Sisters of the Mist

by Eric Wilder

  J.P. opened a hall closet, grabbing a handful of sheets and towels.

  “Even have clean sheets,” he said, tossing a fluffy towel to Abba. “The shower stall is on the porch in back. There’s a bulb that works, and you probably want to check for bugs before you climb in. Like I said, the water’s only warm, though I guarantee you won’t freeze to death.”

  “I’m in heaven,” she said.

  “The camp is even air-conditioned. Don’t need it this time of year. Just crack the windows. They all have screens to keep out the bugs and other critters.”

  “Thanks, J.P.,” I said. “You’re the best.”

  J.P. handed Abba a lantern. “Every now and then I get a coon or possum out there on the porch. They’re friendly. Just shake your lantern in their direction and tell them to scat.”

  “And if they don’t?” Abba asked.

  “Just holler. I’ll be more than happy to come help you out.”

  “No thanks. I’ll take care of myself.”

  “And I’ll bet you can, little lady,” he said. “Not much of the night left. Get some rest. I’m going fishing before breakfast, and I’ll let you sleep in.”

  Abba started for the shower, and I turned for one of the unoccupied bedrooms. J.P. tapped my shoulder, stopping me in my tracks.

  “This doesn’t seem like a school outing, and I have a feeling you haven’t told me everything I need to know. Tomorrow, before we proceed any further, you need to explain what we’re dealing with.”

  Chapter 21

  Abba awoke to the aroma of scrambled eggs wafting up the stairway. She found an old cotton robe in her bedroom closet, put it on, started downstairs to investigate, and followed her nose to the kitchen. She found Jean Pierre standing in front of a four-burner propane stove, stirring something in a cast iron skillet with a wooden spoon.

  “Smells wonderful,” she said.

  When J.P. turned around with a big Cajun grin, Abba saw his long apron decorated with a giant bottle of red Tabasco sauce.”

  “Morning,” he said. “Sleep well?”

  “The shower was wonderful, even if I had to share the stall with a big spider. Soon as my head hit the pillow, I was down for the count. I didn’t realize how tired I was.”

  J.P. poured coffee into a cup from the metal pot simmering on one of the burners and placed it on the kitchen table in front of her. Retrieving a carton of cream from the big red ice chest, he sat it on the table along with a sugar pourer.

  “Cream and sugar?” he said.

  “I usually drink my coffee black. This looks extra strong. It probably needs a little lacing.”

  “If the spoon don’t stand up in the cup, then it ain’t real Cajun coffee.”

  “Why do you talk like that? Wyatt told me you have a college degree. Surely they taught English at USL.”

  “I’m a homicide detective. People affected by murder often conveniently forget everything they know. My patois gets me in lots of doors,” he said.

  “Why are you a homicide detective? Wyatt said you have a performing arts degree.”

  “Wyatt’s not usually such a gossip,” he said.

  “I was cursing you for being such a sexist. He was taking up for you.”

  “Good for him. I’m not a sexist. I’m Cajun, and Cajuns like to flirt.”

  “Well, I’m Creole. I’m not used to it, so please stop.”

  Slick and Lucky bounded through the open door before J.P. could respond to her comment. After removing the skillet from the burner, he opened two cans of dog food and took it out to the porch to feed the hounds.

  “I’m sorry if I’ve offended you. It’s a cultural thing. Cajuns express themselves openly. If they like something, they tell you; if they don’t like something they tell you. It was the way I was raised, and I’m too old to change.”

  Abba shook her head as she sipped the hot coffee from the metal cup.

  “Why are you a homicide detective if you have a degree in the performing arts? There are plenty of acting jobs here in south Louisiana. Wyatt told me you’ve been an extra in several movies already.”

  “I enjoy making movies though it’s not all I need in life. I’m a thrill freak. I like the danger and excitement that goes with detective work. I also like solving puzzles. The job is natural for me.”

  J.P. turned away from her and returned to the cast iron skillet on the propane stove.

  “Who taught you how to cook?” she asked.

  “My mama, aunts, uncles, grandparents, and my daddy. All Cajuns like to cook.”

  “A cultural thing,” she said.

  “That’s right.”

  “What are you cooking? It smells wonderful.”

  “Eggs scrambled with crawfish, red and green bell peppers, onion, and a chopped up, seedless jalapeno, and a side of grits. Ready to eat?”

  “I’d be lying if I said no,” she said.

  J.P. fixed a plate for Abba and one for himself. They were soon sitting at the table, enjoying breakfast like an old married couple, J.P. doctoring his already spicy eggs with Tabasco sauce. Abba didn’t speak until she’d finished the last bite. Grabbing the coffee pot from the burner, she topped up each of their cups.

  J.P. smiled when she said, “You know I’m black, don’t you?”

  “You may be African-American, but you ain’t exactly black. Hell, I’m darker than you are.”

  “You have a tan. You obviously spend lots of time outside.”

  “I hunt and fish whenever I get the chance. Didn’t sit too well with my ex.”

  “She didn’t like your hunting and fishing?”

  “Hated it. She wanted me home every night before dark. Kind of hard to do if you’re a homicide detective.”

  “You like black women?”

  J.P. laughed aloud. “I like all women. I just haven’t found one yet that’ll put up with me.”

  “I hear that,” she said.

  “What about you? You have a steady boyfriend?”

  “I’m in college at Tulane. I’m going to be a doctor.”

  “You’re smart and will make a good one,” he said. “You’ll have to work on your bedside manner, though.”

  “Will you shut up? Just about the time I reach the point where I’m starting to like you, you say something totally ignorant.”

  J.P. tapped his head. “Cajun culture,” he said. “Can’t change it.”

  Abba grabbed the dishes from the table and took them to the sink. He joined her when she filled the basin and began washing them.

  “Thanks for your help,” he said. “I’m used to doing for myself and Lucky.”

  “No problem. My mom died when I was young, and I always helped my dad with the chores around the house.”

  “Sorry to hear about your mom. How old were you when you lost her?”

  “Nine,” she said. “Cancer got her.”

  “Bet your dad was upset. Good thing you were there for him.”

  “He was crushed. It’s going on twenty years now, and he still hasn’t remarried. My dad is white. Mom was black. He didn’t know he was white when they married.”

  J.P.’s eyebrows rose when he glanced at her. “You making this up?” he asked.

  “Long story,” she said. “Maybe I’ll tell it to you sometime if I don’t kill you first.”

  When they’d finished washing the dishes and tidying up, J.P. returned to the stove.

  “Wyatt and the big boy will be waking up soon. Want to help me cook some more eggs?”

  ***

  When Rory and I awoke and went downstairs, we found J.P. and Abba sitting on the covered veranda that encircled the house. The dogs were roughhousing over a bone, Abba giggling like a schoolgirl and J.P. laughing at some joke we hadn’t heard. Rory was gazing at breakfast waiting for us on the kitchen table and paying no attention to the two outside. They seemed startled when I stuck my head through the door to tell them we were up.

  “We were wondering if you two were going to sleep all day,” Abba said.
<
br />   “I slept like a baby,” I said. “Now, my stomach’s growling.”

  “Abba and I already ate. You better get to the table and stake your claim before big boy eats it all.”

  Despite J.P.’s warning, I needn’t have worried. There was plenty of food on the table, even for Rory’s giant appetite. He was smiling when he finally finished eating and wiped his lips with a big checkerboard napkin.

  “What now?” I asked.

  “Let’s sit on the deck,” J.P. said. “Sun’s out today for a change, and we can take in a few rays while you bring me up to speed about what we’re dealing with here.”

  The deck jutted out over the water, and we got our first glimpse of the swamp in the daylight. At the same time, it was both magnificent and frightening. The water in front of J.P.’s camp was open. Cypress trees with bloated trunks grew in the shallow, coffee-colored water. A big gator was floating beneath us, apparently waiting for a treat from J.P. J.P. didn’t disappoint, feeding him marshmallows stuck to the end of a long pole.

  “Can’t keep enough of these things around,” he said. “Them gators do love their marshmallows.”

  “Who would have thought,” I said.

  A big fish broke the surface, sending slow-moving ripples across the still water. Blue herons circled overhead, and a crane was busy fishing in the shallows.

  “Are the alligators dangerous?” Rory asked.

  “Not unless you run out of marshmallows,” J.P. said. “They ain’t the only predators in this swamp. There’s hogs, snakes, bobcats, black bear, and probably wolves and mountain lions.”

  “How big is the swamp?” Abba asked.

  “Seventy-thousand acres. About half is a permanently protected wildlife refuge. It’s in the middle of the Pearl River Wildlife Management Area. The whole thing is really huge.”

  “It’s beautiful here,” Abba said. “And so peaceful. No engine noise; only the sound of birds, wind, and water lapping against the dock.”

  “I spend as much time here as I can,” J.P. said. “This swamp hasn’t changed in a thousand years. There are places you can only get to in a boat, and others you can’t get to at all.”

  “That’s what worries me,” I said.

  “Better start from the beginning.”

  “It’s a long story,” I said.

  “Don’t matter none. We ain’t going nowhere till I hear it.”

  “It has to do with a woman,” I said.

  J.P. glanced at Abba to gauge her reaction to his comment after he said, “Don’t it always?”

  “I was just starting to warm up to you,” she said.

  “Just kidding,” he said. “Do I know this woman?”

  “I don’t think so. She was the daughter of a rich client of mine. I fell hard for her. When her twin sister Dauphine committed suicide, Desire vowed to join a convent and become a nun.”

  “Of course,” J.P. said. “The Vallee twins. I remember the details from the news, and Bertram filled me in on what happened to you afterward.”

  “I flipped out, fell off the wagon, and went begging to an old flame. She took me in, though the relationship didn’t last long. When she kicked me out, I came to my senses and sobered up. While I was away, Bertram got me a job from a Hollywood producer filming in town. He hired me to investigate the murder of a prominent actor on Goose Island. It’s where J.P. and I met.”

  “How long ago was that?” Abba asked.

  “Not more than a couple of years.”

  “I would have guessed you two had known each other all your lives,” she said.

  “That case almost got us both killed,” J.P. said. “People tend to bond quickly when their lives depend on it.”

  “What happened?” Rory asked.

  The big Scot shook his head when J.P. asked, “Know what a rougarou is?”

  “Neither do I,” Abba said. “I’ll bite. What is it?”

  “A Cajun werewolf.”

  Abba and Rory waited for the punch line. There wasn’t one. They both turned their attention to me.

  “A story for another time,” I said. “We need to tell J.P. about Desire.”

  “That’s right,” J.P. said. “Rougarous and Swamp Monsters can wait till later. At least rougarous. There may be Swamp Monsters running around Honey Island Swamp. I haven’t heard of any rougarou sightings.”

  “We’ll tell you later,” I said when Abba protested.

  “Later on when we’re sitting around a glowing campfire,” J.P. said. “Once you hear the story, it’s almost a guarantee you’ll cuddle up close to me tonight.”

  “In your dreams,” Abba said. “Tell him about Desire, Wyatt.”

  I repeated the tale of waking up to the ghostly funeral procession, seeing Desire in the limousine, and then finding the pendant.

  “The funeral procession filled me with fear that Desire is somehow in grave danger. Abba works for Desire’s mother. We met when I visited Junie Bug to see if she shared my fears. She did and gave me the names of the two people that came for her daughter the day she left for some unknown convent. Sister Gertrude and Father Fred.”

  I showed him Exethelon.

  The ceremonial dagger transfixed J.P.’s attention instantly. He whistled softly.

  “This is a beautiful weapon,” he said. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen such craftsmanship in a dagger.”

  “Rory made it. We looked him up last night because we hoped he could tell us who he’d made it for.”

  J.P. continued fondling the dagger as he turned his attention to Rory.

  “Son,” he said. “This is the finest piece of cutlery I’ve ever held in my hands. Remind me to take back all those nasty things I said about you. What do these engravings mean?”

  “That, lad, I do not know. I made the dagger for a sorceress. She showed me drawings of what she wanted to be engraved on the blade. All I know about them is that they have a magical meaning, and the dagger itself is magical.”

  J.P.’s brow grew furrowed when he turned his attention to me.

  “Tell me how you came to find this beautiful hog sticker?”

  “I’d rather not say.”

  “What kind of happy horseshit answer is that?”

  “You’re a homicide detective. For obvious reasons, telling you the story presents a problem.”

  “You trying to say you found it at a murder scene?”

  I nodded. “Murders we discovered while searching for Desire.”

  “Murders? How many and when did they occur?”

  “Three victims. Last night. One of them was Father Fred.”

  “Impossible,” he said. “There’s nothing on the wire about a triple homicide last night.”

  “Good, then maybe Abba and I had a group hallucination.”

  J.P.’s eyes narrowed as he stared at me for what seemed like a minute but was probably no more than ten seconds.

  “Okay,” he finally said. “I’m pretty sure neither you nor Abba killed anybody. What worries me is why you didn’t report it to the police.”

  “For the same reason, I’m having trouble explaining the situation to you. I don’t want you to arrest us and take us downtown.”

  “Maybe you better explain to me why I shouldn’t do just that,” he said.

  Chapter 22

  The big gator finally gave up his wait for another marshmallow and disappeared into the shallow depths of the brown water. Overhead, a pair of bald eagles circled as I racked my brain for an explanation why we didn’t call the police after discovering a murder scene.

  “Our trail of information led us to an orphanage run by Father Fred. He was dead when we got there, Exethelon buried in his heart. Two guards were also dead and all the people staying at the orphanage gone.”

  “So why didn’t you call the police?”

  “The place caught fire and burned to the ground before we had a chance to.”

  “Who started the fire?”

  “It combusted spontaneously,” I said.

  “I’l
l buy lots of shit. I ain’t buying that,” he said. “Someone had to start the fire.”

  “The sorceress,” Rory said. “She is also the person who slew the three men and allowed the prisoners to escape.”

  “Prisoners? You said it was an orphanage.”

  “We have it on good authority that Father Fred was trafficking in human slaves. He and Sister Gertrude bought and sold people like cattle. I believe retribution was the motive for his death.”

  “And this sorceress lives somewhere in the Honey Island Swamp? How do you know that?”

  “I learned as much when she commissioned me to craft Exethelon,” Rory said.

  “But you don’t know where in the swamp?”

  “We were hoping you did,” I said.

  J.P. pulled a cell phone from his pocket and dialed someone. We listened to the one-sided conversation until he’d finished.

  “The orphanage burned last night,” he said. “You weren’t lying about that. There were no bodies found by the investigators. You sure you saw three dead people?”

  “Like I said, maybe Abba and I had a group hallucination.”

  “Abba?”

  “Now that I think about it, it seems more like a dream,” she said.

  “Okay,” he said. “I’ll worry about what you just told me sometime in the future. How do we go about finding this sorceress?”

  “I’ll admit, I haven’t a clue,” I said.

  Abba nodded. “Me either.”

  “Then where the hell do we start?” J.P. asked, looking at Rory.

  “Exethelon,” the giant Scot said.

  J.P. rolled the dagger in his hand. “Maybe you better explain to me how that’s supposed to work.”

  “Return it to Wyatt, and you will see,” Rory said.

  I felt the power of the blade once I again held it in my hand. J.P.’s expression changed to disbelief when it began to radiate a golden glow.

  “What the hell!” he said.

  “Wyatt retrieved Exethelon from the dead man’s heart. It is now forever his, along with all the powers it possesses. Its magic will only work for him. It will lead us to the sorceress.”

  “You aren’t exactly dressed for a trek through the swamp,” J.P. said. “You and Abba look as if you’re on your way to a day of sightseeing in the French Quarter. Rory’s wearing a kilt, and none of you have boots. I can’t let you go deeper into the swamp dressed like this.”