"Sure do." The doctor chuckled again, for no apparent reason. Then out of the blue he asked, "Think we should demand an autopsy? Get a court order, need be?"
Zach stared at the doctor blankly, reflecting on the possibility that the man's brain hadn't fared as well as his body. "That would just add to Frank's grief, and he's already had enough. Besides, your toxicology came up negative."
"But the presence of petechiae . . ."
"Look, Doc, I'm no coroner, but wouldn't a bit of hemorrhaging be normal from a stroke?"
"Not necessarily in the eyes and nose. And the same type were found in your brother's body, and in the prisoner's."
Zach swallowed an impatient sound and dropped his gaze back to the notes on Izzy. "I don't want to rain on your parade, partner, but there's only a slim connection. Not enough to warrant an autopsy. Thanks for contacting me; but—"
"The wake's being held right now over at Cormier's house. How 'bout just talking to Frank? See if I'm not right about his bizarre behavior. You could speak with the girl, too."
Zach's head snapped up so hard the bones in his neck cracked. "Who?"
"Frank and Ellie's girl, Lizette I think. Yeah, Lizette. In her mid-thirties now, but you must remember her. You used to sniff around her enough."
"Izzy?" Zach choked out. "No. Izzy's dead."
"Seems not. Drove in last night pretty as you please to attend her mama's funeral. Care to come see for yourself?"
The wake was abuzz with quiet speculation about Liz's reappearance in Port Chatre and about her mother's fate in the afterlife. Discussion ended quickly at her approach. The gossipers then turned en masse with cautious and sympathetic smiles to rev up their Southern charm and drawl polite questions in soft, lazy voices that never revealed their true thoughts.
Liz pried herself loose from the latest gossip pod and had drifted only a few feet away before the morbid topic was resumed.
"The girl's cursed, just like her mama."
"Not cursed, a witch. Runs in the blood."
"I hear she rose outta her vault."
A short, tubby man snickered uneasily. "Sure she did. Like one of them Tales from the Crypt episodes."
"No, no," a woman interjected, lifting her hands and wiggling her fingers. "Ank00000r helped her."
The snickers got louder and longer, but still sounded spooked.
What rubbish, Liz thought. They couldn't honestly believe she was a zombie or that Ankouer truly existed. Judging by the anxious edge in their laughter, it was easy to believe they did. And it didn't help any that her father was sitting in the kitchen, telling his old cronies that Ankouer had sent la maladie malefique to kill his wife.
Wandering aimlessly through the spacious Cormier home, feeling very much like the young girl she'd left behind so many years ago, she sipped on a rum and Coke someone had pressed in her hand.
Liquor was always present at Cajun wakes, along with enormous platters of shrimp and crawdads and plump grilled sausage, bottomless bowls of etouffee, and dirty rice with beans.
Quite a feast, and one provided by the generosity of Richard and family. When she'd lived here, the Cormiers had been struggling to make their grocery a success, living upstairs, giving credit that wasn't always repaid. Seemed as if these twenty years had been kind to them.
According to the others—who were more than happy to fill Liz in—when the Fortier cannery folded, Richard Junior snapped up the wharf that once fed it. He renamed it a marina—a title as grandiose as this tiny town's name—and with the air finally freed of the stench of rotting fish, tourism picked up. Cash customers arrived, needing supplies, needing rental boats, which Richard supplied for a small king's ransom. The Cormiers then used those profits to build an inn. And so it went.
Regular entrepreneurs. Judging by this mansion, a faithful replication of a Creole plantation house, she wouldn't be surprised to see their industries show up as her next hot penny stock. But their current kindness couldn't erase her memories of their constant bullying during her childhood.
Witch's child. Raggedy swamp girl. Those were the gentler taunts. Other times they claimed she curdled milk or made babies sick with her evil eye.
One day she hurled a curse at Richard in retaliation and he broke his arm that afternoon, adding fuel to their accusations.
Liz stopped before one of the large stone hearths to warm herself by the fire. It was unusually cold for an afternoon in the middle of May, and she was grateful for the heat. As she rubbed her hands, she found herself staring up at a crucifix hanging over the mantel, something that graced almost every Cajun home. To most this represented all that was holy, but to Liz it symbolized everything she'd fled.
"Praying for your mama's soul?"
It took a moment for Liz to realize the question had been directed at her. When she turned, a chill crept up her spine.
"Hello, Maddie," she said coolly.
"Lord Jesus watch out for your mama, Izzy. You must trust."
Liz regarded Maddie for a long moment, deciding not to bother with asking if she'd call her Liz She noted with mild surprise that Maddie, who was ten years her senior, somehow did not look a day over thirty. Although painfully thin, a fact her sleeveless, scoop-necked gown emphasized, Maddie was nonetheless striking. Her dark skin and large almond-shaped eyes gave her an exotic beauty, and her bearing revealed a self-possession that even her ungrammatical speech couldn't belie.
"I pray for her." Maddie brushed back an imaginary stray hair. "I pray God take her soul to heaven and she be very happy."
"How can you pretend you care?" Liz asked acidly.
"It weren't like that between Ellie and me. I love her like a sister. Some things you don't understand, with them big city ways you got now."
Liz placed her glass beneath the feet of the crucified Jesus. "If you'll excuse me."
Instead of replying, Maddie stared at her long and hard. For a peculiar second, Liz felt as if those slanted dark eyes were searching her soul. But she met them boldly. As she did, an electric charge ran from the top of her head and down her spine. Words spilled involuntarily from her lips.
"You will die a violent death," she said in a strangely altered voice. "Fortunately, it will be quick."
"Ah, you is the daughter of your mama, after all." A cynical smile crossed Maddie's face. "And got her gift of second sight."
The words shattered Liz's trancelike state. Somewhat stunned, she turned away from Maddie and rushed through the open French doors to the veranda outside.
She walked to the edge, propped her elbows on the carved railing, and stared into the distance. The dipping sun glowed behind a curtain of misting rain. Tiny drops of water fell from the trees and clung to the Spanish moss, where they glittered like rhinestones. The splash of a fish breaking the water of the bayou not far away added an alto note to the high chirrups of the crickets. Thunder rumbled softly in the distance.
What had happened in there?
Lord, she thought with despair, as intensely as she disliked Maddie, nothing justified what she'd said. And it scared the hell out of her that she'd said it. She suspected that somewhere in her morass of deliberately buried memories she might discover similar incidents. That scared her even more.
Everything about Port Chatre frightened her, in fact. The memories it held. The flood of suspicion and fear directed her way. The possibility that the false life she'd built for herself would be exposed. Even the potential risk that listening to these gently slurred accents would cause her to slip back into the speech patterns of her girlhood.
She didn't want to go back. Didn't want to remember. Which was why she'd vowed that nothing would ever make her return to Port Chatre. Nothing, that is, but her mother's funeral.
An event she'd somehow never taken into account.
Chapter Two
Zach-ar-ree For-tee-ay." Frank's drawl boomed across the large room as he walked in Zach's direction.
Doc Allain nudged his elbow. "Go ahead, see what I'm saying. Meantime
, I'm checking out the eats."
The doctor faded into the crowd, leaving Zach to wait while Frank came forward with his huge hand extended.
"Frank," he said warmly, taking the man's hand and shaking it firmly. "How're you holding up, pay liter? I'm sorry about Ellie."
Frank's face sagged as he whispered. "Oui. La maladie malefique."
"That's as good as anything to call it. Though the doctor calls it a stroke." Zach surreptitiously scanned the room. His knees were quaking and the air felt thick, but hiding his true feelings came naturally to him.
"Men of science know nothing," Frank countered, then went on in the same conspiratorial voice. "Ankouer come for Ellie—he take her breath and freeze her blood."
The remark caused Zach to turn on his zoom lens and focus it on Frank. Bloodshot, slightly crazed eyes. Disheveled appearance. So the doc had been right. Frank had taken a dive off the deep end. Finding himself a little at a loss for words, he mumbled something about never knowing.
He could hear fragments of conversations that let him know that others were aware of Frank's delusions. Some voices held fear, some pity. Some were downright scornful. Well, grief did odd things to people, and Zach didn't necessarily think the man's behavior revealed a guilty conscience.
He found himself unable to keep his attention honed the way he usually did. He'd come back to Port Chatre looking for Jed's killer. Instead he'd found . . .
"Is— I mean— Izzy, I heard she's here."
"Oui. She come and say good-bye to her maman."
"Frank, I—" He hesitated. How did you ask a man such a question on the day he'd interred his wife? "I'd been, that is, well, I'd been told Izzy was dead."
"A body washed up in the bayous, yes, and they told us it were Izzy. Mistake of identity. She were up in the Saint Louie all along." He gravely made the sign of the cross. "For them other poor souls who was grieving for their daughter when the truth came out," he explained.
The quaking in Zach's knees spread like wildfire through his entire body. Why didn't you tell me? he wanted to shout. Why? Instead he asked for a drink.
Frank's eyes lost their wild edge as they drifted to Zach's visibly shaking hands. "That I can do, yes."
It only seemed like seconds later when Frank pressed a tumbler into Zach's hand. Zach swallowed quickly, demanding his heart to stop racing, demanding his lungs to inhale. After downing half the glass, he asked, "Where is she?"
"On the galerie, I think I seen."
"Thanks." Zach finished the rest of the glass and put it down on a nearby table. "I'll go look her up. Nice talking to you, partner, and hang in there."
"I do my best."
Turning slowly so as not to betray his eagerness, Zach headed for the open doors that led outside. He saw a slender figure looking up at Richard Cormier. Her shoulders were slightly bent as if they bore a great weight, but she listened in apparent fascination while Richard talked about his businesses. She wore a black knit kind of thing, with a long coat-jacket that skimmed the hemline of the skirt and clung rather enticingly to her slim hips.
Her smooth cap of hair almost matched the color of her outfit and revealed the curve of her neck.
Izzy? Where were her curls? That long mane of gloriously tousled hair?
Deciding he was about to find out, Zach straightened the knot of his tie, sucked in his stomach, and took a step into a moment that, until then, he hadn't known he'd been hoping for all his adult life.
"Afternoon, Richard," he said with forced nonchalance. "Nice spread you've put on for the folks."
"Fortier," Richard replied evenly, making very little effort to cover up his annoyance at being interrupted. "Come back to see what I've done with your town?"
Before Zach answered, the woman turned around. His sharp hiss of breath occurred at the same moment her face broke into a delighted smile. "Zach!"
She rushed toward him, still smiling. His heart exploded with joy.
"Izzy, I— Why didn't you . . . ?"
"A shock, isn't it?" Richard said archly. "We were all surprised out of our boots."
She stopped, her smile vanishing.
"Oh that." A nervous laugh bubbled in her throat. "Everyone seems to think I came back from the grave. I just— For the longest time I didn't know I'd been reported dead. Later . . . when I did, well, it seemed better this way."
"Better? How's that?" Didn't she realize what a kick in the gut she'd given him?
She made a sweeping motion with her hand. "Hard to explain. It just did, that's all."
Zach stared down at her, taking in the monumental changes. Gone were Izzy's soft consonants and drawn-out vowels. This was the studied accent of an expensive Northeastern prep school. And she had taken off weight. Where Izzy had been sensuously round, she was chicly slim. Actually, chic described her perfectly, and if it weren't for those flecked golden eyes meeting his, he'd hardly know this was the same person.
He let out his breath, allowing his stomach to sag. He'd almost forgotten he'd been holding it in. They'd both changed through these years, and not for the better in his opinion. But he had more to conceal than a softening belly. His damned emotions seesawed like crazy. His stomach twisted with disappointment, yet, stupidly, his heart still skipped with excitement The faint spice of her perfume made it even harder for him to breathe. One thing he knew, though—he wasn't going to dump his feelings at her feet.
"It's not important, just a surprise. But I am glad to see you, Izzy." He thrust out his hand for a manly shake, feeling a sick kind of satisfaction when he saw hurt flicker on her face. She recovered quickly and by the time she took his hand, he wondered if he'd imagined that look.
"I use the name Liz now. Papa's the only one who calls me Izzy anymore." Smooth, flawless white teeth flashed at him. The best dentistry money could buy, he'd be willing to wager. Izzy's smile had once revealed overlapping incisors, with a small chip that he had quixotically adored.
"Is it still Deveraux?" he asked, for lack of anything better. He sure wasn't holding up his reputation for glib charm this afternoon.
"Yes." She tilted her head slightly. "How about you?"
"It's still Fortier."
She laughed again, a relaxed sound this time. "That's not what—"
"Actually, Zach here's proved his magic touch with the ladies," Richard interrupted. "Caught three of them. Too bad he doesn't know how to keep them."
Liz slanted Richard a scowling look.
"Hey, partner, thanks for not leading off with my faults," Zach retorted with studied laziness. Then he looked back at Liz. "Divorce . . ." For no reason in particular, he lamely added, "Two kids."
Richard made another snide remark that Liz didn't quite register. From the moment Zach came onto the veranda, her heart had been tripping like an old-fashioned ticker tape. He was taller than she remembered, broader in the shoulders, narrower in the hips. His body revealed a dedication to keeping fit that went well beyond a few hours a week at the gym, and the wind swept back his tawny sun-streaked hair, revealing the high forehead, the slash of brutal cheekbones, and the squareness of jaw that had remained etched in her mind.
"What happened to all those blue-black curls, cher?"
"People change in twenty years. At least some of us do." She tilted her head. "But it seems you haven't, except maybe you're a little taller."
Zach laughed. The sound was rich and delightful and it felt as though she'd heard it just yesterday. She'd always loved Zach's laugh and the rich Cajun rhythm to his speech, which also hadn't changed.
"I thought you'd be mayor of Port Chatre by now."
His laugh vanished immediately. "Nah, I got a football scholarship. Never came back after that."
"He wouldn't have beat out my pa, anyway," Richard interjected.
Liz barely acknowledged the remark. Neither did Zach. Since he'd walked into their conversation, Richard had faded into the background.
"Where're you staying?" Zach asked.
"Staying?" His eyes w
ere as blue as ever. "Oh, in your family's house."
"In my old house?" The news obviously startled him. "Your pa buy the place?"
"It's his, yes. But he's probably going to sell it, now that Mama's gone."
"Seems strange, thinking of him living where I grew up. We shared so many memories there, you and me."
"Yes," she replied uneasily, refraining from telling him that her parents had never lived there. Although the place wasn't as large as Richard's, it was a true plantation house rather than a replica. The real thing, a spot where she'd spun so many dreams. For an instant she shared Zach's memories, almost hearing her girlish squeals as she burst through the open shutter doors onto the second-story balcony, Zach hot on her heels after some treasure she'd swiped.
In those days, she'd expected to raise his babies in that house, to plant pretty flowers in well-tended beds, and breathe magnolia fragrance in the spring. In those days before .. .
Liz frowned. Before what? Why had she fled Port Chatre so long ago? And fled she had, with nothing to her name except a flour sack full of ratty clothes and the thirty dollars she'd squirreled away for an extra-special dress to wear to Zach's senior prom.
"Something wrong, cher?" Zach asked.
"She's probably tired," Richard said, putting a possessive hand on her arm, and clearly preparing to steer her inside.
"I'm fine, Richard, thanks." She subtly shook off his arm and kept her eyes on Zach. "Just fine. So how's Jed these days?"
For a second Zach looked as stunned as if someone had slapped him. "Jed died," he said flatly. "Almost three years ago."
"Jed? Oh, no, Zach. How?"
"Drowned in the bayou, they say."
"I liked him so much." Liz shook her head, weighed down by the shock of news that added to her grief for her mother. "I just can't believe it."
"Hey, Fortier," Richard said, "you might lighten up. Liz just put her ma to rest, remember?"
Zach had dealt with Richard's earlier jibe without much effort, but now he felt confused. Until Liz had asked about Jed, he'd completely forgotten his purpose for coming to Port Chatre. Since he'd identified his brother's body, not a moment of a day had passed when finding his killer wasn't Zach's main reason for living. Seeing Liz had completely erased it from his mind. "Sorry," he said distractedly. "My timing is piss poor."
Chills & Thrills Paranormal Boxed Set Page 2