Billy Whistler

by Bill Thompson

  Cult member last names were either Lafont or Savary. She thought she was a Savary, but as she explained further, he understood why she didn’t know for sure.

  He pushed for details of how the cult worked. If your last name was Lafont, she said, you could only marry a Savary. Father Paul assumed they used this method to avoid intermarriage, although after fourteen decades of communal living, it was unlikely that solved the problem.

  Em explained that she just turned eighteen, the time for her to breed. It was a ritual that perpetuated the colony. She was given to one of Elder Lafont’s cousins, or perhaps a nephew — it would have been impossible to draw a family tree from this convolution of relatives — but she hadn’t conceived. Another Lafont took a turn and had the same result. Barren women were a useless burden, and what lay ahead terrified her.

  Father Paul controlled himself as she talked, although it was difficult when the tales were so barbaric and unbelievable in twenty-first-century America. Em had known other girls who couldn’t have children, and one day they’d just disappear. One was an older friend, although friendships weren’t encouraged in the commune, and she had asked her father what happened to her.

  He had laughed and said, “Guess they gave her to Billy Whistler, since she wasn’t no use to us anymore.” His words terrified her — a barren child meant nothing more to him than if they’d given away a dog.

  “And that’s why I ran away,” she said as Father Paul stared in shock. “I wasn’t no use to them either.”

  Not only did she relate an unbelievable story, she might also have validated that the legendary Billy Whistler really existed.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Back in his apartment that evening, Landry called Cate to be sure she had gotten home. She asked about Abbeville and he told her only part of what had happened. He’d met the priest, gone to lunch with him, and they discussed the mysterious voicemail. Father Paul couldn’t say much because some of what he knew, he’d learned in the sanctity of the confession box.

  He left out his confrontation with Sheriff Conreco and the priest’s strong suggestion that he back off a story that became odder and more puzzling with each clue he uncovered.

  She asked what was next.

  “I’m going back. I want to spend some time where the town of Asher used to be. I’ll rent a boat and go down the river.”

  “I want to come with you.”

  He hadn’t expected that response, and he considered it a bad idea. Something was wrong at Asher; after talking to the priest, he was more certain than ever. What if something went wrong? What about the sheriff’s threat? Cate had no business going with him.

  “I don’t think you should. The voicemail says something bad is going on and that the cult is still around. If that’s true, it could be dangerous.”

  “Then why are you going?”

  “Because I have to find out.”

  “Are you going to use the same guide?”

  He really hoped to rent Catfish’s boat and go alone.

  “Possibly, but there’s really no reason to use him. I know how to get there. Why pay him to sit there and wait?”

  “Okay, it’s settled. When do you want to go?”

  “Friday,” he said, hoping that day wouldn’t work for her.

  “Done deal. I’ll meet you at the Lafayette airport Friday. Same flight as last time.”

  He met her on Friday, and the next morning they drove to Perry. Catfish grinned as Landry and a beautiful girl with raven-black hair pulled back in a ponytail walked into his place. He put down his magazine, took his feet off the desk, and said, “Welcome back! I hoped you wouldn’t wait long! What’s it been — two weeks?”

  Landry laughed. “Yeah. I missed you so much I couldn’t spend another day without you!”

  “You’re working on a TV show, right? Has to be, ’cause you’re back so soon. You’re famous, man. Why didn’t you tell me I had a celebrity in my boat?”

  Landry presumed he’d found out who Landry was from the sheriff. Catfish seemed to be a genuine individual, and if Junior had somehow learned that the guide took him downriver, Landry figured Catfish would have answered his questions honestly.

  “My celebrity status never came up. Besides, I didn’t want you hounding me for an autograph.”

  Catfish belched a laugh. “Who’s your guest? Planning to show her beautiful downtown Asher?”

  “This is my friend Cate Adams. We’re back because I wanted to spend a few hours floating downstream on a peaceful river. There’s no reason to return to Asher; I didn’t find anything last time. I’d just like to rent your boat.”

  Catfish thought if he had a girlfriend that looked like Cate, he’d want some privacy too. “Can you handle a boat and motor?”

  “I grew up on the bayou in Jeanerette. My dad had one, and I was on Bayou Teche all summer long.”

  “Never rented the boat by itself before. Where are you all headed?”

  “Nowhere special, like I said. I packed a cooler, and we’ll find someplace to have a picnic lunch. We’ll be back by midafternoon — three at the latest.”

  He thought for a moment and said, “Sure, why not? You remember from last time the motor can be cantankerous, but you’ll be fine. I’ll give you my number. If anything goes wrong, I’ll send somebody down to get you.”

  They loaded the picnic basket, pulled out into the river, and headed south. Catfish stood on the dock. Once they were out of sight, he made the call.

  “Landry Drake just rented my boat. Him and a girl, heading south toward Asher.”

  _____

  The leafy branches of tall oak trees shaded much of the bayou, and Cate removed her jacket to enjoy what sun there was. She commented that she learned new things about him every day, such as the fact that his father once had a boat.

  “That’s not entirely true,” he admitted. “One of my friend’s fathers had a boat, and we took it out once or twice. I never ran it myself, but how hard can it be? Even if we sank, the shore’s just over there. It’s not like we’re on the Mississippi.”

  “I’m sure you can handle it, cap’n. My, look at the time! It’s almost eleven. I think I’ll have a glass of wine. Would you like one?”

  That sounded just perfect. They’d packed a nice Pinot Grigio with a screw top, and she dug out two plastic stemmed glasses. After a toast, she settled back to enjoy the ride.

  “That’s where we’re coming back to,” he pointed out as they drifted past Asher. “There’s no place for a picnic there, so let’s keep going until we find a good spot.”

  He found the perfect place a few miles downstream. It had a small sandy beach and plenty of shade. He tied the boat to a tree and unloaded the cooler while Cate spread a blanket.

  They ate without conversation; it had been a while since they had been alone, and it was nice just to spend the day together. Landry decided he’d made the right decision not to tell her everything. Right here, right now, things were perfect; it seemed as if nothing could go wrong on a beautiful Saturday like this one.

  When she was finished packing up, he suggested they should do one more thing before leaving. He explained and she exclaimed, “Right here? What if someone comes along?”

  “Have you seen another boat? If we hear anyone coming, they can watch!”

  Anyone on the river could see their boat tied off and them as well, but even with no traffic, it was exciting. “Okay, I’m game! Get your clothes off!”

  Afterwards they lay naked on the blanket, listening to the melodic whirring of insects, a sound he’d grown up with and that he missed. It was idyllic, and he told her he wouldn’t trade this time for anything.

  Back on the river before one, he guided the boat to shore at Asher, tied it off, and helped her through the fence. It surprised her how big the town must have been.

  Keeping an ear cocked for Billy Whistler, he took dozens of pictures, and she helped measure off city blocks to create a basic layout of the town. Landry didn’t know what Billy�
�s warble sounded like. Catfish said he’d heard it, but the man had had way more than a six-pack by then. For all Landry knew, Billy Whistler might have been crooning “Moon River” in Catfish’s head.

  Today there came a cacophony of chirping from birds in the trees overhead and others far away, so if Billy began warbling, Landry doubted he could discern it.

  He took her down the path. A few headstones sticking up in the weeds provided the first clue they were in a cemetery. He’d looked for inscriptions last time, but if there had ever been writing, it was gone now. Today they were just rocks with crude rounded tops. She found other stones — rectangular flat ones flush with the ground. The plot was far larger than he’d thought; she made a quick count and came up with seventy-one stones that might be markers.

  As he snapped pictures, Landry noticed boot prints. Someone — maybe two people — had been here recently.

  He saw two stones lying next to each other.

  JAMES SAVARY MARCH 2009

  K SAVARY JAN 2007

  “Look, Cate! This cemetery’s still being used — at least it was ten years ago. These are cult members — they’re all named Lafont or Savary. The Sons of Jehovah can’t be that far away.” Although it might result in nothing, he had two names and dates to check at the courthouse.

  In their cursory walkabout, they found no other stones with complete inscriptions and no readable dates, and he proclaimed he was done.

  Back on shore, she gathered the blanket while he picked up the cooler. Landry was loading the boat when Cate stifled a scream. A tall man stood in the trees. He wore a badge on a khaki shirt whose buttons struggled to contain the man’s gut. Landry glanced toward the river; he’d missed seeing the man’s boat until now.

  “Well, hello, Mr. Drake. We meet again.”

  This confirmed that Catfish had ratted him out, which was no surprise. Landry was not only an outsider, he was an investigative reporter on the sheriff’s shit list. He went for the offense because he’d done nothing wrong. He still didn’t believe Conreco would have the nerve to arrest him for being in the parish.

  “Sheriff, fancy meeting you here. Out for a spin on the river?”

  “Don’t smart-talk me, boy. Did you tell this lady here she was in for a surprise if you came back to my parish? Or did you figure I was just jokin’ with you when I talked to you Sunday at lunch with Father Paul?”

  Irritated, Landry snapped, “Are you harassing me, Sheriff?”

  Conreco laughed. “Naw, I wouldn’t call it harassment. I’m investigating a crime, and I found you two right here at the scene. I told you to stay away, mister reporter. Now both of you are in big trouble. Grand larceny’s a serious offense.”

  “Grand larceny?” Cate cried. “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about you all stealin’ this here boat.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  The sheriff had come prepared; he’d brought two sets of handcuffs. He cuffed them and put them in his boat. Landry thought Conreco wouldn’t arrest Cate. This trumped-up charge involved him, not her. As they motored upstream, he gave Cate the number of the lawyer he’d contacted earlier and told her what to do.

  They pulled in to Catfish’s dock, and Junior helped Cate out, leaving Landry struggling to get off the boat with his hands cuffed behind his back.

  Embarrassed, Catfish ran to the boat to help Landry, but Junior waved him off. “That’s my prisoner, son. You stay away from him.”

  With some effort, Landry plopped onto the dock and stood.

  The sheriff walked them to his squad car and removed Cate’s cuffs. He told Landry to give her his phone and car keys and said she’d better be glad he was in a good mood. Otherwise he’d have charged her as an accessory.

  Grand larceny. Landry laughed at the thought. That tub of shit wasn’t worth a hundred bucks. Even if they had stolen it, this was no case of grand larceny. As Conreco put him in the back seat, he saw Cate making the call.

  Twenty minutes later, he waited in a processing room when a local attorney hired by Landry’s lawyer came in. He said the sheriff would drop the matter if Landry agreed to leave the parish and not return.

  Landry had expected this. It was more than repressing journalistic freedom or denying First Amendment rights. He had work to do here, and he was determined to find out what the sheriff had to do with Asher.

  “No way. I didn’t steal the boat. The sheriff’s hiding something, and I intend to find out what it is.”

  “That’s your call. You’re entitled to do what you want, but there’s something else. He says he’ll arrest the girl too.”

  “Seriously? She’s an accessory to grand larceny? All this is pure harassment.”

  “No, sir, it’s more serious than that. He’s threatened to charge her with indecent exposure. He says you all were naked on the shoreline and you engaged in a sex act. He has pictures to prove it.”

  Son of a bitch! He’d been there all along!

  That changed things. This battle could be fought another time. He’d get both of them out of here, and then he’d decide what to do next. All he knew for certain was that his investigation would keep right on going.

  “That was a quick trip to the pokey,” she quipped as he got in the car. The lawyer had asked her to stay outside, so she wasn’t aware of Conreco’s threat. For now he’d leave it that way.

  “I told you something was fishy with the sheriff. The more they try to stop me, the more determined I am to find out who they’re protecting and what they’re covering up.”

  She understood this man, and his reaction didn’t surprise her. She warned him again to watch himself. He was in a place where he had no friends, despite how affable the townspeople appeared. She added, “Even as friendly as Catfish seems, he’s in on this too.”

  “Let’s just see what’s up with old Catfish.” He picked up his phone.

  The poor man couldn’t have been more apologetic. “Junior got to me, man. He was looking to find whoever took you down there last time, and I had to promise I’d call if you showed up again. He said it had to do with some criminal case. I felt so bad seeing you all in cuffs; there was no call for him to do that. I was embarrassed and I can’t imagine how it was for you.”

  “I’m not embarrassed. I’m damned mad. And more determined than before. What is it about Asher, Catfish? What are people trying to hide? Is this about those men who burned the town? It’s been a hundred and forty years, for God’s sake. Why’s it important after all that time?”

  His mind swirling with crazy thoughts, Catfish took a pull on his beer and struggled to come up with an answer to throw Landry off.

  “Catfish, are you still there?”

  He gave up. “Yeah, yeah, I’m still here. I’m not sure what to say. We had a good trip down there, you and me, and I’m sorry about what happened today. But this is my home, Mr. Landry. Know what I mean? You can go back to Nawlins, but I live here with them. It ain’t fair to make your problem my problem.”

  Landry understood. He let Catfish off the proverbial hook and said he hoped to see him again someday. As they drove back, he asked Cate what she thought. She could look at things objectively, and maybe she had fresh ideas. He told her everything this time — the sheriff’s aggressive behavior, the indecent exposure threat, the priest’s admission that there were dark secrets, and his warning not to open a Pandora’s box.

  They talked through the situation and came to the same conclusion. People still kept a secret from the 1800s. What was it, and why was it so important?

  As they talked, he was already planning his next trip to Vermilion Parish.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Elder Johnson Lafont sat in his usual spot behind a hand-hewn oak table in the council house. Six other men, each chosen by the elder — were at the table too, and in front of them stood two people: Micah and B Savary.

  The nervous couple fidgeted while the men whispered. Micah and B had received a summons, a command that meant trouble for them. Com
ing before the council often resulted in punishment for some alleged transgression against the Sons of Jehovah.

  Micah and his wife knew why they were here. It was not for a personal transgression, but they would bear the blame.

  The leader rapped the table with a gavel and the room was silent. “Where is your daughter, Deacon Micah?” His deep voice boomed like God’s wrath from Heaven.

  He hung his head as his wife took his hand. “Perhaps she ran away, Elder.”

  “Perhaps she ran away? She is your property and therefore your responsibility. How can you not know where she is?”

  His wife raised her head and stammered, “Sir, she’s not a bad girl.”

  “Silence, woman! You will not speak unless I order it. Deacon Micah, if you have any idea where or why M has gone, reveal it now or face the wrath of the council!”

  “Elder, we could not have known her thoughts. Perhaps her inability to conceive was too shameful for her to bear. She cannot have gone far.”

  “Micah, your opinion means nothing to me. You failed to control your offspring and the consequences may even now be causing harm to our group. That should be too shameful for you to bear.”

  He stood and said, “Council, I recommend giving Deacon Micah over to Billy Whistler. What say you?”

  Ayes from every man at the table, just like always. No one ever challenged the elder for fear they’d be next.

  B screamed as she hugged her husband. “Please, Elder! We will look for her! Don’t do this to Micah!”

  “I am doing nothing to your husband. The consequences of his inaction are his to bear, and his alone. You can still conceive, so you shall remain with us for now. We will look for your daughter M, Sister, and we will find her. When we do, she will become an example. Everyone will see what happens to those who try to leave. Take him away!”

  Two men in the back of the room came forward, pushed the woman to the floor, and dragged Micah out of the council house. Because she could still bear children, B had not met the fate of her husband. She would be given to another deacon while M was missing. If the girl returned, B could only imagine what fate awaited her and her child.