LaShaun hesitated only a moment on the edge of the back porch. Sunlight lit up the green expanse of the backyard. Across the carefully tended lawn lay a path through wild palm shrubs and a line of oak trees. The family cemetery lay just down the path.
Momon Odette sat in a comfortable cypress rocking chair enjoying the sunlight. A crocheted shawl was wrapped around her shoulders and a larger one draped across her lap. “Go on, cher. Pay your respects,” she said quietly.
“I want to but.”
LaShaun watched sparrows flit from tree branch to tree branch. The day was beautiful, touched with just a hint of winter yet warmed by the sunlight. The scene was peaceful, innocent looking even. Into those woods where the scent of the bayou mixed with fragrance of leaves LaShaun had found herself, and slipped into a kind of midnight. One too many times for her own good as it turned out.
“You must honor the dead, cher. It’s only right. You are strong.”
She turned to face her grandmother. “You know better. Once the wrong essence is set in motion there is no turning back. I’ve changed, Momon. But.” LaShaun turned away again.”
“There is that word, but,” Momon said and let out an impatient sigh. “One little word that keeps most folks from getting what they want, from taking hold of life and taming it to their own will. I have no use for such weakness. Do as you please.” She closed her eyes and rested her head against the high back of the rocker.
“Don’t stay out in that morning air too long, Momon,” Rita called from the kitchen. The rattle of dishes came through as she cleaned up.
“You children. That one is a fussy mother hen cluckin’ around all the time givin’ orders. And this one,” She waved a hand at LaShaun without opening her eyes. “Ah, well. I’ve done my best.”
Without answering LaShaun started for the path. She felt every sensation as though each nerve in her body was on alert. Thick grass cushioned each her footsteps as she crossed the yard. LaShaun stopped only for a few seconds when she got to the beginning of the path. When she saw the clear, packed dirt LaShaun glanced back at her grandmother shading her eyes from the sun. Momon Odette rocked and hummed. Whose frequent footsteps had kept the path free of grass? Certainly not Momon Odette. Not Rita. LaShaun’s heart beat faster but she walked on. Ten steps, twenty steps, taking her farther from her the life she’d built in Los Angeles. Sunlight was cut into intricate patterns, as the tree canopy became thicker overhead. Her heartbeat picked up, but not because of fear. Moments later a clearing to her left appeared. Head stones dotted the grass surrounded by a square cast iron fence. The Rousselle family cemetery, a legend in Vermillion Parish. LaShaun smiled as she remembered the silly myths. No late night ceremonies had been held here or spirits called from forth beneath a full moon.
She walked to the gate, opened it and went in. Carefully tended raised flowerbeds made bringing bouquets unnecessary. Her gaze swept across the dates and names, going back to those born in nineteenth century. A large stone shaped like an angel drew LaShaun like a magnet.
“Francine Amelie Rousselle, 1949-1982, A lovely flame that burned hot and went out much too soon”, LaShaun read softly.
She ran her fingers across one of the angel’s smooth marble wings. No matter how many times she visited her mother’s grave LaShaun always read the epitaph. And as always a bird broke out in song as though her mother had accepted LaShaun’s ritual greeting. As a little girl LaShaun interpreted the birdsong as approval. She’d pour out her dreams and plans, even her schemes to get revenge. Frequently chattering and chirping would surround her. Other times silence soothed her.
Lost in thought for a time LaShaun sat on the stone bench nearby enjoying the serene reunion. A strong wind blew and the leaves rustled. LaShaun stood. She brushed a bit of dirt from the surface of the stone. Pulled a few weeds from the nearby flowerbeds then left the cemetery.
She continued down the path. The wind grew stronger as she neared another clearing. LaShaun felt a tug urging her not to go, still she walked on. Here the grass had grown up. Yet the circle that outlined the old gathering place was still visible. Here she’d cross a threshold that had led down another path, one of destruction. At the time she’d been exhilarated and feeling what she thought was her own power. Another breeze brushed a tendril of hair across her right cheek. She lifted her face to the sliver of sunlight that penetrated the leaves above. The long sleeved cotton blouse she wore lifted at the hem. The breeze moved on her skin and cooled the heat from her long walk. Her breathing slowed. Her heartbeat calmed. Leaves rustled again, this time louder.
“Missed you so,” came from the trees, a soft whisper that surrounded her body.
LaShaun felt as though roots had sprouted from the soles of her feet, anchoring her to the spot. Part of her will, the part that came from a different life, urged her legs to move, to take her away from this place. She tried to remember the sounds, sights and smells of Los Angeles. Nothing came. The verdant fragrance of the woods and the hint of slow moving muddy water of the bayou shut out those memories. The wind came like a long sigh and moved against her legs like hands massaging away resistance. LaShaun did not want to leave, not really. She’d never felt at home in L.A. She’d been comfortable, enjoyed her job, the few friends she’d made and the vibrant culture of the place. But she had never been part of it all. Not like this. No, she’d been a more like a spectator enjoying a theater performance.
LaShaun answered the sigh of the wind with a sigh as well. She opened her arms out enjoying the feeling of air moving across her skin. Temped to kick off her soft leather moccasins instead she opened the top buttons of her shirt. Another sigh as caresses, light and feathery, moved down her neck, covered her shoulders, pressed her body in a sensual embrace.
“Returning to the scene of the crime, huh?”
The gruff voice jerked at LaShaun hard, snapping her awake again to her surroundings. She gasped as she opened her eyes, not having realized she’d closed them. Deputy Broussard stood at the edge of the clearing. He breathed hard as though he’d been running to catch her. His gaze settled on the top of LaShaun’s blouse. She buttoned it quickly.
“Taking a nice morning stroll. Good exercise.” LaShaun tucked the stray tendril of hair behind her ear. “And what are you doing out here on our property? Making the parish safe I hope.” She took a few steps toward him.
“Doing my job, yeah. Your grandmother gave the parish right of way on the path leading to the bayou. We got drug dealin’ just like in the cities. And no telling what else goin’ on out here.” Deputy Broussard cleared his throat as he watched her.
LaShaun laughed. “Unlikely they’d be in the middle of the woods. This little bayou doesn’t lead anywhere and there aren’t any potential customers. Unless you think the squirrels are dealing drugs to the possums.”
“Smart mouth,” he replied and stared at her lips. He cleared his throat again and adopted a stiff official tone. “Surprised you not nervous about being out here alone. Anybody could take you by surprise, like I just did.”
“Nothing bad has ever happened to me here.”
As she stopped speaking a strong breeze pushed against them both. LaShaun blinked as the words “never will” came to her. She glanced at Broussard sharply to see if he’d heard it, too. He frowned as he looked around as though searching.
“What is it?” LaShaun asked, her heart rate now pounding once again.
He blinked hard for a few moments. “Nothing. Look, we got new information on an old case. I came out here to ask you some questions.”
Tension eased the grip on her nerves. Dealing with a down-to-earth adversary would be straightforward at least. Not like battling the seductive call back to the wild part of her. She still felt the breeze, but now it was only part of the weather. Nothing more.
“Stop the games, Deputy Broussard. You’re trying to re-open the investigation of Claude Trosclair’s murder and you want me to go down for it.” LaShaun walked within five feet of the deputy and put both hands on her hips.
“I want the truth, and I’ll follow it wherever it leads. Rousselle family magic or not, don’t matter to me,” he replied with a stone-like expression.
“You want the satisfaction of putting the handcuffs on me yourself. What I don’t understand is why.” LaShaun walked up close to him. Broussard gazed into her eyes. At five foot seven she had to tilt her head up at the six foot two inch officer of the law. “I don’t remember you from back in the day. What is it about getting power over me that excites you so very much, Deputy Broussard?”
The muscle along one jaw twitched, betraying his outward composure. Deputy Broussard’s gaze swept down her body. He pressed his lips tight for a moment as though marshalling his will power.
“I— ” His eyes flashed and he glared at her. “Nothin’ personal, ma’am. I just hate seein’ murderers skip around free thumbin’ their noses at the law. Arrestin’ ‘em is my job. And I take my job serious.”
“Oh, don’t you worry. I’m taking you very seriously as well,” LaShaun answered quietly then smiled at him. “Now what is this new information you’re so hot after?”
Deputy Broussard blinked rapidly and took a step back from her words. “At the time there were distinctive marks on Troslcair’s body from the beatin’ he took. We never could match ‘em to a weapon. That’s why we had to let go of all the suspects.”
LaShaun nodded. “His grandson, Quincy, his employee Kyle Singleton and me.”
“Got a call that maybe you might know somethin’ more about that pattern. Scrolls and couple of lines like some kind of symbol. We might get a drawin’ from the source, too. Maybe you want to cooperate before things go too far.” Deputy Broussard lifted one eyebrow.
“In other words Sheriff Triche doesn’t know you’re out here following this ‘lead’ and you don’t have a search warrant.” LaShaun brushed past him and walked the path back toward the house. “Goodbye, Deputy Broussard. Visit me again sometime. Call first though. I’ll have some of my good old spice cake and coffee waiting for you.”
“I’ll be back for sure. You can count on it,” Broussard called out, goaded and determined to have the last word. “I’m going to keep lookin’ into this. Ma’am.”
“Sure you will,” LaShaun murmured as she put distance between them. “Now what I’m going to do is find out which one of my no good kinfolks dropped a dime on me.”
His description of the marks left on Trosclair’s body worried LaShaun even more. She needed to look through the family heirlooms in the attic.
Episode 7
