Episode 8

The next day LaShaun went into town. Three blocks into her walk down Main Street LaShaun had an overwhelming urge to slap somebody. The stares and whispers bothered her more than she thought they would. She’d forgotten the relentless memory of small town folks. In Los Angeles she’d been just one of millions, another anonymous transplant chasing California gold in one variety or another. LaShaun had found a way to be herself without the claustrophobic definitions of her family’s past or the judgment of others. She had changed, but Beau Chene was the same.

The downtown looked like a typical tourist area in rural Louisiana. Quaint antique shops and restaurants serving Cajun and Creole dishes made up most of the small business district. She was so focused on watching people watching Savannah St. Julien surprised her LaShaun. They’d been schoolmates and declared enemies for as long as both could remember. Naturally Savannah had the advantage of being the “good girl”, with all the support and sympathy that came with it. LaShaun’s alienation had only sharpened her anger. Savannah stood in the door to her father’s curio and souvenir shop, arms crossed in a defensive posture.

“I heard you were in town,” Savannah said. She looked into LaShaun’s eyes intently as trying to detect some sign of trouble to come.

LaShaun let out a long sigh. “Hello to you, too, Savannah. We’re gonna skip the small talk I guess.”

“No sense wasting time being phony. So what’s the deal, LaShaun? You remembered one person in town you haven’t pissed off in some way?”

“Well at least you have a sense of humor these days.”

“You leaving helped a lot,” Savannah shot back.

LaShaun felt a familiar tingle move through her body as she looked at Savannah. Momon Odette’s animosity toward the St. Julien family was legendary. Francine’s mother and Savannah’s father had been teenage sweethearts, but Antoine St. Julien had broken it off. He’d fallen for the woman who was to become his wife and Savannah’s mother. According to Momon Odette Francine had spiraled downward solely because of Antoine. LaShaun knew better now. As a child LaShaun had bought the delusion that Francine’s tragic end could be traced straight to Antoine St. Julien’s door. Looking into Savannah’s eyes LaShaun felt the weight of all her past misdeeds. Here was the first chance to move away from the past.

“I’m back to visit my grandmother. This may be my last chance to spend time with her,” LaShaun replied quietly.

Savannah’s expression softened a little. “I heard she’s been very sick. Despite our history I don’t have any ill will toward Miss Odette.”

“Thanks. Listen, I know we’ve got history like you said— ” LaShaun cleared her throat.

“I was being nice about it. How about you tried to get me killed? Oh and let’s not forget the years of torture before that.” Savannah’s lapse into sympathy vanished.

“I did not try to get you killed,” LaShaun shot back sharply. She put her hands on both hips.

“What about— ”

“Alright, I did do a few nasty things to scare the hell out of you. But I never, ever did anything to seriously hurt you,” LaShaun protested.

“Your memory might be messed up, but mine is working very well. What about those friends of yours who broke into my store and attacked me?” Savannah’s voice rose attracting attention from passersby.

“Okay, okay. Those guys were my running buddies back in the day, but I didn’t tell them to attack you.” LaShaun muttered a few curse words.

“You always could twist men around until they did crazy stuff for you,” Savannah retorted.

“And what about you, Miss Goody-Sunshine? You spread all kinds of rumors about me being some kind of evil devil worshipper hanging out in the woods performing sacrifices.”

“And what part of that isn’t true?” Savannah tossed back. “I kept some of the gris-gris you left in my car and my house.”

LaShaun took her hands from her lips, cleared her throat and crossed her arms. “Oh, yeah. That.”

“Oh yeah, that,” Savannah parroted with a sneer.

“Wait a minute, you never believed in that voodoo stuff anyway. Even when we were kids you used to make fun of anybody dumb enough to be scared,” LaShaun snapped. “Before you got all girly-girl in middle-school, you whipped my butt at least twice.”

“You deserved it. And I was putting on a brave face. You knew I was scared, always stalking me around town.”

“Hey, come to think of it, you showed up on my doorstep waving your hands in the air and mumbling some kind of spell to get back at me.” LaShaun gestured wildly in imitation of Savannah’s performance almost twelve years ago.

“You backed me into a corner. What did you expect?” Savannah glared at her. “All those rumors about how my mama died terrified me.”

LaShaun went still. Momon Odette had allowed superstitious towns people believe in the mystique of the so-called Rousselle family power. When Savannah’s mother died, folks swore Francine had put a spell on her in revenge for stealing Antoine away. Savannah had been five years old. More than anyone LaShaun knew the pain of losing a mother. Lost in her own despair, locked in a self-destructive pattern of men and alcohol abuse, LaShaun lost her mother years before she died in that fire.

“I’m sorry,” LaShaun said quietly as she let her arms fall. She looked at the sidewalk beneath her feet.

Savannah’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Say what?”

“I played on that. I was wrong, but I was just so mad at Francine leaving me behind and I needed somebody to take it out on.”

Savannah blinked hard. Her mouth dropped and it took her a few seconds to speak. “Well, I uh, don’t know what to say.”

“I was acting out a family grudge that didn’t have anything to do with reality. It’s not like we gained anything from it. All the spite toward you and Mr. Antoine, I mean.” LaShaun glanced around at the buildings. Being in town awakened more unpleasant memories again.

“Yeah, well.” Savannah seemed at a lost for a few seconds. “We were even friends for about a minute in the fourth grade.”

LaShaun gazed up at his name carved in a cypress wood plank hanging from a post in front of the shop. She remembered the tall handsome man who always wore a warm smile edged with sadness. Folks said he’d grieved his young wife’s death hard. He was always kind to LaShaun, even when she acted like a brat toward him. Her biggest secret, even from her grandmother, is that she used to pretend that Antoine was her daddy, too. She’d watch him hug Savannah with such tenderness. LaShaun wondered what having that kind of love from a father would feel like.

“How is Mr. Antoine these days?” LaShaun shielded her eyes from the sun and looked off down the street.

“He’s doing good. I finally convinced him to retire, well semi-retire anyway. Stubborn as ever you know. He’s visiting an old friend in Vacherie,” Savannah said with a smile. “Don’t be surprised if he hunts you down to say hello. He was about the only one around here who would defend you.”

LaShaun felt a rush of emotion that threatened to spill from her eyes in the form of tears. How silly to be sentimental about an off-hand remark. She turned away from Savannah and gave a rough laugh. “Not that I needed it. Shoot, I was good at standing up for myself.”

“Tell me about it. Girl, you were something else. And those creeps you hung out with— ” Savannah let out a whistle.

“Anyway, I just came downtown to see what the place looked like, not to start any drama.” LaShaun was about to say more when Deputy Broussard drove up.

One brawny arm rested in the window of the cruiser, a white Chevrolet Impala with the shield of the Sheriff’s Office in gold and blue. He nodded to Savannah but stared at LaShaun. “Afternoon, Miss Savannah. You alright?”

Savannah glanced at him then at LaShaun. “Hi. I’m fine, and you?”

“Doing good. Just out and about keepin’ an eye on things. Bye now.” He eased the cruiser away from the curb keeping to the thirty mile speed limit as he drove off. Other cars promptly slowed down as well.

“He seems interested in you.” Savannah squinted at the retreating car then looked at LaShaun. “Not in a good way either.”

“Whatever.” LaShaun lifted her head in defiance. She was again on well-known ground, an outcast facing hostility. “Bye.”

“Listen, I have a coffee shop in the store now. We bought the building next door and expanded. We serve the best lattes in town. No brag, just fact.” Savannah walked a few steps beside LaShaun.

“Sounds good, but— “ LaShaun was about to turn around and say more when a silver Lexus SUV pulled up.

Quentin Trosclair sat behind the wheel. He’d been her lover and fellow suspect in the murder of his own rich, mean as a snake grandfather. She had to admit the nasty piece of work had aged gracefully. Quentin looked fit and trim. Dressed in a light yellow knit shirt and khaki pants, he was still handsome in a spoiled, decadent kind of way. His curly black hair was cut short. He removed his designer sunglasses and cocked an eyebrow at LaShaun.

“Well, well. Returning to the scene of the crime, “ he said.

Savannah looked at LaShaun, the suspicion back in her expression. “Humph. Speaking of crazy men from your past,” she muttered.

“This trip down memory lane just keeps getting more fun by the day.” LaShaun tapped her right fist against one jean clad thigh as she gazed back at Quentin.