FEVER DREAMS: A Bracken and Bledsoe Paranormal Mystery

by April Campbell Jones

  “Better a live wreck then a dead one, huh?”

  Actually she’d rather looked more beautiful. But I wasn’t going to tell her that with the sheriff looming over us.

  I squeezed her shoulder. “You should rest.”

  “So should you.”

  “In a minute. You go lie down with Garbanzo in the bow. I’ll sit up with the Sheriff for a few minutes, make sure he doesn’t rape you.”

  She made a face, hugged me again and went to check on the cat.

  The sheriff had brought the sun with him; the rain storm, however punishing, had ended as abruptly as it began. Cormac offered me an olive-green army blanket as I sat next to him on the stern seat, but the returning heat and humidity soon had me tossing it off, letting the wind from the speeding craft dry me. You wouldn’t credit how little time that took.

  And so we sped back to civilization.

  “Lotta gators and cottonmouths out this far,” the sheriff called above the fan blade roar, “not the best place for a little dinghy!”

  I nodded into the wind. “You mean an inexperienced sailor! How on earth did you find us?”

  Cormac smiled routinely. “Two places I keep an eye on in my jurisdiction—one’s the old witch shack—I haul canned goods out to the old woman once or twice a month, plus fresh lamp oil. The other’s Stubby McKenzie’s boat rental!

  I nodded squint-eyed into the wind, almost dry. “I had a feeling Mama Grace subsisted on more than just fish and gator meat! So that’s how she does it!”

  “That’s how she does it! But don’t sell ole Gracie short, she’d live on clams and crayfish just fine if she had to! A survivor, that one! I think she only puts up with me for the company!”

  “What about the boat rental?”

  “I generally go easy on Captain McKenzie when he rips the tourists for a few bucks! But when the kid returned and Stubby found half a fifty dollar bill there amid the take, even he got nervous! Gave me a call!”

  I shook my head. “Then I guess I can’t quite hate him! Quite a team, though, those two!”

  Cormac chuckled. “You cud write a book!”

  I looked around the flat-bottomed craft, twisted back to appraise the big propeller enclosed in its protective metal cage; the sound it made was thunderous.

  “Airplane propeller?” I shouted to Cormac.

  He nodded.

  “Motor, too?”

  He shook his head. “Nah. A water-cooled, V-8 Chevy engine! 125 horses! Bigger nuisance than an aircraft engine, more moving parts, but it’s what my salary can afford! Cheaper gas, though!” He smiled back at the trembling engine. “She’s a relic! The new ones have those mufflers and multi-blade carbon-fiber props--lot quieter! But Lilly Belle here does the job!”

  I looked it over, not without admiration. “How do you steer the damn thing?”

  Cormac pointed. “The stick! Vertical rudders at the stern. The fan makes it go--passes air over the rudders—no movement, no steering!”

  “Brakes?”

  The sheriff laughed. “A luxury! Won’t go in reverse neither!”

  “So how do you stop it?”

  “Skill and luck! Mostly the latter!” He pointed past my shoulder. “Have a look yonder at the south bank there!”

  I turned. The airboat was speeding down a wider canal now lined by mostly stumpy foliage and cattails. The south bank was rich with dark grass, thick and green as Bermuda, a dark sward sweeping upward to a magnificent if slightly weathered antebellum two-story, flanked by stain-marred white statues of naked Grecians and an empty, Olympic size pool. A crowd of locals that appeared to be growing gathered in the wide backyard, some still closing dripping umbrellas, others walking among what looked like damp blankets and plastic traps spread in even tiers over the lawn, various sizes and shapes of antique paraphernalia poking above them.

  I craned over as we approached, then turned to the sheriff. “Garage sale?”

  “What’s a garage?”

  For a moment I thought he was serious, then the killer smile again. “Got mostly carriage houses here down south! This is more like a lawn sale! Estate sale, really! That’s the generations-old Jenner mansion! The old man finally kicked! His two daughters are swooping in to dice up the property, sell off all his so-called valuable antique collection!”

  “In the rain?”

  “If folks round here let the rain stop ‘em, they’d never get nothing done! The good stuff is in the house! This is just the old man’s bigger stuff! Reminds ya of that movie, huh? What’s it called?”

  “Citizen Kane.”

  “That’s it!”

  I sat watching the growing crowd on the hill with fascination.

  Cormac leaned toward me. “One man’s junk is another’s fortune, though! Look there--the Robichous’ scow tied to the dock! Ole Dean’ll know the lame from the largesse, you can believe it!‘Scuse me!”

  Cormac went for the cell phone in his shirt pocket. It must have been on vibration, you couldn’t hear the frogs over the fan’s roar.

  “Sheriff here…”

  I saw his expression darken, grow sober.

  “…yeah? And this was when? Huh. Awright. I got it. No, I’m on the river right now, across from the old Jenner place. Yeah, I know he is. Right. Half an hour. Ten-four.”

  He replaced the cellular and immediately cut the engine; the ensuing silence deafening; I could hear the low buzz of voices now from the roaming crowd on shore. Cormac shoved the stick and the rapidly slowing fan-boat began to swing toward the dock. “Sorry. Looks like I got a little business at the Jenner place. You folks in a hurry?”

  “Too happy to be alive to notice.”

  He grinned. “Shouldn’t take long.”

  Either the sudden silence woke Katie lying in the bow or she had been awake already.

  I stood from the narrow seat, found my sea legs and stepped gingerly toward her.

  “Hey, sleeping beauty. How’re we feeling?”

  She swept back her hair, eyes focusing shoreward. “Where are we?”

  “Making a pit stop. Someplace called the old Jenner mansion. Owners are having an estate sale. Cormac’s apparently got some quick business there.”

  “Oh?”

  I knelt down to the cat cage, peered in. “Anybody home--?”

  Twin coals burned up at me from within.

  “Garbanzo looks none the worse for wear.”

  “Is that the Robichous’ barge. Elliot?”

  “I think it’s called a river scow, but yes. Out antique gathering on a rainy day.” And as an afterthought: “Even with a son missing.”

  Katie straightened on the keel. “People have to eat, go on with their lives.”

  “Yeah.”

  “How you feelin,’ Miss Katie!” Cormac grinned behind the stick, maneuvering toward a vacant slip now, larger boats, even some yachts, bordering it.

  “Dandy, thanks to you!”

  “Atta girl!”

  “Captain Bledsoe says we’re making a port of call.”

  “A quick one. You folks can stay in the boat if you like, rest up.”

  Katie gathered up her damp shoulder bag, rifled through it. “I’d like to go ashore if it’s all right.”

  “Sure you’re up to it?” from the handsome, caring cop.

  “I’m fine. Would you mind?”

  The sheriff shrugged. “Jest wearin’ my taxi hat now, totally up to you folks.”

  I touched Katie’s arm, turned her toward me with lowered voice. “What are we doing?”

  She had that mind-made-up look. “I want to see Mrs. Robichou.”

  “Angel? Why?”

  Katie sneaked a peek over her shoulder at the sheriff, then shifted her back more fully to him, opened the purse wider so I could see the shiny locket.

  “Katie!”

  “Sh!”

  “I thought you said—“

  “I know what I said, Elliot, and I know the risk! She may accuse me of stealing it! But we need to stay in that family’s goo
d graces to complete this investigation! I’m just going to have to convince her I’m not a thief, that’s all!”

  “How?”

  She sighed, looked to shore; the slip was coming up smoothly under the sheriff’s hand. “I don’t know how. The truth’s usually a good start…”

  “That you found the locket in your pocket? That Amy put it there?”

  Katie swept the hill, the townsfolk picking their way through the blankets of spinning wheels, cast iron lawn deer. “She wants help, Elliot, I could see it in her eyes! She wants to know what happened to her daughter!”

  I felt a bump under us. Gator!

  But it was only the broad nose of the fan-boat nudging the dock. Cormac was up and out and lashing us to a piling. “You folks joining me?”

  “We’re coming!” Katie called.

  I picked up the cat cage. “Doesn’t sound like he wants us to,” I muttered, rising.

  “Really?” Katie remarked innocently. “Sounded like he wanted me to!”

  “Screw you,” I told her.

  She pressed a histrionic palm to her breast, affected her best Vivian Leigh. “Sir! You are addressin’ a lady of position! If you don’t behave I shall be obliged to be escorted by Sheriff Cormac.”

  “I’m sure. Probably got a favorite position of his own.”

  * * *

  I saw Dean Robichou straight away.

  He was standing above a trinket-filled tarp, appraising a brass-colored oil lamp turning slowly in his hands. He glanced up once--I know he saw me--but he looked away again immediately without bothering to hide the unfriendly scowl.

  Great. I knew this was a bad idea.

  “Do you see Angel?” Katie craned beside me.

  “Not yet. Maybe she didn’t come along today, felt it unseemly so soon after Roger. There’s Dean, though.”

  She stood on her toes. “I can’t see his face, does he look friendly?”

  “He looks like he just came out of the swamp to protect his eggs.”

  “Don’t jump to conclusions, partner. He always has that scowl. Like the seventh dwarf—what was his name, Mopey, Cranky--?”

  “Crappy, I think.”

  “It was Grumpy. Why don’t you be polite and go say hi?”

  “Can I have the gris-gris bag back?”

  “Katie? Elliot--?”

  We turned to find Angel Robichou coming through the crowd, wearing a bright summer dress and a brighter smile. She was prettier than I’d remembered out here in the bright sunlight, the rain leaving everything sharp, the air perfumed.

  “Angel!” Katie caught her hand. “I’m so glad to see you!”

  “Likewise! My! Looks like you two got caught in the rain!”

  Katie looked down at herself. “Yes, we’re all wet…” she looked up again hesitantly at Angel. “…maybe in more ways than one. Look, Angel, I’ve been wanting to see you…”

  “My gumbo give you heartburn, did it? Try a little ginger ale.”

  “The dinner was wonderful, thank-you again. Actually…”

  Katie finally shrugged off her handbag, began digging through it.

  Angel brightened. “Oh, that reminds me! I’ve been wanting to see you, too! Look!”

  Katie looked up from her purse. Angel was holding up Amy’s shiny gold locket and chain to bright sunlight.

  Aware my mouth had dropped open, I shut it.

  Katie’s hand froze over her purse. “You…found it?”

  Angel nodded, looked a shade wistful suddenly. “Back in Amy’s jewel box. As usual.” She shrugged, eyes a little moist. “I’m not really surprised…but, every time it happens I still feel a little…well…” She pressed her lips together, clutched the locket tight in her fist.

  Katie blinked at her a moment, then went quickly back to pretend digging in her bag. When she glanced up again, her eyes caught mine.

  They looked, for the first time, genuinely spooked.

  “I’ve got sunscreen if you need some,” from Angel.

  Katie closed her purse with nervous fingers. “No…no I’m fine, thanks.”

  “Oh. Well. I-I hope we didn’t…at supper the other night…It’s been a little strained for us, with Roger gone and all. I hope you’ll forgive him if Dean got a little out of hand.”

  “It’s perfectly understandable,” Katie told her, and touched her hand.

  “Have you heard any news at all about your son?” I asked gently.

  Angel shook her head. “Not yet. Still waiting for the blood work and so forth—“

  “Angel!”

  Husband Dean was striding purposefully toward us down the lawn, not watching where he stepped, leaving a wet mark on one of the blankets, kicking a toy trumpet. From his look I thought he was merely angry with his wife for socializing with the whacky couple from Texas. Then I saw Sheriff Cormac trailing behind him. And the look on his face.

  And I knew Roger Robichou had been found.

  SIXTEEN

  The three of us shared the fan-boat seat this time, the sheriff at the portside stick, me on the far right, Katie sandwiched between. I’m not sure how it became arranged that way, maybe Cormac did it, something to do with Katie’s bare thigh?

  Everyone had to bark to be heard, of course, as the sheriff ferried us back to my T-bird parked at the curb above the boat rental dock.

  “Poor Angel!” Katie shouted into the wind.

  Cormac shook a sympathetic head. “Dean, too!” Shook it again with gritted teeth. “Poor simple folks! Only had the two children. First Amy, now Roger!”

  Katie bounced with the skimming craft, head bowed, ignoring the buffeting wind.

  “Where’d they find him?” I shouted.

  “New Orleans P.D. discovered him! Crack house over to Tullyville! Christ! Goddamn shame!”

  “They suspect foul play?”

  “Nah,” Cormac called over Katie’s motionless head, “the spike was still in his arm! We’re starting a brand new tox report but apparently the ME was pretty sure it was self-inflicted overdose!” Another grim headshake. “Roger! Known him since junior high! What a waste!”

  He turned with concern to the woman slumped beside him. “You okay, Miss Katie?”

  Katie nodded, smiled weak assurance.

  * * *

  Cormac dropped us at the Blackbird parked freckled with tree sap and bird droppings, and looking less and less classic. His own patrol car was parked a few spaces over. But he walked us to the Bird anyway. “Hard thing to see, folks you know sufferin’ like that. Hard thing to see.”

  “Yes,” from Katie tonelessly.

  I unlocked the passenger side of the Thunderbird, held the door for her. “Thanks again for the rescue, Sheriff. We’d have been goners without you.” And I offered my hand.

  “Anytime, s’what I’m here for, protect and serve. Oh--!” He reached into his khaki shirt pocket and handed me the torn-in-half fifty. “Believe this is yours.”

  I held it out to Katie. “Thank-you,” she nodded absently, then looked up with the strained smile again, “for everything.”

  “All in a day’s work. You folks okay to drive back to the motel now? Be happy to give you a lift.”

  “We’re fine,” I smiled, a little tired of holding open the door but sensing Cormac wasn’t quite through with us.

  “Well…thanks again,” from Katie, who offered him her own hand.

  “What’s next for you folks?”

  Katie hesitated, half in and half out of the car, and turned around to him. “A hot shower and some dry clothes, I suppose.”

  Cormac nodded companionably. “About the case, I mean. Amy’s. Still aim to pursue it, do you?”

  Katie shaded her eyes from late afternoon sun, squinted up wearily at the tall officer. “Yes, of course. Why do you ask?”

  Cormac shook his head. “No reason. Just…”

  “Just’ what?” from me, hand on the door.

  Cormack shuffled. “You know…Angel’s been through a lot already. Might need a rest from all
this, if you catch my meaning.”

  Katie stayed in place, palm over brow. “I do catch it. She’s being abandoned by degrees. But I think she’d feel further abandoned if we just up and left now, don’t you?”

  The sheriff turned his head, looked off toward the swamp.

  Katie stood squinting, waiting.

  Cormac finally nodded vaguely. “Maybe. I can see your point.”

  “But you don’t agree?”

  The sheriff watched the reddening western sky, the darkening swamp. “Something you folks need to understand. And I say this as an officer and a friend. Folks around here are…’superstitious’ ain’t exactly the right word, but bayou people are a funny breed. Tend to keep to themselves mostly. Yet at the same time, everyone seems to know everybody else’s business. Probably seems strange to you all.”

  “Not entirely,” I said. “It’s a small town.”

  He nodded. “That’s part of it, sure. But most of it is Cajuns. Some still speak French only. Not that they ain’t hospitable enough, just…used to their ways, you might put it. Slow to warm to other people’s ways.”

  “Outsiders,” Katie said flatly.

  Cormac grinned. “Well, we do get our tourists comin’ through in the fishin’ season.”

  I could see his point. “No reason they should warm to out-of-towners. It’s their town.”

  He nodded. “That’s it! Used to doing things their way in their fashion, in a place among their own. Like I say, it ain’t exactly superstition—though some of them are, clearly. Voodoo, for instance. A bonofide religion in these parts. Rooted in the Catholic church, of course, but some of them deeper roots go pretty far down, know what I mean?”

  Katie clung to the door frame, eyes narrowing a bit more maybe than the sun warranted. “I’m confused, Sheriff. What exactly are you saying? Is this a warning?”

  “No, ma’am, wouldn’t say that. Only that some pretty bad things have happened to a nice Christian couple in town, a couple who’ve already lived a good part of their lives under a terrible loss. And, well, sometimes you just got to know when to cut bait…”

  “You think the Robichous want us to leave?”

  Cormac shrugged. “You’d have to ask the Robichous that, ma’am. Look ‘em in the eye and ask ‘em. Not lookin’ to make you two feel unwelcome in Manchac, just to walk a minute in the other fella’s shoes is all.”