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Before Dupree could answer, Clete heard footsteps behind him. He turned around and looked at perhaps one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen. She did not seem to notice either his or Gretchen’s presence; instead, she was staring at Alexis Dupree with a level of anger Clete would never want directed at him. “Where’s Pierre?” she said.
“In Lafayette at his art exhibit. He’ll be so sorry he missed you,” Dupree said.
“Who are you?” the woman said to Clete.
“A private investigator,” he replied.
“You came to the right place.” She started to speak to Dupree, then she turned again to Clete. “You’re Dave Robicheaux’s buddy, aren’t you?”
“That’s right.”
“I’m Varina Leboeuf. You tell Dave if he ever humiliates my father again like he did yesterday, I’m going to beat the shit out of him.”
“If Dave Robicheaux busted your old man, he had it coming,” Clete said.
“What are y’all doing here?” she said.
“You need to butt out, ma’am,” Gretchen said.
“What did you say?”
“We’re having a conversation with Mr. Dupree. You’re not part of it,” Gretchen said.
“I’ll tell you what, young lady. Why don’t you and this gentleman ask Mr. Dupree about these wire traps stacked in the flower bed? Alexis places them all over the property every two or three weeks. The madwoman who used to own this wretched dump fed every stray cat in the parish. Alexis hates cats. So he baits and traps them and has a black man drop them at night in other people’s neighborhoods. Most of them will starve to death or die of disease.”
“Did you mention we don’t have a local animal refuge?” Dupree said.
“I just left the office of Pierre’s lawyer. If your grandson tries to fuck me on the settlement, I’m going to destroy all of you,” Varina said.
“You’ve certainly arrived here in a charming mood,” Dupree said.
“What are you doing with my dog? Pierre said he’d run away.”
“He did. But he came back home. He’s a brand-new dog now,” Dupree said.
“Come here, Vick,” Varina called.
The dog rested its jowls on its paws and did not move.
“Vick, come with Mommy. Come on, fella,” she called.
The dog seemed to shrink itself into the grass. Alexis Dupree was smiling at her, the fishing rod trembling slightly with the palsy that affected his hand. His gaze moved back to Gretchen and the lights in her hair and the thin gold chain. “Please accept my apologies for the behavior of my grandson’s wife,” he said. “Did your family emigrate from Prussia? Few people know that Yiddish is a German dialect. I suspect you’re aware of that, aren’t you?”
Gretchen looked at Clete. “I’ll wait in the car,” she said.
“Did I say something wrong?” Dupree asked, his eyes dropping to Gretchen’s hips and thighs as she walked away.
“DON’T LET THAT old guy get to you,” Clete said to her in the Caddy.
“I felt like he wanted to peel off my skin.”
“Yeah, he’s a little strange.”
“He’s a little strange? How about the broad?”
“She seemed pretty normal to me.”
“She has a broom up her ass.”
