Mimosa Grove

by Sharon Sala

  “Way to go, Justin!” somebody yelled.

  “Hey there, pretty lady… if you don’t like that crazy Cajun, I’m available!” someone else shouted.

  It was exactly what had been needed to ease the tension of the moment. But Laurel knew how moved Justin had been by what had happened when he finally pulled back. He was grinning, but his eyes were filled with tears.

  “I don’t know why I’ve been so blessed to have you in my life, but I’m not stupid enough to mess this up. Whatever you want… whatever you need… just say the word and it’s yours.”

  Laurel put her hand on Justin’s chest, letting the steady rhythm of his heartbeat settle the thunder of her own.

  “I already have it,” she said.

  “It? Exactly what is it that you have, sweet lady?”

  “Something I’ve been looking for all my life. Acceptance.”

  “Who stopped the music?” Tommy yelled.

  “You did,” Cheryl Ann said, and then laughed.

  “So… start it again!” Tommy yelled. “Hey, Clyde… make that fiddle sing.”

  Almost instantly, fiddle music filled the air, along with the carnival sounds of a concertina, and the gaiety returned. Justin swept Laurel into his arms, then lifted her up onto a makeshift dance floor that had been set up in the yard.

  Laurel looked nervously at the rollicking dancers and then at Justin.

  “I don’t know how to dance like this,” she said.

  “There are no rules for this,” Justin said. “Just listen to the music and follow my lead.”

  And they danced.

  After that, the night became a series of moments caught in Laurel’s mind as surely as if they’d been snapped by a camera.

  A tiny bead of sweat glittering on Justin’s upper lip as he swung her around in his arms.

  The feel of his cotton shirt against the palms of her hands as he waltzed her off the dance floor and away from the crowd.

  The urgency of his mouth against her throat.

  The flash of hunger in his eyes.

  The shouts of laughter and thanksgiving as four-year-old Rachelle Mouton fell asleep in her daddy’s arms.

  The taste of boiled crawfish and buttered corn on the cob.

  The shy yet welcoming smiles from people whose names she had yet to learn.

  The dappled patterns of moonlight coming through the trees and shining down on the long row of cars.

  The crowded dance floor, and the mingling scents of heat and women’s perfume.

  Blood running down a pretty woman’s face and into her open, sightless eyes.

  Laurel gasped, then moaned and covered her face.

  Justin grabbed her before she fell. Believing that she had been overcome by the heat and the excitement, he quickly carried her off the dance floor, then set her down in a nearby chair beneath the stars.

  Cheryl Ann had seen the incident and was there almost immediately with a cold drink and a damp cloth for Laurel’s face. Anxiously, she handed the cloth to Justin as he knelt at Laurel’s feet.

  “Did she get too hot?” she asked.

  “I don’t know… maybe,” Justin said as he wiped the damp cloth across Laurel’s brow, then took the cold drink from her sister’s hand. “Here, honey, drink this.”

  Laurel heard him, but she couldn’t pull back from where she’d gone.

  “Hitting her. He’s still hitting her,” she mumbled. “Tell him to stop. She’s already dead.”

  Justin rocked back on his heels as if he’d been slapped.

  “Jesus,” he whispered prayerfully, then looked at his sister for direction.

  “Get her in the house,” Cheryl Ann said. “I’ll get Tommy.”

  “Don’t make a scene,” he said. “If anybody asks, just tell them she’s taking a rest.”

  Cheryl Ann nodded and ran off in search of her husband, as Justin picked Laurel up. She leaned against him as if she were drunk, although he knew for a fact that she’d had none of the whiskey or beer that had been floating around.

  “Too much party?” someone asked.

  “Poor baby,” another said, and patted Laurel’s head as Justin carried her through the crowd to the house.

  Justin kept grinning and nodding, only breathing a sigh of relief after they were inside and the door had closed behind them.

  The muted sounds of the party could still be heard, but it was the steady ticking of a clock on the fireplace mantel that steadied Justin’s nerves. He laid Laurel down on the couch, then hurried into the kitchen to redampen the cloth for her face. When he came back, she was sitting up and staring at the comer of the room, but he could tell by the dazed look in her eyes that while she was physically there in the room with him, her mind was somewhere else.

  Moments later, Cheryl Ann rushed in with Tommy behind her.

  “What happened?” Tommy asked, and started toward her. Then Justin grabbed his arm.

  “Wait,” he urged, then sat down on the couch beside her and took her by the hand. “Laurel… tell me what you see.”

  Tears welled, then spilled from her eyes and down her cheeks. Her shoulders slumped dejectedly.

  “She’s dead.”

  “Who? Who’s dead?” he asked.

  She shook her head. When Justin laid his hand against her cheek, she flinched as if he’d hit her. Slowly she began to rouse. He could tell she was coming back to herself. And while it had been nerve-racking to witness this part of her, he wouldn’t let himself think about what it might mean to their lives. Not now. Not until they’d dealt with what she’d just seen.

  Laurel felt a bit sick to her stomach and reached for the damp cloth in Justin’s hands, then laid it against the heat of her face.

  “What happened?” she asked. “How did I get in here?”

  “I carried you,” Justin said.

  Laurel’s eyes widened; then her cheeks flushed with embarrassment as she looked up.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I can’t imagine what you must have thought about me. I don’t know—”

  “Laurel… honey… that doesn’t matter,” Justin said. “Tell me what you saw.”

  Her face crumpled as she struggled not to cry.

  “He kept hitting her and hitting her, even though she was already dead.”

  Tommy Mouton took a startled step backward, then muttered a quick prayer beneath his breath as he pulled his wife to his side.

  “Who?” Justin asked. “Who is dead?”

  Laurel frowned, trying to remember if she had known the woman’s name, but nothing came.

  “I don’t know. One minute we were dancing and laughing, and then someone jostled us. Remember? You steadied me in your arms as I fell against your chest?”

  Justin nodded.

  Suddenly Laurel understood. She stood abruptly.

  “Take me back out there,” she said. “If I see the woman from my vision, then that means what I saw is in her future. But if the woman isn’t here… then the person who bumped against me is the killer.”

  Cheryl Ann groaned, then clasped her hands against her stomach.

  “I can’t believe that anyone we know could be a murderer. You have to be wrong.”

  Justin stood, then put his arms around Laurel’s shoulders.

  “She wasn’t wrong about Rachelle,” he said shortly. “Come with me. I’ll take you back out. Don’t say anything. I’ll do all the talking. You just look.”

  Laurel nodded, then turned to Cheryl Ann.

  “I wish I was wrong. It’s times like this when I wish what my father thinks about me was true.”

  “And what does he think about you?” Cheryl Ann asked.

  “That I’m crazy,” Laurel said, then followed Justin out the door.

  10

  Justin helped Laurel out of the house, then into a chair on the porch. Night air shifted lazily, enough to lift the ends of her hair away from her face.

  “You all right, darlin’?” an old woman asked.

  Laurel nodded and sm
iled. “Yes, thank you. Just got a bit too hot.”

  The old woman smiled, revealing a three-tooth gap as she nodded with understanding.

  “Dis old bayou country, she take some gettin’ used to, yeah. You drink sometin’ cold. Feel much better soon.”

  She handed Laurel a glass of something wet and cold, then winked as she walked away.

  Justin bent down and whispered near her ear, “Do you see the woman from your vision anywhere here?”

  Laurel glanced up and around, her gaze searching the constantly moving crowd. Then her shoulders slumped.

  “No.”

  “It’s all right,” Justin said. “Just keep watching. She’s got to be here.”

  Laurel grabbed Justin’s wrist. “Not if I connected with the killer instead.”

  The smile in Justin’s eyes went flat. “Yeah… right. Let me know if you recognize her, though.”

  Laurel nodded.

  “Cheryl Ann is bringing out dessert. How about I go and get us some?”

  “Yes, all right,” Laurel said, although food was the last thing on her mind. She could still see the wide, shell-shocked look in the dead woman’s eyes and the way the blood turned her fair hair a dark, coppery red.

  She watched Justin walking away, absently admiring the way the fabric of his jeans cupped his backside and remembering all too well what lay beneath. But now wasn’t the time to remember how Justin Bouvier made love. This was about saving a woman’s life. She took a drink from her glass and once again began searching the faces of the women circling the dance floor with their partners.

  ***

  Mattie Lewis loved to dance more than anything, and yet she’d married a man who did not dance. She sighed as she watched the couples dipping and swaying around the dance floor, laughing with them, clapping to the music while keeping time to the tunes with the toe of her shoe, even lifting her voice to sing along. But she didn’t dance. Not even when old schoolmates offered. Not even when her brother started to take her hand. Martin wouldn’t like it. And even though they were still in the honeymoon stage of their marriage, she’d already learned not to make Martin mad.

  In fact, she wouldn’t even have come to the party, but her brother, Aaron, had insisted. Mattie had been instrumental in furnishing hot coffee and food for the searchers during the time that Rachelle Mouton had been missing, and she’d been specifically named as one of the special guests. But with Martin gone to New Orleans, there was no way she would have gone, until Aaron offered to escort her. She kept telling herself that it would be okay. Martin approved of her brother. Aaron approved of Martin. Everyone was happy about the arrangement—except, of course, Mattie. But she’d made her bed by marrying Martin Lewis after knowing him only six months, and as her mother had often said, now she would have to lie in it.

  The music stopped, and as it did, Mattie saw her friend, Lorraine, trying to get her new baby to sleep while her older child begged to be held.

  “Here, Lorraine, let me,” she offered, and held out her hands for the baby.

  Lorraine Girraude smiled a weary thank-you and gladly handed over her six-month-old daughter, along with a bottle of milk, then picked up her three-year-old son.

  “Come here, little man. Let Mama rock you to sleep.”

  “Wanna go home,” the little boy whined.

  Lorraine looked up at Mattie and winked, then nodded toward her husband, who was playing fiddle in the band.

  “Daddy’s not ready to go home yet,” Lorraine said.

  Mattie moved away from the crowded dance floor, crooning softly to the baby as she headed for a seat on the porch. The baby’s weight against her breasts made her ache for a child of her own. Maybe she would have twins. She and Aaron were twins. He had twin daughters. Maybe she would have twin sons. Boys would make Martin happy, although Mattie really didn’t mind what she had, as long as they were healthy.

  The baby squirmed in her arms as the last of the milk disappeared. Mattie shifted the baby from her breasts to her shoulder, intent on burping her, when she felt a hand on her arm. She turned, a smile on her face, and realized that it was the woman who’d come with Justin Bouvier.

  “The baby… she is darling, isn’t she?”

  “Your name… what’s your name?” Laurel asked.

  Mattie frowned. “Mattie. I’m Mattie. You’re Miz Marcella’s granddaughter, Laurel, aren’t you?”

  Laurel nodded.

  Mattie eyed the pretty woman’s wide eyes and red hair, and wondered what it was like to be psychic. Curiosity won out as Mattie shifted the baby to her other shoulder.

  “Can I ask you something?” she asked.

  Laurel shuddered. She’d never had a conversation like this before. She knew she was standing beside this woman. And she was hearing the lilt of laughter in her voice, but she was seeing her as she would be in the future—lying still, bloody and dead. She needed to tell her, but she knew from experience that the news would not be well received.

  ***

  Justin kept one eye on Laurel as he moved through the crowd, looking into women’s smiling faces and wondering which one of them would be dead before morning. The knowledge that Laurel always saw the truth made him anxious. He’d grown up with some of these people, while the elders had watched him grow up. They were friends and family, even neighbors. He couldn’t imagine a one of them capable of murder or becoming the victim of such a horrible crime. But if he accepted Laurel’s abilities, of which he had no doubt, then time was of the essence. They needed to find the woman Laurel had seen before it was too late.

  Someone laughed out loud behind him; then a woman squealed. He turned abruptly, then laughed along with everyone else at the couple in the middle of the dance floor. Jack Cowan and Bettina Townsend had been dancing; Justin had seen them only moments before. But now Jack had swung Bettina off her feet and was swinging her around as if she weighed nothing at all. Justin laughed along with the others as Bettina kept begging, between giggles, to be put down.

  Out of habit, his gaze slid again to Laurel, only she wasn’t where he’d left her. He took a couple of steps to the left for a better view of the house; then his heart skipped a beat. She’d gotten up from her chair and was staring blindly at the fair-haired woman beside her. Justin couldn’t tell who it was, but he began to move, hurrying through the crowd without drawing undue attention to himself or to her.

  ***

  Laurel was swaying on her feet when she felt a hand on her shoulder. Without looking, she knew it was Justin. She reached behind her and grabbed hold of his hand, frantically squeezing his fingers.

  Justin felt her panic and knew his guess had been right. This must be the woman she’d seen in her vision.

  “Laurel?”

  She knew why the question was in his voice. She nodded.

  Justin felt sick to his stomach. He’d grown up with Mattie and Aaron Clement. The fact that they’d been twins had made them something special to their classmates. Justin had even had a crush on Mattie when he was about twelve, though it had lasted only until his parents had bought him a new pup. After that, the small, brown-eyed puppy had captured his newfound devotion.

  Mattie smiled at Justin.

  “Hey, friend. Long time, no see,” she teased.

  He cupped the back of the baby’s head she was holding and winked at her.

  “Hello, Mrs. Lewis. Whatcha got here? Practicing for the real thing?”

  Mattie smiled. It was still something of an oddity to realize that she was a married woman with a new name other than the one under which she’d been born.

  “Sort of,” she said. “Lorraine had her hands full trying to put both her babies to sleep. I offered to help.” Then she gently rubbed her cheek against the baby’s soft skin. “It wasn’t much of a sacrifice. This little doll is too sweet for words.”

  Laurel stifled a moan, but Justin heard her. He could tell by the blank look in her eyes that she was seeing something they could not.

  He cupped Laurel by the el
bow, then put a hand on the back of Mattie’s waist.

  “Mattie, why don’t you come inside with Laurel and me? It will be quieter there, and easier to get the baby to sleep.”

  “Yes, good idea,” Mattie said, then glanced around, searching the crowd for sight of her brother, but didn’t see him. “Oh, well, Aaron can come find me when he’s ready to go.”

  The absence of noise and the cooler air made a welcome change from the revelry of the party outside. Mattie scooted a rocker away from the direct flow of air from the window-unit air conditioner and then sat.

  Justin guided Laurel back to the couch, then sat down beside her.

  Laurel shuddered. Leaning forward, she put her elbows on her knees and covered her face with her hands.

  Justin wasn’t sure what to do, but something had to be said. “Honey… are you feeling any better?”

  She looked up, her eyes swimming in tears.

  “No.”

  His heart dropped.

  “Are you sure?” he asked softly.

  She didn’t have to look at Mattie again to know.

  “Yes.”

  Mattie frowned. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know she was ill. I can go back outside and—”

  “No,” Justin said. “It’s not that, honey. She’s not sick.” Then he stared at Mattie, helpless to find the words to explain the horror of what Laurel had seen.

  Laurel swayed where she sat, but she lifted her head and looked straight into Mattie’s face.

  “Out there… on the dance floor… I bumped into you.”

  Mattie smiled. “You must have me mixed up with someone else. I wasn’t dancing.”

  “No… I don’t mean like that,” Laurel said. “I bumped into you. I think Justin almost stepped on your feet, didn’t he?”

  Mattie’s smile widened as she cuddled the baby against her neck, patting its little back as she rocked.

  “Yes, but it was okay. He always did have two left feet. I just pushed him back in the right direction.”

  “I felt your hand on my arm,” Laurel said.

  A slight frown creased Mattie’s forehead as she continued to rock.

  “I’m sorry. I’m not understanding what—”