Blow Fly (Kay Scarpetta #12)(117)

"And a lot of furniture was handmade out of cypress. Charlotte Dard was one of her customers, was remodeling her house and buying a lot of things from my mom's shop, and that's how the two of them got friendly. Not close." She pauses, searching her memory. "My mom talked about this rich woman with a sports car and how beautiful her house was going to be when it was all done.

"I guess Mrs. Dard's business helped out a lot. Papa never made much as a schoolteacher." Nic smiles sadly. "Mama did really well and was frugal. Most of what my father lives off now came from my mother, from how well she did with that shop."

"Mrs. Dard was a drug abuser," Scarpetta says. "She died from a drug overdose, an accident or a homicide. I suspect the latter. She supposedly was suffering blackouts not long before her death. Do you know anything about that?"

"Everybody around here does," Nic replies. "It certainly was the talk of Baton Rouge. She dropped dead in a motel room, the Paradise Acres Motel, sounds like the name of a cemetery. Off Chocktaw, a terrible part of town. Rumor was, she was having an affair and met up with the person there. I don't know anything more than what was in the news."

"What about her husband?" Lucy asks.

"Good question. I've never heard of anyone who's met him. How strange is that? Except he's some sort of aristocrat and travels all the time."

"Have you ever seen a picture of him?" Rudy asks.

Nic shakes her head.

"So he's not in the news."

"He's really private," Nic replies.

"What else?" Marino asks.

"Yeah, there's some kind of weird connection going on here, right?" Rudy looks at Scarpetta. "Some pharmacist came up as a suspect, and Rocco Caggiano was his lawyer."

Marino gets up for more coffee.

"Think," Lucy encourages Nic.

"Okay." She takes a deep breath. "Okay. Here's something. I think Charlotte Dard invited Mom to a cocktail party. I remember. Mom never went to cocktail parties. She didn't drink and was shy, felt out of place among uppity people. So this was a big deal that she was going. It was on the plantation, the Dard plantation. Mom went to drum up business for her shop. And out of respect for her best customer, Mrs. Dard."

"When was this?" Scarpetta asks.

Nic thinks. "Not long before my mother was killed."

"How long is not long?" Rudy asks.

"I don't know." Nic swallows hard again. "Days. Days, I think. She wore this dress, had to go out to buy it." She shuts her eyes again. A sob catches in her throat. "It was pink with white piping. It was still hanging on her closet door when she got killed, you know, hanging there to remind her it needed to go to the dry cleaners."

"And your mother died less than two weeks before Charlotte Dard did," Scarpetta remarks.

"Kind of interesting," Marino points out, "that Mrs. Dard was so f*cked up and having violent fits, and nobody worried about her throwing a fancy garden party?"

"I'm thinking that," Rudy says.

"You know what?" Marino adds. "I drove almost twenty hours to get here. Then Lucy made me airsick. I gotta go to bed. Otherwise, I'll be making deductions that will cause you to arrest Santa Claus for something."

"I didn't make you airsick," Lucy says. "Go to bed. You need your beauty sleep. I thought you were Santa Claus."

He gets up from the couch and leaves, heading to the main house.

"I'm not going to make it much longer, either." Scarpetta gets up from her chair.

"Time to go," Nic says.

"You don't have to." Scarpetta tries hard to help.

"Can I ask you just one last thing?" Nic says.

"Of course." She is so tired, her brain feels frozen.

"Why would he beat her to death?"

"Why did someone beat Rebecca Milton to death?"

"Things didn't go the way he planned."

"Would your mother have resisted him?" Lucy asks.

"She would have clawed his eyes out," Nic replies.

"Maybe that's your answer. Please forgive me. I can't be much use to you now. I'm too tired."

Scarpetta leaves the small living room and closes her bedroom door.

"How are you?" Lucy moves to the couch and looks at Nic. "This is tough, really tough. Too tough to describe. You're brave, Nic Robillard."

"Worse for my father. He gave up on life. Quit everything."

"Like what?" Rudy asks gently.

"Well, he loved to teach. And he loves the water, or used to. He and Mom. They had this little fishing camp where nobody would bother them. Out in the middle of nowhere, I mean nowhere. He's never been there since."

"Where?"

"Dutch Bayou."

Rudy and Lucy look at each other.

"Who knew about it?" Lucy asks.

"I guess whoever my mother chatted about it to. She was a talker, all right. Unlike my dad."

"Where's Dutch Bayou?" Lucy then asks.

"Near Lake Maurepas. Off Blind River."

"Could you find it now?"

Nic stares at her. "Why?"

"Just answer my question." She lightly touches Nic's arm.