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“There’s more,” Burke said gently. “But this is better news. Donna Lee also had texts to Mule’s number on her phone. She swears that she didn’t know the name of anyone she was dealing with, but when Val pressed her for what she’d said to Mule, guess what she answered?”
Molly exhaled excitedly. “Something having to do with Lamont Ducote?”
“Right in one,” Burke said. “She told Mule whenever Ducote came into the Choux.”
Gabe’s head jerked up. “What? He was in my place?”
“Donna Lee said that he was in your place several times,” Burke confirmed. “Usually at lunch. Started up right after your father was killed, so I think he was keeping an eye on you. He came in once for dinner with his wife and another couple. He took a few texts that night before focusing on his fellow dinner guests.”
“Who was the other couple?” Molly asked.
“Lyle Nelson and his wife, Lorraine.”
Gabe frowned. “I don’t know those names.”
“Oh, I do,” Burke said grimly.
“So do I,” Antoine chimed in. “Nelson’s a rich dude who dabbles in politics. He’s part of one of the oldest krewes and has been for as long as I can remember. He’s also a philanthropist and wants everyone to know it.”
“Fancies himself a political kingmaker,” Burke added. “If he’s a donor, his beneficiary usually wins whatever election they’re in.”
Molly let go of Gabe’s hand, her fingers tapping furiously on her phone’s keyboard. “I wondered why this was happening now,” she said triumphantly. “Katrina was over fifteen years ago. I wondered why, after all this time, he went after your father now.”
“Because Dad went after him,” Gabe said uncertainly. “He was running out of time.”
Because he was sick and never told me.
Molly nodded. “True, but your father had tried to investigate this case many times before and all he got was either a reprimand or a threat that they’d fire him so that he’d lose his health insurance. I wondered, why now? It’s because Ducote is planning a run for the Senate.”
“State senate?” Cicely asked.
“Nope. He was aiming higher.” Molly held her phone so that the rest of them could see her screen. Sure enough, there was the headline. Ducote rumored to run for US Senate.
Gabe’s throat thickened. “He killed my father so that he could run for office?”
Molly sighed. “I’m sorry, Gabe. It looks like it. I mean, maybe he was alarmed that your father was investigating again, especially because Rocky had ramped up his efforts. Your dad had told them that the eyewitness had died in Katrina, but then he inadvertently outed Xavier as still alive when he asked Paul Lott to set up that trust. He was close to finding Dr. Benson. An allegation of murder would be a terrible scandal. It would destroy any political aspirations Ducote had.”
Gabe rubbed his hands over his face. He was so damned tired. And every time he thought about someone forcing his father to take that drink of Grey Goose, someone drugging his father, someone putting a gun in his hand and pulling the trigger...
His eyes burned. Dammit. You will not fall apart here.
But he was going to. He could feel the sob forming in his chest and he couldn’t breathe. Shoving back from the table, he lurched to his feet, ran out the back door, and stumbled down the stairs.
Just in time. He leaned against one of the pilings, bending at the waist because he couldn’t hold his body upright another second longer. Grief and rage and fear... it all swirled like a hurricane, filling him. Not fair. Not fair. Not fucking fair.
The noise that came out of his mouth didn’t even sound human. His legs folded beneath him and he fell on his ass and he didn’t even care. He couldn’t breathe, like an elephant was sitting on his chest.
Then he was enveloped in soft arms. Strong arms.
And the scent of oranges.
Molly.She didn’t say a word, just held him, rocking him as he cried, raking her fingers through his hair, lightly scraping her nails over his scalp. He wound his arms around her, holding fast. Knowing that this was safety. He could cry in her arms, and she would never judge him.
And she would help him take his father’s killer down. It was the one thought that circled in his brain, over and over. We have to make him pay. We have to.
He wasn’t sure how long they sat on the ground. She never let him go and he clutched her like she was the last post standing in a storm.
Finally, he could breathe again. He shuddered out a final sob, dragging air back into his lungs. Then he sagged against her, confident that she wouldn’t let him fall. She urged him down until his head lay in her lap. Her fingers never stopped stroking his hair, his face.
