To Kiss A Frog

by Elle James

  Given Craig's concern for his uncle and his love for the swamp, representing Littington and his polluting factory didn't make sense. Why would he jeopardize a place he'd loved as a child?

  Elaine could picture a smaller version of Craig running through Mozelle's peach orchard. Whether the boy was a younger version of Craig from the past or the possible child he'd bring to Bayou Miste someday, Elaine couldn't tell.

  A sob caught in her throat. Why torture herself? They weren't meant to be. Hadn't he said he wasn't one to commit?

  Elaine touched the light switch, leaving the room and that chapter of her life in the dark. Now all she had to do was get her microscope and go.

  In these few short days, she'd connected with Bayou Miste more than the years alone in her house in New Orleans. She stared down at the old microscope lying on its side on the hardwood floor, its gray metal full of memories of her parents, and now Craig.

  But the microscope was a thing, not a warm, living, breathing person. If she had a choice between keeping the 'scope or having a single shot at getting her parents back, she'd toss the 'scope in a New Orleans minute and fight with all her heart for her parents.

  So why wasn't she willing to fight for Craig? He wasn't married to Cassandra yet. From the little Elaine had gleaned from their earlier conversation, they weren't even engaged. She didn't have a legal hold on the man. Problem was, Elaine didn't know anything about Craig's feelings for her or for Cassandra.

  And did she, Elaine Smith, the woman afraid of water and relationships, love Craig enough to go after him? Was that what she was considering?

  A woman used to analyzing scientific phenomena and developing a hypothesis, she hadn't done her work here. She'd observed a change in herself. That change she'd describe as a feeling of completeness when she was with Craig and a corresponding emptiness when she wasn't. The only logical hypothesis she could come up with was love. How was she to know if it was the real thing if she didn't hang around and experiment?

  What if he doesn't want me?

  Was the possibility of rejection so abhorrent she'd refuse to expose her heart? Even if she only had a one-in-a-bazillion probability of Craig returning her love, wasn't it worth the risk?

  Hell, yes! The voice in her head sounded loud and clear. Assuming the phenomena was love, how would she feel if he discarded it? Horrible. But at least she would have tried. She'd know for certain one way or the other, and she'd have no regrets for missed opportunities.

  What about his dealings with Littington? Could she form a relationship with a man who didn't trust her enough to tell her the truth? Elaine stared down at the microscope. The answer came into focus. As Mozelle had so plainly put it, she needed to fight for her man. If that meant giving him a chance to explain and going toe-to-toe with the intimidating Cassandra, so be it!

  Elaine set the microscope on the table and marched out to her cat When she bent in to grab a box, a voice sounded behind her.

  “Going somewhere?”

  “No.” Elaine answered before she realized the question had not been a friendly one. A chill raced down her spine, and she spun to face the intruder.

  With his hip leaning against her car and his face partially concealed in the shadows, Randall Pratt's eyes glowed with strange intensity.

  “What are you doing here?” she demanded.

  He pushed away from the car and walked closer, like a snake sidling up to his next meal. “Now is that any way to greet a friend?”

  “You're not my friend.” Elaine knew what friends were, now that she'd met Mozelle and Josie.

  “Tsk, tsk.” He lifted a strand of her hair. “I came to make sure you left town for good.”

  “I'm not leaving.” Elaine planted her feet slightly apart, refusing to back away from his threatening closeness.

  “Oh, but I think you will.” Randall lifted his hand, pointing a gun at her midsection. “You're coming with me. You've caused more than enough trouble.”

  Her heart pounding in her chest, Elaine inched backward until her shoulder blades bumped against the cool metal of her car door. “What have I done to you?”

  “Don't play stupid. You and the fancy-schmanzy lawyer been nosing around where you don't belong.”

  Pieces fell into place and lodged in the pit of Elaine's stomach. “You're the one dumping the barrels in the bayou.”

  “Give the lady a prize.” Randall jerked the gun toward the door. “Let's go.”

  “Don't be ridiculous.” She infused as much confidence into her voice as she could with a gun pointed at her vital organs. “You might get away with dumping pollutants in the bayou, but you'll never get away with murder.”

  A swaggering smile slid up one side of his mouth. “I could bury a Mack truck in the bayou and no one would find it.”

  Elaine inhaled a long slow breath and glanced toward Mozelle's empty house.

  Randall's gaze followed hers. “Don't even think about screaming. A nine-millimeter bullet may be small, but it leaves a big hole in a person's gut. Makes for a big mess.”

  Cold metal pressed against her sternum. All the breath left Elaine's lungs in a whoosh.

  “That's more like it.” Randall said. "Now, get in the car...”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  ************************************************************************************************

  The meeting with Jason Littington had concluded better than Craig had hoped and they had a good idea who was responsible for the illegal dumping. As the first gray reminders of sunrise lightened the sky, they had a plan in place.

  Craig had hurriedly shoved the refinery owner out the bait shop door, locking it behind him. Wouldn't sit well with Littington if he had stepped back into the shop and found Craig in the throes of frog metamorphosis.

  Unfortunately, Littington's departure had left Craig no time to leave the shop before the change occurred. After shrinking to his bullfrog form, Craig had hopped to a quiet corner and slept. The business of staying up all night and changing forms twice a day had exhausted him.

  His sleep had been intermingled with disturbing dreams of voodoo ceremonies and an effervescent, full orange moon. When he woke in the late afternoon, an urgent sense of impending doom settled in his gut. What did the night hold in store for this man-frog serving a penance he probably deserved?

  Uncle Joe hadn't made it to the shop today, no doubt convalescing with his new nurse and lady love, Mozelle Reneau. The marina had remained locked throughout the day.

  With the CLOSED sign still displayed in the front door, customers came, peered in through the windows and left without bait or tackle. Trapped inside by his size, Craig impatiently awaited sunset and his transformation back to human form. He worried about Elaine, alone in her cottage, a target to whatever maniacs had been terrorizing them in the swamp. With Uncle Joe out of commission and Craig locked in the shop, she didn't have anyone to protect her.

  The hands on the wall clock crawled through each hour until Craig knew he'd explode with the need for action. Finally, the sun dropped below the horizon. Craig welcomed the pain of his stretching, growing, and lengthening bones and tissues.

  As soon as he could focus, he slipped into jeans and a shirt. Then he reached for the phone and dialed home. "Hey Mom, this is Craig. Let me talk to Dad. Tell him it's

  “Hello, Craig.” His father's brisk voice cut across the line. “What's the problem?”

  “Dad, I need you to call the EPA and get them down here right away”

  “What's this all about?” Craig's father demanded. “Did you seal the deal with Littington?”

  Trust his father to be more worried about the Littington deal. “Not exactly.”

  “You've been down there a week. You should have all the paperwork signed and delivered back to New Orleans by now.”

  Craig breathed deeply to squelch his rising impatience. “I know, but more important things have come up.”

  “What could be more important than bringing in new business to
the family firm?”

  People's lives, the environment, loving someone. “Lots, Dad,” Craig answered.

  “I sent Cassandra down there to bring you back. She should be there by now.”

  “She's here.” So Cassandra hadn't come because he'd called. She'd come because the boss had ordered her to. “I sent her up to Morgan City. I won't be coming back with her.”

  "She's an aggressive attorney, son. And a fine woman.

  You could do worse.“ His father cleared his throat, a prelude to his usual advice to his son. ”It's time you started thinking about your future. Maybe even settle down and raise a few kids."

  Craig pinched the bridge of his nose, a headache building behind his eyes. “I'm working on it, Dad. Only not with Cassandra.”

  “Don't tell me you're foolin' around with one of those Cajun swamp gals?”

  Craig bit down on his tongue and breathed through his nose several times before he answered. “Dad, I'll choose who I want to spend my life with. If she happens to be a Cajun swamp rat or an Alaskan Eskimo, I'll be the one to make that choice, not you.”

  “Don't take that tone with me. I still control who works for Thibodeaux and Associates.”

  With a sigh, Craig realized the time had come. “No, Dad, you don't. I quit.”

  “What do you mean, you quit?” His father paused. “What's got into you, boy? Did you drink too much swamp water? Has my brother been filling you with crazy ideas?”

  “No, Dad.” How could he explain to his bottom-line-driven father? “I want to do more with my skills and degree. I want to make a difference.”

  “You make a difference to your clients back here.”

  “Yeah, a difference on how much money they get from their fifth divorce in as many years. Or who gets to keep the family pet that cost as much as some people make in a year.” This conversation wasn't getting him anywhere. “Dad, I don't have time to discuss this. I appreciate everything you've taught me. Now it's time for me to get out on my own.”

  Richard Thibodeaux paused as if grasping for something to say to change his son's mind. “You're making a big mistake.”

  “Maybe so, Dad, maybe so. But sometimes you have to go after what you believe in.” Like Elaine. “Will you call the EPA?”

  His father hesitated, and then breathed an audible sigh over the line. “I'll call. But don't think we're done with this discussion. When are you coming back to New Orleans?”

  “I don't know.” Craig ran a hand through his hair.

  “Your mother will be upset.”

  Cheap shot, Dad. “I'm pretty sure Mom will understand.” Craig sucked in a deep breath. No matter how he felt about the family firm, he loved his father. “Dad, this may be hard for you to comprehend, but I know this is the right decision for me.”

  “You should think about it more,” his father said. “Take a vacation. Sleep on it.”

  “I have, Dad.” Craig looked out at the dark sky. “I have to go. Tell Mom I love her.”

  “Son -”

  With a steady hand, Craig set the phone on the hook.

  Wow, he'd actually quit. All his life, he'd been geared toward following in his father's footsteps, becoming a part of the family business. Now he didn't have a job. But he had something he hadn't had in a long time, a purpose. He slipped into shoes and headed for the door.

  Adrenaline pumped through his veins as he headed across the street and straight for his uncle's rental cottage. Before he launched his mission for the night, he had to be sure Elaine fared well from the previous night's disastrous outcome.

  The dark, silent cottage appeared asleep among the row of houses. Elaine's car wasn't in the driveway and the front door stood ajar.

  Craig's heart skipped a beat. Then, leaping to the porch, he slammed through the doorway and into the living room. “Elaine?” His voice echoed through the empty house. None of her papers or notebooks lay scattered across the couch and every other available surface. The little table she'd set up against the wall was gone. He ran into the bedroom and pulled the drawers out of the dresser. Empty. The bathroom was clean of any toiletries.

  Elaine was gone. She'd packed up and left without a goodbye or anything.

  Craig wandered back out into the living room and stared around in a numb stupor; the only thought in his head reverberated in incessant repetition. She's gone. She's gone. She's gone.

  Except for the ugly writing on the living room wall, the house looked as if Elaine Smith had never been there. Every item of furniture had been moved back to its original location, the room swept and the dishes cleaned and shelved. Had Elaine been nothing more than a figment of his imagination, another trick played on him courtesy of Madame LeBieu?

  Out of the corner of his eye, Craig saw the microscope standing on the kitchen table. No, she hadn't been only in his imagination. Elaine had been here and left her mark on the town, the swamp and most of all, him.

  A lump lodged in his throat. When he lifted the instrument, a sickening raffle indicated the tool had suffered damage. Elaine loved this microscope. Could she have been mad enough about his betrayal she'd leave behind the last evidence of her parents' love?

  Craig stared down at the gray hunk of metal as if the cold steel would answer his unspoken question. Had Elaine left it as a message to him that their relationship was over? Craig's hand tightened around the grip.

  The clock on the wall bonged. A glance confirmed that the time had come to catch the polluting perpetrators. As much as he wanted to follow Elaine and bring her back, he knew any hope he had with her hinged on tonight's activities. His love life would go on hold until he dealt once and for all with the people who dared to dump in what he considered his own backyard.

  A quick duck into his uncle's house for the new camcorder Craig'd gotten him for Christmas last year, and Craig was off to Littington Enterprises.

  He backed his car in between a stand of oleanders and Magnolias just past the only open entrance to the plant. With the windows rolled down on his black BMW he inhaled the moist warmth of the Louisiana night air. The fragrant scent of flowers reminded him of Elaine and of the perfume Madame LeBieu had sprayed in his face.

  Craig frowned. Hadn't the voodoo priestess spoken of a woman who'd come into his life? One who'd love him warts and all? Had that woman been Elaine? And he'd thrown her love away through a silly lack of communication.

  With his head tipped to the roof of his car, Craig prayed to God and the voodoo queens of the swamp he wasn't too late to woo Elaine back into his life. He'd never met anyone who brought out the best in him. She'd helped him discover the emptiness in his career and the need for more meaningful work. She'd shown him how important it was to commit to a worthwhile goal and throw your heart into it, no matter how scared or distracted you might become.

  He smiled. Elaine was one hell of a woman and he'd let her walk away. With or without the curse, he'd be a fool to let her get away. But if he wanted to live the rest of his days with her, and he was beginning to think he did, then he needed to break the curse. With the full moon just days away, he didn't have time to waste. If Elaine was the woman of Madame LeBieu's spell, Craig had some serious back-paddling to do in his canoe to make her see him as worthy of her love. He prayed some day he'd be able to tell her about the curse. Maybe her scientific mind wouldn't let her believe his tale, but as long as he had her in his arms he wouldn't care. She could laugh and think him fanciful all she wanted. As long as they could spend all their days and nights together he'd be happy.

  A dingy gray truck lumbered up to the gate, stopped, then passed through. Craig could barely make out the faded letters on the side panel: PRATT CHEMICAL DISPOSAL.

  Bingo. Let the games begin.

  Craig switched his engine on and waited for the truck to come back out with its load of barrels, supposedly headed to a safe disposal site. All Craig needed was evidence of Pratt and his partner dumping the barrels into the swamp and he'd go straight to the cops, the Coast Guard and the EPA with the
video.

  Littington had agreed to foot the bill for the cleanup. Disturbed by the damage to the environment and the negative publicity the press would give, he'd embraced the opportunity for the company itself to find the culprits and make amends for the damage done. He just wanted the bad guys to be caught and put away for a long, long time. He'd insisted he wasn't even aware of what was going on until the previous day. Pratt Chemical Disposal had been the low bidder and all his disposal licenses had been up to date. With no one else collecting the chemicals for disposal, Pratt or someone in his organization had to be the culprit.

  Craig had secretly jumped for joy. He, of all people, knew how long and expensive litigation would be if the refinery refused to provide the necessary reparations.

  But Jason Littington proved to be open, honest and concerned, much to his credit and unlike many of Craig's previous clients from New Orleans. Littington still had kids growing up in the parish and he hated the thought of pollution poisoning his home.

  The truck reappeared, slowing to clear the gate. Craig's heart pounded in his chest. He'd never played the role of private detective. He didn't know what to expect from the thugs who'd already shot at him and tried to kill Elaine and Uncle Joe by capsizing their boat. Perhaps he should have gotten a gun from Uncle Joe's collection, but there wasn't time now.

  Lights off, he maintained a discreet distance from the lumbering truck, following it to a nearby boat launch.

  Craig parked behind bushes, left the car running and snuck out with the video camera. Ten barrels stood in the back of the truck. He recognized Randall Pratt and Gator Brouchard as the men rolling the barrels to a boat lied to the pier. Craig was amazed at their gall. They hadn't even attempted to take any of the barrels to the appropriate disposal sites. They'd gone straight from the refinery to the swamp.

  With video recorder in hand, Craig caught them on film rolling the barrels one by one into the boat. Neither man spoke as they worked to move the toxins.

  When five of the ten barrels were on board, they returned to the truck. This time when they went in the back, they came out carrying something long and skinny, wrapped in an old blanket. They hauled it on the boat and laid it down on the deck.