by Emery, Lynn
LaShaun let out a sigh of relief. She hurried to the bay window in her kitchen. Her heart skipped when she recognized the tall figure walking from the circle of illumination from the security lamp toward darkness, following the retreating blue light.
“Oh no.”
She raced to the solid steel door styled to look like dark wood. Precious seconds ticked by as she clicked the set of three locks that usually made her feel safe. Moments later she’d pushed through the screen storm door. Too scared to call out, LaShaun’s legs pumped as she ran to catch up to him. Chase strode along, not seeming to be in a hurry. His long-legged stride easily increased the distance between them with each step.
“Chase. Chase!”
LaShaun spoke in a hoarse whisper, as though that would help keep some malevolent beast from noticing them. When he kept walking, she felt a surge of panic. To hell with stealth, she decided. LaShaun skidded to a halt, pulled out the small gun, and fired two shots in the air in rapid succession. Chase stopped in mid-stride. Oddly, he lowered his leg slowly, like a robot that had suddenly been turned off. Seconds later his head turned from left to right looking into the night. Then he faced LaShaun.
“Hey girl. What the hell…” When he walked into the circle of light, Chase blinked rapidly.
“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” LaShaun ran to him as he walked to her. Panting, she still held the gun above her head. Then she stepped to her right and pointed it at the landscape bathed in gloom beyond the beam of the security lamp.
“No, I-I’m okay,” Chase replied, but his voice sounded unsure. He rubbed a hand over his forehead. “I thought I heard something, and plus this night air seemed so sweet I…”
LaShaun got close to him. He wore a puzzled expression. She looked past him again. The blue mist faded away. She engaged the cross bolt safety on the derringer and put it into her jacket pocket.
“Let’s go inside; get out of this frosty air. I’ll fix you something warm to drink.”
As she walked with him, LaShaun rubbed his cold hands while glancing over her shoulder. No trace of blue or anything out of the ordinary appeared against the night sky. The full moon looked down on them like a placid face giving no clue about what he’d seen. Chase remained silent as LaShaun kept up a stream of chatter. Her nerves became even more rattled by the odd blank expression he wore.
“You’re shouldn’t be wandering around in the dead of night. It’s almost three o’clock in the morning. Why didn’t you come on home or go to your place to get some rest? Talk to me, sweetie,” LaShaun said, her voice breaking with anxiety. She fought the urge to cry, to shake him violently until he lost that look on his face. Something in her tone must have gotten through to him.
“Hey, girl, you sound upset. Nothing happened out here, did it? There’s been some wild stuff going on.” Chase pulled her tight against his side.
“No, nothing.” LaShaun said no more until they were inside the kitchen.
Chase removed his thick, dark brown jacket with the words “VP Sheriff” on the back. He glanced around as though checking for threats. Then he took off his felt hat with The Vermilion Sheriff’s Department emblem. He hung both on wall hooks near the back door.
“You’re not telling me something, like why you out in the backyard with a gun. It sure as hell ain’t hunting season, and that little pistol ain’t legal for hunting.” He placed both hands on his waist and waited for an answer. His dark eyebrows pulled together in a severe expression.
“I heard a noise and… I know, I know. You think it’s a bad idea for me to go outside,” LaShaun said cutting off his lecture.
“Yeah, darlin’. Especially since we don’t know what particular kinda freaks are roaming around,” Chase replied. Only then did he take off his duty belt. He carefully put it in a locked drawer of the wooden cabinet next to the small desk in her kitchen.
“I thought you said drug dealers and burglars. Just the garden variety lowlifes. You want something to eat? It’s breakfast time now.” LaShaun pointed to the clock.
“Nah, I’m good. Don’t wiggle out of answering my question. What did you hear or see outside?” Chase followed LaShaun to the bedroom when she headed off.
LaShaun put her derringer and knife in the drawer of a small table and then got undressed. She still wore her pajamas underneath her clothes. “Some kind of rustling, like maybe one of Mr. Marchand’s horses got loose or something. I took the weapons for safety, like you would have told me to do.”
“I told you not to even go out, but to call the station and they’d get word to me.” Chase gazed at her hard, and then took off his shirt.
“We got to go through this again? I’m no scary little girl who can’t protect herself, so just relax. I don’t want you worried about me while you’re out chasing bad guys. Concentrate on them, so you’ll stay safe.” LaShaun walked to him and planted a kiss on his lips.
“You’re trying to get me off the subject,” Chase murmured and brushed a hand through her hair.
“I can’t think when you’re looking so hot, Mr. Lawman.” LaShaun kissed him again, slowly and more passionately. She tugged at the zipper of his jeans.
In seconds, they were definitely distracted. Chase covered LaShaun’s body with kisses that left her weak. By the time they were joined, LaShaun would have told him anything he wanted to know. Chase’s only conversation consisted of how much he craved her in every way. After long, luscious minutes of pure pleasure, the electric pinnacle to their desire left them panting. They lay side by side locked in a loving embrace.
“Nice breakfast,” he murmured as he nuzzled her neck.
“I love you, Deputy Broussard,” LaShaun whispered.
“April I’ll be saying ‘I love you Mrs. Broussard’,” he replied. His eyes closed, but before he drifted off to sleep, Chase added softly, “When I wake up we’re going to talk about what you really thought was outside.”
“But—” LaShaun began but broke off.
His soft regular breathing stopped her. With the long hours and stress of the last few days, LaShaun knew he needed rest, not arguments. She snuggled closer to him, knowing very well he’d keep his promise to get answers. LaShaun also knew he’d be quite dismayed when he got them.
She kissed his forehead. “Be careful what you ask for.”
***
The next day, the residents of Beau Chene buzzed with the latest news. Over a late breakfast, or early lunch since they didn’t eat until eleven o’clock, Chase watched the news. The Channel Six early morning broadcasts were replayed on a local access cable channel until noon. The grim set of his jaw tightened as a young male reporter talked.
“What’s he doing on my crime scene? Dave is supposed to be in charge of keeping folks outta there,” Chase burst out after a commercial came on. He pointed his fork at the television. A chunk of sausage danced crazily on the end of it.
“Stop getting all worked up, honey. Looked like the reporter was a good distance away from the crime tape,” LaShaun replied calmly.
Chase wasn’t in the mood to be reassured. “I can’t wait for this damn election to be over. Dave is probably kissing up to the media. If I hear any stuff that’s from a ‘source inside the sheriff’s department’ I’m going to kick his—”
“Whoa now, you can’t be beating on your opponent. That is not video you want going viral on the Internet. Calm down,” LaShaun insisted. “Besides, you don’t know that Dave is talking to the media or giving them inside tidbits.”
“He’s seen the polls. I’m ahead by two points. Dave is determined to be the next sheriff.” Chase sighed and dropped the fork onto his plate. “I don’t know why I ever thought running for sheriff was a good idea. I hate all this political crap!”
“Sheriff Triche and M.J. both schooled you on what to expect. Sheriff Triche said being a lawman is only fifty percent of the job,” LaShaun said in a deep gruff voice in imitation of the older man.
“Yeah, yeah, I remember. I don’t mind working with people in the community, maki
ng policy and administrative decisions. but dealing with the mayors and other local politicians… gonna take a lot of gettin’ used to.” Chase gathered up his plate and LaShaun’s and then went to the sink. He started the faucet and poured liquid soap into the sink.
“It’s going to take diplomacy, so start practicing. By the way, thanks for the delicious breakfast. Can I expect regular service like this after we’re married?” LaShaun teased. She grinned at him.
“Washing dishes and doing other chores relaxes me. You most certainly can expect plenty of service after we’re married,” Chase quipped, wiggling his dark eyebrows at her before returning to his task.
“I’m gonna hold you to all promises, stated and implied,” LaShaun said with a laugh. “Seriously though, Chase. You’re going to make a wonderful sheriff.
“So M.J. keeps telling me. I think she’s just itching to let me sit in the hot seat. I’d rather have her as an opponent. At least I’d know we wouldn’t have a brown-nosing fool running the department.”
M.J. Arceneaux had made history by being the first black person and first woman appointed acting sheriff. More than a few citizens had urged her to run for the office. M.J. stood firm in telling everyone ‘no way’. Privately, she’d confided in LaShaun and Savannah that she wasn’t ready to face the constant backlash. She felt sure every decision she made would be questioned. Any missteps would be amplified because of her race and gender.
“There would be a lot of pressure on her, and she’s a single mother. Besides, she’d rather be one of the tribe than be the chief.” LaShaun giggled when Chase rolled his eyes at her.
“I get it. M.J. is part Indian and you’re so clever,” Chase shot back as he rinsed soap from a plate.
“Thank you,” LaShaun said, ignoring his playful sarcasm. “Anyway, you’re going to win. I’ve seen it in the stars.”
“Don’t be saying stuff like that in front of folks. They’ll swear you worked a mojo or something equally stupid.” Chase scrubbed the cast iron skillet he’d used to fry up eggs and sausage.
“Us voodoo queens routinely use gri-gris to get what we want,” LaShaun replied. When Chase let out a loud groan she giggled. “I won’t kid about it outside these walls. I can count the number of folks on one hand who’d know I was joking.”
“Humph, fortunately, we have a lot of new blood in the parish now.” Chase stacked plates onto the drain tray.
LaShaun joined him at the kitchen sink. She grabbed a fluffy towel to dry them. “They’ll vote for you. Dave has the solid, good old boy thing going on. But you have the young, fresh twenty-first century look. Not to mention you’re sexy as hell. Women will flock to the polls to vote for you.”
“Oh please.” Chase shook his head.
“I’m serious, babe. Take a picture with your shirt off, hat pushed back and with those brawny arms crossed. Put that on a billboard and Deputy Godchaux’s campaign is dead in the water.” LaShaun grinned when he winced.
“Luckily you’re not my campaign manager,” Chase said with a scowl.
“You don’t have one,” LaShaun replied.
“And now you see why,” he retorted. Chase wiped his hands dry and leaned against the counter. “Speaking of your gift for seeing stuff in the stars, what exactly did you see in the woods at two o’clock this morning?”
“Ahem… I saw, hmm, it was a strange light.” LaShaun concentrated a little too much on drying the last coffee cup. She turned away from his scrutiny to put the dishes in the cabinet.
“A blue light like the times before?” Chase stood straight and frowned.
“I was still half asleep. It could have been just moonlight reflected on mist rising from the ground.” LaShaun worked on making her tone of voice matter-of-fact.
“You wouldn’t have gone out there locked and loaded if you thought it was just moonlight. You had your grandmother’s rosary in your jacket pocket. It fell out when I hung up your coat.”
LaShaun let out a long sigh. “Okay. Okay. I talked to Miss Rose over in Mouton Cove. She taught my mama way back in grade school. She was good friends with Monmon Odette.”
“Your grandmother didn’t have many friends, so Miss Rose must be…special,” Chase said.
“At odd times she sees, I don’t know, pictures of the past because they’re tied to something happening in the present.” LaShaun held her breath for a few seconds. She watched his expression. When he didn’t groan or grab his head in despair right away she exhaled.
“She couldn’t just be a regular retired school teacher. Nope, that wouldn’t make life quite as interesting.” Chase rubbed his forehead for a few seconds and then sighed. “Okay, so you talked to her and then saw that thing, whatever it is, floating around. Now what?”
“Truthfully I don’t know. It could be nothing supernatural at all,” LaShaun said with a shrug.
“Uh-huh. You told me that before. I ended up fighting off a demon.”
LaShaun rubbed his shoulder. “Not everything is hocus-pocus.”
“Let’s get back to you being outside,” Chase said and gazed at her steadily.
“The light, night mist or whatever it was, just kind of faded away. Now I have questions for you.” LaShaun stepped close to him. “You seemed out of it when you were in the yard this morning. It was like you didn’t see me at first, and you just stared off into the woods. Did you feel, I don’t know, strange?”
“What I felt was tired and keyed up at the same time. I probably just paused to enjoy some clean air after dealing with crap all day,” Chase said. He smiled at her. “Don’t’ worry.”
“Okay,” LaShaun said and smiled back. She proceeded to worry.
Chase easily switched to everyday topics. He ran through errands and chores he’d do before he went back to work. LaShaun worked at paying attention, but she couldn’t stop thinking about their early morning encounter. His odd behavior coupled with the reappearance of the blue light meant she should get started on that research. Now.
Chapter 3
“Well come on in.” Pete Kluger, the director and curator of the museum, waved LaShaun into his office.
LaShaun had driven over to the Vermilion Paroisse Musée only minutes after Chase left her house. Located in a nineteenth century three story building donated by a local, wealthy family, the museum housed a varied collection. Some of the items, like voodoo dolls, were controversial. Luckily for Pete, a transplant from the mid-west, the museum board supported him. Monmon Odette had donated furniture and books. LaShaun carried on the tradition as well. She’d donated three antique books and pottery after her grandmother died.
Pete, tall and lean with thick silvery gray hair, chattered on about museum events and other local gossip. “Oh, and we’re going to have a fantastic Mardi Gras exhibit opening next Saturday, the twenty-second. Did you get your invitation to the reception?”
“Yes, but I confess I’ve been preoccupied. It’s still sitting on my desk in the kitchen. Sorry I haven’t sent in my RSVP.” LaShaun sat down at the round antique table in the seating area of Pete’s office.
“No problem. You can tell me now, and I’ll put you and Chase’s name on the guest list. The deli from Mayor Savoie’s grocery store is catering. I may have my quarrels with the man, but he’s got some of the best local cooks making his dishes.” Pete bustled around making hot chocolate, his favorite. “We’re going to have jambalaya, crawfish pasta, boudin balls, the works. Mrs. Grenier is going to make the king cakes. Yum.”
“Sounds wonderful,” LaShaun replied and accepted a mug with the museum logo on it from Pete. She sipped a little of the hot chocolate. Smooth and rich, Pete prided himself on making it from an old Creole recipe. LaShaun let the delicious liquid slide down her throat slowly to savor it. “Perfect, as usual.”
Pete beamed with pleasure at her appreciation. He sat down in the chair next to her at the table. “Thanks, dear. Much as I agree my chocolate is worth a trip over here, I don’t think that’s why you came.”
“No, I’m
doing some special research,” LaShaun said.
“The last time you did ‘special research,’ scary things were happening. Please tell me we’re not infested with rougarou again,” Pete replied with a grimace.
“No,” LaShaun said and drank more hot chocolate.
“Thank the Lord for small favors,” Pete murmured with a relieved sigh.
“At least, I don’t think so,” LaShaun added.
Pete’s eyes widened. “Help us sweet Lord.”
“Calm down. I’m pretty sure Chase and I cleared out the last pack. I’m thinking this is something else. I need anything you have on the Metier family.”
“Of course, we have quite a few books on local families. I started a list of common surnames in the parish fifteen years ago when I first took over. Then I cross referenced those names to public documents from the historical records,” Pete said. His mug of liquid chocolate forgotten, he went to the computer on his desk.
“You’ve done an excellent job digitizing the collection.” LaShaun took his mug and placed it on the desk at his elbow. She knew he’d be reaching for it soon.
“Hmm,” was Pete’s distracted reply.
LaShaun sat back down and kept quiet while he searched. As she expected, Pete picked up the mug and sipped a few times. His gray eyebrows pulled together as he concentrated on his task. Minutes later his expression relaxed and he grinned.
“You’re in luck. A descendent donated furniture from the kitchen of the mansion outside Abbeville. Let’s see, according to my files, Mr. and Mrs. Lawrence Volant made the donation in 1946. Mrs. Volant was the great-great niece of one Felicity Metier,” Pete said, and he continued to use the wireless mouse to click on icons.
“See if you have anything on a Clarissa Metier and Vincent Metier; anything about a murder in 1837 in the family’s papers,” LaShaun said.
“Hmm,” Pete said once more and searched for a few minutes. “I’ve found copies of a Vincent Philippe Metier’s last will. His widow finally assumed possession of the estate in 1840. Seems there was some family dispute, but it’s only mentioned briefly. The entry says after a protracted court battle the matter was resolved.”
