by Sharon Sala
“Yeah, it’s okay.”
“What’s okay?” Laurel asked as she walked into the kitchen.
Justin pointed to the partially eaten biscuit on his plate, then picked it up and offered Laurel a bite.
“These biscuits,” he said. “Only they’re not just okay. They’re fantastic.”
“Baby girl, you wantin’ one egg or two?” Marie asked as she stood at the stove.
Laurel walked to the stove and took the egg out of Marie’s hand.
“Mamárie… I need a hug,” she said softly.
Marie’s eyes watered, but she blinked back tears.
“Well, sure you do,” she said gently, and wrapped her tiny arms around Laurel’s waist.
It didn’t matter that Laurel was a head taller. Laurel was all she had left of Marcella, and that made her precious.
“Tula is gonna come over with her nieces again and help me tackle the top floor. Anything special you want done to the rooms?”
Laurel frowned, remembering that she had yet to do much exploring up there.
“I don’t suppose so,” she said. “Just clean them.”
Marie nodded, then pointed toward the table.
“Go sit yourself down. Everything is done but your eggs, and they won’t take long.”
“I’ll pour us some coffee,” Laurel said, and got down three mugs.
Together, the two women—one very old and one young, but very sick at heart—finished the meal and put it on the table while Justin watched. It occurred to him, as he sat, that they drew strength from each other’s presence. As long as Laurel remained at Mimosa Grove, Marie would be needed, and he knew from experience that feeling needed was what kept people young. And while, most of her life, all Laurel’s physical needs had been met, she had been emotionally isolated until now. Her Mamárie and Mimosa Grove were her touchstones, and hopefully, Justin thought, there would be a permanent place for him in her life, as well.
“Okay… eat up,” Marie said as she served up the last of the eggs.
Laurel carried the plates to the table, while Marie followed with the hot biscuits and a pot of fresh coffee.
Justin jumped up quickly and seated Laurel first, then Marie, who was right behind her.
Laurel smiled, accepting the gesture without thought, but Marie’s life had been sadly missing in such considerations.
“Well now, I suppose a body could get used to such… if a body wanted to admit a man might have his place around a house.”
Justin grinned, then, to add to Marie’s confusion, he leaned down and kissed her quickly on the cheek.
“Here now! What you doin’ all that for?” she asked.
With a straight face, Justin snagged another biscuit from the plate before taking his own seat.
“Damn good biscuits,” he remarked.
The pleasure on Marie’s face was obvious as Laurel picked up her fork. At that moment, she’d never loved Justin more, and the moment she thought it, she almost dropped the fork she’d picked up.
Love? Did she love Justin Bouvier? God knew she loved making love with him, and she did trust him in a way she’d never trusted another man before. Not even her father had gained such a place in her heart. She was thinking that she’d been so overwhelmed by everything that had been occurring that she’d taken his presence and their lovemaking for granted.
He laughed aloud at something Marie said, and Laurel watched the way his eyes crinkled at the corners, the way his head tilted just the least bit to the right as he sat listening. As her gaze slid to his hands, she remembered their gentleness and their strength as they’d made love. Now he held a biscuit in one hand and a butter knife in the other with the same sense of purpose. What he desired, he went after.
Laurel sighed, then let a small bit of the weight of her world slide sideways—toward Justin, whose shoulders were far broader and stronger than hers. He’d offered. She would be a fool to deny his strength—or his love, should he offer that, as well.
“Laurel, honey… can I pass you anything?”
She blinked. Justin was looking at her, smiling tenderly.
“Oh, uh, yes. The strawberry preserves, please.”
“Your wish is my command,” he said, and passed the small crystal compote of ruby-red preserves with an overdone flourish.
Marie snorted beneath her breath and then grinned.
“You better watch out there,” she said. “You’re talking so pretty that you’re liable to sprout wings and take flight.”
Both Laurel and Justin laughed aloud at the mental image, and the meal progressed.
They were finishing up with last cups of coffee when a knock sounded at the front door, echoing through the hallway and into the kitchen.
Laurel had started to get up, when Marie waved her back down.
“Probably Tula and the girls come to clean,” she said. “You keep your seat. I’ll get it.”
Laurel nodded, then reached across the table to gather up the last of the dirty dishes as Marie exited the room. Laurel had barely gotten them into the sink before Marie was back, and with a look on her face that didn’t bode well for the day.
“It wasn’t Tula,” Marie said. “It’s Aaron Clement.”
Justin saw the expression on Laurel’s face and stood up. “I’ll talk to him,” he offered.
Marie shook her head. “No. He says he wants to talk to Laurel.” Her voice was shaking as she added, “He says to tell you he says, ‘please.’”
Laurel clutched her fists against her belly, then lifted her chin and nodded.
“Yes. All right.”
Justin met her at the doorway and then took her by the hand.
“I’m still coming with you.”
She nodded again.
***
Aaron Clement wasn’t a man used to asking for favors, but he was scared. When he saw Marcella Campion’s granddaughter appear in the foyer, all the breath slid out of his lungs in one swoop. He was still struggling to draw air when she reached him.
Laurel didn’t know it, but she was holding herself stiffly, as if braced for another verbal attack similar to what she’d experienced the night before.
“Mr. Clement?”
Aaron stuttered, then briefly closed his eyes, gathering himself and his thoughts. When he looked again, she was still waiting.
“Miss Scanlon, I—”
Laurel stepped aside, then gestured toward the living room to their right.
“Laurel, please. And maybe we’d all be more comfortable in here.”
She led the way without looking to see if anyone followed.
Justin might have glared a warning at Aaron until he saw his expression. Instead, he motioned for Aaron to proceed, then followed them both into the living room.
Laurel was already seated in a chair near the window. Unwittingly, she’d chosen the one place that put her in a small halo of light from the rays of the early morning sun. Given her reputation, appearing as an angel only added to Aaron’s fears.
“Please sit down,” she said, and smoothed her hands down the front of her shirt, thankful that she was wearing lightweight capri pants, rather than her normal attire, which would have been shorts. It was hard to maintain dignity with her long legs all bare.
Aaron sat with a thump, then stared down at the floor, unable to face the woman with his request.
Laurel sensed his distress, and while her first instinct was to protect herself, she caught herself leaning forward with the intent to help.
“Mr. Clement… Aaron… may I offer you some coffee?”
It was the ordinary gesture of refreshment that undid him. One minute he was shivering in his boots, the next he was struggling not to cry.
“No, ma’am, but thank you just the same,” he said, then cleared his throat with a cough, unwilling to show how close he was to tears.
Justin took a stand beside Laurel’s chair, making it plain to Aaron just where his loyalties lay.
Aaron didn’t miss the significance,
or the warning look on Justin’s face, and because of the way he’d behaved last night, he knew the first thing out of his mouth had to be an apology.
“Miss Scanlon… Laurel… I need to apologize for my behavior last night.”
Laurel’s heart ached for the man and for the loss he was about to suffer. She swallowed to keep from weeping.
“You didn’t need to come all this way to tell me you’re sorry.”
Aaron’s fingers curled around his knees, and he absently watched them turning white at the knuckles as he stared down at the toes of his shoes and struggled to find a way to continue.
“I didn’t come just to tell you that,” he said, then forced himself to look up. “Mattie is missing.”
Laurel’s eyelids fluttered slightly. It was the only sign of her emotional state.
“And you know this because…?”
Aaron shifted uncomfortably, then abruptly stood.
“I let her off at her house last night, then went home. She was fine.” Then he added, a little defensively, “And I went over this morning… but not because I believed what you’d said last night. It’s just that she’s my sister and I was checking up on her while her husband, Martin, is away. Only she wasn’t in the house, and some furniture was overturned… and her bed wasn’t slept in and—” He choked on the rest of what he’d been going to say and began to beg. “Will you help me find her? I thought maybe she’d gone out to check on the livestock and turned her ankle, or fallen into a ravine. It rained a lot last night, so I couldn’t find her tracks, but—”
“I’m so sorry,” Laurel said.
Aaron moaned. “What do you mean?”
Justin moved to his friend’s side and put his hand on Aaron’s shoulder.
“She told you last night. She warned you what was going to happen.”
Tears were rolling down Aaron’s face faster than he could wipe them away. Laurel could see where he’d run his fingers through his hair earlier in frantic confusion. His eyes were wide, and so filled with terror she could hardly breathe. If only…
She made herself stand, even though her legs threatened to give way.
“She’s already passed.”
Aaron fell to his knees. Laurel touched the top of his head, then staggered from the grief. Justin caught her before she fell.
“Laurel… let me—”
She shook her head. “Justin, would you please tell Marie to call Harper Fonteneau? Have him meet us at the Lewis place. We’re going to be needing his services.”
“I already called him,” Aaron said. “He’ll probably get there about the same time we do. That is, if you’ll come with me?”
“I’ll come.”
Aaron swiped his big hands across his face, trying to regain his composure by removing the traces of his emotion.
“I thank you,” he muttered, then pulled a small bit of fabric from his back pocket. “It’s the handkerchief that Mattie had in her pocket last night. It was on the kitchen table. I thought you might—”
Laurel stepped back, unwilling to touch it just yet.
“Just hold it until we get to the property,” she said.
“You don’t need it to… uh, well, ‘see’ where she is?”
“I already saw it,” Laurel said.
The veins in Aaron’s neck were bulging. His face was flushing with anger and with rage.
“But maybe you can ‘see’ who did it. I swear to God, when he’s found, I’m going to kill him with my bare hands,” he said.
“Just wait,” Laurel said, then looked to Justin. “Will you take me there?”
“Absolutely,” he said softly, and put an arm around her shoulders. “There’s no way you’re getting out of here alone. Wait here. I’ll tell Marie where we’re going.”
Laurel nodded. It was of some comfort to Laurel to know that Justin would be with her, but not enough to protect her from being swamped with regret.
Aaron Clement couldn’t look her in the face.
“I’m so, so, sorry,” she said.
“Not half as sorry as I am,” he said shortly. “Tell Justin I’m heading over there now. He knows where she lives.”
Laurel nodded.
Aaron was at the door when he suddenly stopped, then turned.
“You sure about this?”
“He buried her behind a place that smells like wet feathers.”
Aaron staggered as if he’d been sucker-punched, then stumbled blindly out the door to his car as Justin came back.
“Where’s he going?” he asked.
Laurel’s voice was still shaking. “To his sister’s house. After that… probably mad.”
***
Spanish moss hung from the live oaks circling the single-story, tin-roofed house where Martin and Mattie Lewis lived. Two old tin buckets had been recycled into planters for the front porch and were overflowing with pink and purple petunias. An unused birdcage had been utilized for the same purpose and was hanging from the north end of the porch with a pot of bougainvillea inside. The trailing vines spilled randomly through the wires of the cage to sway lightly in the breeze. A hummingbird wind chime was on the south end of the porch. It marked the intermittent swells of incoming and outgoing air with clear, bell-like chimes. It was a gentle, welcoming sight for the arrival of guests.
As Justin and Laurel turned the comer in the driveway and got their first view of the place, Justin frowned, then groaned.
“Oh, no,” he said. “Looks like Mattie’s husband is just coming home. See, he hasn’t even carried his suitcases into the house? How do you tell a man that his wife has been murdered?”
Laurel didn’t answer. She was too busy watching the distant confrontation of brother and husband.
Moments later, they arrived. Justin parked next to Aaron’s car and helped Laurel out of his truck. As they started toward the porch where Aaron and Martin were standing, Harper Fonteneau arrived and parked his patrol car behind Martin’s white van.
Justin glanced at Laurel.
“Are you all right?”
Blinking slowly, she looked at him, then away without answering. The air felt too thick to breathe, and her limbs felt heavy—as if she were trying to walk under water.
Justin frowned.
“Laurel… honey?”
Laurel moved toward Aaron and Martin, unable to take her gaze away from both men.
Martin Lewis was a tall man—a head and a half taller than Aaron, and was dark where Aaron was fair. His skin was a warm, golden brown, toasted so by the sun. His hair was black and shiny, and at least two inches past a clean haircut, brushing the top of his collar as he stood. His shoulders were broad, his body long and lean. It was easy to see why Mattie Lewis had been attracted. Even his speech was mesmerizing—a thick Cajun cadence that drew the listener’s attention to his wide, expressive mouth, as well as to what he was saying.
When he saw Justin, his eyes glittered with recognition, but he frowned when he realized Justin was not alone. And when Harper Fonteneau arrived, he became extremely agitated.
“What’s happenin’ here?” he asked, and then he looked toward his house, frowning. “Where my Mattie Faye? Why she not here?”
Aaron was struggling with words that wouldn’t come. It was Harper who broke the news and the tension.
“I got a call that your wife was missing,” he said. “What do you know about it?”
The shock on Martin Lewis’s face was immediate. He looked at Aaron, then bolted toward the house, yelling Mattie’s name.
Laurel flinched, but she didn’t move.
Justin started toward the house with Aaron and Harper, but when Laurel didn’t follow, he stopped.
“Laurel?”
“Wait,” she said, and dug her fingers in his forearm as she struggled to stay focused.
He feared from the way she was behaving that the day that had gone so wrong was about to get worse.
“I’m here,” he said quietly, then stood beside her without speaking.
&nbs
p; They could hear shouts of dismay from inside the house, then Harper quickly ushering everyone out.
“This might turn out to be a crime scene,” he argued, when Martin tried to push his way back in. “If it is, you can’t go disturbing the evidence.”
“She can’t be gone,” Martin said, looking wildly toward the pastures. “Maybe she fell out there. That’s it! She’s lying out there somewhere waiting for me to find her.” He turned abruptly and started running toward the fence surrounding the yard, shouting Mattie’s name.
“Go get him,” Harper said.
Aaron and Justin took off after him and soon brought him back.
“This can’t be happening,” Martin said, then dropped weakly to the steps and covered his face with his hands.
Laurel’s gaze was wide and fixed; then suddenly she focused on the men at the steps and moaned.
All four of them turned. Martin was the one who frowned.
“Who dat woman? Who she is?”
Harper Fonteneau was the one who dropped the bomb.
“That’s Miz Marcella’s granddaughter. Her name is Laurel Scanlon.”
Martin’s face turned from pale to a dark flush of crimson.
“De hell you say!” he said, and jumped to his feet. His expression changed from one of despair to that of the hunted. “Woman… stay away! Don’t hold with no voodoo, me.”
Laurel’s legs were getting weaker as the evil that had come to this place continued to grow, but she had to finish what had been started.
“The watch. He’s wearing the watch,” she said.
Harper frowned. “What you talkin’ about, girl? We all got on watches.”
Laurel didn’t answer. Instead, she moved forward, intent on touching Martin Lewis. He saw her coming and jumped up, but Justin knew what she meant to do and grabbed him.
“No! No! Don’t bring dat evil to me!”
“I’m thinking you’re the evil,” Justin said.
Harper frowned. “What’s going on?” he said.
“Tell him, Laurel. Tell him what you saw.”
“A man with a Mickey Mouse watch killed Mattie. There was a spot of white paint on the toe of his boot—like the one on his boot.” Then she pointed toward a small building between the house and the barn. “I smelled wet feathers… then it started to rain.”
