Murder in the Marsh

by Ramsey Coutta

  As he slowly guided his boat near hers, she gave him an intense look of displeasure. He mouthed the word ‘Sorry’ over his engine, as he raised his eyebrows and held his hands up as if professing guilt. He gently nudged the bow of his boat into the soft mud of the bank next to hers and cut the engine.

  “I’m sorry! I didn’t see your little boat.” It didn’t come out quite the way he hoped.

  She glared at him with enough contempt he wished he could become invisible.

  “Well if you hadn’t come barreling down the canal in your fancy boat, you would have seen me!” she replied sharply.

  Despite her anger, he found her attractive. She appeared to be in her mid-to-late twenties, slender, lightly tanned, with long brown hair pulled up in a ponytail. She was wearing tan shorts and a light yellow shirt. Unfortunately, she was soaked with water and partially caked in mud. The only thing he noticed in her boat was an open satchel filled with numerous books sitting in water at the bottom of her small craft.

  “You’re right. I was going way too fast. It was totally my mistake. What can I do to help?”

  She took a deep breath to avoid making the situation worse and said flatly, “I’m stuck. I would appreciate it if you could help me out of this mud.”

  “Of course.” He looked around for something that would support his weight on the marsh mud and prevent him from sinking down in it. Near the boat, he located an old two-by-six board that had washed ashore. He took his anchor and threw it across the board and began to pull it back towards him. The anchor caught on the piece of wood and he pulled it close enough to his boat that he could reach down and pick it up. He placed the board across the grass from his craft over to the young woman. He then carefully stepped over to her and extended his hands. “Okay. Give me your hands.”

  She offered two muddy hands, which he took hold of. With her hands in his, he began to pull upwards from his position standing above her. He felt her move slightly, but she didn’t come free. He pulled even harder. The next thing he knew, her muddy hands slipped through his, causing him to fly backwards, landing face up spread eagle in the mud and marsh grass. Surprised at first, her anger quickly dissipated and she burst into laughter. Though embarrassed, he realized his muddy fall was small consolation considering what he had almost done to her. He struggled to his knees and back on the board giving her a good-natured grin. His whole backside was wet and covered in muck and filth.

  “Why don’t I sit on the board this time instead, and you put your hands in mine? That way I’ll be more stable.”

  She agreed, still smiling and trying not to break out in further laughter. Up close, she found this man who had caused her so much trouble to be cute. Tall with brown curly hair and almond brown skin, he actually seemed like a nice person. His sincerity in apologizing seemed genuine, and she found her interest piqued. She reached out her arms, and he took them in his hands and counted to three before pulling. She barely budged. After several more attempts, he realized the new way wouldn’t work either.

  “All right, if you don’t mind, I’m going to lean forward enough so you can wrap your arms around my neck, and I’ll wrap my arms around you. On the count of three, I’ll lean backwards and with us both pulling you should slide out.”

  With no other apparent alternatives and feeling comfortable with him thus far, she put her arms out once again as he leaned forward. She interlaced her fingers around his neck, as he slid his arms under hers and around her back. He counted out loud, “One, two, three!” then pulled by leaning backwards. She tightened her embrace and pulled. At first nothing seemed to happen, but then ever so slowly, he felt herself slipping free from the mud. With a muddy suctioning sound, she suddenly pulled free causing them to both fall backwards, into the mud and grass. His back lay on top of the ground and she on top of him. She started to laugh again, as she thought about what had happened in the past fifteen minutes. He laughed too, realizing the comedy in their encounter.

  Still laughing, she rolled off him and said, “So Mr….”

  “Trahan. Daniel Trahan”

  “This has been some introduction. First, you run me over in a boat and then you rub me in the mud. I hope this isn’t the way you treat all the women you meet.”

  Catching on to her playful tone, Daniel responded with a grin, “No. Just you. I guess you’re special.”

  “Is that right? Well I think you’re special too. Let me show you how much.” She slung a handful of wet mud at him, smacking him squarely on the cheek.

  “I guess payback is fair, but two can play that game!” He slung mud back at her, peppering her wet yellow shirt.

  Just before she had a chance to return the favor he cried, “Truce! Truce!”

  They both laughed together.

  “Well, Ms…”

  “Breland. Rachel Breland.”

  “Ms. Breland. Again, I’m truly sorry for the near collision, but honestly I’m glad it’s given me the chance to meet you.”

  “Thanks. Same here,” Rachel smiled.

  “If you don’t mind my asking, where you going with all those books in your boat?”

  “The books! I forgot about them.” She struggled to get up but fell back into him.

  “Here, push against my hands.” He held out straightened arms.

  She did so and managed to stand up right on the board. She turned around and leaned over into her boat lifting the soggy book satchel off the floor.

  “They’re soaked!”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll pay for them. It’s my fault they’re wet,” he offered, struggling to stand up.

  “No, you can’t. These are my teacher’s manuals. I’m a teacher at Port Sulphur School. Maybe I can dry them out.”

  “If there’s anything I can do to make it up to you, I’ll be glad to do it.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Trahan. Don’t worry about it.”

  “Please, call me Daniel.”

  “Okay, Daniel. Books are replaceable, but lives aren’t, and I’m just thankful we’re both alive and safe.”

  “Me too, Ms. Breland.”

  “Rachel.”

  “Rachel. Okay. So you didn’t say, where were you going with such a load of teacher’s manuals?”

  “School is out today because of the hurricane. I was going to check on one of my sick students who has missed a lot of class.”

  “Out here? Really? You have students out here?”

  “Yes, actually I do. In Grand Bayou village. It’s not far. You can see some of the camps across the marsh from here.”

  Daniel looked in the direction Rachel was pointing, and he could see the camps standing in the middle of the marsh. Some appeared to be in good shape, while others looked run down or abandoned.

  “You can only get there by boat?” he asked.

  “There’s a road leading to it from the highway, but even then the kids have to board a school boat to get from their home to the pick up point.”

  “I’d be interested in visiting Grand Bayou. I’d like to know what changes the residents have observed in the marshes over the past decade.”

  “Why?”

  “That’s my job. I study coastal erosion. I’m particularly interested in the effects dredged canals have had on the marshlands.”

  “I’d be glad for you to visit with me.”

  “That would be great. Thanks.”

  “So do you check on your kids often outside of school?”

  “Mostly on weekends. I live in teacher housing provided by the school, so I have a lot of time on the weekend. I’m also a part-time youth minister at Bayview Church, so it’s also an opportunity for me to share God’s Word with the children and their families.”

  The name ‘Bayview Church’ sounded familiar to Daniel. He couldn’t remember where he had heard the name. He would give it some thought later.

  “That’s interesting,” Daniel responded. He had been active in church as a youth up until he went off to college, but had long since stopped attending. Now at age thirty-
eight, the only time he went to church was when he visited his mother and stepfather on special occasions such as Christmas or Easter. He didn’t have anything against church; he just didn’t see the relevance of religion for his life.

  “Why don’t we bail out your boat and tie it off to the back of mine, and we’ll head back in so we can both get cleaned up,” he offered. “After lunch, I’ll go to Grand Bayou with you.”

  She agreed, and they both set to work preparing the boats for the trip back in.

  Six

  Daniel picked Rachel up at noon from the teacher’s housing near Port Sulphur School. She stayed in a first floor apartment in an older two story wooden building painted light blue. He was renting a mobile trailer just up the road for a month, enough time to complete his study. She slid into in his truck looking much cleaner and even more attractive than several hours ago. He had also taken a quick shower, changed clothes, and grabbed a bite to eat.

  They pulled out onto the highway heading back north toward Happy Jack marina.

  “I take it you’re not from around here?” she asked.

  “Actually, I am. I was born here and lived in Port Sulphur the first ten months of my life, according to my mother. She then moved us to Lake Charles. But this is my first time back. I don’t remember anything about the place.”

  “Your mother lived here? Why did she move?”

  “It’s kind of unclear really, and my mother hasn’t talked about it very much. My real father disappeared when I was four months old. He was a part-time minister and a shrimper here in Port-Sulphur. My mother has never told me the story, but my stepfather told me about some questionable circumstances in which foul play was suspected. My father went to a community meeting one night up the road in Belle Chasse and was last seen being escorted out by the Sheriff and two deputies. The Sheriff claimed my father was drunk. They said he was removed from the meeting for public intoxication and being disruptive. They said they released him here in Port Sulphur. They suggested that he may have fallen in the marsh and drowned. However, my mother says my father never drank, especially being a minister. The FBI eventually got involved in the case, but they never did solve it. My stepfather says my mother left because she had pursued the matter and the Sheriff started making threats against her. My mother moved and eventually met my stepfather. While my mother changed her name when she remarried, she wanted me to keep my father’s last name, Trahan.”

  “Wow that’s some story, and very sad. I’m sorry about your father,” Rachel said softly.

  “Thanks. I never knew him, so it hasn’t been as hard on me as I guess it has on my mother,”

  “You said your real father was a bi-vocational minister?”

  “Yes, I guess that’s what you call it. He pastored a church in this area and he also shrimped. I can’t quite remember the name of the church. By the way, what did you say the name of your church is?”

  “Bayview.”

  “You know, I thought that name sounded familiar when you mentioned it earlier. Now I know why. I think that’s the name of the church my father pastored.”

  “Really! I know the church has been around for a while. I’m going to have to go back and look at the church records. When would you say it was?”

  “I’m thirty-eight, so it must have been around 1968.”

  “Your father was a minister. So, what about you? Are you involved in a church somewhere?”

  “No, not lately. I used to attend church when I was living at home, but I don’t have a church I attend now.”

  “Well then, I would like to invite you to our church while you’re here.”

  “I’ll have to think about it. I haven’t attended in a long time.”

  “Sure. No problem. It’s such an important part of my life that I like to share it with others.”

  “I don’t mean to seem unappreciative of your invitation. It’s just that honestly, I don’t see where I have a need for God in my life. In the past I can’t really say where I’ve seen God intervene when I’ve prayed for His help. I’ve learned that if I need to do something, I have to depend on myself.”

  “You can’t think of a time when the Lord has answered your prayers?”

  “No, not really. At least I don’t have any evidence of it. I believe there’s a God, but I think of Him more as creating us, then stepping back and letting us live our lives, for good or bad. Kind of like spinning a top and letting it go until it stops. The top may stay on the table or it may fall off, but God lets happen what will happen without preventing it. In the end, I think we’ll be responsible for how we lived, but in the meantime, I don’t think he intervenes or interferes in any way. Still, I’m glad you invited me, and because it’s you who asked, I would like to visit with you at your church before I complete my assignment.”

  “I hope you will,” she smiled.

  “So how about you?” he said, interested in learning more about the attractive young woman sitting next to him. “How did you come to be teaching and working in a church in Port Sulphur?”

  “Well, I’m originally from Mississippi. Both my parents and my brother and sister still live there. I graduated with my education degree from a local college and taught for two years in a city school. I then heard from a friend about teaching positions open here in Port Sulphur. Since I had never really been away from home, I decided to do something different and applied for a teaching position here. That was five years ago. My relationship with the Lord has always been important to me, so I began worshipping at Bayview Church. The previous youth minister was eventually called elsewhere, and the church offered me the position. Not married or having children, I enjoy devoting my extra time to the work of the church.”

  “You must like it here to stay five years.”

  “I do. I enjoy teaching, but the fact that I can teach and minister to my students in my free time has been very meaningful to me.”

  “So, you know I’m thirty-eight, and if you don’t mind my figuring, with your schooling and time teaching, you must be around twenty-eight.”

  “Twenty-nine, actually. I took an extra year in college.”

  “Twenty-nine. And is there someone in your life?”

  “No. No, there isn’t. However, I tend to believe the Lord intervenes in our lives, and I trust that when He is ready to place the right person in my life, He will do so.”

  “How will you know?”

  “Honestly, I’m not sure exactly how, but I think it will be in His own unique way.”

  “Fair enough. I think this is our turn,” Daniel said, upon arriving at Happy Jack Lane.

  Daniel took a turn down the drive. Further down the street he noticed a police checkpoint had been set up since they were there earlier that morning. A white police cruiser with light blue stripes sat on the right side of the road, and a sheriff and deputy talked with someone in a truck ahead of them. After the truck turned around and came back down the road, Daniel pulled up to the checkpoint and rolled down the windows. The Sheriff of Plaquemines Parish walked up to the driver’s side, and the deputy to the passenger side.

  “Good afternoon, sir,” the pepper-gray haired Sheriff said politely, looking at Daniel. He seemed as if he was about to continue, but then stopped and continued to stare at Daniel, in a confused state.

  The momentary pause made seemed strange causing Daniel to feel uncomfortable. He replied, “Good afternoon.”

  The Sheriff started speaking, stumbled over his next couple of words and finally regained his composure, “Sir, are you heading out on the water?”

  “Yes. We’re going to visit some folks in Grand Bayou.”

  “How long are you going to be out?” the Sheriff stared at Daniel as if he recognized him from somewhere.

  “Just for a few hours. Is there a problem?”

  “No. Not yet, anyway. We’re just informing boaters that a hurricane is brewing in the Gulf. We don’t know where it’s going yet, but we don’t want anyone to be caught unaware. If it heads this way, there wi
ll likely be a mandatory evacuation of the whole lower parish, including Port Sulphur.”

  “Thanks, Sheriff. We shouldn’t be long. Ms. Breland has some students we’re going to visit at home. I work for the government and she’s going to introduce me to some of the families there.”

  “Okay. Just keep up with the weather news and be careful on the water. By the way… what’s your name? I don’t recognize you.”

  “Trahan. Daniel Trahan.”

  The Sheriff’s look of confusion suddenly returned along with a look of shock. He stepped back from the truck.

  “Is everything okay?” Daniel asked.

  “Yeah…yeah. You can go ahead.”

  The deputy, who had said nothing up to this point, grabbed the tip of his hat and said “Ma’am” to Rachel and stepped away from the passenger window.

  Daniel pulled forward over the drainage canal bridge and the levee down to the marina.

  “That was weird,” Rachel said, looking at Daniel.

  “Very weird! I wonder what’s up with him?” Daniel agreed.

  “It’s like he saw a ghost or something.”

  Seven

  Sheriff Wilton Holet could not focus on his work. He couldn’t take his mind off the young man named Daniel Trahan who he had spoken to earlier. When he first saw his face, it instantly induced a flashback to many years ago when he was a young deputy. The memory of what he and the other deputy had done to the mulatto pastor, he had banished to the darker recesses of his mind. He had been young and easily led, as well as too scared to disobey. His conscience became so stricken afterwards, he eventually dropped out of the police force and worked offshore in the oil industry for a number of years. He knew he could never tell anybody what happened to James Trahan. Several years after the murder of Trahan, Lauzon died and the Sheriff didn’t get re-elected. Holet, always drawn to police work, rejoined the force as a deputy and served many honorable years in this position. He even earned parish wide acclaim when he single-handedly, and at great risk to himself, thwarted a bank robbery and saved a woman and her child from harm. With a glowing record, he rose to the rank of Captain and then got elected Sheriff of Plaquemines Parish. He had his dream job, a wonderful wife, and three grown children who were immensely proud of him.