Fever Moon Page 16

  Raymond looked at him. “You’re already dead, mister. You just don’t know it.” He turned back to Daniel. “Tell me. Anything might help Adele. Please.” If begging would help, Raymond would beg.

  Daniel’s gaze shifted beyond Raymond to the path Veedal would take when he returned. “Armand was from Baton Rouge. He ran a string of women, prime snatch for the big men sittin’ at the capitol.” His pause was brief but eloquent. “Armand did somethin’ else for those men. When someone stirred up too much trouble, Armand made him go away.”

  Raymond could guess the rest of it. “Dugas was convicted of murder and sentenced to Angola. Who’d he kill?”

  Daniel looked down the line of chained men. “Armand tole me he didn’t kill no one. He was tried for killin’ a whore name of Aleta Boudreaux. Thing is, no body was ever produced. Accordin’ to Armand, this woman never existed. They made her up and sent him to the chain gang for killin’ a ghost.”

  Dugas had been tried, convicted, and quickly sent to the swamps to work where his chances of survival were slim to none. It was an effective means of getting rid of someone who might know too much.

  Raymond pressed the prisoner. “The night Dugas escaped. Tell me about it.” He kept watching for Veedal’s return.

  “Adele brought food when she could. Veedal didn’t like it, but it gave him a chance to mess wid her. That night when she come down, he wasn’t overly suspicious. The fat bastard put his hands on her, tried to kiss her. Adele was a smart one, though, she brought him some whiskey she’d stole from Bastion’s private bottle.” Daniel rubbed his ankle where the leg iron had rubbed the skin. “She played him. He drank the whiskey and ten minutes later he was on his hands and knees runnin’ in circles like a dog.”

  Laughter moved down the line of men.

  “The liquor had a potion in it?” His words were rushed.

  “Must have, but it sure upset Adele to see Veedal the way he was. See, Adele and the Missus grew herbs, for healing and such, up behind the house. Sometimes one of us would go and help work the ground.” He shrugged. “I figure she used something from there.”

  The chains rattled. “Veedal was slobber in’ and gruntin’ like a boar hog in the river mud.” The thin blond man grinned at the memory. “He was actin’ crazy. Armand finally hit him in the head wid a shovel. That put an end to his crawlin’ and growlin’.”

  Daniel reclaimed the story. “Then Adele got the key from the wall and unlocked Armand’s chains.”

  Raymond stayed focused on what the men could tell him. Veedal would be back any minute. He had to make his questions count. “For Dugas only?”

  The men shifted down the line, the play of metal on metal the sound of hopelessness.

  “No one else would go. We wouldn’t survive the swamp.”

  “So Dugas took off on foot and Adele did what?”

  He shrugged. “She’d been feelin’ poorly. She said she was gonna go home to the swamp. Said her brother would bring her fish and meat and she’d stay home.”

  “Do you think Dugas got away?” Raymond asked.

  Daniel shrugged. “They hunted him for days. They tried to make us tell where he went, but we had nothin’ to tell. Armand was a friendly man, but he never talked to us about his plans. We didn’t know nothin’ we could tell if we’d wanted.”

  Raymond had one more question. “Were Adele and Dugas lovers?”

  Daniel laughed and the chuckle passed down the line of men. He held up his chains. “I been here two years. The chains never come off. Never. Dugas was chained just like me.”

  “Were Adele and Henri lovers?”

  Daniel shook his head. “Adele was a kind woman. If she slept with Henri Bastion, it wasn’t ‘cause she wanted it.”

  Raymond was already moving when he spoke again. “I’ll be back to see what I can do.” He stepped into the cover of the brake as Veedal rounded the point of land that hid the plantation house, his horse covered in a nervous sweat.

  The overseer put the men back to work and Raymond slipped among the dense trees toward the house. It was at least a half mile, and he felt the pressure of time slipping away from him.

  Each step brought a pinch of pain in his back, but he kept going. At last the white house, like a dream, could be seen among the trees. He skirted the yard and went to the back, searching for signs of a garden. About fifty yards from the house he heard the soft buzz of bees. The busy drone drew him toward a thick wall of azaleas. He moved forward cautiously, until he saw the hive boxes hidden among the foliage.

  Beyond the beehives he found the herb garden choked with weeds. Some of the plants—peppers, thyme, basil, dill—he recognized as everyday herbs necessary for cooking spicy Cajun foods. Others he didn’t know.

  Always listening for the sound of Marguerite’s car or Veedal’s horse, he wasted precious time searching for a container. At last he found a dishpan and began the tedious process of gathering samples. He collected even the plants he knew.

  He was about to leave when he noticed a band of wild grass bordering the south side of the garden. The beaded heads, heavy with black grains, dipped and crested in the breeze. Coastal Bermuda contained a small black head, but this was different. He stepped forward for a closer look. The peculiar growth seemed out of place so he grasped a handful of the grass, pulling it by the roots, and added it to his collection.

  Madame Louiselle would be able to help him identify the plants. It was possible that Adele’s strange behavior could be accounted for by something growing right in the Bastion yard. He felt an unfamiliar tension between his shoulder blades and was surprised to recognize hope. If something in this garden proved responsible … it was almost too much to believe. But if it was true, then he’d have the how. All that would be left would be the who.

  Raymond sped into town, the dishpan beside him on the car seat. He was headed toward Florence’s house when he spied Chula coming out of the post office. She carried a satchel of mail.

  He slowed as he pulled beside her and stopped. “Chula, are you going out toward Madame Louiselle’s?”

  “I could be.” She leaned on the window. “What’s that?” She pointed at the dishpan.

  “If you’re going out toward Madame’s, you could save me a lot of time by taking these to her.”

  “Hand them over.” Chula reached into the car. “I need to check on her anyway.”

  Raymond hesitated. “Thank you, Chula.”

  “I’m glad to do it.” She lifted the pan to her hip. “Whether you like it or not, Raymond, I hold you in high regard.”

  She turned and left him in the idling car as she walked down the street, the mail satchel swinging at her side and the dishpan on her hip.

  Raymond revved the engine and accelerated. Chula Baker had inherited her mama’s high-handed ways, but he couldn’t stop the smile that touched the corners of his mouth. He could only thank his lucky stars she was an ally and not an adversary.

  By taking the herbs, Chula had freed him to search for Armand Dugas. Raymond knew the price of hope, but he couldn’t help but believe the convict was not only alive but in possession of knowledge that would help him prove Adele’s innocence.

  Florence let the crisp air flow over her face from the open window of the car. She caught her hair in one hand, restraining the dark curls from tickling her face. She was almost afraid to glance at Raymond as he drove. He’d been distant, more tense than usual. The weight he carried had grown heavier, and she knew it was Adele. Whatever Adele’s ultimate fate, Raymond had assumed the responsibility. His fate was now bound with Adele, for better or worse. Adele had softened him in some ways, yet made him more distant, too.

  His invitation to ride to Baton Rouge had been so unexpected that she’d failed to ask why they were making the trip. It was county business, because they rode in the patrol car on gasoline paid for with county coupons. But when business was done, there would surely be an element of pleasure. Why else would he have invited her to ride with him?

  S
he’d chosen a red top with sleeves that tied on her arm and a tight black skirt, the kind of dress any woman might wear for a day of shopping in the state capital. Shopping. Or lunching. Or going to a movie or even a live performance at one of the supper clubs.

  On either side of them the marshes stretched like a sea of grass. The sky was cloudless and blue, and she caught the scent of dead fish and mud. Beyond the vista she knew so well, she saw another reality. Hovering on the horizon was a different image, a cottage in a shady, respectable neighborhood with shuttered windows and a quiet lawn. She was traveling to Baton Rouge—and the future she dreamed about—with the man she loved. Surely this was the first step in that direction.

  When she did chance a look at Raymond, she saw a hardness in the set of his mouth that made her anxious. Whatever he chewed was bitter. Once his business was done, he’d come around to feeling better. She’d make sure of it.

  “Has there been a sign of that missing child?” she asked.

  Raymond glanced at her as if he didn’t know who she was. He blinked. “Joe’s got a search party out. Clifton Hebert’s leading another one.”

  “Do you think Peat Moss is still alive?”

  His grip on the wheel tightened. “I don’t know.”

  Exasperated, she asked, “Raymond, why are we going to Baton Rouge?”

  “Business.”

  He was never a talkative man, but his silence was like a wall between them. “Why did you ask me to ride with you on county business?”

  He sighed. His hand moved toward her and then returned to the steering wheel. “Did you ever hear of a man named Armand Dugas? He worked around Baton Rouge.”

  Florence felt the point of his question like a knife. The fantasy of a life in Baton Rouge with Raymond died a violent death. “Is this Armand Dugas in the life?”

  “Yes.”

  “You brought me along with you so I could help you track down a pimp?”

  “Yes.” He didn’t look at her.

  She focused her gaze out the window. The open stretches of marshland were behind them. Cypress trees crowded close to the road, their limbs bound by vines and moss. They hadn’t passed another car for miles.

  “Did you ever hear of him?” Raymond asked.

  “No.” She blinked back tears, and when she wiped her cheek her finger found the thin ridge of the crescent-shaped scar. Raymond had never implied this was a date. She knew they were in the county car. This had only ever been business. For all that she prided herself on her practicality and lack of sentimentality, she felt the searing heat of disappointment and betrayal.

  His hand touched hers, his fingers tracing her own until they caught around hers. “Florence, I didn’t mean to hurt you. I should have explained.”

  “But you were afraid I’d say no.”

  He didn’t answer, and she knew she was right. Her jaw ached from grinding her teeth. “Why is this Armand Dugas so important?”

  “I can’t be certain, but he may have the answer to Adele Hebert.”

  “Do you ever think of anything except Adele Hebert?” She turned on him. “What about that child? You’re hauling me off to Baton Rouge while that little girl is still missing. What about her? Why is it only Adele you feel the need to protect?” Anger and hurt fueled her words.

  He was surprised by her outburst and that made her even angrier. “Don’t you think people talk? They say you took Adele Hebert from her cell and hid her in the swamp so she can’t be made to pay for what she did. They say she’s cast her spell on you.”

  “Who says that?”

  “The men who pay me for the pleasure I give them.” She flung the words at him, hoping for pain. He viewed her as a whore with useful contacts; she would show him what contacts she had.

  “They’re wrong.”

  “Where is Adele Hebert? That’s the question everyone asks, Raymond. You told me Halloween Night that she had escaped. Folks in town think you have her. Have you hidden her?”

  Raymond put both hands on the wheel. “No. I wish I had, though. Adele could be dead in the swamps. Will you help me?”

  She turned away from him. “Do I have a choice?”

  “With me, always.”

  17

  CHULA shoved the letters into the postal slots, her quick fingers sorting with experienced speed. Madame’s cottage had been empty when she’d gotten there, so she’d left the herbs with a note on the top step. Worried about Madame and Adele, she’d returned to chaos at the post office.

  Claudia worked beside her, fumbling each piece of mail she touched. It was easy to see that Claudia was in a terrible state, and Chula could easily guess the reason why.

  “Did you talk to Mrs. Lanoux?” Chula asked.

  Claudia dropped a stack of letters that scattered across the wooden floor. When she stooped to retrieve them, a sob escaped her. “I went to visit, but …” She pressed her face into her knees and wept, hunkered into herself like a child.

  Kneeling beside her, Chula recovered the mail and put an arm around her coworker. “How bad is Justin?” The day she’d delivered the letter to the Lanoux family and she’d learned that Justin was wounded and headed home from the war, she’d feared his wounds were life-changing, but hoped that time would mend him.

  Claudia lifted her tear-stained face, anguish evident in her features. “Mrs. Lanoux said I couldn’t see him. She said he wouldn’t see anyone. She said he refused to come out of his room, that he sat in the dark and wouldn’t talk or eat. Oh, my God, Chula. Remember how Justin used to pull pranks and get into mischief. What have they done to him?” She hugged her knees and wept silently.

  Chula gently rubbed Claudia’s back. There were questions to be asked, but she sensed that Claudia had no answers. “Give him time, cher. He wasn’t in the hospital a long time. Maybe his wounds aren’t as serious as we suspect. It’s hard for a man to be hurt, even a little.”

  The bell on the door jingled and the smell of Wild Root hair tonic wafted into the post office. Chula looked up to find Praytor standing at the counter looking down at them with a calculating eye. He made no attempt to hide his thoughts. Chula rose and stepped forward to shield Claudia from his gaze.

  “Can I help you?” she asked. She held her place, refusing to step closer to the counter. Behind her Claudia scrambled to her feet and fled the room.

  “Didn’t mean to interrupt.” Praytor grinned.

  “Do you want to buy stamps?”

  “Actually, I’m here on criminal business.” He leaned against the counter.

  “What can I help you with, Praytor?” She forced herself to sound pleasant. There was something about Praytor that gave her the creeps. He was a mama’s boy who she’d viewed as Henri Bastion’s toady. Now that Henri wasn’t around to boss him, he seemed lost. Not a good thing, in her opinion.

  “Sure looked like an interés tin’ game you were playin’ when I walked in.” He grinned at her.

  The mail slipped from Chula’s fingers, and she clasped her hands behind her back before she slapped him across the face. “We don’t have time for games at the post office. Now, did you need some stamps?”

  He tapped the service bell on the counter but muffled the sound by wrapping his long fingers around it. Chula thought of a spider. “I saw you going out to that old conjure woman’s place. You got business with her?”

  Chula’s first impulse was to tell him to kiss her behind, but she schooled herself to show nothing. “I took some mail to her and a few other people out that way. The same as I’d do for your mother if you weren’t all the time in town.”

  “You see anyone out there? Maybe someone hidin’?”

  Chula bit her lip as if she were thinking. “No. Fact is I didn’t see anyone. Madame wasn’t at home. Why do you ask?”

  “Where’s that professor man?” Praytor countered.

  Chula frowned, caught off guard. “John’s interviewing some people, why?”

  “Sheriff Joe needs his help. Asked me to step in and fetch him.”
>
  Chula wasn’t certain she believed what Praytor was telling her—that the sheriff was suddenly interested in Dr. John LeDeux. “Where’s Raymond?”

  “Last seen headed out of town with that whore beside him in the front seat of the patrol car. Seems like they took a day off for a trip. The sheriff is a mite upset.”

  “Did Raymond have a lead on the missing child?”

  Praytor shook his head. “I don’t think that little pickaninny took off for Baton Rouge, and that’s the direction Deputy Thibodeaux was headed. I doubt Raymond is sniffin’ that trail. Must be something else he’s caught the scent of.”

  Chula ignored his insinuations and picked up the mail she’d dropped. “Raymond wouldn’t leave his duties, Praytor. The sheriff knows that if you don’t.” It didn’t make a lot of sense that Raymond had taken off to Baton Rouge with Florence, but she was sure he had a good reason. “Tell Joe I’ll call around and try to find John.”

  “Now would be better than later.” Praytor pulled a knife from his pocket and began to scrap at a rough spot on his hand. “Got a splinter that won’t come out. Maybe I’ll take a ride out to Madame Louiselle’s, see what she can do for it. I got it in my head somehow that she can help me with several things.”

  Chula put the letters on the counter. Her hands were sweating. “If you need John right now, check with Aimee Baxter. He said something about talking to her about how Peat Moss disappeared.” The Baxters lived on the other side of the parish and there wasn’t a telephone within five miles of them. She had to divert Praytor from Madame Louiselle’s.

  In the back room she heard Claudia blowing her nose, and her assistant stepped back up to the counter, her face reddened from crying. “I can watch the counter if you need to find Mr. LeDeux,” Claudia said.

  “Shall I get him for you, Praytor, or can you manage it yourself?”

  “Thanks, Miss Chula. I’ll go find him for the sheriff. Joe seemed like it was urgent.” Praytor tipped his hat at both of them as he opened the front door.

  “Please ask John to call me or come by when he’s finished with the sheriff.” She forced a smile on lips that felt paralyzed.