Stop Me by Brenda Novak Read Free Book Online

Mamou as a place to relocate. But it had a significantly higher unemployment rate than the state average, so she’d be surprised if it had been appealing to displaced families. Regardless, in such a small town someone would know Romain Fornier. Given the news coverage, there probably wasn’t a single citizen who hadn’t heard of him.
    It was nearly ten o’clock and the music and voices from downstairs were getting loud. Doing her best to tune out the noise, Jasmine finished the half-eaten sandwich at her elbow and switched over to MapQuest for driving directions.
    Mamou was three hours and eighteen minutes west of New Orleans.
    Her father was actually closer, although he lived in the opposite direction….
    Frustrated by that random thought, she pushed it from her mind and decided to rent a car and drive to Mamou first thing in the morning. She couldn’t meet with the sketch artist until next Tuesday, anyway. And she had to learn more about the man who killed Fornier’s daughter, more about the investigation and how it had unfolded.
    Moreau’s method of operation might help her figure out the psyche of the man she was dealing with, or maybe something Fornier knew might prove valuable.
    But Hurricane Rita had struck after Hurricane Katrina and completely destroyed some of the coastal communities to the west. She wasn’t sure how much of Fornier’s hometown remained. Nothing on the Web site gave her any indication.
    Waiting until the person at the front desk had finished dealing with another patron, she raised her voice above the music coming from below so she could be heard. “Excuse me.”
    “Yes?”
    Vaguely reminiscent of the girl Jasmine had seen there earlier, this woman was older and heavier. “Do you know anything about the town of Mamou?”
    “Not much. I’ve never been there.”
    “You’re married to Mr. Cabanis, right?”
    “Yep. This is a family affair.” Folding her arms, she leaned against the counter. “Are you planning to visit Mamou?”
    “If it wasn’t too terribly damaged by the hurricanes.” She walked over to study the computer screen, which showed a map of the state. “I don’t think it was. It’s farther north than the towns that were hardest hit.” That was hopeful. “Do you know where I can rent a car?”
    “Sure, come on over to the desk and I’ll make a reservation. When do you want to pick it up?”
    “Tomorrow morning.”
    34

    “If you’re hoping to see Cajun country, you don’t have to drive that far. They offer swamp tours from right here in New Orleans. Although I’m not sure what’s available this time of year.”
    “No thanks. The idea of heading into a swamp makes me uneasy.” Even Skye’s home, located in the San Joaquin River Delta, was too isolated for Jasmine’s tastes.
    “Think an alligator might getcha?” Mrs. Cabanis asked, chuckling.
    “Maybe.” Or something worse. Especially since a vast, largely uninhabited swamp would be an ideal place to dump a body. Although Jasmine knew that wasn’t something most people would consider, for her, it was an automatic reaction, one of the negatives of her job.
    “They won’t bother you if you don’t bother them,” Mrs. Cabanis said, preoccupied with running a finger down the listings in the Yellow Pages.
    Jasmine wished she could say the same for human predators. “I can’t bother them if I keep my distance, right?”
    “True. But a swamp tour would be better than going to Mamou. Other than Fred’s Lounge, I doubt there’s much to see.”
    Jasmine had stumbled on a Web site for Fred’s Lounge—the famous bar that’d sparked renewed interest in Cajun music, language and culture after World War II—
    while searching for information on Fornier’s hometown, so she recognized the reference. “I’m actually not interested in going to the lounge.”
    “What’s the attraction, then?”
    “Do you know anything about Romain Fornier?” she asked.
    Mrs. Cabanis was already reaching for the phone,