sense an opening and go on.
“But if you give me a peek, I might be able to give you and your lawyer a tip-off, before the feds return in their black SUVs and a freshly printed search warrant.”
She gives Cooper a gentle squeeze and starts moving, and my trustworthy Gladys keeps pace. I have to take a moment to admire the pasture we’re riding on—the land is firm and flat, and the grass has been closely cropped, like the place was getting ready to be turned into a golf course.
“You’re asking me to turn over thousands of pages of highly sensitive financial records to a total stranger, who isn’t even a cop anymore?”
I tug firmly on my horse’s reins, making Gladys stop completely. She snorts and stomps as I give her a sharp, demanding look.
“Ms. Beaudette,” I start, “are you aware that your cousin employs numerous armed ex–Israeli commandos as his personal bodyguards? And that your half-brother Billy has heard him make threats of violence?”
She starts to speak and then stops, trying to absorb what I’ve just told her. By her troubled expression, it looks like the answer to both questions is “No.”
“I think I have to speak with my lawyer again,” she mumbles.
Then she makes a click-click sound with her tongue, and Cooper bursts into a brisk canter back toward the stables.
“Ms. Beaudette, wait!” I call out.
But her horse doesn’t slow. And its rider doesn’t look back.
Gladys lets out a long whinny and takes a few shaky steps backward.
“Easy, girl,” I say, patting her muscular shoulders. “I know. I’m scared, too.”
Chapter 41
THE DRIVE back to the city takes nearly twice as long as the ride out. Traffic along I-12 is crawling, and the Lake Pontchartrain Causeway might as well be a twenty-three-mile-long parking lot. Not that I’m surprised. Mardi Gras is just around the corner and hundreds of thousands of folks are streaming in from all around the country to take part in this wonderful event.
If only they knew the hell that might be waiting for them.
Stuck in gridlock just past the I-610 interchange, I shut my eyes and give them a good rub. I’m finally making some real headway in my investigation, but I’m still miles away from any solid answers—or actionable details. And it’s starting to drive me nuts. I feel like I’ve got the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle and I can feel them…but I can’t see them, because I’m in a pitch-black room. I can try to guess the shapes and forms, but I also have no idea what other puzzle pieces might be out there, waiting for me in the dark.
My search for the bastards who messed up my truck and hurt Marlene is stuck in the mud, too. Just thinking about it now makes me burn with rage all over again.
But hey, at least I got a date with Vanessa out of it.
Which reminds me…
I whip out my phone and dial. On the fourth ring, Gordon Andrews picks up.
“Caleb, you’re a mind reader,” he says, with a hearty chuckle.
“I wish,” I say. “It would make this whole private eye thing a hell of a lot easier. I don’t know how you can stand to do it, hour after hour, day after day.”
He says, “Well, this particular PI leaves enough time each day for something fine to eat, and something even finer to drink. But to get back to the point…I was about to phone you in a bit.”
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“I finally had a chance to look into that Lucas Dodd fellow and his wife,” he says, with a smooth and cultured voice. “And, hoo boy, let me tell you, with friends like that…”
My ears perk up. I sit a little taller in my seat, wincing from long-dormant muscles that are loudly complaining about my first horse ride and the two beatings I’ve taken. Around this part of the gridlocked exchange are lots of trees and small homes and businesses. The sky is overcast, nearly melding in with the far gray horizon.
“Lucas,” I blurt, “is not my friend.”
Quite the understatement. I’ve been sneaking around behind his back with his beautiful wife now for more than a week.
“So what do you know, Gordon?” I add.
“I just want to be clear,” he says. “At this point, it’s only a rumor. But like my granddaddy used to say, if it fights like a gator, if it bites like a gator…”
“I get it. Rumor. Okay. Just spit it out.”
I lean forward slightly in anticipation and grip