No, he wasn’t. Remy had an extra sense for such things even if he hadn’t seen the murderer’s work before. He would kill again and soon.

Remy nodded. “I’ll talk to Eulalie. She’ll help us. I’ll need to talk to Saria and Bijou as well.” He sighed. The last thing he wanted to do was talk to Bijou about anything unpleasant. It had taken years to forgive himself for the way he’d handled her ugly childhood, and he’d hoped that if they crossed paths as adults they could both put it behind them.

He forced himself to look at the body of his childhood friend. As long as he’d been the “vic” Remy could push the reality away for a time so he could get the job done, but grief was pushing close. “Have you notified next of kin?”

“I’m going to do that now,” Gage said.

Remy inhaled. He should be the one to do it. He’d been best man. When he opened his mouth to suggest it, Gage shook his head.

“I was friends with him as well,” Gage said. “And I went to school with his wife. You have enough to do. You always get the short end of the stick, and I’m askin’ you to take lead on this. The least I can do is spare you talkin’ to Amy.”

“Thanks, Gage,” Remy said. “Tell her I’ll stop by later.”

“The photographer has already taken pictures and forensics is waiting. I wanted you to see everything first before anything could be disturbed. Saria took photographs as well. She documented everything she saw and had Bijou do the same. Saria has an eye for detail. I told her you’d want a word with her. They’re both waiting at the Inn.”

Remy nodded as he skirted the crime scene. Somewhere close would be the stash of a bloodstained, hooded plastic suit, homemade, stitched together with meticulous, even stitches, plastic gloves and coverings for boots. He found what he was looking for the required four and a half feet from the body on the opposite side of the altar. This time, the discarded, bloody suit was half in the mud, as the killer had chosen a cypress tree near the water’s edge, not giving himself enough room to put the clothing in a safer place. A mistake?

Remy frowned. That was unlike the killer. He didn’t make mistakes, but the ritual of the altar and discarding of the kill suit was part of his rigid routine. He had never deviated. The plastic clothing should have been set safely away from the water, which meant the tree chosen should have been over by several feet. Remy turned back, and studied the grove of cypress trees. There were plenty of others trees the killer could have hung the body on.

He studied the grasses and the directions they were bent. Trails led around various trees and always back to the one the killer had used to hang Pete. “Are you certain the integrity of the crime scene was preserved? Saria and Bijou didn’t walk around? None of you did?”

Drake shook his head. “We know better.”

Remy nodded and made his way carefully around the area to the back of the tree where Pete’s body hung. The old cypress had several letters carved into it, obviously over several years. The letters P and M had a fresh line drawn through them. His leopard gave a leap of recognition. This particular spot had been a favorite of those living up and down the bayous or close to the marshes and swamps, to meet and party. He remembered it from his youth. His initials were carved into the trunk, along with his brothers’ and even Saria’s.

“He didn’t choose this location randomly,” Remy said. “He wanted to use this specific tree. Gage, take a look at this. Have the photographer photograph the entire trunk.”

He studied the old carvings. The spot was easy to access from two different canals and a good place to meet where parents weren’t going to find you. Lovers had carved their initials into the trunk surrounded by hearts. Others had simply put their initials in. S and B definitely stood for his sister, Saria. He wondered if the bold B and B were Bijou’s initials, although he couldn’t imagine her ever coming to the swamp to party. He wanted a list of all initials and a confirmation of just who those initials belonged to and said as much to Gage. If the killer was choosing victims by those who had partied here, had this gone from random killings to actual targeted prey? Or had it been that all along?

2

REMY stood outside of the Lafont Inn staring up at the grand Victorian-inspired chateau. The Inn was old-style elegance, an era long gone by, but well loved. The chateau was a hidden jewel set back from the edge of the lake where cypress trees had given way to groves of white pine and oak. Marsh, swamp and lazy bayous all were within easy reach. Visitors could lie in the hammocks set in the shade of the trees a few feet from the water, staying cool in the trees while the breeze off the lake fanned them.

White with pale blue trim helped to veil the house when the fog poured in from the lake and bayous. A wraparound porch and large balconies on the second story invited guests to view all kinds of birds and wildlife in the comfort of intricately carved and spacious rocking chairs.

The Lafont Inn had been in the Lafont family for over a hundred years. Miss Pauline Lafont had inherited the house from her grandmother, who had married a Dubois. The name of the estate had changed at that time, but Pauline had returned the original name to the family property when she decided to modernize the house and turn it into a bed-and-breakfast some years earlier. On Saria and Drake’s wedding day, she’d given the Inn to Saria as she had no children and considered Remy’s little sister the daughter she’d never had. Pauline had then married the man of her dreams, the one man she’d loved always—Amos Jeanmard.