by C. L. Bevill
“What’s your name, lady?” Mary called.
“Mignon,” she said. “Mignon Thibeaux.”
When the girls began another rhyme it started with letters of the alphabet, and they began with “M.” By the time they got to “X,” John Henry had reappeared, and the frown was back on his face as he saw that she was out of the Bronco and standing in the courtyard with the children.
Mignon shrugged and turned her attention to the man standing at John Henry’s side. The priest wore a black shirt with a white collar that signified his status, but otherwise, he appeared like a thousand other men she had known. He wasn’t the monster she had mentally pictured him to be. She knew what she had been expecting, but she also knew that monsters came in all shapes and sizes.
Chapter Four
Wednesday, March 5th
Miss Mary Mack, Mack, Mack, all dressed in black, black, black.
With silver buttons, buttons, buttons, all down her back, back, back.
She asked her mother, mother, mother, for fifty cents, cents, cents
To see the elephant, elephant, elephant jump the fence, fence, fence.
He jumped so high, high, high, he touched the sky, sky, sky.
And didn’t come back, back, back.
- Children’s hand-clapping rhyme
Father William Pace topped John Henry by a few inches. His hair was the color of polished steel and its shining length was the brilliant cap of a tall, broad man who looked as if he had been a football player in another life. He was easily twice Mignon’s weight, and none of it was excess fat. She thought that keeping up with a couple dozen girls must be a wonderful way to keep the flab away. In his fifties, he also seemed more than capable of staying the distance with the children under his care. He called out teasingly, “Mary. Thirty-five? Honestly. That was a bit low for you, child. You must not have eaten your Brussels sprouts last night.”
Mary blushed. Mignon took that to mean that she had not eaten the vegetable. The priest looked at his watch and said, “And the rest of you, stretching out a recess until it’s as dead as disco. Back to the school room with you! Miss Fairchild is, doubtlessly, wondering where you’re at. Algebra waits for no man or young women either.”
“But father,” protested an older girl, “I have all my calculus homework done, and we have to practice skipping for next week’s competition. Sarah keeps tripping on the rope when she trades places with Grace. And I have to write a whole new rhyme on account of—”
“You can practice when Miss Fairchild and Sister Helena say you can, Linda,” the priest said solemnly, jerking a thumb in the direction he wanted the children to go. They reluctantly trailed in, each looking curiously at Mignon and John Henry in turn.
Mary tugged on the priest’s cassock. “Did they find Dara yet?”
“I don’t know, dear,” Father William replied gently. “We’ll know soon. Away with you. Go practice your spelling. I want to hear you spell floccinaucinihilipilification without pause.”
“Oh, father,” Mary wailed good-naturedly and trotted inside behind the others.
“It’s the longest word in the English language,” Father William explained. “A nonsense word. The girls try to memorize it because it’s a challenge. They get extra privileges for extra lessons in spelling, mathematics, grammar, et cetera.”
Mignon stared at the priest. “What kind of privileges?” She realized the tone of her voice was short, but she couldn’t help it.
Father William turned his grizzled face to her, puzzled curiosity turning the edges of his mouth downward. “Television privileges. Extra play time. Play Station is very popular as a reward these days, but I don’t know which game they like right now. It changes so often. Sometimes the girls like to surf the net.” He hesitated. “You’re Mignon Thibeaux, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” she said, and out of the corner of her eye she could see that John Henry had stiffened up like a board. “We haven’t met have we?”
“No, no,” he said. “I’m Father William. Will to you, of course. But I know Sister Helena is a tremendous fan of your artwork, and when she discovered that you’re living in the parish, well, I know she wrote you about possibly coming to speak to the girls. After all, we love to have an individual such as yourself who’s worked very hard to gain success.” He offered a beefy hand. “You know that you have a great deal in common with our young ladies.”
Mignon glanced at the dried mud on her hands and shrugged. Father William shrugged harder and reached out to envelop her hand, pumping it vigorously up and down twice. “Although,” his smile faded as he added, “I hate to see you here when we’re having a problem.”
“A missing girl is a…problem?” Mignon said ominously.
John Henry cleared his throat forcefully. “I’m merely giving Miss Thibeaux a lift. I assume she was curious about your home for girls, which is why she got out of the parish vehicle.” The last part was intended solely for Mignon’s benefit.
Mignon’s lips flattened into a recalcitrant line, and she didn’t say anything. She was thinking about what Father William had said about a letter to her. As a matter of fact, she had received a letter from Blessed Heart, hence the familiarity. Earlier this morning, she had stopped at the La Valle post office and picked up her mail, idly shuffling through it without opening anything. She had noticed the cream-colored envelope but had ignored it on her way to catch the rising sun in the bayou. But then, she’d also ignored the pile of bills and junk mail.
“I’m going to need you to identify the young woman,” John Henry went on, directing Mignon to return to the Bronco with one hand. Mignon pretended she didn’t see the hand.
“Of course,” Father William said gravely. “I’m hoping you’re wrong. I know Dara Honore very well, and although she’s one of our more spirited girls, she’s got a lot of common sense, that one. She’ll probably walk in the gate anytime with a ready excuse.”
Mignon caught movement out of the corner of her eye and saw one of the older teenagers come out to collect the jump ropes that had been left strewn about on the ground. She had been the one to protest to Father William about having already finished her calculus homework. Her name was Linda, and she cast a wary eye on the trio as she deftly went about her given task.
John Henry had decided that ignoring Mignon’s sudden and willful lack of comprehension was his best recourse and drew Father William aside. Another parish car pulled up behind John Henry’s Bronco and Investigator Caraby got out of the car. As John Henry and Father William approached the investigator, Mignon heard a noise from Linda.
Mignon turned toward the girl and saw that she was staring at Caraby.
“What is it?” Mignon asked.
Linda suddenly started, glancing at Mignon with wariness in her doe-like eyes and bit her lip. “Nothing, miss.” She returned to plucking jump ropes from the ground. Mignon looked around and found two more. She picked them up and let kinks unravel from them by holding one end high in the air. Then she carefully presented them to Linda.
As Mignon held out the ropes, she took a moment to study the girl. She was about seventeen or eighteen with shoulder-length, dark brown hair. That hair was silky straight, and she had the bangs parted in an elaborate zigzag that appeared to be more work than it was worth. Mignon grimaced because she could remember not so long ago when she took an hour in the morning to iron her hair as straight as the teenager’s. Linda reached out to take the ropes from Mignon, and Mignon realized that the girl’s eyes were as hazel as the dead girl’s. In fact, there was a passing resemblance that Mignon found disconcerting. The two girls could be sisters.
“Is Dara related to you?” Mignon asked softly, passing the ropes over.
Linda tilted her head. “The family calls it ‘kissing cousins.’” She shrugged painfully. Her face was twisting in a nameless emotion, as if she already knew that Dara was dead. Of course, if the police showed up at the school, it was probably bad news.
“Dara’s your cousin?” Mign
on spared a glance at John Henry, Father William, and Investigator Caraby. They were deep in conversation with each other and hadn’t seemed to notice what she was doing. But she didn’t fool herself. Mignon could feel the weight of John Henry’s attention, whether he was looking at her or not. He was well aware of her and was doubtless wondering what she was up to. Only a day back from a three-week separation, and she was taxing him.
“Second cousin, I reckon,” Linda said. She started to lay the ropes over her arm, lining up the ends, and Mignon reached out a hand to help. Linda smiled gratefully and added, “Some people call it a first cousin once removed, but I don’t know the difference.”
“Are you friends?” Mignon smiled back.
Linda shrugged again. “I guess. Dara’s friends with boys more than girls.” Although her tone was careless, her hazel eyes fixed on Father William. “Except the father. Dara doesn’t get along with Father William or Sister Helena at all.”
“Why’s that?” Mignon asked as casually as she could. She took the ends of the ropes and held them as Linda kept folding them into regular-sized loops for storage.
Linda suddenly stopped and looked at Mignon suspiciously. “You with the sheriff? You with the po-lice? Why don’t you ask the father that?”
Mignon sighed. “I’m not a police officer. I grew up in foster homes like you. I don’t know about your parents, but my mother died, and my father was an alcoholic. He left me alone, and I ended up in places like this. Some were bad. Some weren’t. When I was a little older, a very good man adopted me. So I feel like one of the lucky ones.” She wanted to say that she knew that Dara was one of the unlucky ones, but she didn’t want to be the one to tell this young woman that. Mignon also wanted to say that finding the young woman’s body had touched her in a way that she couldn’t identify. Furthermore, discovering that the girl had been in a similar position as herself at that age had pricked her resolve. If Caraby quickly found the one responsible, then fine, but if he didn’t, Mignon would make sure someone was held accountable.
“Father William and Sister Helena ain’t so bad,” Linda said mulishly. “Dara doesn’t want to be here. Her parents didn’t know what to do with her. She doesn’t want to stay with them. She doesn’t want to go to school. She wants to do what Dara wants to do.” Her tone became bitter. “Dara does exactly what she wants to do and damn everyone else.”
Mignon digested that and decided to steer the girl away from the subject of the dead girl. Linda would know soon enough, and the memory of Mignon’s questions would become readily apparent. “I’m glad you like it here. The sheriff said some of you have gotten scholarships because of the priest and the sister.”
“I’m going to college next year,” Linda said proudly. “I have a scholarship to Stanford University. I’ve got a job all lined up, and I’m going to live in a dormitory. There’s nothing that can stop me now.”
“That’s wonderful,” Mignon said with a smile. “Congratulations.”
Linda bundled the jump ropes together and tied them off with a fancy knot at which Mignon briefly marveled. “I think I can tie a regular knot,” she said.
The younger woman shrugged. “My daddy taught me. He was in the navy in the Gulf War. Way before he and Mama were killed.” Then Linda suddenly frowned. “You ain’t never seen me or Dara before,” she said firmly, “so how would you know we look a little alike?”
Mignon looked away uncomfortably. Linda wasn’t stupid. Her grammar occasionally regressed into the loose Louisiana slang she’d used all her life growing up in poverty, but she adroitly had figured out that Mignon had slipped up.
“I’ve seen Dara,” Mignon said.
“Seen her where?” Linda asked sharply.
“In the bayou,” Mignon answered and wished she could crawl into a hole. If this was what being a detective was like, she suddenly realized she didn’t like it much. Linda’s perceptive gaze was far too astute for a teenager, and Mignon didn’t know how to evade it.
“I’ll take you home now, Mignon,” John Henry said, suddenly beside her.
“Mignon?” Linda repeated with abrupt clarity. “I’ve heard of you before.”
Father William appeared on the other side. Any lingering cheerfulness was long gone, and Mignon knew that the identification had been wretchedly positive. “Of course you have, Linda,” he said quietly. “Go put those ropes up and get back to the school room. Just because a scholarship is waiting for you doesn’t mean you won’t have to continue getting those wonderfully good grades.”
Linda held onto the bundle of ropes as if they would save her life. She stared at Father William for a long moment and then bit back what she was going to say. The teenager whirled away, all swirling white and black material and quickly went inside.
“She’s a bright one,” Father William said proudly. However, there was an edge of sadness in his tone, and it didn’t have anything to do with Linda. “Scored perfectly on her SATs. I’ve never seen a child more determined to get into an Ivy League university.”
“Another shining example of how well your school is working,” John Henry commented mildly. “I hope that success is reflected on your next fundraiser.”
“Well,” Father William said as his face drooped a little, “success and failure. It seems to go hand in hand. Like good and evil. God and Satan. Extremes are reflected in the mirrors of each other’s eyes.”
“And was Dara one of your failures?” Mignon asked. She saw John Henry jerk, and beyond John Henry, she realized that Investigator Caraby had become as rigid as a length of cedar.
“Mignon,” John Henry hissed, almost under his breath. “We’re going now.”
Father William was contemplative. “Not a failure,” he said. “Merely a tragedy.”
“Then it is her.”
Father William indicated Investigator Caraby. “The investigator brought a digital photograph of her.” He crossed himself quickly and brought the rosary around his neck to his mouth. “God have mercy.”
“You don’t seem particularly upset,” she said, and this time John Henry took her by the arm and started to pull her away.
Father William’s grizzled face began to turn red. “I don’t think you have the slightest idea of how concerned I actually am. For every successful child like Linda Terrebonne, we have five who end up married or pregnant at seventeen, eighteen, or nineteen. We have several who vanish, only to find out they became addicted to some shameful drug and prostituted their bodies for the money to provide themselves with these drugs. There are successes. But some of those children make those choices on their own, no matter what we have shown them, no matter if we have given them every opportunity.” His voice began to rise on the last sentence, and he bit it off.
“As if it’s their fault,” she whispered, and only John Henry heard her.
“Miss Thibeaux is a little tired. The shock of finding the young lady of course,” John Henry said. His large hands covered her shoulders, and he practically lifted her as he moved her toward his Bronco. He maneuvered her through the wooden gates and held her up while she tried to dig her heels into the earth to stop him.
“Of course she is,” Father William said understandingly from behind them. “Given her history with being an orphan herself, I understand.” Investigator Caraby stepped up, and the pair turned away. They disappeared inside the courtyard, and John Henry held a warning hand up in front of Mignon’s face until he made sure they were alone.
“What in hell do you think you’re doing?” he said as slowly and calmly as he could. He opened the Bronco door and pointed inside with a decisive movement of his hand.
Mignon folded her arms across her chest. “Do you know what it’s like to live in a foster home?”
John Henry looked heavenward. It was a pleasant day with the temperature climbing into the low seventies and not a cloud in the sky. It was the kind of day he would have liked to stay in bed with Mignon for most of, only leaving when absolutely necessary. He had woken up tired when she’
d called but in a good mood because Mignon had returned. He didn’t know what to call what they had together, but he liked it. He liked it a hell of a lot more than he’d liked what he’d had with his ex-wife. As a matter of fact, he might even call it…
“Dammit, Mignon,” he muttered. “Let us do our jobs. Don’t let the past get you all wrapped up in something that has nothing to do with you.”
“Do you know what it’s like to live in a foster home?” she repeated the question calmly.
“You know that I don’t. I grew up with two parents. Both good people who made sure that we knew we were loved, that we had clothes on our backs and food in our belly. I couldn’t have asked for more.” He rubbed tiredly at his face. “You know that.”
“If that girl was murdered…” Mignon said it, but she already knew that it was a fact. The rope around Dara’s neck had been too tight to signify anything else. “If she was,” she repeated, “then the chances are good that someone here did it. For any number of reasons. The most obvious pops up like a target at a carnival sideshow.”
“We’ve never had a complaint of that nature from Blessed Heart,” John Henry gritted. “Not one. Not one of the volunteers calling anonymously. Not one of the troubled girls telling a big, fat fib to move on to the next foster home.”
Mignon was aghast. “So that means it couldn’t have happened?”
“It means we’ll look into all scenarios.” John Henry pointed again. “Get in the car, Mignon, before I arrest you.”
The expression on his face was far too serious for Mignon to ignore. She wasn’t altogether sure that he wouldn’t arrest her just because she was vexing him. He hadn’t cut her any slack the last time he’d thrown her in jail. “Do you ever check your blood pressure, John Henry?” she asked sweetly. “I worry about you.”
