Ghost River

by Jon Coon

  “Did you dive today?” she asked as she dried the last bowl and put it on an open shelf.

  “Yeah. I tried to awaken the missing girl last night. I don’t think she’s there.”

  “Could she have been?”

  “Possible, but I doubt it. The current could have carried her downriver, but it just doesn’t feel right. Something is missing with the boyfriend and her family. The words are there like Bob said, but not the heartbreak. My guess is she never went in the water. It’s hard to describe.”

  “So if she wasn’t ever there . . . if her going missing didn’t involve the river?”

  “Splitting logs really is good anger management, just like you said it would be. Plus, we need the wood. But if Charlie died for nothing? That will take a major trip to the woodpile.”

  Cher put her head on his knee to remind him to continue scratching her head. He complied.

  “How are Carol and the kids doing?”

  “I’m worried about Paul. Lost and angry. He’s going to have a hard time without Charlie to keep him in line.”

  “Can you help?”

  “If he’ll let me, but I’m doubtful. How’s your writing going?”

  “I found some interesting information about St. Michael the Archangel last night. Our people called him Mr. Daniel Blanc. He commanded legions of angels. A good guy to have on your side. You might want to get to know him.” She paused seeing if he would take the bait.

  “I’m still amazed you would give up the comfort of your house in the Garden District to live in a slave shack out here.”

  “It’s quiet here. I live close to the earth. And life without CNN and MSNBC isn’t all that bad. It’s easier to concentrate on my research and writing rather than the worries of the world.”

  “But why here? Why not stay closer to your roots?”

  “Too many distractions. And I would miss you,” she said with a teasing grin. “Who else would keep me in firewood and bring me fresh venison?”

  “I love it here too. Probably for the same reasons—the river, the solitude, the free meals. Not bad company either.”

  She reached for his hand, kissed it, and got up to tend to a Dutch oven apple cobbler. “Your momma loved evenings like this,” she said. “I’m so sorry she’s not with us.”

  CHAPTER 5

  0800

  State Police Dive Locker

  At his dive locker office the next morning, Gabe was at work on his report of Captain Brady’s shooting when Bob came to his desk and said, “Walk with me.”

  Gabe followed him to the parking lot.

  Bob looked around before speaking. “We got a file on the partner of the cop you shot at Captain Brady’s, and he’s a tough operator. Brady may have been right about this going up the food chain. Be careful who you talk to, and keep your head on a swivel. I’ll let you know if we turn up anything else.”

  “Thanks. Do you think it’s about our bridge?”

  “It could be a lot bigger than that,” Bob said. “Just be careful.” They went back inside. Gabe returned to his desk, and just as he was getting refocused on his report, his cell phone chimed. Carol was crying.

  “Paul was caught with pot. He’s being held in the principal’s office. They want me to come right now. Can you possibly meet me there? I don’t know if I can do this by myself.”

  “Of course. I’ll meet you there.” After hanging up, he shook his head sadly. Hasn’t she had enough? She doesn’t deserve this. How about a little mercy and grace?

  When he pulled the truck into the parking lot, Carol was waiting. Her dark red hair, usually brushed and elegant, was in a bandana. Her ordinarily stylish attire was replaced by a University of Texas sweatshirt and jeans.

  “There are times,” she began, “when I believe sacrificing the eldest son wasn’t such a bad idea.”

  She opened her arms for a comforting hug, and Gabe held her momentarily, awkwardly.

  “First time he’s been caught with pot?” Gabe asked.

  “We smelled it in his room a couple months ago. Charlie grounded him and kept him from getting his driver’s license because of it. Paul just blew it off. Shocked we were so old-fashioned. We hoped he was just experimenting and after being grounded and the lecture he got from Charlie that would be the end of it. I don’t understand why he would do this.” She looked up at Gabe, waiting for something. Hoping.

  “I don’t know much about kids, Carol. And I’ve never felt like I’ve earned the right to tell anyone how to live. People make decisions, some good, some not. Why usually doesn’t matter. I’m a cop, not a judge or jury. We just read ’em their rights and put on the cuffs.”

  Gabe followed her into Principal Goldwyn’s office. Goldwyn was everything they could have expected a matronly principal to be. White hair in a braid down her back, light blue dress. Viking warrior. Paul sat uncomfortably in a corner chair avoiding eye contact with Gabe or his mother. “Thank you for coming,” Mrs. Goldwyn began. “I know this must be a tough time for you, and I’m very sorry there’s another problem you have to deal with.”

  Too angry to speak, Carol just nodded.

  “Could you tell us what’s happened?” Gabe asked. He had worn his dress uniform intentionally, hoping it would buy credibility if he had to go to bat for Paul.

  “Yes, officer. We do locker searches on a routine basis. This was found in Paul’s locker.” She held up a sandwich-size baggie half full of pot. “Paul has admitted it belongs to him.”

  “It’s a stupid law,” Paul interrupted. “By next year it will probably be legal everywhere.” The anger Gabe had seen before was back. This wasn’t denial. It was open confrontation and obstinacy.

  “Legal. For minors. At school?” Carol retorted. “I wouldn’t hold my breath for that.” No answer.

  Gabe intervened. “Paul, I saw the dive gear in your garage. Your dad got you certified. That right?”

  Paul nodded, still without making eye contact.

  “He was an instructor and cave diver. I remember he made some cave body recoveries, didn’t he?”

  Again, Paul nodded without speaking.

  “Did he ever talk about why divers die in caves?” Gabe moved, trying to make eye contact, but Paul still avoided him.

  “Not really.” Paul was staring at the floor again, trying to disengage from the conversation.

  “Okay, there are two reasons,” Gabe paused until Paul looked up. “First, no training. Second, they lose or leave the gold line. That’s the safety line that’s put in every cave we dive to show us the way home, even when our lights go out.”

  Paul looked up.

  “Lose or leave that line,” Gabe continued, “and the odds are high the only way you go home is in a body bag. Right?”

  Paul cringed.

  “Right?” Gabe repeated.

  “If you say so.”

  “Now you know better, so this isn’t a training issue. But it looks to me like you are a long way from your gold line, and when that happens, there are always consequences. I’m just going to hope and pray you find the line again before you run out of air.”

  “Does that mean . . . ?” Paul asked the wind out of his sails.

  “Sorry pal, there are always consequences. Mrs. Goldwyn has no options here. This is your first offense, so hopefully the judge won’t be too harsh, but again, there are always consequences.”

  “Mom, can’t you . . . ?”

  “If your dad was here, what do you think he would do?” she asked.

  Paul remained silent, just fighting back tears.

  As the three of them walked across the parking lot, Gabe said to Carol, “Here’s what’s going to happen. There will be a petition served, which takes the place of a warrant when juveniles are involved. You will be required to go with Paul to his court appearance, then the judge will have options ranging from a juvenile hall to probation with community service.”

  “What should we do?” She asked.

  Gabe turned to Paul. “The most important
thing now is for you to man up and face the music. Unless you show the judge you get it, she’s going to hammer you.”

  Paul remained silent. Gabe stopped him before he could get into Carol’s Mustang. “I need to know you heard me, Paul. This will be a lot worse if you aren’t paying attention.”

  “Yeah, I got it. I just don’t see what the big deal is. It’s only pot.”

  “It’s not legal. And the court can put you in jail. Is that a big enough deal?” Gabe answered, trying to remain patient.

  “Yeah, okay. I got it.” Paul said. He got into the car and slammed the door.

  Carol took Gabe’s arm and walked him away from the car. Shaking her head, she said quietly, “He’s impossible. Without Charlie, I’m not strong enough to keep him on track. If he thinks he can get away with stunts like this, it could ruin him . . . and me too.”

  “What can I do to help?” Gabe asked.

  “Please keep talking to him. Don’t give up on him. You and my dad are my only support. Maybe the three of us can turn him around.”

  “Whatever it takes. I’m in.”

  “Thanks, Gabe. I knew I could count on you.” She hugged and kissed him on the cheek, then pulled quickly away. Gabe was off balance too. In the twenty years they’d been friends, kissing had not been part of their relationship. Not sure how to respond, he refocused.

  “Let me know as soon as you get the court date. I’ll try to be available,” he said as he opened the car door for her. “One other thing. Captain Brady was murdered two days after Charlie's death, and Nick Doyle got shot, but he’s going to recover. Whatever got Charlie killed is looking like major crime. I’ll keep you posted.”

  The aroma of the venison roast and veggies was overpowering. Gabe was starved, and his stomach growled loudly as he waited at the table for Alethea to announce the meal. He watched Souriciere ease down from the top of the bookcase and cross the bare wooden floor to Cher’s water dish. She tested the air and then the water with flicks of her tongue before drinking. Then she came slowly to Gabe’s chair, raised her head and studied him carefully before crawling up his legs and resting half her length in his lap.

  “She likes you,” Alethea said. She was taking cornbread out of the Dutch oven. “I’ve never seen her do that with anyone else.”

  “Don’t you think she just came for the warmth of my lap?”

  “No. The stove is still warm. She could have gone there or curled up with Cher. She likes you.”

  “What do I do now?”

  “Just sit. Learn from her. She’s patient and content. It’s a good lesson. Her spirit is calm; let yours be calm as well.”

  “Calm? I was in a shootout just days ago. My captain was killed and one of my friends wounded. My best friend is dead. His son got caught with pot at school. Carol is hanging on by her fingernails. It’s hard to be calm. And . . .”

  “And you still want it to be all your fault? Don’t go there. You had no control over that dive.”

  “I should have been there. No matter what. He was my partner, and I should have been there.”

  “And how do you feel about that?”

  “Guilty. Carol’s life is a wreck. Her son is a disaster. The captain . . . Nick. It’s all because of that bridge, and if I’d been with Charlie, he’d still be alive. That’s what I should have said in that pulpit. He was a great guy, and I’m the reason he’s dead.”

  “Will your feeling guilty fix anything?”

  “Suppose not.” The huge snake was coiling in his lap. Her tongue flicked and her black eyes gleamed.

  “Are you sure she likes me?”

  “Don’t worry. She’s not going to eat you. Just relax. Enjoy the moment.”

  “He moved a hand toward Souriciere’s head. She remained motionless.

  “You’re right about Charlie. I know you are. But I just can’t shake this. I can barely look Carol in the eyes. I’m brokenhearted for those kids.” He gently stroked the python’s head as she wrapped herself around his chair. He felt the weight and saw Alethea watching him, smiling.

  “All right, then give it all to Souriciere. She’ll be happy to feel guilty for you, to worry for you. Then you can focus on things you actually can fix. Like my roof and discovering who killed Charlie and your captain.”

  “I’m not so sure she likes me. I think she’s just wondering if I’m too big to eat.”

  “Okay.” Alethea began singing softly. Souriciere raised her head and turned to her old friend. Alethea said, “Vini.” Souriciere descended to the floor and coiled at her feet.

  “You talk to her, and she understands you?” Gabe asked, surprised.

  “We’re friends. I talk to you. Why not her?”

  “Sure.”

  Alethea took his hand, and he didn’t pull back. “About Charlie. I’m not going to tell you to let it go like it never happened. It happened. It’s sad, and it hurts. It’s history. There’s nothing you can do about it now. But you can control what happens next. Think about that.” She pulled his hand to her lips and gently kissed it. “Now enough of this. Souriciere is very sensitive, and if you keep this up she’s going to get depressed. Let’s pray and eat and then figure out how you are going to fix my roof. It’s leaking again. Right over the bed. That’s probably why she came to you. She knows I need your help. She helps you, you fix the roof, and balance in the universe is restored. It’s very zen.”

  “Since when do voodoo queens go in for zen?”

  “I gave all that up as you well know. I’m just a good Catholic girl now and zen is just the universe seeking balance. Speaking of balance, how is Carol doing, really?”

  “Still in shock. She really misses Charlie, and I don’t think she knows what to do about it.”

  “Be careful with her, Gabriel. She must be really vulnerable. There’s a big hole in her life. I’m afraid she’s going to want you to fill it. That wouldn’t be good for either of you.”

  “Did your great grand-mére Marie really do the stuff the stories tell about? Dancing with snakes and putting spells on folks?” Gabe wanted to change the direction of the conversation to something more comfortable. Alethea realized exactly what he was doing, frowned, but answered his question anyway.

  “There’s no doubt a lot went on in Congo Square, in back of what’s now the Cabildo, or out at Lake Pontchartrain, where they danced and partied. We can only wonder about that. But voodoo was a lot more than drums and dances. People came from everywhere to ask for her help. They believed, and she helped them.

  “She was a powerful healer, I know that. When there were malaria outbreaks or other plagues in New Orleans she was always in the middle of it—nursing the dying, feeding the living. Doing what had to be done. She must have had an iron constitution because even the worst of the diseases never touched her. She helped brothers and sisters find the Underground Railroad and escape slavery. Legend says she had the sight. She could talk to the spirits and ask for favors, always to right injustice. She was a court of last resort. If you couldn’t get help anywhere else, ask Marie. She had the blood, and her spells worked, that’s for certain sure.”

  “And you—do you have it?”

  “Not the way she did. I get flashes sometimes. I see things, spirits, like Charlie in church. Your mother did too. We both knew you had a gift. We just didn’t know what it was going to be.”

  “But are you like Marie? Your spirit and hers?”

  “There are so many stories it’s hard to know what’s true, who she really was, or what was just legend.” Alethea relaxed back into the pillows of the small wooden rocker and smiled as she recalled stories about her great grand-mére.

  “My mére told me a story about how great grand-mére died. After all the plagues and malaria, which swept New Orleans every few years, with great grand-mére always in the worst of them, people started saying she must be immortal. That wasn’t true of course. But she was strong and healthy until the day she died.”

  “Then what happened?” Gabe asked.

&nb
sp; “She was caring for a very sick little girl, a child she hardly knew, when the baron, Baron Samedi, came calling.”

  “Samedi means Saturday, right? I remember my mother talking about him. He was a bad guy, like death on a pale horse.”

  “Not always bad,” Alethea continued. “He is the loa of the dead. The death god. And death is certainly not the worst thing that can happen to us, but when the baron comes calling he doesn’t go back empty-handed. He leaves with a soul or a contract. Mother said Marie took compassion on that little girl and made a deal with the baron. She traded her life so the little girl could live. The girl’s fever broke immediately.”

  Alethea paused and rocked, her eyes far away. “A year to the day, great grand-mére died peacefully in her sleep. It was the end of a life well spent.”

  “No greater love,” Gabe said softly.

  “No greater love,” Alethea echoed. “It’s a beautiful story. I hope it’s true.”

  “What about Casilda?” Gabe asked, changing the subject again.

  “My wild child? The Queen of Barataria?” She laughed. “Ask, and she will tell you no one has ever had the vision or the power more than she does. I have my doubts. Do you remember when we met again after the storm? The first time Cas looked at you, I knew I should put a lock on the outside of her door.”

  “Probably on mine too. You saved my life. I’ll always be thankful you took me in the way you did. I’m sorry things got out of control with Cas. I thought I loved her, but I wasn’t ready. My head was still pretty messed up from the PTSD.

  “What I still don’t understand is what you are doing here, in this shack, when you have a beautiful home waiting for you in New Orleans? Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you’re here, but this is pretty extreme.”

  “I thought you were going to ask, why did I take you home to the Garden District house? It might have been that you are my favorite cousin’s son, or perhaps because I thought the job you were doing was too ghastly and you needed my help, or maybe I just thought you were cute, like a puppy at the Humane Society.” She smiled a teasing smile and changed the subject. “When do you go to court with the boy?”