Louisiana Stalker Read Free

“Probably a few days.”
    â€œHopefully more,” LeBlanc said with a wide smile. “And while you’re here, please let me know if I can do anything for you.”
    â€œI’ll do that.”

FOUR
    Clint left the sheriff’s office, wondering if Baton Rouge had become the kind of place where a man like Beau LeBlanc could be an effective lawman.
    The mention of gambling had whet his appetite for some poker, but he decided to wait until the next day. He wanted to get a good night’s sleep, and that new suit, before he started touring the gambling houses.
    He returned to his hotel, exchanged a friendly nod with the young desk clerk, and went to his room.
    He moved his boots and sat on the firm mattress. It struck him how young both the desk clerk and the lawman had been. Thankfully, his waiter had been a bit older. He was afraid the men in this town were going to make him feel older than he was.
    He read some Dickens, then doused the lamp, removed his clothes, and turned in for the night.
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    He awoke the next morning refreshed. He decided to try the Cajun House’s own restaurant for breakfast, thinking that maybe his new suit would arrive by the time he was done.
    He ordered steak and eggs, which were prepared perfectly. The coffee could have been stronger, but was acceptable. The waiter told him he could charge the meal to his room, and pay for it all together when he checked out.
    â€œThat’s very civilized,” Clint said. “Thank you.”
    â€œYes, sir.”
    Clint left two bits on the table for the waiter and went out to the lobby.
    â€œMr. Adams?” the clerk called.
    He turned and looked at the man. “Yes?”
    â€œI have a message for you.”
    â€œIs that so?” He approached the desk. “From who?”
    â€œI don’t know,” the man said. “It was left on the desk while I was . . . away.”
    He handed Clint an envelope, which was sealed.
    â€œThank you.”
    â€œYes, sir.”
    Clint carried the envelope with him away from the desk. He debated whether he should read the message there in the lobby, or in his room. He decided to open it right there. He sat on a sofa against one wall and opened the envelope. Immediately, a perfume smell rose from inside. The message was obviously from a lady, but who knew he was there?
    He unfolded the perfumed note and read it. It was an invitation to have supper with a woman named Capucine Devereaux. He didn’t know the woman, but the perfume smelled expensive. The invitation was for 8 p.m. at a restaurant called Chez Louis.
    He stood and walked back to the front desk.
    â€œWhat’s your name?” he asked the clerk.
    â€œRonald, sir.”
    â€œWell, Ronald, what can you tell me about a restaurant called Chez Louis?”
    â€œAh”—the young man’s eyes lit up—“one of the best restaurants in Baton Rouge, sir. But also, I’m afraid, one of the most expensive.”
    â€œI see,” Clint said, “and do you know anything about the name ‘Devereaux’?”
    â€œOne of the finest families not in only Baton Rouge, but in all of Louisiana.”
    â€œA rich family?”
    â€œOh, yes.”
    â€œI see.”
    â€œIs that who the note was from, sir?” Ronald asked. “The Devereaux family?”
    â€œThanks for the information, Ronald.”
    â€œIf the Devereaux family has summoned you, sir, you had best respond.”
    â€œIs that so?”
    â€œSimon Devereaux is a very powerful man.”
    â€œThen why would he need me?”
    â€œYou’re the Gunsmith,” Ronald said as if that alone should explain it.
    â€œI know who I am,” Clint said. “Okay, thanks.”
    There was no way for him to acknowledge the invitation. He assumed that Capucine Devereaux, whoever she was—daughter? wife?—would wait for him at Chez Louis, in the hope that he