Cajun Crazy

by Sandra Hill

“Tell her that Adam is taking me to my mother’s.”

  Adam grinned at having won that argument, by default. He immediately wiped the grin from his face when he saw her glare.

  But he grumbled the entire time they drove to the trailer park. “This is ridiculous. Waking your mother in the middle of the night. Staying in that little tin can like a bunch of sardines. My dad and Maisie would be perfectly good chaperones, if you’re worried about your reputation, and I wouldn’t make any passes unless you asked me to. C’mon, Simone.”

  She just let Adam ramble on.

  “Everything’s going to be all right, Simone,” he told her. “I know you’re overwhelmed right now, but things will look better in the morning.”

  It was already morning, she could have told him, and she wasn’t feeling better. In fact, it was five a.m. and the sun was just coming up by the time they knocked on the trailer door. She’d told him that he could leave, but he persisted in being El Knighto and walked her up the path.

  “Nice gnome!” Adam commented as they waited for her mother to answer the door.

  At first, she thought he was making fun of her mother’s home, but then she saw him glancing at the giant gnome sitting in a bed of pansies. “My mother has a thing about gnomes. There’s a whole family of them in the back of the trailer.”

  “Maisie would love them. Who’s the gnome’s pal?” He pointed to the figure standing beside the garden dwarf.

  “You don’t recognize St. Jude? I thought Tante Lulu gave those statues to everyone.”

  “I didn’t recognize him in a straw hat.”

  “The hat was my inspiration.”

  He smiled.

  She might have melted a little bit at that smile—he did have a killer smile—but the door opened suddenly. “Oh, my God! Tante Lulu just called me. Come in, baby. Thanh is already putting on the tea. She makes the best green lotus tea.”

  Scarlett scooted out around her mother’s bunny rabbit slippers and rushed over to pee on the gnome’s foot. Cats had no respect. At least she hadn’t watered St. Jude. Then, with the graciousness only cats can carry off, she meowed a welcome to Simone and hissed at Adam before scampering under the trailer to chase some wild animal, like a rabbit or its own feline shadow.

  In fact, Simone felt a little bit like Alice in Wonderland who’d just fallen down the proverbial rabbit hole. Scarlett was the Cheshire Cat, of course, and her mother the Red Queen.

  Simone turned to Adam . . . the Mad Hatter? “Thanks for everything tonight, Adam.”

  He took one of her hands in both of his and turned it over. Leaning down, he kissed the palm, then closed her fingers over it.

  “I am so happy that you are alive and safe.”

  Had he put emphasis on safe? She should have been affronted at that reminder of the big stone wall between them, but she was feeling too tingly from his palm kiss.

  Her mother put the final zinger on the night—morning—when she said, after eyeballing Adam as he walked to his car, “There’s a voodoo priestess who lives two trailers down. I’m gonna have her put an anti–love potion curse on you, Simone, the kind that works against Cajun men with butts to die for.”

  And, Lordy, the Mad Hatter did, indeed, have a fine ass, she noted as Adam bent to slide into the driver’s seat. First, he was her knight in shining whatever, then the Mad Hatter, what next? Devil in a Lexus?

  Yep, her life was getting curiouser and curiouser.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Driving Miss Maisie . . .

  Adam drove Simone’s car out to the trailer park the following morning, with Maisie perched on the seat next to him, chattering away, as usual. The party, her friend’s new bicycle, which was pink, how to make a Dutch braid, which was an inverted French braid for those not in-the-know, where to buy the prettiest hair ties. Anything and everything was a subject for her incessant talking, especially when she had a captive audience in a moving vehicle.

  His dad was following in Adam’s Lexus.

  Actually, Adam didn’t mind Maisie’s chatter. He loved his daughter, energizer tongue and all.

  He’d gotten a brief look at the fire site when he’d picked up Simone’s vehicle, which had been parked on the street, and, in his not-so-professional opinion, the buildings were a total loss.

  The area was cordoned off with yellow-and-black barricade tape, where several people stood just staring at the mess. He doubted Simone would be able to salvage much.

  It would be a busy day for her today, and he hoped she would let him help. Knowing her, and the unresolved problems they had between them, he doubted she’d accept any of his offers. But he intended to try.

  To his dismay, he saw a lavender convertible parked out front rather lopsidedly, half on the gravel driveway, half on the small lawn, almost knocking out St. Jude and the gnome. He knew what that meant. Tante Lulu was on the premises. Already!

  Voices could be heard out back, so he and Maisie and his dad circled around the path leading to an awning-topped patio, surrounded by the promised gnome collection that Simone had alluded to. Maisie went about ballistic with delight, and Addie, who gave him a glower of unwelcome because he was a Cajun man (Like I can help that!), soon went about introducing his daughter to the dwarf clan, each of whom had names. Cajun names. Alcide, Jolie, Sugah Bee, Hector, Tee-Bob, Claudine. His daughter was practically jumping up and down with excitement. He could almost guarantee that gnomes would be added to her birthday wish list.

  Tante Lulu, sitting at a picnic table, gave him a little wave as she continued what appeared to be an explanation of St. Jude to the stunned-looking Thanh trapped on the opposite bench. Tante Lulu had that effect on people.

  Today she had normal gray hair framing her wrinkled face like a helmet, but she wore the tiniest pair of blue jeans he’d ever seen on an adult with white sneakers and pompom anklet socks. (Fathers of little girls knew about pompom socks and skinny jeans and ballet slippers and the like.) On top, her shirt proclaimed, “Cajun Princess,” and there was a picture of a girl riding a gator like a cowgirl. Maisie would probably be asking for one of those, too.

  It appeared she was talking to Thanh about her miscreant husband when explaining the patron saint of hopeless cases because she made this remark: “Some men are as useless as pogo sticks in quicksand.”

  Typical Tante Lulu.

  His father was checking out a few tomato and green pepper plants that Addie had planted at the back border of her small property. Mixed in between were onions.

  While everyone was occupied, Adam slipped in the back door to the trailer. He needed to talk to Simone, alone.

  He found her in the bathroom brushing her teeth. She must have just showered because her hair was wet and her face scrubbed clean. She wore a tight police academy T-shirt and a pair of jeans and sneakers that must have been left here at her mother’s place when she’d been a high school or college student. The shoes had once been black and were now washed to a dull gray. The denim hugged her legs and cupped her bottom like . . . like he would like to.

  The cat was sitting on the closed lid of the toilet, licking itself before spotting him. It gave him a “Not you again!” look, then jumped down and sauntered past him, probably putting a pound of cat hair on his black suit pants. He was dressed for the office.

  That’s when Simone noticed him leaning against the hallway wall, facing the open door of the bathroom, which had to be the size of a broom closet. She rinsed her mouth, spat in the sink, then dabbed at her mouth with a towel. “What?” she said as he continued to stare at her.

  “Just admiring the view.”

  “Yeah, right. I look like someone who’s been to hell and back.”

  “At least you’re back.”

  “I assume you brought my car.”

  “I did. My dad followed me. He and Maisie are out back admiring the gnomes.”

  “Thanks for bringing the car. I didn’t want to ask my mother for a lift,” she said. Then, “You brought your daughter here?”


  Why that should surprise her so much was a puzzle, until he recalled his old code of not mixing his women with his family, a code she’d been aware of. A code which was shot to hell since he’d met Simone.

  “Yep. She’ll probably think trailer parks are the epitome of cool after this.”

  “How bad is it?” Simone asked.

  He knew she wasn’t talking about trailer parks, but the fire remains, which he had to have seen when picking up her car. “Bad.”

  Her shoulders sagged, but then she straightened as if bracing herself. “I’m meeting Helene for breakfast. Then, we have an appointment with the fire marshal at eleven, and the insurance agent at noon.”

  “Already?”

  “We have to start someplace.”

  “I could help with the insurance and stuff.”

  “I can do it. I know I had a meltdown last night, but I’m strong. I’ll get through this.”

  “Atta girl!” he said, but what he thought was, You have toothpaste at the corner of your mouth. Can I kiss it off?

  She set the towel aside. “Okay, spill. What has that worried look in your eyes? I can tell something’s wrong.”

  I have telltale eyes? Man, that is not good for a lawyer. Maybe Simone can help me improve my body language, or my body, or . . . uh-oh, she’s glaring at me. “I want you to move into my house.”

  “Why?”

  “Protection.”

  “You need me to protect you?”

  “Very funny, smart-ass,” he remarked and moved into the tiny confines of the bathroom, closing the door behind him, which forced Simone to be up close and personal.

  “Now, Adam, my mother’s outside. And Tante Lulu!” She tried to back away, but there was nowhere to go. “If you keep this up, my mother will be calling the police, and Tante Lulu will be calling the priest.”

  “I don’t care,” he said, and tugged her even closer. At first, he just hugged her, caressing her back. It was probably some adrenaline rush, posttraumatic reaction, but he felt the need to assure himself Simone was alive.

  “This is insane,” she said, even as she arched her body into his.

  “How do you feel about PTSF?”

  “Huh? Don’t you mean PTSD?

  “Nope. Posttraumatic stress fucking.”

  “Where?” She laughed, craning her neck back to scan the room. “The shower?”

  “Works for me.”

  “With our clothes on?”

  “Works for me.”

  “Simone?” she heard her mother call from somewhere inside the trailer. “Are you still in the bathroom? You got any idea where that Cajun lawyer got to? He’s up ta no good, I know he is. He has that Cajun twinkle in his eyes, and I don’t like the looks of his behind. I already told you that.”

  “My behind?” he whispered.

  Simone put her fingertip to his lips so he wouldn’t give them away.

  He nipped at her fingertip.

  When they heard Addie go back outside, Adam opened the door and led Simone into the living room. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “About shower sex?”

  He smiled. “No. About the cause of the fire.”

  She went suddenly alert and must have noticed the grim expression on his face.

  “And why I want . . . need you to stay at my house . . . or in some safe house.”

  “Arson?” she guessed.

  He nodded. “Originating in the Legal Belles offices.”

  She gasped. “Pitot?”

  “I wouldn’t think so. It’s not his style.”

  “How about Mike Pham?”

  He shrugged. “He’s angry enough, but I’m not sure he’s connected the dots yet between his wife, Helene as her divorce lawyer, and Legal Belles.”

  She thought over what he’d said, then asked, “How did you find out about the arson?”

  “John LeDeux gave me the heads-up this morning as I was driving over.”

  “Why wouldn’t John give me the heads-up? He’s my half brother.”

  “I guess he knew how you’d react and wanted me to convince you that going into hiding might be the best route until the police investigate more.”

  “I am not going into hiding, and I am not moving into your house. Unless this is a proposal of marriage.”

  She was deliberately taunting him, he knew that, but still his face heated with embarrassment.

  “I didn’t think so,” she said. “You should see the look on your face, Adam. Relax, I’m not trying to rope you into some kind of commitment, and, with my record, certainly not marriage.”

  “Don’t presume to know what I’m thinking. I’m here, aren’t I? And I brought my daughter with me.”

  “Pfff! Your dad’s probably got a rifle in the car, and you’re probably packing heat under that suit jacket.” When he didn’t deny her accusation, she exclaimed, “Unbelievable! I do not need your protection.”

  “What do you need from me, Simone?”

  “If you don’t know, I’m not going to tell you.”

  He was heading back home a short time later with his father riding shotgun and his daughter in the backseat. He would drop them off and go into the office.

  Suddenly, Maisie announced, “I have a secret.”

  “Oh?”

  “Wanna know what it is?”

  “It wouldn’t be a secret if you told, would it?”

  “It’s not that kind of secret.”

  “What is it then?”

  “I’m gonna get a mommy.”

  “Whaat?” He swerved and almost hit a guard rail.

  His father chuckled and slapped his knee.

  “Kind of hard for you to get a mother without me getting a wife, isn’t it?”

  “He’s a rocket scientist,” his father murmured sarcastically. He was in a grumbly mood because Adam hadn’t stayed longer so that he could help Adelaide Daigle tie up her tomato plants. His old man had developed a thing for Simone’s mother.

  “Yer silly, Daddy. ’Course ya need a wife.”

  “From the mouths of babes,” his father said. More sarcasm.

  He decided to ignore the wife part and his father’s snarkiness. “Since when do we need a woman in the house? PawPaw is a great cook, we have a cleaning lady, and I go to work every day to pay for it.”

  “Thass not all girls do.”

  I know.

  His father was shaking with silent laughter.

  “What brought this on today, sweetie?”

  She held out the little palm-size, plastic statue she’d been given. Everyone up and down the bayou had one of those by now. “Tante Lulu sez I should pray ta St. Jude if I want somethin’ bad enough.”

  He should have known the bayou busybody had a hand in this.

  “And why would you be telling Tante Lulu that you want a mother? You hardly know her.”

  “She guessed.”

  A likely story. “Do you have anyone in particular in mind?” he asked, knowing that his daughter might very well say Tante Lulu or the lady at the pet store or the girl who sometimes came to clean the pool.

  Instead, she gave him a sly look and said, “Thass the secret.”

  Fireworks were the last thing she needed today . . .

  By the Fourth of July, Legal Belles was open for business again. Sort of. A temporary office space had been rented in a strip mall near one of the Starr Foods supermarkets. A bit out of the way, but perhaps a downtown location wasn’t necessary for the type of clientele they attracted.

  Even though it was a legal holiday, Simone was going over to organize files and fill out more of the endless insurance papers. She was not going to the Lanier pool party. Not after the way Adam had been pestering her the past three days.

  Her mother had been invited to the party by Adam’s father, but she’d decided not to go, either, especially with Thanh Pham still being her guest. A cousin of Thanh’s in Texas had invited her to come visit indefinitely, and Thanh’s sister, Kimly, was go
ing to drive her there this weekend. Mike Pham was still looking for his wife, but no overt threats had been made lately.

  Simone’s mother had become close with the Vietnamese woman and wanted to spend as much of the remaining time with her, which was no problem since she no longer had a receptionist job. No room in the temporary Legal Belles premises.

  The arson case remained unsolved. Police were investigating Marcus Pitot and Mike Pham as persons of interest, but nothing more. Simone was doing her own investigation, as well, which was the spark that had set off the latest arguments with Adam. He still couldn’t accept her dangerous occupation and cited the fire as further proof of his assertions.

  Her last words to him, yesterday, were, “It’s over. You and I are incompatible. Stop coming around.”

  His response had been the usual, “It’s not over. We are not incompatible, just not on the same page, yet. And I can’t stop. Dammit!”

  “That dammit is so telling,” Simone had said.

  “What does that mean?”

  “You do not want to care for me, dammit. I’m like a rash you hate but yearn to scratch, dammit.”

  He’d just grinned, as if scratch were another name for something else.

  “At least come to the party, dammit,” he’d coaxed. “Maisie will be so disappointed if you don’t come.”

  “Aren’t you worried about me exposing Maisie to my danger?”

  “I’ll be there to protect both of you. And my dad was a cop. And there will be plenty of other people there to make the party secure.”

  “Maisie won’t notice my absence with the crowd. And I know what you’re thinking. Me, a bikini, your smoldering eyes, the cool water of the pool, wet bikini, a little afternoon delight when no one’s looking.”

  He’d blinked at her several times. “You took the words right out of my mouth,” he’d lied.

  Simone wasn’t taking a chance.

  When all else fails, bring in the big guns . . .

  By two in the afternoon, half of the guests had arrived, the grill was sizzling, masses of food appeared, beer and pink punch flowed, water splashed, and the band was setting up. By then, Adam accepted that Simone was not coming.