Sisters of the Mist

by Eric Wilder

  My pronouncement riveted everyone’s attention.

  “Tell us,” Abba said.

  “His name is Jean Pierre Saucier. He’s a homicide cop in Chalmette. I met him a while back during a murder investigation a client hired me to do. I’ll call him tomorrow.”

  “No, lad,” Rory said. “We must leave tonight while the moon is nearly full.”

  “We?” Cyn said.

  Rory stood from his chair and walked toward his bedroom door.

  “I can not let them begin this quest alone,” he said. “I have a dark feeling the journey will be extremely dangerous, and that they are definitely in need of my brawn. I am going to prepare myself. Call your friend with the boat.”

  “But it’s after midnight,” Abba said.

  “Jean Pierre is the one person I know that won’t mind a call at this hour,” I said.

  Rory disappeared into his bedroom while I punched in Jean Pierre’s number on my cell phone. I’d finished talking when Rory returned dressed in a ceremonial kilt complete with sash and tam. A broadsword hung from the scabbard attached to his belt.

  “What did your friend with the boat say?” he asked.

  “We’re meeting him at the entrance to the Chalmette Battlefield. He’ll lead us to his fishing camp where we can spend the night and get an early start tomorrow.”

  Rafael gulped the rest of his Southern Comfort. “Though there’s nothing in the world I’d rather do than continue with this journey, I’m afraid my work as a rent-a-priest must get in the way. My cruise leaves the Port of New Orleans for the Bahamas tomorrow. My employers will be upset if I’m not on it.”

  “Lass, this journey will be no place for a woman. You can take Rafael home. I will drive Wyatt to meet his friend with the boat.”

  “Not on your life,” Abba said. “I started this search, and I intend to finish it. We’ll drop Rafael off at his car, and then I’m driving us to Chalmette.”

  “I can not tell you how much danger this journey may entail,” Rory said.

  “And I’ll have three strong men to protect me. I’m going, and I’m not taking no for an answer.”

  “How long will this journey take, and who will care for Slick while I’m at work and you’re on your quest?” Cyn asked.

  “We will need a brave dog,” Rory said. “Slick will accompany us.”

  Cyn had an expression of resignation on her pretty face as she tossed her hands in the air and rolled her eyes.

  “It’ll all work out,” I said.

  Rafael was still apologizing when we dropped him off at his car.

  “I wish I could go with you,” he said.

  “We couldn’t have gotten this far without you,” I said.

  “Is there anything else I can do?” he asked.

  Rory answered for me. “Say a prayer for us, Father. We are going to need it.”

  Not being an observant Catholic, I was uncomfortable when Rafael had us join hands and bow our heads. Abba had already given us her thoughts on religion. Though she took our hands, she was also rolling her big brown eyes. Rory wasn’t so encumbered.

  “Amen, Father,” he said. “Every quest should begin with a prayer to Almighty God.” When Abba made a sarcastic face, he said. “You do believe in God, don’t you?”

  “Let’s just say I’m an agnostic and leave it at that.”

  Hearing the less than subdued annoyance in Abba’s voice, Rory let the subject drop as she pulled away from the curb and headed toward St. Bernard Avenue and Chalmette.

  Jean Pierre and his big chocolate lab Lucky were waiting for us on the side of the road in his old red pickup. We piled out of the car so I could make introductions.

  “Wyatt, my man, how the hell you doing?” Jean Pierre said, pumping my hand.

  “Great, J.P. These are my friends, Abba and Rory.”

  “Jean Pierre Saucier,” he said shaking their hands. “Girl, you about the prettiest woman I seen around Chalmette in I can’t remember when.” Grabbing her left hand, he eyed it for a wedding ring. “You two hitched?”

  “Rory is, though not to me,” Abba said.

  “Is Wyatt your boyfriend?”

  “Just friends,” she said.

  Jean Pierre turned his attention to Rory. With hands on his hips, he said, “Son, you about a big one. How much you weigh, anyway?”

  “Two seventy-five,” Rory said.

  “Mardi Gras ain’t for a couple of months. You on your way to a Halloween party?”

  Rory didn’t smile. “I’m Scottish if you can not already tell.”

  “Hell, mon, sorry about that,” Jean Pierre said with a grin as he slapped him on the shoulder. “I’m a damn coonass if you can’t already tell, and loving every minute of it.”

  Standing about six feet tall, Jean Pierre had wavy hair and eyes as dark as Abba’s. Slender of build, he was dressed in worn jeans and a Western shirt. Boots and Stetson completed his cowboy appearance.

  He had the good looks of a French movie star. He knew it and used it to its full advantage. His jovial nature was hard to ignore, and both Abba and Rory were soon smiling at one of his many Cajun tall tales.

  “You caught me just at the right time,” he said. “I’m on vacation. Lucky and me was set to head to our camp tomorrow morning. I couldn’t find nobody to go with me, so I’m glad you called. The place is in the middle of nowhere and can get kinda lonesome at night.”

  Feeling his gaze, Abba glanced away from his stare and looked at the two dogs, still circling each other and wagging their tails.

  “Looks like those two hit it off,” she said.

  “That’s my dog, Lucky. Hundred-forty pounds of pure love.”

  “That heavy? Oh my God!” Abba said.

  “He’s an eating machine,” Jean Pierre said. “That’s a fact. Now, Wyatt, tell me why it’s so important for you to visit the Honey Island Swamp at this time of night?”

  “Long story, J.P. We’ll fill you in on the way there.”

  “Don’t think you’ll all fit in my old truck,” he said.

  “Do you live near here?” Abba asked.

  “Couple miles away.”

  “We’ll follow you there. You can leave your truck and go with us.”

  He stood for a moment in silence, shaking his head as he stared at her car.

  “What’s that thing called?” he asked. “Don’t think I ever seen one like that.”

  “Because they didn’t make very many. It’s a Pontiac Aztek,” she said. “Best car on the road.”

  “If you say so, sweet thing. Hope it drives better than it looks.”

  “My name is Abba,” she said. “Not sweet thing.”

  J.P.’s smile never disappeared. “Well slap my face,” he said, tapping his cheek with his palm. “Didn’t mean to insult you. You just so pretty, the words just flowed from my lips before I could choke them back. Forgive me?”

  When he took her hand, she was unable to mask a smile of her own.

  “You’re a mess. Didn’t your mother try to teach you better?”

  “It almost put my poor mama in the crazy house trying to change me. She finally give up trying.”

  “I’ll bet she did,” Abba said. “Let’s take the truck to your house before I have to be the one to slap that pretty face of yours.”

  Chapter 20

  Abba broke all existing speed limits as she headed north. I sat in the back with Jean Pierre, Rory hunched in the front seat and looking uncomfortable, and the two dogs in back. North of Slidell, J.P. leaned over the front seat to give Abba directions.

  “Better start slowing this buggy down. There’s an exit up ahead on the right.”

  The off-ramp led to a narrow side road that soon began veering east.

  “Who turned out the lights?” Abba asked.

  J.P. chuckled. “Once we get across the bridge up ahead, about the only lights, we’re gonna see will be the moon and stars. Too many clouds to see those tonight.”

  Abba had greatly reduced her speed. When
the rear end of the Aztek slid in a puddle of water, she slowed almost to a stop.

  “Want me to drive for you, sweet thing?” J.P. asked.

  “No, and if you call me sweet thing one more time, I’m going to put you out on the side of the road.”

  “Suit yourself,” he said. “Just try to stay out of the ditch. It’s swampy on both sides of the road and them monster gators in there are always looking for a midnight snack. That ain’t to mention the Swamp Monster.”

  “Would you shut the hell up?” she said. “I’m nervous enough as it is without you making matters worse.”

  “Just trying to help,” he said.

  “How far is your camp?” I asked, interrupting their banter.

  “About ten miles; the last two by boat. We’ll have to leave your car at the dock,” he said.

  “Will it still be there when we return?” Abba asked.

  “Ain’t many thieves this far out in the middle of nowhere. I’ll put a Chalmette police department sticker on your dash. Your vehicle will be fine till we get back.”

  Rory had fallen asleep and was snoring, opening his eyes when Abba pulled the Aztek to a stop at a lonely fishing dock. A single exposed bulb swayed in a gentle breeze as we unloaded J.P.’s equipment. Something was howling in the distance.

  “Are there wolves in the swamp?” Abba asked.

  “Don’t know what that was,” J.P. said. “A good friend of mine that does lots of camping around here says, there are sounds you hear at night you recognize, some you don’t, and others you don’t even want to know.”

  “You’re making that up,” she said.

  “No ma’am, I’m not.”

  “Not to worry, lassie,” Rory said. “I have my broadsword.”

  Rory was still dressed as a Scottish warrior with the sword hanging from his side. J.P. grinned and shook his head, though he was careful that no one other than I saw it.

  We loaded the ice chests and other equipment onto J.P.’s twenty-foot pontoon boat. Once everyone including the dogs was aboard, he untied us from the old wooden dock, gave the boat a kick to start it moving, and then jumped aboard. Within minutes, he had the motor humming. He let it drift while he went to the front of the boat to light the two lanterns that would serve as our running lights. We motored into the foggy darkness, no one except J.P., and maybe the dogs, able to see more than ten feet or so in front of the boat.

  “You know where we are going?” Rory asked.

  “Get your panties out of a wad, big boy. I’ve done this a thousand times or more.”

  “Well, I can’t see a thing,” Abba said, having to raise her voice to be heard over the drone of the motor.

  “There’s some lawn chairs against the railing. Open them up, sit down, and relax. I know where I’m going. I’ll get us there in one piece, I promise.”

  The steering wheel was near the back of the boat. Rory unfolded a chair and fell asleep almost immediately. Slick and Lucky lay at his feet and they had closed their eyes. Abba grabbed my elbow, pulling me to the front of the boat.

  “Let’s sit up here. I need to talk to you,” she said.

  “What’s up?” I asked.

  Though the motor was humming and we were all the way to the front of the boat, she spoke in a subdued voice, leaning closer so only I could hear.

  “Who is this insulting clown that talks like a hick?”

  “It’s just an act,” I said. “J.P. is no hick. He has a degree from USL in Lafayette. He served with honors in Afghanistan as a First Lieutenant. Lawmen all over the state know and look up to him.”

  “He’s coming on to me like a sexist pig,” she said.

  “J.P. is not sexist. Womanizer, maybe. I promise you he respects women. He’s obviously attracted to you and can’t help himself.”

  “That’s not good enough,” she said.

  “J.P.’s a lawman. He won’t assault you, I promise.”

  “I’m not worried about him assaulting me. I just want to be treated with a little decency and not feel like a piece of bloody meat being waved in front of a wild animal.”

  “I’ll have a talk with him,” I said.

  “I know we need him right now. I don’t want to be a bitch about it.”

  “You have every right in the world to be concerned. I’ll have a talk with him.”

  “You say he has a degree. What’s it in, underwater basket weaving?”

  “You wouldn’t believe it if I told you,” I said.

  “Try me.”

  “The performing arts. You should hear him sing and see him dance. He’s been an extra in lots of movies filmed around here. He’s had more than one chance to do even more as an actor, though he’s turned down every opportunity.”

  “And why is that?” she asked.

  “You’ll have to ask him.”

  “He’s good looking enough to be a movie star, but then so are you, and you’re not sexist.”

  “I’ve had my moments,” I said.

  “No, you haven’t.”

  “No one’s perfect; least of all me.”

  Apparently satisfied with my response, Abba grew silent, at least for a few minutes.

  “I can’t see a thing except for the flame from those two lanterns. You think he knows where he’s going?”

  “I’ve been with him in a boat much smaller than this, during a major storm, and when we had no lights at all.”

  “What happened?” she asked.

  “The boat sank. We somehow made it to shore.”

  “That’s comforting to know,” she said. “I hope he’s learned something because I’d hate to think about having to swim for shore. God only knows what’s out there.”

  “It was more than just a storm. We were in a hurricane. No one on earth could have navigated any better than he did. There’s barely a breeze blowing tonight.”

  “And that’s what bothers me. How can he see through the fog?”

  “Stop worrying. If J.P. says he’ll get us there safely, then I trust him, and so should you.”

  “Sorry I'm so negative,” she said.

  “It’s okay.”

  “I’m tired, we’ve been drinking all day, and . . .”

  “We saw dead people.”

  “I don’t know why it should bother me the way it does,” she said.

  “We were at the scene of several violent murders. It’s normal to feel upset.”

  I clutched her hand, and she didn’t pull away. “It’s just now really hitting me. Guess the excitement of the chase and all the alcohol had my senses anesthetized. Right now, my head is pounding, my stomach churning, and I feel like crap.”

  “We’ll all feel better after we get some sleep,” I said.

  Abba grew silent, though she continued holding my hand. Thirty more minutes passed, fog rolling off the prow of the boat as J.P. cut the engine and nosed into a wooden dock. Hurrying past us, he secured us to the mooring spot with a rope.

  Rory and the dogs awoke when the noise of the engine ceased. With the big ice chest under one arm and an Army green duffel bag under the other, he followed us off the boat, J.P. leading the way with one of the lanterns. The other he handed to me.

  Though it was dark and the camp cloaked in moving shadows, I could see J.P.’s fishing camp was more than I’d expected. It sat on tall pilings that jutted up out of the water. The wooden structure needed a paint job. It was two-stories tall and much bigger than I’d thought it would be. A screened porch completely encircled the building, and the hinges creaked when he undid the latch and opened the door.

  We followed him across an equally creaky porch to the front door of the house. Even though it was late October, the old house gasped when he pushed open the door and entered. J.P. sat the lantern on an old wooden kitchen table bare of even a splotch of paint, took the one I was carrying and handed it to Rory.

  “The generator’s in back. I haven’t started it in a while. It’s old and kind of touchy, and I may need some muscle to get it started. Can you help me,
Rory?”

  Abba and I glanced around the spacious old fishing camp as J.P., Rory and the two dogs disappeared into the darkness. An overhead light came on when we heard the sound of a gasoline motor. J.P. was smiling when he, Rory, and the dogs returned.

  “This big boy’s got a set of muscles on him. He cranked that ol’ engine in one pull.”

  “This is quite a place you have, J.P.,” I said. “I wasn’t expecting anything this big.”

  “Way bigger than I need. For no more than I paid for it, I couldn’t turn it down.”

  “How much was that?”

  “Nothing. My uncle Johnny left it to me when he passed. Sleeps ten easy. Upstairs is all bedrooms. Mine has a porch overlooking the swamp. I collect rainwater in a cistern out back.”

  “Sounds like a smooth operation,” I said.

  “The tank’s filtered to keep out the bugs. No hot and cold running water but I have a shower stall on the back porch.

  “Mind if I use it?” Abba said.

  “You bet you can, pretty lady. You’ll feel lots better, even if the water’s only warm.”

  “Best news I’ve heard all night,” she said.

  “I see none of you brought a change of clothes. I got a closet full left by various people over the years. Everything’s clean, and you don’t have to worry about giving them back.”

  “Is that a Cajun thing?” I asked. “Bertram had loads of clothes last time I spent the night in his camp on Pontchartrain.”

  “How’s that ol’ Cajun doing?” J.P. asked.

  “He never changes. As ornery as ever,” I said.

  “I need to get up to the city for a visit.”

  “Yes you do,” I said.

  J.P. pointed. “There’s a chemical toilet through that door; not fancy, though it’s reliable. The mosquitoes aren’t bad this time of year. Everything is screened, including the veranda, so there’s no bug problem as long as you stay inside. Well, except for a few roaches and such.”

  We followed him up the creaky staircase. As he’d said, there were plenty of empty bedrooms. Rory practically collapsed on one of the beds and was soon snoring loudly. After Slick jumped up beside him, J.P. closed the door, and then led Abba and me down a narrow hall.

  “This is lovely,” she said.