I relayed the story about the incident at the Baums’ and about Brad chewing me out, cautioning me about not getting involved even after he identified this fellow to me.

  “Who was the man?”

  “A former diver for Gallagher Salvage named Kenny Verrett.”

  He pursed his lips. “I would give you the same advice that Brad did, but I know you aren’t going to pay any more attention to my warnings than his.” He eyed me with fatherly concern. “Do you have a particular interest in Gallagher Salvage?

  “Not really.” Should I mention my visit? No, too risky for the Celestines and their suspect immigration status. “I’m more interested in Claire’s house. My latest mystery in progress involves a plantation home. I enjoyed seeing Miriam’s home also.” That wasn’t really a lie.

  Danny hesitated a long moment before speaking. “Be careful with any dealings you have regarding Claire or Gallagher Salvage and try not to get involved…if you can help it.”

  “Why?”

  He blew out an exasperated breath. “I’m advising you, not demanding, that you leave well enough alone. I suspect you have already visited her place for your novel research and discovered some interesting tidbit. I hope if whatever you uncovered or find out on any future visits that you believe to be possible illegal activities you’ll report them to Brad. At the least, give the info to me and I’ll pass it on.”

  “I will.”

  A sliver of guilt stung me. I couldn’t believe he had been halfway open with what I interpreted to be concerns about the legality of Gallagher Salvage’s operations, especially since I neglected to tell him about my visit to the house. Of course he suspects I did. Guess I should have told him the real reason for my visit. Danny knows me too well. He should also know that by giving me that small suggestion of illegal activity, my curiosity would make me want to know more.

  Law enforcement might not be tailing me per se, but if suspicion is warranted, the sheriff’s office or a government agency could be staking out the Gallaghers.

  There must be a lot more going on at the salvage company than hiring illegal immigrants. Maybe that’s the reason Marcie Gallagher didn’t like the idea of my unexpected visit.

  Twelve

  Monday, July 27

  Sandy Dugas phoned me around eight in the morning from the food pantry in panic mode. Several charitable organizations had generously donated two semi-trucks loads of non-perishable food and a refrigerated truck containing perishables like meat and seafood. All donations had to be logged in right off the truck. To top it all, our warehouse manager was out of town on vacation with his family and couldn’t be reached.

  Linda Cutrer, the person who normally volunteered at the same position as mine, but on opposite days, couldn’t come in until noon today. Besides, this sounded like a two or more person job.

  “My kids are back from Gulf Shores now. I’ll have to find a sitter for them. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  I hadn’t planned on spending the day logging in supplies, but duty calls. Of course none of my usual teenage sitters were available. I phoned Rachel who agreed to watch them at her house.

  After a hectic hour of making myself presentable and the twins squared away at Rachel’s, I drove the five miles from my house to the food pantry.

  Sandy sighed with relief when I checked in with her. “Thanks so much for coming. I managed to get Grace Henderson to start logging in some of the non-perishable foodstuff.”

  I couldn’t imagine a more implausible scenario. Grace was the type of person who never wanted to do anything that wasn’t “in my job description.” I was positive that as soon as she saw me she would hand over the clipboard and disappear back inside the air conditioned office. That’s exactly what happened.

  Linda arrived shortly after noon along with another volunteer, so I took a well-deserved break. Walking back to the office, I spotted a familiar-looking man exiting his vehicle, a white Ford pick-up.

  He wore jeans, western boots, and a black tee-shirt. It took me a few minutes to put a name to his face. Josh Broussard? What would a private investigator be doing here?

  Josh stood next to the pick-up’s open door with a surprised look on his face. “Susan Foret?”

  “The one and only.” I walked closer to him.

  “No one ever made a truer statement.”

  “Oh, come on now.” I met Josh through Megan during the time I searched for proof that Jim was murdered. He knew how stubborn and persistent I could be. “What in the world are you doing at a food pantry?”

  “Working a case.” A lopsided grin tipped the corner of his mouth. “I might ask you the same question.”

  “I’ve been volunteering here a couple of days a week for about six months.” I tilted my head to one side. “The only case that would bring you here would be Celina Baum’s murder.”

  He shrugged and tried to look innocent. “I could be looking into a case of embezzlement of food pantry funds.”

  I arched a brow. “Really?”

  He cleared his throat. “You got time to talk?”

  “Sure, I’m on a break. Come into my office.”

  He shut the pick-up’s door and followed me. “Is anyone else in there?”

  “Not that I know of. Everyone is out back unloading supplies from three semis.”

  My imagination ran wild trying to figure out why he would be working on a case the sheriff’s office was handling. The curiosity building inside me nearly drove me crazy. His visit was too much of a coincidence to not be a sign. But a sign of what? That was the million dollar question.

  Once inside the office, I sat in the chair behind my desk and he took a seat opposite me. Josh leaned forward and rested his arms on the desk front.

  He wasn’t exactly handsome, but attractive in a rugged way. I did notice a scar on his right arm an inch or so above his wrist that I didn’t remember seeing when we first met. Of course at the time I was in turmoil after Jim’s murder, so that didn’t surprise me. A wound he suffered in Iraq? Or as a result of a case he worked in the past?

  “Now tell me what’s up with you?”

  “I’ve been asked to look into Celina Baum’s murder.”

  “But the sheriff’s office is handling the case. As far as I know, they haven’t given up trying to solve her murder.”

  “The family isn’t happy with Sheriff Theriot’s progress.”

  “Does Brad know they hired you?”

  “That I don’t know. And I’d prefer he didn’t.” He lifted his hands palms up. “Regular law enforcement doesn’t like PIs like me nosing into their case.”

  “So why are you telling me stuff I didn’t think PIs were supposed to divulge?”

  He stared at me for a long moment. “You mean, like who I’m working for? Why do you think I am?”

  “Because you believe I can give you information Brad and his deputies won’t?”

  He nodded. “Maybe you could. Besides, it’s nice to see you again.”

  I sat up straight. “I didn’t think you liked me very much.”

  “Didn’t at first,” he admitted. “As I recall the feeling was mutual. We did end our association on a cordial note.”

  I agreed. Too bad he didn’t leave his reminiscence about our association at that.

  He continued, “I thought you did a hell of a job ferreting out information after your husband’s death.”

  I flinched.

  He averted his eyes for an instant. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up a sensitive subject. Not too many women I know would have kept on pushing the cops to pursue the case as a homicide. You never quit.”

  I moved the subject away from Jim’s death. “So what do you want to know? If I can help I will. Celina was a nice person.”

  “What did she do here?”

  “Mostly she dealt with Spanish speakers, assessing their needs.”

  “Does anyone in charge here ask whether these people are here legally?”

  I shook my head. “To the churches, they are people in need of food, clothing, and lodging.”

  He looked thoughtful as if contemplating his next question. “Could Celina have been involved in some way with smuggling illegals into the country?”

  I leaned back in my chair. “It’s an idea I considered at first. Now my inclination is toward a more humanitarian reason for her being out in the middle of nowhere at night.”

  “You mean, she thought she might be able to rescue some?”

  “Exactly. There have been so many stories that have come to light about the horrific conditions the people endure after giving up their life savings to those criminals. She always said she wanted to do as much as she could to help the immigrants.”

  “I gathered as much when I spoke to her sister. Do you know Willow?”

  My answer was interrupted by Sandy bursting into the office, a flustered look on her face. She stopped short when she saw Josh.

  Regaining her composure, she announced, “Your services as a French speaker are needed right now.”

  “There’s no one else here who can speak French better than me?”

  “Not at the moment. A man stumbled in through the gate, weak and almost delirious. He’s mumbling in some kind of pigeon French dialect. I did get a name out of him…Alex or Alec. EMS is on the way.”

  Thirteen

  Josh followed me and Sandy to the location, much to Sandy’s obvious discomfort. I couldn’t figure out why. Maybe she thought he was a cop or maybe an undercover ICE agent. He did have the appearance of law enforcement.

  The ailing man in question had been placed on a cot in the warehouse manager’s office. His clothes and hair were wet and smelled of bayou water. With his closed eyes and his shallow breathing, I didn’t believe he would be able to speak again.

  Looking at this stranger lying there in such serious condition brought back cutting memories of Jim in the hospital. My throat constricted. I took in a deep breath and willed myself not to break down.

  I checked the man’s pulse and then glanced back at the others. “His pulse is almost non-existent.”

  A mumbled sound came from the man’s mouth. I couldn’t understand what he said. I moved my face closer. He uttered one word that sounded like emeraude, French for emerald. As with the Celestines I suspected him to be Haitian, but didn’t know if the word was the same in their dialect.

  His eyes fluttered open briefly. He squeezed my hand with a weak grip.

  “Alex?” I said softly. “Je suis Susan. Aide arrivee bientot.” My French grammar wasn’t great but he seemed to understand and closed his eyes again.

  Sirens from emergency vehicles sounded in the distance. The wails grew louder as EMS approached.

  “I’ll go out and direct the EMTs to our location,” Josh offered. He turned and left the room.

  I kept holding Alex’s hand until two EMTs rushed into the room and forced me out of their way. I noticed three deputies from the sheriff’s office standing outside talking to Josh. I can’t imagine why that many men were sent for a seemingly ordinary medical call. One of the deputies was Ronnie Hart, another neighbor of mine.

  He motioned me and Sandy over to speak to him and the other deputies who I didn’t recognize.

  “What happened here?” Ronnie asked.

  “The man in there stumbled into the compound,” Sandy told him. “He appeared weak. I suspect he must have been wandering around for several days without food or water.”

  “Was he able to say anything?”

  I glanced at Sandy. “She got him to give his first name—Alex. But that’s all he told us about himself.”

  “Didn’t he say something else to you?” Sandy remarked.

  “He did, but it didn’t make much sense. I thought he said emeraude, which is French for emerald.”

  The EMTs wheeled Alex out on a stretcher. Ronnie asked one of them about the man’s condition.

  “Serious,” he answered and rolled his patient out to the waiting ambulance.

  Soon after the EMS left for the hospital, the deputies departed in their vehicles. I decided it was time for me to do the same.

  “Sandy, I’m sorry, but I’ve had enough. I hate to leave you in a pickle with so much left to do.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I understand,” she said.

  I got out of there as quick as I could. I couldn’t handle another dead or dying person.

  ~ * ~

  The day’s events continued to haunt me way into the evening. The kids were in bed so I didn’t have them to occupy my mind.

  I could still see Alex lying on the couch weak from dehydration and exposure. His milk-chocolate colored skin looked ashen. Mosquitoes had eaten him up. Could he have witnessed Celina’s murder? If he were a passenger on a boat load of illegal immigrants, he very well could have seen her and her killer. What did he mean by emeraude?

  All the trampled grass and foliage at the scene didn’t seem right. A herd of wild pigs couldn’t have mashed the grass down like that. It had to be a crowd of people.

  The land surrounded by Bayou Jean Baptist was accessible only by boat. Dense swamps lay beyond the point where Celina’s body was found. If people had flattened the area after being unloaded from a boat, they would have either been headed toward water again or straight into the swamp. Another boat had to be there to pick any people up.

  Pigs also would end up in the bayou unless they turned around and ran back the other way. Maybe feral pigs can swim. Too bad there aren’t any surveillance cameras in the swamp.

  The unexpected appearance of Josh Broussard served up more food for thought. Was he really glad to see me again or was his statement a ploy to find out information?

  Our association had been strictly business last year and it did end on a cordial note as he stated. I sensed something more amorous when he said it was nice to see me again. I wasn’t sure if I liked the idea or not. Forget it. I misinterpreted his tone.

  Emeraude surfaced once again in my head. If Alex was indeed referring to an emerald or emeralds, what connection did these gems have to him? Are jewels being smuggled into the state along with people?

  In the New World, emeralds were mined in Colombia and to a lesser extent in Brazil. If I remembered world history correctly, the emerald was sacred to the Incas. There were also other places in the world where emeralds were mined.

  Unfortunately, none of this information helped answer the questions about Alex and his emeraude.

  Jewel smuggling presented an interesting possibility. Did Alex have them hidden somewhere on his person?

  ~ * ~

  Danny answered the knock on his front door to see Brad standing there.

  “We need to talk about Susan.”

  A frown wrinkled Danny’s brow. “Does this have anything to do with the hoorah over here on Sunday?” He suspected as much before Brad even answered.

  Brad nodded. “You could say that.”

  He ushered the younger man into the living room with a wave of his hand. “I know it’s hot outside, but it’s a safer place to prevent eavesdropping, if you know what I mean.”

  Rachel walked into the room and greeted him with a surprised, but pleasant look. “Hi Brad. How are you?”

  “I’m good, and you?”

  “Fine,” she said. “Would you care for a cold drink? How about iced tea?”

  “No thank you, ma’am. I need to speak to Danny about a couple of things. I won’t be here but a few minutes.”

  The two men left through a sliding glass door at the rear of the house.

  Danny felt a mixture of curiosity and unease. What’s Susan done now?

  “What’s this all about?”

  Looking ready to explode any minute, Brad fisted his hands at his side. “I’m pretty sure she’s digging into Celina Baum’s murder.”

  “She probably is interested in the case because she knew the woman. Look, she’s a mystery writer. What has she done to suggest she’s gotten involved?”

  “At the Baums’ house after the funeral, she questioned me about Kenny Verrett who is a diver with Gallagher Salvage.”

  Danny raised his eyebrows. “And you told her what?” He knew Susan’s version, but he needed to hear Brad’s.

  “She asked who the guy was because Willow, Celina’s sister, had a negative reaction to him being there. I kinda brushed her reaction off. I told Susan he must be an ex-boyfriend. When I walked her and Rachel out to their car, she started questioning me about him again. Who was he? She claims to have detected that I knew him.”

  Danny chuckled. “She doesn’t miss much.”

  Brad blew out a deep breath. “I don’t see how you can be so calm about this. She’s either going to get herself killed or mess up our case…or both.” He paused for a short moment. “I told her he used to be a diver with Gallagher’s, but that was before I discovered she had visited the Gallagher place a day or so after Celina’s murder.”

  “How’d you find out she went there?”

  “An agent passed it on to me. At the funeral I didn’t know that she’d been there so I simply warned her not to get involved because there might be dangerous people connected to Celina’s murder.”

  “Have you asked Susan about the visit since then? If so, what did she say was the reason? It could be totally innocent.”

  “I didn’t speak to her until Sunday. And no. I didn’t ask her, but I doubt her visit was innocent.”

  “What makes you question her visit?”

  “You know Claire Gallagher never lets anyone through that gate unless they’re family or close friends. Susan drove up to the gate, spoke into the intercom, and was granted entry right away. So when I saw her and Remi with their heads together, I figured they were up to something.”

  “My granddaughter would like nothing better than to be right in the middle of the action. Together she and Susan would make a dangerous pair. But demanding either one of those women not investigate is like trying to get a bone from a hungry pit bull.” Danny cocked his head to one side. “What else is causing you grief? Are you having doubts about your ability to solve this murder?”

  Brad averted his eyes toward the patio floor for an instant. “No, this is a high profile case so I don’t want anything to go wrong. The whole deal with ICE has gotten more complicated since Celina’s murder.”