“I’m just making certain.”

  “No. Ain’t no way. When Jason disappeared, both the mom and the dad were accounted for. As in, different city accounted for. The St. Laurents had some house help supposed to meet Jason at home and stay with him until they got back from a trip to,” Rondo tapped at his bald head, “New Orleans, I think.”

  “Alibis checked out?”

  Rondo laughed again. “Yes, Rocky. Whoever took Jason, it ain’t his father and it damn sure ain’t his mother. Sorry to disappoint you.”

  Rocky frowned. “So why all the attention early on? And you even said your partner liked the dad for the murder. Why did any of that make sense if they both had alibis?”

  “I paid attention because I thought the kid had run away. I figured Daddy got a little too rough and Jason split. I had a couple of guys you’d call my partners on this case, I guess. And yeah, one got tunnel vision for Bo St. Laurent. Shit like that happens. You zero in on somebody and nothing shakes you off. Not an alibi, not nothing. He didn’t know what he thought. He just didn’t feel right about the dad. But even he backed down when Jason tied back to the serial case. Somewhat.” Rondo grinned. “He kept checking the life insurance right up until he died. Just in case.”

  “What about the other one?”

  Rondo frowned. “Other what?”

  “You said you had two partners on the case. What did the other one think?”

  Rondo laughed. “Oh. Face?” He shook his head at the memory and wiped at his mouth with a napkin. “Patterson Lord Fillmore, the third. Looked like the guy on The A-Team they called Face. So we started calling him Face. I don’t even remember what we called him before Face. Would’ve been sometime after this case we started up with the nickname. But Face was always the same. Good cop, but he chased skirts a little more than leads, if you get my meaning.” He waved a hand between them. “No offense or nothing. But that’s Face for you. He would follow up any lead taking him back to talk to the cute nurse or the receptionist or neighbor. Seems to me he was working one at Bo St. Laurent’s clinic, one at the school, hell, even one at the trailer park.”

  “Did he have any theories?”

  “Face didn’t collect theories. He collected phone numbers.” Rondo laughed at his own joke.

  “Is Face still alive?”

  Rondo nodded. “Oh yeah. Ain’t changed one bit.”

  “Do you think he’d talk to me about his memories of the case?”

  Rondo raised an eyebrow at her. “As much as I hate to say this, cause you like a daughter to me…looking the way you do? Yeah,” he rolled his eyes and shook his head, picking at one last fry, “Face’ll love to talk to you.”

  Rondo wasn’t wrong. An hour later, when Rocky tracked down Patterson “Face” Fillmore in a coffee shop across from the courthouse, he welcomed her into the booth across from him and even offered to buy her a drink. When Rocky told him she didn’t drink coffee, he informed her he wasn’t talking about coffee. To which she used a polite smile to stifle a gag.

  Face Fillmore looked just as Rondo described him. He was late fifties, a few years younger than Rondo and Frank Champagnolle. He had a full head of dark brown hair flipped over into a silky wave across one ear. The other side ruffled, like he ran his hand through his locks over and over again all morning. His face held onto sharp angles, though time wrinkled and sagged them a touch. He wore a tan sport coat with a light blue shirt unbuttoned a few down and tieless and dark gray pants. A knit navy tie lay tied and ready to slip on beside him.

  His smile may have faded to an off-white over the years, but even Rocky would admit she could see how the grin won him a couple of phone numbers. “So you’re Frank Champagnolle’s daughter, huh?”

  Rocky flashed a winning smile right back at him and framed her face with her hands. “Yes, sir, I sure am.”

  He winked at her. “I suppose I should behave myself then?”

  Rocky winked right back. “Oh, I’ll bet you’re always on your best behavior.”

  Face laughed. “So what can I do for you, Little Champagnolle?”

  “I’m doing some research into an old case you worked with my Uncle Rondo.” Rocky made sure to use the familiar term with Rondo to give the old hornball one more deterrent.

  He sucked a breath in through his teeth. “Whew. Me and Rondo. A lot of cases, sweetheart. Which one? I’ll see if I can remember.”

  “Jason St. Laurent.”

  The grin left Face’s face. He nodded once. “I remember.”

  “Any theories?”

  Face laughed and gave a condescending shrug. “Theories? The way I recall, we didn’t get much time to develop many theories. As soon as they tied Jason to the serial case, they chased us right off.”

  “What about before then?”

  He shook his head. “There wasn’t much before then. Everything happened pretty fast. And I was young. So young. They had me doing interviews. Canvassing, we call it.”

  Rocky nodded. “Rondo said you had a way of,” she paused, rolling her head around, “seeking out female interview subjects?”

  Face laughed loudly. “He would. The asshole. You tell Detective Singer I picked up some good leads on the St. Laurent case before it went serial.”

  Rocky frowned. “Like what? Do you remember?”

  He frowned, thinking back. “Well, the one I remember most was one I tried to track down right before they found the body. There was a connection. Between Trailer Pines and Bo St. Laurent’s office.”

  Rocky leaned forward. “What connection?”

  Face nodded. “A nurse who worked for Dr. St. Laurent lived in Trailer Pines. She moved right around the time of the disappearance.”

  “Right before or right after?”

  He cocked his head. “Well, I never found out. Place like Trailer Pines kept shoddy records, so she could’ve left anywhere in a five or six day span. And that sounds fishy, I know. But people moved in and out of those places all the time. Still, the connection piqued my interest.”

  Rocky shook her head. “But you didn’t get to follow up?”

  “Kind of. We passed all our stuff on to the serial squad. I flagged her, of course. And I checked back. But the woman’s alibi checked out for all the previous murders. And they could pinpoint about the time Jason’s body got dumped. She checked out then, too.”

  “Do you remember her name?”

  Face strained to remember but shook his head. “No. Sorry. Real cute. But I’m sure Rondo told you she was just my type, didn’t he?”

  Rocky grinned sheepishly. “Something like that.”

  The talk slid into trash talk about Rondo and stories of run-ins Face had with Frank Champagnolle over the years. In short, Rondo was an ass and Frank was salt of the earth. They chatted until Face finished his cup of coffee. As he drained the last sip, he reached for his tie and adjusted the slipshod knot as he told Rocky, “Well, I hate to run out on you, but I’m due in court. Tell your dad I said hi, will you?” He paused and glanced back over his shoulder. “And kick Rondo in the shin.” He smiled and left.

  Once outside the coffee shop with a bag of donut holes for her troubles, Rocky started for her car, keys in hand. The little black Lexus angled toward her in a parking spot on Broad Street about three buildings down. Before she took three steps, Rocky noticed a man loitering across Broad watching the area around her car. He filled out his suit in a frightening series of bulging muscle right up to his bald head. She recognized him from his shadowy perch behind her at Waverly St. Laurent’s. Freddy Van Vleet’s tough waited on Rocky in the street, watching her, following her.

  They made eye contact as Rocky started to walk toward the car. Mr. Clean flicked a toothpick from his mouth and started ambling across the street to block her path to the Lexus. Rocky kept walking, calm bounces and confident strides, but panicked in her head. She scanned the street for any escape or help. The tough grinned at her not-so-subtle surveying of surroundings and leaned against the trunk of her car.

  Rocky slowed down and looked to her left. She stood next to The Lonely Indian, Texarkana’s oldest bar. Even in the middle of the afternoon, The Lonely Indian would have a few patrons. And more than likely, those patrons would be about as scary as Freddy Van Vleet’s henchman.

  She undid a button on her neckline and tucked a little skirt into the tie at her waist to raise her hemline. And she swiveled on one flat, sashaying into the bar. Sure enough, three bikers sat at the bar. They were bearded and tattooed and burly enough to do the trick. Rocky held up the bag of donut holes and jutted out one hip. “I would be more than happy to share some of these donut holes with any gentleman willing to do me one eensy weensy little favor.” Three rough, grease stained hands shot into the air.

  Chapter 21

  Wednesday night brought the first baking class at Elaine Maplethorpe’s house. Jen led a group of five Junior Leaguers with kitchen experience through a first lesson in folding a fourth of an ounce of marijuana into a batch of brownies. Rocky added a sixth member to their student group. But, as she pointed out real quick, she was merely auditing the class. Which meant sitting on a counter and licking spoons.

  As it turns out, making pot brownies isn’t as simple as dumping marijuana leaves into some batter and mixing everything up. The proper way to prep for edibles is to make what’s called cannabutter, which is nothing more than a stick of butter whipped together with a fourth of an ounce of finely ground cannabis buds. Elaine guided the group through the process of baking the buds for an hour or so at low heat to “decarboxylate them.”

  Rocky watched on as they placed the buds on a baking pan. “Decarboxylate? Is that a spell?”

  Elaine laughed, “Oh, no, sweetie. Science. This is how they let off their potency. Without this step, I’m afraid you’ll make nothing more than brownies with green butter.”

  Rocky nodded. “Yeah. My Granny used to help me decarboxylate Shrinky Dinks.”

  The lesson went on through the afternoon, three brownie batches, and about four bottles of wine between them. Elaine relished the opportunity to share stories of her New Member Class with the next generation. She gazed off as she spoke. “Oh, I suppose I was always the free spirit of the group. Always suggesting we go camping or,” she giggled into her hand, “skinny dipping. I remember how I would drive poor Dottie crazy. Always so reserved.”

  One of the bakers glanced back over her shoulder while mixing a bowl of batter. “So who was the Rocky of your group?”

  Another burst out laughing and shrieked, “I doubt there’s ever been another Rocky.”

  Rocky scrunched up her face in annoyance, but Elaine shook her head, “No, no. We had our Rocky, all right.”

  Rocky shot a look at her, and Elaine smiled. “Irreverent and witty. Brilliant and brash. Always there with a retort or a takedown of some pompous ass who thought he could pick one of us up.”

  Everyone stopped and turned, asking in unison, “Who?”

  Elaine smiled at Rocky. “Waverly St. Laurent.”

  Jen howled with laughter. Rocky went into full meerkat face and shook her head. Elaine just nodded. “It’s true, I’m afraid. I know she can be a pill as a grumpy old woman, but as a young lady, I can see a lot of similarities between the two of you.”

  Jen clapped. “This is the best thing I ever heard. Please. Please. Tell us exactly how they were alike.”

  Elaine twirled a wooden spoon in the air and thought back to a young Waverly with a smile enveloping her whole face. “Many, many ways. Waverly, like our Rocky here, was a beautiful woman. Striking and always so classy. Waverly didn’t boast your figure, I’m afraid.”

  Rocky grumbled, “So like a skinny me. Great. Thanks.”

  Elaine grinned off the comment. “No, no, now. She was a stick. Waverly St. Laurent would kill for an ass like yours, hon. But the charisma.” She shook her head and closed her eyes. “Wow. You both radiate brilliant auras. Magnetic charisma. Everyone wants to be near you. Waverly was the same. We gravitated toward her. Like planets to a sun. She always glowed a little brighter than the rest of us. Had more,” she cocked her head, “gravity to her, I suppose.”

  Jen leaned in next to Rocky, elbowing Rocky’s knee and enjoying the hell out of the conversation. “So Waverly was funny?”

  Elaine recoiled. “Funny? She was hilarious. I know she just comes across bitter and mean now, but in our day, she kept us rolling.” She pointed at Rocky to pull her from her pout. “But I’ll say this for you, dear. Waverly never had the balls to leave her husband.”

  Rocky shot back alert and squinted at Elaine. “Why would she leave her husband?”

  Elaine waved off the question. “Same old reason, honey. Same old reason.”

  “What reason?”

  “Same as yours, I think,” Elaine shrugged. “Bo always ran around on her.”

  Rocky leaned forward. “Bo cheated on Waverly?”

  “Lord, yes. Many times.” Elaine took a swig of wine. “I’ll bet he screwed every nurse who ever worked for him.”

  “Well,” Rocky nodded along and held out her glass for a toast, “I definitely know how that feels.”

  Elaine met her glass. “Damn right. And you kicked him to the curb. Good for you, girl! I can’t tell you how many times we tried to get Waverly to do the same. They weren’t married a year before she caught him the first time. Nurses, secretaries, maids, nannies—”

  “Nannies?” Rocky held her glass to her mouth and paused.

  Elaine nodded. “Yep. Two of them. Waverly fired one and then he still screwed the new one. Hell, I remember one time when Waverly had to stay in the hospital after her surgery for endometriosis, for God’s sake, she hired a maid to look after the house while she was gone. And guess what happened?”

  Rocky cocked an eyebrow. “He screwed her?”

  Elaine shook her head. “Nope. He screwed her.” She waved her glass around, sloshing wine. “All over the place.”

  “This was all before Jason?”

  Elaine swallowed and lost her smile. “Yes. All before Jason.” She drained the rest of her wine. “Oh, I’m sure Bo continued to screw anything with tits who would smile at him. But Waverly changed after Jason died. She lost all her fire. Whatever hope she had of kicking Bo out died with Jason. She was never the same after Jason.”

  Rocky nodded. “So after Jason died, she became the miserable old cunt we know today?”

  Jen elbowed Rocky, but Elaine shook her off. “No, she’s right. That’s pretty accurate. Waverly was always cynical and sarcastic and borderline mean. Just in a funny way. Like Rocky. After Jason, all she had left was the cynicism and the bite. Which stopped being funny.” She nodded and stared into space. “She became a raging cunt.”

  Rocky smiled at Jen, who rolled her eyes. A burning aroma and a fog settled in around them, slicing the smell of baked brownies which filled the kitchen. Jen spun away from Rocky. “Shit!”

  Everyone scrambled around to clear a path for a burning pan of brownies. Rocky snarked, “What you get for laughing about me being like Waverly St. Laurent.”

  “Shut up, Rocky!” Jen squawked back over her shoulder as she fumbled with potholders.

  Elaine flipped on a fan and waved at the smoke with a magazine. “Don’t you worry, Jennifer. We distracted you with our jabbering. You’re ready to bake to your heart’s content.”

  One of the other girls said, “So all we need now is a supply.”

  They all eyed Rocky, who raised her eyebrows and shrugged. “I said I’d take care of it, didn’t I? I’m meeting my guy as soon as I leave here.”

  Jen rolled her eyes. “Your guy?”

  Rocky nodded and studied a fingernail. “Yes. I have a guy.”

  On the way to the car, after a lengthy set of goodbyes with Elaine, Rocky asked one of the girls (Brittney from the visit to Rocky’s classroom), “What about our other endeavor?”

  Brittney sighed. “Well, we are making progress, but this isn’t as easy as we expected.”

  “Why not?”

  “Well,” Brittney explained, “apparently no doctor is going around writing scripts for his own kid. They get a colleague to do it. So we need to find a doctor’s wife to pair up with another doctor’s wife.”

  Rocky shrugged. “Shouldn’t be too hard.”

  Brittney nodded. “No, you’re right. We’ve matched two sets. Plus we found three moms who think their kids get twice as much as they need. Just takes time.”

  “So what does all that mean?”

  “About three hundred Adderall are coming our way. Eventually.”

  Rocky slapped her on the shoulder. “Three hundred ain’t too shabby, Brittney. Keep up the good work.”

  As Rocky and Jen climbed into Jen’s car, Jen glanced over and said, “Her name’s not Brittney, you know?”

  “Jen, you overestimate my ability to give a fuck. They’re all Brittney.”

  “And since when do you have a guy?”

  Rocky bobbed her head around and shrugged, but Jen glowered at her until she caved. “Since I caught my dad smoking a joint and forced him to fork over his supplier.”

  Jen gasped. “Frank Champagnolle smokes pot?” She blinked and looked around. “What is happening? Fred would blow a gasket.”

  Fred Champagnolle was Jen’s father and Frank’s twin brother. They were not identical in any way. Frank was short and built pretty solid, like a fullback. Fred was tall and lean, wiry and country strong. Frank picked up every sociable gene in the Champagnolle line—the gift of gab and the discernment of a politician as to when to use it. Fred was stoic and much preferred the company of a few cows and a cattle dog. But Fred picked up all the morality left in the Champagnolle genetic gas tank. And those respective qualities were passed on accordingly to Rocky and Jen.

  Rocky laughed and shook her head. “Well, Fred isn’t going to find out about this. Frank isn’t even going to find out why I wanted it. As far as he’s concerned, I got a couple of joints to dull the pain of my divorce.”

  “And what did you actually get?”

  Rocky shrugged. “Enough for about twenty batches of brownies.”

  “You got,” Jen started in a scream, but finished with a whisper. “You got five ounces of marijuana?”

 

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