Under the Cajun Moon

by Mindy Starns Clark

  “If you want to know for sure what it feels like to be a part of something bigger than yourself, listen to this from Ephesians,” Travis said finally. “ ‘There is one body and one Spirit—just as you were called to one hope when you were called—one Lord, one faith, one baptism; one God and Father of all, who is over all and through all and in all.’ If that’s not His way of telling you that you belong, cher, then I don’t know what is.” With that, he closed the Bible and gave me a triumphant smile.

  “Thanks, Travis. You’ve given me a lot to think about and a whole new way to look at my faith.”

  “Well, I’m sorry to go all preachy on you,” he replied, “but all of sudden God just laid this stuff on my heart. He loves you, Chloe. He always has and He always will. No matter what you do. You can’t earn it. It’s just there.”

  I looked at this man who was standing in front of me, Bible clutched in his hands, earnestness written all over his handsome face. What I had done to deserve such passionate concern for my heart or soul I had no idea. I just knew that of all the people in the world who could have been pulled into this situation with me, I was infinitely grateful it had been Travis Naquin.

  THIRTY

  After we finished our stew and had cleaned up the kitchenette area, I asked Travis if he had a map of Louisiana. He felt sure that he did, so as he poked around in drawers and cabinets looking for it, I tried to remember the basics of latitude and longitude I’d long ago learned in school. From what I could recall, measures of latitude were those parallel, horizontal lines on a globe that were identified in degrees. Within those lines, even more precise lines could be indicated by the use of “minutes” and “seconds.” All three numbers written together as degrees, minutes, and seconds were considered to be “coordinates.” The coordinates of zero degrees, zero minutes, and zero seconds—expressed as 0˚ 0' 0"—fell right at the equator. All of the latitudes that came above that were considered “North.”

  Similarly, measures of longitude were those lines that ran around the globe vertically. Also measured in degrees, minutes, and seconds, the coordinates of 0˚ 0' 0" longitude passed through the prime meridian, which was in Greenwich, England. Left of there, all the way to the international date line, longitudes were considered “West.” That was why the line in the poem, North and West you may search for things gone amiss, made so much sense, especially given that he had capitalized the words “North” and “West.” By combining a pair of coordinates to find where a specific line of latitude intersected with a specific line of longitude, one could actually pinpoint an exact spot on the globe. No doubt, if we could find the coordinates we were looking for, the treasure would be waiting for us there.

  “Found it!” Travis said triumphantly, pulling an old map from the back of a drawer.

  He spread it out on the kitchen counter, and together we played with the numbers we had recovered thus far, which were 16, 18, 29, and 45. We weren’t sure how those numbers should be arranged into coordinates, so I asked Travis for a pen and paper where I wrote down letters substituted for numbers: X˚ X' X" N/Y˚ Y' Y" W. Under that, I started listing the various possibilities of how the four numbers we had might slot in, starting with 16˚ 18' 29" N/45˚ Y' Y" W. But given the possible variations of four numbers plugged into six places, I decided that would take too long.

  Instead, we worked backward, starting with the map of Louisiana. By doing that, we were easily able to conclude where one of the numbers in our equation fell, simply because 29˚ N passed right through Louisiana. Better yet, 29˚ 45' N cut directly across Paradise! Thus far, then, our coordinates could be expressed as 29˚ 45' X" N and Y˚ Y' Y" W.

  Unfortunately, the 16 and the 18—the numbers from Conrad and Sam—weren’t nearly so easy to pinpoint. Looking at the map, we realized that either latitude, 29˚ 45' 16" or 29˚ 45' 18", could be correct. To make things even more complicated, the 16 and 18 could have been a part of the longitude instead. A reading of 91˚ 16' 18", for example, crossed Paradise, though 91˚ 18' 16" fell west of there.

  Combining the readings that did land squarely on Paradise gave us several possibilities, but without all six numbers to work with, the readings still weren’t specific enough to pinpoint the treasure. Given that each degree of latitude was about seventy miles apart, it was obvious that even one mistake could take us far off course. Using the four numbers we had and looking at the map, we both thought it was safe to assume that one of the missing numbers was 91, making the known parts of our formula now 29˚ 45' X" N/91˚ Y' Y" W. But even if our guess was correct, it wouldn’t do us any good unless we managed to discover the final, missing number and then figure out where that and the other two we already had should go. I thought of the line from the poem, The treasure they only together can find.

  My father hadn’t been kidding about that.

  Truly, Paradise offered the perfect hiding place for a treasure, because without exact coordinates, a general search-and-dig approach would have been impossible. Given its inaccessibility and the variations in its terrain, Paradise could confound a treasure hunter for years. Between the swamp, forest, marsh, high ground, low ground, and more, there would be no way to search every square inch. In fact, even if heavy equipment could be brought in, the wrong move might end up sinking the treasure into the swamp and losing it forever.

  Finally, in frustration, Travis and I gave up for now. At least we could be more sure about my hunch that the treasure was hidden at Paradise, but given the size of that property, finding it without all six coordinates would be like trying to find a needle in a haystack—regardless of whether it was hidden above ground or in the salt mine below.

  Watching Travis fold up the map, I realized that I needed some air. The cabin had grown incredibly stuffy. I said as much, and he suggested we turn off the lights and go out to the screen porch, which would be much cooler. As long as we spoke in whispers, he said, we should be okay. Stepping outside, I was glad to find that it was, indeed, much cooler there. The party across the water was in full swing, and as we sat in folding chairs side by side, I asked Travis what they were celebrating.

  “Nothin’, I don’t think,” he replied. “They’re just visiting, having some fun.”

  “What about all those lights and the live music?”

  “Mon oncle put those lights up a few years ago when my cousin NoNar got married, and ma tante liked them so much, she just kept them up. I think they’re nice, don’t you?”

  “I do,” I whispered, not even bothering to ask what kind of a name “NoNar” was. “What about the music?”

  Travis shrugged, saying that they were playing zydeco, which likely meant that his cousin JT had come over and brought along his frottoir. That led Travis to give me an explanation of the difference between Cajun music and zydeco. According to him, Cajun usually featured an accordion, a fiddle, and a guitar and sounded kind of like country. Zydeco, on the other hand, had a frottoir, or a rubboard, rather than a fiddle and was closer in feel to jazz or rhythm and blues or even hip-hop. As the zydeco music bounced happily toward our ears over the water, I couldn’t quite hear the similarity, but I enjoyed the way Travis spoke so animatedly about his area of expertise anyway.

  Curious about his work, I urged him to tell me more. Settling further into our seats, leaning closer together so we could speak in whispers, Travis opened up to me, answering my questions and describing the recording studio where he spent most of his time working primarily with Louisiana-based musical groups. It was fun to hear the enthusiasm in his hushed voice, and I found myself wishing I could visit the studio with him sometime and watch him at work behind the mixing board. Given his own musical talent, his even temper, and his uncanny perceptive abilities, I had a feeling he was very good at what he did. And though he wasn’t name-dropping, I could also tell that he had worked with many of Louisiana’s finest musicians. He was such an unassuming guy, it was easy to underestimate him.

  As we talked, I held my cell phone in my hand, the ringer off, waiting for i
t to vibrate silently from Wade’s call.

  “Oh look, Tee Noon’s got his glow-in-the-dark Frisbee out,” Travis whispered. I looked where he was pointing to see what looked like a UFO sailing through the night on the other side of the bayou. With the moon shining so brightly, it was easy to see the bodies running after the glowing disk; laughing, tumbling forms in the dark on the distant shore.

  After a while, simply sitting there side by side and listening to the night noises all around us and the music in the distance, Travis reached out and took my hand in his. He intertwined his fingers with mine, and I found myself warmed and pleased by the gesture. There was something incredibly romantic about being in the dark, all alone, with this man who had done nothing for the last twenty-four hours but repeatedly rescue me. While I was certainly not a helpless female, I was utterly out of my element here, up to my eyeballs in trouble and questions, and his presence had been more helpful than he would ever know.

  Still, I found myself wanting to know even more about him, about the responsibilities that were being ignored at home while he was on the run with me, about his love life. Given that he was now holding my hand, I didn’t think he had a girlfriend, but I wondered how it was that such an eligible guy was still single at thirty-two. I wanted to ask, and I was trying to figure out how to word my question, when Travis announced that he was thirsty. He suggested that we go inside to find something to drink and to call Wade, just to remind the man that we were still waiting to hear from him about what was happening with Josie Runner and the Charenton police.

  Quietly, we got up and returned to the darkened living room, Travis softly closing the door as I dialed Wade’s number. The call went to Wade’s voice mail, so I left a message. As I hung up, I saw that Travis had gone into the kitchenette area and was rooting through the fridge. He came up with a juice box and a bottle of ice tea and held them both up triumphantly as he offered me first choice. I chose the juice and then changed my mind and asked for the tea instead. The next thing I knew we were both holding onto both drinks, engaged in a teasing game of tug-of-war, and standing very close.

  In the dark quiet of the kitchen, I could hear the pounding of my heart, could see the intensity of Travis’ gaze. There was chemistry here, no doubt, in a way I hadn’t had with anyone else for a very long time—if ever. Not wanting to move apart, I waited there in front of him, wishing more than anything that he would kiss me.

  “I hope it doesn’t sound tacky of me to say that I’ve been enjoying our time together an awful lot,” Travis said to me softly.

  “Why is that tacky?”

  “Because of your father and the situation and all.”

  “Oh,” I whispered, ashamed that for a moment I had forgotten everything else that existed outside this moment. “I know what you mean, though. Don’t worry about it, Travis. I couldn’t have made it without you.”

  He stepped even closer, and I released my hold on the drinks. Setting them on the counter, he turned toward me again and took both of my hands in his.

  “Glad I could be around to help,” he whispered. “To protect you.”

  “Protect me?” I teased softly.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “And just what would that look like, exactly?”

  “Well, first, I guess, I would’ve made sure that nothing got hold of your pretty fingers, like this.”

  Slowly, Travis raised my fingers to his lips and kissed the tip of each one in turn.

  As he did, the memory of what had happened to me in Central Lockup filled my mind, the policewoman rolling my fingers across the pad to scan my fingerprints. As Travis moved down one hand, fingertip by fingertip, and then on to the next, I allowed myself to go with the moment, deciding that each kiss was a countermeasure, a point of healing, a replacing of a bad memory with an incredibly good one.

  “After that,” Travis said, his voice growing lower and softer, “I guess I’d have to make sure nothing bad happened ’round here.”

  Travis slid his hands from my wrists up to my shoulders and then onto my back, his fingers tracing circles around my shoulder blades. As he did, it was all I could do not to reach up and pull him even closer. But his movements were so lazy and yet so intentional that the greater pleasure was simply to stand still and see where he might go to “protect” me next.

  Shivering, I leaned forward, tilting my head to one side.

  “Aw, yeah, then there’s your neck, cher, your long, beautiful neck. Gotta protect that.”

  Responding to my body language, Travis moved aside my hair and then used a finger to pull open the collar of my shirt. Lowering his head, he kissed the skin of my exposed shoulder. Gently, slowly, he worked his way up the side of my neck all the way to my earlobe, his breath warm against my skin as he lingered there.

  “What else?” I whispered, trembling all the way to my toes.

  Travis pulled back just far enough to look me in the eyes. And then tenderly, ever so gently, he reached up one hand and brushed the hair from my face.

  “Well, then, I guess I’d have to make sure nothing, absolutely nothing bad happened to your mouth.”

  “And how would you do that?”

  “Probably something like this.”

  With that, Travis Naquin kissed me.

  He didn’t just kiss me, he practically inhaled me. As he opened his mouth onto mine and wrapped me in his strong arms, I wanted to meld into him, to be so close that we could never be apart again. Travis Naquin was kissing me, and no kiss in my life had ever felt so right.

  After the kiss was over, he pulled me even more tightly into his embrace, one hand stroking the back of my hair. I could have stayed that way forever. In a sense, I wondered if this was the one embrace I was always supposed to have found. It just felt that right, that sure.

  We stayed there in the kitchen, clinging to each other, for a very long time, all of our problems and worries a million miles away. Then I initiated another kiss myself, passion welling up inside of me as I was lost in the moment and the darkness. Finally, Travis ended that one and surprised me by pulling completely away.

  “Sorry, cher. We had better cool it. This is all just a little too…”

  He smiled sheepishly as he shook his head.

  “Too what?” I asked stiffly, trying to figure out why I had suddenly been rejected.

  “Too tempting. Too amazing. One more kiss like that, and we’re liable to find ourselves in a heap of trouble. I’m thinking we had better head back out to the porch and cool off a little.”

  With that, he gave me a wink and a smile, grabbed both drinks from the counter, and led the way outside. After a beat, I followed, stunned at what had just transpired. Though maybe I should have felt rejected or at the very least embarrassed, the truth was, more than anything else, I felt treasured.

  Sitting out on the porch in the darkness with this sweet and sexy and fascinating man, the irony of the whole situation struck me. In searching for treasure, I had finally felt, for the first time in my life, absolutely and utterly treasured. Without question, I knew that what Travis had shown me here tonight was worth far more than gold. Not only had I begun to gain a new understanding of God, but I had witnessed a man, a good man, placing my value over his desires.

  For me, that was a real first.

  Later, as we quietly held hands out on the porch and sipped our drinks, my head resting lightly on Travis’ shoulder, my cell phone suddenly sprang to life, lighting up and vibrating. Jumping up to run inside where I could answer it, I accidentally knocked over my chair, which landed with a loud, metallic crash against the wooden floor.

  “Go on, go on. It’s okay,” Travis hissed, urging me toward the door.

  I stepped inside, pulled the door shut behind me, and answered the phone.

  “Hello?”

  “Chloe?”

  “Wade? Hey. Thanks for calling! What’s the word?”

  “Well, I’ve got good news for you, as long as you can keep it on the QT for now.”

  �
��What is it?” I asked, my pulse racing.

  “Charenton police have brought charges against Josie Runner. Among other things, they’ve got her as an accessory to the attempted murder of your father.”

  There in the dark, stuffy cabin, I made my way to the kitchen counter so I could sit on one of the stools before my knees buckled.

  “Accessory? That means others are involved?”

  “Yeah. That’s why you can’t say anything yet. They haven’t rounded up the three guys who were working with her.”

  Across the room, the door opened and Travis slipped inside.

  “What do we know so far?” I said into the phone, watching as Travis fixed the towel covering the window on the door and then turned on the light.

  Wade explained that apparently Josie had admitted finding something interesting among her father’s papers, a map that showed where my father had hidden some sort of valuables. Josie had shared that news with a boyfriend, who promptly rounded up a pair of buddies and decided to go after those valuables for themselves.

  “Did she know that her boyfriend and his buddies were doing that?”

  “Says she didn’t, but so far the cops aren’t believing her. Things don’t quite add up, ya know?”

  “Any connection yet to Kevin’s and Sam’s murders and what happened to me?” I asked.

  “Not yet,” Wade replied, “but hopefully by morning. The sherriff wants you to meet him out at Paradise tomorrow, to show you some things and get some more information about your father. I told them you wouldn’t come until the murder charges against you had been dropped. Hope that’s okay.”

  I closed my eyes and told him yes, of course that was okay. I could only pray that that would happen soon, very soon. Though I was trying not to dwell on it, the fact was that I was an accused murderer out on bail. No matter how hopeful things appeared at the moment, the rest of my life still hung very much in the balance.