A Darker Shade of Midnight

by Lynn Emery

  “But boss— ”

  “This here ain’t nothin’ but a bunch of wild herbs from out in the swamp. My granny was a traiteur. Used to see her lay all kinds of plants out to dry. This here, use it for a tea to settle the stomach.” Sheriff Triche repeated the taste test from the other two bags. “Herbs”

  Gautreau drew himself up and his jaw muscle tightened again. “Well maybe so, but we better be sure with all the drugs coming through. We got a real problem in this parish. I’m gonna keep these.”

  Sheriff Triche puffed out a long-suffering sigh. “Right, law and order to impress the voters. Them same voters find out you wastin’ their tax dollars on tea leaves and you’ll hear from ‘em. Once you find out these are just medicinal plants she’ll get her property back.”

  “You’re in charge,” Gautreau replied in a dry tone.

  “Yeah,” Sheriff Triche said. He looked at Gautreau until the man walked off.

  Deputy Broussard looked at LaShaun with curiosity. She could see the wheels turning as he wondered about her, and her past. She knew he was sorting through what he’d heard about the Rousselle family, and comparing that to his boss’s behavior toward her.

  “LaShaun, come talk with me a minute in my office.” Sheriff Triche gestured for her to follow. His gaze sent a silent message at Deputy Arceneaux and she followed them.

  “Glad to visit with you, Sheriff.”

  LaShaun walked between the sheriff and the female deputy. The audience sat still and quiet as though they were watching a drama unfold. When a phone rang a tall dark brown deputy swore and snatched up the receiver.

  “Now I feel like I’m really in trouble. Or maybe I’m being treated special. Be careful, Sheriff Triche. Folks will talk when they hear about this, and I don’t want Mrs. Triche mad at me,” LaShaun joked.

  Sheriff Triche only grunted in response. When they arrived at his office, he stood aside after opening the door. Half of one wall was glass with vinyl blinds hung to provide privacy if needed. Deputy Arceneaux nodded for LaShaun to go first.

  “Thank you, ma’am. You’re safe with me, Sheriff. You don’t need Deputy Arceneaux here to protect your reputation.”

  “Getting more like your grandmother I see,” Sheriff Triche retorted. He waited until Deputy Arceneaux closed the door before he went on.

  “Was that meant as a compliment or insult?” LaShaun grinned at him.

  “Both.” Sheriff Triche squinted at her for a few seconds then his expression relaxed. “Damn it girl, you barely crossed the parish line and already you causin’ me headaches.”

  “I’m so sorry. Never mind I’ve been sitting around this grim place for almost two hours being gawked at like a zoo animal.” LaShaun crossed her arms. “Wonder who told that cute deputy to stop me?”

  “Chase is doin’ his job.” Sheriff Triche gave a slight shrug when LaShaun arched an eyebrow. “You know how you left things. Not much has changed.”

  “Like I believe in coincidences. The Trosclair family still running things I see.” LaShaun pressed her lips tight and gazed back at the sheriff.

  Sheriff Triche looked at Deputy Arceneaux and seconds later she left quietly. The door made a soft bump as closed. The sheriff wiped a hand over his face and sighed.

  “Don’t start with the conspiracy theories, okay? I’m betting when Deputy Broussard brought you in somebody told him about you.”

  “Like Deputy Arceneaux? And I know she didn’t go very far, so I’ll keep my hands visible so she doesn’t rush in here and jump me,” LaShaun said. She didn’t smile this time.

  “You know damn well Myrtle don’t gossip. One of the best officers I got. Chase ain’t bad, just a little… intense.” Sheriff Triche stood and went to a compact refrigerator on a table in one corner of the wide office. He took out two bottles and closed it again. Then he grabbed an old-fashioned bottle opener and popped off the tops. “Have some Barq’s Crème Soda. Still your favorite I bet. Got some corn chips in here, too.”

  LaShaun studied him as he came back and held one of the bottles to her. After a few seconds, she took it. “If you pull out onion dip and some lace napkins I’m gonna faint.”

  Sheriff Triche barked a gruff laugh. “We won’t need the smelling salts then.”

  “So, you plan tell me who’s still got me on their list?” LaShaun took a swig of crème soda and waited.

  “We don’t have that much time.” Sheriff Triche put a toothpick in his mouth and chewed it for a few seconds. “But you got it right when you mentioned the Trosclair kin. Claude’s brother and other relatives won’t come at you in the open. Because of Quentin.”

  “My bad taste in men comes back to haunt me.” LaShaun turned the cold, long-necked bottle of crème soda in her hands. “Be nice if you told me Quentin has moved out of town, and the Trosclair family isn’t rich or powerful anymore.”

  “Would be nice, but it would be a lie.” Sheriff Triche took out the toothpick and tossed it in the trash. “He’s a Trosclair to the bone, thinks he owns the world and nobody can touch him.”

  Quentin Trosclair. LaShaun’s former undercover lover and fellow suspect in the murder of his own grandfather. The alleged motive was money of course, and lots of it. “The Trosclairs may not own the world, but they sure got a big piece of Vermillion Parish. Last time I checked Quentin hasn’t spent even one minute in jail.”

  “Humph.” Sheriff Triche’s bushy gray eyebrows crunched until they looked like a wooly caterpillar. He rubbed his hands together. Frustration that he hadn’t been able to clamp handcuffs on Quentin radiated from him in a red-hot aura.

  “As fun as this stroll down memory lane is, Sheriff, I’d rather be on my way.” LaShaun set the soda bottle down on his desk. “If y’all don’t have evidence to arrest me on something I’m leaving.”

  “Everybody around town figured you’d be back because your grandmamma is real sick. But Deputy Broussard really did stop you for that broken taillight. We’ve picked up more than a few drug runners and fugitives from traffic stops.”

  “If you say so.” LaShaun knew he made sense, but wasn’t ready to concede just yet. “But he did recognize my name.”

  “Rousselle name carries its own unique reputation you might say. So yeah, when he called it in I’m sure somebody gave him the 411.” Sheriff Triche nodded. “Hell, I knew you were back about two minutes after Chase called in your driver’s license number.”

  “I didn’t miss living in a fish bowl,” LaShaun retorted.

  “The Trosclair family has powerful friends. Not that you didn’t piss off a few more folks in your time,” Sheriff Triche said. “With your grandmamma being down sick folks might feel little safe comin’ at ya. If you know what I mean.”

  LaShaun stood. “I’m here to spend time with Monmon Odette, that’s all. If you don’t mind I’d like to go now.”

  Sheriff Triche stood. “One more thing, your family ain’t been exactly harmonious. I heard talk about feuds over her land and such.”

  “There’s no place like home,” LaShaun said with a grunt. “Thanks for the warning. By the way, why are you giving me the heads up on all this stuff?”

  “Hoping it might help ward off another big mess. I’ve dropped a few words of warnin’ to various other citizens, too.” Sheriff Triche tapped a forefinger against his temple.

  “You’ve got a sharp brain inside that old Cajun head.” LaShaun put her hands on her hips.

  “Steer clear of Quentin and trouble.”

  “Yes, sir.” LaShaun snapped to attention and gave him a military salute.

  Sheriff Triche shook his head and pointed to the door. “Lawd, have mercy. I’m about to retire in a few months, and you come back to town. Go on then.”

  LaShaun lowered her hand and gazed back at him. “Sheriff, if there’s any trouble it won’t be because I started it.”

  “Humph.” The sheriff didn’t sound convinced as he followed her out of his office.

  Deputy Arceneaux had been leaning against the wall of the
hallway. She stood straight when she saw them and fell in step behind Sheriff Triche.

  “I feel so safe with all this police presence,” LaShaun joked.

  The three of them reached the big open room. Once again, all chatter and noise quieted as they entered. Deputy Broussard was talking to Deputy Gautreau, and the exchange didn’t look friendly. LaShaun once again picked up on the bad blood between them.

  “Sir,” Deputy Broussard said, and looked at his boss expectantly.

  “Until you find out these ain’t illegal substances LaShaun can go on to Monmon Odette’s.”

  “Okay.” Deputy Broussard nodded.

  “But she could leave anytime,” Gautreau said.

  “Right now we don’t have enough to hold her. I still know the law even with one foot out the door.” Sheriff Triche rubbed his forehead and winced. “Now just do what I say.”

  “My grandmother is seriously ill, so I have no plans to leave for at least two weeks.” LaShaun gazed at Sheriff Triche and then at Deputy Gautreau.

  “No probable cause.” Sheriff Triche gestured for LaShaun to follow him.

  “I didn’t write out the ticket for that broken taillight.” Deputy Broussard wrote the ticket. He tore off the short white piece of paper and held it out to LaShaun. “You have to pay the fine or report to traffic court.”

  “I’ll pay the fine since I’m guilty. But for the record if any other broken tail lights show up I didn’t do it.” LaShaun took the ticket and smiled at Deputy Broussard, her lips parted. He stared back at her mouth. “And you can’t prove I did even if you try.”

  “Lawd, have mercy.” Sheriff Triche muttered and heaved a sigh.

  LaShaun flipped her fingertips at them as her only goodbye. Despite her insolent, hip-swaying exit from the Sheriff’s station her legs felt shaky. When she reached the parking lot LaShaun took in a deep breath of the cool March night air. Once inside the Mercury Mariner, she exhaled and locked the door. Though she should have known better than to issue that challenge, LaShaun had been unable to stop herself. After all, she was Francine’s daughter and Odette LaGrange Rousselle’s granddaughter. Challenging authority was most likely coded into her DNA.

  * * *

  The digital clock glowing in soft green on her dashboard said it was almost eleven thirty. The dark night of rural Louisiana hugged the Mercury Mariner on all sides as she drove down the country highway. After another fifteen minutes of driving LaShaun turned off Highway 77 onto the black top road called Rousselle Lane. A few twists and turns brought her to Monmon Odette’s driveway. A curtain twitched and moments later the front door cracked open. LaShaun opened the driver’s side door and got out. Her cousin Rita stood in the doorway, the bright porch light washed over her. She put both hands on her wide hips.

  “Monmon kept asking about you. She was about to make me call out the sheriff’s department to find you.” Rita crossed the screened porch and let the screen door slap shut behind her.

  “Just so happens they could have told you exactly where I was. One of your diligent deputies hauled me in. Got three bags. Grab this little one. I’ll get the others”

  “Damn, that didn’t take long. You already pissed somebody off?” Rita stared at her for a few seconds.

  “I’m not that good at being bad.” LaShaun handed Rita a bag. “How’s Monmon been today?” LaShaun went to the rear of the SUV. She unlocked the hatch and picked up both suitcases.

  “Sleeping a lot. She’s getting weaker in body and mind. She talks a lot about the past, most of it in Creole French, so I can’t understand. I fixed up your room.” Rita didn’t wait for her, but went up the porch steps and disappeared into the house.

  “Thanks,” LaShaun said to empty night air. She went inside and placed her bags in the hallway.

  Not seeing her cousin, LaShaun followed the smell of food to the kitchen. She breathed in the scent of onions, peppers, and garlic. A large electric skilled was set to the warm setting. Inside was jambalaya. A woven basket held a loaf of French bread. Minutes later Rita came to the kitchen. Rita turned from the stove when LaShaun came in.

  “Monmon fixed that for you. She wouldn’t let me cook. Says she’s the only one knows how to prepare your favorites.” Rita’s tone held an edge.

  “She’s got an iron will. How are you?” LaShaun tried to ease the tension that crackled in the air between them.

  “I’m doing fine. Since you’re here I’m moving back to my place.” Rita turned to go.

  “Hey, you don’t have to leave tonight. There’s plenty of room.” LaShaun caught up with her halfway down the hall.

  “I put clean towels in your bathroom.”

  LaShaun smiled at her. “C’mon, we can hang out and catch up.”

  “I’m going home. The home health aide is named Tasha Easley. She comes three times a week to help. And the nurse comes by to check her vitals once a week.” Rita said.

  “I really appreciate all you’ve done.” LaShaun started to say more but Rita cut her off.

  “Monmon Odette will want to spend time alone with you.” Rita left was through the front door and in her Ford Mustang before LaShaun could say goodbye. The headlights flashed against the house as she turned the car around to leave.

  LaShaun sighed as she locked the front door. She instinctively turned into the living room to her left. The sights and smells of her grandmother’s house acted like a time machine. One long sofa sat against a wall. A painting of Monmon’s house and part of the woods surrounding it hung just above it. Two other smaller paintings of bayou scenes hung on two other walls. Over the fireplace was a portrait of a breathtaking woman, Odette when she was a woman of thirty. A baby grand piano sat in one corner of the room. The polished walnut finish gleamed as always. Most people didn’t know it, but Monmon Odette was an accomplished pianist. LaShaun went to it and traced the fingers of one hand along the carved music desk above the keys. Then she sat down and gently played the first few notes of “Over The Rainbow”.

  “Why you actin’ like you scared of them keys? Play the song right. That’s one of my favorites.” Monmon Odette said from the doorway.

  She leaned heavily to one side on a thick carved wooden cane. Her skin had the color and texture of ancient brown parchment. Her white hair was combed back, and her scalp showed through in spots where it had thinned. The dark eyes still hinted at some secret power. She wore stud earrings. The twin gold beads gleamed as she moved her head. Then she smiled with affection. The years seemed to slip away. A remnant of the beautiful woman she in the portrait came through. LaShaun once again knew why Monmon Odette was a legend in Vermilion Parish. Nothing short of magic seemed to flow from that smile. Yet, LaShaun also knew the truth.

  Chapter 3

  LaShaun answered by playing the song as though she were in a grand concert hall. She repeated the opening notes then let them tinkle like flowing water. Monmon Odette continued to smile as she sat down in the nearest stuffed chair. LaShaun ended the tune with a flourish that would have made any conductor proud.

  “Humph, now you’re just showin’ off,” Monmon Odette said when the final note died away. She put the walking cane aside and stretched out a hand to LaShaun. “Welcome home, my sweet baby girl.”

  LaShaun went to her. She kissed the hand that had guided her through childhood. Now the knuckles were knotted, the tapered fingers weakened by arthritis. Yet, the skin appeared strangely smooth.

  “Bon soir, Monmon. You should be in bed.” LaShaun kissed her forehead. She breathed in the familiar scent of Cashmere Bouquet. The fragrance of lavender and chamomile came from another era.

  “So, you finally come home. To watch me die, eh?” Monmon Odette patted LaShaun’s cheek.

  “To celebrate your life, sweet mother,” LaShaun whispered. A tear slipped down her face. No need to make pointless protestations otherwise. They both knew Monmon Odette’s time on earth was growing shorter.

  Monmon Odette shushed away her sadness with a soft hiss. She produced a scented lace
handkerchief from the pocket of her robe and dabbed away the tear. LaShaun sat on the floor and rested her head in Monmon Odette’s lap.

  “Don’t grieve just yet, Cher . The blood is still runnin’ warm in these old veins. I’ve got just enough time left I think.”

  “Time for what?” LaShaun toyed with the hem of her grandmother’s cotton gingham robe.

  “You’ll know soon enough. But tonight you need rest after a long journey. You’ve come back home through time and space I think,” Monmon Odette murmured.

  LaShaun looked up at her. “Has anything changed here?”

  Monmon Odette patted her shoulder as a signal she wanted to stand. With a short grunt from the effort, and a hand from LaShaun, she rose from the chair. Monmon Odette held LaShaun’s arm as they walked down the hallway to her bedroom.

  “Some things are eternal. The movement of the wind, the heat on the bayou when summer comes. All that is the same.”

  “The land stays the same if people don’t ruin it. Like they ruin a lot of things,” LaShaun said softly.

  “Human nature doesn’t change either, Cher .” Monmon stopped and gave LaShaun a sideways glance. “The same deadly sins rule a man’s nature.”

  “And women,” LaShaun added raising an eyebrow back at her.

  Monmon Odette laughed and started walking again. “True. But age does make a difference. When you get to be old you look at things differently.”

  They arrived at the door to her grandmother’s bedroom. As they entered, LaShaun let her go in first. Then she fluffed the down pillows as her grandmother sank onto the bed. LaShaun helped her remove the robe and ease back onto the pillows. Once she’d tucked the vintage quilt around Monmon Odette’s chest her grandmother sighed.

  “Thank you, sweet girl. Now sit with me awhile.”

  LaShaun sank onto the cushioned seat of a large oak rocking chair next to the bed. A Bible was on the nightstand. “Of course. Shall I read to you?”

  “Non.”