Crimson Bayou

by C. L. Bevill

  “I’m sorry,” Mignon said tiredly. “But I’m missing a piece of the puzzle.”

  “It was the same with them. Your mother was one. She married outside the families and made them mad. Cut her off without a word, or so my mother told me.” Mary Catherine’s brilliant blue eyes were soft with compassion.

  “And that phrase, gens de couleur libre, what does that mean?”

  “Free people of color,” Mary Catherine said contemplatively. “If my high school French serves me correctly. But I’ve heard them called other things, too. The forgotten people. Neither black nor white. I guess the best way of describing them is by the name they call themselves.”

  Mignon waited and then asked, “What is it?”

  “Creoles. They’re as Creole as the word gets.” She stared at Mignon with sympathy in her eyes. “I guess that makes you one. Or partly one. Like my mother and all of Granddad’s children.”

  Chapter Seven

  Friday, March 7th

  Not last night but the night before, 24 robbers came to my door.

  They stole my watch and they stole my ring and then they all began to sing,

  “Policeman, policeman, do you duty, here comes Mary the American beauty!

  She can wiggle; she can wobble; she can do the splits;

  But she can’t wear her dresses above her hips!”

  - Children’s jump rope rhyme

  Waiting a full day for some kind of contact, Mignon had decided to beat John Henry at his own game of endurance. He wasn’t going to call her, so she wasn’t going to call him either. He was mad at her. She was mad at him. She had information for him and for his investigator, but she wasn’t sure if she could talk to John Henry without biting his head off. But it wouldn’t be right to withhold something that could aid in the investigation, so she called Simon Caraby’s office and left a message for him about the paint chips she’d found under her nails.

  Then Mignon made a special trip to speak to Ruby Wingo, the St. Germaine Sheriff’s Department’s most dominant receptionist and resident know-it-all.

  Ruby in her bare feet barely scratched the edge of five feet. However, her preferred footwear included heels with a height of no less than four inches. A few of them topped six inches, making her appear as though she were on the verge of falling over when she was walking. Dyed-black hair was puffed up elaborately on her head. That color could easily change on any given day of the week, depending on her mood. She most notably had a heavily jealous husband named Percival. The fifty-something woman ruled her roost with an iron fist and woe to those who didn’t show her the proper amount of respect.

  When Mignon walked through the main doors, Ruby was castigating a young woman about the correct way to file paperwork. Ruby caught sight of Mignon and turned away from the other woman. The young woman took the opportunity and fled for the hills.

  “Mignon Thibeaux,” Ruby said happily. The amused expression suddenly transformed her ugly face into one of moderate cuteness. Mignon thought that it reminded her of a Chinese pug before she damned her insensitivity. “Ain’t seen you in a month of Sundays. Sorry you had to witness that. These young gals think paperwork goes in the trash all of the time.” She smiled and showed an array of snow white teeth. “But I bet you ain’t here to talk with me. There’s a mighty fine specimen of a man in his office who seems a little put out today and yesterday. Did little woogums have a fight?”

  Mignon wasn’t surprised at Ruby’s perspicacity. Nor was she offended. “Little woogums had a little difference of opinion. And actually, I did come to see you.”

  Ruby brightened. “Well then, why didn’t you say so? Let’s blow this Popsicle stand and have some coffee over to the garden room. My assistant can handle it for the time being.” She nudged Mignon’s side with a sharp elbow and murmured, “She ain’t as firm as I would be on the phone but she’s learning.”

  By the time they had made it to the garden room, Mignon had a cup of what looked like battery acid and an old fashioned donut that she knew would mean an extra mile on her morning run.

  “The donut is so that you don’t cause physical damage to your intestines,” Ruby advised gravely. “It soaks up that nasty coffee. The boys like it so strong that I reckon it stands up all by itself and looks around when no one is about.”

  They sat in an inner atrium that the smokers used upon occasion. It was filled with ferns and benches and was presently devoid of people. Mignon said to Ruby, “I know people come to you all the time for favors, and I feel a little bad for asking for something.”

  “Well, shoot,” Ruby said amicably. She took a deep swig of her coffee and declared, “Now that’ll put hair on my big toes.”

  “I want to know what’s going on with Dara Honore,” she said firmly.

  Ruby’s eyebrows went up. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, you know everything.” Mignon looked Ruby in the eye and pulled no punches. “I mean, if it’s happening, then you know about it.”

  The older woman stared at Mignon and then smoothed a lock of her jet black hair into place. She considered it. “Is that why John Henry is a little out of sorts? His girl is plumb sticking her nose where he reckons she ain’t got no bidness, and look what the cat dragged in.”

  Mignon’s lips twisted in amusement. There weren’t any secrets here. But she wasn’t going to confirm it if she could avoid it. She didn’t want John Henry to die of sheer embarrassment because of her big mouth.

  “You serious, Mignon?” Ruby asked. “I mean, after all you went through with your mama?” Her voice lowered to a tactical whisper. “They done got a boy inside right now, and they talking to him about that poor gal.”

  “A boy?” Mignon repeated. “What boy?”

  “That gal’s boyfriend.”

  “Boyfriend,” Mignon repeated that as if she didn’t quite understand the word. She’d been so biased against the Blessed Heart School because of her own experiences. Foster parents had tried taking liberties when she had been in their homes. Other children had been vicious little animals forever soiled by the same system. As a matter of fact, she had called Sister Helena yesterday to make an appointment with her for the next morning, but Mignon had wanted to be prepared with all the information she could get, especially from one person she knew would have all of it. “Her boyfriend?”

  Ruby clucked her tongue. “Well, they talking to him. They always talk to the boyfriends of the young little misses like that one. I seen it on television. More often than not, it’s the husband, the boyfriend, the man closest to the lady. So they got to talk to the boyfriend. Simon Caraby done dragged that boy in on his ear first thing this morning. John Henry listen to them talking. They saying something about a polygraph test for the kid. After all, he said he was out in the bayou waiting for Dara that night. Ain’t no one seen him. Ain’t no one can say where he was at or what he was doing.”

  “So he doesn’t have an alibi,” Mignon translated.

  “That’s what I said,” Ruby confirmed.

  “And did they argue? Does he admit to that?”

  “Naw,” Ruby drawled. “Kid’s smarter than that. Once he figured out his head was on the block, he shut right the hell up.”

  Mignon didn’t dismiss the information. Just because the boyfriend didn’t have an alibi didn’t mean that he murdered her. It could still be some result of something that happened at the school. She knew something that Ruby didn’t know, or perhaps that Ruby wouldn’t have wanted to admit. Once the investigator had settled on a suspect, they wouldn’t go looking for another one. A young man without an alibi, who probably has some kind of reason, albeit flimsy, would be the perfect suspect. Once he’d stopped talking, John Henry and Caraby would both nod their heads and say, “Aha,” to each other in a predatory masculine manner.

  “What about the girl?” she asked.

  “What about her?” Ruby asked right back.

  Mignon looked at the donut and decided she wasn’t hungry after all. She offered it to Ruby, and
Ruby shook her head. “Goes right to my hips, and although Percival thinks they look right fine, I know they starting to spread like the Gobi Desert in a strong wind.”

  “How was she murdered?” Mignon asked.

  “Strangled,” Ruby said promptly. “I reckon you saw the rope. As-phix-ia-ted. I knew I could say that word. Has a little bone in her throat broken and them little marks in her eyes that confirm it. The medical examiner said it was pretty clear-cut. Happened the night before. Maybe ‘tween midnight and 2 a.m. the doc estimates. Said she died quickly.”

  Quickly. The word reminded Mignon of Robert Dubeaux. He said that he hoped it was a quick death. “Maybe so,” Mignon said. “But her eyes were open. She saw everything.”

  Ruby nodded sadly. “Poor little girl.”

  “There were little chips of paint on her,” Mignon said gingerly.

  With an incisive stare, Ruby studied Mignon. Mignon realized she had hit the mark. “You did pull the gal out of the swamp,” she said softly. “Must have seen that yourself. They looking to see what the paint be from. Sent it for analysis at a lab down to Baton Rouge.”

  “They don’t know what the paint is from, then,” Mignon mused. “Anything else?”

  “I don’t like saying things about people who cain’t defend themselves no more,” Ruby said severely. Mignon was instantly reminded of Miner Poteet, but she waited, and Ruby filled in the rest. “The girl was trouble. That was why she was at Blessed Heart. Her folks couldn’t keep a hand on her. They didn’t know what else to do. God rest her soul. It don’t matter now.”

  “Maybe it does,” Mignon said. “Trouble or not, she didn’t deserve to die that way.”

  Ruby drank some more coffee and wisely said nothing.

  Mignon ventured something else. “What about Blessed Heart?”

  An innocent expression passed over Ruby’s ugly face. “What about it?”

  “Come on, Ruby,” Mignon exclaimed. “You know where all the bodies are buried. I guess I could have phrased that better,” she chastised herself mildly.

  “You gonna get yourself in a mess of trouble, Mignon,” Ruby pronounced grimly. “I ain’t one to tell John Henry a lick about nothing because it wouldn’t do no good, and I like my head on my shoulders. But someone else is gonna figure it out, and they won’t have no problem telling him about whatchu been up to in your spare time.”

  “Blessed Heart,” Mignon repeated firmly.

  “It’s a good place,” Ruby said, just as firmly. “They got runaways there, but what foster home don’t? A few complaints, but nothing like you’re implying. Father does some right good work. Did you hear about one of those little gals going to Stanford? That poor little gal done lost her mama and papa in a boating accident. And Stanford ain’t no school for idiots. She gonna be a lawyer. Imagine that, a lawyer.” Her face fell as she saw Mignon’s cross expression. “Well, most lawyers ain’t like that, Mignon.” She glanced at her watch. “I gots to get back to work. Ifin I leave that girl up front alone too long, she starts to call in some of the deputies to protect her from what peoples come tromping through the front door.”

  Mignon thanked her and mentally chewed on the answers she hadn’t received. Ruby could be as closemouthed as John Henry in her own way. Right now, however, Ruby was amused at Mignon and John Henry, and she wasn’t averse to sharing a little information. But Mignon was sure there was much more that the receptionist was keeping under lock and key, and Mignon knew that John Henry was far from stupid. He would be holding back information about the murder for the investigation’s sake. Mignon had been hoping that Ruby would let that slip, but either Ruby didn’t know, or wasn’t willing to allow amusement to overrule her good judgment.

  Standing in the main foyer of the sheriff’s department, Mignon paused to listen to Ruby censure her assistant on proper telephone etiquette. “It ain’t nobody’s bidness who be in jail excepting the lawyers and judges and deputies. Not the fellas from Shreveport. Not somebody’s sister who wants to steal his stuff while he’s in the pokey. So you got to keep your big, flying bear trap closed on that account.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” the assistant said fearfully.

  Mignon resisted the smile on her lips. She wasn’t sure what she was going to do now. She wanted to know about the connection between herself, the Dubeaux family, and Dara Honore, the one that Mary Catherine and Miner had hinted about. What she was looking for she knew she wouldn’t find in a library. There was a wealth of history about Creoles, of course, but it was the word-of-mouth stories that would assist her the most. Impatiently, Mignon wanted the answers at that very moment in time, but the logic in her told her that she would have to wait for the fais do-do, the all-night party, to which Robert had invited her. People would have answers there, and she would have to persuade them to share them with her.

  And John Henry had been invited, too. Mignon frowned now. She should say hello to him. She should attempt to gauge his mood, perhaps indicate that she felt a little remorse for sticking her foot in it at the school. But his intractability brought her up short.

  Just as she put her hand on the front door, someone said her name. Mignon turned and found a young man standing behind her. She didn’t know him.

  Mignon looked at him expectantly. He was over six feet tall and had a strong, young man’s body. Even in a worn Nike T-shirt she could see the ripple of his muscles down his arms and the breadth of his shoulder. The baggy blue jeans he wore did nothing for him except to reveal that he was young. She tried to guess his age, but it was difficult. He could have been eighteen. He could have been twenty-five. Then her artist’s eye fixed on him and found the fine high cheekbones of his face to be elegantly shaped, the roman turn of his nose, straight and defined. His lips were full but not so full that they overpowered his face. His hair was black, blacker than the thickest night, and curled gently into ringlets. His eyes were as black and bottomless as a pit. But it was the dirty white shirt that showed his skin to be a bluish black that glowed under the fluorescent lights of the government building.

  The young man stared back at her, his expression indecipherable. Finally, he said, “You’re that woman who found Dara.”

  Mignon nodded shortly. “I’m sorry.”

  He laughed cruelly. White teeth flashed in his face, revealing gums that were the same color as his skin. Mignon was startled for a moment. Upon first appearance, she would have called the young man black, but his features were anything but traditionally black. Only his skin was dark, and the rest of him was the product of a dozen mixed forebears. “Why you sorry? You dint kill her.”

  “Who are you?” Mignon asked slowly. “Dara’s boyfriend?”

  “Boyfriend,” he repeated with heavy sarcasm. “I guess you call it that. My name is Tomas Clovis.” He pronounced the name Tow-moss. “We go together, Dara and me.” Then his face crumpled a little, and she saw that he must be closer to eighteen than to twenty-five. He wasn’t much more than a child himself, and he was grieving for a girl he’d deeply cared for. “She wasn’t in the water very long, was she?” he asked hesitantly. “They won’t tell me.” He jerked his head backward. “They say I ain’t got no right to know that, or maybe they think I already know the answer.”

  “I don’t think she was,” Mignon said, thinking of Dara’s damaged toes. She hoped that this boy with his fragile composure wouldn’t have to know that. She had hoped that none of Dara’s family would have to know that.

  Tomas’s shoulders went rigid as he fought for self-control. Mignon suspected that if he hadn’t been standing in the sheriff’s department, he might be punching holes in the nearest wall. She would have stepped away, but her back was against the glass door, and there was nowhere to go. His teeth ground on each other as he forced more words out. A tear of rage dropped from one of his eyes. “I heard them say you pulled her out of the water when you wasn’t supposed to.”

  Mignon nodded again. “I didn’t want to leave her there. It would have been…wrong.”

 
The young man’s muscles rippled with unspoken tension. She wondered why he was out here, instead of sitting in one of the interrogation rooms with Caraby on one side and John Henry on the other. Not enough evidence to charge him, she supposed. John Henry would be exacting about that. After the last time he’d arrested her and gotten caught in their elaborate scam to force a killer out of his hidey hole, he would be extremely wary of any situation dealing with a lack of evidence. The boy hadn’t immediately confessed, and they couldn’t hold him there indefinitely until they could tie him with Dara Honore’s murder.

  “Thank you,” he muttered under his breath, vehemently forcing the words out as though they yanked at his very soul, “for taking her out of the water. Dara wouldn’t have liked that. She didn’t like the things in the bayous. She only go out there ‘cause of me.” The words were bitten off, and Mignon had to struggle to hear them. Then he glanced over his shoulder and cursed fluidly.

  Mignon only had the briefest of instants to comprehend it before Tomas shoved her aside. She hit the wall with a grunt, and when she looked over her shoulder, Tomas was gone.

  John Henry put his hand on her shoulder and said urgently, “Did he hurt you?”

  Mignon’s lips twisted in wry amusement. “Now you want to talk to me?”

  Chapter Eight

  Friday, March 7th

  Miss Susie had a steamboat, the steamboat had a bell.

  Miss Susie went to heaven, the steamboat went to

  Hello operator, please give me number nine,

  And if you disconnect me, I’ll kick you from behind

  The refrigerator, there was a piece of glass.