Kent Conwell - Tony Boudreaux 13 - The Diamonds of Ghost Bayou Read Online Free

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    Louisiana is a gambling state, and I hadn’t been able to resist dropping a few bucks into the slots while I munched my burger.
Usually, I have fair luck on the slots, but today I’d bombed out.
I hoped that wasn’t a portent of things to come.

    To still my growling stomach, I had a peanut butter sandwich
and a glass of milk.
    I awoke when the storm hit, around midnight, a typical spring
thunderstorm with towering black thunderheads continually
lanced by brilliant orange and whites slashes of lightning.
    I went to the window and watched as the magnificent storm
passed, its great gusts raking through the spidery cypress, bending the limbs and making the leaves dance. Crashing bursts of
light revealed the dark swamp in an eerie but striking relief.
    Down at the dock, the Mako, pushed by the wind and waves,
rocked against its rubber bumpers. During the frequent flashes
of lightning, I could see the rain coursing off the boat cover and
sluicing into the black waters of Ghost Bayou.
    I froze, peering into the stormy night. I could have sworn I
saw tiny lights deep in the swamp. I blinked once or twice and
then squinted again, but the lights had disappeared-if they were
ever there.
    If you’ve never awakened to a Louisiana morning after a night
storm, you’ve missed one of life’s most beautiful experiences.
    I climbed out of bed and threw open the window, drawing in
a breath of sweet, clean air. The coffeepot was ready to go, so I
flicked it on and headed for the bathroom. Ten minutes later, I
poured a cup and took it out onto the porch.
    The rain had bathed the lawn and trees and shrubs with a
deep green that reminded me of one of Robert Frost’s poems. I
can’t remember the name of the poem now, but I’ll never forget
the line, “Nature’s first green is gold.” And as I gazed upon the
freshly washed leaves on the massive dark cypress trunks made
almost black by the rain, I felt a close kinship with the old poet.
    Even the birds were happy. White egrets abounded, some
perching on cypress knees only inches from the bulwarks and backfill that Jack had thrown up along the edge of the black
water. Blue jays darted through the treetops in swooping dives
and curving arcs. And along the shoreline, long-tailed male
grackles did their mating dance around their chosen mates.

    I drew another deep breath, savoring the sweet thickness of
honeysuckle on the morning air, fresh and clean as a newly
bathed baby.
    And then, from the darkness deep in the swamp, came the
alligators, gliding silently beneath the tannic-stained water,
their bulbous eyes focused on the egrets and grackles along the
shoreline.
    Sipping my coffee, I watched as a six-foot alligator glided up
to the bulwark and then gracefully eased over the top, eyeing a
shiny black grackle dancing around a mousy brown grackle not
eight feet from the shore. The birds appeared to ignore the reptile. The alligator, mouth agape, shot forward. The birds scattered. The frustrated reptile jerked its head back and forth once
or twice and then lay down, the scales along its spine vibrating.
    I downed the remainder of my coffee and went back inside.
    Before I left for the hospital, I made certain everything was
locked down, not that it would do that much good if someone
truly wanted in.
    Covered with bruises, Jack was awake. Although still partially
sedated, he tried to grin when I walked in, but it was more of a
leer. He held up his right hand. I grabbed it and squeezed. “You’re
getting too old for this kind of nonsense, Jack.”
    He gave a weak laugh. “Tell me about it.”
    Diane spoke up. “They came in to give him another shot for
the pain, but he begged off. He wanted to talk to you first.”
    “Well, I’m here, old buddy. What’s on your mind?”
    He glanced at the door. In a muted, hesitant voice, he asked,
“Is the nurse gone?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Good”
    IISo?”

    “Something’s going on, Tony. And someone