by C. L. Bevill
She got in the Bronco before he blew a fuse.
•
Mignon ended up driving herself home. She didn’t want to leave the brand-new Explorer out on a lonely road overnight, and John Henry didn’t have a deputy to spare. He only asked her one more time if she was up to driving herself home, and when she had nodded firmly, he let her do just that. He climbed back into the Bronco and drove off without looking at her again. She could feel the anger radiating off him from a mile away and knew that not only had she crossed a line, but that she had decimated that line until nothing was left.
When Mignon drove down the winding length of the dirt road that her isolated farmhouse sat upon, she discovered she had a visitor.
An old Dodge truck was parked in front of the farmhouse, and a man was sitting in the rocking chair on the porch. Mignon put the Ford into park and decided that he didn’t look like a serial killer. But then she’d met quite a few people lately who didn’t look like serial killers.
“Hey,” the man called cheerfully when Mignon chambered out of the SUV. He was in his early twenties and had short, short, short dark brown hair. Muscular and trim, he had a handsome, smiling face with olive-tinted skin. As she stepped closer, she could see that his eyes were as brown as his hair. “You’re Mignon Thibeaux, right?”
Mignon nodded.
“Shoot. I’m right pleased to meet you,” he said. He jumped out of the rocking chair and easily leaped over the railing, planting himself right in front of her. “My name is Robert Dubeaux. I know you don’t know who I am, but your mama was my father’s sister. I’ve been away for the last six months, and I just got back.” Then he reached out and folded Mignon into an amicable bear hug that she couldn’t have avoided even if she had so desired.
Chapter Five
Wednesday, March 5th
Down by the river, down by the sea,
Johnny broke a bottle and blamed it on me.
I told ma, ma told pa.
Johnny got a spanking, so ha, ha, ha.
How many spankings did Johnny get?
Two, four, six, eight…
- Children’s jump rope rhyme
“I’ve got coffee,” Mignon offered awkwardly after a prolonged embrace in the arms of a man she’d never met before.
Robert Dubeaux put his hands on Mignon’s shoulders and took a step backwards. “Shore, you must be a little out of sorts. A fella you never met before is sitting on your porch, telling you that he’s your cousin, and you’re thinking, ‘What in the name of Billy Goat Gruff be going on here?’” He laughed at her open-mouthed expression. “Coffee sounds just fine to me.”
Mignon stepped back from his loose grip and tilted her head. Strangers who appeared on her porch in the past generally didn’t bring her good tidings of joy. Although continued paranoia was unwarranted, it had been an ingrained habit not easily left behind.
Robert was dressed incongruously in a blue T-shirt and baggy blue jeans. He wore a single beaded chain around his neck that disappeared under the neck of the T-shirt. He was clean-shaven and looked back at her expectantly. A plain humor was underscored on his face as if he very much realized the dilemma she was going through mentally. “Coffee?” he said again.
Mignon nodded and realized the emotion she felt was bemusement. One shock had bled into another kind of shock, and it was a trial on her system. She felt as though there was a large impediment in her throat, and it was blocking her from rational action. “Sorry. It’s been a long morning.”
“Shore,” he agreed and motioned at her, indicating the dirt on her arms and clothing. “And you were playing in the mud?”
“Playing in the bayous anyway,” she agreed. “You’ve been away for the six months?”
Robert brought his hand up to his neck. He pulled the beaded necklace out, and Mignon saw that it was a set of U.S. military identification tags. It readily explained the too-short hair.
“You’re in the service?” she said.
“I’m not in the service,” he said, frowning mockingly. “I’m in the Navy. Petty officer, 2nd class, aboard the USS George Washington. We spent the last six months in the Gulf. I reckon you might have heard about all that nonsense over there.” He jingled his dog tags at her then put them back into the neck of his shirt. “A fella’s got to take a break when he gets a chance. My mama’s been telling me about all your problems, but I didn’t have a way to get away.”
“No, I guess you didn’t,” she said.
“And Mam’s been a little sickly. She kept up with you in the news and through people talking, and I’ll tell you what, she prayed for you. Prayed up a blue moon. Even went to the witch-woman to ask for a charm for you. The witch-woman made up a little gris-gris to make sure you made it through all right.” Robert smiled again. “A little something extra don’t hurt no one at all. She was real sorry she couldn’t go to your mama’s funeral, and well, my father’s been dead a decade and more. Being dead and all, that meant he weren’t up to a funeral.”
“Coffee,” Mignon said again because she wasn’t sure what to say. Suddenly discovering that she had a family made her feel as though she were floating in the air like a runaway helium balloon. Without bearing or something to ground her, her fate would be up to the fickle winds of chance. There could be the deep blue sky or electric wires waiting for her. She didn’t know which one would come first, and she was afraid to look.
Robert reached out a large hand and tenderly touched a lock of her auburn hair. His eyes studied the hair as if it were the most wondrous thing he’d ever seen. “The color of fresh-ground nutmeg,” he said. “As soft as a baby’s. You know what our family calls it?”
Mignon restrained herself from moving back. Robert, her sudden newfound cousin, was looking at her in a very odd manner, and it made her feel uncomfortable. She was willing to accept that he was her cousin. She knew that there had been relatives left in the area although she was not sure of their names or connections. A Louisiana birth certificate had revealed nothing of significance except her mother’s maiden name, Dubeaux. An examination of local phone books showed twenty Dubeauxs, and Mignon could not remember any references to siblings of her parents. She’d been too young. “No, I don’t.”
“Good hair,” Robert murmured, letting the curl escape his blunt fingers. “That means hair that ain’t been fixed with chemicals.”
A puzzled look spoiled Mignon’s face. Good hair didn’t exactly come on trees. It took a lot of conditioner and tender loving care to keep it the way she had it. That and a first-rate cut from a decent stylist in New York once a month made sure it stayed that way.
Robert shrugged. “It ain’t nothing. I guess you’ll find the rest of the family has some countrified ideas. My mama don’t hold truck with me going into the navy, but a boy’s got to look out for his future. The George Washington usually ports in Pascagoula, Mississippi, and that ain’t far. I do a few more years, get a whole mess of money for school, get a college degree in something worth having, and my mama won’t have to worry about where my children will grow up.”
“Nothing wrong with looking to the future, is there?” Mignon said and wished she hadn’t because it came out sounding banal.
Robert smiled and showed a brilliant array of white teeth. “Lord, no. So what kind of coffee you got?” He looped a casual arm around her shoulder and expertly guided her up the porch steps. “They got mostly regular on the ship, but they like to treat us right, so lately it’s been hazelnut latte and cinnamon delight and some other stuff that tastes so frou-frou that a fella’s afraid he’ll pull a ribbon out of his butt ifin he drinks too much of it.”
Mignon smiled hesitantly.
“I know,” Robert said genially. “I know. You don’t know me from Adam. I’ll wait out on the poach. You do know what the poach is?”
“You mean porch?”
“I mean poach,” he said sternly. “You got to learn how to talk like the locals be talking. All them boys back to the ship think I’m the biggest hick s
outh of the Mason-Dixon line but look who be wearing the stripes this year.” He pulled out the collar of his T-shirt as if it had the stripes he was talking about. “Me. Yep. This here son of a goober.”
Ten minutes later, they were both sitting on the porch, and Robert was admiring the farmhouse. “I heard tell you fixed this place up. Ain’t nothing like making an old place new and usable again. My mam says if you miss one bus, then you done go and catch t’other.’” He took a drink of his coffee. “Tastes like something normal. I don’t know where them cooks got the idea that we needed fancy-schmancy coffees.” His voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper. “Even the captain likes espresso. He’s got more testosterone than all of the Dallas Cowboys.”
Robert turned somber in a rapid manner that left Mignon in a state of disorientation. “We were all real sorry about your mama. Mam said a dozen times over the years that Pap was sure that Auntie Garlande didn’t run off and leave you. Said he was real sure that she would have never left you. But you know about Sheriff Fanchon. He did what he was paid off to do, I ‘spect. Him and them others who made sure you didn’t dare come back before now. Fanchon’s a mean mother’s son. I hope he don’t take a penchant to come back to the parish anytime soon.”
Mignon knew that Ruelle Fanchon, one of the men who had forced her father to leave Louisiana, was currently on the bad side of an ugly trial in southern Louisiana. He’d been caught red-handed running drugs off the Gulf. She didn’t think that he was overly interested in the happenings of St. Germaine Parish of late, and he wouldn’t be setting one foot in the parish again if John Henry had anything to do with it.
“It were real brave of you to take on the St. Michels,” Robert commented. “The papers don’t say it, but I reckon you did a bit of fast-talking to get your way into the mansion. Got to push some of their buttons. That makes you a right clever gal. Obvious to one and all, that you’ve got Dubeaux blood in you.”
Mignon didn’t know whether to thank him or not. He knew everything about her, and she knew next to nothing about him. It was as surrealistic as a painting by Salvador Dali.
“And you’re planning on staying around here,” Robert half asked, half stated.
“When I can,” she said. “I have gallery showings, business that I have to take care of. But this place holds a certain attraction.”
Robert made a cackling noise of amusement. “And I done seen him, too. A fine looking fella. John Henry Roque. Ifin I were that type, I’d go after him myself. But I like the gals. I got my eye on a real good one. She’s as sweet as the day is long.” He brightened. “You know, we got a fais do-do coming up. Some of my cousins on my mam’s side, you understand, they like to welcome a navy boy back properly.”
“A fais do-do?” she repeated.
“All night dance. We have a great big old bonfire. We get a mess of crab and crawfish. We get enough beer to float the George Washington on. The boys pull out the fiddles and the steel drums and Lord Almighty, we go on all night long.” He grinned at Mignon. “It’d be a right fine time for you to come out and meet some of your more distant kinfolk. Shore, they ain’t all blood relatives, but everyone’s heard tell of you. The boys be drooling over the thought of having such an all-fired famous gal like yourself as one of our own.”
Again, Mignon was at a loss for words. “I’d like to meet your mother.”
“And she would like to meet you,” Robert said. He gulped down the rest of the coffee, put the cup down on the railing, and stood up. “I got to go, ma p’tite cousin. I don’t want to wear out my welcome. I reckon you got a lot to think about. One helluva day today, to be sure.”
“What do you mean?” she asked. Does he know about Dara Honore? How could Robert have known about her finding the girl’s body that morning?
“I mean, you done got yourself a new family, that’s all,” he scoffed at her expression. “Not that I blame you. As new as a roll of quarters straight from the mint. Ain’t no one interested in you like a family. Mam waited for me to come back because she knew I could be powerful persuasion in assuring you of our good wishes. She weren’t real certain that you would be interested in us. But I’m betting you are.”
“Of course,” she said slowly. “Sorry. I’m a little slow. It’s just something happened this morning.”
Robert’s eyes narrowed. “You all right, Mignon? Ain’t no one ‘round here been bothering you? Because those fool people need to learn that no one messes with the Dubeaux’s.”
“It’s not that,” she said and almost smiled at the thought of Robert leaping to her protection, like a rustic superhero. John Henry would probably emit pure steam from both ears. She perked up with a mischievous thought. John Henry, jealous? That would be interesting. “It’s just that I was out in Kisatchie National Forest this morning, and I found a dead girl.”
“A dead girl,” Robert repeated slowly as if the idea were completely alien to him.
“In the bayous,” she said. She took a deep breath. “It’s why I’m a little edgy.”
Robert sat back down, leaned over, and patted her knee awkwardly. “Well, you go on and take a shower. Tend to yourself, and before you know it, you’ll be as right as rain. I’m right sorry about your experience this morning. You know people done go missing in the bayous all the time. There’s snakes as big as my thigh out there. Gators with more teeth than that shark that done et up Robert Shaw in that movie. And ooo-eee, sinkholes, quicksand, bogs, and the like. Even in the littler bayous we have around St. Germaine. They got some that thread all the way to Twilight Lake and some that connect to the Red River. As a matter of fact, I heard Bart Xavier, and that be a fella you don’t know yet, say he could get his pirogue all the way from one side of the parish to the other, if he were of a mind.” He shook his head. “And I go on. What I mean is, people go out to the bayous and die sometimes. Things happen. It ain’t right, but maybe it’s just God’s will.”
“Not this time,” Mignon said grimly. She didn’t hold it against Robert. He obviously had no idea that Dara Honore had been murdered. “It was man’s will.”
Robert’s eyes went large and round with comprehension. “You mean someone kilt some little girl. And put her in the bayou to rot alone.” His mouth twisted into an ugly grimace. “That poor daughter. I hope it was a quick death.”
Mignon didn’t know if strangling was quick enough to suit Robert or not. The thought was jarring in its lack of compassion. Death to a teenaged girl in the cusp of her life didn’t matter if it were sudden or lingering. It was still the frightening skeletal fingers of the black specter that reached for her, and she had seen his fathomless gaze in her last enduring moments alive. Somehow Mignon didn’t think that it mattered at all to Dara. The girl wouldn’t have wanted to die. She hadn’t been ready. The look on her face, her terrified hazel eyes staring endlessly, revealed that to Mignon.
Like other things in her life, it would be something Mignon would never forget.
“There, there,” Robert said compassionately. “Your beau will find the fella boo-coo quick, and that’ll be the end of that. It’s usually someone who’s close to the one who’s done been kilt anyway, and ain’t that a dreadful shame?” He considered. “Of course, it’s a shame either way, and it ain’t much better when it’s a stranger who thinks a little girl be just the thing for him.” He shook his head shortly. “Listen to me. I’m the biggest fool on the face of the earth. My mam should shoot me for my sinful mouth.”
He rose up again and stared down at Mignon with a serious expression on his face. “I guess I don’t always have the right things to say. My uncle Victor, God rest his soul, used to say God don’t like ugly. God don’t like ugly one damn bit. He has a way of dealing with it.”
Robert patted Mignon’s head as if he were a dozen years older than she, then turned away. He said over his shoulder, “I’ll let you know when the fais do-do is, so you know when I’ll pick you up. You can even bring your beau. It’d be fun to see ifin we can get the sheriff crocked.”
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Mignon stared at him, then said, “I can drive to where it’s at.”
Robert laughed as he walked out to the old Dodge truck. “No, you cain’t.” He was still laughing as he climbed into the truck and started it up with a belching roar of blue smoke. He waved as he carefully turned around. A moment later, Mignon was alone on her porch and felt even more disconcerted.
Mignon ran a hand through her hair and then pulled it down to examine the mud under her nails. She’d washed her hands off before she’d brewed the coffee but hadn’t had enough time to do it justice.
As a matter of fact, she was impressed that the water was working in the house. While she’d been gone to New York, Horace Seay, her contractor on the farmhouse, had completed the water lines that ran from the main lines near the top of the dirt road. It had been expensive, but apparently, she now had fresh, running hot and cold water. Horace had also finished the bathhouse addition in the back of the farmhouse. There was an enclosed causeway that connected the two buildings, and it had all the amenities that the modern family might want. A large shower with glass bricks, a Jacuzzi bathtub large enough for two people to sit in, and a steam room at the back, replete with cedar walls and comfortable benches.
Horace’s eyes had been as round as saucers when Mignon had first told him what she wanted, but the older man had merely shrugged after a moment. She wanted the farmhouse to be her house and as comfortable as possible. She knew that she would be doing her painting here for years to come and comfort would only benefit her.
Mignon went through her small house to the door that led into the causeway. The walls remained rough-hewn wood as she had wanted. The color would eventually weather into that beautiful shade of gray that would match the remainder. On the other end of the walkway was the door to the bathhouse. It was glass, and she could see a wealth of Italian marble and gleaming glass brick. Opening the door, Mignon couldn’t prevent a satisfied smile.