The Rules for Lying

by L. A. Kelley

  Her statement about the gun raised my hackles. “Why can’t Chris teach me to shoot?” I complained. “I’ll bet T. Chris and Amelie know how to use a gun.”

  Amelie casually examined her fingernails. “I prefer the blade.”

  “You’re missing the point.”

  “Shooting will interfere in the full development of your powers,” Odile stated flatly. “Once you are dependent on a gun for protection, no other action will occur to you.”

  “Yeah,” I sneered, “because shooting stuff works.”

  “Not against everything. Not against the things you will face. A gun can misfire; a shot can go wide or wound, but not kill. Ammo runs out. The best course for you is not to shoot at all. Rely on the power within. No, you do not need a gun.”

  I argued with her, but Odile held firm. Chris was sympathetic, but wouldn’t challenge his mother. “In such affairs, my friend, she is the expert.”

  Amelie watched the exchange with interest. “Peter will have no protection.”

  “Don’t worry,” Chris assured her. “We will watch over him.”

  Their comments burned me up. “I’m not a baby. For your information, I’ve done pretty well all these years taking care of myself.”

  Odile raised an eyebrow. “All without a gun—et voila! You do not need one now.” She turned to Amelie. “Come, child, Marie needs help with dinner.” Amelie followed obediently, but paused at the end of the pier to glance at me. An undefined look flitted across her face before she jogged after the shaman.

  “Don’t be angry,” Renny soothed, as I sputtered in annoyance. “These people have their own ways. You must respect their decisions.”

  “He’s right.” Chris gave an unapologetic grin. “You can’t argue with Cajun crazy.”

  After another of Marie’s excellent suppers, we retired to the living room. Renny, Marie, and Odile discussed the best routes to follow in order to track Clovis. Meanwhile the Benoit children improvised a game of blind man’s bluff against Esther and T. Chris. As Renny, Amelie, and I shouted encouragement, the children tried to avoid capture by Esther. Squeals of delight echoed through the swampland as Esther, using T. Chris’ eyes, tagged each one of them every single time.

  T. Chris escorted us to Odile’s cabin before he said goodnight. I was amused to see he’d taken on Esther as his personal responsibility. I let Odile know I was still ticked off at her about the gun by clomping around as I prepared for bed, but she cheerfully ignored my snit and wished me bonne nuit.

  The sky was dark when Odile shook me awake. Esther was already at the table, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She had insisted on rising to see me off. Mrs. Hart’s head bent toward Odile as if they were deep in conversation. We downed a quick breakfast. Amelie, Renny, Chris, Marie, and the Benoit children waited on the pier. Chris kissed his family goodbye and climbed into the boat. Renny and Mrs. Hart followed. So did Amelie. She wore her knife and also had a rifle slung on her back.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” said Renny.

  “I’m going with you. You don’t have to wait for me to get ready. I placed my kit on board last night.”

  “Amelie, be reasonable. The Sweet Marie barely has room for the five of us.”

  “I am being reasonable. I thought the plan over carefully. Peter has no weapons. Odile insists he must develop his powers instead. Until then, he requires protection. I don’t wish to brag, but you know I’m an expert in the blade, quite a fair shot, and my hand-to-hand skills are exceptional. The sensible solution is for me to be Peter’s bodyguard.”

  My mouth dropped open. “I don’t need a damn body guard.”

  Mrs. Hart yipped.

  “Sorry,” I sputtered, “a danged bodyguard.”

  Renny ignored my outburst and rubbed his chin. “That’s not a bad idea,” he mused. “I can vouch for my sister’s abilities.”

  “Doesn’t anybody care what I think?” I yelled.

  Odile brushed past me and settled into the boat. “Not if you’re going to be pigheaded, and there is no need to shout. My hearing is excellent. Amelie’s reasoning is quite sound. I approve.”

  I stood on the pier fuming as they all ignored me. “I’m not setting one foot on that boat until Amelie gets off. I don’t need some crazy girl with a knife hovering over me.”

  “Yes, you do.” Esther’s small hands reached around my waist and grasped me in a tight embrace. “I’m afraid something bad will happen to you, Peter.” She buried her face in my shirt. Her shoulders heaved in a sob.

  My face went red. “Esther, nothing’s going to happen…geez.”

  “It might and I can’t help. I want Amelie to go with you.”

  Marie encircled her arms around both of us. “I think it’s an excellent idea, too. We all want you to return safe and sound.” She kissed the top of my head. My ears burned with embarrassment.

  “Me, too! Me, too! Me, too!” A cluster of little Benoit’s bobbed up and down in a frenzied chorus.

  “All right, all right. She can come. Esther, you can let go now. Esther, can’t breathe.” Marie gently pried apart Esther’s hands. I vaulted into the boat before having to deal with another emotional outburst.

  “Don’t worry,” T. Chris called with a wave as the Sweet Marie pulled from the pier. “We’ll take good care of Esther.”

  As we puttered through the bayou, the breeze generated by the boat’s movement brought welcome relief from the heat and humidity. No one else seemed to notice the temperature. How did people ever get used to the weather? Even Mrs. Hart adjusted quickly. She immediately took a position in the bow next to Renny, assuming the role of forward scout. Her nose twitched with the array of exotic scents. Renny leaned over and said something to her. Judging by his devilish expression, he must have been teasing. She took the comment good-naturedly, but with a very un-doglike roll of the eyes.

  As usual, I lost my bearings almost as soon as the Benoit homestead disappeared from view. Once we hit the main channel, Chris called me inside the wheelhouse. “My mother will not allow you to shoot, but she can have no objections to letting you steer. Would you like to pilot the boat?”

  I jumped at the chance and took the wheel as Chris stood by. Every worry about chasing a nut bag through the swamp quickly evaporated. The heat didn’t bother me any longer. The thrum of the engine under my feet created a feeling of freedom like no other. Chris urged me to open the throttle. The engine roared as the Sweet Marie sliced through the water.

  Amelie joined us. Chris gave an impromptu lesson on the flora and fauna of the swamp. Like Mr. Purdy, he had intimate knowledge of every blade of grass, could name the animal responsible for each chirp and croak, and read the ripples in the water as easily as I read a book.

  After too short a time, Chris took the wheel again. Slight eddies signified shallows and the helm required a more experienced hand. He promised another lesson soon. We entered a narrow channel and immediately spotted Andre Savoy’s homestead. An old man in faded bib overalls and wire rim glasses dangled a fishing line at the end of the pier. He called a friendly greeting.

  “Hope we didn’t scare away your fish, Andre,” responded Chris.

  “Naw. They ain’t biting. I think that lunatic, Clovis, done scare them all already. I need to get me a new pair of spectacles so the next time he come steal my okra, I shoot him in the ass, for sure.” He spotted Odile in the boat. “What brings you this way, Odile?” She introduced Amelie and me as friends of the family and explained she had business with Clovis. Andre shook his head in doubt. “I hope it ain’t important. He’s really far gone this time. Don’t make no sense at all. Done nothing, but croak at me when I fired the gun.”

  Odile insisted the need was urgent, so Andre reluctantly agreed to show us where Clovis was last seen. Odile, Amelie, and I each carried a bedroll, pack and canteen. I hoped to meet with Clovis before we had to camp in the swamp, but we had no way to tell how far he roamed in the two weeks since spotted in the okra. We waved goodbye to Renny and Ch
ris who promised to return tomorrow. Odile agreed to leave a trail, so if we didn’t meet at Andre’s the two men would have no trouble tracking us.

  Chris threw the boat’s engine into reverse and reentered the channel. Odile, Amelie, Mrs. Hart, and I followed Andre to an extensive garden behind the cabin. He pointed to a narrow trail behind the okra leading off into the brush. “I tracked him a couple hundred yards past a sweet gum tree before he lit out. You sure I can’t change your mind, Odile? I tell you, hunting that couyon is a waste of time—Clovis got nothing in his brain ‘cept swamp water. Why don’t y’all come to the house and I’ll fry us a mess of beignets. If you ask me—”

  “Thank you, Andre. The invitation is very kind, but we have kept you from your fishing long enough.” Before he could argue, Odile ushered us quickly ahead. When we were out of earshot, she whispered, “The last thing I wish to do is try to digest one of Andre’s beignets.”

  Amelie raised an eyebrow. “Bad?”

  “Gluey dough balls that sink like a stone into the pit of your stomach. Ruby would knock Andre senseless with her wooden spoon if he tried to bring them into her kitchen. Even a starving dog would refuse them. No offense, Lucy.” Mrs. Hart barked reassurance no insult was taken.

  As Mr. Savoy described, a few hundred yards along the trail brought us to a sweet gum tree. Odile scrutinized the area with her sharp eyes and then led us off the path into the woods. We zigzagged through the foliage. I saw no sin a person had ever been through here, but Odile’s excitement was obvious. After twenty minutes or so, she stopped to squat on her heels and peer closely at a patch of sandy ground. Amelie and I peeked over her shoulder at the distinct impression of a bare foot.

  “The print is not Andre’s, but fresh. No more than a day old.” Odile reached into a clump of grass and grabbed a funny green pod. “Fortunately for us, Clovis seems to have developed a taste for okra and returned for more. Lucy, can you track his scent?”

  Mrs. Hart placed her muzzle an inch from the footprint and sniffed. Instantly, her upper lip curled and she shook her head vigorously as if to rid her nose of something unpleasant. Odile chuckled, “Foul, no? I’m sorry. At least the trail will be easy to follow.” With Mrs. Hart in the lead, we headed deeper into the swamp.

  The route was slow going. The heavy heat and humidity sapped every last bit of energy, while the lush undergrowth snagged clothing and whipped around our heels to trip us up. Several times Mrs. Hart lost the scent and had to backtrack. After a while I swore we were headed in circles. I broached the suggestion to Odile and got a smack upside the head. Amelie snickered and I shot her a dirty look.

  “Well,” I sniped, rubbing my head, “don’t you think we’re going in circles?”

  “Of course,” she admitted, smartly, “but I am not foolish enough to suggest such an idea to Odile.”

  We stopped once for a bite to eat from our packs, but Odile soon hurried us along. As the day wore on and the shadows lengthened, spending the night outside seemed a sure bet. I reflected longingly on my hiding place in the cellar at Little Angels, musing about a room free of alligators, rattlesnakes, and wild swamp men.

  Odile stopped short. “Over there,” she whispered, gesturing ahead.

  A silvery sheen glinted beyond the trees. We plowed through brush into a small clearing with a lily pond nestled in the middle. On the far side, a piece of canvas strung between two tree limbs created a makeshift lean-to. Scattered about were a few rusty old tin cans. I kicked at a pile of half-rotted okra pods.

  “Should we kneel at the Frog King’s throne?” I snorted in disgust.

  Odile bent over to examine the ground. “Clovis has not been here for some time. He must have—” Odile froze. Mrs. Hart growled softly and darted into the foliage.

  Amelie immediately reached for her knife. “What is it?”

  “We’re being watched.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  The Frog King

  My heart leapt into my mouth. “Clovis?”

  “Perhaps. Many things have curious eyes in the swamp.”

  “Swell,” I muttered. “I should have no problem falling asleep tonight.”

  A yip came from the bushes. Mrs. Hart bounded out and held a hurried consultation with Odile. The shaman squinted at the darkening sky. “Lucy found Clovis’ cabin. We’ll head for shelter. A storm is coming.”

  Trailing Mrs. Hart, we passed a strange circular patch of singed earth about a dozen feet in diameter. Beyond, a ramshackle cabin nestled in the middle of a clearing nearly reclaimed by dense vegetation. A stiff breeze kicked up and a rumble of thunder echoed overhead. The first raindrops pelted the roof as we fought our way through the weeds to the front porch.

  I gawked in surprise. “The door has no lock.”

  “A shaman has no fear of intruders,” said Odile.

  “What about wild animals?”

  She pushed open the door. “They wouldn’t dare.”

  Amelie scrutinized the interior. “Apparently, the rule barring uninvited creatures becomes null and void as soon as the owner departs.”

  I agreed. The cabin was a shelter, but not by much. Abandoned by Clovis once he ascended to the throne of the Frog King, the structure was in sore need of maintenance. As the rain pelted in sheets, a half dozen leaks sprouted from the ceiling. The cabinets had all been broken into by foraging animals. Smashed crockery littered the floor. A few pieces of furniture remained, most of them with teeth and claw marks. In the corner sat a pile of old gunny sacks something recently used as a nest. Not to mention, a very distinct aroma permeated the atmosphere.

  Amelie wrinkled her nose. “It stinks in here.”

  The odor was a mixture of rotting vegetation and rank muskiness. I fought a gag. The cabin was less inviting than the thunder and lightning outside.

  Odile started a fire in the hearth with some of the debris. Once the shower stopped, she sent Amelie and me to the pump at the old well which, fortunately, had not run dry. She pulled a cooking pot from her pack, added rice, beans and seasonings. Within a short time the rancid cabin smell was replaced by a smoky delicious scent. We sat at the rickety table and dug in.

  Amelie swallowed a mouthful. “Can Mrs. Hart find Clovis’ trail again after all this rain?”

  Odile gave a noncommittal shrug. “We shall see. He is close. We will begin the search again at first light.”

  “How exactly did a shaman like Clovis earn a living?” I said. “You know, before he went nuts.”

  “People came to him for help. Shamans have different abilities. I throw the bones, fix packets of herbs for aches and pains, or intervene with the spirits on a person’s behalf.”

  Amelie gifted the old woman with an affectionate smile. “People with Odile’s talents are highly sought after. Father often consulted Odile in important business matters to make sure the spirits approved. We were all very sorry when she retired. Someone like Delphine would not have been able to come near us. Odile never allowed danger to enter the house.”

  Odile reached over and patted her hand. “I’m sorry, cher. Your father spoke so highly of Delphine in his letters I didn’t suspect her true nature. If only I made the time to visit.”

  “What happened was not your fault. She had us all fooled.”

  “I promise, Amelie,” said Odile with grim determination. “Your stepmother will be dealt with.”

  I almost felt sorry for Delphine. I wouldn’t want both Amelie and Odile out for my blood.

  “What about Clovis?” I said. “I can’t see him fussing over packets of herbs for a stomach ache.”

  “True, but Clovis was the most powerful shaman in the bayou. While I request the spirits’ help, Clovis demanded it.”

  Amelie gasped. “They’d answer him?”

  “Yes. The spirits respect power and Clovis was formidable. With their help, he could predict a storm’s path of destruction, the duration of the rains, and the strength of the winds. He could divine the best hunting and fishing areas, and read the signs of app
roaching evil, long before anything obvious was amiss, but while Clovis made a connection to the forces in the swamp, I can’t say he ever made a connection to the people.”

  Odile clucked her disapproval. “Working with powerful elements made him feel superior to the rest of us. He never married and had children, shunning deep personal commitments, caring more about investigating the supernatural elements. When you have no loved ones to affect your decisions, the consequences of actions don’t matter. Power without consequences creates arrogance. Clovis assumed no magical danger existed he couldn’t face alone.” She sighed. “Poor man paid a very steep price for being wrong.”

  Odile’s earlier words returned to me as we arranged our bedrolls for the night. All those years spent developing my abilities as a liar was for the purpose of setting out on my own; no cares, no responsibilities, and nobody to think about, but myself. Just like Clovis.

  Amelie dropped her bedroll next to mine, startling me. “You should be more alert,” she scolded. “I could have been an enemy sneaking up on you.”

  I yawned. “I thought that’s why I have a bodyguard.”

  “Exactly. You see, I was right. You need someone to watch over you.”

  “I can’t hear you. I’m already asleep.” I rolled over and shut my eyes.

  Odile covered the rest of the rice and beans and put the pot by the hearth where a few glowing embers remained. The cabin would be pitch dark before long. I fished a flashlight from the pack to keep at hand in case I had to use the outhouse in the middle of the night.

  The rain began again with a gentle patter. My eyelids drooped. Fatigue blanketed my arms and legs. Stumbling around a swamp takes a lot out of a guy. I had a faint recollection of Amelie and Odile wishing each other goodnight before the rhythmic drip-drip-drip on the roof lulled me to sleep.

  I don’t know how long I slept, but when I woke not even flickering embers remained of the fire. I stared into the gloom with the edgy feeling something wasn’t right. As my eyes adjusted to the dark a faint creak came from the direction of the door. Nothing to worry about, I assured myself. Old structures are prone to strange noises.