Bayou Paradox (3 page)

“Sure.”

“I need to come by the station later, anyway.”

“Oh, you don't have to do that. I already have your statement.” He looked at her for a moment.

She set her chin and shook her head. “This is something else. I need to report trespassers, file a complaint or something.”

“Trespassing? Where?” He reached automatically for his notebook and pencil.

“The bayou. LeBlanc property.”

“When?” He jotted down a note.

“Yesterday and then again last night.”

He stopped writing. “Last night?”

“By flashlight. Gathering plants. They say they're with some pharmaceutical company doing research.”

Oh. Nothing to get excited about. Bubba slipped the notebook back into his pocket. “Fairly common around here. You should know that.”

“After midnight? After I'd already told them to get off my property?”

He let out a long breath and caught sight of a nurse waving at him from the doorway. “You can come by and file a complaint, but chances are, they won't be back. If you'll excuse me, it's time for my visit with Aunt Tanty.”

Following the nurse down the hallway, Bubba pondered Tara's adamant claim that someone had made his aunt sick. From training, he knew some criminals tried to “help” the police as a way to assuage their guilt. Others just wanted to get caught. Was Tara one of those?

He shook off the preposterous idea and stepped into his aunt's room. Machines beeped and hummed, filling him with dread. Those were the first sounds he'd heard when he'd regained consciousness. Then his best friend's voice.

Bubba slipped into the bedside chair and gripped his aunt's hand. How paper-thin her skin felt. “Aunt Tanty.” His words came out as a croak. He cleared his throat. “Aunt Tanty, I'm here.”

Her face didn't change. Her hand didn't squeeze his. Could she hear him? He recalled bits and pieces of his own time in a coma. Snatches of voices, pinpricks of conversation.

Would any of that seep into his aunt's conscious mind? Maybe, maybe not. But he knew God was still on the throne and still in the miracle business.

He leaned closer to his aunt's ear. “I love you, Aunt Tanty. But someone else loves you even more. For once, I'm not going to remain silent. You're going to listen to me about Jesus. About salvation. About eternal life.”

L
ifeless.

That was how Tanty appeared, lying so still in the hospital bed. After the sheriff left, Tara decided to wait for the next visiting time to see her mentor. Now she kept vigil as the beeps and blips from the machines attached to Tanty kept a droning rhythm.

Tara swallowed against a mouth as dry as the bayou right now.
Just open your eyes, Tanty. Look at me.

But the woman didn't move an eyelid. So still. The tube down her throat rasped as the machine kept her breathing. Goose bumps pimpled Tara's arms as she stared at the IV drip. If only Tanty could swallow. Tara had a healing potion in her purse, but no way to get it into Tanty's system. Dare she try to slip some into the bag hanging from the pole?

Tests being run? Right. They'd only look for natural causes for Tanty's condition. But Tara knew better. Someone had deliberately done this. If the police wouldn't investigate properly, then she would.

She squeezed Tanty's hand a final time before planting a kiss on the woman's thinning hair and rushing from the room. Tara blinked away hot tears as she passed the nurses' station.

Somebody was responsible, and Tara would make sure they paid.

The Louisiana sun beat down on Lagniappe as Tara drove to Tanty's house. Those client records being out of the filing cabinet had bothered her all night while she brewed the healing potion. Tanty never left documentation of her clients' identities just lying around in the open. Never. She considered it a violation of their privacy. She'd never even shown real ones to Tara, only ones she'd filled out in order to teach accurate record-keeping.

Tara would start her investigation in the workhouse with those files. Might be considered invading someone's privacy, but she needed answers.

Voodoo practice demanded justice for Tanty.

So did Tara.

The old homestead stood as still and quiet as it had when the police had left last night. Tara glanced around before making her way to the shed. She'd locked it up last night with the sheriff before she left. Her key turned easily in the lock.

A trace of the burning stench lingered in the close, still room. Tara opened the windows and propped open the door. Being there without Tanty felt wrong. Very wrong. She shoved off the eerie sensation, opened the filing cabinet and pulled out the three client sheets she'd secured yesterday.

Meow!

The cat jumped onto the counter, tail twitching.

“Oh, Spook, I'm so sorry. I bet nobody remembered to feed you.” She grabbed the bag of cat food from the cabinet and shook some into his bowl, then filled his water basin. “I'm sorry,” she whispered as she gave his back a rub. The cat ignored her, digging into his food.

Dropping onto a stool, Tara studied the first piece of paper. Under the date, not even thirty days ago, the following information was penned in Tanty's neat block letters:

 

Tara reread the notes. Distraught, huh? Suzie Richard, Suzie Richard…Tara couldn't bring a face to the name. She grabbed the phone book from Tanty's desk and looked under R. No Suzie Richard in the book. Probably listed under her husband's name. Where had Tara heard the name before?

She'd come back to that. Tara turned the paper facedown on the desk and read from the second client sheet, also dated last month.

Tara remembered him. He'd been to see Grandmere several times in the months leading to Alyssa and CoCo's brainwashing of their grandmother. What for? He'd been upset? She'd have to ask Grandmere about him when she got home.

Flipping to the last client sheet, she noted it was also dated April.

Tara glanced out the window facing the bayou. Most people didn't talk about their voodoo treatments, but it wasn't exactly a huge secret in Lagniappe. If she had to guess, she'd say at least forty percent of the townspeople had sought out a priestess for some sort of treatment.

Hold the presses! Rebekah Carlson…
Mayor
Carlson's wife? Respected pillar of the community? Oh, my, no wonder Mrs. Carlson was so concerned about someone seeing her. Tara glanced back at the note. Formula 38. Now, which one was that treatment for? She'd have to use Tanty's master ledger.

Gravel crunched in the driveway. Tara jumped to her feet and stared out the window in front of the house. A police cruiser rolled to a stop, followed by a truck with the gas company's logo. Tara quickly unlocked the desk drawer, grabbed the master ledger and shoved it and the three pieces of paper into her backpack. She slammed down the windows and pulled the door behind her just as Deputy Anderson paused by her car.

“What're you doing here, Ms. LeBlanc?”

“Just came by to get some of my things I'd left here.” She took deliberate steps to her Mustang. Spook whooshed through the cat door and scampered off into the bayou. “And I needed to feed Tanty's cat. Poor thing's bowl was empty.”

“Uh, you shouldn't be around here anymore. Not until the sheriff clears it.”

She tossed her backpack into the passenger seat through the open window and crossed her arms over her chest. “Is this a crime scene now?” Maybe, just maybe, they'd gotten a test result back and the sheriff would take her seriously now.

“Not exactly, but until we're sure there's no gas leak or something, you need to steer clear of the area.”

Tara snorted and slipped behind the steering wheel. It figured they would still blow off her beliefs. “I'm not going to let the cat starve. I'll be leaving now, but I'll come back tomorrow to feed Spook.”

The deputy stared at her as she turned the car and headed home. She glanced in her rearview mirror and found him still standing in the driveway. Probably wondering if he should've inspected her pack.

Too late. They wouldn't know what to do with the information, anyway.

Her stomach rumbled as she parked in front of her house. She'd skipped breakfast, wanting to get to the hospital to check on Tanty. Grandmere had said she'd make crawfish-stuffed
pistolettes
for lunch, and Tara's mouth watered at the thought. She bounded up the creaking stairs and flew into the house.

No enticing smell greeted her. The house stood as silent as a tomb.

Tara stuck her head into the kitchen and took in the scene. Counters wiped clean. Cabinets shut tight. Towel neatly folded by the stove.

Nope, Grandmere hadn't even made the preparations for the
pistolettes.
Very odd. They weren't exactly something whipped up in less than fifteen minutes. The coffeepot's “on” button glowed. Tara punched it off. Two coffee cups sat in the sink beside two plates and forks. Grandmere'd obviously had company this morning. Who?

“Grandmere,” Tara called as she headed down the hall.

No reply. A freaky sense of déjà vu crept over Tara. So similar to…yesterday.

Quickening her pace, Tara called out again. “Grandmere. Where are you?” She pushed open her grandmother's door. The bed, neatly made, sat empty, just like the rest of the room.

The icy chill returned, settling between her shoulder blades. Her head pounded as her pulse spiked. She flew into the hall, her feet moving of their own volition.

Tara rushed to the bathroom. The door was cracked. She pushed it fully open. “Grandmere?”

Her heart leaped into her throat. Her grandmother lay sprawled over the sink. Tara ran forward and eased the old woman into her lap. “Noooo!”

She felt desperately for a pulse against the panic and fear hammering in her chest.

Faint and thready, but detectable.

Again the cold encased Tara's heart, and the feeling came through loud and clear—someone had done this to Grandmere.

She reached for the cell phone in her pocket but kept her eyes glued to Grandmere's face.

Her colorless, unconscious face.

 

The late afternoon sun kissed the top of the hospital's roof. The sheriff stared into the sky, his thoughts and emotions uneasy. Another elderly Lagniappe citizen had fallen into a coma for no apparent reason.

Bubba entered the hospital again, his mind reeling. No test results had come back on why his aunt had lost consciousness, and now Marie LeBlanc had been rushed to the hospital with the same strange illness barely twenty-four hours later. Something was going on in his town, and he intended to find out what. He headed to the nurses' station outside the emergency room.

“Sheriff.”

It was Tara LeBlanc. She stood in the hallway, her eyes red and puffy. Her long hair was captured in a ponytail at the nape of her neck, spilling over her shoulder and down her back. She looked delicate, alone. His heart tugged and he took her arm. “How's your grandmother?”

“Unconscious.” She pulled free of his grip.

“Did the paramedics indicate any reason? Maybe she had another heart attack?” The old woman'd had one a year or so ago.

“No. They have her on a monitor now, but the preliminary EKG shows it wasn't her heart. She's just unconscious. Sound familiar?” Her soft tone now shifted to downright sarcastic.

Anxious enough himself, he reached into his pocket for his notebook and pencil. He'd just ignore the tone. Better to keep it all business. Despite the fact that even under duress she still struck a chord in him. One that made him want to hug her and comfort her, protect her. “I'll need to ask you a few questions. Do you have a minute now, or do you need to be with your grandmother?”

“They're preparing her to move up to ICU, so I'm fine. But your questions aren't going to do any good. The door was open to the house when I got home. Nothing had been disturbed. I found Grandmere just lying over the sink in the bathroom.” Her voice cracked on the last sentence, the sarcasm giving way to fear and worry.

“Where had you been?”

She hauled in a breath, releasing it with a slight hiss. “At Tanty's.”

What? He stared at her. “Whatever for?”

“I, uh, needed to feed Spook. I didn't even go into the house. Deputy Anderson and the guy from the gas company got there just as I was leaving.”

“Stay away from there for now.”

“The cat has to be fed.”

“I'll take care of him.”

“I have a key. It's not like I broke in or anything.” Her tone resembled a child's defensive whine.

The thought occurred to him again—could she know something and subconsciously be trying to tell him?

Her big brown eyes filled with unshed tears. No, she'd never do anything to hurt Tanty, much less her own grandmother.

Time to bring the subject back in hand. “Did you notice anything unusual at your house?”

“Already told you, no.” She popped her knuckles. “Well, somebody must have visited Grandmere this morning because there were two cups and plates in the sink. She hadn't mentioned anyone planning to come by.”

“Was that unusual? People just dropping in to say hello?”

“Clients used to quite a bit, but ever since Grandmere
found God,
the only people who show up are church folk.”

Her animosity wasn't hard to miss, but he let it go. This had to be extremely trying for her. Especially since CoCo and Luc were on their honeymoon and Alyssa and Jackson lived in New Orleans. Basically, she would have to handle a serious situation on her own. “I'll need to come by and check things out later.”

She shrugged. “The house is unlocked. Be my guest to poke around. You won't find anything.”

He'd argue the point, but chances were he'd find just what he'd found at Aunt Tanty's—zilch. A big fat nothing.

“This isn't a coincidence, Sheriff.” Her sharp tone brought his focus to her.

“I'll be investigating what happened to your grandmother, Tara.” He kept his voice low, his tone even. Professional. Authoritative. Well, at least he hoped that was how he sounded.

She huffed out a breath. “Like you're investigating what happened to Tanty?”

He didn't take offense. She would lash out at everyone. Perfectly natural response. “We're running every possible test to find out what caused these symptoms, I assure you.”