Between Dusk and Dawn Page 2

  “I’m going to think about what you said, seriously think about it. Because I know this means a lot to you, for me to be absolutely sure I’ve made the right decision. But I have to tell you, giving you up ain’t the answer, cher. Being Sheriff just wouldn’t be enough without the love of my life.” Chase gently tugged LaShaun’s arm until she lay nestled against him again.

  LaShaun let out a sigh of relief inwardly at his response. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  Chase reached under the covers and lightly smacked her bare bottom. “And I’m warning you, get used to putting up with me a lot longer than you figured.”

  She wiggled with pleasure and managed to get even closer to him. “What did I do to deserve a spanking?”

  “Trying to talk me out of a good thing, that’s what.” Chase kissed the top of her head. Then he threw back the covers and stood up.

  “And where are you going?” LaShaun sat up in surprise. She enjoyed the view as he bent over to pick up his underwear. The dark blue briefs had somehow landed on the hardwood hallway floor just outside the bedroom.

  He turned around and stepped into them, then stood with one hand on his waist. “I’m going home, ma’am. I’m not going to get into the habit of spending nights at your place.”

  “Good idea. That will generate less gossip.” LaShaun nodded, though the bed already felt colder without him.

  “Forget politics. When we start keeping house I want it to be for real. Right now we’re still dating, and I’m letting you get comfortable with being part of a couple.” Chase went out and came back with his shirt and pants. “I don’t want you to get too skittish on me, more than you already are that is.”

  “I’m thinking of you,” LaShaun protested with a huff.

  “Uh-huh, I believe it. Being alone is a way to feel safe. So maybe a little part of you is afraid?” He pulled on his pants and zipped them, then paused, still holding his shirt.

  “Now you’re the one talking nonsense.” LaShaun slapped at the beautiful quilt that served as her bedspread as though straightening it. She avoided looking at him for a few seconds. When he didn’t say anything she glanced at him. “What?”

  “LaShaun Rousselle, dangerous magic woman, is a scared of me. I’m one powerful dude.”

  “So full of yourself, Mr. Deputy Sheriff,” LaShaun retorted. She snatched up the round accent pillow that matched the quilt and aimed it at his head.

  Chase laughed and caught it. “Okay, darlin’. I won’t tease you. Now give me a goodnight kiss to send me on my way.”

  “I’m not sure you deserve one.” LaShaun didn’t resist when he leaned down to her. In fact she wrapped her arms around his necked and kissed him hard. “Now get on home.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’ll call you tomorrow. Oh, and be careful to...”

  “Lock the door, keep my shotgun handy and the phone close by,” LaShaun repeated his favorite mini-lecture on safety each time he left her alone. She put her lips to his ear. “If you stayed the night more often I would be well protected.”

  He gave her another pat on the bottom. “When you’re ready. Now come on and lock up.”

  “What does that mean?” LaShaun pulled her robe from a hook on the closet door and padded after him down the hallway to the back door.

  Chase tipped an imaginary cowboy hat at her. “You know exactly what I’m talkin’ about, ma’am.” He blew a kiss and went out the door.

  “Smart ass,” LaShaun muttered. She clicked the locks in place then hugged herself and smiled.

  *****

  Two hours later the musical bells from her landline phone finally cut through the fog of sleep. LaShaun rolled onto her back and looked at the red numbers on the digital clock next to her bed. Her pulse picked up as anxiety flooded through her. Nobody called with good news at two o’clock in the morning. The soft glow from the night light in the hall kept her from groping around in the dark. She found the phone on the fifth ring before her voice mail picked up.

  “Hello,” she said, forgetting to check the caller ID first. When she did glance at it said, “Unknown”.

  “Don’t let ‘em get her. You got to help,” said a raspy female voice raspy, desperate and like she was in deep trouble.

  Chapter 2

  Tuesday morning, and just four hours after that early phone call, LaShaun sat at her kitchen table. Bright sunshine, still new to the day, lit up the lovely fall day. Fatigue kept sneaking up on LaShaun, but she fought off the urge to yawn several times. The mystery surrounding that call had made it hard for her to go back to sleep, but an hour after that intense ten minute conversation, she’d managed to drop off. LaShaun’s visitor, on the other hand, looked as though she hadn’t slept at all. LaShaun had agreed to this crack of dawn meeting because Mrs. Clothilde Arceneaux had sounded so disturbed. Two china cups of strong Louisiana dark roast coffee sat between them on the table. LaShaun waited patiently for Miss Clo, as she was affectionately called around the parish, to get to the point. The grandmother of Acting Sheriff M.J. Arceneaux, who had become one of LaShaun’s only two female friends in the town, Miss Clo wore a plain pink blouse tucked into a long floral skirt. At seventy-four, she still looked good and kept active.

  LaShaun had more waiting and less patience after another fifteen minutes of listening to Miss Clo. She chattered about local church events, her grandson’s school awards and the weather. LaShaun was about to push her to the reason for her visit when the older woman put down her cup and sighed.

  “I expect you’re tired of me blabbing on like a nervous squawking hen.” Miss Clo patted her lips with a napkin.

  “No, ma’am. You take your time,” LaShaun said, hoping she would ignore that invitation.

  Miss Clo smiled at her. “Your monmon did a good job teaching you manners. But I’ve been testing your patience long enough. I just don’t know how to tell it. And she wouldn’t come with me.” She sighed and fidgeted with the floral cloth purse in her lap.

  “Just start with something simple. Now, who wouldn’t come with you?”LaShaun asked.

  LaShaun got up and took the warm biscuits out of the oven. She reasoned that not staring at Miss Clo might make it easier for her to gather her thoughts. LaShaun retrieved softened butter and fig preserves she made from the ripe fruit of her own trees. She set the simple country breakfast on the table and poured them both more hot coffee from a ceramic carafe.

  “Joyelle LeJeun. We’ve been friends since childhood. She’s a good person, devoted to her church work and her family. Some of the nasty talk goin’ around is enough to make me get out my husband’s pistol and let them bullets be my answer.”

  “How would it be if M.J. had to arrest her own monmon?” LaShaun pressed her lips together to keep from laughing at the image.

  “She’d do it, too! Myrtle Jean believes in obeyin’ the law,” Miss Clo said with a grin. Then she became serious.

  “Who or what has you this fired up?” LaShaun put a biscuit and a spoonful of preserves on a saucer for her.

  “Thank you, cher. I’m hungry, mais oui.” Miss Clo nibbled delicately on the biscuit then put it aside. “You know Joyelle?”

  “No, ma’am, I don’t recall Miss Joyelle right offhand, but I was gone for a few years living in Los Angeles,” LaShaun replied.

  “She lives over in Bayou Rouge. Her daughter has that beauty shop on Magnolia Street in Sweet Bayou.” Miss Clo looked at LaShaun as if that should explain it all.

  “Yes, ma’am.” LaShaun knew the little village about six miles away from the center of Beau Chene, but still didn’t place the LeJeun family.

  “Anyway, Joyelle is blessed with a gift from God.” Miss Clo looked at LaShaun and cleared her throat. “Not exactly like yours, of course.”

  “I’m sure,” LaShaun replied quietly.

  She knew what it must have taken Miss Clo to visit her. The Arceneaux family was well respected in Beau Chene as devout Christians, hard-working people who would help anyone at anytime; polar opposite of the popu
lar opinion about the Rousselle clan.

  “But Myrtle Jean says you’re good people. She’s a bit hard-headed like her daddy, but she’s got good commonsense. Just wish she’d use some of it to see she should marry Ben Volant. You know Ben? He’s been crazy for her since they was in high school and—see, there I go rambling again.”

  “That’s okay,” LaShaun said. Despite her desire to get to the heart of Miss Clo’s visit, that tidbit about M.J.’s love life was worth a bit of digression. She smiled and nodded at the Acting Sheriff’s grandmother.

  “Back to the reason I’m here. Joyelle is a traiteur.” Miss Clo said the word softly and with reverence.

  “Yes, of course. My grandmother spoke often of the traiteurs using prayer and herbs to treat all kinds of ailments.” LaShaun remembered once more why being home in Creole country made her feel whole. The old ways made her feel even closer to her grandmother and other ancestors.

  “Oui. Lots of folks living in the bayou still call a traiteur before they call a doctor. When prayers go up the blessings come down. It is not for us to know why Le Bon Dieu touches some and not others. His ways are not our ways,” Miss Clo said. “Joyelle hasn’t told another soul, not even Nolan; that’s her husband by the way. But she’s had a lot of strange cases for the last year or so. The first two or three folks, she thought some kinda strange virus was going around. Then back in August a lady from over in Iberia Parish brought in her boy child. She said he was having fevers and running away at night. Then he’d come home all filthy and covered with scratches.”

  LaShaun felt a prickle down her neck as Miss Clo’s voice went lower, as though she didn’t like speaking of these things above a whisper. “Boys like to sneak out and get into mischief, especially country boys.”

  “Joyelle thought so, too. He couldn’t say where he went or what he was doin’. Me and Joyelle raised six boys between us, so we know how they can be. But Joyelle said this was different. The child had a couple of fevers around the same time. And he looked confused, like he didn’t remember anything.”

  “He might not want to confess he’s been playing with his friends.” LaShaun shrugged.

  Miss Clo nodded. “That’s exactly what Joyelle told his mama. Then the mama pulled out his t-shirt and pajama pants he’d had on one of those nights. They had spots of blood on ‘em. And the boy was cut, nothing but a few scrapes on his arms. Nothing that would cause that much blood.”

  “Maybe one of his friends got hurt, or they killed some animals. Even more reason he wouldn’t want to tell what really happened.” LaShaun gazed out of the bay window next to the table. Once again she was being drawn into strange events in the countryside. She had a growing prickle that this was not just a tale of naughty boys breaking curfew.

  “Maybe so, but the boy looked so strange it gave Joyelle the jitters. Still she said prayers for him and his mama. For the fevers. Joyelle gave his mama some ginger root, cayenne pepper and cloves to make him a tea. She also gave her some cloth tea bags to put in his bath water.” Miss Clo finished the cup of coffee.

  “Yes, that’s a common treatment for fevers.” LaShaun remembered her grandmother tying small bags filled with herbs. “Monmon Odette used those to treat several of my cousins for fever.”

  “Oui,” Miss Clo said and pursed her lips, but said no more about LaShaun’s infamous grandmother and her reputation. “And the boy got better real quick.”

  “Okay, so why isn’t that the end of the story?” LaShaun asked as she sipped her coffee.

  “This week a woman came to Joyelle. She first complained of having strange dreams. Then the rest of her troubles came out. Her husband accused her of cheatin’ on him because he caught her goin’ out at night. She’d come back with her clothes all messed up and sayin’ she didn’t know what he was talkin’ about.” Miss Clo shook her head. “Somethin’ ain’t right in this parish. “

  LaShaun put down her cup. “I’m not sure what you want me to do.”

  “Talk to Joyelle. She’s worried, but she wouldn’t come with me because... well.” Miss Clo shrugged.

  “She’s scared of getting mixed up with the Rousselles, and me in particular, I know. But so far I don’t see anything supernatural in what you told me. Because that is why you woke me up so early and showed up with the sunrise, right? I’m supposed to be the Vermillion Parish Voodoo queen.” LaShaun gazed at her with a raised eyebrow.

  “Let me tell you, I never called you evil,” Miss Clo blurted out in a rush. “A little wild maybe, but that’s all in the past. I know because my Myrtle Jean wouldn’t say it if it wasn’t so, and that’s what I tell folks when they bring up gossip about you.”

  “I thank you for defending me, Miss Clo.” LaShaun gave her hand a pat and smiled. “Tell your friend not to worry. All she’s got is a little boy that just happened to get sick around the same time he snuck out at night to play. This woman is stepping out on her husband, but didn’t have the sense or imagination to come up with a believable story when she got caught. No spirit possession, no mojo, nothing but plain old small town shenanigans.”

  “But what about Reverend Fletcher goin’ around sayin’ Joyelle is consorting with the devil? He’s got people avoiding one of the sweetest and most good-hearted women on this earth.” Miss Clo hissed with frustration.

  “I don’t know the name.” LaShaun wore a slight frown.

  “He’s been in town about seven or eight months now. He took over as the new minister at Redemption Baptist Church, except now they done changed the name to the Church of Sweet Redemption. They’re real strict on their members, especially the women I hear. Anyway, Pastor Fletcher even has a radio broadcast. Some members of the church left, didn’t like his ways. But others who’ve known Joyelle for years told him about her. He says she’s dealing in sorcery of some kind. He even convinced some folks she’s the cause of their ailments, including that boy’s mama.”

  “Adding me into the mix sure won’t help that kind of talk die down,” LaShaun said with a laugh. She grew serious at the look of chastisement from the older woman. “Sorry, but believe me I’ve faced that kind of treatment all my life, and so did Monmon Odette. One crazy pastor spreading gossip won’t hurt her.”

  “But Joyelle’s name is being dragged through the mud,” Miss Clo said with heat. “Joyelle’s husband has been hearing whispers from his co-workers. One of the supervisors at that plant is a deacon at that church. She’s worried he’ll lose his job because of her.”

  “The big oil refinery the Trosclairs own?” LaShaun thought of the rich, powerful local family she’d crossed swords with more than once.

  “That’s the one.”

  “He should sue their pants off if they fire him over something that crazy. But I still don’t know what you want me to do, Miss Clo. In fact, your friend doesn’t even want me involved.” LaShaun shook her head.

  Miss Clo sighed. “So you won’t at least talk to the boy’s mama, or Patsy? I told them you would try to help.”

  “You did what?” LaShaun squinted at her.

  “I guess you too busy managing all that land and money, and thinking about your own affairs. Sorry to interrupt your mornin’.”

  Miss Clo rose and hooked her purse over an elbow. She started to leave, then came back to the table and wrapped two of the fluffy homemade biscuits in a napkin. With a curt nod, she headed down the hallway toward the front door.

  On nothing but the strength of M.J.’s word, Miss Clo had ignored the advice of several of her neighbors to steer clear of Rousselles, and expecially LaShaun. She’d visited LaShaun in the days after Monmon Odette’s death to bring comfort in the form of home cooking and kind words. She hadn’t pushed her friendship on LaShaun. She seemed to sense that LaShaun was used to being alone. Still LaShaun knew she had an older woman to turn to, a grandmother figure, if she felt the need for one.

  “I’m sure the talk will die down,” LaShaun said as she followed behind her friend and tried not to feel badly about dismissing her concerns
.

  “Maybe so,” Miss Clo tossed back over her shoulder. Once she got to the screen door leading to the long front porch she turned to face LaShaun. “I hope you have a good day, darlin’.”

  “Miss Clo--”

  The proud mother of seven and grandmother of twenty raised a hand like a school crossing guard stopping traffic. “No need to beat a dead horse. You’re right. These two poor things suffering from Lord knows what ain’t your problem.”

  “It’s not that I don’t care, but...” LaShaun looked at a stoic and determined face. “I’ll talk to one of them. If I say there’s nothing odd or strange that should be the end of it.”

  “Of course. Joyelle and I will be here at two o’clock on Thursday. She said afternoon would be fine.” Miss Clo started went down the steps then stopped and turned around. “I mean, if that’s a good time for you.”

  “Thursday at two o’clock is fine. Should I bake cookies, too?” LaShaun quipped. Her sarcasm missed the target.

  Miss Clo waved a hand in the air and continued on to her little Chevy Traverse. “No, cher. I’ll bring some of my chocolate chip and walnut oatmeal cookies. You just make the coffee. Bye, now.”

  “Yeah, no problem. Make the coffee, eat a cookie, and get drawn into somebody else’s drama. Happy to oblige,” LaShaun grumbled, but waved at the departing force of nature with a smile. Then she burst into laughter at the smooth way she’d been played.

  *****

  The next morning LaShaun went into town to pick up a few groceries, and maybe a little gossip about Patsy Boutin. Thankfully there were a lot of new residents in Beau Chene, people who didn’t seem to listen to local gossip. Or maybe they were more open-minded. Whatever the reason, LaShaun got an equal number of friendly smiles mixed in with the wary looks from residents born and raised in Beau Chene. Still, she had only two people she could turn to for insider news. Attorney Savannah St. Julien Honoré was one of them. Since becoming Acting Sheriff, M. J. stuck to the rules even closer than before. No way would LaShaun put M. J. in a bad position, especially by dropping in to chat with her at the station. So that left Savannah. LaShaun timed her shopping trip to make sure Savannah would be in her office. She parked in a space on Broad Street and walked a half block.