Voodoo Summer (LeGarde Mysteries Book 11)

by Aaron Paul Lazar

  He took off his hat and pressed it to his chest, nodding to both of them. “Could be. But before we get into all that, may I have your permission to search your buildings? I know it’s hard to imagine, but maybe she ran away and is hiding in one of them.”

  “Preposterous,” my grandfather said, shaking his head. “Our guests would have reported her.”

  “Even so,” Lawson said apologetically. “I need to be sure.”

  My grandmother took charge. “Of course you may. Do what you have to do, Officer Lawson. Can you get it done while we’re feeding our guests? We can keep them busy with dinner while you and your men go through the cabins.”

  “Are there any other buildings we need to check?” he asked, taking out his notebook and pencil.

  My grandfather said, “Ayuh. There’s the icehouse, shower house, and living room down below where we all gather at night for cards and entertainment.”

  “Got it,” said Lawson. “We’ll try to make this as painless as possible. And if you can arrange it, we’d like a moment to address your guests as a group. You know, to see if they noticed anything unusual last night. Maybe the guests and adults first, then the kids, right after. Kids notice a helluva lot.” He paused for a breath. “Could we do it after they eat dinner, down in that living room?”

  My grandparents both murmured their assent.

  “Officer?” my grandmother asked. “When’s the last time they saw this little girl?”

  Lawson grimaced. “Last night. Midnight. Right after their fancy dress ball.”

  Her eyebrows shot up. “What was a thirteen-year-old young lady doing up that late? Was she chaperoned?”

  “Um, special occasion, I guess,” Lawson said. “She left the ball with a camp boy who she asked to walk her to her room.”

  Again with the raised eyebrows. “That is not proper, Officer. Not proper at all. Her folks should have brought her back to their cabin.”

  Lawson frowned and put his notebook away. “I happen to agree with you, Mrs. LeGarde. It’s mighty odd. These Southern folks seem to do things a bit different than we do up here.”

  “Okay, let’s get this show on the road.” My grandfather clapped his hands. “I’m ready for our guests, Gus. Get the bell and ring them in.”

  ***

  The search turned up nothing, as we all figured it would. No girl was found cowering or worse—tied up—inside or underneath anyone’s cabin. There was no fresh soil dug in our grounds where someone could have buried a body. Nobody had seen a thing.

  After waiting on the living room porch for the police to address the adults, camp boys, and waitresses, they all filed out somberly, including my parents.

  “Gus?” My father said, stopping to put a hand on my shoulder. “Do you want me to stay in with you while they ask their questions?”

  I shook my head. “No thanks, Dad. I know Officer Lawson. He’s nice. I’m sure it won’t take long.”

  My mother leaned down to hug me. “You come home immediately afterwards, young man. Officer Lawson said he’d walk you three down to the cabins. Understood?”

  I could tell she was scared. Whenever a kid went missing, the first thing your parents did was worry it would be you next. I gave her a reassuring smile. “Of course, Mum. Don’t worry.”

  Officer Lawson called us into the room after talking to his team for a few minutes. Through the window, I saw them leaning over papers strewn on the poker table, comparing notes and jabbing repeatedly at the map. It was already seven forty-five, so I knew my fishing date with William was not happening tonight. Besides, I’d caught a glimpse of him kissing Betsy down below the sun porch just minutes earlier. With a disappointed shrug, I got up and followed the twins into the living room.

  Three officers remained inside. Lawson smiled to us, pointing to the couch. We dropped onto it side by side, fidgeting.

  “Okay, kids. We’ll make this quick. We’ve gotta organize search parties for the morning.” He picked up his notebook. “Did either of you ever meet this young lady, Monique LaFontaine?”

  Siegfried answered first. “But of course we did, Officer Lawson. We are Willy’s friends and we’ve been to The Seven Whistles to play with her several times. Monique is the daughter of the owner. Her brother is Pierre.”

  Lawson nodded. “Okay. Right.” He turned to discuss something with his fellow officers, and then asked his next question.

  “What did you think of her?”

  This took me aback. I didn’t expect him to ask us if we liked the girl, just if we’d seen anything suspicious.

  Elsbeth piped up. “We didn’t like her, Officer. She was a very mean girl. Hateful, really.”

  The other two policemen coughed to cover surprised smiles, turning away from us.

  “Uh, I’ve heard that answer before,” Lawson said after a pause. “The camp boys and waitresses next door said the very same thing. Essentially.” He cleared his throat. “Was she especially mean to anyone in particular?”

  I stopped Elsbeth’s answer by jumping in. I didn’t want Willy and her brother to be brought into the limelight. “She thought she was above all of us, Officer Lawson. Like she ruled the world or something. I never saw her be nice to anyone.”

  Siegfried shot me a glance of approval.

  “Did you hear about anything that might bear on her disappearance?”

  Elsbeth spoke up before I could even try to stop her. “Yes. She had a boyfriend in Baton Rouge. She ran off with him for three whole days and nights last year. When she came home, her parents sent the boy away.” She smiled proudly at me. “Maybe he came back to claim her. You know, like a stalker.” Her eyes grew wide.

  Lawson’s eyebrows shot up. “Really. I hadn’t heard about that, Miss Elsbeth. Thank you. That could be helpful.”

  She preened a little, and I realized she was actually enjoying herself.

  “Well, kids. If anything else comes to mind, have your parents give us a ring. Okay?”

  We nodded solemnly.

  “Now, let’s get you back to your cabins. It’s starting to get dark.”

  Chapter 20

  The next day we took the boat to Willy’s camp after our lunch shift. It had become our daily routine, and she was already waiting there for us when we pulled in.

  “Willy!” Elsbeth said, clambering toward her. “What’s happening? Did they find Monique?”

  We’d heard rumors spinning like wildfire around our camp from the adults gossiping in the dining room and on the grounds. We’d seen legions of people searching the woods across the road from us, and watched car after car drive toward The Seven Whistles. But so far, there had been no concrete word about Monique.

  We gathered around Willy after I safely stowed the boat and life vests. Her eye looked better today, not quite as puffy and I saw a slit of glistening eyeball between the edges of the lids.

  “No,” she said, hugging each of us in turn. “They’re searching the woods today. They have fifty men assembled already.”

  Siegfried touched her hand. “That’s good. Maybe they’ll find her alive. Perhaps she wandered off last night, got lost?”

  I knew he was just trying to calm her, and approved of his motives.

  “It is possible,” Willy said. “But I doubt it. She hates the woods. Unless she was with some boy, I doubt if she’d step two feet into the woods. Especially at night.”

  I glanced up at the camp, noticing some figures milling about in the distance. A flash of yellow here, of red there. “So the camp’s back to normal? People are allowed outside again to go swimming and fishing and all that?”

  She nodded. “Oui. But it is certainly far from normal. We are free to move about the camp, but it is very gloomy. And we have a big table set up for the searchers in the ballroom. Coffee. Donuts. Water to drink.”

  “What about Bosco? Did they let him go?” I asked.

  She sputtered with relief. “For now. But a few of the police officers said they’d be back. Told him not to leave the area.” She s
norted a laugh. “How could he go anywhere? We don’t have a car. And he needs the job to survive. We all do.”

  Elsbeth linked arms with her and we started up the hill. “How can we help?”

  Willy studied her face. “You mean it? You really want to help?”

  “Ja, of course.”

  Elsbeth’s sweet expression melted my heart.

  “Okay. Well, I’ve been ordered to serve the search party. I’m due up there in ten minutes. You could help pour coffee, hand out food with me.”

  Siegfried lengthened his stride. “Of course we’ll help, Willy.” He caught up with them and glanced at Willy’s face. “How is your eye feeling? It looks a little better.”

  “Mon Dieu,” she cried, hiding it with one hand. “I keep forgetting that I look like a monster.”

  Amidst Elsbeth’s protests that it “wasn’t so bad,” I caught up with them and moved to Elsbeth’s side. “Did the police ask you about your eye? I mean, since it happened the same day she disappeared? Not that I’m saying it was related. Of course, I know it wasn’t,” I stammered. Sometimes I said the stupidest things, but I really did wonder if they’d be suspicious of such a bad injury. “I just—”

  She stopped me mid-sentence with a palm in the air. “They did ask me about it. Of course, I lied. I told them I fell into a tree.” Her shoulders dropped. “I hate lying. But sometimes to protect your family, you must.”

  I knew what she was saying. But who would protect her?

  We hiked up the hill to the main room and entered through the employees’ door again. Inside, the place was bustling. Despondent guests clustered in small groups, surreptitiously whispering about Monique and the theories that abounded. People straggled into the room from the outside looking tired and hungry. Willy set us up on one side of a long line of tables placed end-to-end and assigned us our tasks. I handed out Dixie cups of water to each of the searchers, and then motioned them to move down the line for food or coffee.

  Off in the corner, I noticed Mr. LaFontaine and a tall platinum blonde woman sitting stiffly at a table. It had to be Mrs. LaFontaine.

  People stopped by the table, offering hugs and handshakes to the couple who seemed to graciously accept the kind gestures. Mr. LaFontaine cast his eyes all around the room, seeming to analyze the situation warily. Watching. Waiting for news. He jumped every time the door opened. The woman seemed to be frozen. Her face rigid with tight muscles, but her dark circled eyes told me she’d been crying a lot.

  Pierre sauntered down the staircase from the second level, rubbing his eyes as if he’d just gotten up.

  Had he been searching overnight for his sister? Slept in after a long night out in the woods?

  He assessed the thronging crowd, slicked back his hair, and straightened. Turning toward the table where his parents sat, he suddenly assumed a worried expression and sank down beside his mother, taking her hand.

  I could read his lips.

  Are you okay?

  She shook her head, tightened her mouth, and momentarily lost control, her mask cracking into an expression of deep fear. But with one quick gulp, she controlled it and gave a half-hearted smile to her son, reaching for a hug.

  He stayed at the table for a while, then stood and wandered over to our area. He cut into the line and stood across from Willy, who was pouring coffee into paper cups.

  “Hey. Got some coffee for me?” he asked bluntly.

  Willy ignored him for a second, finishing up the cup she was making for an older gentleman with wet-smelling clothes. He reeked of the swamp, and I noticed his sneakers were covered in mud, poor old guy.

  She poured another cup for Pierre, avoiding his eyes. “Here you go.”

  With a dramatic flourish, he inspected the cup, wrinkled his nose, and handed it back to her. “You know I like cream and sugar in my coffee, Willy. What’s wrong with you? Can’t see out of that ugly shiner?”

  “Cream and sugar’s down the line,” she said softly, pointing to the round table at the end.

  “Well, go get it for me.” He glared at her with his arms crossed.

  My mouth fell open, but she gave me a warning glance that said hold your tongue.

  With head bent, she carried the cup to the condiment table, stirred in cream and sugar, and brought it back to him.

  I half-hoped she’d spill the stuff all over him, but she didn’t. She carefully handed it back to him with a neutral expression. “There you go.”

  His hand lingered on hers when she gave him the cup and he set it down on the table. Still holding her, he traced one finger across her palm. Whispering wickedly, he said, “Soft skin.”

  “Pierre.” She tried to pull back, but he held tight. “Please.”

  He leaned closer, lowering his voice further, but I heard him.

  “I wonder how soft you are in other places, mon cherie?” Licking his lips and narrowing his eyes, he uttered a low chuckle, staring at her chest.

  A single tear slipped down her cheek.

  My anger rose up like a tsunami, but before I could react, he said, “Hell. I don’t want that slop anyway. Drink it yourself.” With a bored expression on his face, he turned on his heel and walked back to the table where his mother shot him warning glances.

  I wondered how much she knew about her son’s behavior. And what about her own husband’s abysmal treatment of Willy? Did she know they teased innocent young women? Or, God forbid, did worse to them?

  Had Mr. LaFontaine tried to touch Willy the other day, and when she resisted, he punched her in the eye?

  What had happened after that? Did the punch make her sit back and take it? Let him abuse her?

  My blood was boiling so hot I wasn’t sure I could control myself the next time I passed Pierre or heard his annoying voice.

  I knew from the way Elsbeth hushed up that it was very bad. She wouldn’t even give me a hint.

  Not that I honestly wanted to know the sordid details. But I felt an urge to protect this beautiful young girl with the delightful laugh and eyes that twinkled so nicely before one of them got punched.

  Were there other girls? Did the LaFontaine men do this to all the pretty young women in the camp?

  A new crew of searchers came straggling in, and I automatically greeted them, asking how it went. A young woman with short brown hair and a muscular build leaned toward me conspiratorially. She adjusted a coil of rope that was slung on her shoulder.

  “I heard the blood on the rock is her type,” she said with a serious expression.

  “No way. Honest?”

  “Yeah. Now they’re really suspecting foul play. They told us to watch for loose soil. You know. A fresh-dug grave.”

  I gave her a cup of water, which she drained immediately and asked for seconds. When she was done, she crumpled the cup and tossed it into the wastebasket behind me. “You kids be careful out there,” she warned, nodding down the line to my friends. “It’s not looking good.”

  She’d shared the awful secret with me and I didn’t know why. Was it too heavy for her to bear? Was she a loner, all on her own, just looking for the comfort of human companionship and discussion?

  “You take care, too,” I said.

  “Will do, young man.” She winked at me and moved down the line.

  When the water jug was empty, Willy told me to roll it into the back room to get another full one. I slid a cart made just for this purpose next to the cooler, carefully lifted out the empty container without spilling too many leftover drops, and headed for the back room.

  A man in a white coat—presumably a chef—impatiently pointed me to a storage room in the back. “Back there. Be quick about it, I don’t want you underfoot here.”

  Hurrying into the back room, I pushed backwards through the double swinging doors, rolling the quiet little cart behind me.

  A whimper came from the far side of the room.

  The overhead fan was loud, masking the slight noise of my sneakers on the wooden floor. I turned and saw nothing but rows of shelve
s, canned goods, storage boxes, and three giant push brooms leaning against the wall.

  Did I imagine the sound?

  No. There it was again. A pitiful sound of fear. A young woman’s voice. Quaking. Pleading.

  “Please,” the voice said.

  Slowly, I walked around the first aisle, peering around the shelves.

  Nothing.

  I moved forward, reaching the second aisle.

  Again, just a clean aisle with lots of junk on the shelves.

  “No. Don’t.”

  At the last aisle, I hesitated, then crept around the corner, holding onto the metal shelves to steel myself against whatever I’d find.

  Mr. LaFontaine gripped a young girl in a waitress outfit, bending her backwards over a table. One hand held her hair in a tight bunch, and the other hand had just reached under her uniform.

  His pants were around his ankles.

  I froze.

  What the hell was he doing to her?

  The poor girl—probably only sixteen or so—sobbed quietly. “Please. No.”

  “Shut the hell up, Yvonne. You know you’re going to give in.”

  Violently now, she shook her head back and forth. “Please, stop. I don’t want to do this!”

  “Shut up.” He released her hair and quickly clamped one hand over her mouth. “I’ll say what’s right, damn it. Hold still.”

  Although it had only been seconds since I saw them, I felt as if I’d been mired in mud. With an electric jolt, my feet unfroze and I ran toward them. “Leave her alone!” I grabbed one of the heavy push brooms and swung it in a wide arc at the side of his head.

  Chapter 21

  The girl bolted straight up, swiftly pulling her skirt down and backing away from Mr. LaFontaine, who lay crumpled on the floor. “Oh my gosh.” She glanced up at me. “Who are you?”

  I didn’t answer her. I guessed I’d hit him just right, because he lay unmoving, his pants still down. I grabbed her arm. “Come on. Get out of here.”

  She skittered away, one hand still over her mouth. “Is he dead?”