Only By Moonlight

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All names, characters, stories, and incidents
featured in this novel are imaginary. They are not inspired by any
individual person, incidents or events known or unknown to the
author. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is
coincidental.

Copyright 2013 Margaret Emery Hubbard

ISBN: 978-0-9886303-5-2

Smashwords Edition

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enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to
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of this author.

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Chapter 1

On a cold, windy February day, LaShaun sat
across from Chase at her kitchen table as they had lunch. Chase had
taken a break from being a deputy and chasing down crime to relax.
She’s fixed his favorite to lure him away for a few minutes: a
sandwich made of tender roast beef on French bread with spicy Cajun
mustard. She’d entertained him with small talk before telling him
about her visit to the courthouse in Abbeville for her cousin’s
sentencing hearing. Chase said nothing as she spoke, but maintained
a tight blank expression as he slowly ate. When LaShaun got to the
end of her account, Chase carefully wiped his mouth with a
napkin.

“Bad idea on like six different levels. My
advice? Steer clear of Azalei. She’s seven different kinds of bad
news.”

“Azalei has her faults, but even I kinda felt
sorry for her. Though I know she brought it on herself,” LaShaun
added thoughtfully.

Chase downed the last bit of ginger ale in
the tall glass mug and crossed to the dishwasher. He stacked his
lunch dishes inside it. Then he turned around, still wiping his
mouth with a large paper napkin. “Bad news,” he repeated.

“Well I…” LaShaun started and stopped when
Chase held up a large hand.

“I’m just saying, LaShaun. We got enough on
our plate. And what’s with this mysterious ‘It’s not over’ crap.
Nah, ignore the dramatics. Bad news,” Chase said.

“She could be finally willing to drop a few
tidbits about Quentin Trosclair. He’s been getting away with murder
in Vermilion Parish for years,” LaShaun replied and grinned when
Chase let out a loud groan.

“If I have to deal with that spoiled rich
asshole one more time, I’ll be on trial for murder,” Chase blurted
out.

“I know, honey. Maybe Azalei means she wants
to explain herself and try to make up for what she’s done. Not that
it will bring Rita back or…” LaShaun’s voice trailed off. There was
no arguing that Azalei’s scheming lies led to their cousin Rita’s
death. “I know what it’s like to set loose evil and be helpless to
stop what you put in motion.”

Chase tossed the napkin into the kitchen
trash can and walked to LaShaun. He pulled her up from the kitchen
chair to wrap both his brawny arms around her. “Come here. You
believe that Monmon Odette would want you two to repair this big
rip in the family. But, sweetie, it ain’t gonna happen. You got the
land and the money they wanted.”

“Well, that didn’t end up being the warm
reassurance I was expecting,” LaShaun tossed at him with a sigh.
Then she looked up into his dark Cajun eyes. “Okay, okay. You’re
right. We won’t be having fuzzy family reunions any time soon. I
get that.”

“Just stating the facts, ma’am.” Chase kissed
her on the cheek, and then let go. He checked his phone for text
messages. “For some damn reason, we got a rash of burglaries. Wait,
let me check that. I know the reason; drugs.”

“Meth labs and so-called ‘bath salts’. Folks
come up with some interesting ways to self-destruct.” LaShaun shook
her head.

Chase continued to scroll through messages.
“Even in our pretty Cajun countryside, people get stupid or evil.
Poverty and chaos are everywhere.”

“Thanks for stopping by to share that
cheerful thought, Deputy Broussard,” LaShaun said.

Chase put his phone back into the case
clipped to his belt. He grabbed her in a bear hug again. “Well,
we’ve got some happy stuff to talk about, like our wedding in
April. My brother says Adrianna is having a ball being your
coordinator. She’s dragged him to three different florists getting
ideas.”

LaShaun grinned. “Your sister-in-law is
enjoying this way too much, and for the wrong reasons.” Then
LaShaun grew serious. “Your mother…”

“If she’s not there then that’s her problem,”
Chase said easily. “Hey, I said we were going to have happy talk.
My sisters, my brother and Adrianna, and even my daddy will be
there. She won’t be thrilled about it, but she will. Grandstanding
won’t get Queen Elizabeth the attention she wants, so she’ll come
around.”

“If you say so. You know her better than me,”
LaShaun said raising her eyebrows. Elizabeth Broussard didn’t
impress LaShaun as a woman who bluffed.

Before Chase could reply, his phone beeped.
He took it out again and tapped the screen. “Damn, high priority;
which means…”

She watched his expression. Chase walked away
a few steps. When a law enforcement officer’s cell phone went off,
it usually wasn’t good. Chase stood in the bay window that
overlooked her back lawn. He spoke quietly for a few minutes before
he turned around.

“Gotta move. People are crazy,” he
muttered.

“Somebody been stupid or evil? Which is it
this time?” LaShaun followed him to the back door.

He leaned down and kissed her on the lips.
“Watch the news. That’s all I can say.”

Moments later he drove away in his Vermilion
Parish Sheriff’s Department cruiser. LaShaun closed the door and
went to the wall mounted television. She found the remote and tuned
to the local station. A pretty blonde anchorwoman at the Lafayette
station read the noon news.

“To recap, three teenagers were found two
hours ago hanging from an oak tree near the small town of Kaplan.
The Vermilion Parish Sheriff’s Department is on the scene. We’ll
update this breaking story as details become available. Let’s turn
to the weather now. Clay Wilcox has our forecast. Can we hope for a
warm up by Mardi Gras, Clay?” The woman lost her grim expression
and engaged in light banter with the weatherman.

LaShaun hit the mute button. The chill moving
along her arms had nothing to do with the cold temperature. Just as
she was about to leave the kitchen, a soft sound of bells stopped
her. She went to the wall mounted phone and lifted the handset.
This time she wasn’t surprised by the contralto female voice on the
line.

***

LaShaun sat on one of four chairs around Mrs.
Rose Fontenot’s breakfast table the next morning. She could only
imagine the number of curse words Chase would let out if he knew.
LaShaun smiled at the image of Chase pulling one large hand down
his face in frustration. Rustling to her left caused LaShaun to
focus back on the elderly woman moving around the parlor. Sister
Rose, as she was called by a lot of people, still stood tall
despite her seventy-four years. People in Mouton Cove swore her
apparent hardiness proved she had supernatural power.

Miss Rose fussed with a lovely china serving
set with magnolia blossoms painted onto a white background. The
scent of Louisiana dark roast coffee rose from the carafe. Matching
cups, saucers, sugar bowl, and small cream pitcher were also
arranged on a round honey oak Lazy Susan.

“Miss Rose, you don’t have to go to any
trouble. You know I’m not a guest,” LaShaun said. She felt
pleasantly full after eating fluffy scrambled eggs, and
sausage.

“I’m from the old school as they say. You
need to serve folks some refreshment when they drop by to visit,”
Miss Rose replied as she refilled two cups with the steaming dark
brew.

“Yes, ma’am,” LaShaun replied. She knew
better than to argue with Rose Mouton Fontenot.

“I don’t get over your way often; otherwise I
would have been over to check on you.” Miss Rose nodded as she
placed a cup in front of LaShaun. “Have a slice of my banana bread.
Perfect way to finish off breakfast.”

LaShaun patted her mid-section. “No, thank
you, ma’am. I’m stuffed.”

Miss Rose chuckled. “Lord, I’m showing my
age. This is how we used to eat before going out to the fields.
Hard work, child. My daddy and granddaddy didn’t have these modern
combines to harvest that rice.”

“No, ma’am,” LaShaun said. She sipped more
coffee and waited.

“Well, you didn’t drive over here to hear an
old woman ramble on.” Miss Rose chuckled again.

“You can ramble all you want, Miss Rose.
That’s the privilege of elderly ladies,” LaShaun said and grinned
at her.

Miss Rose wagged a forefinger at LaShaun.
“Smart mouth just like your mama and Odette.” Then she sighed. “I
miss my friend and our long talks.”

Miss Rose and Monmon Odette had met when Miss
Rose taught school. Francine, LaShaun’s mother, had stayed in
trouble right up until she dropped out of high school. Monmon
Odette frequently declared that Miss Rose was the best teacher
around. Their efforts to keep Francine on the right path forged a
decades-long friendship. The two women had something else in
common; the gift of second sight.

“I’m back, Rose,” a gruff voice called
out.

The thump of a door slamming shut sounded a
few seconds later, and then he walked in. Miss Rose called Pierre
her “young” husband. He was, but only by four years.

“Alright, you don’t have to tell the entire
parish,” Miss Rose replied loudly. Then she lowered her voice.
“Every Wednesday he meets his men friends down at the local diner
for breakfast. They flap their lips like they know what they’re
talking about.”

“Me and Mack going down to look at the river,
see how the water is running. Might be able to tell what the
fishing will be like come spring.” Mr. Pierre stopped short when he
noticed LaShaun. “How you young lady?”

“I’m fine, sir. You look well.” LaShaun
crossed to him and pecked him on the cheek.

“See, Rose? You better treat me right. I can
still catch the eye of pretty women.” Mr. Pierre laughed harder at
his own joke than either of them. A car horn blew. “Y’all don’t be
talkin’ ‘bout me when I’m gone. I’ll be back around lunchtime.”

“Bye. That man,” Miss Rose said as if she
didn’t need to explain anything else. She listened to the door open
and close, and then she turned to gaze at LaShaun for a few
moments. Her amused expression faded away.

“So, you called me for a reason,” LaShaun
said. She felt a familiar prickle on her arms.

Miss Rose walked over to a beautiful pine
kitchen cupboard. LaShaun guessed it to be at least one hundred
years old. Miss Rose opened one of the drawers and returned to the
table with a worn scrapbook.

“The children they found hanging; that’s a
bad sign, cher. I’ve been watching the news. They talk about how
kids have been dabbling in devil worship and such out in the
woods.” Miss Rose suddenly seemed to feel her age. Gone was her
sprightly demeanor. She moved stiffly as she sat down again.

“Kids acting stupid. We both know they don’t
have a clue about what they’re doing,” LaShaun said. When Miss Rose
pointed to the scrapbook, LaShaun opened it. The first page had
four small leaves in wax paper envelops taped to it.

“Never mind those,” Miss Rose turned the
pages and tapped the fifth. “Look here.”

“Okay, you’ve been collecting articles...
from the eighteen hundreds?” LaShaun raised an eyebrow as she
glanced at Miss Rose.

“I’m old, but I ain’t that old, girl,” Miss
Rose wisecracked and then grew serious again. “Where did they find
those silly youngsters?”

“Off Highway 694 on Indian Bayou Road,”
LaShaun replied. She knew that Miss Rose wasn’t asking the question
because she didn’t know the answer.

Miss Rose nodded slowly. “That land used to
be part of the Sweet Olive Plantation. Read the top article.”

“Horror at Metier Mansion,” LaShaun read the
dramatic headline.

“Now look at this.” Miss Rose turned more
pages.

“Another article from 1937, another in 1956,
another in 1967. Couple found dead, murder-suicide suspected,”
LaShaun said and looked at her. “Scrapbooking is a nice past time,
but Miss Rose, you’ve got a creepy hobby.”