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“When did you start hanging out with Desmond?”
“He’s in the dumps. They’re going broke. Lou is and so is Antoine. They borrowed against their homes and their video business. Dave, I know you’re not sympathetic, but how many people would risk everything they own to create an epic film that will probably bomb?”
“I saw a guy with a scoped rifle at Henderson Swamp. I think he was looking at me and Clete through the scope.”
“Why didn’t you say that?”
“I don’t know who it was. Maybe it was just a guy.”
“Maybe it was Smiley Wimple,” she said.
“Smiley doesn’t have a beef with either Clete or me. So that means for now we don’t trust anyone. Got it?”
“That’s a little broad.”
“Did you hear me?”
“Copy that. Where are you going now?”
“I’m not sure,” I said.
But I was lying.
Chapter Twenty-Six
THE BLUES CLUB on the bayou was packed, bodies pressed one against the other, people shouting in order to hold an ordinary conversation, the band blowing the joint down with Clifton Chenier’s “Ay-Te Te Fee.” I squeezed my way to the bar. Lloyd, the indignant black bartender with the small head, waited silently for me to order.
“Bella Delahoussaye!” I shouted.
“What?” he shouted back.
“Where’s Bella?”
He looked at the bandstand. “She ain’t here!”
“Where is she?”
“Running late! Like always!” he shouted. “What you want, man?”
“Half a barbecue chicken, double dirty rice, and a diet Dr Pepper!”
Ten minutes passed. Still no Bella. The bartender brought my food on a paper plate with a napkin and a plastic fork and knife. The noise was getting louder. My head was coming off.
“Where’s the Dr Pepper?” I shouted.
“I tole you, this ain’t a soda fountain!” the bartender replied. He walked away. A big man who looked familiar sat down next to me.
“Watch my food, will you?” I said.
I worked my way outside and checked the parking lot. I didn’t have Bella’s phone number and had no way to contact her except to call the city police in St. Martinville and ask the dispatcher to send a car to her cottage. I didn’t think Bella would appreciate the gesture. I went back inside and sat down. I could see Sean McClain sitting at a table below the bandstand. He was with several other young people and drinking a beer from a bottle.
“Find what you were looking for?” the man next to me said.
I looked at him. His face was as generic and uninteresting as a shingle. “I know you?”
“You came into my former place of employment in St. Martinville.”
I had to think. “Harvey?”
