Belle chasse, p.9
Belle Chasse, page 9
“True. And I’d bet she has a maid service that comes in daily. If she keeps her crib looking like she keeps her house there won’t be evidence of any visitors. “
And that conversation sparked Connie’s intense interest in cleaning her own home. She sniffed and found the air to be fresh and tainted with vanilla from the spray can of Glade.
When she finished up about five, she turned on the television for company, fixed a tuna casserole and put it in the oven, and then built a Screwdriver.
Mellor actually ate her dinner at a place setting she laid out on her dining table. This contradicted her practice of a TV tray in front of the couch. She could still see the news show on the TV, but she was kind of looking at her walls, thinking she could maybe afford to change some of the art work and get a more consistent feel to the place. God, she was even thinking about new paint. Who had the time to paint walls?
She buttered a second dinner roll and was about to bite into it when the phone rang. Landline instead of her cell.
“Damn it! “
She got up and went to the end table to pick up the portable.
“Mellor. “
“It’s Pete, Connie. “
“What are you doing? “
“Down at the office. “
“I seem to recall meeting your wife and kids a couple times. Do you get to see them very often? “
“Judy took the kids up to see grandma for the weekend, so I’ve been puttering around. Went by Jacki’s downtown place to check it out. “
“Pete. “
“Didn’t go in, but I looked over the surrounding area. It’s clean, up-scale. “
So maybe Wiggins is enamored of Jacki, going to find ways to vouch for her character and support her story. Why did men go crazy over a pair of big tits?
“Then I drove by the Belle Chasse. Kenney’s pickup was gone, and I tried the door on the riverboat. All locked up. “
“He skipped out again, you think? “
“Don’t know. We ought to tell him to stay in town. “
“Won’t happen, “ Connie said, “with what we’ve got on him. “
“You’ve got a lying prostitute. “
“You’ll back me up on that? “
“Well, I guess we have to catch her in the lie first, don’t we? “
“You’re really smart, Pete. “
“Thanks. Then we get to the real reason I called you. I thought you’d want to know. “
“I’m waiting eagerly. “
“Cletus Alvin Kendall Junior is long dead. The paperwork was on my desk when I came in.”
“Shit! “
“Little problem, though. “
“How little? “
“It seems that Cletus Alvin Kendall died at age twenty-seven in a single vehicle wreck near Tulsa, Oklahoma. That happened in February of ninety-six. “
Mellor had to think about it. She didn’t have her notes handy.
“All right, “ she said. “I got it. The marriage license says Kendall and Debra were married in May of ninety-six, doesn’t it? In Houston? “
“It does. “
“We have a record of the divorce, don’t we? “
“Yeah, I dug it out of the murder book. Divorced in New Orleans on December fifteenth of oh-four. It was based on her filing and was uncontested. “ Wiggins said.
“He didn’t show up for the divorce hearing? “
“Doesn’t seem like it. “
“So they got married three months after he died. “
“Hey, Connie, you think Debra was a little kinky? “
***
The Conquistador was a 54-foot Hatteras convertible. As related to marine craft, “convertible “ meant that the motor yacht was equally at home as a fishing boat or as a cruising powerboat. According to some definitions which claimed that anything over 29 feet was a yacht, she was a yacht. She sported three staterooms and two heads forward and a comfortable salon amidships. Her stern cockpit had ample room, 126 square feet, to provide fishermen with the foot room to handle lines and to land large fish. The flying bridge was spacious, too, with seating for passengers as well as the helmsman. Her instrumentation and electronics were state-of-the-art and drove her final price up to 1.95 million dollars when Roger Noble bought her in 2009.
The Conquistador’s lines were sleek and modern. From bow to stern, she was flowing curves, and at 74,000 pounds with a convex hull design, heavy enough and refined enough to smooth out rough waters. She carried 1250 gallons of fuel for her twin Cat-32 diesels, and at a cruise speed of 32 knots, could manage a range of about 400 nautical miles. If needed, she could reach a top speed of 38 knots or about 45 miles per hour.
Her accommodations included flat screen TV’s, stereo sound throughout, microwave/convection ovens, and a stacked washer/dryer combination. Her electronics included a depth finder, radar, and GPS. Better, she was still in a class where the owner could operate her without a crew. Of course, if he preferred, a crew of two could be berthed in the bunk beds of the small starboard cabin.
Still, she wasn’t quite what Roger needed.
She was what Anita needed.
“If we’re going to spend that kind of money on a boat, I want something that’s comfortable and that I can learn to fish from. “
Anita’s first attempt at fishing taught her that when the marlin hit the bait, the marlin was tougher than she was. She struggled with the weight for about two minutes, dropped the rod on the deck, and was finished with fishing. Now, when they cruised, she plugged a DVD into the machine and watched an old movie while nursing a Bloody Mary.
Most often, they cruised with friends Gene and Nora Mason because Gene was an avid diver. Noble needed a buddy diver when he went down, and Gene filled that position for him. He was a couple years younger than Roger at 45, and was generally fit. Gene owned six audio stores in New Orleans and Biloxi and made a pretty decent living. He wouldn’t be buying large powerboats, but he had Noble to subsidize his love for diving. Nora liked old movies, too. And in the evenings, anchored in some cove, they could all play bridge at the dinette.
It wasn’t quite as adventuresome as Roger had envisioned.
Diving off the Conquistador or his previous boat, a 32-foot sport sedan, had never allowed him the room he should have for adequate equipment like an ROV or the ability to recharge his air cylinders. He and Gene normally just brought eight cylinders along with them on a two or three day cruise.
On this cruise, they had left in mid-afternoon on Thursday and spent most of Friday and Saturday diving. Ported twice to recharge the air cylinders. Explored the outer edges of ancient tropical storm tracks depicted on their maps and charts. Located zero new wrecks.
What bothered him most was that he had never made an original discovery. He and Gene had been down on countless shipwrecks, ranging from 16th Century to 20th Century sea disasters of one kind or another. They had retrieved relics of lesser importance from Spanish caravels and from steamships like the Manzanillo, sunk by the German U-boat 508 on August 12, 1942 during World War II. Most people didn’t realize that the German submarines had sunk some 72 ships and tankers in the Gulf and South Atlantic off Florida in 1942 alone.
The Gulf Blockade during the civil war had produced casualties also. In 1862, 31 ships were sunk. Roger had visited many, including the schooner Baker off Mobile and the sloop Caroline off the west coast of Florida. Neither had offered much in the way of collectible artifacts. Despite the plethora of shipwrecks throughout the Gulf of Mexico, the Florida Straits, the Atlantic side of Florida and the Carolinas, and the Caribbean, thousands of divers had cleaned out the known and mapped wrecks.
And yet there were hundreds of known and unknown vessels on the bottom of the oceans around the world. Thriller writer Clive Cussler’s non-profit group, the National Underwater Marine Agency had discovered sixty shipwrecks. His funding support had led NUMA, after 15 years of searching, to locate the Confederate submarine H.L. Hunley in 1995. That vessel, which had claimed the first sinking of a combatant warship by a submarine was eventually raised and transported to a lab in North Charleston, South Carolina, for conservation.
Roger Noble could not imagine how Cussler had felt about that achievement, but he longed to find out for himself. He did not have the resources, equipment, or research capability to accomplish his goal like he should, but he was struggling along as best he could. That was the primary reason he had wanted to acquire use of the Spanish Lady. His purchase of Debra Kenney’s stock should have given him access to the salvage barge.
But no. And his meeting with Debra’s lawyer, Deleon Smith, who examined the stock certificate, confirmed what Glenn Kenney had told him. He didn’t rightfully own any piece of Belle Chasse. That was a development that Anita was not yet aware of, and the lawyer told him that while he hadn’t yet examined all of Debra’s estate, he was fairly certain there was not going to be enough in the way of assets to come up with both the five hundred thousand for the stock and the six hundred thousand on the promissory note.
All of that had certainly put a damper on Roger’s attitude during this cruise.
He had a one-foot high stack of maps and charts laid out on the folding table he had set up on the flying bridge on Saturday evening after anchoring off the Matagorda Peninsula of Texas. He and Gene nursed ice cold bottles of Corona while they leafed through the charts. They had done this a hundred times. The earliest wrecks, those of the fifteen hundreds and the sixteen hundreds had usually been the results of storms those tiny ships could not survive. Even the largest vessels from Spain, the galleons, had succumbed. He had acquired these historically recreated charts of the major tropical storms to use as a guide. Most of the shipwrecks were to be found along the coastal waters, curving up from the tip of Florida and following the shoreline of Mississippi, Louisiana, and Texas, curving down into Mexican waters. That was where those earlier travelers staying relatively close to shore had unsuccessfully encountered tropical storms. With the coordinates of sunken ships discovered by earlier adventurers and the Conquistador’s Global Positioning System, they could easily locate shipwrecks that had already been located and stripped of valuables. What Noble wanted was to find a marine vessel of practically any kind that had not yet been discovered.
“You check the radar, Roger?” Gene asked.
“I did. We’re good.”
Anita insisted upon a regular survey of the radar screen for storm activity. If anything ominous showed up within a hundred miles, they were to head for the nearest port. Anita didn’t like to ride out storms at sea. And in the aftermath of Katrina, she wanted at least three weeks’ notice of an increase in wind velocity.
Noble tossed the chart he had been perusing back on the stack. “We don’t seem to be getting anywhere, Gene.”
“Hell, man. We might stumble on something.”
“Stumble would be the operative word. At this point, it would certainly be an accident if we found anything significant.”
“What about Debra? You said once that you thought she’d found some wreck. She never told you anything more?”
Noble handed her the check for six hundred thousand dollars.
“You must have a major project lined up, Debra.“
“One of those once-in-a-lifetime things, Roger. It’s going to be great. I really appreciate your support.“
“No problem. Don’t forget to sell a house or two.“
That big killer smile. “Couldn’t do that.“
“You diving this weekend?“
“Oh, yes! One never knows what will be waiting for you, right?“
“Want some company?“
“No, but thanks. I have to do this on my own.“
“She never said anything more, Gene.“
And maybe he’d read too much into what she’d said. But he’d been certain she was trying to finance a major expedition. Why? Because she was Debra, and Debra was a superb diver, and a woman whose ambitions had no boundaries. Put those two qualities together with the need for all that cash, and Roger inferred shipwreck.
Noble thought he’d positioned himself well. With his half of Belle Chasse, he could demand use of the salvage barge. And with his six hundred thousand invested in the project, he’d be in the driver’s seat. Likely, he’d be the major stockholder in her project, and she couldn’t refuse him. Even the courts would say as much.
All he needed was a simple set of coordinates from Debra. Which she wouldn’t give up, of course.
But there were other ways to get them.
But now?
All that inference had left him with a four hundred thousand dollar loan against the Conquistador and major wreckage in his stock and bond portfolio. Hell, he’d been certain he was gaining access to the Spanish Lady and that Debra would eventually let him buy into her project.
Wasn’t going to happen.
SEVEN
The funeral took place at four o’clock on Sunday afternoon at the Boudreau Funeral Home. Debra had never mentioned a religious affiliation or history to Glenn. One more thing he suddenly didn’t know about her.
It had never occurred to him that his infatuation with Debra may have blinded him to some of the more mundane aspects about her that he should have known or asked about. Sergeant Mellor must think he was a complete dolt every time she pointed out maiden names and marriages that were unknown to him.
“No, darling, I just worked at the department store in Houston the whole time I was there. Totally boring existence. That’s why I moved to New Orleans.”
There was no casket on display. The remains were cremated.
He was a little surprised by the turnout of about forty people. Mostly, he supposed, they were colleagues from Noble River Realty. Maybe some of her former clients. From the marina, Bert Chickman, Mel Potter, and a couple others were in attendance. They waved at Kenney and he waved back. Roger Noble was there, apparently with his wife. Nick Travers. The cops, Mellor and Wiggins, were seated at the back of the chapel. He saw Deleon Smith, her lawyer. He nodded to Calvin Lawrence, the manager of the St. Phillip Towers. Natalie Goodwin came in the front door, looked around until she saw him, and then came down the aisle and slipped into the pew next to him.
“Thanks for coming, Natalie.”
“I miss her, Glenn.”
“Me, too.”
Before he forgot about it, he leaned close to Natalie’s ear and asked, “Can you look up a Federal Aviation Administration report for an airplane crash that happened in ninety-one or ninety-two? Sam and Irene Bryce were killed in Nevada. Also any probate records you can find on the Bryce’s.”
“I’ll do that.”
“Thanks.”
The minister, whom he’d met briefly half an hour before, emerged from a side door as the organist eased into a rendition of Stranger on the Shore. The version by Mr. Acker Bilk had been one of Debra’s favorites.
The rustling of the audience died away.
When the organ faded away, the minister said a few innocuous but choice words. Glenn had not inquired as to his denomination. Then Glenn rose, went the microphone at the podium, and recalled some of the grander moments of his and Debra’s time together. It now seemed somewhat sparse. Surprisingly, and unrehearsed, Roger Noble came to the microphone and added his memories for the audience. A couple of her colleagues also got up to add to the eulogies.
Then a black woman in her forties stood to sing Beyond the Sunset followed by Amazing Grace. Debra would have approved of the beautiful, lilting voice.
Glenn’s throat wanted to close up on him. He was on the brink of tears. Natalie took his hand and squeezed it lightly.
He and Natalie walked out together, and the funeral home director met them outside the chapel. He handed Glenn a ceramic urn.
All that remained of Debra.
His throat tightened up on him again.
When they emerged into the sunshine of a day that was still sweltering, there was a reception party waiting: Mellor, Wiggins, and Smith.
Natalie stuck by his side as they approached the three. Deleon Smith was a tall, lanky man in his early fifties. With a beard and a tall hat, he’d have reminded anyone of Abraham Lincoln.
“Hello, Deleon. Sergeant, Detective. Thank you all for coming. “
The lawyer looked askance at the cops and Natalie. “I don’t want to interrupt anything. “
“It’s okay, Deleon. You go first.”
Mellor’s expression indicated she should have been first, but she looked also as if she was interested in the lawyer’s story. She was wearing a tan linen suit over a white blouse with ruffles at the neck. He’d seen Wiggins’ sport coat a few times now.
“First of all, Glenn, my condolences. I know you and Debra still felt great affection for each other.”
“True. I appreciate that, Deleon. “
“And thank you for taking care of the arrangements. I don’t know who else would have done so. “ His arm made a sweeping movement toward the funeral home behind them. “Then, I would have called you last week, but I was searching public records to make sure that Debra hadn’t filed a new will that I didn’t know about. I couldn’t reach you yesterday. “
“Out of town, “ Kenney told him.
“She had not written anything new and so the existing will is in effect. “ From his inside jacket pocket, Smith produced a thick envelope. “That’s a copy of the will. You are the beneficiary and the succession representative. “
“Succession representative? “ Kenney asked.
“That’s the title under Louisiana law. Administrator of the estate. There’s also a couple copies of a letter identifying you as the succession representative in case you need them. I’ll be available to help you in any way I can. “
Kenney took the envelope in his free hand. Natalie tapped him on the arm, and then lifted the urn from his left hand. That freed him up to shake Smith’s hand.
“Thank you, Deleon. I’ll call you later this week. “
Smith nodded to the cops, then backed away and headed down the street.
Kenney said, “Alright, Sergeant. Now you know I’m the beneficiary, but I think I’ve inherited a financial morass. “
