Page 34 of Bayou Hero
She was about to shuck her slicker and head for the bar when movement in the corner to her left caught her attention. A waitress stood at the table, her lime-green T-shirt practically glowing in the dim light, a tray in one hand, the other on her hip, but she didn’t interest Alia. Her customer did.
It was easier to step outside again, one large step onto the battered sidewalk, then stride to the last set of doors propped open for fresh and cooling air. She took the overhigh step up again, then slid into the nearest chair, pulled her arms from the waterproof jacket and welcomed the breeze washing over her skin.
Landry looked up at her, his eyes fatigued, beard stubble dark on his jaw. He looked much the same as the first time she’d seen him, motionless and alert in his sister’s sunroom, wearing an aloha shirt and shorts, this time with much-abused tennis shoes. Except for his face. Weariness was etched in deep lines alongside his mouth and at the corners of his eyes, and his lips were set in so thin a line that they practically disappeared. She couldn’t tell if he was happy, annoyed or unconcerned to see her here.
“How is Mary Ellen?” she asked.
“Sedated. The hospital’s keeping her for a couple of days.” His voice was little more than a rasp. Had he talked too much, explaining the surprises of the funeral to too many people? Or had that rawness come from tears? He may have hated his father, but there’d been softer emotions between him and Camilla. It wouldn’t surprise anyone to find he’d shed tears for her.
She waited a moment as a group of young women splashed by loudly on the sidewalk, shrieking, their accents nasal and hard on the ear. When they were out of earshot, she asked, “How are you?”
“I’ve been better.” He shrugged. “I’ve been worse, too.”
The waitress held up a beer bottle as she passed, but Alia shook her head and asked for water.
What qualified for worse? she wondered as the woman brought a local brand of water. What was worse than your father’s violent murder, your surrogate grandmother’s killing and the discovery of your mother’s gruesome death all in five days? She wasn’t sure she wanted to know. She didn’t need those thoughts in her head.
Landry was drinking but not bothering with a glass. A bottle of tequila, the good stuff, sat in the middle of the table, and he lifted it to take a cautious swallow. Nearly half of the bottle was gone, but she couldn’t see its effects on him. No slurring, no shakes, no hysterics.
As he set it down, his fingers gave the etched bottle a lingering caress. “The people I work with don’t waste their money on flowers. They let aged liquor do their speaking for them.”
“Good people. I’m not sure the ones I work with have ever bought me more than a Coke.”
“That’s because your people are out to save the world, not meet its sinners halfway.” He paused, his lean fingers twined around the base of the tequila bottle. “Have you heard anything from the coroner?”
“Jimmy just called.” He’d offered to break the news to Landry, but Alia had volunteered. Her house was near; she needed to get out. Jimmy had scoffed, not impressed by either reason. He’s not half as handsome as I am, and I’m not wearing a hands-off sign. Playing with me won’t get a slap on the wrist in your jacket for inappropriate conduct.
But her ex had made his argument and left it at that. Rules weren’t sacred to Jimmy but were more like suggestions. In his world, the good guys took advantage of the rules that helped them get what they needed and ignored the ones that didn’t. It was one reason he’d had such a good solve rate in his career.
Alia drew a deep breath and locked gazes with Landry. “DNA will take a while, but the dental records are a match. The body was definitely your mother’s.”
The color didn’t drain from his face. The only color he’d got back after they’d spoken at the cemetery was the flush in his cheeks that came from the liquor. Something appeared in his eyes, though—shock, sick to his soul, unable to grasp the insanity that would make a person do this thing to another person.
“How long had she been...?”
“Best guess is three to four weeks.”
“So she didn’t take off to visit relatives like the old man claimed. She was dead the whole time he was lying about her.”
“Very likely.”
Alia and Jimmy had debated it earlier. What had Jackson known and when had he known it? Had he been the one to kill Camilla? Had he discovered that she was having an affair and intended to leave him? Had he killed her, then disposed of her body where she would be trapped with the Jacksons forever? Or had she refused to leave her husband, so her lover had entombed her in the family crypt?