Mardi Gras Gris Gris

by A. C. Mason

  “He could be hiding out in the camp when he’s doing something he doesn’t want his sister privy to,” Danny said.

  “According to Megan, the building was unfinished because her brothers-in-law started construction and then changed their minds about making it a camp,” Jim explained further. “She decided to buy out her sisters’ shares of the property. The sale only went through about two months ago.”

  “The squatter most probably was a drifter, but we’ve got to cover all the bases.” Danny smiled. “Now let me tell you about the other lead. We’ve identified the blond woman with Heather Chauvin. One of my deputies recognized her. Her name is Samantha Becnel. She’s from Foretville.”

  “Have you brought her in?” Jim asked.

  “So far we haven’t been able to locate her. She seems to have disappeared. Her mother told me she left home about a year ago and thought maybe she moved to New Orleans. The family hasn’t seen her since. Supposedly,” he added. “By the way, our wives weren’t the only audience the little duo has played for.”

  Jim leaned forward in his seat. “You mean they’ve been doing their act for others around town?”

  “Yeah, we’ve had several people come in to the office and ask when we intend to arrest Gibb Romaine.”

  “What’s Samantha Becnel’s connection to Heather Chauvin?” I asked.

  “Your guess is as good as mine. If she’s holed up somewhere in New Orleans, we may have a tough time finding her.”

  “Maybe not. I remember the Becnel family from my childhood,” Jim said thoughtfully. “As I recall, they had relatives in Jefferson Parish…Gretna, I believe. Whether or not they’re still there is another story. Her mother may be lying about her daughter’s whereabouts.”

  “I’ll check it out,” Danny said, standing. “For now, I’m headed for home.”

  “We all need some rest,” Jim said. “Take it easy.” He walked to the door with Danny. “See you tomorrow.”

  I pondered Jim’s change of attitude about my research. The difference was subtle, but he went from telling me I scared him to a certain pride in my accomplishments.

  “You’re back deep in thought again,” he said. “What’s on your mind?”

  “Do you believe the information I uncovered is valuable to your case?”

  “Sure I do.” His brows drew together in a confused expression. “Didn’t I say so…more or less?”

  “You also said I scared you. I was impulsive and didn’t think about the consequences.”

  “All true,” he said. “I can still think you’re amazing on many occasions and I don’t want to lose you.” He stood in front of me and extended his hand. “I believe it’s time for us to get some sleep.” A trace of a smile touched his lips. “Or other pleasant pursuits.”

  Ooh, sexy.

  Thirty-two

  February 24

  The comforting aroma of coffee wafted in from the kitchen. Jim was up already. Was he getting ready to go to the office? On Sunday? I lifted my head to check the time on the bedside clock and sighed. Six o’clock.

  Until he and the task force solved the murders, those lazy Sunday mornings he and I spent drinking coffee, reading the newspaper and laughing with the twins over a funny comic strip were a thing of the past. Oh well, at least we can share a cup of coffee this morning.

  I swung my legs over the side of the bed and sat for a while staring at the wall. Finally I roused myself, slipped on a robe and padded into the kitchen.

  He smiled and pointed to my bare feet. “The weather is supposed to turn cold tonight. Tomorrow morning you’ll get frostbite if you come in here like that. This tile floor gets pretty cold.”

  I laughed. “I just wanted to show off my pedicure.”

  I grabbed a mug from the cabinet, poured myself a cup, and then sat at the table with him. “You’re going into the office this morning, I presume.”

  “Danny’s going to be checking those leads we discussed last night. I ought to do my part, too. I don’t plan to stay long.”

  My hands tightened around the mug. Something was bound to arise that no one else could handle. From time to time, I have to ask myself the question. Was I really cut out to be a cop’s wife?

  As if reading my thoughts, he grimaced. “I know. Famous last words. A couple of hours are what I plan to spend in the office. There are a few records I need to check out. I never got the call back from the warden at Angola. He’s probably still tied up with the escapees. I’ll try to get in touch with him or an assistant. Hopefully nothing else will come up requiring my presence.”

  Shortly after Jim left the house, the kids awoke and I fixed breakfast for them. Pancakes were the usual Sunday breakfast. After they were settled at the table eating, I poured myself another cup of coffee.

  I took my coffee into the den and stopped in front of the sliding glass doors. The image of the gris-gris bag lingered in my mind, but the thought of the threatening message inside freaked me out all over again. My hand trembled and hot coffee sloshed on my hand. I yelped from the sting.

  I rushed to the kitchen, dripping coffee as I went.

  “What’s wrong, Mommy?” Caroline asked, looking concerned.

  Matthew managed to divert his attention from his stack of pancakes. “Are you hurt?”

  “It’s nothing major. I spilled hot coffee on my hand.” I poured the brew out in the sink. Didn’t need any more caffeine anyway. I ran cold water over my hand to ease the sting.

  Wiping up the drips on the floor with wet paper towels, I made my way back to the patio doors. A movement in the distance near the wooded area behind our house caught my attention. The figure of a man silhouetted in the rising sun stood for a split second before slipping out of sight among the trees. My heart thumped. Was I seeing things? Or is the killer stalking me?

  Maybe getting rid of the security detail wasn’t such a good idea.

  “Mommy, what are you looking at?” Caroline asked.

  I didn’t realize she had come up behind me. Turning to her, I forced a smile. “Just admiring the scenery.” No sense in scaring her.

  She peered out the door. “All I see is trees.”

  “Trees are beautiful.”

  Caroline looked at me as if I’d fallen out of one of those trees. “Butterflies are beautiful. Trees are scary.”

  “Butterflies are beautiful. But why do you think trees are scary?” Children sometimes use strange words to describe an item. Or maybe my paranoia had kicked in.

  “Those trees are okay.” She pointed to the forested area behind the house. “The big trees out front make scary shapes in the dark and there’s a ghost that lives in there.”

  “A ghost?” Could she have seen a person lurking among the oaks? “Tell me about this ghost. When did you see it?”

  “I looked out the window one night. I don’t remember what night,” she said, rubbing the tail of her nightgown like a security blanket. “He must have seen me ‘cause he distapeared.”

  “If he disappeared when he saw you, he must have been scared of you.”

  She appeared satisfied with my explanation. Wish I believed it.

  “Did you put your dishes in the sink?” Anything to change the subject.

  “Yes, ma’am,” she said. “I’m going to get dressed.”

  “Very good.” I returned to the kitchen where Matthew had just finished his pancakes with a minimum of sticky syrup mess on him and the table. He dumped the plate and orange juice glass into the sink unceremoniously. Luckily the dishes were plastic.

  I checked out the view from the kitchen window. The silhouette of the oaks’ gnarled limbs would seem frightening to a child, but the thought of someone stalking my family was terrifying.

  Later Matthew emerged from his room dressed and ready to go outside. I wasn’t about to let him leave the house, not after seeing a stranger sneaking around in the woods.

  “I’m going to ride my bike, Mom,” he announced.

  “Why don’t you wait until Dad gets home? You
can watch cartoons on television.”

  “But Mom,” he groaned. “He won’t be home for a long time. It might be dark then.”

  I hated to keep him bored and trapped indoors, but at least he would be safe. “No,” I said in the sternest voice I could manage. “You will wait until Dad gets home. Go turn on the TV in your room. If you can’t find a show to watch, then you can put one of the movies in the DVD player.”

  He marched out of the room, grumbling all the way.

  I debated telling Jim about the two incidents. He would insist on bringing back the security guards—a costly endeavor for his small department and our personal finances. Maybe I only imagined the man among the trees. Caroline’s ghost could have been an animal moving around the oak trees. On the other hand, if there really was someone out there, the money spent on security wouldn’t matter. We would all be safe. Trying to make a decision felt like a game of ping pong happening in my head.

  I heaved a deep sigh and decided. After Matthew watched a movie, I’d go outside with him and keep an eye on him while he rode his bike.

  ~ * ~

  I knew the risk I’m taking by my surveillance of her. She had become an obsession—a lovely and possibly deadly distraction from the job I needed to finish. Only two more days before my work would be completed… revenge sated. Then I could devise a plan for her.

  Thirty-three

  February 25

  Jim’s request surprised me to say the least. I almost dropped the dish I’d just removed from the dishwasher. “You want me to visit Megan at the hospital?”

  “The doctor’s planning to release her in a few days. I thought you might want to see how she’s doing.”

  His poker face didn’t tell me anything, but I sensed…no, knew…he must have ulterior motives. Go visit Megan and talk about what?

  “Okay, what do you want me to ask her? Her father and Dolly B?”

  “If the subject should happen to come up in the conversation.” He gave me what might have passed for an innocent smile if I hadn’t known better.

  “I’m surprised you want me to get involved.” He must be desperate—a point I declined to mention.

  He kept his gaze centered on my face. “I don’t. However, you seem to be very good at digging up information so I figured this would be a safe way for you to be ‘involved’.”

  “Doesn’t she have armed guards outside her room? Will they let me in?”

  “There won’t be a problem. I’ll call up there and give permission for you to visit her.”

  “Great, I’ll do it. I’ve been anxious to see her anyway.” My excitement about being allowed to participate in the investigation was rather juvenile, but I couldn’t help myself. “Are you babysitting?” My excitement must have shown in my face.

  He laughed. “Of course. I’ll go into the office after you come back.”

  An hour later, I headed to the hospital to visit Megan. All the way there I kept going over in my mind our previous conversation and trying to figure out a way to bring up what would undoubtedly be a painful subject for her. And what if she knows nothing about her father’s affair with the nightclub singer?

  West Lake Memorial Hospital was a new facility, built last year and located as the name indicated on the west side of the lake. The sliding glass doors at the entrance swished open for me and I stepped inside the spacious lobby. Jim had given me the room number so I went directly to the elevator.

  Emerging from the elevator, I spotted a uniformed officer—one of the younger crew of sheriff’s deputies—seated in a chair outside Megan’s room. I recognized him from a combined city police-sheriff’s department picnic last summer. Stan Breaux had also been one of the men who did the thankfully short-lived security around our house last week.

  “Good morning, Stan. How’s everything going?”

  He rose to greet me with a smile that showed a dimple in his right cheek. “Morning, Mrs. Foret. Everything’s good so far. I was told to expect you. Go on in.”

  I took a deep breath and slowly opened the door. A pale-looking Megan stared out the window. Her left arm was made immobile by gauze wrapping that stretched across her chest. Luckily the bullet had missed her heart and struck the upper shoulder.

  She hadn’t heard me come in or else she figured her visitor was a member of the hospital staff. I didn’t want to startle her, so I called out her name softly. She turned and smiled.

  “Susan, how’d you get past the guard? Those guys gave my sisters the third degree before they let them in to see me.”

  “I have friends in high places.”

  “Ah, the Chief of Police.” She motioned for me to come closer. “I’m so glad to see someone who’s not a member of my family and won’t try to persuade me to give up my law license for a less hazardous profession.”

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Still weak, but a lot better than last week,” she said. “I’m being released after Mardi Gras—maybe Wednesday or Thursday.”

  “What happens after you leave here?”

  “The doctors wanted to transfer me to a hospital in Metairie for more care, but I can’t stand another day in any hospital. I’m going home. I will have to undergo a lot of physical therapy for my arm when it’s healed.”

  “I understand perfectly about not wanting to stay in the hospital,” I said, remembering my brief stay in the hospital years ago.

  After taking a seat in a chair next to the bed, I played up the subject of family in hopes of turning the conversation toward her father. “So your family thinks being a defense attorney is dangerous work. What do they suggest you do for a living?”

  She gave a slight wave of her hand. “Oh, my sisters think I ought to get married again and have a child. Sara thinks I should work for the DA.”

  “That might be an even more risky job.”

  “Exactly,” she said with finality.

  “I gather you were married before,” I said cautiously. Divorce, another painful subject.

  “Yes, I was disappointed we didn’t have children, but in this case, it turned out to be a blessing. There would have been a custody battle for sure.”

  I shifted the conversation back to relatives. “Family can be overbearing at times. My parents paid me a surprise visit last Friday. They heard about the murders and your shooting and were worried about me.”

  “Understandable,” she said, wrinkling her brow. “You didn’t enjoy seeing them?”

  “Mother and I have never gotten along well. She always tried to get me to be more of a society woman befitting my social position in life.” I exaggerated the words as if joking. Being a savvy attorney, she caught on to my act.

  “Every so often, my family gives me that spiel. It’s very annoying. They tell me, ‘Megan, you are dealing with those dreadful people. You’re so much better than them’.”

  “Oh, I know how that goes. Mother nearly had a fit when I married a man in law enforcement.”

  “Your husband is so clean-cut. How could she disapprove of him?” She rolled her eyes. “Never mind. He wasn’t a budding young doctor or lawyer.”

  I laughed. “Or a young corporate executive on his way up the ladder.”

  Her face showed a little more color since I arrived. The experts must be right. Having a sympathetic visitor can be as healing as chicken soup. Maybe I shouldn’t try to get any info about her father. She surprised me.

  “Speaking of your husband, there’s something I want to speak to him about my father’s murder—details I didn’t mention when I spoke to him and Sheriff Marchand that day.”

  She didn’t have to say what day. “May I ask why you didn’t tell them these details before?”

  “I was playing everything by ear.” Megan appeared conflicted. “Perhaps my defense attorney mode came in to play, but mostly it was an attempt to preserve Daddy’s reputation.”

  She must know about the affair or maybe evidence more damning, like the reason for his murder. “I understand your reasoning. My father and
I get along well. We were always close. I wouldn’t want to reveal anything that would hurt him. It would be a difficult decision to make.”

  “What I know might possibly help them bring the killer or killers in the Cypress Lake murders to justice…or it could only add more questions.”

  “By all means, talk to him. Your information could be the key to solving these two murders.”

  She looked at me without speaking for a few moments. “I tell you what. If he’s available right now, I could speak to him up here. You may sit in if you like.”

  “Shall I call him and see?”

  Megan gave a long sigh as if she didn’t want to bring all the skeletons out of the family closet, but knew she had to do so. “Yes, go ahead and call him.”

  Thirty-four

  I was about to phone Jim when a nurse entered the room to check Megan’s vitals. “I’ll step out in the hall to make the call.”

  Outside the room, aides and other hospital personnel made their rounds with food carts and various equipment. A few visitors heading to check on other hospital patients gave brief glances at the deputy guarding the room, their expressions a mix of curiosity and anxiety. Television dramas always depict armed police securing the hospital room of either a victim or a criminal under arrest.

  “I’ll be back in a few minutes, Stan,” I informed the deputy, who nodded and smiled.

  I made my way toward a small, secluded waiting area out of the busy corridor. A woman walked past me in the direction of Megan’s room. She seemed familiar, but I couldn’t place her. Maybe she’s one of Megan’s sisters and I simply didn’t recognize her. People sometimes change a lot from their high school days. She stopped and spoke to Stan Breaux. From her hand movements, I figured she requested entrance to the room.

  Stan reached for a clipboard and checked an item—probably her name. His actions indicated he denied her request. She must not be one of the sisters. I’d ask Stan about her identity when I went back to the room. The woman turned and strode back down the hall. A worried frown creased her face.