Shadows of Home: A Woman with Questions. A Man with Secrets. A Bayou without Mercy

by Deborah Epperson

  She tightened the belt to the white terrycloth robe Royce had loaned her, raised her arms, and stretched. In the west, a sinking sun peeked through straggling gray clouds. The faint outline of a rainbow appeared and quickly faded. A light breeze skipped by, carrying with it the earthy, primordial smell of freshly washed soil.

  “Did you get enough to eat, Elita?”

  She turned to find Royce standing in the doorway. “Too much. No one makes a pecan pie as good as Nettie’s.”

  “I’ll tell her you said that.” Dressed only in a pair of faded jeans fastened low on his hips, he joined her on the patio. His eyes held a mischievous sparkle; his lips eased into a roguish grin.

  She ran her hand down the center of his bare chest. “What are you up to?” The words were barely out of her mouth when music began to drift out of the house.

  “Wanna dance?” Without waiting for an answer, Royce pulled her into his embrace.

  Elita coiled her arms around his neck, rested her head on his shoulder as they swayed to the rhythm of Bobby Vinton’s, “There, I’ve Said It Again.” She nuzzled his neck. “You remembered our song.”

  “Did you think I wouldn’t?”

  She smiled up at him. Their lips had barely touched when the telephone rang again. “Your caller is a persistent cuss. Are you sure you shouldn’t answer it?”

  “I’m sure. It’s probably Mother. She’s figured out we’re together and wonders what we’re doing.”

  “If it is Dorothea, I’d wager she knows exactly what we’re doing and is hoping her constant phoning will interrupt us.”

  Royce untied her robe, slipped his hands inside. His left hand moved to the middle of her back, his right burrowed between her thighs. “She’s wrong about that, isn’t she?”

  Elita gasped as Royce’s fingers gained entry and began their deliberate, tantalizing probe. An internal fire flickered, causing her breasts to swell.

  His hand continued its sweet torment as he danced her slowly over to the side of the house. The Miracles belted out “You’ve Really Got a Hold on Me.” Royce kissed her hard. His body leaned into her, pushing her against the house’s rough cedar siding. His thick robe protected her from possible splinters.

  She unbuttoned Royce’s jeans and pushed them down as his lips planted quick, eager kisses on her neck, shoulders, and the valley between her breasts. A tremor started in her legs and moved upward until her entire body seemed like one continuous shudder.

  He slipped his hands under Elita’s hips, lifted her, and seated her on his throbbing shaft with an urgency that paralleled her own.

  She wrapped her legs around his waist and tightened her arms around his neck in eager anticipation.

  With deliberate control, Royce plunged deep, matching the tempo of his powerful thrusts to the somber, pulsating beat of the music.

  Their breathing quickened as they journeyed closer to the land of nirvana, the pinnacle of bliss. The couple knew this road well. They’d traveled it many times when they were younger and again earlier today—twice in the bedroom and once in the shower.

  “Royce,” a male voice called from inside the house. “Royce, are you here?”

  The lovers froze, their bodies locked for the moment by that most basic male-female link. Royce murmured, “Cliff.”

  “If we’re quiet, maybe he’ll leave,” Elita whispered, knowing their moment was lost regardless of whether Cliff stayed or scampered away.

  Royce shook his head and pulled his hips back as she uncrossed her legs from around his waist. He hitched up his jeans. “I’m going to kill him.”

  Elita fought to gain control over her body, a body in revolt over having its needs so jarringly denied. “You can’t kill him. He’s your brother. I’ll do it.”

  “Are you out here?” Cliff stepped outside and saw Royce. “Where the hell have you been? We’ve been calling you. Why didn’t you answer your damn phone?”

  Elita closed her robe, tied the belt, and peeked around Royce’s left shoulder.

  Cliff’s angry expression wilted, replaced by one of embarrassment. “I didn’t know you were here, Elita.”

  “Now you do,” Royce yelled. “So get the hell out of here.”

  “I’m really sorry about interrupting you two, but I’ve got a problem.”

  Royce’s right hand balled into a fist. “You’re going to have a bigger problem if you don’t leave right now.”

  Cliff rubbed the back of his neck. “The guys from Houston rented a boat and went out fishing by themselves. They were out on the Caddo when the storm came up and . . . .”

  “And what?” Royce asked.

  “Jerry and Harold made it back in, but Dale Butler didn’t.”

  In an eerily calm voice Royce asked, “Did the boat capsize in the storm? Is Butler dead?”

  Cliff rubbed his hands up and down the legs of his jeans. “I don’t know . . . maybe.”

  “You’re not making a damn bit of sense. What happened to Dale?” Royce demanded.

  “Nobody knows,” Cliff yelled. “He disappeared.”

  “People don’t just disappear, “Royce shouted back.

  Elita placed her hand on her lover’s arm. “Let’s talk inside.”

  He snatched his arm away and stomped into the house.

  Cliff didn’t move. A mask of fear and confusion replaced the look of smug confidence that usually adorned his handsome face.

  Elita curled her arm around his. “Let’s go in. We’ll figure this out together.”

  He nodded and gave her a grateful smile.

  Inside the house, Royce poured a shot of bourbon. “Anyone want a drink?”

  Elita shook her head.

  “I could use one.” Cliff headed for the bar. He picked up his drink. His hand shook, spilling bourbon across the counter.

  “Look at the mess you’ve made.” Royce grabbed a dishtowel and wiped up the liquor.

  Cliff set his drink down. “I’m . . . I’m sorry.” His voice trembled as much as his hands.

  “Tell us what you know, Cliff,” Elita said. “Start at the beginning.”

  “The fellows wanted to go fishing in the Caddo, but Matt wasn’t available to guide us.”

  “Why didn’t you hire someone else?” Royce asked.

  “I trust Matt.” Cliff sank down into the easy chair next to the bar. “Besides, you’re the one who put out the memo saying all hunting or fishing trips sponsored by Sutton Oil were to use Matt Dupree’s guide service.”

  Royce looked at Elita and shrugged. “I was trying to throw some business his way.”

  Something in Royce’s tone annoyed her. Did he think her family needed help from Sutton Oil to stay in business? Her uncle claimed he had more work than he wanted. Elita wondered if this was the business Royce and Matt had discussed the day Mamaw Pearl whacked Royce in the knee.

  “How did the fellows end up in the Caddo without you?" Royce poured another bourbon, handed it to Cliff. “And how did Dale come up missing?”

  “I told them I’d arrange a fishing trip the next time they came. They seemed fine with that. When I went to pick them up for lunch, I discovered they’d rented a boat from Pine Ridge Lodge and had gone out alone.” Cliff downed half his bourbon. “When the storm came up, they put in at one of the islands. Jerry said they each went their own way to find shelter. After the storm passed, they looked for Dale, but couldn’t find him. It got late so they decided to go for help.”

  “Do they have any idea what island they were on?” Elita asked.

  Cliff shook his head. “The only reason they made it back was because the Fregia brothers happened to find them out on the lake and led them back to the lodge.” He stood. “Sheriff Glover is getting a search party together to look for Dale. We’re to meet him at Pine Ridge Lodge.”

  “Dammit!” Royce slammed the bar door closed. “You were supposed to take care of those guys. You had one job to do this weekend and you screwed it up.”

  Cliff wiped sweat from his brow. “I told them we
couldn’t go out in the bayous without a guide. What was I suppose to do? Lock them in their rooms?”

  “He’s right,” Elita said. “They made a bad decision, but it was their decision.”

  Royce jabbed his finger at her. “I don’t need any damn flack from you right now.”

  His unexpected, hostile declaration felt like a slap in the face. The only person more surprised than Elita was Cliff.

  “This is Elita you’re talking to, Royce. It’s not—”

  Royce leveled a hard stare at his brother silencing him immediately.

  “Not who?” she asked. “Is there something I’m missing here?”

  Like a scolded child, Cliff lowered his eyes. “I . . . I guess not.”

  Elita’s scalp tingled. It always did that when she got the feeling something wasn’t quite right or that someone was lying to her. What was it Cliff knew that Royce didn’t want him to tell her? A knot coiled in her stomach.

  “We’ll take the bass boat,” Royce said. “It’s smaller and can get into tighter places. You think you could manage to get it ready while I get dressed?”

  Cliff’s jaw tightened. “I reckon so.”

  An oar-shaped wooden board next to the front door held several hooks laden with sets of keys. After his brother left the room, Cliff walked over, picked out the set for the bass boat.

  “I’m confused, Cliff,” Elita said. “What just happened here?”

  “You just met the new Royce Sutton. How do you like him?”

  “I don’t.”

  “Yeah, well, you’re not alone.” He headed for the door.

  “Who were you referring to when you said, ‘This is Elita. It’s not’ . . . not who?”

  Cliff ran his hand over his face. “I’m in enough hot water as it is. Please don’t ask me to pour more into the pot.”

  “Can you tell me if this who is a woman?”

  He glanced at the hallway before answering. “I can tell you this. Something has gotten into Royce. Something has turned him mean. You can’t trust him like you could when we were kids.”

  “I trust Royce more than anyone in the world. I’d trust him with my life.”

  “Don’t. He’ll hurt you if you do.” Cliff reached for the door knob. “I’ve got to go. If you’re smart, you’ll go back to Chicago and forget you ever knew my brother.”

  Elita didn’t say a word as Cliff closed the screen door behind him. She stood motionless, as if glued to the spot, trying to make sense out of his assertions about Royce.

  There had always been more than typical brother’s rivalry between the two Sutton boys. Cliff resented the fact that their father had favored Royce even though he’d bucked his dad at every turn, especially when it came to going to medical school instead of taking his place as heir apparent of the family business. Royce hated Cliff’s ability to charm himself out of any trouble he got himself into. Still, there had existed between the brothers a bond of respect and love. That bond hadn’t been evident today, but Elita chalked that up to the gravity of the situation with Dale Butler.

  Royce returned, carrying a pair of well-worn cowboy boots. He set the boots down and started buttoning his shirt. “I don’t know how long this will take. When I get back, we can—”

  “Talk?”

  He stopped and stared at her for a moment, then walked over and opened the coat closet. He grabbed a jacket and a ball cap sporting the Longhorn logo of his alma mater, the University of Texas. He sat on the footstool, pulled on his boots, and never said a word the entire time. Never answered her question. Never looked at her.

  “Maybe I’d better go home. Uncle Matt will want to join the search party. Someone needs to be with Mamaw.”

  “Your grandmother has done just fine without you for five years. But if you need an excuse to leave, I guess that’s as good as any.” He grabbed a set of keys off a peg and slapped it down on the counter. “There’s the key to my Jeep. Stay or go. Do whatever you want.” He turned to leave.

  “I’ll stay if we can talk a bit when you get back. Not a lot. Just a little bit.”

  He stopped, but didn’t turn around. Royce looked up at the ceiling, let out a deep sigh and pushed open the screen door. Over his shoulder he yelled, “Turn off the lights when you leave.”

  CHAPTER 5

  Having had no luck the previous night, the search party went out again at dawn. The sheriff assigned different sections of the lake to the hopeful rescuers. Matt, Carl Mouton, and the Fregia brothers headed out from Devin’s Cove to sweep the northwest area of the Caddo.

  Luther Boudreaux arrived at Devin’s Cove an hour before dawn. He grabbed a couple of scrambled egg and bacon sandwiches and headed out alone. Matt tried to get him to wait until daylight, but Luther wanted to get an early start. No one worried about him getting lost because the Boudreaux clan knew the Caddo as well as the Duprees.

  Shortly before lunchtime, Fern and Arleen—wives of the Fregia brothers—showed up at Mamaw Pearl’s house with sandwiches, potato salad, and chips. Grandma Mouton brought a pot of chicken and sausage gumbo and two skillets of cornbread. Elita made a pineapple cake topped with coconut pecan icing, a pot of red beans and rice, and pitchers of iced tea. The men had agreed to meet back at Devin’s Cove at noon. They’d have lunch, check with Sheriff Glover to see what progress had been made, and refill their boats’ gasoline tanks before heading out again.

  Fern stuffed an empty chip bag into the garbage can under the sink. “This garbage is about to run over.”

  “There’s another can on the back porch,” Elita said.

  “It’s full, too.”

  Elita pulled the can out from under the sink. “I’ll take the garbage to the burning barrel.”

  “Is there any room in the icebox?” Fern asked. “If those men don’t get here soon, I’m gonna have to do something with this potato salad. It can’t stay out much longer in this heat.”

  “Check the refrigerator.”

  Fern nodded.

  Elita picked up the garbage can from the back porch and headed down the trail to the fifty-five gallon drum they burned their trash in, some thirty yards away. Arleen’s oldest son, T-Boyd, offered his help. Elita gave him the smaller can to carry.

  “How come your trash barrel is so far from the house?” he asked.

  “The smoke bothers Mamaw, so my daddy moved it away from the house years ago.”

  “Your daddy’s dead, ain’t he?”

  She nodded.

  “Killed himself, didn’t he?”

  Elita stopped and looked down at the eight-year-old, sandy haired boy. “He did not. He accidentally drowned in Moccasin Bayou.”

  “That’s not what my momma says. She says he drowned himself on account of he let his little boy wander off and get killed.”

  Elita gritted her teeth. “Your momma is wrong.”

  Arleen and Elita had never been friends. Arleen dropped out of school in the tenth grade to marry Eldon Fregia. T-Boyd arrived five months later. Now, at the age of twenty-four, she had five kids including a set of eight-month-old twins.

  Elita hurried to the trash barrel and emptied the wastebasket. She snatched the smaller can from T-Boyd, dumped the garbage in the rusty drum, and handed the emptied can back to the boy.

  “Are we gonna burn the trash now?” he asked.

  “Uncle Matt will do that when the barrel gets full.”

  “My momma says she’s gonna whip your butt.”

  T-Boyd’s statement took Elita by such surprise, she laughed.

  “I wouldn’t laugh if I was you. Momma means it. She can do it too.”

  “I haven’t seen your mother in five years. Why would she say such a thing?”

  “Cause you’re making trouble for my Aunt Starla.”

  Elita had been a senior when she left Louisiana. Arleen’s youngest sister, Starla, had been a sophomore. “How am I making trouble for Starla?”

  T-Boyd didn’t answer. His eyes grew wide as he pointed to something behind Elita.

&
nbsp; She swiveled to find Jax Boudreaux coming out of the woods. He walked toward them, his shotgun resting on his right shoulder.

  T-Boyd dropped the trashcan and high-tailed it back down the trail toward the house.

  “What are you doing here, Jax?” Elita asked. “If you’re looking for Uncle Matt, he’s helping in the search for the fellow from Houston, Dale Butler.”

  Jax shook his head. “Too late. Too late.”

  “What’s too late? Do you know something? Did Mr. Butler suffer an accident or—”

  “I done told ya there ain’t no accidents in the Caddo.” Jax walked a wide circle around the trash barrel. His eyes glanced nervously in every direction.

  “Who are you looking for, Jax?”

  “The loup-garou has eyes that see in the daylight too.”

  Elita sighed, but said nothing. With everything else going on, the last thing she needed was an argument about the existence of an imaginary werewolf.

  Jax stopped, leaned forward, and whispered, “The loup-garou knows you were on Tadpole Island.” He pulled at the skin on his throat. “That’s not good, Elita. Not good.”

  She pushed her hair off her forehead. “I’m sorry, but I don’t believe in—”

  “There he is, Momma,” T-Boyd yelled. “Told you Jax Boudreaux was prowling around here.”

  Fern, T-Boyd, and Arleen marched down the trail headed toward Jax and Elita. Arleen carried a broom in her hand.

  “Get to the house, T-Boyd,” Arleen said.

  The boy started to protest, but his momma swatted his rear end with the broom and he scampered back down the trail.

  Shaking the broom, Arleen stomped toward Elita and Jax. “Get out of here, Jax Boudreaux.”

  “He’s got a shotgun!” Fern shouted.

  “I ain’t scared of him,” Arleen yelled back. “Get out of here, Jax, or I’ll beat your head in.”

  Jax tucked the shotgun under his arm and ran toward the safety of the woods. With his skinny legs, round torso, and short arms flapping at his sides, he reminded Elita of a chicken running from a hatchet-wielding cook.