Kent Conwell - Tony Boudreaux 13 - The Diamonds of Ghost Bayou by Kent Conwell Page B

me, and then continued casually on his way.
    Next morning, I told Mamere. She shrugged it off. “Oh, that
be Jean. He been here since before you was born. He help keep the rats down.” She winked at me. “He big help around here,
not like some little garcons, me, I know.”

    I knew she meant me, but I didn’t know she was teasing.
    That was the last time I saw Jean, but a few months later,
Mamere told me she had found Jean dead and tossed him to the
hogs. “That what happens to all mauvais petit garcons.”
    Remembering she had said Jean was more help to her than
me, and that I was sometimes a “bad little boy,” I had nightmares
for a week. If she would throw him to the hogs, what would
she do with me? For the next couple of months, I watched her
warily and made it a point to stay away from the hog pens.
    Somehow, I didn’t think Diane would be quite as casual
about the presence of a snake in her house, so I planned to fall
back on a surefire method of ridding the area of snakes.
    Rummaging through her kitchen spices, I found a bottle of
cloves. I crushed the small cloves and then boiled them in water.
The result was a poor substitute for clove oil, for which Grandmere Ola had had myriad uses, even my acne and occasional
warts.
    After the water boiled down to a few ounces, I dumped the
contents from a plastic bottle of Formula 409 cleaner I found
under the sink and poured my solution of clove syrup into it. I
put some on my finger and tasted it. I could taste the clove, although it was much weaker than the real stuff.
    I crossed my fingers and went back into the living room.
I propped open the front storm door, and then, with the handle
of a broom, raised the skirt on the bottom of the couch and
fired half a dozen squirts under it before jumping back.
    The mud snake shot out one end of the couch and tried to
climb the wall. He fell back and headed my way. Stumbling
backward, I squirted again and yelled, “Hah!” He whipped
around and headed back toward the door. Ten seconds later, he
disappeared into the night.
    I soaked the porch with my solution of clove. Finally, I closed
the door and relaxed on the couch. And then it hit me. How
did the mud snake get inside? If it had been my grandparents’ old home, it would be a moot question. That house was full of
holes, but this one?

    I glanced around the living room. With the windows closed
and the doors shut, there was no way for a snake to slither in.
Besides, I remembered Jack saying they’d had the place sprayed
with snake repellent.
    Digging out a flashlight, I turned on the porch lights and the
lights below. Downstairs, I searched the storage rooms as well
as the floor joists, which I discovered the contractors had completely closed in, leaving only tightly sealed hatches to access
various components needing service.
    When I went back upstairs, the overpowering aroma of clove
smacked me in the face. I threw open the windows to air out
the house, wondering just how I would explain the smell to
Diane.
    Later, after I turned off the lights, I stood staring out the storm
door into the pitch-black swamp. No question. My mud snake
had had help getting in.
    But how, and why?
    Obviously, someone wants to get rid of Jack and Diane.
    And the reason why was a chump guess. The diamonds!
    The next several minutes, I sorted through the tangle of events of the last couple of days, trying to put my thoughts into
order, if possible.
    The scenario was simple. Someone wanted the diamonds, and
that someone figured the gems were on the premises. If they
could run Jack and Diane off, they could tear the place apart
without any interference.
    I glanced out the window. As fanciful as it seemed, I had the
feeling the diamonds were close.
    Of course, I reminded myself, I might be reaching too far,
trying to snatch at a possibility that never existed, but the snake
in the living room added enough to the conundrum to convince
me there was some