by L. A. Kelley
“Are we there, yet?” I muttered.
Renny pulled into a gas station. “We’re on the outskirts of Houma.”
Amelie yawned and stretched. “Must we stop?”
“I have no choice. The gas tank is nearly empty.” He frowned. “The attendant is sure to wonder about the bullet holes. Let’s hope we find Odile quickly so we can ditch the car.”
“I gotta pee,” mumbled Esther, rubbing her eyes.
Amelie grasped her hand. “The facilities are around back. The station has a public phone. I can call Ruby.”
I left to use the restroom, too, and then returned to the car. Amelie arrived a few minutes later and announced she had reached Ruby who was relieved to hear we were all right. “She’ll keep an eye on Delphine and send a message in care of Purdy’s General Store if she needs to contact us.”
“Are you sure you should tell her where we’re headed?”
Amelie was affronted. “Ruby would never tell Delphine. She is not merely a cook, she is a friend, and a friend’s loyalty is never questioned.”
Not having had much experience with friendship, I didn’t argue. “Where’s Esther?”
“Renny took her. He went to get directions to Cypress Road from the attendant. We should get going. I don’t like being so out in the open.”
Renny and Esther returned to the car. “The man asked about the bullet holes,” Esther said. “I told him they weren’t bullet holes, but a giant eagle swooped down and tried to peck us through the glass.” She scrunched her face. “I don’t think he believed me.”
“Of course, he didn’t believe you,” I said. “That’s the dumbest lie I ever heard. Renny, how could you let her say that?”
Renny regarded me with disbelief as he started the engine. “Have you tried to keep her quiet once she gets an idea into her head?”
“I was trying to help,” Esther pouted. “I’m not an expert like you, Peter.”
“Next time, leave the lying to me.”
“I’m curious, Peter,” Amelie asked. “What story would you have told?”
The lie formed right away and tumbled out easily. “Every Tuesday Renny took the streetcar downtown. He noticed a pretty girl with long brown hair riding the same route to her job at Maison Blanche.” As I spoke I pictured the girl, and saw her behind the glove counter at the department store. My words wove an image around everyone in the car. “Renny made an excuse to stop by and purchase a pair of gloves as a gift for his sister. They were gray suede.” Amelie rubbed her hands as if she felt their buttery soft texture. “He asked her to dinner. She invited him to her place for coffee. She lived in a yellow double-sided shotgun house with green shutters and a rose bush in the front.”
“Roses were Mother’s favorite,” murmured Amelie.
“The girl neglected to mention she had a fiancé with a hot temper. He was short, with dark curly hair and a pencil thin mustache. He burst through the door with a gun. Renny escaped through the window and the man fired a parting shot striking the car.”
“The noise was loud,” said Esther.
“Yes, it was—” Amelie’s mouth popped open. “How did you do that? The story was so real. I can practically see Renny’s escape.”
“What do you mean real?” Renny huffed. “Peter told the most obvious lie I ever heard. I have never had to bolt through a window.”
“What about the time Annabelle Beaufort’s father came home early from a business trip?”
“I left through a door,” he sputtered, “not a window, and I didn’t run. I merely walked briskly.”
“Not the way Annabelle told it.”
“Really, Amelie,” Renny sniped, “the notions you’re putting into Mrs. Hart’s head about me.” I raised an eyebrow, surprised Renny cared what Mrs. Hart thought.
Esther tugged at my sleeve. “How come Renny knew you told a lie?”
“Because the story was about him. Renny never met any such girl, so I couldn’t talk him into believing. A lie only works if the truth is hidden.”
Amelie narrowed her eyes. “What other lies have you told us?”
Mrs. Hart startled me by jumping on the seat next to Amelie. She placed a paw on her knee. “Mrs. Hart says Peter told you the truth,” said Esther. “He doesn’t lie to friends. Peter never lied to her or me, either.” Esther’s face set in a stubborn line daring Amelie to argue.
Amelie’s severity softened. “You have very loyal friends, Peter.”
“Uh-huh,” said Esther. “You and Renny are friends now, too. He won’t lie to you. Isn’t that right, Peter?”
My face flushed. Until now, I hadn’t realized I had any friends at all. I cleared my throat. “That’s right.”
“Good enough,” announced Renny cheerfully. “No more tall tales to sully poor Renny’s reputation. Agreed?”
“No need,” Amelie said smartly. “The real stories are so much better.”
Brother and sister continued to argue. Amelie gleefully described aspects of Renny’s colorful social life that Renny insisted were mere exaggerations. Esther, enjoying herself immensely, begged me to separate the lie from the truth. Renny stated since we were friends, his duty now was to teach me to be a gentleman and tattling was impolite. Mrs. Hart quietly took everything in. Renny shot the little dog a glance now and then as if to gauge her reaction.
Renny finally announced we had passed through Houma and our final destination was ahead. He turned down a dirt road lined with gnarled cypress trees. Houses nestled among tidy gardens and clusters of ancient live oaks draped with Spanish moss. The route twisted and turned. Every now and then I glimpsed water hiding behind the lush undergrowth.
We arrived at an intersection. A weather-beaten arrow pointing left directed motorists to Cassett’s Fish Camp, three miles away, while across the road was an old wooden building with a wide front porch holding a couple of worn rocking chairs. Above the entrance a hand lettered sign read Purdy’s General Store. Renny parked out of sight of the road. We climbed the creaking front steps. The door brushed against a set of bells attached overhead that jangled cheerfully.
“Mornin’.” A gray-haired woman behind the counter smiled a greeting. “What can I do for you folks today?”
“Good morning,” replied Renny. “I’m looking for Delmar Purdy.”
Behind the woman was a half-open door. She called over her shoulder, “Delmar, folks here to see you.”
A portly man came out wiping his hands on a rag. “Yes, sir?”
“I need to locate Odile Benoit. I understand she receives her mail in care of the store.”
“Who asks for his cousin Odile?” said the woman sharply.
“I am René Marchand and this is my sister Amelie.”
Delmar smiled broadly. “The children of Jean-Baptiste Marchand? Why, Odile has spoken of the family often. What brings you two this way?”
Amelie rushed in. “We’re in trouble and must find Odile. I won’t lie to you, Mr. Purdy. We are innocent of wrongdoing, but the police may not see it that way. We desperately need Odile’s advice. Please, can you contact her?”
Mrs. Purdy’s eyes strayed to the front window. “You might be right about police involvement.” A squad car parked in front of the store. Two officers got out.
“Please…” Amelie begged.
Mr. Purdy motioned behind the counter. “Into the storeroom. Your car?”
“Hidden out of sight,” said Renny.
We shut the door right before the jangle of the chimes. “Mornin’,” said Mr. Purdy. “What can I do for you boys?”
A gruff voice answered. “We got an alert about a kidnapping. The perpetrators may be headed this way.”
“A kidnapping,” gasped Mr. Purdy. “You don’t say?” The expressiveness in his realistically shocked voice was quite good.
A second policeman spoke. “A man named René Marchand and his accomplice, Martin, forced Marchand’s sister into a car.”
Now I was an accomplice. For some strange reason getting demoted
from falsely accused murderer to falsely accused kidnapping assistant teed me off.
“Marchand is a no-good’un cut out of the father’s will,” continued the officer. “The sister’s guardian believes he’s holding the girl for ransom. He has another little girl with him, too. He may have kidnapped her, also…and a dog.”
“Mon Dieu,” Mrs. Purdy exclaimed. I also imagined she clutched her heart. “He kidnapped a dog? What a monster.”
“Well, we’re not right certain about the dog,” the policeman admitted, “but a man matching Marchand’s description was spotted at a gas station. He asked directions to Cypress Road. We’re stopping at every house and business to see if strangers passed by.”
“Why, a young man came through this morning,” said Mr. Purdy.
“Describe him.”
“Tall, dark hair, green eyes.”
“That’s Marchand. When was this?”
I tensed. Would the storekeeper rat us out?
“Less than half an hour ago,” said Mr. Purdy. “He bought supplies and left.”
“Did you see which way he went?”
“Toward the fish camp.”
The other officer said, “All the roads are blocked, Sarge. Marchand may be trying to rent a boat. Thanks for the tip, Mr. Purdy.”
“No problem,” he responded sociably. “I hope y’all catch the scoundrel.”
“So do I. The sister’s guardian posted a reward. Every police officer in the parish will be searching. He won’t get far.” The bells jangled again.
Mr. Purdy opened the door to our hiding place. He studied Renny for a moment before coming to a decision. “Odile thinks very highly of your family. I will take you to her,” he warned, “but if she decides not to help, I’ll turn you over to the police myself.”
“Fair enough,” said Renny cheerfully.
“Odile lives with her son and his family in Bayou St. Gerard,” continued Mr. Purdy. “Chris usually comes in once a week to collect the mail, but I reckon we’ll save him a trip. Since the police were kind enough to inform us all roads are blocked, we’ll take my boat through the swamp. Rochelle?”
His wife’s eyes twinkled. “If someone asks, you went hunting that criminal, René Marchand, in order to collect the reward money.” Mrs. Purdy reached below the counter and retrieved a packet of mail. She kissed her husband. “Best get going before the police return. Give my regards to Odile.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
He’s a Conjurer, All Right.
After Renny hid the Packard deep in the thicket, Mr. Purdy led us to the water. Tied to a pier was a wooden boat with an outboard motor. The craft didn’t appear big enough to hold all of us, including Mr. Purdy’s not insubstantial weight, but Mr. Purdy didn’t seem worried. Nobody ever seemed worried here. For all Mr. Purdy knew, we were desperate criminals ready to commit desperate acts of, well, desperation. Didn’t bother him a bit. His biggest concern was to arrive at Odile’s in time for supper.
The boat wobbled as everyone settled. I nervously eyeballed the tea colored water. Not being much of a swimmer I had no desire to discover first-hand what kind of people-eating swamp denizens lurked on the muddy bottom.
Swamp monsters were the least of Mrs. Hart’s concern. She perched next to Renny in the bow, front paws resting on the edge of the boat. Her muzzle froze in a delighted doggie grin as if Mr. Purdy had erected a fluffy masthead. With a cough and a sputter, the engine roared to life.
Esther bubbled over with excitement. “The air smells so wild, Peter—and all the funny sounds.”
Mr. Purdy grabbed the tiller and steered us into the bayou. I tried to keep track of the route, but after a few minutes was hopelessly lost. How the heck did Mr. Purdy know where to go? All the channels were exactly the same to me, but the storekeeper had intimate knowledge of every lush blade of grass, every lily pad, every vine braided through every branch. He pointed to ibis on the banks and moss-draped cypress as if they were old friends.
The sun beat upon the bayou with a dazzling glare. I loosened my collar and wiped a shirtsleeve across my sweaty brow. The boat plowed through the water, serenaded by a chorus of eerie chirps and croaks. Leaves rustled as unseen creatures scurried into the brush. To a city boy the boat ride felt like being dropped on an inhospitable planet. I gripped the sides, expecting giant tentacles to lash out and drag me under.
As we cruised along, warm moist air buffeted my face. Ripples lapped gently against the hull, rocking the boat in a calming rhythm. With each passing mile, the strange background noises grew less threatening and more soothing. Instead of open hostility, a welcoming air now surrounded the craft. I took off my tie and relaxed.
That is, until we came upon the gator.
Mr. Purdy gestured to a muddy streak along an embankment. “Gator slide. That’s how they reach the water.” At the top of the slide was a moldy log which, to my alarm, lifted a head and glared directly at me with two beady reptilian eyes. The creature was huge, ten feet of solid muscle capped off with an evil toothy grin. The gator seemed to say, You’re next on the menu, boy. Cold, primal fear bubbled up. My heart hammered wildly.
“He’s a big-un,” Mr. Purdy noted brightly. “Could rip off a man’s arm like that.” He snapped his fingers.
To my horror he steered the boat over for a better look. The gator hissed and then in a flash glided silently down the slide into the water. Merely the top of the head was visible now. Glinting eyes tracked me as we motored past. I’ll start with the legs, boy. I swallowed hard.
Esther fidgeted next to me, barely able to keep her seat. “Peter?”
I knew what she wanted. “Go ahead.” I kept my eyes pinned to the gator. In truth, I couldn’t tear them away.
“Oh,” she gasped. “He’s scary.”
Amelie was obviously puzzled by our actions. “Esther wanted to see,” I explained. “She’s supposed to ask permission.”
“Cause peeking ain’t polite.” Mrs. Hart arfed a comment from the bow. “It isn’t polite.”
“Esther, how do you get to Peter’s eyes?” Amelie asked in fascination.
“Once I know someone I sort of have a map in my head to find the right way in.”
“Ah, like the way Mr. Purdy finds his way through the swamp.” She leaned in to Esther. “You can use my eyes, too, if you wish.”
“Really?”
“Go ahead.” Amelie gave Esther’s shoulder an amiable squeeze. “We’re friends now, aren’t we? I’m curious as to how it feels.”
“You don’t feel anything,” I warned.
Esther tugged at my sleeve. “Don’t talk Amelie out of it, Peter. I want to.” Amelie prompted her to have a try. After a moment of silence Esther spoke. “I can see now. She has real sharp eyesight, Peter—as sharp as yours.”
Amelie took in the sights, giving Esther a good view of the swamp. After a while she turned to me with surprise on her face. “You’re right. I don’t feel a thing.”
“Yeah, you don’t know she’s in there unless she admits it. Knowing what Esther could do was creepy at first.”
“Now you don’t mind?”
“Given all that’s happened in the last few days, her act is pretty tame.”
Renny jumped into the conversation. “No, it’s more than that. You took responsibility for Esther and Mrs. Hart’s safety when you had no reason. You may be an orphan, Peter, but you are also a young man of character and courage.” He leaned over and punched me in the arm, “C’est bon.”
“I agree,” said Amelie with a warm smile.
Esther giggled. “Peter’s cheeks are all red. Are you gonna kiss Amelie now? Give her a big juicy mwah.”
“Shut up, Esther,” I sputtered, turning redder. “Get out of Amelie.”
“I don’t wanna. Now you’re blushing all the way to your hair.”
Renny distracted Esther by insisting she see through him. Then he sent the girl into another fit of laughter by peering down Mrs. Hart’s muzzle and telling her what beautiful eyes she had. When h
e started pleading for a lick on the nose, Esther collapsed in the bottom of the boat, holding her stomach, laughing so hard she gasped for air. Mrs. Hart did not appear amused.
We crossed an open stretch of water and entered a narrow channel. Mr. Purdy pointed ahead. “That’s the Benoit place.”
I followed Mr. Purdy’s finger to a dock jutting into the water. On the embankment sat a trim wooden house with a tin roof, large porch, and a bright red door. A nearby outbuilding had several gator hides tacked to the wall. Two craft moored at the dock; one a small boat Mr. Purdy called a pirogue and the other a larger fishing boat with the name Sweet Marie stenciled on the stern. The screen door opened. A tall man followed by a passel of barefoot children stepped onto the porch. He waved an arm in greeting.
“Delmar?” he shouted. “What brings you this way?”
“Howdy, Christophe. I got visitors for Odile.”
The man turned to a boy about a year older than Esther. “T. Chris, run get Mamere.” The lad raced away at a gallop.
A woman came out of the house, clutching a wooden spoon. “Delmar, you’re right on time for supper.”
Delmar smacked his lips. “Thank you, Marie. I am a might peckish.”
She turned her attention to us. “You brought guests. Welcome, I’m Marie Benoit…my husband Chris.” She pointed to each of the children in turn. “Luc, Georges, and Liliane.”
Before we introduced ourselves T. Chris galumphed around the corner of the house with a spritely older woman at his heels. She wore a flowing, multicolored skirt and crisp white blouse. Around her neck was a necklace made of funny pointed beads. She caught one sight of Renny and Amelie and gave a delighted cry. They dashed to her and she greeted them with open arms.
“Let me look at you,” she exclaimed. “Amelie…such a beautiful young lady. Are you practicing your knife fighting drills?” Amelie assured Odile, her skills were as deadly as ever. “And you, René…I can’t believe you are as tall as your father, now.”
At the mention of Jean-Baptiste Marchand, Renny’s expression darkened. “Father is dead, Odile.”