Tears spilled out of his eyes and he buried his face in her blanket. She stroked the back of his hair as he wept, and then held his face in her fragile hands. "It's okay, Jack. I've made my peace with God. I'm going to be fine," she said, her voice trembling. "It's you I'm worried about." She gently wiped the tears from his face. "Now, no more tears."
He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand and drew a shaky breath. "Are you sure you're up to this?"
She nodded. "As sure as I can be." Sighing softly, she wondered why Jack couldn't understand that she wanted--no, she needed to see this plantation, even if it was the last thing she ever did. It wasn't as if she'd asked him to take her around the world. She just needed to visit the place where Mary had connected with the spirit from the past. Why couldn't he understand how important this was to her? Didn't realize that she'd gladly use up whatever strength her body had left to get there? Gritting her teeth, she made up her mind that she was going to Louisiana--even if she had to hire a plane to take her there.
Chapter 32
The rusty Chevy® pick-up rolled down the crooked road, spewing thick smoke behind it. The two men inside remained silent as the driver negotiated the road's sharp turns. Both knew one wrong move would send them to the bottom of the treacherous bayous on either side. Drowning Bayou Road had earned its reputation the hard way: by taking the lives of careless drivers.
The man sitting in the passenger seat breathed a sigh of relief when the road widened, then formed a straight line. "Anthony, why did you agree to meet Martine at the old refinery?" he asked. "You taking our lives in your hands on this back road."
The driver shrugged. "Thomas, this truck's seen worse roads than the one we on. Besides, Martine picked the location, not me. Says he's got another job, but he don't want nobody to know he's meeting us."
Thomas removed a long knife from his boot and wiped the blade on his dirty jeans. "He better pay us for the job we already did first. If he tries to stiff us, I'll make him alligator bait."
Anthony kept his eyes glued to the road. "I ain't so sure I want anything else to do with that house. Seems like our friend Martine forgot to mention the Voodoo going on there. I don't want no curse put on me."
Thomas grabbed a bottle of beer from under the seat, cracked open the top on the metal dashboard, and took a swig. Foam dripped down his chin as he swallowed the warm brew. "You fulla shit, Anthony. Ain't no such thing as Voodoo curses. You watch too many movies."
Anthony frowned, and the wrinkles in his face curled together. "You ain't from around here, so don't you go telling me 'bout no Voodoo. I seen what them hexes do. I gotta cousin that crossed some of them Voodoo fellas, and they put a curse on him. He died two months later, and the doctors still don't know what made his skin rot off his bones. You believe what you want, Thomas, but I ain't messing with no Voodoo. Nuh uh, not me."
The refinery loomed ahead, and their truck coughed and sputtered to a stop near the entrance gate. When the smoke cleared, Philippe Martine stepped away from his sleek sports car and motioned for the two men to walk forward. "You're late. Anybody follow you?"
Thomas slung his empty beer bottle into some bushes. "Who the hell's gonna follow us? Ain't nobody but fools gonna take that back road here. Where's the money you owe me?"
Philippe reached into his pocket and withdrew a wad of fifty-dollar bills. "It's all there. Twelve hundred dollars, in old bills."
Anthony placed a greasy hand on Philippe's arm. "Yeah, well since you forgot to tell us about the Voodoo going on at the house, it's gonna cost you two hundred more."
Philippe stared at him, eyes wide. "What are you talking about?"
Anthony tightened his grip and drew his bushy eyebrows together. "There was two men waiting for us at the house. Both of them had the Voodoo markings. How come you never told us about that?"
"Because I didn't know anything about it. Must be somebody else trying to frighten the workers." He shook his arm free and counted out an additional two hundred dollars. "Here, take this. It'll have to be enough, cause it's all I've got."
Anthony grabbed the money, then narrowed his eyes. "Next time, you better make sure we know what to expect. Otherwise, you ain't gonna have to worry about nuthin for the rest of your short life. Got it?"
Philippe wiped his forehead with a linen handkerchief. "Fine. I don't know anything about any Voodoo going on at the plantation. If I had, you'd have known about it." He stared at the two men for a few moments, then cleared his throat. "If you're interested, I've got another job for you. They've brought in men from out of town to work on the plantation. I need you to make sure they get the message they aren't wanted in this town, and better leave quickly. Do what you have to, but don't kill anybody. Just make sure they leave. I've got two thousand dollars waiting for you when you finish."
Anthony scratched his chin. "I don't know, seems like a lot of work for two thousand dollars. What you think, Thomas?"
Thomas grunted.
"I'll make it twenty-five hundred," Philippe said.
Thomas scratched his chin. "Okay, you got a deal. How soon you want this done?"
Philippe's voice carried over his shoulder as he turned and walked toward his car. "The men are already at the plantation. I want them out by the end of next week. Keep the sheriff out of this, and there's a five–hundred–dollar bonus for you."
Shifting his car into gear, he disappeared down the dusty road.
Chapter 33
Mary glanced up from her book and waved to the work crew as they headed out the door. The men were off to the local bars for another night of shooting pool and drinking beer. She said a silent prayer that they wouldn't get into another brawl. The last two nights they'd roused her out of bed in the wee hours of the morning, to patch up cuts and scrapes. Some of the cuts were pretty bad, but the idiots refused to get stitches.
She smiled as she recalled their stilted invitation and obvious relief when she'd declined. Bar hopping wasn't her style, especially when it ended up in fist fights. If Jack was here, she might have been tempted to tag along. But, since he wasn't, she had no desire to go out with "the boys." Besides, their nightly outings gave her a chance to explore the rest of the house.
After the car engines faded into the distance, she crept upstairs to the last room on the second floor. When nobody answered her soft knock, she walked inside. An old work boot propped the door open so she could listen for their return.
Piles of dirty clothes, wet towels, tools, and muddy boots littered the floor. She grimaced as she picked her way through the mess, then rolled the bed away from the wall. When the house remained quiet, she began the arduous task of running her hands up and down the wall panels.
She'd almost finished her second room, when she heard the sound of car doors slamming and excited shouts echoing from outside. Working quickly, she shoved the bed back against the wall and kicked the boot away from the door. What was going on?
The men carried two limp bodies into the hallway as she descended the last stair. Blood-soaked towels covered one man's head and the other man's shoulder. She raced to get additional bandages. "What happened?"
"We stopped at the new bar just down the road, and some fool stabbed Mitch and busted open Bill's head," Nichols replied. "Come take a look, would you? I think Mitch is hurt pretty bad, and Bill's not far behind," he announced as they gently lowered the men to the sofa. "I wanted to take them to the hospital, but they didn't want to go."
She unwound the towel from around Bill's head, and blood spurted onto the front of her shirt. Her stomach lurched as she viewed the long, nasty gash that ripped across the back of his skull. With the makeshift bandage gone, blood flowed freely, forming a sticky red stripe down his neck and shoulders. She grabbed Nichols' hand and pressed it firmly against the damp washcloth she applied to the wound. "You'll have to put pressure on that wound to stop the bleeding. But don't press too hard."
Mitch started to moan and she leaned over to check his shoulder. The shirt that wr
apped across his right shoulder was soaked in blood, and tiny rivers of red seeped downward. She grabbed the nearest hand and told its owner to keep applying pressure on the wound.
"What are you doing?" Nichols asked as she walked away from the couch.
"I'm calling 911. These men need a doctor, not a Band-Aid®. Why didn't you take them to the hospital? Didn't you see how badly they're hurt?"
Nichols hung his head. "They didn't think they were hurt that bad." He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "I guess I should have insisted, and taken them anyway."
She realized that harping wouldn't help matters, so she kept quiet and tried to make the two men as comfortable as possible. The next ten minutes seemed like hours while they waited for the ambulance to arrive.
When the paramedics arrived, they immediately went to work. An eerie silence filled the room while they removed the bandages, set up IV's, and attended to the two men. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief when the men were stabilized enough to be transported to the nearest hospital.
Mary was the first to speak. "Will they be okay?" she asked after they wheeled the two men through the front door.
One paramedic shook his head. "I'm not sure. You'll have to wait and see." He slammed the ambulance door shut and they sped down the drive, sirens blaring. The rest of the men jumped into trucks and followed. Only Nichols remained behind, speaking to someone on the phone.
Mary waited patiently until he hung up. "Was that the sheriff?"
"No, Mitch's wife. I called to tell her he's on his way to the hospital," he said. "I've already called Bill's wife."
She shook her head. "What happened?"
He walked over to the liquor cabinet and poured a cup of coffee. "I'm not sure. One minute we were at the table, drinking beer and joking. The next thing I know, two guys jumped Bill and Mitch."
"Were they arguing?"
"No, these guys came out of nowhere. One of them took a knife out of his boot and stabbed Mitch. The other fella broke a chair over Bill's head, then beat him with one of the legs."
"Why didn't you stop it?"
"We tried. But by then, everybody was fighting, and in all the commotion, those fellas slipped out of the bar." His eyes glittered. "If I ever get my hands on them two, I'm gonna slit their throats."
"What good would that do?" she asked. "The damage is already done and you'd only end up in jail."
He plopped his coffee cup on the table, spilling the dark brown liquid onto the polished wood. "Look, I gotta get to the hospital and find out what's going on. Do you wanna come?"
She shook her head. "I'd better stay here, in case somebody calls. Once you find out something, let me know. That way, if their families call, I'll have some news for them."
"Good idea." He touched his fingers to his hat, then left.
The room was strangely silent after the excitement of the last hour. As she picked up the bloody rags and carried them to the trash, Mary said a silent prayer for the men. She paced the floor nervously for several minutes, then picked up the phone and dialed the sheriff.
He remained silent while she told him about the fight. When she finished, he promised to check on the men and file a report.
"Don't you think this is tied to the problems we've been having?" she asked.
"What do you mean?"
She took a deep breath and counted to ten. What kind of sheriff was he? "Look, I think this is all connected." He started to speak, but she cut him off. "Please, listen to what I have to say. Somebody in this town doesn't want my aunt to restore this plantation. I'm sure of it and here's why. First, the original workers quit and our lumber gets doused in kerosene. Second, we bring in new workers and what happens? Every time the men go to town for a beer, some local guy picks a fight. Tonight, two men appeared out of nowhere, stab and beat two of our guys so bad they land in the hospital. I know construction guys get into fights, but every single night? I don't think so."
There was short pause, as if he was considering her idea. "Tell you what I'll do. I'll talk to your fellas and then go see the bartender. If his story agrees, I'll start an official investigation into the fights."
"When are you going to talk to him?"
He sighed. "It'll have to wait until first thing in the morning. The bar's already closed for the night. I'll let you know what I find out."
"Thank you, Sheriff. I'd appreciate that, and so would the men."
He rang off and she sat down on the couch. She smelled the odor of blood, and looking down, she realized it came from her shirt.
The phone rang as she was climbing out of the shower. She wrapped her robe around her and hurried down the hall, hoping the news would be good.
"This is Nichols. The guys are both gonna make it. They'll be in the hospital for a couple of days, but they should be fine. Doc said if they'd lost any more blood, they might not be so lucky, so I guess we have you to thank for saving their lives."
She breathed a sigh of relief. "I'm glad they're going to make it. Do you want me to call their families?"
"Already called them. I sure was glad it was good news. Both those guys got little kids." He paused. "I feel kinda responsible, seeing as how I brought them out here."
She racked her brain for something encouraging. "I've already called the sheriff about the bar fight. I told him I think this is connected to the trouble we've been having with our building materials."
"I've been thinking along the same lines. Ever since they threw me outta that hotel, there's been some funny stuff going on. What did he say?"
"He told me he'd talk to you, then speak to the bartender. If the stories match, he'll start an official investigation."
"Yeah, like that's gonna do any good." He sounded skeptical.
"Well, it might. At least we'll have a record on file. It's better than nothing."
"Right. I'll see you sometime later this morning. Me and the guys gonna stick around and make sure Bill and Mitch get good care. One of us is gonna be here round the clock until our guys are out of danger. From now on, I ain't trusting nobody."
After he rang off, Mary thought over the events of the past few days. The restoration of the plantation would only bring more tourism to the area, which meant increased business for everyone. Why would anybody want to prevent that? She stretched her long legs across the couch. Maybe if she closed her eyes and concentrated, she could come up with an answer.
Unbidden, Jack's image came to mind. If he was here, they could figure this out in no time. Unfortunately, he was back in New York with Audrey. Why did he have to be gone just when she needed him the most?
She didn't realize she'd drifted off to sleep until a noise awakened her. Had the men returned? She listened for voices, but only heard scratching noises from the front of the house. Oh, God, not again. Please, not the Voodoo men! She ignored the slow thumping of her heart and raced to get DeeDee's gun from her nightstand.
The noise at the front continued, and she called out, "Who's there? I have a gun. I'm not afraid to shoot!"
There was a loud noise, then the sound of a car engine faded in the distance. She cautiously opened the door on the chain and peered out. The front yard was empty, so she stepped outside and watched the red tail lights of a vehicle disappear into the darkness. It was too dark to make out the model or the license plate number.
As she turned, her heart nearly stopped and chills raced down her spine. She now knew what her visitors had been doing. They'd left her a message, scrawled across the front of the house. Blood-red paint glistened in the dim porch light, screaming a silent message: get out of town or die!
Chapter 34
Audrey chose to wait until all the passengers deplaned. While Jack collected their luggage and got a rental car, the stewardess helped her climb into a wheelchair, then pushed her through the departure tunnel. He met them at the luggage carousel and thanked the woman for her assistance. The stewardess cast a lingering glance at the shrunken shell of a woman, slumped in her wheelchair, shook
her head sadly, then walked away.
Icy hands of fear tightened their grip around Jack's heart as he gazed into Audrey's pale face. He should've realized she was too fragile to travel. The painful knot in the pit of his stomach tightened, and he cursed himself for dragging her on this trip. She needed to be home in bed, not galavanting all over the country.
She gave him a grateful smile as he tucked her into the back seat of the car and covered her with a blanket. "Don't look so glum, Jack. I'm not dead yet."
"Don't talk like that."
"Why not?" Fatigue lent an edge to her voice. "Stop blaming yourself. I wanted to come," she reminded him. "I'm here to see the plantation."
He locked her door and climbed into the driver's seat. "The hotel isn't far. I don't know about you, but I'm bushed. Once we get settled in, I'm going to call it a night. I'll talk to Mary in the morning. I'm sure we can work something out, once she knows we're here."
Audrey kept up her brave front until they were inside the hotel. As Jack asked the pasty-faced desk clerk to go ahead and give him the key to her room, she closed her eyes and slid lower in her wheelchair. The clerk took one look at the slumped over figure and wordlessly handed Jack a door key.
Their room wasn't far. Keeping one hand on her shoulder, Jack unlocked the door and wheeled her into the spacious room. She struggled to get out of her travelling clothes, and he pushed her hands away as he gently undressed her and helped her with her nightgown.
A sigh escaped before he could stop it. Audrey was as light as a feather and as fragile as a spider web in a breeze. When she gratefully laid her head against the pillow and closed her eyes, he tucked the covers around her and brushed the hair from her face.
Tears filled his eyes and slid quietly down his cheeks. Grief and despair filled the depth of his soul, and he struggled to keep calm. He hated what was happening to her, but knew he was helpless to stop it. According to her doctor, all he could do now was make her as comfortable as possible. During the next few weeks she'd slowly get worse and worse--until it was over.
Blue Moon Page 24
