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

by Deborah Epperson

  “Guess I’d have to agree.” Hagar grabbed a straight-back chair out of the corner, placed it in front of the desk and sat. “Do they have any clue as to who the woman is?”

  “Nope, and considering the condition of the body, she’ll be hard to identify. That could be the reason the fools that buried her cut off her hands. No fingers, no fingerprints, and the medical examiner said she wore dentures. He reckons the killers took those too.”

  “You think there’s more than one killer?”

  “They found two sets of tracks.”

  Hagar flexed his fingers, curling and uncurling them. “Why do they want to involve us? It happened on the Texas side of the lake. It’s not our concern.”

  Sheriff Glover leaned forward, kept his voice low and tight. “Anything that happens around Caddo Lake is of great concern to me and this office. Understand?”

  “Sure, I just meant we don’t have any jurisdiction over the matter.”

  Glover leaned back in his chair. “They wanted to know if anyone on our side had filed a missing person report. And they wanted me to look at the body to see if I could recognize anything about her.”

  Hagar shifted in his seat. “Could you?”

  The sheriff shook his head. “The killers buried her in a shallow grave. Animals got to her.”

  “Animals?”

  “Something ripped her up good.” Glover ran his finger over his thick mustache. “Wild hogs, maybe. After what they did to her, I doubt her own mother could identify her.”

  “That bad, huh?”

  “Bad as I’ve ever seen.”

  Hagar eased a pack of spearmint gum out of his shirt pocket. “They may never identify her.”

  “Might not.”

  “Chief, since you’re usually tied up in the main office in Shreveport, why don’t you let me run point for you in this case?” Hagar wadded up a piece of gum, shoved it into his mouth.

  “I’ll probably let Foley handle that.”

  “I know I’ve only been here nine months, but I’ve gotten to know the locals. I could ask around. See if anyone has seen anything suspicious around the lake and report back to you.”

  “Like you said, this case doesn’t fall within our jurisdiction. The Texas Rangers want to keep this murder quiet until they have a chance to investigate. They’re afraid if the killers get word that the body has been found, they’ll take off.”

  “So they think the killers are still in the area?” Hagar asked.

  “They don’t know anything for sure except they have one mangled body that may be impossible to identify. They want us to keep our eyes and ears open and our mouths shut for now.”

  “But you’ll still need someone from this office to act as a liaison with the Texas fellows. I could handle that for you.”

  Sheriff Glover studied his newest deputy for a moment. “Okay, but keep me informed of any developments.”

  “Will do.” Hagar returned the chair to the corner.

  “If the Texas boys tell you anything, no matter how insignificant it seems, you call me immediately. I don’t like the idea of having my hands tied when there might be two murdering sons-of-bitches running around the Caddo.”

  “You can count on me, boss.”

  CHAPTER 10

  Every day since her homecoming, Elita had promised herself she’d summon the courage to return to the places that had played a key role in the demise of her once-happy family.

  Yesterday, she visited her family’s homestead. The singlewide trailer that had been her home for her first seventeen years had been sold to a cousin who’d moved it to the Texas side of the Caddo. An assortment of weeds choked the life out of the flower garden she and her mother had so carefully planted the morning of her brother’s death. Years before, relatives got her mother’s permission to scour Yancy’s shop and garage for tools, fishing equipment, and anything of value. Now, a set of concrete steps leading to nowhere, three pink oleander bushes that were as poisonous as they were beautiful, and her memories were all that remained.

  Once, this land vibrated with life. Colorful annuals spilled out of hanging baskets and red clay pots. Stalks of corn reached for the sky, while butterbean and tomato vines curled around scraps of lumber leftover from her father’s woodworking projects. Mouthwatering aromas of sausage and shrimp gumbos, catfish frying in a cast-iron skillet, and fresh baked fruit cobblers drifted out of their kitchen window.

  Friends and relatives needed no invitation or special reason to visit. All were welcomed, even at suppertime. It was easy enough to bake another pan of cornbread, add more water to the stew, and cut the cake into smaller pieces. Elita’s family might not have had T-bone steaks or prime rib to offer their guests like the Suttons did, but no one ever left Madeline Dupree’s table feeling hungry.

  Work and school filled their days, but the nights were for music, storytelling, and laughter. Cousins and neighbors dropped by, and guitars, fiddles, and harmonicas seemed to materialize out of thin air. The music continued until either the mosquitoes got too bad or the beer ran out. Elita and Royce always joined in the festivities for a time before slipping away to one of their private places to talk, make love, and plan their life together.

  The reception the couple got when each returned home exemplified the contrast in their two families. Royce’s mother ripped into him for associating with people she called bayou trash, while Madeline gave her daughter a snack, a hug, and a goodnight kiss. Elita went to bed knowing her parents respected the important role Royce played in her life. They loved her. More than that, they trusted her. And that combination of unconditional love and trust made up the core of how Elita Pearl Dupree viewed herself and the world around her.

  Today, Elita stood under the spreading arms of the giant live oak, the scene of her brother’s accident. The dappled shade did little to diminish the mid-May heat or the smothering humidity that marked the fifth anniversary of his death. Her eyes searched for the limb where she’d first spied Ricky’s shoe. Despite the sweltering temperature, a chill run up her arms when she spotted that particular fork in the tree.

  She closed her eyes. An image of a boy’s blood-red tennis shoes formed in her mind. They were her kid brother’s favorite article of clothing, the only thing his parents didn’t have to remind him to take care of. When evening’s swarms of mosquitoes finally chased him indoors, Ricky removed his beloved reds, wiped them off with a damp cloth, and placed them on a shelf near his bed. There they rested until the next morning when he slipped them on, and with concentrated deliberation, tied the shoelaces in a double knot the way his mother had taught him. Then, like Dorothy with her ruby slippers, Ricky headed down a yellow-brick road designed by his own imagination.

  He could be a swashbuckling pirate, swinging a foil-covered cardboard sword, his trusted reds dancing in the dirt with the finesse of Jean Laffite, the infamous Louisiana pirate. Ricky might be an intrepid explorer, depending on the gripper soles of his scarlet shoes to help him scale the rough cypress walls of a shed he’d christened Caddo Mountain for that day’s adventure. Keeping up with Jughead and the other dogs that scampered the shoreline of Devin’s Cove searching for turtles, coons, or any of a dozen critters that could grab the attention of a curious boy and a nosey hound might be her kid brother’s only goal for the day. Whatever the task, wherever the day’s adventure took him, Ricky knew his trusted red tennis shoes would not let him down.

  Elita opened her eyes, swallowed hard and blinked back tears. She’d cried every day since rushing out of Royce’s house two weeks before and leaving him in Starla’s capable hands. Today, she would not cry.

  She walked around the big oak, stopping at the spot where her daddy had discovered Ricky’s broken body lying on a bed of decomposing leaves and scattered twigs. Elita looked up into the canopy of leaves, up to the fork that had held the one red shoe in its clutch. She didn’t need to be a clairvoyant to figure out how her brother had fallen.

  He’d been like her in many ways. Always going full st
eam ahead. Always confident in his abilities. Always sure nothing could harm him. They were the children of Madeline and Yancy Dupree, living life to the fullest along the banks of Caddo Lake, just as generations of their ancestors had done before.

  Like the thick roux of flour and fat that served as the starting base for their traditional gumbos, the dark fertile waters of Caddo Lake served as the basic ingredient in the lives of the Duprees. The Caddo gave them food for their table, cypress to build their homes, and nature’s orchestra of primitive night sounds to inspire their music and stir the imagination to conjure up tales of giant alligators and the loup-garou.

  Respect for this mystical land etched the DNA of every Dupree. They treated the Caddo as if she were a grand cathedral, for she was indeed their sanctuary. In return, the fog rising up from the bowels of the bayous formed a protective cocoon around the Dupree clan. As long as they stayed close to the land and stayed true to the feral waters of the Caddo’s sloughs, bogs, and bayous, the Duprees were invincible. That’s what Elita felt while growing up. She knew her brother had felt the same way the day he climbed the live oak tree after that damn raccoon.

  Elita looked at the four vases of dead flowers sitting next to the tree trunk. Uncle Matt had told her that every year on the anniversary of Ricky’s death, someone left a fresh vase of flowers at the base of the tree. No card accompanied the bouquets, so no one knew who’d brought them.

  She studied each vase. The first was a fire truck, its bright red paint now dulled and peeling from years of exposure to Caddo heat and rain. One was a yellow convertible with the letters GTO stamped on a miniature front license plate. The other vases included a blue speedboat and a brown and black beagle pup.

  Elita had seen similar vases on the children’s floor at the hospital where she worked. Special vases filled with colorful flowers meant to cheer sick children. Ricky loved anything that went fast, anything with a siren on it, and animals of every description. Whoever bought the flowers knew what Ricky liked.

  She touched one of the dead flowers in the miniature fire truck. It crumbled in her hand. Would the anonymous mourner bring fresh flowers today? She decided to wait and see. Forty feet away, a large, downed tree offered enough cover for her to watch the live oak without being seen by anyone coming down the trail. She settled herself behind a thick limb and tried to stop thinking about those lost to her.

  She focused on her plans for the fall term. Selling the Chicago house should bring enough money to see her through the school year without having to work. Taking classes every summer had put her ahead in total semester hours completed. By taking a heavier class load, she’d graduate pharmacy school in five years instead of the usual six. Concentrating on various scenarios running through her mind, Elita didn’t hear a car or see the man approaching the live oak until he was almost there. She covered her mouth to silence a gasp.

  He crouched next to the tree and placed an elephant-shaped vase filled with white daisies beside the fire engine. “Here we are again, Ricky-Tic. Just the two of us.”

  Elita emerged from her hiding place. “Just the three of us.”

  Royce jumped up. “Where did you come from?”

  She pointed to the downed tree. “I wanted to see who was bringing the flowers. Should’ve guessed it was you.”

  “It’s just flowers.”

  “It’s more than that.” She swallowed the lump in her throat. “It says you remember.”

  “Of course, I remember.” Royce slapped at a mosquito buzzing his ear. “Hell, I loved Ricky like he was my kid brother.”

  She blinked back tears as she patted his cheek. “I know you did.”

  He grabbed her hand and squeezed it gently before letting her pull away.

  Elita picked up the new vase. “Why an elephant?”

  “It reminded me of when we took Ricky to the circus in Shreveport. He loved those elephants.”

  “Afterwards, he insisted we read the story of Dumbo at least three times every night before he’d go to bed.”

  Royce nodded. “After a month, I was seeing flying elephants in my dreams.”

  She laughed. It felt good to know Royce shared in her small memories of Ricky. Tiny reminiscences of seemingly unimportant family events always ended up being the most poignant, the most heartrending of all her recollections.

  “I went by Devin’s Cove looking for you. Your grandmother said she didn’t know where you were.”

  “Mamaw knew. She just wouldn’t tell you.”

  “I figured as much.” He pushed his hands into the back pockets of his jeans. “I wanted to speak to you about what happened that day at my house.”

  “Why?” Elita kept her voice flat, emotionless.

  “After you left, Starla and I talked. She’s transferring to the Houston office in August.”

  “Was the transfer your idea or hers?”

  “She’d expressed an interest in transferring to Houston shortly after I hired her.”

  “Are you that mean of a boss?”

  He grinned. “No, she’s moving to the city to put some distance between herself and her family. They meddle in her life too much. If we hadn’t started dating, she would’ve transferred last January.”

  “Starla wants to get away from her family, and I’d give anything to have my family around me again.” Elita looked at the flower vases. “Fact is, I’ve known about her transferring to Houston for several days.”

  “How did you know?”

  “Luther told me. Nothing happens in Caddo Parish that he doesn’t know about five minutes after it happens.”

  Royce crossed his arms. “I bet he couldn’t wait to tell you.”

  “Actually, he’s come by several times offering to take me to Moccasin Bayou.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “I don’t need his help.”

  Royce balled his right hand into a fist. “Maybe he needs to hear it from me.”

  “We’re talking about Luther, not some persistent redneck from the local bar. He wants to take me to Moccasin Bayou to see my reaction and have more gossip to spread.”

  “You’re probably right. Still, I might need to have a little talk with him.”

  “Luther is harmless. Besides, protecting me is no longer your job. I’m capable of fighting my own battles.”

  “You were always able to do that.” He pulled her close. “But I took an oath to look after you, and I plan to keep that oath regardless of how you feel about me.”

  A tingle danced up her spine. It was hard to think straight when standing next to him. She pulled away, walked over to the edge of the bayou to put a little distance between them.

  “If you knew Starla was leaving, why didn’t you call?” he asked.

  She spun around to face him. “Because you let me go.”

  “When?”

  “That day at your house when Starla said you no longer needed me. You didn’t disagree. You let me leave.” The pain of that day festered in her heart and mind. “Why should I be the one to call when you didn’t bother coming after me that day?”

  “I yelled at you to wait. You tore out of the driveway like you couldn’t get away from me fast enough.”

  “I thought I heard you calling me. I looked back, but you weren’t there.”

  “I got halfway to the door when my stomach revolted on me.”

  “Damn, Royce. I’ve spent the past two weeks thinking you didn’t care enough to come after me. Now, you’re telling me it was a mistake because you had to stop to puke?”

  He shrugged. “You know what kind of shape I was in that day.”

  Anger. Frustration. The dull gray of disappointment. The emotions rose up in her like a three-headed hydra nipping at her insides.

  He reached for her.

  Elita pulled away, walked back to the live oak, and after a minute, turned to face him. Weary apprehension filled his blue eyes. She’d seen the same look in the eyes of people sitting in ICU waiting rooms—family members exhausted from the lac
k of sleep and constant worry over their loved one’s prognosis. Once again, her concern for him smothered the flames of anger.

  “You look like you’re ready to drop, Royce.”

  “I haven’t slept much lately.”

  She’d stayed awake many nights thinking about him. Was he losing sleep over her? Elita took two steps toward him. “Why haven’t you been sleeping?”

  “A crew drilling a new well east of Cameron hit a pocket of methane gas. The well blew out.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “We’ve been trying to cap that damn well for a week.”

  “Did anyone get hurt?”

  “One guy has a broken arm, but he’ll be okay. Joe Watson, the driller, suffered second and third degree burns. He’s listed in serious condition.” Royce ground the toe of his boot into the dirt. “My grandfather hired Joe straight out of high school. He’s worked for Sutton Oil for thirty-two years, longer than I’ve been alive.”

  A dusting of self-loathing showered her. While she’d been feeling sorry for herself and mentally skewering Royce for not calling, he’d been dealing with serious problems concerning his company and the lives of his employees. The girl in her had begged her to call him, to give him the benefit of the doubt. When had she learned to value pride more than trust?

  “Anything I can do to help?” she asked.

  His lips lifted in a weary smile. “Just seeing you helps me.”

  She went to him, slid her arms around his waist and rested her head on his chest. “Being here for you is my job. Remember?”

  A sigh of relief escaped his lips as he wrapped his arms around her.

  Elita snuggled close to him, soaking in the warmth of his muscular frame. She ran her hands across his shoulders and down his spine, lightly kneading his taut muscles.

  A wood thrush called to his mate. The musky smell of Spanish moss swaying from the limbs of the live oak mingled with the scent of bayou mud and whiffs of Royce’s cedarwood aftershave.

  “When do you have to go back?” she asked.

  “Today.”

  “You can’t drive back today. You’re exhausted.”