Voodoo on Bayou Lafonte

by Susan C. Muller

  He cut his eyes toward her. “I’ve carried a gun every day for twelve years. Now isn’t the time to stop. But I’ve never shot anyone and I don’t plan to start now. I just need to talk to them.”

  Her stomach churned, but she nodded. They had to find out. Too much time had passed since Adrienne disappeared. “Let me get changed and I’ll go with you.”

  “I’m going to ask you to do something that will be hard for you and you won’t want to do. I need you to finish your tea and go to bed. If there was anything you could do to help, I’d take you with me, but there’s not and it’s more important that you rest.”

  She opened her mouth to protest, but the words died in her throat. What was she going to do, hold Yvonne still while he beat her up? The way her legs trembled when she was making tea, she’d be lucky to remain standing.

  Her hand tingled and she looked down, expecting to see scarred, puckered flesh instead of the smooth, pink skin that stared back at her. The events of the day had definitely taken their toll.

  A golf-ball-sized lump formed in her throat. Her body had betrayed her. She didn’t have the strength to search for her own daughter. Now she had to put her faith in the one person she’d vowed never to trust again.

  Remy reached over and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “We can’t afford to both be tired. What if we have to go back to New Orleans, or somewhere? You could drive and I could sleep.”

  He always sounded so logical when telling her what she didn’t want to hear.

  “You promise you’re just going to talk?” She held his hand, peering into his eyes.

  “That’s my plan.”

  It wasn’t until she crawled into bed that she realized he hadn’t promised.

  The house was pitch-black and Remy waited patiently in a comfortable chair on the far side of the room. His thermos was still half full, but he didn’t need any more coffee. He was wide-awake.

  The air conditioner hummed as he ran his finger gently over the two dolls he’d removed from Yvonne Dupre’s altar. One was definitely Adrienne, a straw-filled poppet with cloth forming a dress and long, blond hair tied to what must have been meant to resemble her head. He recognized the second just as quickly. He’d seen one like it at Grand-mère’s so many years ago. A tiny bit of material no bigger than a peanut. Adrienne’s baby.

  He and Gabby had spent days trying to pretend the pregnancy test could mean any number of things. Not much question about it now.

  The two poppets had been nestled in the same herbs and roots as a male figure with glasses and a female with dark hair—Jean-Paul and Yvonne—so he didn’t immediately fear for their safety. However, the twenty-dollar bill and baggie of ground powder on the far side of the table worried him.

  What kind of trouble were these people into?

  Fifteen minutes later he’d finished searching the house. He had his answer, and it scared the shit out of him.

  Tires crunched on the gravel driveway and Remy picked up the poppets and placed them into his pocket.

  A rectangle of pale light backlit Jean-Paul as he stepped in the door. He fumbled with the light, flicking the switch up and down several times to no avail.

  Remy smiled in the dark. The kid could click the switch till his hand turned blue, but no light would come. The bulb sat on the table beside him.

  Remy pressed his thumb on the button he’d been hovering over since he heard a key turn in the lock.

  Jean-Paul’s cell phone rang and he grappled in the dark to answer.

  “Did you enjoy the graduation party?” Remy asked.

  Grinning, Remy watched as Jean-Paul almost dropped the phone when his voice came at him from two directions at once. Through the cell and from across the room.

  Remy switched on the lamp next to him and Jean-Paul’s jaw dropped. “What . . . what are you doing here? You can’t be in here. This is my house,” he stuttered.

  “Wrong, this is the bank’s house.” Remy hit ‘end call,’ and pocketed his phone. “Although, how your mother managed to get a loan or keep up the payments on her salary would make for an interesting investigation. I have a friend who’s a whiz at unraveling a paper trail. Do you want me to call him?”

  Jean-Paul’s pale face went even paler. “My mother bought this house with my father’s life insurance money when he died, six years ago.”

  “Wrong again. He’s been in jail for the last twelve years and in and out of the drunk tank before that.”

  The kid didn’t answer. He probably hadn’t known.

  “Now, I’m going to ask you a few questions. Think carefully before you answer, because three wrong answers and you’re out. Kind of like Who Wants to be a Millionaire? Except you don’t win any money and you’ve already screwed up twice. But, you and your mother just might avoid joining your father in prison. Although he’s in Wisconsin so it’s unlikely you’d actually see him.”

  Jean-Paul tried to suck in air, but from the color of his face, he wasn’t getting much.

  Remy waited for the kid to get a grip on himself. Any other time, he’d have had some sympathy for the boy, but not tonight. This pissant stood between him and Adrienne and if that meant he had to scare the crap right out of him, so be it.

  “Now, where has your mother been going at night, and what has she done with Adrienne?”

  “My mother’s at work. She works nights at the nursing home.”

  Remy shot to his feet and stood in front of Jean-Paul before the words died from the air. “That’s wrong answer number three. Tonight is the third time since Adrienne disappeared that your mother has called in sick.”

  The color drained from Jean-Paul’s face. “She wouldn’t miss watching me graduate if she didn’t have to work.”

  Remy shook his head. The kid was valedictorian of his class, for God’s sake. He couldn’t be that stupid, could he?

  “I don’t think you’ll like prison, kid. You’ll be somebody’s bitch before the cell door closes. Let me tell you the things I know about you and your mother.”

  Remy held up his hand and ticked the items off on his fingers.

  “In a locked back bedroom is the most complete drug lab I’ve seen in a long time. I found bags of powers and leaves and things I didn’t recognize, along with a professional-grade pill press.”

  “It’s not a drug lab,” Jean-Paul shouted. “None of those ingredients are illegal. The High Priest sends them over and my mother makes vitamins using a specific formula for each person’s needs. Like for me. Mine are to make me smart so I can make good grades and earn a scholarship. And they worked. I’m first in my class.”

  Spittle trickled out the side of the kid’s mouth as he grew more animated trying to explain. “Other people want to get pregnant, or not get pregnant. Or make money, or be safe from the police.” He flushed at the last one. “She’s offering a service. So she gets paid for it. You get paid for your job, don’t you?”

  The pills might have made Jean-Paul able to memorize facts or take a test, but they sure as hell hadn’t made him smart.

  “That baggie of cocaine isn’t legal and the rest of those ingredients aren’t sanitary. Your mother doesn’t have a certificate from the health department, and I sincerely doubt she pays sales tax. Who knows what crap she’s feeding people? If you think she wouldn’t get her ass shipped off to jail for what’s in that back room, you ought to give that diploma back.”

  Remy took a deep breath and ticked off item number two. “Do you think anyone will believe you weren’t in on it? I’ll hand over my next paycheck if we can’t find evidence you helped deliver her little goodie bags. What’s going to happen to your scholarship then, Einstein?”

  Remy held up a third finger. “And speaking of evidence, want to make a bet how long it will take me to find what kind of deal she had going with the bank man
ager to let her buy this house on a part-time aide’s salary?”

  He curled his fingers into a fist and held it in front of Jean-Paul’s face. “I don’t give a flying fuck what you or your mother do to people too stupid to live. Help me, and you two pushers can do whatever you want. I’ll never say a word. All I care about is my daughter. Where is she?”

  “I don’t know,” Jean-Paul sobbed.

  Remy could smell the fear pouring off the kid, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t still lie.

  He grabbed Jean-Paul by his shirt and slammed him against the wall. “I’m going to ask you one more time. What has your mother done with Adrienne?” If he kept this up, he might land in jail next to Jean-Paul and Yvonne. He could live with that . . . if it got Adrienne home safe.

  “She just took her to the doctor, all right? Then Adrienne got sick and it was dangerous to move her. She’s already feeling better and will be home in a couple of days.”

  Remy let the boy drop. “Why would your mother take my daughter to the doctor?” He knew the answer, but wanted to hear it said out loud.

  “She’s pregnant, okay? Adrienne didn’t want her mother or you to know. She was afraid you’d go all Jason Statham on her. Wonder where she got that idea?”

  Remy massaged his temples with one finger of each hand as pressure built behind his eyes. “Did she go for an abortion?”

  The first hint of gray peeked around the dingy curtains as Remy yanked out a kitchen chair and pushed on Jean-Paul’s shoulders until he sat. The only good news he’d heard in a week was that Adrienne hadn’t gone for an abortion. All she’d wanted to do was get checked out by a doctor and look at some adoption agencies.

  He glared at the weak-kneed, lily-livered, sorry excuse for a boyfriend in front of him and sighed. He’d shoot the boy himself if it wouldn’t be hard on Adrienne. No court in the land would convict him, but he didn’t want Adrienne to have to say, “Sorry, kid, your grandfather shot your daddy.”

  Was that how Grand-mère had felt about him and Gabby? At least he’d had the guts to knock on her door and tell her face-to-face when Gabby got pregnant. And the news couldn’t have come as that big a surprise. He and Gabby had been together almost day and night for two years.

  He’d asked Grand-mère for Gabby’s hand and had promised to take care of her and the baby. To his shame, Grand-mère had lived long enough to see him renege on that promise.

  This loser hadn’t even tried. He’d hidden behind his mother’s skirts. No way would he ever let this kid be his son-in-law. And there’d be ice-skating in Hell before he shared a holiday table with Yvonne Dupre.

  Remy glanced around the filthy kitchen. Dirty dishes and garbage that hadn’t been taken out in way too long. Not the place he wanted to discuss his precious daughter and future grandchild. But he had no choice.

  “All right, sit here and explain it to me.” Remy kept his hand on Jean-Paul’s shoulder, pinning him to the chair. “Exactly where is Adrienne right now, and what’s the matter with her?”

  “Sebastian Guidry, the High Priest, suggested we help Adrienne. He said she should have a plan in place when she told her mother.”

  Remy felt something unpleasant slither up his spine. That was the second time he’d heard about this Sebastian Guidry character. That moved checking him out right to the top of his to-do list.

  “And your mother went along with the idea?” Hell, Yvonne probably just wanted the whole problem to go away and not cause her any trouble. She might even be getting a kickback. What did selling a baby bring in these days?

  “She kind of works for him. I don’t think she had much choice.”

  So what was a drug-pushing faker doing sticking his nose in Adrienne’s business? “Why does he care what Adrienne does about the baby?”

  Jean-Paul shrugged but didn’t answer.

  If the kid would at least sit up straight, look him in the eye, maybe he could dredge up some respect for him.

  Remy slapped the table, and Jean-Paul jumped as the sound echoed through the room. “I’m through messing around here. I want some answers.”

  The tremble in Jean-Paul’s voice made Remy want to puke. “I think he has someone in mind to adopt the baby.”

  Remy’s blood froze. Some old voodoo priest wanted to have a say in what happened to his grandbaby? “And who would that be, someone named Guidry?”

  “I don’t know, a powerful family in Lafayette. He claims the baby has strong powers. That he’ll be better off living with people who know how to handle that type of thing.”

  “He?”

  “Yeah, Sebastian says the baby is a boy.”

  The crazy old man didn’t have any more idea of the baby’s gender than the owl calling outside, so why did hearing the baby was a boy make his heart clutch?

  “And Adrienne fell for his nonsense?”

  Jean-Paul’s head drooped even farther. “He has a way of talking to you that’s kind of hard to ignore. When he tells you to do something, it’s like you have to do it.”

  “Where did they take Adrienne if she’s so sick? Is she in a hospital?” Could he believe the boy if he did answer? Probably not.

  “I swear I don’t know. They never tell me anything.”

  Remy’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Then tell me this one thing and maybe I won’t beat the snot out of you. She’s so sick she couldn’t come home for over a week and you don’t care enough about your own baby’s health to even go see her?”

  Jean-Paul lifted his head. “Who told you that?”

  “Do you think I’m an idiot, boy? You and all her friends say she hasn’t dated anyone all year. That you’re the only male she’s been close to since last fall. Then you take her to the prom and she turns up pregnant. I know how that goes.”

  “She went to the prom with me to get the kids at school and my mom off my back. I would never touch her that way.” His face twisted in disgust. “I’m gay.”

  Chapter 26

  It had to be morning because Adrienne could see across the room, but not a bit of color showed. The whole world was a uniform gray. She tried to close her eyes and go back to sleep, but the pressure on her bladder made that impossible.

  She threw back the cover and stumbled off her cot, her eyes only slits that she closed completely when she reached the makeshift toilet. There had been a time, in the early days, that she wouldn’t sit without inspecting the area for bugs or other creepy-crawlies. Now she didn’t care.

  The cool plastic of the seat contrasted with the rough wood of the base and lid. So far, nothing had jumped the four or five feet up from the water to bite her rear, but she still hurried to finish.

  Her mouth was so dry her lips stuck to her teeth. She reached for the bottle of water beside her cot and spied the new pills Mrs. Dupre had left for her.

  Sebastian’s voice buzzed in her head. “Take one first thing in the morning,” he’d instructed her. This was definitely first thing in the morning.

  The pill hung in her throat and she gulped more water to wash the tablet down, trying not to gag on the foul taste.

  A breeze made the cabin cooler than it had been all week. Maybe she could sleep a while longer. She threw herself on the cot and draped one arm over her eyes. She dreamed of floating on a plastic raft in a crystal clear swimming pool. The raft bobbed and swayed, drifting farther and farther away. Her father called to her to come back. She’d spent the last year so angry with him. Now she wanted his arms around her, and all she could do was watch him grow smaller and smaller in the distance.

  A clap of thunder shook the cabin and her eyes flew open. The room wasn’t any brighter, but she had to pee again, so an hour had to have passed, right? The air weighed on her like a stone sitting on her chest.

  She stood by the screen door watching the sky. No sign of sunrise appeared t
o the east. If anything, the day was darker than it had been when she woke before.

  The first raindrops hit the galerie so hard they bounced. If her back didn’t hurt so bad, she’d stay in bed all day. Could she drag the rocker inside and sleep sitting on it?

  The rain had become a torrent by the time she wrestled the chair inside. She could feel the floor sway beneath her feet. Lightning lit the little cabin with a fireworks display. And after each flash, thunder rumbled close enough that the sound waves felt like a solid force.

  Her head pounded along with every boom. Wind rushed through the cabin, howling in protest, and trees swayed outside, adding to the noise level. There was no way she could sleep through this storm. She pulled the shutters closed as rain blew inside.

  She should try to eat something, but her throat felt the width of a piano wire. Her body ached as if she were coming down with the flu, but how was that possible? She hadn’t been around anyone to catch a cold from.

  The old man. He had coughed and wheezed in her face. No wonder he looked so frail. He was sick. And now she was, too.

  Something hot might help her throat. A bowl of soup or a cup of tea. She glanced toward the butane burner and a wave of nostalgia swept over her. How many times had she laughed at her mother for saying a cup of tea would make everything better?

  What she’d give for her mother to make her one now. Maybe that would help get rid of the nasty taste in her mouth.

  What exactly was that taste? Adrienne’s heart froze. The pills. Had she taken one of them?

  She grabbed the bottle and counted. Three were in the bottle when she checked last night. Two fell out into the palm of her hand when she tipped the bottle over.

  The rocker clattered to the floor as she pushed back and ran for the toilet. The swamp smell helped as she stuck her finger down her throat and gagged. A little liquid came up, but nothing else.

  Now her throat burned as well as ached. She stood, and the pressure to pee grew all-consuming. It had only been ten minutes. She couldn’t have anything left, could she? Only a small stream came out, but that didn’t relieve the pressure.