Bayou Blue

by Raquel Byrnes

  “Sure, you want to bring them out, or email them?”

  “Both, actually.” I thought about getting away for a few days and made up my mind. “If I email them tonight and drive out tomorrow, say mid-afternoon, you think Salem will have something, by then?”

  “He should.” Reyna hesitated. “Should I get a pie?”

  I smiled at that. Reyna’s husband, Jimmy, believed in the healing power of dessert.

  “I think it’s more of a double-fudge, layer cake kind of visit.”

  “Gotcha. I’ll be waiting.”

  I wished I didn’t feel so alone in this strange place. I transferred the picture from my camera to my laptop and emailed it to Reyna.

  Exhausted, I took a quick shower, my second in the midst of this crazy day, and sat on the overstuffed chair by the small fireplace. Wrapped in a fluffy white robe, hair piled on the top of my head with a towel, I closed my eyes, listening to the swamp sounds outside.

  A long forlorn wail from a bird set the frogs off, and I found myself taking in deep breaths of lavender and jasmine. A ragged sigh escaped my trembling lips. How could such a beautiful place hold so much danger and pain? Doubt stabbed at my mind. Was I doing the right thing?

  You put this on my heart, Lord. I believe You did. Help me not to waver, not to cower when things get hard. Help me find the truth. Make all this worry and pain mean something, or make it clear that You want me to leave, Lord. Just…don’t leave me to wander alone out here, Father. Don’t let this be for nothing.

  Closing my eyes on the tears welling, I didn’t wipe them as they slid down my cheeks.

  I was too tired.

  14

  Sometimes when Randy and I were younger and my parents had a rally, or somewhere to be, they left us behind with the nanny so we wouldn’t miss school.

  A college girl, Mira loved acting. She wanted to be a star and had me read lines with her if she was going out for a part.

  I loved the drama of the conflict and flowery words. I secretly wanted to write plays and novels, stories about love and loss, and dangerous adventures. I never told my mother.

  She thought Mira silly and frivolous.

  But Randy knew. He knew and told me to follow my dream to be a writer despite what others might think. One Christmas, he gave me the quill necklace as a reminder of what I loved to do. That was Randy. He believed in me, no matter what.

  I used to write him stories. Rip-offs of the ones I knew from school and our reading books, but he liked them, and I felt a surge of rebellion every time I picked up my pen. One time, I wrote a spy adventure about a couple of kids leaving secret messages to each other in disappearing ink and hid them in plain sight.

  Randy figured out how to do this in real life. He got the idea from a kid’s book he checked out from the library. He wrote to me using milk as ink, and we held it over a light bulb to reveal the message.

  I sat up, still in my half-wake stupor. I’d been drifting off, thinking about Randy and then it was there. The idea.

  Climbing out of bed, I poured my purse’s contents out onto the floor rug and searched through the detritus. There, Randy’s letter to me, still in its mottled envelope. I looked at it and licked my lips.

  Was I crazy?

  “Only one way to find out.”

  I grabbed the letter, walked over to the desk lamp, and pulled the shade off. Unfolding the page, I held it over the exposed bulb, almost touching it. I stared at the paper, smelling as the bulb heated it up. Slowly, a faint tan outline formed just over Randy’s signature. I squinted at it, the light blurring my vision.

  A circle with a hand in the center; a bug of some sort grasped in the fisted fingers. The image darkened, and I smelled the familiar sweet of cooking milk. I blinked, completely shocked, remembering the Chicken Guy’s words.

  “Milk and the light of truth,” I whispered.

  I ran my finger over the marking, a surge of adrenaline thrumming through me. I’d seen this symbol before. In Randy’s sketchbook. Not his drawings, but the postcard with the invite to the rally. I smiled, a connection to the Randy I knew. The sane Randy.

  “I hear you, Randy. I see it.”

  ****

  I went back to bed, to try to sleep, but by five the next morning I couldn’t contain myself. The dark morning sent a cold wind butting up against the French doors. It slipped in, rustled my papers, and made me shiver. I reached for my robe.

  My phone buzzed. It was my mother. I blew my breath out, debating. I was being rude by not answering her calls. She deserved better. I touched my screen and accepted the call.

  “Hello, Willow,” I said evenly. I hadn’t called her mother since the seventh grade. The soft, familiar name just didn’t seem to fit her very well.

  “Riles,” Her voice pitched up with exasperation. “Why have you been avoiding my calls? No one has seen you for days…you scared me.”

  A sliver of guilt pushed through my resolve to be tough. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you worry. I–I’m in La Foudre.”

  Her silence alarmed me more than yelling. I could counter arguments and barbs. It was raw emotion that tripped me up. Always had.

  When she spoke, it was with the detached calm she used to control her anger. “I don’t know why you would do this, Riley Love.” She used my middle name…never good.

  “I told you why. I don’t believe—”

  “Yes, I know what you said,” she cut me off. “But I asked you not to go there and stir things up just as the authorities are putting them to rest. Why can’t you do that? Why can’t you let us all move on?”

  So uncharacteristic of her fighting spirit, her resolve to step back and cower in the shadows both scared and infuriated me. Why would she fight only for other people? Why not Randy?

  “Because moving on means agreeing with everyone that Randy was broken and embittered. That he hurt those people on purpose. I can’t believe that you would be OK with that.”

  “I’m not OK with it,” she hissed.

  There was the spitfire I knew.

  “You seem like you are.”

  “Why? Because I’m not there with you?”

  I gripped my phone tighter. “You haven’t said one thing to defend him.”

  “I’m horrified and angry, but wounding the people of that parish further won’t fix it.”

  “Look, I know you don’t get why I’m doing this, but this whole thing, it weighs heavy, Willow.” I wiped tears from my eyes. “It’s heavy on my heart to do this. I wish you could try to understand that. I wish you supported me.”

  “Since when do you make decisions with your heart, Riles?” Her tone darkened. “Ever since you…” Her voice trailed off.

  I knew what she meant. My decision to become a Christian defied her kind of logic. She believed I’d sold out, somehow.

  I shook my head, feeling so alone. Unwilling to look weak, I pulled myself together. I squared my shoulders, and even though she couldn’t see it, I knew she’d hear it in my voice. God was on my side. I wasn’t alone.

  “This is something I have to do.” I said with an edge to my tone. “If you can’t respect me as your daughter, then at least trust me as a reporter. Something isn’t right here.”

  “Riley, I don’t want to have this argument with you again.”

  “Then stop calling, Willow.” I hung up on her. Not out of anger, but out of the realization that we would escalate into yelling and I just didn’t have the energy for that. I was barely standing as it was.

  I looked at the phone’s clock and decided I needed to get going. I had a lot to do today.

  Spying the laptop on the desk, I stopped, confused. It was on. The screensaver bounced against the imaginary corners of the screen.

  Something ticked in the back of my mind. Something from last night, but I couldn’t place it. So upset with my run-in with Jake, I took a shower and went to bed. I looked around the room, confused. Didn’t I turn my laptop off before after I sent the picture to Reyna? If not, the g
lowing blue of the screen wouldn’t have been evident during the night because I slept with all the lights on.

  Still…

  I made a slow circle around the room, searching for anything out of place, my mind buzzing. I know I didn’t leave my laptop on. I made a habit of turning it off and setting the password. A habit I used to protect my sources. As a reporter, their anonymity remained my highest priority.

  I stood by the night table. On it, my silver quill necklace lay broken in two pieces, the chain snapped in half. I picked it up and frowned. I wore this last night. I only took it off to shower. It wasn’t broken last night. I remembered hooking the clasp and arranging the necklace on the wood surface. I stared at the torn chain and my lip trembled.

  Randy had wrapped the box in newspaper comics and slipped it in my stocking. The necklace might be only metal, but it represented Randy’s belief in me. His encouraging spirit. The Randy I knew.

  I thought back to last night. Did it break during my climb up the trellis and I didn’t notice? I shook my head. I caught details. That was my job. I would notice if my necklace was broken, or my laptop was on.

  A slow dread surged. Did someone come into my bedroom last night while I slept? Had I slept? I hadn’t thought so. Maybe when I was in the shower?

  I felt suddenly vulnerable, like being in a tent with a bear outside, and something very delicate is the only thing protecting one from harm.

  I forced myself not to think about the implications and decided to get busy, to use my plans to derail my growing fear. A few calls were in order.

  Calling up information on my phone, I asked for the Twin Rock Hotel in Thibodaux and got the address. I knew from the news reports that the person I wanted to see was there yesterday. I hoped he hadn’t checked out, yet.

  I got ready, piling my hair in a chignon, dressing in jeans and a crimson blouse. I grabbed my raincoat and stood at my door. I listened for movement, but didn’t hear anything. Outside, the sound of tires on the gravel got me moving.

  I left my room, locked it, checked the knob for good measure, and sprinted down the front steps and out the door. I didn’t run into anyone and met the rental car guy just as he raised his hand to knock. No older than twenty, his scrawny beard did little to hide his baby face.

  “You ordered the sedan?” He looked at me like it was rude to do so. “Jesse said you’ll pay extra for the delivery way out here.”

  “Jesse is correct.” I pulled my wallet out of my purse and handed him some cash. I threw in a generous tip. “How was traffic from Thibodaux?”

  “Not bad this early.”

  “Great.” I walked to the driver’s side door, noticed the delivery kid looking at me and raised a brow. “You need a lift to the rental place?”

  “Nah,” he said. “Just sign this insurance thingy for me.” He held out a paper and I signed it.

  Another car drove up and pulled to a stop behind the sedan.

  He looked up and smiled. “I’m off work now so, my wife...” He waved at the woman in the driver’s seat.

  “A wife?” I smiled at her, saw a light go on in the kitchen window, and pushed the paper at the kid. “We all set, then?”

  “Yah,” He nodded and rapped the hood with his knuckles. “Don’t uh…don’t ruin this one, OK?”

  I climbed in the driver’s seat and started the car. “I have no idea what you mean.”

  Thirty minutes down the road, I pulled through a fast food window and bought breakfast. It wasn’t beignets and coffee at Verona’s, but it filled me up and made the dark morning seem not so bad. The pat-pat-pat of raindrops on my windshield felt strangely comforting.

  I followed my phone’s navigation prompts and pulled into the Twin Rock Hotel parking lot. I’d made good time, only an hour, and sat in the idling car debating my next move.

  Hotels didn’t give out guest’s information, and I didn’t know which room was his. I thought about trying to bluff my way past the receptionist. Even if I found his room, it didn’t guarantee he wanted to talk. I chewed the inside of my cheek, weighing my options.

  I smiled when the sliding glass doors of the hotel whooshed open and I spotted him.

  He strode across the asphalt, a black and white umbrella over his head.

  I got out of the car and ran up to him, using my purse to shield my head from the raindrops.

  He hesitated as I approached, a frown marring his movie-star face.

  I smiled winningly and extended my hand. “Everest Jones?”

  He paused and squinted. “Do I know you?”

  “We met at the End the Violence dinner last year. I’m Riley Drake.”

  He smiled. I knew why the cameras loved him. Up close, he seemed like he should be standing on a hill with the American flag waving in the breeze in the background.

  “Yes, Riley.” He shook my hand and we started to walk. He tipped the umbrella to cover me. “How are you?”

  “I’m a social pariah. And you?”

  A nervous chuckle sent his breath in vapor out into the cool morning. “How did you find me?”

  “They ran an interview of yours yesterday morning. I caught the tail end of it.”

  We walked to a separate building, labeled as a conference hall. The automatic doors swooshed open and Everest dropped the umbrella on the rubber mat to the side. “Yes, but I gave that interview in the parking lot. We made sure not to film the front of the hotel, or the sign.”

  I followed him into the hall, across the carpet towards a table with flyers. “Yeah well, the bushes behind you gave it away.” I pointed over my shoulder. “They’re in the shape of the Twin Rock logo.”

  Everest followed my gaze and then a smile pulled at his lips. “Clever girl.”

  “I need to talk to you about something.” I pulled my notepad from my purse, searching through the pages for what I wanted.

  “As a reporter, or fellow activist?” Everest stood with his fists at his waist, a superhero pose, and I stifled the urge to look around for a camera.

  “As a sister.” I watched his expression soften. “I found…I found this symbol in my brother’s things.” I showed him the symbol I copied from Randy’s letter to me. “I wonder if you were familiar with it?”

  Everest glanced at my drawing. “Not ringing a bell.”

  “You’re sure?”

  Something unsettling flitted across his features, and was gone.

  Was he annoyed that I just showed up? Did he not want to be seen with a Drake?

  “I’m sure.” He caught my eye and smiled warmly. No hint of anything untoward on his face.

  I tried to shake the image from my head. I must be tired.

  “Are you sure?” I pointed to the picture. “It’s associated with a rally at Tulane University earlier in the year. I saw it on a personal invite to my brother.”

  Everest put his hand over mine, covering the picture, and stroked my thumb.

  I was unsure if it was supposed to be comforting or alluring. Again, the look on his face seemed serene, unaware of my discomfort, and I guessed he meant it to be soothing, like a pat on the shoulder. What was wrong with me? Now everyone had hidden agendas?

  “I wish I could help you, I really do, Riley, but I’ve never seen this before.”

  I was crestfallen.

  He gave my hand a squeeze. “I’m sorry.”

  “I thought since you work with smaller groups, that you might have come across it?”

  “I don’t think so.” He shook his head.

  “Well can you ask around?” I tore the sheet from my notebook and shoved it in his hand. “Maybe one of your staff knows?”

  Everest slipped the paper in his pocket and looked at me with pity in his eyes. “Sure.”

  “Thanks.” I gave him my card from the paper. “Call me if you find out anything?”

  “I have to get the ball rolling on this teleconference thing I have going with the Morning Brew show in a few hours, but we can talk later if you want.” He looked down the hall, and I
saw a woman standing in the open doorway.

  Dressed in jeans and t-shirt, she stared at me with pursed lips, her clipboard hugged tight.

  “That’s great.” I nodded to the door. “Morning Brew, that’s a national show.”

  Everest nodded. “We’re having a fundraiser for the victims of…” his voice trailed off.

  I felt my face flash heat. “You’re wonderful to arrange this, Everest. That’s what they need.”

  He put his hand out, resting it on my forearm, squeezing softly. “How is your family? It must be terrible.”

  “They’re coping.” I smiled bitterly. “They don’t agree with my decision to come to Louisiana and dig into Randy’s life.”

  He nodded, and I wondered what that meant. That he understood going against the flow, or he agreed with them that I shouldn’t be here?

  “Are you working with Sheriff Ayers on your investigation?”

  “You know him?”

  Everest nodded, his brow furrowed. “I don’t want to speak out of turn…”

  “How do you know him?”

  “A couple of my volunteers got themselves arrested at one of the pubs there in Bayou La Foudre.” Everest grinned, as if public drunkenness and fighting were acceptable weekend pursuits. “Sheriff Ayers hauled them in and wouldn’t let our lawyer bail them out for twenty-four hours.”

  “Oh,” I shrugged. “That doesn’t sound unreasonable.”

  His expression twisted. “Twenty-four hours put their bail time at two in the morning. We had to wait until the office opened at nine to actually get them out. We had to shuffle a lot of things around with them not being available.”

  I looked at him silently.

  “Anyway, Sheriff Ayers is a lot more accommodating to locals, if you know what I mean.” Everest intoned. “I’m not sure he’s the best person to work with if you’re after the truth.”

  “Well, he’s been very helpful so far.” I didn’t understand why I felt the need to defend Jake, but I did.

  Everest’s nasty remarks rubbed me the wrong way.

  “Just…keep your eyes open, Riley.” Everest said and put his hand on my shoulder. “The folks around here aren’t like you and me. They have a different understanding of justice.”