Chapter Twenty

George’s story

The dew started to settle, but too much of a man to admit it, George felt cold in his shirtsleeves and cold around the heart, too. This is what came of wanting Suzanne to see him as desirable to another woman, not just some clown who had to dress up in costume to get her attention. He’d used Cherry as she had used him years ago, but kidnapping and murder made it an unequal trade.

He had plenty of time that moonlit night to lay blame. Finally, it came to rest, not on Suzanne, but on his mother for setting the whole chain into motion. Jefferson Sonnier’s foot got caught in that chain, and it dragged him into the grave with her. By Virginia Lee St. Julien’s code, appearance mattered—a marriage that appeared valid, silver plate that appeared to be sterling. Had she simply appeared to be a mother worried about her son’s future when her real concern was saving Magnolia Hill as a monument to herself—even if it made her lover a thief and her son a liar?

The hum of a small outboard on the bayou drowned out the whine of the early crop of mosquitoes spawned by the flood and feasting on their arms and ankles. Tough to watch the man come up from the water, a shadow in the shadows, moving toward Suzanne’s room where the lights had gone out an hour ago, and not move a muscle. He passed the clump of trees where Linc and George hid, long-legged birds in the bush. Sheriff Duval and a regular deputy squatted behind the big azaleas near the entry.

The kidnapper, Paul, the name on the letters, went up the stairs to the upper gallery. He entered Suzanne’s room by the window, giving it a mighty shove. George waited for her screams, for Sheriff Duval to surge from his hiding place. Nothing happened.

He wanted to move so badly his leg twitched and caught Linc in the shin. Linc gasped but sucked up most of the sound. The night stayed quiet, not a noise but a few plopping fish this close to the bayou. With Suzanne completely dressed, she and her kidnapper stepped out of the window and moved down the steps. The man wore a ski mask covering his face and the pale hair that would have shown in the moonlight. Why didn’t she scream or run? George waited for the sheriff to strike. Damn him, the law did not make a move.

As the pair came closer, the rays of the moon glinted on the knife pressed into Suzanne’s back. He remained quiet as he’d been told to do. The couple passed the trees to the river beyond. Not being able to see the abductor’s face upset him internally. You can tell a man’s intent by looking him in the eyes, which way he will toss a ball, when he is faking an injury. He wanted to knock the guy to the ground and tear off the mask, but, obeying orders, George waited until the noise of the small boat motor buzzed out of hearing.

Linc broke a branch of the magnolia in his hurry to get down. George was already out, running for the bayou when the sheriff radioed to his squad car in town to keep an eye on the blue sedan. He took the path along the river, a direct line into town, quicker than the roads. Linc pounded along behind him. Struggling with the mud left behind by the storm, he kept going down, once near the spot where Linc had waited with the pirogue. Linc pulled him up. Mud-soaked, glasses splattered, George finally reached Front Street. No light blue sedan in sight.

A squad car crept from its hiding place in the alley like a stray cat not sure of its welcome. George pounded on the deputies’ window to let them in. They did, behind the grate they used to separate the sane and the law abiding from the crazies and the criminals. He swore at them to get going, but the officers explained that volunteer deputies were stationed along all the roads leading out of town. They would pick out the sedan and follow in an unmarked vehicle.

Forced to sit and listen to the radio’s blare marking the progress of the light blue sedan, George fidgeted, bumping Linc with his elbows and knees as the culprit and his prey moved farther and farther away. The last voice to come over the air belonged to Billy Patout.

“Shoot,” he said. “Didn’t I just go and lose them somewhere on the old Baton Rouge road?”

Damn that Billy Patout. He did this just to get revenge for the brawl in Joe’s Lounge, George believed. He banged on the grill separating him and Linc from the cops.

“I know where he took her. Let’s get moving.”