Chapter 30

CARMELA crawled out of the car. The sky was growing darker by the minute. Thick, slate-gray clouds had tumbled in from the Gulf of Mexico and the scent of rain hung heavy in the air. Any minute now, the heavens would open wide and unleash a storm of biblical proportions, she just knew it.

But what to do? She knew Gallant had circled around one way and Babcock had circled the other way. They’d been planning to come at Billy’s cabin from opposite directions.

She had to warn them, somehow stop them. She didn’t want Babcock and Gallant involved in a needless and bizarre shoot-out. If Billy feared they were coming to haul him off to jail or foreclose on his farm, he might flip out and try to defend himself.

But which way to go?

Carmela stared at the narrow trail and decided to follow it. She took off at a slow jog as rain began to patter down. After a quarter of a mile, rain sliced down harder and she quickened her pace, even though she was getting soggier by the minute.

Still, she didn’t seem to be making any progress. She fervently wished she’d taken a closer look at those maps Gallant had printed out. If she knew the general direction of Billy’s cabin, maybe she could cut through the bayou?

She decided to risk it anyway.

Twenty feet in, past thickets of cane and more tupelo, soft mud gave way to a small creek. She slogged along the bank for a few minutes, slipping and sliding, wet branches slapping her face. The earth was sodden and spongy and she felt dampness seeping into her shoes.

Stopping in her tracks, wishing she’d worn more weather-proof footwear than her ballet flats, Carmela cocked her head and tried to listen. And just as a long, rolling thunderclap ended, she heard faint voices, off in the distance.

Gotta be them!

Carmela angled off in the direction the voices had come from and covered another fifty yards.

I must be getting close.

Wiping rain from her eyes, Carmela stared through dense foliage. Way off in the distance, she thought she could see a patch of brown.

Billy’s cabin?

She kept slogging as darkness closed in around her. Stopping again when she heard a high-pitched cry, Carmela decided that Babcock and Gallant must be ordering Billy to come out.

If she could just get a little closer, she could wave them off. Tell them they were after the wrong man and get them to stand down. Explain to them that the real killer was sauntering around the French Quarter in a white silk clown costume.

Ducking around a stand of wild camellias, Carmela was halted by a waist-high wire fence. Did she dare climb over it? Should she risk putting herself in danger?

She heard footsteps up ahead, someone running. Babcock? Had he gone back to the car? Finding it empty would drive him frantic with worry!

“Hey!” Carmela called out, trying to make herself heard above the slashing wind and rain. “I’m over here!”

She vaulted over the fence and plunged through dense foliage, moving as fast as she could. And just as she ducked around a fallen tree, she caught a burst of movement through the trees.

Was it Babcock?

“Over here!” she called out again. She dodged around a pine tree, then froze in her tracks.

Because the man who was creeping along wasn’t Babcock at all. It was Ed Banister. Ed Banister carrying a gray snub-nosed gun!

“Carmela!” Banister suddenly called out. “I know you’re there!”

Carmela flattened herself against a tree. Now what?

Now her mission was twice as urgent! She not only had to escape from Banister, she had to warn Babcock!

She spun wildly and flung herself behind a rough-barked oak. Panting heavily, she calculated that if she made a mad dash back to the little stream she could probably lose Banister. And still circle around and warn Babcock? Hopefully.

“Carmela,” came Banister’s singsong voice. “Come out, come out wherever you are.”

Carmela pushed off hard, dodging left, then right, sprinting as fast as she dared. Behind her, she could hear Banister crashing through the trees, swatting branches and swearing at her.

If I can just . . .

Carmela ducked around an enormous moss-covered tree and ran directly into the arms of . . .

“Billy!” she shrieked, as she ran up hard against him.

Billy Laforge looped his arms around her and held her tight.

“Billy!” she babbled. “We’ve got to get out of here! Banister is . . .” She fought and twisted in Billy’s arms, but he held her firm. “Billy!” Carmela cried, desperately trying to get through to him. “That’s Ed Banister out there. He killed Kimber!”

Billy stared at Carmela, his dark eyes suddenly unreadable. She couldn’t tell if he was rocked to the core or couldn’t care less.

Then, with a rough jerk, he dragged her over to a slightly flatter area where high wet grass came up to their knees.

“I got her!” Billy called to Banister. “She’s over here!”

“Billy, no!” Carmela pleaded, suddenly understanding that he meant to turn her over to Banister. “You’re better than this!” She kicked at him, trying to drive a heel into his instep. But he gripped her tight.

“Kid!” Banister yelled, as he thundered toward them, “get out of the way!”

“Listen to me!” Carmela screamed, trying to get through to Billy. “He strangled your sister!”

Banister crashed through the trees and out into the open. When he saw them, he stopped in his tracks. He was breathing heavily, face red as a tomato, eyes bright and menacing.

“Hey,” Billy said to Banister. He lifted his chin and said, “You killed Kimber?”

Banister stared at him. “I’ll kill you if I have to.”

“Don’t bother,” Billy said in a harsh voice. “I’m on your side. Kimber was a worthless, self-promoting nobody.” His face pulled into a sneer and a crazy light danced in his eyes.

“Billy, no!” cried Carmela. What was he doing? Was he as crazy as Banister? As filled with hate?

Billy dragged Carmela another couple of steps and stopped. He grabbed her wrist, twisted it sharply, and angled her behind him. “I wanna shake your hand, man,” he said to Banister. “Can we do that? Can we shake hands?”

Banister snorted as he lowered his pistol. “Whatever,” he said. He shook his head, took two steps forward, then suddenly stiffened, as if he’d just been shot through with a million watts of electrical current. His mouth gaped open as he gasped in pain, his eyes rolled back in his head until only the whites showed, and the gun flew from his hand. Banister’s face turned bright purple and he let loose a bloodcurdling scream!

“Gotcha, man!” cried an ecstatic Billy. “Gotcha good!”

Banister was bellowing like a stuck pig now. Bent over, wildly clawing and batting at his ankles and feet.

“Billy!” cried Carmela, trying to peer around him. “What did you do?”

Billy spat at Banister. “Too bad about that nasty leg trap,” he rasped. “But, hey, dude killed my sister.” Then his face crumpled into a look of supreme sadness as he turned to face Carmela. “Did he really?” he whispered. Billy’s eyes brimmed with tears and his lower lip quivered.

“I’m afraid so,” said Carmela. She put her arms around Billy and let him collapse against her. “I’m so sorry,” Carmela crooned, as Billy’s tears ran down his face and mingled with her own. “I’m so sorry.”