by Jana DeLeon
Disappointed, Holt placed the pictures back on the desk and handed her the statement he’d typed up based on the recording he’d made in the hospital. Mathilde looked at the papers, but didn’t make a move to take them. Then it hit him.
“You can’t read,” he said.
“Ain’t no one in my family ever needed to. I ain’t no different.”
“I’ll just read it to you, then.”
Mathilde’s eyes narrowed. “How do I know you won’t lie about what’s on there?”
“Why would I do that?”
“To get me to sign something saying I took that girl and fed her daddy to the gator.”
“Ms. Tregre, I don’t think you took the girl, and I don’t think you took those girls years ago. I don’t know what’s going on in this town, but I’m going to find out.”
Mathilde stared at him, studying his face. He must have passed her test, because finally she nodded. “Read your report, then. Daylight’s a-wasting.”
* * *
THREE HOURS LATER, Holt, Mathilde and Alex docked on the island. Alex exited the boat and offered her hand to Mathilde, but the old woman waved her away and climbed out of the boat, knee-deep in water, then sloshed through the murky water and climbed onto the bank.
Alex looked over at Holt, who shrugged. She’d already sensed that Holt’s morning with Mathilde hadn’t been overly pleasant, and clearly the crotchety old woman was well beyond her limits of dealing with people. She hoped Mathilde was physically able to conduct a search of the island with them.
They’d left Vodoun from Holt’s cabin rather than the dock, trying to ensure they weren’t followed to the island. Holt had put a tail on Rommel that morning, just in case the man was involved, but he’d left Lorraine’s house that morning, gone straight to the restaurant and was still there when they left Holt’s cabin. With no fear of a tail, they’d taken off from Holt’s cabin and used the tiny, rarely used channels to access the island, reducing the chance of being seen by fishermen.
As Alex turned to follow Mathilde up the bank, she hit a doll on one of the old posts from the dilapidated dock and it fell in the water.
“Oh!” Alex reached down for the doll, then froze. It was the same doll. The doll that Erika had. The doll that she and Sarah had seen that day.
Mathilde stopped and turned to see what had made her cry out. The old woman studied her for a moment, then walked over and retrieved the doll from the bayou.
“Do the dolls bother you?” Mathilde asked.
“Yes,” Alex replied, seeing no reason to lie. “I find them macabre.”
Mathilde nodded. “I figure most people do, but then it keeps people away, so there’s that.”
“Did you put them all here? And if so, why?”
“My mama started it. Started it with this doll. She bought two of ’em. One was mine. One was my twin sister’s. Mama traded herbs in town to get them for our birthday. They were the first new things we’d ever seen, much less owned. Oh, how Adelaide loved that doll.”
Mathilde looked off down the bayou, and Alex knew she was remembering the past.
“Don’t get me wrong,” Mathilde said, “I loved the doll, too, but not like Adelaide. That’s why Mama buried her with it when she died. Only seven years old, and even though Mama had the power, there wasn’t nothing she could do to save Adelaide.”
“What happened to her?”
“We were playing in our pirogue on the other side of the island—where we shouldn’t have been. Adelaide was rocking the pirogue back and forth to scare me as I ain’t that keen a swimmer. She finally succeeded in flipping it over, but we was right over a sunken boat. It had probably been in that channel for a decade, decaying and rusting.
“Adelaide fell right on a piece of rusted metal. Cut her leg all up the inside. It was all I could do to get her to shore, then I ran to get Mama. But she was already dead by the time we got back. Mama said too much life had left her body.”
Likely Adelaide had severed her femoral artery. She wouldn’t have stood a chance of survival this far away from a medical facility. “I’m very sorry,” Alex said.
“Thank you,” Mathilde said. “Mama lost a piece of her mind that day. A piece she never gained back. Whenever she could manage the extra, she bought a doll and placed it on the bank, facing the water. Sometimes she found them at flea markets or in Dumpsters. She brought them all to the island. That way, Adelaide had all the dolls she could love.”
Mathilde looked down at the doll. “This one was mine—the matching one to Adelaide’s. I put it up here the day we buried her and have only touched it one time since. Every year, on the day of Adelaide’s death, I put another doll out.”
Alex felt her heart clench for the mother and the sister, who’d spent so many years mourning the loss of a young life taken tragically. “I think that’s a beautiful sentiment, Mathilde. It makes me see the dolls differently now.”
“Others don’t see it the same. Some claim the dolls is here to draw children to the island. Some say that’s why I took those girls back years ago—to replace my dead sister, but I would never harm a child.”
“Of course not.”
Mathilde gave her a brief nod. “Well, we got another girl waiting to be found. We best get on with it.”
Alex followed Mathilde up the path to her cabin, her mind dwelling on the heartbreaking story the old woman had just told. So many rumors and lies had circled around the island and the dolls for so many years, and now it all seemed to be crashing down, at least in Alex’s mind. She heard Holt fall in place behind her and felt his hand on her shoulder as he gave it a gentle squeeze.
He’d been moved by Mathilde’s story, as well. She’d seen the sympathy and just a touch of pain on his face. The little boy who’d lost so much at an early age had gone to war and lost even more. No wonder he was afraid to commit. Still, understanding the why didn’t make it hurt any less.
She blew out a breath and picked up her pace to match Mathilde’s. They had to find Erika. Alex wouldn’t be able to live with herself if Sarah went the same way as Holt—afraid to love anything for fear of losing it.
When they reached Mathilde’s cabin, the old woman stalked inside and shook her head at the glass from the jar that had fallen days before. “Is that your mess?” she asked.
“I’m sorry,” Alex said. “The jar fell in front of us as we were leaving.”
Mathilde frowned. “It fell? You didn’t bump anything or jostle the door?”
“No. We hadn’t even reached the door yet when it fell.”
Mathilde nodded. “It’s an omen. If you hadn’t found the barrette, you might not have searched the island and wouldn’t have saved me from the gator. I’m supposed to help you find the girl, otherwise the broken jar wouldn’t have set you on the path.”
Mathilde opened a jar of dried herbs and put a pinch of them under her tongue. “Coulda been healed two days ago if I had my herbs.” She exited the cabin and waved at them to follow. “You two gonna hafta move faster to keep up with me.”
Holt shook his head in admiration. “I had men in my troop with less fortitude,” he said before following her out of the cabin.
Alex followed them into the swamp, hoping Mathilde’s skill matched her attitude.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Holt recognized the path that he followed Mathilde on. “This is the path to where we found you, right?”
“Yeah,” Mathilde said. “I figured you’d want to start there, since that’s where you found the leg. That’s the same bank I found the barrette on.”
Holt felt his heart clench, and he gave a silent plea that Erika had not met the same fate as her father. “Could you tell if the barrette had been in the water or dropped on land?”
Mathilde scrunched her forehead as she pushed through the bru
sh. “Not sure, really. It was on the edge of the bank, but the tide was high. Coulda washed up there. Coulda been dropped there. Wasn’t a bit of rust on it, but if it was only dropped this week, wasn’t long enough for the water to do its job.”
Holt nodded. He’d figured that was the case, but verification was always a good thing. It narrowed options. “Did you recognize the alligator that attacked you?”
“Yep. I call him Grand. The bayous around the island has been his territory for years. He kills any bulls that tries to move in.”
It wasn’t the answer Holt hoped for. A bull that aggressive would see any encroachment, by animal or man, as a threat to his territory. Based on the conversation he’d overheard with the killer, he figured Bobby was already dead when the killer dumped the body in the bayou. So either the body had washed up on shore, or more likely, the alligator had retrieved it from the bottom and carried it onshore for a snack.
Even though it was a gruesome discovery, they’d been lucky to find it, or they might never have known for certain that Bobby Rhonaldo was dead. The killers hadn’t mentioned Erika’s status at all during their conversation in the alley, but then, that conversation had been fairly short given that the one in charge had murdered his flunky.
It took them forty-five minutes to arrive back at the site of the alligator attack. Mathilde checked the bank for any sign of Grand, then stepped right up to the water and scanned the bayou in front of them.
“You can come at this side of the island by a number of channels,” Mathilde said. “If the body was dumped, it’s likely it was out there.” She pointed to a stretch of bayou directly in front of them. “That part’s fairly deep compared to others, and I’ve never seen it below the tide line. Your killer probably thought whatever he put there was gone forever.”
“I guess he wasn’t counting on Grand.”
“No.” Mathilde pointed to a patch of marsh grass just off to the left of the clearing. “Right there’s where I found the barrette. Caught my attention immediately. Not supposed to be any little girls out in the swamp, which is why I took it with me intending to do a reading. Kids ain’t got the skill to survive out here like Mama taught me.”
“You never saw or heard a boat?”
Mathilde shook her head. “But I wasn’t on this side of the island until the day you found me. I hear the echo of boat engines sometimes, but here in the swamp, they carry for miles. I have no way of knowing if I heard the boat that dumped the body, and even if I did, I wouldn’t be able to give you a time as that’s not something I pay mind to.”
Holt nodded. “If someone were going to hide the girl on this island, where would they do it?”
“I’ve got a shack on the south side that I keep in good enough shape to spend a night or two for checking my trout lines. But it’s pretty well hidden. Someone would have to know the island well enough to find it. Ain’t no one going to happen upon it unless they was out here looking for something.”
“How far away is it?”
“’Bout as long as the walk here if you stick to the bank. A little less if you cut straight through.”
“Let’s stick to the bank for now,” Holt said. “Just in case there’s something to find.”
Mathilde stepped through a patch of marsh grass to the right of them. “This way.”
The trip to the shack took a little less than forty-five minutes but seemed longer, as there was no trail along the bank. The terrain shifted from mud to marsh grass every few feet and some sections were so dense with growth that they had to move farther into the swamp to pass around. Holt noticed he wasn’t the only person keeping an eye on every step and on the water. No one wanted to have another run-in with Grand.
The word shack was probably a stretch for the dilapidated structure of driftwood that stood in a tiny clearing, but then, Mathilde’s needs were far less than that of the average person. Likely, she used the shack only to protect her from the worst of the weather and night creatures out here in the swamp.
He poked his head inside and saw a layer of thick dust on a handmade table. “Doesn’t look like anyone’s been here.”
Mathilde looked inside the shack, then walked the perimeter. “I don’t see no signs of recent passage, except for the usual swamp creatures. No man’s walked here in a while or it would show, especially with the storms we’ve had.”
“I agree,” Holt said. He looked over at Alex, who nodded, the disappointment and fear clearly evident in her expression. The more defeated she became, the more Holt worried about her and Sarah and how they’d cope if things turned out badly.
Alex looked at her watch, then up at the dark clouds swirling above them. “There’s another storm in the forecast. It will get dark early. Maybe we should head back to the cabin to get ready for tonight.”
Mathilde looked up at the black clouds. “Another omen. Something dark besides them clouds has come over this town…over my island. Skies looked the same thirty-six years ago. I aim to expose everything tonight and get rid of them clouds forever.”
Mathilde headed toward a barely visible trail behind the shack, Alex trailing behind her. Holt looked up at the menacing sky. It didn’t look any different than any other storm the gulf produced. But it felt different.
Like something was coming.
* * *
THE KILLER PULLED HIS BOAT UP the bank of the island some distance from the old dock. He hoped to find the fake sheriff and the woman before the storm hit. Bad enough, he had to come out into the swamp to finish this business, but their death on the island still offered the best cover for all involved.
He crept around the edge of the bank until he had a clear view of the dock. The sheriff’s department’s boat was there, just as the boss had suspected it would be. The fake sheriff and the woman would be there, with the old lady. It was almost a shame to kill the old lady. She’d kept to herself, living off the land all these years, and now she was caught in the middle of something she knew nothing about.
But first, he had to do a sweep of the island and make sure that idiot hadn’t left any other evidence of their passing. If he’d handled the job with the body correctly, it would never have surfaced. Stealing it from the lab had been an excellent idea, but he’d been too late. Now that the cops knew Bobby was dead, they’d start looking for other answers. The witch woman was the answer his boss wanted them to rest on.
The killer hoped that tonight this entire ordeal would be over and he could get back to his real business, but even if things turned out badly, he had no problem disappearing. His past was concealed under a different name. His new identity was spotless. So spotless he could disappear and wouldn’t leave a single trace except for people’s word.
Not that disappearing was part of his plan anytime soon. He needed a couple more years for his plan to come off in full force. All he had to do was make sure no one ever found the girl, and the key to the throne was his.
* * *
ALEX WATCHED IN FASCINATION as Mathilde prepared for the night’s reading. First she began to boil bayou water, adding some leaves that smelled like a combination of garlic and spearmint. After allowing the water to boil for a bit, she scooped the leaves out of the pot and placed them in a bowl of clean water she’d set in the center of her table. Steam rose off the leaves as they hit the cold water, and Mathilde intently watched the steam.
Once the steam dissipated, she turned her attention to the leaves in the bowl, staring down at them as if she were reading a book. That’s when Alex realized she was reading—reading the leaves. Alex looked over at Holt, who stood in the corner quietly observing everything. He raised his eyebrows, suggesting he wasn’t quite sure what to make of the display, either.
Finally, Mathilde looked up at Alex. “The steam rose straight with no swirls. That means the spirits are open to us. We’ll get a good reading tonight.”
“And the leaves?” Alex asked.
Mathilde frowned. “I get betrayal and old sins and death, but it’s impossible to know if that applies to the child or not. The leaves sank fast, meaning either the answers you seek will become buried as they have in the past or that the time for the lies has ended and they will fade from this world.”
“So we’ll either get an answer or go away with absolutely no answer,” Alex said. “That doesn’t seem very helpful.”
“No,” Mathilde agreed. “There seems to be a lot of confusion around the happenings. I think there’s more going on here than just the missing girl.”
“That makes two of us,” Holt said.
Mathilde pointed to a shelf behind Alex. “Hand me that jar with the brown twigs in it. I might get more reading the twigs.”
Alex turned to the shelf and located the jar Mathilde wanted, but as she pulled it off, a flash of silver behind the jar caught her eye. It was the bell. The bell that a dead woman had rang.
Alex sucked in a breath and froze. Instantly, she was taken back to that day where she was a terrified little girl.
“Can’t you find it?” Mathilde asked and walked up beside her. She reached for the jar, but couldn’t pull it out of Alex’s grip. “Let go of the jar.”
“Alex,” Holt said, coming up to stand on the other side of her. “What’s wrong?”
“The bell,” she said. “That’s the bell the dead woman rang.”
Mathilde stared at her. “It was you. I always knew someone was there watching. Mama said it was my imagination, but I could feel your eyes on me. You weren’t alone, though, were you?”
Alex looked at her in amazement. “No, my cousin was with me. The mother of the missing child.”
Mathilde nodded. “That’s the connection I’ve been feeling. I couldn’t put my finger on it before, but I knew you and that missing girl was tied to the island some way.”
