2,99 €
Mehr erfahren.
- Herausgeber: Next Chapter
- Kategorie: Krimi
- Sprache: Englisch
Tammy Campo breaks out in blisters while basking in the sun on her dock, and her husband David is suspected of murdering her.
Convinced of his innocence, David's aunt hires Niki Dupre to find out what or who killed Tammy. Niki follows a trail of similar deaths to the maker of a suntan lotion in Natchitoches, the oldest settlement in the Louisiana Purchase.
At the production plant, things are not what they seem. After being ambushed on her first night there, Niki's investigation only gets worse. Every time they get close to solving the riddle, more pieces are added to the puzzle. Can they figure out who killed Tammy?
Das E-Book können Sie in Legimi-Apps oder einer beliebigen App lesen, die das folgende Format unterstützen:
Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022
Ähnliche
Murder Under The Sun
Niki Dupre Mysteries Book 5
Jim Riley
Contents
Mysteries by Jim Riley
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Chapter 83
Chapter 84
Chapter 85
Chapter 86
Chapter 87
Chapter 88
Chapter 89
Chapter 90
Chapter 91
Chapter 92
Chapter 93
Chapter 94
Chapter 95
Chapter 96
Chapter 97
Chapter 98
Chapter 99
Chapter 100
Chapter 101
Chapter 102
Chapter 103
Chapter 104
Chapter 105
Chapter 106
Chapter 107
Chapter 108
Chapter 109
Chapter 110
Chapter 111
Chapter 112
Chapter 113
Chapter 114
Chapter 115
Chapter 116
Chapter 117
Chapter 118
Chapter 119
Chapter 120
Chapter 121
Chapter 122
Chapter 123
Notes
Next in the Series
About the Author
Copyright (C) 2021 Jim Riley
Layout design and Copyright (C) 2021 by Next Chapter
Published 2021 by Next Chapter
Cover art by CoverMint
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author’s permission.
To the Most Beautiful
You Always Were
You Always Will Be
Mysteries by Jim Riley
Hawk Theriot & Kristi Blocker full-length Mysteries
Murder in the Atchafalaya
Murder in Lake Palourde
Murder by Rougarou
Hawk Theriot & Kristi Blocker Short Story Mysteries
Murder at the Haunted House
Murder in the Cemetery
Wade Dalton & Sam Cates full-length Mysteries
The Girl in the Woods
Murder by Moccasin
Stranded in the Swamp
Wade Dalton & Sam Cates Short Story Mysteries
The Philandering Father
Murder for Lease
Murder and Rubber Chicken
Murder of the Mayor
Niki Dupre full-length Mysteries
Murder on Spirit Island
Murder at Tiger Eye
Murder & Billy Bailey
Murder in Louisiana Politics
Murder Under the Sun
Murder Goes to the Dogs
Murder for Peace
Murder &Needles
Murder by the Bayou
Niki Dupre Short Story Mysteries
Murder in the Cards
Murder of the Sheriff
Murder on Autopilot
Murder for Art
Murder Explodes with a Bang
Murder on Loan
Murder at the Washateria
Murder by Mistake
Murder Weighs on You
Murder Burns
Murder by Decapitation
Murder in the Hills
Murder Steals
Murder & 'Yer Out!'
Murder Minus Toes
Murder Hammers!
Murder Wears Blue
Chapter One
Tammy Campo soaked in the warming rays on the pier at their camp in South Louisiana, the state's most populated fishing community. The morning was a day to remember. Tammy and her husband, David, had hit the motherlode of speckled trout in the shallow Gulf waters.
In less than twenty minutes, they limited out and moved to deeper waters. Then Tammy snagged a huge barracuda. After more than an hour, she hauled the magnificent specimen aboard. Then the sun warmed the cool air, and they called it a day.
David cleaned the fish while Tammy fired up the crab boiler, a local name given to a powerful propane fueled burner. The jet flames emitted could get a drum-size stainless steel container heated to a boiling point in less than five minutes. The Campo family primarily used the boiler to cook sacks of crawfish, between thirty and fifty pounds. But this morning, Tammy wanted to make use of the dozen crabs caught in the traps at the end of their pier.
She threw in a couple of links to Boudin, a Cajun rice sausage, new potatoes, and mushrooms. After the sumptuous meal, David went back out to the boat. Tammy elected to bask in the sun at the end of the pier.
After laying on the blanket for thirty minutes, she felt a burn on her legs. Deciding she might have missed a spot when applying the suntan lotion, she doubled down, coating her entire body with another layer. The lotion didn't help. Soon, blisters formed all over her body. Her temperature rose.
Tammy broke into a trot back to the camp. She grabbed the cell and dialed David's number, who answered on the third ring.
"Hey, Babe," David said, recognizing the number.
"Help me," Tammy rasped, her throat swollen and constricted.
"Are you okay?" David asked.
"No, I'm covered with blisters."
"Call an ambulance. I'm headed that way."
The EMTs and David arrived at the camp at the same time. When he reached the door, he flung it open only to find Tammy lying face down on the floor, still in the two-piece bathing suit.
When he knelt beside her, he saw the red burns full of pus all over her body. The EMT dropped to the other side and turned Tammy over. The front was worse than the back. A greenish, yellow fluid drained from the most severe blisters. Those on Tammy's face puffed up almost twice the size as normal.
"What is it?" David screamed.
"A toxic reaction," the young man answered without taking his gaze off of Tammy.
"She was poisoned?" David's voice was incredulous.
"That's my best guess. But I'm not a doctor. She has definitely had an adverse reaction to a toxin."
David thought about the lunch. The crabs, the Boudin, the potatoes, the mushrooms, the seasonings. Tammy had eaten those things all her life. The crabs were fresh, still alive when plunged into the boiling red mixture. The Boudin was from a reliable source. If there had been any contamination in the rice sausage, the act of boiling it should have cleansed the favorite meat of many Cajuns.
She had poured the same iced tea from the pitcher he had. He had the same foods she had. Why did she have this kind of reaction, and he didn't?
David fell into a state of denial. This had to be a dream. A prank. Soon, Tammy would sit up and laugh. It didn't happen. The EMTs loaded the moaning woman onto a gurney and carried her out the front door to the waiting ambulance.
Chapter Two
David chased the ambulance to the Terrebonne Parish General emergency room. He lurched into a parking space and sprinted to the rear of the ambulance. The EMTs had already unloaded Tammy from the vehicle and carted her through the automatic glass doors.
"You can't come in here, sir," the nurse dressed in a white uniform held up her hand.
"She's my wife," David screamed.
"I understand," the nurse replied. "The doctors need to be able to focus on your wife without any distractions."
"I'm not a distraction. I'm her husband."
"And that is why you might divert the full attention away from your wife. Please take a seat in the waiting room and someone will come out as soon as possible with an update."
"Please," David begged.
"I'm sorry, sir. We must follow our guidelines. It's in your wife's best interests."
David trudged to the waiting room, his mind clouded with depression. Nothing seemed real. It was like he was walking in someone else's shoes. He called his family, her family, friends, coworkers, and his pastor at the Magnolia Baptist Church in Central, a town ten miles northeast of Baton Rouge. With the modern communication capacities of the cell, computers, and social networking, the entire city knew about Tammy's problems in less than an hour.
Several folks took the hour-plus drive down to the coast to sit with David and try to console him. As much as they prayed and held his hand, he couldn't find the peace he sought. After two and one-half hours, a crowd of people gathered in the small waiting area. The overflow of well-wishers stepped outside to watch the sun fall from the sky.
A grim doctor, still in his scrubs and face mask, emerged from the closed doors.
"Which one of you is the husband?" He asked.
"I am." David took a heavy step forward.
"I'm sorry," the doctor said. "We did everything possible, but I'm afraid your wife didn't make it."
David collapsed in the arms of his pastor.
Chapter Three
A team of forensic toxicologists scoured the camp. David had not bothered to lock the door when he fled after his wife in the ambulance, but the team saw no signs anyone had disturbed its contents.
The water used to boil the crabs was still in the pot. They took three samples of it, one at the surface, one halfway to the bottom, and one at the bottom. They picked out pieces of potatoes and mushrooms floating on the surface.
Inside the camp, they took samples of the tea, the salt and pepper shakers, the ice in the refrigerator, the ketchup, the Tabasco sauce, and any other food products Tammy might have used for the lunch.
They bagged forks and knives still in the kitchen sink. Tammy had thought she would have plenty of time to clean them before David could return from the afternoon fishing trip. The team took glasses that the tea had been in. When they wrapped up, they were certain they had collected the source of the poison.
The other initial impression was that David was responsible for the murder of his wife. According to his statement, David and Tammy had arrived late Friday afternoon. They made a quick trip to the Gulf, baited the crab traps, and retired to the cabin. No one else stopped in to visit or for any other reason. The couple had been isolated for almost a full day.
Chapter Four
Responsibility for investigating the murder fell on the massive shoulders of Samuel Samson Mayeaux. The behemoth Chief of Homicide had more experience than the rest of the detectives on the force combined. Samson took pride in solving every difficult case assigned to his unit.
He had grown up in Livingston Parish, just across the Amite River from Central. He was the Denham Springs High School football team captain, the last player to make first-team all-state on both sides of the ball.
After high school, Samson accepted a scholarship to LSU, the flagship university in the state. He never made the honor roll, tending to major in girls and beer rather than academics. During his senior year, Samson blew out a knee in a game that was already decided.
Three reconstructive surgeries later, Samson gave up on his athletic career. He decided he had to settle down and make a living. The demand for students with a barely passing grade in General Studies was non-existent. He switched majors to criminology, not because he envisioned a sterling career in law enforcement, but that was the curriculum that let him transfer the largest number of credits for the classes he had already taken.
Now, twenty-five years later, he had earned the respect of every member of the police force. The only downfall to the hulking man was his straightforward manner. Samson never beat around the bush. He preferred, instead, to run over it. To him, a direct path was quicker and cleaner.
The world of politics was not his forte. When a supervisor screwed up, Samson told him so. When he disagreed with the Chief of Police, he never backed down gracefully. When the Chief was caught in a raid on a brothel, Samson issued him the same summons the other eighteen men received. Samson knew of David's family through an old acquaintance. He had dated David's aunt, Jo Campo, while in high school. Jo was the prettiest girl who ever attended the school, and he still wondered how he had let her get away. She worked for a bank in Baton Rouge and was divorced. The Chief of Homicide had been tempted to call her on several occasions, but if there was anyone in the world who intimidated Samson Mayeaux, it was the petite Jo Campo.
When he pulled into David's driveway, several cars were already stacked on the long pavement, out and down the street. Samson recognized the Chevrolet Impala belonging to Mike Walker, the young pastor of Magnolia Baptist Church.
When he knocked on the door, he took a step back. Too many times, someone answering the door to his knock was too frightened simply by the bulk of the huge cop.
The woman who answered the door was not one of them.
"Hello, Samson," Jo Campo greeted him. "It's been a long time."
Normally, Samson Mayeaux was not at a loss for words. In this setting, he could not form a single one.
"Why don't you come in?" Jo backed away, leaving the entrance open.
Samson stumbled in, trying to get his brain to send a cohesive message to his tongue.
"Why don't you sit over there?" Jo pointed at a huge leather seat.
Samson took a seat and watched the first love of his life disappear into another room. He mentally kicked himself for acting like a thirteen-year-old who just discovered girls were special. Particularly the ones who looked like Jo Campo. She had maintained her high school figure for two and a half decades. Just watching her walk out of the room flooded the huge man with memories.
"Are you here to see me?" David's voice snapped Samson out of his trip down memory lane.
Chapter Five
"I need to ask you a few questions," Samson said to the new widower.
"I've already given a statement to the Grand Isle police. I told them everything I know," David replied.
"I'm doing a follow-up. It's been a couple of days since the incident, and maybe you'll recall something that will help us find out what happened to Tammy," Samson said.
"Why do you refer to it as an incident?" The voice was one Samson remembered in his dreams. He could see Jo standing in the doorway listening to the two men.
"I'm sorry," Samson's vocabulary again shrinking.
"You said incident and not an accident. You were never careless with words, so I'm asking why you used that term," she said.
"We…we're not sure it was an accident yet."
"Somebody killed Tammy?" David's voice rose several octaves. Disbelief spread across his countenance.
"We don't know yet. An investigation is just beginning. I don't have the toxicology reports back, so we don't know for sure what killed her."
"So, you're blaming David?" An accusatory tone from Jo, who had walked across the room to sit in a padded rocking chair.
"We aren't accusing anyone yet. We need to get a lot more facts before we go down that rabbit trail."
"Does he need a lawyer?" Jo asked.
"Aunt Jo, I haven't done anything wrong. I didn't kill Tammy. I'm willing to answer his questions."
Samson had trouble picturing Jo as an aunt. Anyone's aunt. To him, she was still Miss Denham Springs High, so full of life and energy she could affect a roomful of people simply by walking in.
"Fine," Samson said, turning toward David and trying to block the image of the most perfect girl in the world sitting only a few feet away. "What time did you get to the camp Friday?"
David led him through the series of activities, much the like he had in the police station in Grand Isle. There were a few discrepancies Samson noted, but none of them significant. When David finished the account, Samson took his time scanning the notes.
"What did she have to eat or drink differently than you?"
"The only difference I can think of is I had a Dr Pepper while we were fishing, and she had a Coke Zero. In fact, after the sun came out, she had two of them."
Mayeaux surveyed the list of confiscated items. He saw the various soft drinks taken from the kitchen, but there was no mention of empty soda cans.
"You said you drank the Dr Pepper on the boat?"
"Yes, sir."
"What did you do with the empty can?"
"I threw it in the garbage can down by the docks. We keep it there to remind us to always clean the trash out of the boat when we get back from fishing."
"Is it still there?"
"I doubt it. They pick up the trash cans every Monday morning. You know, after the weekend, after all of us leave down there."
"But you said this trash can was down by the dock?"
"That's true. I pay the guys an extra twenty bucks a month to go down there and get it. I keep forgetting to take to the street."
Mayeaux pulled his cell phone from its holster and called the public works center of the island south of Houma. A third-party contractor picked up the trash cans. By the time Samson reached an official with the company, the cans had already been picked up. To make matters worse, the truck on the route that included the Campo's camp had already emptied its load twice at the local landfill.
"Can you get the cans from the landfill?" Jo asked, still observing the conversation.
"Very doubtful. You wouldn't believe how many folks travel to and through the island on any given weekend. Multiply that by the number of soft drinks and other drinks each consumes, and it would be a momentous task."
"But we're only talking about Dr Pepper and Coke Zero. That should cut down the list of cans a lot."
"That sounds great, but the reality is we may not be able to separate the cans taken this week from the ones thrown away last week or last month."
"But it's worth a try if there's poison in the Coke Zero," Jo protested.
"Jo, I know you're trying to help David, but let's suppose by some miracle, we find a can of Coke Zero with a trace of poison. Who had access to that can since it was bought? Who had access to after it was dumped in the landfill?"
"Sorry. I'll keep quiet."
"No problem," Samson smiled at his former girlfriend. "But the truth is, we probably couldn't use it anyway. We would have no direct chain of custody back to David."
"I watched her pop the top," David said. "It wasn't opened before then. She was the only one to handle it, and she drank it straight from the can. I think you're wasting your time there."
"We might be, but until we find the source of the poison, we won't have a clue who gave it to Tammy," Samson stated.
"You think I did it, don't you?" David stared straight at the huge detective.
"I'll let the evidence make that determination. But, by your own statement, you were the only one with Tammy for the last twenty-four hours of her life."
Chapter Six
"May I speak to Niki Dupre, please?" The voice on the phone asked.
Niki stared at her cell phone. Few people knew Niki's personal cell number, and she didn't recognize the woman's voice as one of them. Niki, the one-time cheerleading captain of Central High School, graduated from Southeastern State University in Hammond, only thirty minutes from Central. She earned a degree in criminal behavior with plans to establish a career with the Louisiana Wildlife and Fisheries as a game warden.
When she graduated, Niki found the only two openings were in the far southwest and northwest corners of the state. At that time, the young lady decided, against all advice from friends and family, to open a private investigation company. Hence, Wildcat Investigators became the first woman-owned private investigation company in the state.
The first few months were brutal. They turned into two years of struggle. Then, Niki solved the murder mystery on Spirit Island. After that, she couldn't keep up with the workload despite adding a partner and a part-time investigator.
"Yes, this is Niki."
"Miss Dupre, I got your name and number from Samson Mayeaux. He's an old friend of mine."
Niki cringed. Another divorce case. The wife would want someone to tail her unfaithful husband. She made a mental note to strangle Mayeaux at the first opportunity.
"How may I help you?" She had to at least be nice to the lady. After all, she was a friend of Samson's.
"My name is Jo Campo," the lady began.
"Are you any kin to Tammy?" Niki's interest rose.
"Her husband, David, is my nephew."
"I heard about the accident. Have they found out what caused her death yet?"
"Not yet," Jo answered. "But they know it was some type of poison."
It had been over forty-eight hours since the death. Niki felt the toxicology lab must be overwhelmed with work, or too many people were on vacation at the same time.
"I'm not sure how I can help you, Miss Campo."
"Please call me Jo. It really doesn't matter which poison was used. David was the only one with Tammy Saturday. I think Samson suspects David killed her."
"And you?"
"I know David. I've known him since the day he was born. I can tell you straight up my nephew didn't kill Tammy."
The older woman said it with such conviction Niki was inclined to believe her. But then, how well could an aunt really know her nephew and the intricate details of his marital relations?
"I appreciate you calling, Jo. But I'm backed up with cases right now. I don't know if I have the manpower necessary to help David."
"Samson said you'd say that," Diana laughed. "He also said you can't turn your back on two things."
"What those are?" Niki was not sure she wanted to hear Samson's opinions.
"A good friend and a good mystery. He said you were the worst sucker in the world for either one. I hate to say that, but he made me promise to use his exact words."
Niki laughed out loud. She didn't realize the massive cop could read her so easily. She wondered if he peeked at her diary.
"Samson and I go back a long way. That sounds like him to a tee."
"Samson and I go back even further," Jo said softly as though scared to admit it. "I can probably tell you some things about the great Samson Mayeaux you wouldn't believe."
Niki's interest rose even more. Although Samson and his wife had taken her in when the teenager's parents were murdered, she wasn't sure she really knew the burly man. She knew very few details of his past or his plans for the future. She wondered if Jo Campo might be included in both.
"All right, Jo," Niki said. "I'll take a quick look at the facts. If I can help you, then we'll sit down and work out a contract."
"I'm prepared to pay your rates," Jo said. "I've heard what they do to guys imprisoned who have abused their wives, and I don't want David to go through that. He's innocent."
"I'll take a look," Niki repeated. "Then I'll tell you the truth, even if it's not in David's favor."
"That's what Samson said. He told me you were right down the middle. When can I expect to hear back?"
"I'll try to get back to you by Thursday. Do you have a key to David's camp?"
"I can get one from him. He'll be thrilled to find out you're on his team."
"Not yet," Niki replied. "I'll let you know Thursday."
Chapter Seven
"We need to find out everything we can about David and Tammy Campo," Niki opened the new folder on her desk.
"Why do you still keep hard-copy folders?" Donna Cross asked. "Do you realize how many trees you kill because you refuse to modernize?"
Donna was Niki's right hand. They met each other when the younger girl was accused of murdering her boss. When Niki discovered the real killer was someone else, Donna wanted to go into business with the strawberry blonde.
Donna would never qualify for undercover work. When guys took one look at her features, they always took a few more. She was a head turner with a brain and a vivacious personality. What she lacked in experience, she made up for with relentless energy. The other things Niki liked about her young associate were her straightforward opinions.
When Donna thought things were not right, she wasn't afraid to speak up. Her ability to use the Internet to uncover buried secrets was becoming legendary in the industry.
"Because if I put everything on my computer, somebody like you can hack into it and read my mail before I do," Niki replied.
"They can walk in the door and do the same thing with hard copies. If you let me, I can add some encryption software that nobody will be able to break. All your secrets will be safe."
"That's the same thing the Egyptians thought when they built the pyramids," Drexel Robinson chuckled.
Drexel came to work for Niki after Donna, but he was much older, and his experience had proven invaluable to the burgeoning investigation company. He often used the alias Pierre Randolph when going undercover. As a Black man, he could get into circles Niki and Donna could never enter.
Drexel was old school. He believed a detective most often solved a case with shoe leather and persistence. He wasn't opposed to Donna's use of modern technology, but he felt it had many limitations. He used experience and native intellect to look past the surface and get to the bottom of a situation. To get to the truth.
"You should know," Donna retorted. "How many of them did you help build?"
"The fallacies of youth," Drexel sighed. "If only young people were half as smart as they think, we could solve our cases without breaking a sweat."
"The last sweat you broke was when you got constipated and couldn't go. You moped around here like a little girl," Donna laughed.
"Okay, you two. Recess is over. Let's get back to work," Niki said.
"What do you need?" Donna asked.
"We need to look at the toxicology report," Niki answered.
"I know a couple of guys in the department," Drexel said. "It might take a couple of days, but I can get a copy of it for you."
Donna spent less than two minutes picking the keys on her laptop. She looked up and smiled.
"Do you want the whole thing with the photographs or only a summary?" She asked.
"How–? Never mind. It's probably better if I don't know. The summary will work," Niki said.
Drexel just stared at his young friend.
"You know that was illegal, don't you?" He asked.
"Not really," Donna grinned. "What's the difference of an insider slipping you a copy of the autopsy or me getting a copy my way?"
"Because my insider knows he's giving me a copy. I doubt anyone inside down there knows you just lifted one."
"That only means we have one less person who we need to worry about leaking it."
"What does it say?" Niki interrupted the banter.
Donna quickly scanned the report. A frowned replaced the smile when she finished.
"I don't know," Donna announced. "All the tests for known toxins were negative, but all the symptoms point toward a poison."
"An unknown poison? That's a new one for me," Niki said.
"Not really," Drexel offered. "Remember when the girl used an extract of poke salad to kill a whole bunch of politicians?"
"But they should've added it to the list by now," Niki said.
"Only in its natural form. Somebody might have altered it a tad. That's the trouble with computers. They can't look outside the box."
"Here we go back to the pyramids again," Donna moaned.
"They were advanced for their time. Think of the progress they've made since the caveman."
"For their time. It's almost six o'clock. Since you woke up this morning, more technology has been invented than the entire Egyptian Empire ever imagined. I just got a report in less than five minutes that would have taken you days."
"But there's something you don't know, young lady."
"What's that, old man?"
"What's not in the official report?"
Chapter Eight
Niki wasn't a frequent visitor to one of Louisiana's major tourist attractions, but she had been to Grand Isle before. She enjoyed the salty breeze blowing in from the Gulf of Mexico.
She found the Campo camp without much difficulty. The key she received from Jo worked without a hitch. There was no alarm at the rustic abode.
Niki performed a broad overview first. Three bedrooms, two full baths, one half bath, a living area, a kitchen, and a screened-in back porch comprised the entire structure.
To the rear of the cabin, the lot adjoined a canal leading to the Gulf of Mexico. A dock with an expensive boat filled half of the frontage space. A long pier took up most of the remainder.
Niki walked down to the dock and checked the boat. She had obtained a copy of Samson's interview with David, and the soda cans intrigued her. The long-legged investigator found no empty cans inside the boat or under the dock.
She searched for any candy wrappers, plastic baggies, or any other things indicating Tammy had eaten something David had not mentioned. She found a potato chip bag stuffed under a cushion, but it looked like it had been there for a long time, certainly more than two days.
Then she glanced at the pier. She was surprised to see a blanket lying on it near the end. Her curiosity drew her to kneel beside it. She saw a few stains on top of the covering and reached no startling conclusion but mentally registered the observation.
Then she went back to the camp. She began in the kitchen, opening the pantry. Niki discovered most of the open items had already been removed by the Sheriff's office. She found nothing that would merit further review.
Niki looked in the bathroom and searched for an empty soda can in the trash, drawers, and under the table. But detectives had taken the toothpaste, hair conditioner, shampoo, and mouthwash. The private investigator found no cold medicine, aspirin, tablets, or anything else left that would give her any insight into what Tammy Campo may have eaten or had to drink that contained the poison that killed her.
The rising sun reached the perfect spot in the blue sky and glared through the window. It felt good. The cool morning turned into a warm day. A germ of an idea began to struggle to become a full-fledged thought, with Niki shielding her eyes against the bright light.
The harder the detective tried to force the wisp of an idea to the forefront, the more muddled it became. She decided that whatever it was would eventually come to her and left after locking up the camp.
Chapter Nine
Bernie Lawson had a good morning. He limited out on bass by nine o'clock. Now, he was in the catch and release mode on one of his favorite lakes. False River was only ten miles west of Baton Rouge across the Mississippi River. At one point in history, the dammed-up lake had been part of the mighty Mississippi until the long river changed course. It left the oxbow lake as a land-bound waterway.
Highway 1 ran from Interstate 10 up the banks of the long narrow lake through the town of New Roads. Bernie lived in Zachary, and the distance was shorter, and the travel time cut in half by crossing the new bridge between St. Francisville and New Roads.
In thirty minutes, he could haul his Ranger bass boat with the sixty-five-horsepower outboard engine from his garage and cast the first artificial lure of the morning. He loved the artificial topwater lures. Watching a huge bass whirl beside the bait and surge up from the depths and inhale it provided Bernie great pleasure. But in the cool mornings, he had to go with what worked. The spinning bait with a golden tail had netted him the limit in his live well on the boat.
Bernie watched the sun rise and felt its rays warm the still air over the water. He took a break and broke out the sandwiches. No standard roast beef or ham sandwiches either. The fishermen had some leftover boiled crawfish and shrimp.
He was living the dream. Bernie owned a successful fitness club on one of the major streets in Zachary. His only problem was not that he could not draw enough customers. It was he drew too many, with a waiting list of over a year a potential clients.
The money was good and steady. He eventually hired a manager and spent more of his time in the bass boat. He preferred to come out during the week when the traffic on the lake was at a minimum.
That schedule allowed him to let his grateful manager off on weekends, an unheard of perk in the fitness business. His wife, Flavia, was one of the first customers. The moment he saw the perky brunette with a firm, curvaceous body, he knew she was the one.
Flavia was only twenty-five, seven years younger than her husband. She wasn't into fishing but sometimes accompanied Bernie to get some peace and quiet. After marrying him, she quit her job and acted as the unofficial social manager of the club. All the activities for birthdays, holidays or any other special occasion had to be coordinated through Flavia.
Bernie finished the second sandwich with a special sauce mixed with Tabasco. It always provided a little extra kick to the cold seafood, although the crawfish and shrimp were well seasoned. He picked up his favorite rod and changed the spinning bait with a Rapala topwater lure, one of his favorites.
Feeling the warm sun, he shed the windbreaker leaving him wearing a short sleeve sportsman's shirt. He applied a liberal dose of suntan lotion on his arms and legs. His father, an avid outdoorsman, had dealt with skin cancer from overexposure to the sun and Bernie didn't want to take any chances.
He took two sodas from the cooler and cranked up. In a few short minutes, he throttled the engine and was at the shallow end of the lake. This spot was overgrown with giant water lilies. Barney liked to cast on top of these, let the lure rest for a moment, and then jerk it into the water. The big bass lurking beneath the green leaves were fooled into thinking the bait was a bullfrog or a lizard that had been trapped out of its territory.
On the very first cast using this technique, the water around the lily roiled and then erupted. An eight-pounder sucked up the artificial lure and dove toward the bottom of the shallow lake. Bernie yanked the rod back and set the hook.
For the next four minutes, he fought the mighty fish on five-pound test line. Part of the challenge Bernie loved was hauling in a monster fish that weighed more than the test weight of the fishing line.
After landing the huge fish, Bernie placed him in the live well. Since he had already reached his limit, he had to release one already in it. He fished around with his bare hand and found a smaller fish. He tossed it over the side of the boat.
Then he went back to sport he loved. Before he made the next cast, he took a long swig of soda. He looked up at the sky and thanked his Maker for bestowing on him such a wonderful life.
Chapter Ten
Back at the club, Flavia put out the morning fires. The receptionist hadn't shown up, and Flavia had called in a temporary replacement. One member had forgotten about a niece's birthday, and Flavia had to move a couple of other meetings around to accommodate the last-minute booking.
After that, she turned everything over to the manager, Jacob Hammer. He was more than capable of convincing the members they looked better after each workout, although most went directly to the fried chicken restaurant after a twenty-minute session. Four pieces of fried chicken, mashed potatoes with gravy, curly French fries, and a supersized soda added ten times more than the amount of calories burned during their brief workout.
Flavia took a quick dip in the pool, swam ten laps, and took up a position on a mat at the side of the wading area. By this time, the sun was high in the sky, and she closed her eyes. Her thoughts drifted to her husband, the absolute love of her life.
Flavia knew that she was beautiful. She credited that to her genes passed through the generations combined with hard work. She worked more as the years flew by. She was not egotistical, but knew her looks had opened doors for her. For instance, she saw the twinkle in Bernie's eyes the first time she had come to the club.
She knew he loved her and would even if she let her physical condition slip. But she also realized how proud he was when she was by his side when they went out together, either to a restaurant or church.
Flavia wanted more than anything else in the world to make Bernie proud. She cherished the way he treated her. The Queen of England should be so lucky.
Chapter Eleven
Bernie had a bit of a dry spell. The bass were still lurking under the lily pads and were still striking at the topwater lures, but there was no vigor in their attacks. After missing setting the hook three consecutive times, he changed tactics.
He reeled in the lure and added a trailer hook to his treble hook. It reduced the action of the bait but gave him a better chance of keeping the fish hooked.
On his second attempt, the change paid off. He reeled in a feisty six-pound bass. There were still a couple in the live well smaller, and he opened it to make another switch. But when he opened the lid on the live well, he found every fish floating at the top, bloated bumps protruding all over their bodies.
Puzzled, Bernie leaned back. He then noticed blisters forming on his arms. It made little sense to him. He normally didn't burn easily from the sun. He thought back to the crawfish and shrimp sandwiches. Had the seafood spoiled despite being in the refrigerator since Sunday?
When he put his hands to his face, he felt more blistering. The same for his neck. Then a funny feeling encased him. Everything seemed to buzz around Bernie in slow motion. The fishermen decided he needed to get back to the landing dock and get some help.
Then he remembered the dead fish. It was at that moment Bernie knew without a doubt what had caused this terrible reaction. He turned and picked up the object. Then, his world faded. His last memory was of the huge eight-pounder he had landed.
