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  Then there were copperheads, beautiful reddish snakes that aren’t as deadly as rattlesnakes, which come in many varieties. But the cottonmouth is the scariest. Dark gray/brown/black with big fangs, an ugly, prehistoric face, a constantly searching tongue that whips around here and there, and a powerful venom. They can get you on land or in the water. Every year someone gets bit in some river, lake, pond, or watering hole where a summer swim is a southern staple. As kids, Pancake and I had scared away snakes to take a dip more than a few times.

  With cottonmouths in the picture, the luxury trailers seemed a trivial reward.

  “That’s our last scene this morning,” Ebersole said. “We’ll break for lunch.”

  “Lunch?” Pancake said.

  Of course.

  Nicole, Kirk, and the twins walked around the water’s edge and came to where we stood.

  “I love my job, I love my job,” Tara/Tegan, said. “I really do.”

  “Keep telling yourself that,” her sister said. Then she looked at Ebersole. “Are we finished with the damn swamp scenes yet?”

  “Two more.”

  She shook her head. “I want a raise.”

  “They aren’t until tomorrow,” Ebersole said. “You’ll feel better then.”

  “No. I won’t.”

  Nicole gave me a hug. “I thought you guys wouldn’t be here until later.”

  “Pancake needed lunch.”

  She punched his arm. “You came to the right place. Breakfast was great, and I’m sure lunch will be better.”

  That got a grunt from Pancake.

  “Then we need to sit down with Kirk.” I looked at him. “Something’s come up.”

  “What?” he asked.

  The twins gave each other a worried look. “Yeah, what?”

  “Let’s get you cleaned up and have some lunch and then we’ll tackle it,” Ray said.

  Tara/Tegan twisted one shoulder toward me. She had several healing scratches and a new one that was red and angry. “I need to get this cleaned up.”

  Kirk nodded. “I got a couple of new ones, too. I swear, this swamp is going to kill us.”

  “Where’s the doc?” one of the twins asked.

  “You have a doc on set?” I asked.

  “Not really,” Ebersole said. “He was a medic in the Army. But he can handle a few scratches.”

  Kirk headed to his trailer and the twins to theirs. Nicole, Ray, and I followed Pancake toward a group of canvas-shaded picnic tables and a buffet counter piled with sandwiches, seafood, sides, and an array of desserts. Pancake could always sniff out food. And attack it. Which is what he did.

  Nicole stuck with salad; Ray and I, salad and some grilled shrimp. Pancake had shrimp but no salad. Not that he didn’t like greens, he just considered them filler food when something better was around. The fact was I had never seen Pancake filled, so it seemed a moot point. He had seconds, and thirds, of crawfish étouffée, red beans and rice, blackened fish, grilled chicken, and, of course, bread pudding with whiskey sauce. It would have been amazing if it weren’t so common. The big guy could pack away the groceries.

  Had to admit though, the studio made sure cast and crew were well fed. Even out here on the edge of civilization.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  AFTER KIRK AND the twins had lunch, Pancake having another dose of bread pudding, so they wouldn’t have to eat by themselves, or so he said, we settled in Kirk’s trailer. It was plush and then some. The living area had two sofas and a couple of leather captain’s chairs. Hardwood paneling, drapes, canister lighting. Better than my place. The kitchen seemed to have all the conveniences, also better than my home. The door beyond was closed and I guessed it led to a sleeping area.

  Kirk, now wearing tan cotton drawstring pants and a light green tee shirt, sat on one sofa, flanked by the twins. They wore identical black shorts and white tees. Fortunately, Tara’s shirt had “Tara” in black block letters across the front, Tegan’s “Tegan.” Sure helped to have a roster. Ray and Pancake faced them from the other sofa, Nicole and I taking the chairs. I swirled mine back and forth a few times. Nicole gave me a look. One that said quit acting like a kid in a toy store. I never get to have fun.

  Ray began. “You and Kristi only had wine and half a joint. Right?”

  Kirk nodded.

  “How many joints were in the room? Total?” Kirk looked at him. “I told you. Three. The two I had, and the one Kristi brought.”

  “That’s what the cops found. And they agree that only one was smoked. And only partially.”

  “That’s right. Why?”

  “Bear with me,” Ray said. “The one you fired up? One of yours?”

  “No. The one she brought.”

  “You sure?”

  “Why does it matter?”

  “It does.” Ray locked that Ray gaze on him. “Again, you sure?”

  “Yes. I’m sure.”

  “How? If you had three, how did you know which one?”

  Kirk shook his head, smiling. “I’m terrible at rolling those things. Never ever got the hang of it. Mine are always loose and tend to fall apart. The one she brought was much tighter.”

  Ray nodded.

  “Besides, Kristi pulled it out of her purse and said we should try it. Supposed to be good.” Kirk looked at me and then back to Ray. “Why is that important?”

  “The one you guys smoked was the only one that had been laced.”

  “What does that mean? With what?”

  “Ketamine.”

  “What?” Kirk asked.

  The twins stiffened in unison, looked at each other, and then to Ray.

  “Are you sure?” Tegan asked.

  “It’s what the crime lab found.” Then to Kirk, he said, “And the drug was present in both yours and Kristi’s blood.”

  Kirk stared at him, jaw slack. Confused would be the word. “You’re telling me Kristi brought a joint that had drugs in it?”

  “Looks that way.” Ray gazed at the floor, then cut his eyes up toward Kirk. “You ever use anything like that?”

  “No. Never.”

  Again, in unison, the twins each laid a hand on Kirk’s shoulder. “No wonder you don’t remember anything,” Tara said.

  Kirk dropped his head. “God, I wish I did.”

  “But you don’t,” Tegan said. “Nothing. Right?”

  “It’s a total blank.”

  Tara asked, “Isn’t that one of those date rape drugs?”

  “Sure is,” I said.

  “So the cops are going to think Kirk drugged Kristi?” Tegan asked.

  “Not if she brought the joint.”

  Tears welled in her eyes. “But it’s only his word. Won’t they twist that around?”

  I nodded. “I’m sure they will.”

  Tegan squeezed Kirk’s shoulder. “This is not good. Definitely not good.”

  “Except,” I said. “Why would he do that to someone who was a willing partner?” I glanced at Nicole. “So to speak.”

  A small smile lifted one corner of Nicole’s mouth but quickly disappeared. “And why would he also drug himself? Does that make any sense?”

  “Sure don’t,” Pancake offered. “Killers usually like to stay awake and focused.”

  “You guys sound like you think I’m guilty,” Kirk said.

  “No,” Ray said. “Just looking at it the way Doucet and the cops will.”

  “And the jury?” Kirk said.

  Ray shrugged.

  “Well, I didn’t. I didn’t know there was anything in that joint, and if I had, I damn sure wouldn’t have smoked it.”

  “I suspect that’s true,” I said.

  “And the truth is, I don’t think Kristi would have either. She wasn’t very experienced. I can’t see her jumping up to the big leagues all of a sudden.” His shoulders slumped. “I mean, she had never done anything. I introduced her to marijuana. That’s on me. And I feel guilty about that. But this?” He shook his head. “I’m totally fucked.”

 
“Maybe not,” Ray said.

  “I sure don’t see it any other way.”

  “If the drug was only found in Kristi, it’d be a different story,” Ray said. “But that isn’t the case. Which means that whoever gave her that joint wanted both of you drugged.”

  “Why would anyone do that?” Tara asked.

  “Only thing that makes sense,” Pancake said, “is someone wanted both Kirk and Kristi out of it.”

  “Who?” Kirk asked. “And why?”

  Pancake shrugged. “The who is the mystery. The why might be someone wanted to kill Kristi and frame you for it.”

  Bewildered. That was the look on Kirk’s face. “That doesn’t make any sense,” he said.

  “It does to someone. If you didn’t do it, someone did.” Pancake raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t happen all by itself.”

  A moment of quiet followed.

  “Will the cops try to find out where Kristi bought that joint?” Tegan asked.

  “I assume so,” I said. “If they believe Kirk.”

  “In a place like this, I don’t see how they’ll ever be able to do that,” Tara said. “This is New Orleans. I suspect that kind of thing is easy to come by.”

  “Probably not,” Ray said.

  “Definitely not,” Pancake added. “Ketamine isn’t common. Not easy to get and not much of a market for it. I suspect the number of street sources aren’t all that great.”

  Tara looked at her sister, Kirk, and then Pancake. “If they find the seller, maybe they can solve this.”

  “And get Kirk off the hook,” Tegan added.

  “That would help,” I said.

  “So, this is like one of those true-crime TV shows,” Tara said. “They’ll take a picture of Kristi around to all the dealers they know and see if any of them recognize her? Something like that?”

  “I don’t think a dealer would talk to the cops,” Tegan added.

  “You might be surprised,” Pancake said. “Cops and dealers often have an uneasy but mutually beneficial relationship. One gets info and the other gets a little less heat.”

  The twins exchanged a glance and in unison hugged Kirk.

  “It’ll be all right,” Tegan said.

  A knock on the door. It swung open. A crew member stuck his head inside. “Mr. Ebersole wants to talk with you,” he said to Kirk.

  “We’re a little busy.”

  “He said it was important. Some dude named Tony is making noise at the gate. Wants to talk to you.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  NOBODY COULD REMEMBER where Ragman got his name. For sure Robert didn’t. Probably from high school, maybe before, definitely before he got tossed from school for selling dope. Ragman never gave a doo-wa-diddy about school anyway. From what Robert could see, he didn’t care about much else either. Except selling shit on the street.

  Which was fine. That’s all they needed him for. But he did appreciate Ragman’s closed mouth. He could be trusted. As well as any other street thug, that is. But he had at least kept all their dealings off the radar. And away from Tony’s ears.

  They found him walking Decatur Street, his usual haunt. He was chatting with a couple of dudes. Looked like college kids. They ducked around the corner, a minute later reappearing and going their separate ways. Deal done.

  “Ragman,” Robert said.

  Ragman turned, sauntering toward them. “What you two up to? Need a little sumpin, sumpin?”

  “Yeah. And some information.”

  Ragman stopped. “I ain’t got no information.”

  “It’s cool,” Kevin said.

  “Usually ain’t. But you want to do business, then okay. You want to jaw about things I don’t know nothing about, then have a nice day.”

  “What you got?”

  Ragman scanned the street. “Got a bundle in my sock.”

  “The usual? Fifty?”

  “Yeah, man.”

  Ragman jerked his head. “Follow me.”

  They did. They headed up Decatur and ducked into the alley Ragman used for most of his sales. Robert never felt comfortable there, the alley being right next to the fire station. Closed up and quiet now, the firemen probably inside napping, watching TV, playing cards, whatever they did while waiting for the next catastrophe. He wondered if the guys inside knew what Ragman did right in their face. Ragman seemed unconcerned. In the alley, they made the exchange.

  “That’s some good shit,” Ragman said. “From my best supplier.”

  He always said that so Robert simply nodded. “I’d expect nothing less.”

  “But we do have a question for you,” Kevin said.

  “Told you. I ain’t got no answers.”

  “Know where someone might get some bump?” Kevin asked. “You know. Special K? Ketamine?”

  “What the fuck you think this is? Amateur hour? I know what the fuck you talking about.” He leaned against the wall, his shirt riding up above his frayed jeans, exposing a nickel-plated .38 stuffed in the waistband.

  “So?” Robert asked. He could see curiosity rise in Ragman’s face.

  “What’s this about?”

  “Our sister.”

  Ragman shook his head. “I heard about that. Her getting killed and all. Some cold shit there, I’m telling you.”

  “Someone sold her, or that pretty boy who killed her, some bump-soaked joints.”

  Ragman came off the wall, stretched his neck one way and then the other. “I don’t sell that shit, so I don’t see why you getting on me about that.”

  “We ain’t,” Kevin said. “We just know you know everything about everything and thought you might be able to help us.”

  “Help you?”

  “Yeah. Find out where it might’ve come from.”

  Ragman stared at him, a film of suspicion settling over his face. “Who’m I talking to here?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Am I talking to you two, or Tony?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Fuck yeah. If you ain’t here on Tony’s business, we got nothing to jaw about.”

  “It’s about our sister.”

  “You still ain’t said nothing. Is this for Tony?”

  Robert glanced at Kevin. “Yeah.”

  “If Tony wants to know this, why don’t he call or come by hisself?”

  “Yeah, right. I’m sure Uncle Tony will rush right down here and chat with you. On the street. Besides, he’s looking into something else. We’re helping out.”

  Ragman nodded slowly as if considering whether Robert was telling the truth. “Like I done said, I don’t deal that shit. But, I’ll see what I can find out.”

  “That would help.”

  “Ain’t promising nothing.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  FROM WHAT I had heard and what little I had seen, I sensed one thing was true—Tony Guidry was a man who expected to get his way. In business, with law enforcement and the courts, and definitely on the street. Whether he leveraged money, muscle, or information, he seemed to be able to put a full Nelson on anyone. I mean, every time his name came up—whether from his nephews, Kristi’s ex Owen Vaughn, her friend and coworker Gloria, even Detective Doucet—it was laced with a bit of caution. As if the mere mention of his name was dangerous. He seemed to cast an aura that made everyone’s radar go on high alert as if they feared Tony might have them triangulated. I suspected that he did have ample eyes and ears on most of New Orleans. If you spoke of him, you had to assume it just might ping Tony’s network.

  My heart rate kicked up and my stomach felt queasy as Ray, Pancake, and I walked the hundred yards to where Tony’s limo sat, he and his two thugs facing the gate guards. You could almost feel the tension and it seemed to increase as we neared.

  Ray insisted that Kirk and the twins hang back, inside, out of sight, while we assessed the terrain—his word. Kirk protested but not too strongly. Like he didn’t really want to see Tony. A sentiment I shared. Nicole was another story. When I suggested she stay behind
she would have none of it, saying she wasn’t about to hide from some punk. Gotta love her grit. But Ray sided with me. So did Pancake and it was him that calmed her down, saying we needed to focus on Tony and his guys, make sure all this didn’t turn into the OK Corral or some such, and that he didn’t want to have to worry about her. She countered that he didn’t need to worry over her, but he said he would anyway and that that might be distracting. That got a smile and an okay from her.

  Anger creased Tony’s face as he squared off with the studio guards. Ray stepped between them and offered his hand.

  “Mr. Guidry,” Ray said. “Ray Longly.”

  Tony ignored the hand. “That supposed to mean something to me?”

  “Probably not. But then, until a couple of days ago, I’d never heard of you either.”

  I thought Tony might explode. Literally. His face reddened and seemed to swell. “Listen, asshole, I don’t give rat shit who you are, but you’re in my domain now.”

  “Oh,” Ray said. “You make movies, too?”

  That knocked Tony back a step. Like he wasn’t sure how to respond. Confusion will do that. I had seen it many times. Ray had a knack for moving any conversation off-center. For making folks lose their focus.

  Tony, obviously not able to process the question, simply stared at him.

  “So, what can I do for you?” Ray asked.

  “You in charge here?”

  “Depends on what you mean by in charge. If you mean am I part of this production crew, then no.”

  “Who are you?” Tony asked.

  “Ray Longly. Longly Investigations. Private firm.”

  “A PI looking into what, if I might ask?”

  “The murder of your niece.”