“True,” she said. “So, what is your job over there?”

  “Basically, ordering and accepting supplies and donations. I go over there two or three days a week. Every once in a while, someone from one of the Caribbean islands where a lot of French is spoken shows up, I’m asked to talk to them if no one else is available.” I shrugged. “My French isn’t so great but it serves the purpose in a pinch. There are other people who speak French a whole lot better than I do. Of course they aren’t always present at the time.”

  “I don’t imagine a French speaker arrives very often,” Rachel said. “Most people coming into the country are Hispanic, right?”

  “The majority of them are.” An occasion when I was called upon to speak my limited French came to mind. “A few months ago, a man and his wife arrived who spoke no English. It turns out they were from the island of Martinique. At least that’s what their paperwork indicated.”

  “Do you know what happened to them?”

  “No, but I can probably find out.” Her questions certainly were curious. “Why are you asking me all these questions?”

  “There’s a rumor going around that the spot where Celina Baum’s body was found is a drop off place for illegals being transported into the country. Another rumor claimed some of the newer arrivals are Haitians.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me at all. There have been drug smuggling operations going on in Allemand Parish, so why not human trafficking?” My stomach clenched, reminding me that Jim’s murder had happened when he tried to stop a drug operation. I changed the subject…sort of.

  “Remi did a great job of reporting the murder.” I referred to Danny’s granddaughter, Remi Granger who worked for Channel 7. “Thank goodness she didn’t mention our names. We were identified as two fishermen.”

  “She reminds me a lot of you.”

  My hand went to my chest in a reflex action. “Me? How so?”

  “She’s drawn to those crime scenes like bugs to a light bulb. She recently mentioned she’d like to get into writing crime stories.”

  “Well, she certainly can get a lot of ideas working out of New Orleans.” I feigned a worried look. “Hmm…more competition for my mysteries.”

  “I doubt that. Real life crimes and the actual scene intrigue her too much.”

  “There’re always plenty of readers of true crime. She could go that route.” I looked at Rachel with more than a little suspicion. “What’s the real reason you want to find out about the couple from Martinique?”

  “Curiosity.” She made a weak attempt to sound matter-of-fact. I caught on immediately.

  “Don’t tell me you want to take up my penchant for solving murders.”

  Her smile seemed rather sad. “I suppose Miriam’s connection reminded me of when I set out to prove my brother didn’t murder Ellis, Miriam’s husband.”

  “I remember you telling me about that. Miriam and your brother Jay were having an affair at the time. You met Danny when he was a detective with the sheriff’s office. It was almost the same situation as my meeting Jim for the first time. It’s amazing how similar many events in our lives were.”

  “Those events are probably the reason we clicked, despite our age difference.”

  My thoughts strayed back for a moment to an April many years ago when my brother became the prime suspect in the murder of his wife. Jim was a homicide detective with NOPD at the time. We met during his investigation.

  “Tomorrow I’m going to the food pantry,” I said. “I’ll see what I can find out about the Martinique couple, although I doubt they have any connection to Celina’s murder. How about some coffee? I’m going to have a second cup.”

  She agreed, following me into the kitchen. I rinsed out my blue mug, grabbed another cup from the cabinet, and filled both mugs. I brought them to the table, eyeing my neighbor with concern.

  Something else other than Celina’s murder was bothering Rachel. “Okay, what else is on your mind beside Miriam?”

  “It’s ridiculous how you knew that.” She absentmindedly stirred her coffee.

  “Come on, out with it.”

  She shook her head. “Danny is about to drive me nuts. I should have expected he would go stir-crazy after he retired.”

  “I suspected as much after overhearing a conversation between him and Brad at the last get together we had at your place.”

  She frowned. “What did he say?”

  I shrugged. “Basically, retirement wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.”

  “He’s talking about signing on as a reserve deputy.”

  I arched my brows. “Would that be so bad?”

  “Maybe, maybe not,” she said. “But I can’t see him not getting totally involved in a case. And Brad…”

  “And Brad would likely pull him into a case, namely Celina’s murder.”

  “Yes, I worried about Danny so much during the last few years he was in office. Cypress Lake and Allemand Parish had always been quiet and peaceful.”

  “Until the area started growing by leaps and bounds.”

  After Rachel left, I couldn’t help thinking of another reason the parish became violent. Murder seemed to follow me around. That same eerie feeling I had yesterday about becoming embroiled in another murder case grew a lot stronger.

  For the rest of the day one question kept filtering through my thoughts: What reason did Celina have to be out in the middle of nowhere at night? Her passion for aiding all immigrants might have led her to go to extremes and start smuggling them into the country herself. I nixed that idea. Celina was too good-hearted. She probably thought she could rescue a few.

  The house felt empty without Matthew and Caroline. My brother Steven and his wife Megan had taken my twins to Gulf Shores, Alabama where Steven owned a condo on the beach.

  I was invited to go along, but declined. I needed to work on my latest work-in-progress, a story about a murder in an antebellum plantation home. However, I couldn’t seem to concentrate on writing and did a lot of pacing up and down for the rest of the afternoon. All I could think about was Celina Baum and imagine what her last moments must have been like.

  Four

  Friday July 24

  Brad Theriot sat in his vehicle for a while mulling over his encounter yesterday with a reporter from a television station in New Orleans. When he returned from the crime scene, Ray Travis had more or less ambushed him at his office asking questions he couldn’t answer. Where the hell did that damn reporter get word about a human smuggling operation? That was confidential information between him and ICE.

  No doubt in his mind, Celina Baum’s death had something to do with the transport of illegals into the country. All he could do now was hope neither Remi Granger nor any other news people ever got wind of the situation before those responsible were caught.

  He had to admit he’d rather have Remi know about it than Ray Travis. She might be trusted to keep the story quiet. He also wouldn’t mind getting to know her better on a personal level. She was an attractive woman.

  Big green eyes that could see right through a person…Gorgeous blond hair…Whoa, man, let’s not get carried away. My ICE contact and I have a murder to solve and human traffickers to catch. Besides that, Remi is Danny’s granddaughter.

  He exited his unit and strode over to a picnic table located in a nearby park where Jack Holden, an agent for Immigration and Customs Enforcement, was waiting for him.

  “What’s the latest,” Holden asked.

  “I thought once we got our victim positively identified, we’d get a better idea about whether she’s part of the smuggling ring, or if she happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. However, that’s not exactly the case.”

  Holden nodded. “Any observations or gut feelings?”

  “She could have a connection due to her job at the food pantry. There are a lot of illegals coming there for help. We don’t deal with them for you guys unless they commit a crime or traffic offense.”

  “That’s more than some places do,” Holden grumbled.

  “So I’ve heard. By the way, the coroner says Celina was killed either late Saturday the eighteenth or early the next morning.” Brad gave the ICE agent a worried look. “One of the media in town yesterday asked if Celina could be part of the human smuggling operation. He also mentioned the Gallaghers. If the reporter was anyone other than Ray Travis, I wouldn’t be concerned.”

  Holden jerked his head up. “How the hell do they get wind of everything we want to keep quiet? This is why I don’t want to make too many appearances in town.”

  “Tell me about it. Our victim has to be involved in some capacity. Why else would she be out in the middle of nowhere?”

  Holden’s disgusted expression mirrored Brad’s feelings. “Could she have been killed elsewhere and dumped?”

  Brad shook his head. “Blood evidence at the scene indicated she was shot right where she lay. There’s indication of a lot of foot traffic out there. My guess is that’s a drop off spot.”

  The ICE agent appeared to consider Brad’s statement. “Could be. Did this Travis fellow stick around after you made your comments?”

  “Yeah, but I ordered Ronnie Hart to make sure the reporters kept their distance from our crime scene. It would be just like the frickin’ media to hire a boat and travel out there. We kept the original call off line so reporters wouldn’t hear the call on their scanners.”

  “Hart is your chief deputy?”

  “Right, he’ll make damn sure Travis or any other media types won’t get any info we don’t want them to have.”

  Holden frowned. “How many reporters were in town? I wouldn’t have thought New Orleans viewers would be interested in a murder out here.”

  “One other reporter,” Brad said. “Remi Granger from Channel Seven. She didn’t mention the subject and Travis was out of her earshot when he asked me. As far as I know, she doesn’t read lips.”

  “I’ve seen her a few times on TV. She’s a beauty. You know her well enough to know she can’t read lips?” Holden chuckled. “Or maybe you’d like to know her well.”

  Brad silently cringed. Am I that obvious? “Like you said, she is a beauty.” Back to business. “You asked why New Orleans viewers would be interested in a murder down the bayou. For one thing, New Orleans channels are all the folks in this area can pick up.”

  “I should’ve known. Guess I’ve been away too long. New Orleans and the Biloxi station were all we could pick up on the coast.” Which coast he referred to was evident by his drawl.

  Brad smiled. “You sure didn’t lose that accent by being up North for years. You from Mississippi?”

  “Yeah, I’m from Miss’ssippi. I held on to my accent. It’s part of my charm.” He shrugged. “Besides, it comes in handy sometimes like when I need to get info from a woman.” Without looking at Brad he added, “This case may require my charm. You never know.”

  Holden’s a pretty decent guy for a Fed. A little full of himself, maybe. That said, he wasn’t sure about the ICE agent’s method of gathering information from women. However, he suspected Holden’s technique was a necessary evil for undercover work. He never had the opportunity to go undercover. Not in this sorry place. Live and learn. If the case goes well, his reward could be a ticket out of this backwoods parish. His brother Dave who had moved to Houston made a lot more money working for that big department.

  “There is another reason for the interest in this area,” Brad said. “Ever since we had two high profile murders at Mardi Gras a few years ago, and the murder of the former police chief Jim Foret last year, the area media jumps on everything related to Allemand Parish.”

  “Yeah, I heard all about those cases,” Holden said. “I tried to keep up with crime on the home front. South Louisiana and the Miss’ssippi Gulf Coast is my old stomping ground.”

  “I should mention another possible problem. One of the people who discovered this body is Susan Foret. Since she knew Celina, she might stick her nose where it doesn’t belong.”

  “She’s Jim Foret’s widow, right? I heard she practically solved the whole case singlehandedly.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t go that far, but she deserves credit for her part in finding all the sorry SOBs who were involved in Jim’s murder. The federal trials for those guys are coming up soon. Problem was with Susan, and still may be, she ended up getting into a bunch of trouble.”

  “Then she could be a big problem for our investigation. If our subjects know we’re looking at them, they’ll move their operation elsewhere. I’ll be tracking them again for another ten years.”

  “I want those scumbag traffickers out of my parish as much as you. We’ll have to make damn sure there aren’t any leaks. Danny might be able to keep Susan in line.”

  Five

  The atmosphere at the food pantry reflected the mood of everyone there…sorrow mixed with a little bit of fear. Questions swirled about the reason Celina happened to be at such a desolate spot. Was she aiding illegal immigrants? Was she dealing drugs? No one wanted to believe either of those scenarios.

  In light of the fact I’d heard about the possibility of traffickers smuggling illegal immigrants, my theory settled on a more likely situation. One of the traffickers in the group shot her because they mistook her for a federal agent. However, my theory didn’t explain her presence in the swamp. So I kept my opinion to myself.

  I returned my attention to the order forms and receipts stacked up in front of me on the desk. Just as I started checking figures, Sandy Dugas, coordinator of the volunteers, waltzed into the office.

  “You wouldn’t happen to know the scoop on Celina’s murder, would you?”

  Surprised, no, shocked, I squeaked out the question. “Why would you ask me such a thing?” Had word leaked out that Rachel and I discovered her body?

  She grimaced. “I’m sorry. That was extremely callous of me. All the volunteers are doing nothing but gossiping and making up theories about her murder. Since you have an in with law enforcement…I figured you might know the real skinny.” Her face turned beet red. “Guess I’m digging a bigger hole for myself.”

  “Yes you are.” I glanced down at the desk for a second before returning my gaze to her. “But you can stop digging. I honestly don’t know anything except what was on television.”

  She started to back out of my office. I remembered to ask about the couple from Martinique.

  Sandy looked at me with curiosity. “I’m not positive but I believe they were both employed by Claire Gallagher. May I ask why you’re interested?”

  Not wanting her to get the impression my interest had anything to do with Celina’s murder, I waved my hand nonchalantly. “I was curious because I interviewed them. I never heard anything concerning their whereabouts.”

  She smiled. “Oh, yes. I remember the day they came to us to get food. Good thing you could speak French. I’m ashamed to say I can’t speak it, especially since I come from a long line of Frenchmen.”

  “I don’t speak the language well. Luckily I knew enough to understand what they needed.”

  “You might ask Belva Hernandez about that couple. Seems like she mentioned that Claire’s daughter-in-law Marcie told her Claire needed some extra help.”

  I frowned. “Doesn’t Claire have all of her family living out there on that big compound of hers? I wonder why she needed more help.”

  “Last I heard two of her sons and their wives lived out there, along with one or two other men who are divers with Gallagher Salvage.”

  “She probably needed a woman to help her personally, since she is confined to a wheelchair. Perhaps to give her family members some relief,” I suggested.

  Sandy came close to rolling her eyes. “Not the Claire Gallagher I know. She was always the most self-centered woman I’ve ever met.”

  “Maybe being confined to a wheelchair made her a better person.”

  Her laugh sounded nervous. “How do you manage to always think the best of everyone?”

  I plastered a smile on my face. “Sometimes it’s extremely difficult.”

  After Sandy left the office, I pondered what she said about Claire and thought about the tragedy this woman had experienced. A number of years ago, the Gallaghers—Claire, her husband Walt, and her two sons, Gary and Mike—were scuba diving off a group of Caribbean islands. In what was rumored to be an attack on their boat by modern-day pirates, Walt and Gary were killed and she was seriously injured. Claire and the other son managed to get back to Jamaica where she was hospitalized for a short time.

  I couldn’t imagine losing my husband and my son, plus knowing I would be confined to a wheelchair for the rest of my life. Claire was known around here for being a tough cookie, while Miriam Baum, Celina’s adopted mother and the parish’s other wealthy widow, from all accounts seemed to be more upper class. Surprisingly in the nearly nine years I’ve lived in Cypress Lake, I’d never met either woman personally, but had seen both around town, or else their photos when they appeared in the local newspaper.

  I shook my head to rid myself of thoughts of loved ones lost, but images of dead Celina led me to wonder how I could write about such an awful crime like murder. But then, my mysteries were basically cozies. I didn’t go into gory details about the body, and the killer always got arrested and properly punished, not shot and killed by the police.

  Hopefully, whoever killed Celina will be caught and sent to prison. Miriam Baum needed some sort of resolution, even though the loss of a child could never bring true closure. If smugglers were involved, justice might be not be achieved either.

  Six

  As their ads extolled, Cypress Gardens Cemetery and Mausoleum offered a peaceful setting for deceased loved ones. I’ve always thought most cemeteries were peaceful, but this one seemed especially true.

  Many grave sites held large above ground crypts containing the remains of Allemand Parish’s wealthiest citizenry. Trees of several different species like oaks and cypress dotted the well-kept grounds. A slight breeze made July heat a little more tolerable.