Page 60 of Longest Ride

“I know you were, but what if it was a third party?”

Billy thought about it. “Like whoever did the killing didn’t even know the victims? A paid assassin.”

“Uh huh. Arms’ length and that’s why we can’t connect the fuckin dots.”

“The killer drove to the trailer when the scene was set, killed Alex, Harry, and Carla, and then left the state. We’d have no chance of catching him.”

“The person we want is the one who hired the killer,” said Billy. “We need to go back and talk to Tim Perkins, Dave Turcotte and Paula Fleming again.”

“Yep. When you have nothing—start over.”

Fleming Residence. Valier.

With the radio playing, Ted was almost asleep in his truck when he heard Paula Fleming talking to somebody. He jerked awake and paid attention to what she was saying.

“Tim, are you coming to Harry’s funeral tomorrow? I don’t think I can get through it on my own.”

“Dave isn’t coming?”

“No. He doesn’t think it would look right.”

“He’s worried about people’s opinions? I can’t picture him saying that, Paula. Are you sure?”

“He’s not coming but I hope you are.”

“Yes, I’m coming. I can’t afford a funeral for Alex. I’m having him cremated. Best I can do.”

“What about Carla?”

“Her funeral was yesterday. Her parents took care of it.”

“Was it sad for you?”

“I didn’t bother going after what Carla did to me. Why would I go to her funeral?”

“Yeah, I guess. She was a cheater. Looking at it that way, why am I going to Harry’s funeral?” Paula laughed.

When the call ended, Ted called Travis to tell him what he’d heard.

New Iberia. Louisiana.

I punched the address of the fishing boat charters into the GPS and followed the directions to a place called New Iberia.

Passing lakes and rivers in the area, I saw all kinds of places advertising boat rentals, fishing gear and bait shops with pictures of worms and frogs staring at me with big smiles on their faces. Creepy.

Keeping an eye on Eldon in the rearview, I saw he’d fallen asleep. That’s what he did most of the time. Sleep. He was no fun anymore.

The next bait shop I came to, I pulled the truck over, parked and ran inside. The dirty little shack smelled like swamp water and dead fish and man sweat. I gagged and took a couple of deep breaths.

“Help you, girl?”

An old guy stood behind the counter doing something with feathers. “You need bait? Nice fresh night crawlers.”

“No thanks. No bait. What I need is a guide. Do you know of any around here?”

“Sure, you go on down Route 90 and that’s where you’ll find Carl Levron. He lives just past Calumet, and you couldn’t get yourself a better guide than him. Born in the swamp and lived there all his life. He knows it better than most.”

The old guy pointed to the wall at the end of the shack. “One of Carl’s cards might be on the bulletin board. Take a look.”

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