by Nat Burns
I laughed sadly. I had sorely missed Ammie’s Cajun ways and healing prowess and hadn’t realized it until this very moment. “You are a wonder, Ammie,” I said quietly.
“I guess you heard about the disagreements going on in the area?” Ammie’s voice was assuming yet informing.
“No,” I took a seat at the small breakfast nook and helped myself to strawberries piled in a wicker basket. “What disagreements?” How I loved Ammie’s interminable gossip.
“Oh, it’s awful.” Ammie was mixing eggs at the counter as she spoke, adding chopped broccoli and onion in small handfuls. “There’s some that say the land hereabouts has the oil. Others say it’s all a lie, brought by the developers to move us all out.”
“Developers, here? What do they see in Brethren that we can’t see?”
Ammie smiled indulgently. “They want the hotels, the swimming pools, the little golf game, all of that.”
“Why here? You’re not even on a good stretch of the water. That’s ridiculous.”
“That’s why they say it’s oil. They’ve been promising oil here since the forties, but there’s no oil yet.”
I cupped my chin in my palm. “Well, there is oil over near Grand Lake and that’s only about, what? Fifty miles?”
“Yes, about that,” Ammie agreed. She was pouring the quiche batter into a partially baked pie shell.
“I wonder if that has anything to do with what’s going on here at Fortune,” I mused.
“No, it’s just bad luck that’s come to visit here, that’s all. Bad hoodoo.”
I grimaced at Ammie, all the while noting the white that had piped through her long, onyx black hair. She still wore it the same as always, twisted into a smooth oval and fastened firmly to the back of her head. Her lovely Greek features had softened while I had been away, however, and a touch of middle-age spread had crept onto her once too-thin waistline. I wondered briefly how old Ammie really was; she seemed ageless and had been taking care of the Price family since before John Clyde was born.
“You don’t believe that. What about Kissy being hit on the head and thrown into the swamp? Hoodoo didn’t do that, people did.”
Ammie covered her ears with her palms. “I won’t hear about that. I just thank the Lord every day that she was able to come back to us.”
“Ammie, why do you think this all started after Megs died?” I pulled the top off another strawberry.
The quiche safely in the oven, Ammie sat across from me and sipped from a sweating glass of iced water. “Beats all. Probably because if it had happened while she was alive it would have put her into her grave.”
She watched me with calm brown eyes. “I know she would’ve liked to have laid eyes on you again before she went away. She talked about you a lot, child. She and that Yolanda never did get on.”
I could have said I was not surprised but chose to remain silent.
“So you’re going to find out who’s trying to hurt my babies?”
“Yes, ma’am, I am. Who do you think it is, really? I know you’ve thought about it.”
Ammie grew contemplative. “That’s between the land and the Lord. I can’t put a face to it though I’ve shaken my brain every which way,” she said finally.
“No one? You have to have some ideas.” I knew that in most cases of mayhem, the perpetrator was well known to the victim or the victim’s families.
“Maybe Jimmy Thibideaux from across the way. I saw him one day. He was out back when I was spreading for the chickens one morning. Now why would he be out there at daybreak?”
I was intrigued. “What was he doing?”
“Just looking around. I watched him for some time without him knowin’ I was there. He was snoopin’ but I didn’t see him do nothing.”
“Nothing suspicious?”
“No. He was just lookin’ stuff over like he was buyin.’ I ask what he was doing there and he say he was walking for the exercise.”
“Walking?”
Ammie nodded. “I say, humph, he can walk his own place. I say it like the joke, though, and he laugh and go on his way.”
I frowned. Jimmy Thibideaux. I didn’t remember much about him, other than the familiar name. “What do you know about him, Ammie?”
“Jimmy? His is one of the old families. The Thibideaux been here longer than my people. There’s five of them kids, all told. You might remember Ron. He’s the one owns Sprouse’s Market, where we get all our fresh stuff.”
“Ron. Is he the oldest?” I asked.
Ammie paused to sort memory. “No,” she said finally. “I think it’s Ernie, then come little Jilly, only big as a minute, then Ron. Elizabeth was next, and Jimmy was the baby of them all. Ernie passed, you know.”
“No. When?”
“About a year ago. Summer.”
“Why do you think Jimmy would harm the Prices?” I watched Ammie closely.
Ammie shifted and focused her eyes directly on mine. “I don’t necessarily think it’s so. I’m just talking out of hand. As far as I know, Jimmy’s never hurt a fly, nor would.”
I nodded my acceptance. “What about his father, Thomas?”
“Thomas, now he was a good man. But loved the ladies, he did. Dona wasn’t cold in her grave before he took up with that Baby Wood. She was good enough, I guess, and bless her for putting up with his cheating ways. He passed back in 2000 and Baby is still there caring for Jimmy.”
“Jimmy’s not married?”
“Oh no,” Ammie scolded. “You should know better than that. Remember? He’s the one that was poisoned in the war. They say he shouldn’t have children, and between you, me and the wall, it’s said he can’t function as a husband.”
I puzzled this out. “You mean Vietnam? He’s not that old.”
“No, after that. He was poisoned by the gas we let loose down on that island, in that little war. It was a tragic thing. He come home just white as a haunt and his hands shaking so he couldn’t hold his fork to eat. Near broke my heart, it did, when I saw him at the summer social the year he got home.”
“But he’s better now?”
“Sure. It still poisons him, though, and he won’t poison a wife and child.”
“That’s horrible.” I felt his pain—for needing to so severely isolate himself in such a way. I did remember him, an idle bit of gossip on a summer’s eve.
Ammie sighed and pulled a strawberry from the bowl. She capped it expertly and popped the entire fruit into her mouth. We sat in companionable silence a long time as she chewed thoughtfully.
I knew I had to investigate Thibideaux. War did funny things to people’s minds. It could be that his enforced isolation was taking its toll and he had snapped in some subtle way. Maybe he envied the Price family’s happiness. Though it was depressing to admit, I could see that Patty and Landa had built a good life together here in the Price home and had made a good home for Kissy.
“Well, it’s on to dessert for me,” Ammie said, rising, “though by the looks of those berries, I’m not sure but what that pie’ll be all syrup.” She eyed me with an accusatory glare.
I laughed and raised my hands in a defensive posture. “Hey, now, give a gal a break. I’ve only been here an hour or so.”
Ammie laughed and snatched the basket of strawberries from the table and pressed it to her chest. She sobered and leaned forward meeting me almost nose-to-nose. “You find him, baby girl. Do that for Ammie and do it fast. Let us see his face and I’ll make sure you get all the strawberries you could ever want.”
The ferocious look in those deep brown eyes surprised me. “Yes, ma’am,” I said.
Chapter Six
The dining room at Fortune Farm was smaller than might have been expected, given the large size of the sprawling farmhouse. Carved into when a pantry was built onto the kitchen, it was nonetheless a cozy room.
Kissy was adorable. Cherubic with the innate charm all four-year-olds possess, she sat at the head of the long wooden table, contentedly dipping her fingers into a large
crystal bowl of tossed salad and munching away. She was a pretty child, with long, dark curls that wisped around her face and tumbled solidly down her back. Her face was still baby round, with large brown eyes that gleamed with intelligence. This intelligence was further manifested by the way she greeted me after quietly eying me for a long while.
“Are you MomPatty’s friend? The private vestigator?”
“Yes. My name is Denni. You must be Kissy.”
She watched me with an eerie calm as she chewed on nibbles of radish she’d filched from the bowl. “Kissy stands for Katherine Grace. It’s just a nickname.”
I had to admire the erudite delivery. “So I guessed. Denni is too. It’s short for Denise.”
“I like Denise best.”
“It’s okay. People started calling me Denni when I was little like you. It just kind of stuck.”
“Are you gonna take care of the bad men being mean to us? Lookit what they did.” She turned her right cheek away and swept back her heavy hair. I saw a large horizontal bruise running along her jaw and into her hairline in back. There was a long raw area where hair had been ripped out by the roots.
“They really hurt you, huh?”
Kissy reached for a carrot slice. “Uh-huh. With a big stick or something. My ear still hurts.”
“That must have been awful. Can you tell me what you remember?”
She sat back and screwed her mouth into a crooked bow. “I was getting those prickies…”
“Milkweed pods,” interjected Ammie, entering with the soup. “She collects them and uses the down to make hair for her swamp dolls.”
Ammie eyed Kissy to see if she’d been chewing. Kissy stared back with wide, innocent eyes.
“Hands off the salad,” Ammie said as she disappeared into the kitchen.
“So you were out collecting pods. Were you supposed to be out there all by yourself?”
Kissy shook her head in the negative. “They were all busy and mad, so I went by myself. MomLanda said it was okay.” She reached for a spinach leaf.
“Busy and mad. Why?”
She shrugged and studied my face. Her eyes rested on my dark, short hair, then my dark brown eyes and then my large mouth. “You’re really pretty,” she said finally. “I like how black your hair is.”
“Thank you. Yours is really pretty too.”
“MomLanda usually braids it but…,” she sighed as if the tolerance of the world lived in her heart. “It’s been very weird around here.”
“I know. That’s why MomPatty called me—to see if I can help make it a good place again.”
“Because you’re a private vestigor.”
I chuckled at the mispronunciation. “Well, actually I’m an insurance investigator, but that’s pretty much the same thing.”
“Do you think you can do it?”
“What? Make the bad guys stop? I hope so, but first I need to find out who’s doing it,” I said with a sigh.
“Who’s been doing what?” John Clyde asked as he entered the room.
“Uncle!” Kissy cried, tumbling off her chair in a froth of curly hair, denim, sneakers and striped shirt.
“Hey, sweetums, give us a kiss.” John Clyde crouched on one knee and playfully encouraged the child’s pummeling and loud, wet smooches.
I smiled, watching the two, but sobered as Patty and Yolanda entered with Human at their side. John Clyde looked up and his smile fell. I realized suddenly that Landa and John Clyde harbored a certain antagonism between them. I made a mental note to ask Patty about that as soon as we had a few moments alone.
Kissy moved to Patty’s side and John Clyde and Landa squared off on opposite corners of the table. I stood and watched everyone take their usual seats before choosing mine. John Clyde sat to my right, Kissy sat at the head. Patty was across from John Clyde and Landa was next to her. Ammie was still in the kitchen, and it was not unusual to start without her.
“Kissy, would you say the blessing for us, please?” Patty asked, one hand smoothing the child’s hair from her eyes.
“Yes, MomPatty,” Kissy replied and lilted a hurried version of the Lord’s Prayer.
Patty sighed and Landa moved to serve soup into individual bowls. Kissy reached to serve salad, but the tongs proved too large for her tiny hands so Patty moved to help.
“I, for one, am very glad you came down, Denni,” Patty said, glancing fondly at me.
“I like her black hair, MomPatty,” Kissy said. “And her teeth are really white.”
“I think her hair is more dark brown than black, honey,” Patty said.
“I’m glad, too,” added John Clyde abruptly. “You being here sure has eased Patty’s mind a bit.”
I glanced at Landa and found her very busy with the soup.
“Don’t y’all get your hopes up too high. I’d hate to disappoint,” I said quietly.
“That Tom Miles at Carter sure sings your praises,” Patty said. “I called the office looking for you and got him.”
“He should. I’ve saved the company hundreds of thousands of dollars exposing people who lie about their insurance claims.”
“I hope he pays you accordingly,” John Clyde offered with a laugh.
I eyed him wryly. “What do you think?”
After the soft laughter subsided, Patty asked, “Is there anything else you need to know from us? Just let us know what we can do to help.”
“I’m not sure at the moment. I’ll need someone to show me where Kissy was attacked. I need to examine the goats’ pen more closely, and then I’ll explore the storage barn where the tractors are kept. I guess that’s as good a place to start as any.”
“I’ll take you around in the morning,” Patty offered.
“I’ll do it,” Landa interjected. “I work second shift tomorrow, and I know you and John Clyde are busy marking the fields for rotation.”
“You don’t even know where it happened,” John Clyde said coolly. He leaned back in his chair and watched her with an antagonistic stare.
“I know where the tractors are parked, John Clyde. It’s not a big deal,” she said.
“Yeah, whatever. Is that what you said when Kissy asked you to go down to the bayou with her? No big deal? She could’ve got snake bit…or anything…not just beat over the head!”
I was disturbed by the escalating exchange. “Guys, look. It’ll probably be better if I go it alone because I’m not sure how long I’ll be. If you can point me in the right direction, I’m sure I’ll be fine. No one has to hold my hand.”
“Then it’s settled,” Patty said firmly. “Kissy and I will walk you over there on our way to Eastquarter in the morning. It’s right on the way.”
DAY TWO
Chapter Seven
I loved summers at Fortune Farm and southwestern Louisiana. The hot sun rising in the east behind the lush greenery of cane and hay always seemed like such a new beginning, much more so than Virginia’s mountain-buried mornings. The flat two hundred acres of Price farmland stretched as far as the eye could see, all the way to the Sabine River on the west and almost into Lake Charles on the east. The southernmost part bordered on Sabine Lake and from there one could nearly see into Port Arthur, Texas. Some of the land currently lay fallow while other acres burgeoned with dark green sugarcane or waving hay grass.
“All right, Patty, what’s going on here?” I asked the next morning as we walked across the cleared field behind the house. We had gotten a late start, mostly because I had overslept, tired from my day of travel. I had fallen into bed, asleep, I believe, even before my head hit the pillow. The family and I had taken our time over one of Ammie’s excellently prepared breakfasts to catch up on new times and reminisce about old.
Now we were still taking our time. Kissy ran ahead, leaping across the tough hillocks of grass that marked this seldom-used southern end of the property. Human ran along beside her, racing ahead and then running back as if to tease her for not keeping up. Our path converged onto a wide dirt drive lying parallel to
a long, low barn-like building. Huge, serpentine tractors filled orderly bays. They’d been repaired—gas cartridges and fuel lines replaced—and rested, awaiting active duty.
“What?” Patty stopped and gazed curiously at me.
“John Clyde and Landa. What’s the deal?”
“I don’t know…about a year ago they started getting on one another’s nerves. Then when Mama died, it seemed to get worse. I’m not sure why. I used to think he plain didn’t like her, but now…maybe it’s jealousy, like I spend too much time with her.”
“I disagree. Look how much time y’all spend together working on this place. You and John Clyde are together every day.”
“I know,” Patty agreed. “But we’re not working together so much. I’m not sure what his problem is. And getting someone to talk about anything around here is like pulling teeth.”
“What about Landa? You trust her?”
“Sure, why wouldn’t I? We’ve been together four years and I’ve never seen her do anything that aroused doubt.” She paused and studied me. “She’s a good gal, Denni. Even you’d like her if you got to know her.”
I turned away, speechless. What could I say? I did not like Landa, and it wasn’t all because Patty chose her over me. Some of it was a difference in personalities. I saw her as a blurred character. She had no definition. I like things cut and dried.
“So how did you discover the tractors had been tampered with?”
“John Clyde did. He came out with a crew of men to start cutting the hay on Crossbottom. He was pissed. Some of the tank caps had even been tossed in the high grass over there. He was hung over from the night before so he was especially obnoxious.”
I looked in the direction she pointed. “Has he been drinking a lot?”
We paused, and I walked a short way into the high weeds. A wind was blowing from the west, drying the layer of sweat that covered my brow.
“Yeah, I’m worried about that. Ammie told me about three weeks ago that our liquor bill was up. He never drank this much when Mama was alive.” She sighed and her face took on a pained, frightened expression. “I’m so tired, Denni. Maybe us moving into the house here was a big mistake. It seems like so much more is asked of me now. I’m not so sure I have it in me to keep on pretending everything will be all right.”
