I grabbed the manila folder and hurried to the office door. Placide stayed behind in the vehicle.

“Good morning, Babette,” I announced cheerfully when I entered the lobby.

“Mr. Morton has been expecting you,” she said, smiling up at me. She buzzed his line, batting heavy black lashes in my direction. She must’ve missed class the day they taught subtlety, I thought. “He’ll see you now,” she said.

“Doucet,” Morton said when I walked into his office.

“Morton, sorry I’m a couple minutes late. Been a hectic morning.”

He didn’t respond but motioned me to take a seat and buzzed Babette.

“I’ve got that information you requested. Matherne’s first name is Dallas. He was a driller, one of your father’s own,” he said, looking self-satisfied. “Usually worked with Sid Ardoin, another driller, the guy you saw leaving last time you were here.”

In paraded Babette in her paint-on mini dress, hips undulating with every step she took in three-inch spikes, while I marveled at the wonders of women maneuvering stilettos. I just couldn’t understand how they did it. Or why, for that matter.

“Here you are, Sir,” she said, lowering her cleavage into Morton’s face to place a manila folder on his desk.

“Thank you, Babette. That’ll be all,” he replied, with a stomach-turning smirk. By God, that little lecher was “in lust” with her, I realized. Babette knew it, too, and used it to her advantage. Morton stuck his index finger into his shirt collar, as lightly clad hips gyrated back across the tile floor. His eyes never left her ass until the door closed behind her.

He turned his attention to me, not without some difficulty. “Ahem…yes. Here’s Matherne’s file. He’s been a driller with Doucet Drilling for about two years. Nothing outstanding. I didn’t see anything in there that could interest you.”

“Does it say where he was before he came to Doucet?”

“I didn’t notice. Any reason you singled Matherne out? Looks to me like an average employee.”

“No reason, really. I just heard he missed work the night of the inundation.”

“Hell, that don’t mean nothing,” he said. “Guys miss work all the time.” That was what the suit at Maybelle’s had said, word for word.

“Yeah, but from what I’ve heard, this was the only time except for his father’s funeral. Not significant, I’m sure. I just wanted to take a look.”

“Who’d you hear that from?”

“Oh, just two goons who’d rather I wasn’t nosing around.” No change of expression, but his blank affect convinced me he wasn’t surprised. I realized I had begun to suspect virtually everyone I met. I heard Midge’s voice in my head, saying, “Paranoid. You need help, H.” She was probably right about needing help, but things were becoming a little too coincidental. And I thought Father could have realized that, gotten nosy, and paid the ultimate price. I was hoping to escape that same outcome.

“I haven’t heard about any surveillance going on,” he responded after a pregnant pause.

“This is not your standard surveillance, I assure you. These guys want to hurt me.”

“Well, then, they aren’t any of our people, you can be sure.” Morton shrugged, looking down at his desk as if to dismiss me.

“Somehow that doesn’t make me feel any better, and I don’t imagine it would make me any less dead.”

“Anyway, Doucet,” he continued. “You can have a look through that file, but I’m afraid I can’t let it leave the building.”

“Thanks. I’ll just carry it out to the waiting room, if that’s OK. Let you get back to work,” I said. “One more question: Ever see a geological map of Oka Chito like this?” I plopped the map from Father’s safety deposit box on the desk in front of Morton.

His jaw dropped noticeably when he saw it, but all he said was, “May I have this?”

“No. It was Father’s. I’ll let you make a copy, though.”

“Yes, thanks. Babette will do that for you.”

“What do you make of it?”

“It’s obviously an erroneous map,” he concluded too quickly.

“OK, then, Morton,” I said, standing to leave, with Dallas Matherne’s file in my hand.

“Just so you don’t leave with that file,” he said, placing his hands behind his head as he leaned his desk chair back.

I could feel Babette’s eyes following me when I returned to the corner chair in the lobby. “Get you a cuppa, Major Doucet?”

“That would hit the spot, Babette, thanks. Just black, please.”

I began leafing through the file as she sashayed over and placed the coffee cup beside me on the table. Didn’t spill a drop, I marveled, as she managed to keep the cup perfectly level without missing a single hip rotation.

“Thank you, Babette. Just what the doctor ordered.”

“Anytime, Major Doucet,” she replied, stopping to face me and lowering her eyelids to half-mast. “You just let me know if the doctor orders anything else.”

“As a matter of fact, Mr. Morton asked me to have you make a copy of this for your files,” I said, avoiding eye contact as I handed her the map.

“That be all?”

“Yes, for now. Thank you.” Looking quickly back down at the file on my lap, I avoided her gaze, until she finally turned and swayed her impressive ass over to the Xerox machine. I focused on the file of what appeared to be an impeccable employee.

Toward the back of the file, Dallas Matherne’s résumé caught my eye. Glancing over it, I saw a mediocre career unfold. He joined Doucet Drilling in ’78, two years after Warren Armstrong had joined Sapphire. But I also discovered that, after an earlier career on offshore oil rigs in Louisiana, Matherne’s last employer was none other than Ideal Tractor in Memphis, the same company Armstrong came from. It was at least feasible to find out if they knew each other at Ideal and what their relationship was. If Morton hadn’t noticed that coincidence, he wasn’t looking, I reasoned. Had he just overlooked that tidbit, and what other pieces of the puzzle had he conveniently ignored?

“Here, Babette,” I said, carrying the résumé to her desk. “Could you make one more copy for me, please? Then I’ll get out of your hair.”

“No problem, Major.”

Back in New Iberia, I had Placide stop at the bookstore so I could grab a Mobil Travel Guide before he dropped me off at Ethel’s. Then I headed upstairs to pore over the file and figure out my next move. Looked like my best hope to get to the bottom of this Matherne/Armstrong connection was a trip to Ideal Tractor in Memphis, so I went back downstairs to the hall phone. Placide picked up the car phone on the second ring.

“Placide, I’ve got a little picnic planned tomorrow,” I said, our new code for “throw some clothes in a bag for a trip.”

“Yessir, H.”

“Come by around 0930 hours.”

I headed back to the kitchen and hugged Ethel’s waist. “What’cha cookin’, chère?” I asked.

She giggled like a schoolgirl and replied, “Oh, me, I’m just fixin’ your uncle some jambalaya for supper. Had some pork left over and andouille. Plenty for you to join us, ‘Tee.”

“Thanks, don’t mind if I do,” I said. “By the way, I’ll be heading out with Placide for a few days tomorrow morning. I’ll be around until then to give Louis a hand, though. And I’ll be back soon, for more of that good cooking.” I gave her waist another squeeze.

“Aitchie, you’ll be the death of me. You never set still a minute, child.”

“I’ll be home before you have time to miss me. I can’t stay away from your cooking too long,” I teased.

“You need to slow down one day, Aitchie. Start thinking about your future. You ain’t gettin’ any younger, you know.”

“Thanks for reminding me, Ethel.”

The travel guide listed a Days Inn near the Memphis airport, which seemed as good a place to start as any. I called to reserve a room for a couple of days, then went out back to help Uncle Louis dig a post hole to fix his fence.

Placide was waiting in the driveway when I got downstairs the next morning, so I filled a couple of travel mugs and headed out the door. Following her maternal instincts, Ethel walked me to the car to send us off.

“Now you be careful, Placide,” she admonished him, sticking her head in the passenger side door as I chunked my duffle bag in the back seat.

“Yes’m,” he assured her.

“We lost one Doucet. I don’t know what this boy’s getting into, but you just keep your eye on him, keep him out of trouble, hear?” Then she turned to me. “Boy, you be careful. And don’t go sticking your nose where it don’t belong, hear?”

“Don’t worry, Aunt Ethel. It’s just a little trip to get the cobwebs out.” I gave her a peck on the cheek before I slid in. Even I knew that lie wouldn’t hold water, but I didn’t know what else to say. I wasn’t prepared to worry her with my suspicions, even though it sounded as though she was making up some of her own.

“Ready to go to Memphis?” I asked Placide as we rumbled out the drive.

“Yessir, H.”