Episode 2

“I— ” LaShaun broke off when Sheriff Triche strode in.

Sheriff Roman “Romey” Triche’s hair was silvery white now. When she’d left nine years ago he still had traces of brunette mixed with the gray. At five feet eleven inches he looked short next to Broussard. Still he had an air of authority that made him seem taller. He came straight toward them without looking left or right. The room got quiet. Even the phones stopped ringing. Deputy Arceneaux, the only other female in the room of male officers, followed behind Sheriff Triche.

“Evenin’, LaShaun.” Sheriff Triche nodded to her. “Sorry to hear ‘bout your grandmother bein’ so low.”

“Thank you, Sheriff,” LaShaun nodded back to him. “You think I might get to see her tonight? I’ve had a long plane ride from L.A., and a long drive from New Orleans.”

Sheriff Triche blew out a gust of air and looked at Deputy Broussard. His gray eyebrows pulled together in a frown. “Well?”

“Broken taillight, but more important a suspicious substance.” Broussard seemed to chafe at being questioned. He pushed the clear plastic bag on top of the desk toward Sheriff Triche.

“Humph.” Sheriff Triche picked up the bag and opened it, took a sniff then closed it again.

“That just one of three I found,” Broussard said.

“Lemme see.” The Sheriff glanced at LaShaun. She gave him a brief smile and leaned back in the chair.

“I’m gonna have Myrtle, I mean Deputy Arceneaux, run these over to the State Police lab for analysis.”

“Myrtle ain’t got time to run no errands,” Sheriff Triche said. “She’s working on them burglaries. Besides, this here ain’t nothin’ but a bunch of wild herbs from out in the swamp. My granny was a traiteur. Used to see her lay all kinds of plants out to dry. This here, use it for a tea to settle the stomach.”

Broussard drew himself up and his jaw muscle tightened again. “Well maybe so, but we better be sure with all the drugs coming through. We got a real problem in this parish and — ”

Sheriff Triche waved a hand at him. “Right, crack down law and order to impress the voters. Until you find out these ain’t no drugs LaShaun can go on to Momon Odette’s.”

“But she could leave anytime,” Broussard replied in a voice even tighter than his jaws.

“My grandmother, the woman who raised me, cared for me as a child, is seriously ill, Deputy Broussard. I have no plans to leave for at least two weeks.” LaShaun gazed at Sheriff Triche and then at Deputy Arceneaux who stood at his side.

“No probable cause, plus I’m tellin’ you them ain’t nuthin’ but a bunch of herbs folks been usin’ ‘round here for generations.” Sheriff Triche gestured for LaShaun to follow him.

“I didn’t write out the ticket yet for that.” Broussard started to go on when Sheriff Triche waved at him. Without saying anything else he scratched out the ticket with angry, sharp motions. He tore off the short white piece of paper and held it out to LaShaun. “You have to pay the fine or report to traffic court.”

“I’ll pay the fine since I’m guilty. But for the record if any other broken tail lights show up I didn’t do it.” LaShaun stood, took the ticket and turned to Sheriff Triche. “And you can’t prove I did even if you try.”

She flipped her fingertips at them as her only goodbye. Despite her insolent, hip swaying exit from the Sheriff’s station LaShaun felt shaky. When she reached the parking lot LaShaun took in a deep breath of the cool February night air. Once inside the Mercury Mariner she exhaled and locked the door. Though she should have known better than to issue that challenge, LaShaun had been unable to stop herself. After all she was Francine’s daughter and Odette LaGrange Rousselle’s granddaughter. Daring the authorities to catch her was most likely coded into her DNA.


Twenty minutes later LaShaun pulled into Momon Odette’s driveway. The digital clock glowing in soft green on her dashboard said it was almost eleven thirty. A curtain twitched and moments later the front door cracked open. LaShaun opened the driver’s side door and got out of the Mariner. Her cousin Rita stood in the doorway, the bright porch light washed over her. She put both hands on her wide hips.

“Thought I was gonna hafta call out the sheriff’s department to find you, girl.” Rita crossed the screened porch and let the screen door slap close behind her. Seconds later she hugged LaShaun tightly.

“Hey, Ree. Just so happens they could have told you exactly where I was. One of your diligent deputies hauled me in.” LaShaun pecked a kiss on her cousin’s cheek. “Got three bags. Grab one.”

Rita yanked on LaShaun’s arm as she started to walk off. “They messin’ with you already? Damn it, they need to leave you alone. I oughta— ”

“Let it go, Ree. They can’t do anything but huff and puff. How’s Momon been today?” LaShaun patted her hand then went to the rear of the SUV. She unlocked the hatch and picked up both suitcases.

“Pretty good. She ate more of her supper than she’s been eatin’.” Rita grabbed the last bag then briefly played tug-of-war with LaShaun. She won and carried a large bag in each hand easily.

“Still trying to prove you’re stronger than me, huh?” LaShaun gave her a playful swat on the shoulder.

“Yeah, and I can still whip your butt, too,” Rita retorted. “Don’t forget it either or I’ll remind you in the worst way.”

“Gee, I missed being bullied and threatened by you.”

LaShaun laughed as she followed her up the steps and into the house. When she walked down the hallway LaShaun instinctively turned into the living room to her left. The sights and smells acted like a time machine. The scent of Creole spices hung in the air. Sweet bell peppers, onions, garlic, and hot pepper sauce announced that Rita, or someone else with crazy culinary skills, had been cooking. One long sofa sat against a wall. A painting of Momon’s house and part of the woods surrounding it hung just above it. Two other smaller paintings of bayou scenes hung on two other walls. Over the fireplace was a portrait of a breathtaking woman, Odette when she was a woman of forty. A baby grand piano sat in one corner of the room. The polished walnut finish gleamed as always. Most people didn’t know it, but Momon Odette was an accomplished pianist. LaShaun dropped the suitcase, went to it and traced the fingers of one hand along the carved music desk above the keys. Then she sat down and gently played the first few notes of Over The Rainbow.

“Why you actin’ like you scared of them keys? Play that song right. That’s one of my favorites.” Momon Odette said from the doorway.

She leaned heavily to one side on a thick carved wooden cane. Her skin had the color and texture of ancient parchment. Her white hair was combed back and her scalp showed through in spots where it had thinned. The dark eyes still hinted at some secret power. She wore earrings, twin gold beads gleamed as she moved her head. Then she smiled with affection. The years seemed to slip away. The remnant of the beautiful woman she had been in youth came through. LaShaun once again knew why Momon Odette was a legend in Vermilion Parish. Nothing short of magic seemed to flow from that smile. Yet LaShaun also knew the truth.