The Buck Stops Here (41 page)

The next car that passed did the same, but finally someone coming from the opposite direction pulled over into the turnaround lane. Much to my relief, I saw that it was a police car.

“Officer, help me,” I said, running toward him.

“That your vehicle, ma’am?” he said.

“Yes.”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to pull it over here as quickly as possible, if you can.”

“I can’t!” I cried. “There’s a giant snake inside!”

He looked shocked, but he sprang into action nevertheless. He maneuvered his car across the lane and behind mine and then turned on his flashing lights. Quickly, he hopped out of his car and then ran along behind it, dropping lit flares for another 50 feet or so.

Finally, he ran back to where I was waiting, on the crossover lane.

“Are you all right, ma’am?”

I looked down to see that my knees were scraped up and bloody from my fall on the road.

“I wasn’t bitten,” I said, trying to get myself under control. “I was just driving along and then I heard something hissing, and when I turned on the light, there was a big snake in the car by my feet! It was horrible!”

He placed a warm hand on my arm and looked me in the eyes.

“I’m going to radio for help,” he said. “Are you sure you didn’t get bitten?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“You gonna be all right for a minute?”

“Yes.”

I clutched my arms around myself, shivering despite the nighttime heat. I realized that in the drizzle my hair had gotten all wet.

After he finished on the radio, he invited me to sit in the police car where it was dry, but I resisted. All I could see were snakes under every seat.

“We’ll just wait here a few minutes,” he said. “I got another vehicle responding, and they’re gonna bring a loop.”

“A loop?”

“It’s a tool to get the snake out.”

I closed my eyes, swallowing hard.

“I can’t believe there was a snake in my car,” I said.

“Oh, this ain’t the first time I’ve seen this,” he replied. “People leave their windows open around here, don’t think twice about it, and next thing you know a whole family of water moccasins has moved right in.”

“A whole family?”

“You know what I mean. You’re gonna be fine.”

I felt better once the other unit had responded. One of its officers had brought a long metal pole with a hook at the end, and it took him a while, but eventually he was able to reach into my car with the pole and loop it around the snake. He jerked it back, pulling the snake out, and we were all shocked to see that it was about five feet long.

“Probably just a kingsnake,” one of the cops said, whistling. “Sure is a big one.”

“Is it poisonous?” I asked.

“No, but it can bite, and, man, does that hurt.”

The officer with the pole surprised me by simply walking to the railing and dropping the snake overboard, into the lake. I ran to the side in time to see it slithering away in the black water.

The cops thought that would be the end of things, but I was insistent that they conduct a thorough search of my vehicle. They used flashlights to look under seats, in the glove compartment, and everywhere else a reptile might choose to hide.

“Looks like that’s it,” one of them said. “There was only that one.”

They took some information from me for their report and sent me on my way. By the time I made it across the lake, to the French Quarter and the hotel, I was violently trembling. After I checked the car with the valet, I sought out the bell captain and explained what had happened. He could tell I was thoroughly spooked, and after grabbing the hotel’s first aid kit, he insisted on coming with me to my room to check every nook and cranny to make sure it was safe.

It was. Finally, I took some antiseptic ointment and bandages from the first aid kit, tipped him well, and then locked, bolted, and blocked the door. I ran a bath and climbed in, picking gravel out of my scraped knees while I waited for the hot water to fill.

A snake.

In my car.

I had no doubt it had been put there on purpose.

After my bath, feeling much more calm, I bandaged my cuts, dressed in my nightgown, climbed into the bed, and then called Tom on the secure phone. Though it was late, I could tell he wasn’t alone. I could hear other voices in the background. Trying to keep myself from sounding too upset, I explained what had happened.

Tom was astounded and angry. After he listened to my full story, he put me on hold for a moment and then came back on the line to tell me they were contacting the NSA branch office in New Orleans. He had a feeling they would want to come right over to retrieve my car and search it for evidence.

“I’ll send Jacques to your room to get your car key so you don’t have to be bothered. You can pick it up at the front desk in the morning, when you check out.”

“I’m not checking out.”

“Yes, you are. If I can’t convince you, then the snake should. You’re not safe there, Callie. You know too much. The NSA needs some time to bring this investigation to a close, but your job is done. You can leave now.”

“We’ll see,” I said. I closed my eyes, exhaling slowly. “Tom, I hate to say this because I know she’s your sister, but the most logical culprit here is Beth. She went out for a jog while I was there, and then a snake turned up in my car? Who else could it be?”

“I understand what you’re saying,” he replied, “and I’d be willing to consider it if not for the fact that we’re talking about a snake. Beth
hates
snakes, Callie. She wouldn’t touch one for a million—no, for a trillion dollars. This had to have been done by someone who isn’t afraid of reptiles.”

Callie thought for a moment. “So who are you thinking of? Armand?

“Yeah. He must have come to Beth’s house and put that snake in your car. The swamps are full of snakes, and the man is a natural around reptiles.”

“You’re probably right.”

I felt a wave of relief that we had discovered Sparks’ accomplice, followed by a surge of sadness that it had ended up being Armand. He was an unusual man, but also so very full of life. And I couldn’t help but like anyone who was as at home on the water as he was.

“I’m sorry, Tom,” I added. “I know he was your friend.”

“Well, so was James once upon a time, and look where he ended up. Truly, nothing could surprise me anymore.”

Forty-Nine

A half hour later, the bell captain had retrieved my car key and my bandaged knees were really starting to smart. I was thinking that perhaps I should try to get some sleep when the phone rang. It was Tom again.

“Hey.”

“Turn on the TV,” he said, his voice sounding strained.

“What?”

“Turn on the TV,” he repeated, naming the station he wanted me to find. I reached into the bedside drawer for the remote and then held it out toward the television and flipped through the channels until I had reached the correct one.

“It’s a car commercial,” I said.

“Keep watching.”

We waited for the show to come back on, the line silent between us. I so wanted to talk to him about us, but now didn’t seem like the right moment, especially because he still wasn’t alone. I wondered if we would have that “right moment” before this investigation was wrapped up.

The commercial ended and then the camera went to a close-up of a man with silver hair and blue eyes.

“Welcome back to
Late Night with Donald Mason Live
,” he said. “We’re talking with Armand Velette, author of
A Louisiana Guide to the Disappearing Coastline
. Armand, you’re saying that the disappearing coastline isn’t just Louisiana’s problem, it’s everybody’s problem?”

The camera pulled back to reveal Armand sitting there across from the host, looking handsome in a dark suit, his eyes twinkling in the bright studio lights.

“That’s right, Donald,” Armand said. “For starters, did you know that Coastal Louisiana, by itself, accounts for thirty percent of this country’s annual seafood harvest? Thirty percent! What’s this country gonna do without that?”

I turned the sound down a bit and spoke into the phone.

“What is this?” I said.

“It’s what it looks like,” Tom replied. “Armand is on a live TV talk show.”

“I don’t understand. I thought this was the sort of thing he did all the time.”

“The operative word here is
live
, Callie. We checked. It’s happening right now, even as we are watching. They film in Houston. According to the producer, Armand has been there at the studio since six o’clock this evening.”

I closed my eyes, understanding that that now ruled him out as a suspect with the snake, at least as far as putting it there in my car himself. Of course, he could have had someone else do it for him, but, then again, how would he even have known where I was going to be tonight?

My mind turned again to thoughts of Beth. Who was to say what she’d really been doing when she’d gone out earlier? She had known I would be there visiting and could have had prepared ahead of time, maybe had the snake waiting in a bucket somewhere or something. I hated to have to bring it up again, but I had no choice.

“I still say Beth could have done it,” I told him softly. “She was outside tonight for a long enough period of time, anyway.”

The moment was awkward.

“I’m here with the NSA,” Tom said finally, his voice noncommittal. “She’s already on their short list. If Phillip knew you were going to be there, it could’ve been him too.”

“He knew,” I said. “In fact, he’s the one who made the appointment for me with your mother.”

“Ah. Well, then we’re back where we started, aren’t we?”

Even as thoughts were swirling in my head, Tom wrapped up the call, telling me again to check out and head home in the morning. I didn’t make any promises. We hung up and then I sat there, knees hurting, heart hurting. I missed him! I wanted to be with him. Most of all I wanted him to know that nothing stood between us now.

Thinking that I wouldn’t be able to sleep, I turned up the television and watched the rest of the show. Armand was funny and articulate and handsome, the perfect spokesman for protecting the swamp. I pictured him in that environment, tossing food to alligators, moving so naturally among the passing wildlife, and I had to wonder suddenly if the snake in my car tonight had been put there specifically to frame him. Did one of the others want us to think it was Armand? If so, they made a big mistake by not doing their homework to make sure he didn’t have an alibi.

So which one was it, Beth or Phillip—or
both?
My mind racing, I thought about calling Paul Tyson in Seattle to get financial profiles of Beth Sparks and Phillip Wilson. But Paul and I had already had a conversation last week where I asked him all about encryption programs and the Cipher Five. I really didn’t think it would be prudent to clue him in now on the specifics of who or what I was really investigating.

I climbed out of bed and went to my computer. The best I could do was an internet search for assets, using the investigative databases to which I subscribed. Though I was tired, I soon got into it, finally turning up some real estate sales and purchases for Phillip, as well as several other indications that the man was quite well off. I already knew he was rich, though, so I concentrated on Beth, deeply concerned when I finally came across an enormous amount of stock holdings in her name. As I studied the list of companies, I couldn’t think of any common denominator between them—except that they were good, solid investments, by and large.

Yet Beth was a full-time mom, with only some minimal, part-time computer work on the side. How was it that she was so rich? And if Sparks were blackmailing her, then wouldn’t the money be paying
out
and not
in?
My mind wrapped around that thought, including the possibility that Beth and her ex-husband were working together to blackmail Phillip. But if that were the case, I wondered, then how could Beth and Phillip still be such good friends—unless he wasn’t aware that she was working through James to take his money. Was that it?

I finally gave up. I turned off the light and got under the covers again, feeling utterly confused and frustrated. I could only hope that somehow God would show me some clarity in the midst of this muddle. It took a long time for me to fall asleep, but at least once I did, I slept deeply.

I awoke after 9:00
A.M.,
much to my surprise. And though my knees still hurt, my hands were fine, no longer even red. I thought about the day ahead of me, mentally planning out the schedule between now and the ball tonight. For my own safety, Tom wanted me to go home as soon as possible, but I was determined to extend my stay here until tomorrow.

There was no real reason for me to stick around other than plain stubbornness. I had come to New Orleans for two reasons—to get to the bottom about Tom’s involvement in my husband’s death and to conduct a charity investigation of Family HEARTS. I had found out the truth about Tom, and for all intents and purposes, my charity investigation was nearly finished as well. But all of my digging around about the past had set off certain events, not the least of which was the attempted murder of James Sparks. Now it felt as though I was peculiarly positioned to bring about some answers to the questions my investigations had raised.