by Tina DeSalvo
“Why the sad look in your eyes, chère?” He lifted her chin to gaze deeper in her eyes. “Remember, we need to live in the moment, and I think this moment is pretty damn good.” He gave her a tender kiss on her lips. “Let’s not let worries of other things intrude just yet. Okay?” She nodded. “The moon is full. The air is cool. Our bodies are feeling pretty amazing from the best lovemaking of our lives. Well, my life anyway.” He lifted her and turned her around. “It doesn’t get any better than this.”
She laughed, let herself feel the cool air against her cheeks, his warm breath on her neck, and the dizzying sensation of being in her lover’s arms. He was right. Why ruin it with what ifs?
Nancy trotted up to them and barked once. “Get your own friend,” Beau told her, but Jewell had leaned over to look at the dog.
She laughed out loud. “Good girl. “Nancy seems to likes pretty undies. I think a trip to the lingerie boutique may be in your future, sweet girl.”
Beau looked down and started laughing too.
Nancy sat near their feet, her pointy brown tail sweeping the dirt road. Jewell’s white lace bra was clamped in her mouth.
***
It was after eleven and Jewell had called Ruby and told her that she was going to be a little late. She and Beau were as tidy as they could make themselves after the shower and riding in an old truck with the windows down. Of course, Beau looked neater and more put together than Jewell. He had a natural fashion sense and ability to look fresh and vibrant, where she always seemed a little bit disheveled, with her silky hair always sliding out of the ponytail holder.
As they drove up to the camper, Jewell noticed there was a police car parked in front, next to Ruby’s Cadillac. Her heart stopped. A police car couldn’t mean anything good. She leapt from the truck before Beau fully parked. Racing into the camper, she stopped dead, her heart in her throat. Tante Izzy was sitting in her office chair with her back to the desk. Ruby was next to her. Big John was sitting on her sofa, filling up the small space. A tall, thin man in his mid-sixties, wearing a baseball cap and sheriff’s uniform, stood near the kitchenette. “What’s wrong?” she asked everyone there, searching the room for Mimi.
Ruby stood.
“Where’s Mimi? Is she okay?”
Tante Izzy waved a dismissive hand to her. “Mais, calm down, child. Everyone’s fine. Nobody’s hurt.”
Jewell couldn’t calm down. Not until she saw for herself that Mimi was okay. She rushed to the sleeping area in the back of the camper. The privacy accordion doors were closed.
Beau walked into the camper, extended his hand. “Hi, Dad.”
“Hi son.” They gripped hands and hugged with back slaps and a handshake.
Jewell opened the door and peeked inside. She leaned against the doorjamb and sighed with relief. Mimi was lying on her back, her chin jutting upward, her mouth open. The quilt was pulled to her neck. Her bare feet and cotton candy-colored toenails were uncovered. No doubt Tante Izzy’s doing. She looked old and pale, but she was sleeping in the same position she’d preferred her entire life. Then, as if sensing someone was looking at her, her eyes fluttered open.
“Can you rock me to sleep?” she asked, speaking French in a childlike voice.
Jewell nodded, sat on the edge of the bed and gathered her in her arms and began to sing a soft lullaby in French. Mimi’s favorite. Mimi reached up and brushed at the loose tendrils of Jewell’s hair and sighed. “I love you.”
“I love you, Mimi.”
Beau walked into the shadows of the tiny space, then leaned against the doorjamb and watched them. It was such an intimate private moment, one she shared with Mimi every night, yet, she didn’t mind Beau witnessing it. There was a level of trust she felt with him now that he wouldn’t cause harm or hurt knowing of their vulnerabilities.
“She’s okay,” he said, his voice quiet. “My dad’s here because Tante Izzy called him for a ride home.” Jewell nodded, kissed Mimi on the top of the head and gently eased Mimi’s heavy, sleeping weight back onto the bed. Jewell immediately rubbed the back of her own neck.
Beau’s hands were on her neck instantly, massaging. “So that’s why your neck hurts, chère. Sitting with her in that very tiny bed that way, holding her…what, for hours sometimes?”
Jewell looked at him, her eyes filled with tears. She nodded. “I put her to sleep this way most nights. Other nights she wakes, in tears…even hysterics sometimes. She just needs to be held. Consoled.”
Beau gathered her in his arms. Rubbed her arms. “She is lucky to have you.”
“I’ve always been blessed to have her.”
The voices in the other room intruded on the moment and Beau took a step back. That step was a clear signal that they’d entered a different place with his family nearby. It was a different place for their relationship. She got it. What they had shared just now and earlier was just for those moments. Nothing more. She had understood that all along.
Still, it hurt.
And, that was such a ridiculous thing since she should’ve expected the behavior. It wasn’t complicated. It was just men and women’s biosocial behavior as it related to biological anthropology.
Jewell closed the door, moved around Beau, careful not to touch him, and went to the sheriff. “We haven’t been introduced.” She extended her hand to him. “I’m Jewell Duet.”
He put Nancy on the ground and she started bustling around the camper, sniffing the floor. Ronald shook Jewell’s hand firmly and smiled. “It’s a real pleasure to meet you, Jewell. That’s a pretty name.” He looked at Beau. “I heard you and Jewell got into a scuffle with your client, Stanley Boudreaux, outside the Do Drop Inn.” He pointed to the bruise under Beau’s eye.
Beau touched where his father was looking. “Not my client anymore.”
Tante Izzy frowned. “I didn’t hear nuttin’ ’bout that. How come I didn’t hear nuttin’, Ruby?”
“Guess we were too busy playing bingo,” Ruby said.
“I won Blackout,” she announced. “Ma sucrée, you grand-mère won Four Corners. Mais, she was so excited, she jumped up and forgot da word to scream out. She yelled, 'T’row me somet’in’, Mista’.”
“It was so darling,” Ruby said, laughing. “After that, every time someone won, they shouted, 'Throw me something, Mista’. We had a good time. In fact, Jewelie, they asked Mignon to come back next week to call a game. They’re going to make it a Mardi Gras theme.”
“Harrumph. Dey never asked me to call bingo.” Tante Izzy shrugged and looked at Jewell. Her lips were pursed as her eyes slid over her from head to toe. Then she nodded, scratched her head and nodded some more.
“What are you scheming?” Beau asked his aunt, narrowing his eyes at her. “Whatever it is, forget about it.”
Ronald and Big John began to laugh. ”Asking her to forget about scheming is about as useful as using an outhouse for a coon dog,” Ronald said, patting Beau on the back.
Big John jumped into the teasing. “Asking her to forget about her scheming makes about as much sense as a screen door on a pirogue.” His laugh was as big as he was. “Get it. The small boat would sink with all those screen holes on it.”
Ruby rolled her eyes. “Honey, if you have to explain a joke, it’s not funny.” Big John looked wounded. “You sure were cute saying it, though.” She smiled at him as she sat next to him on the sofa and rested her head on his thick shoulder.
Big John kissed Ruby on the top of her head and she grinned at Beau. “I sure love my man.” She winked at Tante Izzy, still wearing her tight grin. She looked like the orange cat that ate the canary, sitting there in her orange jeans and matching orange cardigan over a crisp white T-shirt with Bingo spelled in metallic gold. Ruby turned to her husband and kissed him squarely on the lips.
She and Tante Izzy were definitely up to something.
“Harrumph, looks like there’s a lot of hanky-panky going on tonight...” Tante Izzy rolled her eyes, looking at Ruby, then Beau.
Jewell
felt her face heat. Dear Lord, was it that obvious what she and Beau did? She didn’t dare look at Beau.
Tante Izzy got up from her seat near the computer and sat at the kitchen banquette. “Beau. Dis is fer your own good. Listen to me. It’s time you settle down. You got a nice house. A good job. You own a city block of real estate downtown where you have an office. Now you need a wife to share it all.”
“Tante Izzy, I love you,” he began, sitting across from her at the table. “But that is none of your business.
“Yes, it is. My family is my business.” She reached into her dress pocket and handed him a vial. “Pick someone and drink dis.”
Jewell recognized the type of vial she’d given him. It was like some of the ones she’d come across from the traditional healers who used herbs, potions and prayers to cure any number of illnesses as well as emotional and lifestyle issues. The healers who most often served as midwives too.
“Is that a traiteur’s vial?” she asked, walking to the table. She picked up the vial to study it.
“Sure is. It’s a love potion,” Tante Izzy told her, sitting taller. “You want to drink it?”
“Oh, for God’s sake,” Beau groaned, folding his arms over his chest. He frowned at his dad, who was laughing. “There’s nothing funny about any of this.”
“Heck, no, I don’t want to drink it,” Jewell told Tante Izzy. She shook her head, turned the vial in her hands. It was small enough to fit in her palm and had a tiny metal screw top to keep the brownish-green contents inside of it. There were no words or labels indicating what the liquid was. “Who’s your traiteur?”
Tante Izzy looked at her, eyes narrowed. “Why you wants to know? You got da mal de tête?”
“No, I don’t have a headache.” Jewell handed Tante Izzy the vial. She handed it to Beau, who immediately put it on the table like it was some kind of poison. “I just want to meet her. For my research.” Jewell looked at Beau. She could see in his expression that he remembered that she wanted to talk to the local traiteur about the possibility of having a midwife record book for the plantation.
Tante Izzy nodded. “I can ask her if she wants to talk to you. I’ll order me some body butter and bat’ salts while I got her on da phone.” She lifted her chin. “You wants some so you can smell pretty like me?”
“The traiteur has body butter and bath salts? That’s unusual. I thought they only made special potions with herbs and said healing prayers.”
“My traiteur has scented candles and holiday soaps, too. Her niece, Teal, makes it.” She extended her thin forearm for Jewell to smell. “Dat’s lavender I’m wearing, but I like Mardi Gras Mambo best. Mardi Gras Mambo drives da mens crazy.”
Beau grinned, shaking his head. “I have to beat them off her with my pirogue paddle.”
“You’re a good nephew,” Jewell laughed. “Tante Izzy, did your traiteur learn her craft from her grandmother, aunt, or another family member?”
Tante Izzy rolled her eyes. “Mais, of course. Her name is Eleanor. She just done had a birthday. Ninetieth. Started learnin’ to be a healer since she was seven. She’s teachin’ Teal to take over when da time comes.
“Perfect.” Jewell said. “I’d like to meet Eleanor tomorrow. Will you take me?”
“I will,” Beau said, not giving Tante Izzy a chance to answer. “I’ll pick you up at nine. My rental car will be delivered to my office around eight thirty.”
“Y’all bring me back some Mardi Gras Mambo body butter.”
“I’ll take the lavender body butter and bath salts,” Ruby shouted to Jewell from where she sat on the floor next to her husband.
“Happy to do it.” Jewell looked at Beau. “Mimi and I will be ready for nine, then.”
“Um, Jewelie,” Ruby said, shaking her head. “With the tailgate party on Thursday, I promised to take Mimi and Little Miss Matchmaker there to get manicures tomorrow before they cook up the desserts. I hope you don’t mind. The only appointment available for the three of us was at ten.”
“I heard dat. Y’all talkin’ about me like it’s my funeral and I’m not here.” Tante Izzy snorted. “We gettin’ shellac on our nails.”
“You won’t be going anywhere if you don’t get your beauty sleep,” Ronald said, moving toward the door. “Are you ready?”
Tante Izzy stood and walked to the door. When she got near the kitchenette, she stopped, looked at the counter next to the sink. “Oh, bon Dieu. Not again.” She picked up the now familiar crystal salt and pepper shakers. “What’s goin’ on wit dis?” She looked at Jewell.
“I wish I knew,” Jewell said.
“It’s her old-timer’s.” Tante Izzy frowned. “You know, today she called me Pauline.”
“That’s Praline’s real name,” Jewell said, frowning. “I’m sorry.”
“Hmm. Not me,” Tante Izzy raised her head. “If she t’inks I look like pretty Miss Praline from Bourbon Street, dat’s fine by me.”
“Miss Praline?” Big John and Ronald said at the same time.
Jewell looked at Beau, her eyes wide and pleading for him to make sure they didn’t tell anyone.
“I’m goin’ to get me some pole-dancin’ lessons wit her,” Tante Izzy announced with a flourish.
Both Big John and Ronald made dismissive gestures and smiled. They hadn’t believed for a minute that she knew New Orleans’ most famous stripper, much less that she was getting pole-dancing lessons from her. Beau winked at Jewell. She knew, however, that it was only a matter of time until the truth would come out and stick.
Ruby, who was now standing next to Jewell, patted her on the hand. “You know, the salt and pepper shakers are really important to her,” she said, slipping her purse on her arm as she prepared to leave. Big John handed Nancy to Beau. “She was pretty quiet today. She didn’t say much. She seemed content with listening. Once, when she did speak, she told me that it was her job to keep the kitchen table in order for her momma. She said Twinnie helped. She also said they were really good at picking up all of the little pieces of thread off the floor.” She linked her arm with Jewell. “You know, when she talks and she and Tante Izzy aren’t fussing about some nonsense, she mentions Twinnie a lot.” She lifted her shoulders. “I believe that Twinnie is a real person. A person she loves and misses a great deal.”
“Harrumph. She also says Sugar Mill is her home.” Tante Izzy’s voice was a little harsh. “Do you believe dat too?” She didn’t give Ruby a chance to answer. “Mais, no. I can tole you one thing, she’s not a Bienvenu. I’ll prove it for sure in about a week.” She took the salt and pepper shakers, turned to leave, then stopped at the door.
“Are you really certain that she’s not a Bienvenu?” Beau asked, surprising Jewell.
“Alors pas,” Tante Izzy put the shakers back on the counter. “Of course not,” she repeated in English. “Not dat I’d mind. She’s growin’ on me. If she just wouldn’t tell stories and steal…um…er, borrow stuff.” She frowned. “You can’t make it true just because you wants it be dat way.” Tante Izzy opened the door and walked out of the camper. “Put somet’in’ on that bruise on you cheek, ma sucrée,” she called from outside. “It’s really red tonight. Like you done got a brush burn on it.” Ruby, Big John and Ronald followed her out.
Everyone said good night.
Jewell moved to the small, round mirror hanging near the door. “Beauregard Bienvenu, why didn’t you tell me I have a beard burn on my face?”
He shrugged and stepped closer to her. His finger dropped to her chest, right between her breasts. “I guess you wanted me to tell you that you’re missing two buttons here, too.”
“Oh, no!” She pulled the fabric at the top of her dress together. “What else are you not telling me?” she asked as a joke. Beau’s face became serious and he answered without hesitation.
“There are two girls that look to be the same age as each other in my painting of Emile, François and his son.” Beau’s voice was even. Calm. “They're holding the hands of a young woman in th
e background.” “What?” Jewell felt like she had to play catch-up. Why hadn’t he mentioned this before? Why didn’t I notice them when I looked at the painting?”
“You were distracted.” He kissed her on the side of the neck. “You had other things on your mind.” He handed her his phone with a photograph of the painting on it. “I took this right after our shower, just before we left." He enlarged the image to see the two little girls and the woman.
“They're in silhouette but look to be toddlers. No distinctive features. Just the same wheat, blonde hair. The same pale blue dress,” she said, moving the photo image around. “E-mail it to me. We can blow it up and look at it on my computer.”
He did, and a few minutes later she had her laptop on the banquet table and they were seated next to each other looking at the photo.
“It’s possible the girls weren’t actually wearing the same color dress and the artist just painted it that way,” she said, considering all of the possibilities.
“With that thinking, he may have just painted two little girls the same height and size, not really replicating them true to life.”
Jewell nodded. “That’s a possibility.” She moved her cursor over the image, enhancing it. “It’s still out of focus but it’s clearer. Do you see an initial on each of the girl’s dresses?” She pointed to the yoke of the dress. “Right here.”
“I don’t know. Enlarging it only makes it blurrier.” Jewell got up, opened the chest with the printer, and got her tool belt. She brought it to the table.
“Is this better?” She and Beau looked through her magnifying glass at the computer screen. “I think I see an M, very faint, but it appears to be there in a yellowish-cream-colored paint, one on each of the dresses.”
“I can’t be sure.” He sat back. “Let’s assume there is an initial M on each dress and the girls are about the same age. What does that prove?”
Jewell shook her head. “Nothing. It gives us more possibilities and fewer dead ends.”
“I’ll concede that.” Beau leaned his elbows on the table and pulled the picture to normal view. “Who is this woman? Is that Aguste’s first wife, Louise Olivie, or his second wife, Claudette Isaure Joubert ?”