Fever Moon Read online

  A long, mournful howl wafted out of the woods. Raymond stumbled as the sheriff jumped into him. At the sound of rustling in the bushes, both men drew their guns. The sound of the sheriff’s driver locking the car doors was clear in the crisp night.

  “Stay behind the headlights,” Raymond said as Joe started to move forward. “We have the advantage here.”

  They stood side by side as they tried to penetrate the blackness of the swamp. The beam of Raymond’s light bounced feebly off the trees. The rustling grew louder, followed by a piteous howl that seemed to last an eternity.

  “It’s over there in those bushes.” Joe pointed toward a dense clump of black. “Shoot it.”

  Raymond put his hand on the sheriff’s gun, pushing the barrel down. “What if it’s a hunter or a kid? Or it could be Adele. She got loose, and I haven’t been able to catch her.”

  “You’re responsible for what happens here.” Joe raised the barrel. “Tonight, I’ll shoot first and worry about it later. If Adele is here, I mean to kill her.” He cocked the gun.

  Raymond pushed the barrel down again. “Stop it, Joe. I’ll go check.” He started toward the bush. Halfway there, he turned back. “If you shoot me in the back, I’ll come back to haunt you.”

  The slight lift of Joe’s barrel dropped and he lowered the hammer. “You’re either a brave man or a fool. If that she bitch tries to jump you, I’m firin’ and I’m gonna keep on firin’

  ‘til she’s dead.”

  Raymond continued toward the hackberry bush. He caught the reflected glint of two red eyes, and for a moment a balloon of irrational fear almost choked him. He forced his feet to move on, his gun out and ready. He would shoot her if he had to. A clean shot. So there would be no suffering. But he didn’t want to kill her.

  “Adele?” He spoke softly, so that Joe wouldn’t hear. “Come out and let me help you.”

  The bushes quivered, as if she trembled inside them.

  “Come on out.” He spoke with kindness. “If you don’t, men are going to keep hunting you until they kill you.”

  The bush shuddered more violently.

  “Adele.” He spoke as he would to a wild dog.

  The eyes moved toward him, and a large red hound stepped free of the bushes. It cowered to the road and crawled on its belly, whining and groveling. A lead dragged behind it in the dirt.

  “Here, boy,” Raymond said, kneeling to stroke the terrified animal’s head. “It’s okay.”

  The dog pressed against his legs, whining. When he picked up the lead and stood, the dog lifted its head and howled, the sound echoing back from the thick trees of the swamp.

  26

  CLIFTON Hebert found the body.” Joe sipped the coffee Pinkney had brought him from the café, his hand trembling so that the hot black liquid slopped over the side of the cup, burning his fingers.

  “And where did Clifton go? He just left a dead body on the side of the road?” Raymond rubbed his jaw and felt the stubble of growth. “What was Clifton doing out on Section Line Road? He doesn’t live anywhere near there.”

  “He was trying to round up his dogs.” Joe leaned his head on his hand, elbow propped on his desk. “I’m too old for this job, Raymond. All I ever wanted to do was keep things safe ‘til the war was over. Then I wanted to run for the state house, maybe see about keeping New Iberia’s interests in the front seat of the government beef wagon.” His hand was trembling so that he put the coffee down. “I never bargained for any of this.”

  “None of us did, Joe. Well, maybe Praytor did. What was he doing running through those woods alone?”

  “Jolene LaRoche told me that when Father Michael found Peat Moss, Praytor seemed determined to bring Adele in. Alone. Like he wouldn’t be bested by a priest.”

  “Sounds just like Praytor.” Raymond had trained himself to keep his feelings numb, and now he was glad for it. Praytor was a fool. Still, it was a gruesome way to go, and if no one else missed Praytor, his mother would. He sighed. “Before everyone goes off the deep end thinking it’s the loup-garou, I want to point out that both Henri and Praytor had a lot of enemies. A lot of the same enemies. Praytor was hooked into Henri’s business.”

  “That’s supposed to mean what?” Joe sat up, forcing his back to straighten with a grimace.

  “Two men with similar interests and enemies die in the same manner.” Raymond said it slowly so the impact could sink in. “If a werewolf were out there, how would she target two men so much alike?”

  “And the girl. Don’t forget the girl.”

  “Peat Moss was uninjured. In fact, it would seem someone took care of the child. She’d been given food. Hardly the handiwork of a loup-garou.” He was reminded that the bread and cloth-wrapped grass were still in his jacket pocket. If Madame and Doc couldn’t help him, he’d have to go to someone who could. Maybe the university in Baton Rouge.

  Joe stood up and withdrew a dollar from his billfold. He handed the black man the money. “Pinkney, go get some soap. Those boys need a bath.”

  “Sure thing, Sheriff.” Pinkney was out the door.

  Joe walked over to where Raymond sat beside a potbellied stove. The two Bastion boys, fists gripped around the bars of their cell, listened to every word. “Raymond, I don’t believe in loup-garous. I don’t believe in spells and curses. But I do believe when a man takes on a job, he owes his boss some loyalty. You shoulda told me Adele was runnin’ loose.”

  Raymond felt no compulsion to defend himself. “You’re right. I should have.”

  “I ought to fire you.” Joe held his gaze steady.

  Raymond’s estimation of the sheriff rose a notch. “You should. I would.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Raymond tried to align the reasons, to give only the most important. “She was so sick and weak, I figured I’d find her before anyone realized she’d left Madame Louiselle’s, and I was afraid you’d let it slip and start a panic.”

  Joe nodded. “My tongue wags sometimes.”

  “You talk to people. It’s your nature.”

  “And you don’t talk to anyone, Thibodeaux. You drift through life like a ghost. If you feel, nobody can tell it. Hell, Adele Hebert’s the first thing you’ve shown any interest in since you got back from the war.”

  “Are you going to fire me?” Raymond suddenly realized how much he’d come to rely on his job. The force of his emotion surprised him. Florence was right. Adele had become his personal crusade. It didn’t matter if she’d killed Henri and Praytor. She was a wild creature, acting on instinct. Acting without the restraint of civilization. Raymond knew what that felt like. After Antoine’s death, he’d been wild in his pain. He’d done things, savage things, which were lauded in a time of war.

  Joe didn’t answer. He walked to the front window and looked out on the street. He stood staring out into the town.

  From his own desk, Raymond could see that shops were open. Another day of business had begun. The latest war news was good. American troops were kicking ass all over Europe and Africa. The prediction was another five months and the boys would be coming home. That hope was reflected in a boom in spending. Those who had anything left were eager to buy new goods. Life was moving forward again. Maybe even for him. For such a long time now, he’d been outside time and place, a dead man still alive. Adele had become his mirror, showing him a reflection of half-life, and Florence had ignited his will to live.

  “Joe, I’d like to stay.”

  Joe faced him, a silhouette against the window. “I’m not gonna fire you. You’re a better lawman than I am. You’re braver than most men here and folks respect that. Folks need more than respect, though, Raymond. You think I’m prone to gossipin’. I sit around with people and before long, we’re swappin’ a joke or two, and when I leave, maybe they aren’t quite as afraid as they were before I got there. You fall short there, Raymond. You can chew on that while I go see if Doc is ready to do the autopsy on Praytor.”

  The front door closed on Joe, an
d Raymond sat with his hands flat on his desk. Joe spoke the truth, and Raymond had learned something about himself and the sheriff. He stood slowly, pain biting like a wild dog. It was another irony that though he had no compassion for Praytor’s fate, he thought he might know what it felt like for teeth to rip into his body.

  He stood and retrieved his hat. Clifton Hebert had “stumbled” upon Praytor’s body, made a call to the sheriff’s office, and then disappeared into the swamps with his dogs.

  The murder scene was troubling to Raymond. The similarities in the attacks, the convenient way the bodies had been so savaged that cause of death was disguised, the fact that Praytor and Henri were business associates. Also troubling was that the hound Praytor had borrowed from Angola had been untouched in the attack. If Praytor had been coming out of the woods, the dog either pulling him or at his side, why had a so-called savage animal gone after Praytor instead of the hound? Predators were smart. They killed the weakest and easiest victim. The hound should have been killed first.

  He got a rifle from the cabinet beside the cells.

  “You goin’ to kill that loup-garou?” Nathaniel Bastion asked.

  Until the boy spoke, Raymond had forgotten the two were in the jail. “There’s no such thing as the loup-garou.” Raymond found a box of cartridges and picked them up, too.

  “Who you gonna kill?” the boy asked.

  “Hopefully, no one. I’ve had enough killing.” He walked to the cell. “Where do you boys think your mama went?”

  The older one, Caleb, shrugged. “Away from us. She’da left sooner, but Daddy would of caught her and brought her back. She says we’re the spawn of Satan.” He grinned. “I reckon that’s somethin’ to live up to.”

  Raymond studied both boys. “You boys are liars and hellions, but you’re not beyond saving. You told Father Michael your daddy was meeting Adele Hebert down in the shed. You told him you saw her jump your father. None of that was true.”

  They looked at each other, delighted. Caleb turned a bland face to Raymond. “We never said that.”

  “You said you followed your daddy down to the shed and that he met Adele there for sex. Father Finley didn’t make that up.”

  Caleb shook his head. “We never said that.”

  Raymond felt his patience unraveling. “Boys—”

  The front door opened and John LeDeux walked in, hat in hand. He nodded at Raymond. “Hello, boys.”

  Raymond took a breath. “I’m sorry, LeDeux. I forgot about our appointment.”

  “Not to worry. I had a nice breakfast down at the café and figured your schedule had changed with Praytor’s murder.”

  “Can we postpone this talk?” Raymond tried to hide his impatience. On the long list of things he needed to do, talking with a professor wasn’t high up there.

  “Maybe I could ride with you wherever you’re going and talk on the way. Truth is, I have to leave for Baton Rouge after lunch, and I really need to speak with you first.”

  “I’m going into the swamps.”

  “All the better,” John said. “Chula tells me that a bit of exposure to nature will make me less of an academic. She says it as if my profession is some kind of condition I should want to cure.”

  Raymond found it hard not to like the man. “It’s up to you. Maybe when you go back to the university you could take something for me.”

  “Sure thing. Whatever I can do to help.”

  Raymond gave Caleb and Nathaniel a glare. “I’ll be back, and when I get here, you boys have some explaining to do. I’d think you killed Praytor except you were both locked up.”

  “Maybe we turned into bats and flew out the bars.” Caleb laughed and his brother joined in. “I had a taste for that old bastard!” He smacked his lips.

  The boys were still laughing when Raymond stepped onto the street.

  Florence sat on her front porch and watched the patrol car speed away. Raymond had a passenger, a man who, from a distance, looked like the professor courting Chula Baker. Good for Chula, finding a man who met her toe to toe. Folks were jealous of her because she had her own money, her own job, and her own mind. Chula lived in a manner that plainly said she didn’t need or care what they thought.

  The university man seemed a good match. She rocked the chair slowly with the balls of her feet. What kind of man was Raymond Thibodeaux? She had only a partial answer. Just when she thought she had Raymond pegged, he did something unexpected. She’d learned things lately. Raymond cared for her. Cared enough to provide for her like a wife. She knew something about herself, too. She wanted Raymond’s respect as well as his love. At the bonfire, he’d shown her what it felt like to legitimately share his affections. That taste had started a big hunger.

  The old rocker creaked, reminding her of the long-ago fall days when she and her mother sat on their small front porch and the smell of the river came damp and clean on a strong breeze. They’d rocked side by side, talking about Florence’s future, about the things that dangled just out of reach for her. Catholic school would lead to college, an education that would allow Florence the luxury of steady work. She’d wanted to be a teacher. Strange that she shared that dream with Adele.

  When she’d been raped in the garden, everything had changed. Even though her mother had urged her to return to school, Florence wouldn’t. She couldn’t. She was no longer the pretty young girl favored by the nuns. A moment in time had stolen the future from her. Perhaps that was what drew her so forcefully to Raymond. Tragedy had changed both of their worlds irrevocably. She couldn’t say if either of them would be able to overcome the past. She could only hope.

  She pushed herself out of the rocker. It was a sign of old age that she was sitting out on her porch trying to make sense of life, when life wouldn’t hold still long enough to examine it. She was only thirty-four but time was slipping away. She’d come to a place that required a decision.

  To that end she went into the house and changed into a blue-dotted dress, the most conservative thing in her wardrobe. She didn’t bother drawing lines down the backs of her legs to pretend she wore hose. She merely strapped on her black shoes and started walking—before she changed her mind. She had some money in a savings account, but most was buried. All together, it was enough to buy a house. Maybe in Lafayette or somewhere close. She’d find a job, something other than selling her body, and she’d wait for Raymond to court her proper. She’d meet him as his equal. Whatever it took, she could make this happen and leave behind the little girl crying in a garden.

  The day was cool and brisk, and she took pleasure in walking through town. She passed the post office and hesitated. It might be nice to speak with Chula. On an impulse, Florence went into the post office.

  “Florence,” Chula said. She was behind a partition and she was alone. Her hair was pinned up in an untidy bun, her dress deliberately plain, but her smile was warm. “How may I help you?”

  “I’d like my mail.” Florence cleared her throat. “And to tell you thank you for last night. You treated me with kindness.”

  “And the same could be said for you.” Chula came toward the counter, and Florence saw that Sarah Bastion clung to her skirt. Chula’s hand went to the little girl’s head. “She won’t let me leave her sight, so I just brought her to work.”

  Florence studied the little girl. She didn’t have to be a gypsy fortune-teller to see the child had endured suffering. Whatever went on at the Bastion plantation must have been awful. All of the children were scarred—the boys devils and the girl a mute. “She’s a pretty little thing.”

  Chula picked up the child and swung her onto a hip. “She is that. I just wish she’d talk. She hasn’t spoken a word since I’ve had her.”

  “Jolene’s telling it around town that she was singing.”

  Chula hesitated, obviously censoring whatever she started to say. It amused Florence. Folks said Chula spoke her mind—another exaggeration about the postmistress. “Jolene was upset. She came tearing up to the house, hysterical. I
t’s hard to know what she saw and what her mind created.”

  “That’s a kind way of putting it.”

  Chula laughed. “I guess I’m not much good at diplomacy, but I should at least get credit for trying.” She sat Sarah on the counter. “Jolene came into the house crazy as a run-over dog. I wouldn’t put any stock in what she thinks she saw.”

  “None of it makes sense.” Florence leaned against the counter. “You’ve known Raymond a long time.”

  Chula nodded. “We dated in high school. Turned out we were better friends than romantic partners. Truth is, Florence, I’ll always have a tender place for Raymond. It’s hurt me to see him suffer so.”

  Florence took a big breath. “I want him to love me. Do you think he will?”

  Chula settled the child on the counter as she sorted another handful of mail. “I saw a difference in Raymond last night, before the sheriff came to get him. I saw—” She smiled. “I saw just a hint of the man I used to know. I think you’re good for him, whether he likes it or not.”

  “That gives me hope.” Florence stood up tall. “Thank you, Chula. I saw Raymond headed out of town. Do you know where he went?”

  “John and Raymond have gone to hunt for Clifton Hebert.” Chula shook her head. “Those dogs of his worry me. They could tear a man apart.”

  “And Adele?”

  Chula stroked Sarah’s hair. “If you’d seen her, Florence. She was so weak she couldn’t hold up her head. Like you say, none of it makes sense. How could a dying woman kidnap and then care for a small child? Where would she find the strength? And to kill Praytor Bless.” She shook her head.

  “Folks say Praytor had a heart condition, but that’s not true. His mama got him out of the army somehow.” Florence felt a chill touch her bare arms and she rubbed them.

  “Only thing wrong with Praytor’s heart was greed.”

  Florence was surprised to hear Chula voice her own thoughts. “He was a conniving man. He had his finger in a lot of folks’ business.”