Bayou Paradox (12 page)

Tara stood outside the driver's door. “Are you nuts?”

“Get to the other side of the road. Deputy Anderson will be here in a moment,” Bubba told her.

Once satisfied that she did as instructed without argument, Bubba drew his gun and pointed it at the driver. “Sir, please turn off the truck and exit slowly. Keep your hands where I can see them.”

A long moment passed. A million scenarios played out in Bubba's mind. He'd only drawn his firearm a handful of times in the line of duty and had never shot anyone. Would tonight be the night that would all change?

Another siren wailed in the distance. Deputy Anderson, right on schedule.

In the dark, Bubba couldn't make out the driver or what he was doing. “Sir, I said turn off the engine and exit slowly, keeping your hands where I can see them.” He kept the man in his sights.

The engine died with a cough. The driver's door opened with a creak. Bubba kept his weapon aimed.

A large man dropped his foot to the pavement. He heaved the rest of his massive bulk from the vehicle, keeping his hands in plain view.

“Step from behind the door and move to the site of impact. Place your palms on the trunk of the car.” Bubba never wavered in his aim.

“What's this about, Sheriff? I ain't done nothing wrong.”

“Just do as I say, sir.”

The man swayed as he followed Bubba's instructions. Once his palms were on the trunk, Bubba patted him down. Not detecting any weapons, he holstered his sidearm and withdrew the handcuffs. He cuffed the man just as Deputy Anderson pulled up. Stepping from the cruiser, Anderson drew his weapon.

Tara, never one to take orders well, crossed the road. “What kind of moron rear-ends someone?”

Bubba shot her a glare. “Be quiet.” He nodded to Anderson. “Take her to your cruiser and get her report of the accident.”

“Accident?” Tara exclaimed. “He rammed into me. Didn't even have his headlights on.”

“Enough, Tara.” He lowered his voice. “Just go with Deputy Anderson.”

While his deputy escorted Tara to his cruiser, Bubba turned the driver of the pickup to face him. “Do you have a license on you?”

“In my wallet. Back left pocket.”

Bubba reached around and withdrew the worn nylon wallet.

“Why'd you cuff me over an accident?”

Bubba eyed the license. “Mr. Dubois, I've been tailing y'all since you left the hospital, and you were following Ms. LeBlanc. I have every reason to believe you rammed her car intentionally.” He reached for his small flashlight.

“What? I did not.”

“Where're you headed, Mr. Dubois?”

“Uh, I'm going froggin'. On the bayou.”

“What part of the bayou?”

“Fisherman's Cove.”

“Uh-huh.” He shone his flashlight into the man's face. “Mind if I take a look in your truck?”

When Dubois nodded, Bubba inspected the bed of the truck. Nothing back there but empty beer bottles. He pulled his baton from his belt and nudged the bottle until it rolled. The label shimmered under the flashlight's beam.

Purple Haze.

Bubba checked the cabin of the pickup, then faced the man. “Mr. Dubois, there's nothing in this truck to indicate you were going froggin'. Why don't you just tell me why you were following Ms. LeBlanc?”

“I know my rights. I don't have to answer any of your questions.” He shifted until he leaned on his cuffed arms against the truck.

Bubba looked down at the man's boot-covered feet.

Steel-toed boots, unless he missed his guess.

Glancing back toward the cruiser, he noted Anderson and Tara standing outside it, their focus on him and the man. Did she have any idea the man had followed her from the hospital?

He shone the light directly in Mr. Dubois's face. Although he couldn't smell any alcohol, the man did have priors. “Sir, I'm going to administer a sobriety test. Have you been drinking?”

“Only a couple of beers back home.”

“How long ago?” Bubba checked the man's pupils.

“Several hours.”

“How many beers is a couple?” Bubba pulled a pencil from his pocket and held it about a foot from the man's nose, keeping it slightly above eye level.

“Just two.”

“Uh-huh. Okay, you know the drill. Don't move your head, but follow the pencil with your eyes.” He slowly moved the pencil forty-five degrees to the right, back to center, then to the left before center again.

The man's tracking wasn't smooth, which was obvious at the forty-five-degree angle. Nystagmus. He was over the legal limit.

He replaced the pencil and cleared his throat. “Mr. Dubois, you're under arrest for driving under the influence.”

“I'm not drunk. Look, I had two beers hours ago.” His head slumped. “I can't get another DUI or they'll revoke my license and my insurance will cancel me.”

“Why were you following Ms. LeBlanc?”

“I wasn't fol—”

Bubba grabbed the man's upper arm. “Come on, let's get you to the station.”

Mr. Dubois stiffened. “Wait. I'll tell ya.”

Bubba froze and stared at the man. “Yes?”

“Look, her grandma and that other voodoo woman hoaxed me. Told me they'd cure me of my drinking habit. They lied.”

“So you followed her?” Bubba grabbed the man again and led him toward Deputy Anderson's cruiser. “For what purpose?”

“I just wanted to talk to her. See if she could help me.”

A likely story. Bubba had heard all the yarns he needed to hear. Nothing new in his line of work. “Sir, we'll take your statement at the station.”

T
he morning sun broke through the dirty windows of the interrogation room of the Lagniappe sheriff's office, banishing the bleakness to the corners.

Bubba nodded for Deputy Anderson to remove the tray with dirty dishes. He studied Melvin Dubois, now sober.

“Now would you like to tell me why you were following Ms. LeBlanc?”

Melvin ducked his head. “I told ya—her grandmother and that other voodoo woman had promised to cure me of my drinkin'. They lied. I only wanted to ask her if
she
could help.” He lifted his head and met Bubba's stare. “She's a swamp witch, too, ya know.”

Unfortunately he did know.

He tapped his pencil against the notebook. “Why didn't you just approach her, then? Why follow her and ram her car when she was on a dark abandoned road? Sure sounds fishy to me.”

“I didn't want nobody to know I was talking to her.”

“Didn't seem to bother you that people knew you visited her grandmother and Tanty Shaw.”

Melvin ducked his head again. “My wife's gonna leave me cuz of my drinkin'. I just wanted a chance.”

“Did she know you'd seen the other two?”

“Yeah. Said she didn't have no problem with anything if it worked.”

“So why would it matter if she knew you were going to contact Tara LeBlanc to get help?”

The big man heaved a heavy sigh. “She accused me of quitting with their treatment. Said I'd just been pretending to be working to stay off drinkin'.” He shook his head. “Told me if she caught me drinkin' again, she'd be gone. If she knew I'd gone to the little swamp witch for help, she'd know I was drinkin' again.”

Warped, but logical, Bubba supposed, to an alcoholic.

The door opened and Deputy Anderson stuck his head in. “Sheriff, can I see ya out here for a minute?”

Perfect timing. Bubba shoved to his feet. “I'll be right back.” He followed Anderson into the hall. “This better be important.”

“It is.” His deputy's face lit up like a child's on Christmas morning as he waved a paper in the air. “The impression of Dubois's boot is an exact match for the one you found on the LeBlanc property. And his prints match the partial taken off the beer bottle you found there.”

Yes! Bubba grabbed the report and scanned it quickly.
Thank You, Lord, for giving me this break.

“How ya wanna work this, Sheriff?”

Bubba smiled. “Oh, let me share this information with Mr. Dubois. I bet we get a full confession.” And maybe, just maybe, he'd find out what happened to Marie LeBlanc and Aunt Tanty.

Easing the door open, he motioned for Anderson to follow him in. Melvin Dubois glanced between them as they entered. Bubba loomed over the table. “I just got an interesting report back from the crime lab, Melvin. You'll never guess what's been established.”

The man's expression dropped faster than his chin to his chest.

He knew the jig was up—Body Language 101.

“Want to tell me about your trespassing and trashing the LeBlanc property?”

Melvin looked at Bubba's face, but wouldn't meet his eye. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

Bubba laughed and sat on the edge of the table. “Are you gonna play dumb now, too?” He waved the report. “Your boot prints were found outside the shed at the LeBlanc place. Your fingerprints match those found at the scene.”

“I didn't hurt nobody.”

“No one said you did. But you did trespass and vandalize the place.”

“She paid me to look for any papers with some dude's name on it, take them if I found them, then trash the place to look like kids done it.”

Bubba's adrenaline rushed. “Who?”

Dubois shrugged. “This woman.”

Already taut, Bubba's patience threatened to snap. “What woman?”

“I don't know her. She's new around here. Blond hair, a real looker.”

Oh, that narrowed it down. “Can you be a bit more specific?”

“Stands about yea-high.” He held his hand to mark approximately five and a half feet. “Little waist. Big eyes. And built, if you know what I mean.” He gave a leering grin.

Nothing. Getting nowhere fast. “What name was she looking for?”

“Huh?” NASA sure wouldn't be calling Melvin Dubois anytime in the near future.

“The name she wanted you to look for on the papers. What was it?”

“Oh. Wayne.”

Bubba tried to be patient. “Wayne what?”

“Uh, Marshall or something like that.”

“Ever hear of this Wayne Marshall before?”

“No, sir. Sure hadn't.”

Bubba'd get nothing more on that line. “Okay, let's talk about Tanty Shaw.”

Dubois wore a puzzled expression. “What about her?”

“You know she's in the hospital in a coma, yes?”

“Yeah, I'd heard that. Too bad. Nice lady.” He lowered his voice. “Even if she did lie to me.”

“About that, Mr. Dubois…”

“Yeah?”

“Have you gone through her place, looking for papers with the name Wayne Marshall, too?”

“Nope.”

“Why not? You'd go through one voodoo lady's stuff but not another?”

“That lady didn't tell me to look at Tanty Shaw's. So why would I if I wasn't told to?”

The man had a point. A very valid point.

“Thank you, Mr. Dubois.” Bubba got up and headed for the door.

“What about
me,
Sheriff?”

“What
about
you?”

“Since I helped ya out and all, aren't ya gonna release me?”

“I don't think so, Mr. Dubois. You'll still have the DUI charge, as well as the trespassing and vandalizing.” He left the room, nodding at Anderson as he did.

He couldn't wait to tell Tara they'd found the man who trashed her place. Wait a minute. If he spent more time with her, he'd want to hold her, comfort her again.

His stomach tightened as he drove to the hospital. He'd visit with Aunt Tanty, then catch Tara before her visitation. Maybe that would limit the time he actually had to spend in her presence.

He parked his truck and strode into the hospital. Checking his watch in the elevator, Bubba estimated he'd have approximately twenty minutes with Aunt Tanty before he'd have to lurk in the halls, waiting for Tara to show. Maybe there'd be a change with Aunt Tanty.

Please, Lord, touch her with Your healing hand.

The ICU floor was cooler than the other areas of the hospital. Bubba shivered as he headed down the hall. Two of the nurses at the station nodded as he passed. He screeched to a halt at the open doorway of Aunt Tanty's room.

Tara sat on the edge of the bed, gently stroking Aunt Tanty's still hand.

Bubba's heart twisted. He watched as she leaned closer to the lifeless form and spoke quietly, rhythmically.

He stepped back quickly as Tara glanced over her shoulder toward the door. His heartbeat echoed in his head. This was stupid. He was a grown man, a lawman, and he ducked for cover from a woman?

He gritted his teeth. No way!

 

Tara spoke the incantation with respect as she slipped the dropper back into the vial. Two more drops of the healing potion, and Tanty could be on her way to waking up. Excitement made Tara's flesh tingle.

“What do you think you're doing?”

Tara jumped and clutched the vial. She spun and faced the doorway.

And a very angry Bubba Theriot.

His face became ruddy and his eyes widened. But the tips of his ears, which had turned fire-engine red, were the purest indication of his anger. She could almost see the smoke puffing out.

He crossed the room, his mere presence filling the small space. “I asked, what are you doing?” He took her hand and pried the vial from her clasp. “What's this?”

“A h-healing potion.” Her pulse pounded in her ears.

“You've got to be kidding me.” No trace of amusement flickered in his eyes.

“It worked for Grandmere.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You gave this stuff to your grandmother, too?”

She nodded. “And Grandmere came out of the coma after I gave her the second dose.”

The muscles in his jaw jumped.

“I'm certain it works, Sheriff.”

“What's in it?” He shook the vial.

“Herbs. Leaves. All natural stuff.”

“Did it ever occur to you that this stuff could be what's making your grandmother sick now?”

The air rushed from her lungs. No, it couldn't be. A healing potion had never made anyone sick. Ever.

“You could be poisoning them.”

“It's not poison. It's all straight from the earth. Not an artificial substance in it.”

“There are a lot of things from nature that can make you sick—certain mushrooms, toxic plants and berries….”

But she knew what she was doing. She knew the proper ingredients and how to mix them and boil them at just the right temperature to remove any toxins.

Didn't she?

Oh, no. What if she'd messed something up? What if she'd been off by just a degree or so and she
was
responsible for Grandmere's severe pain?

He palmed the vial. “I'm going to have the lab run tests on this.” He pointed at her, eyes glaring. “You go sit in the waiting room until I get back. Do. Not. Leave. And that's an order.”

She swallowed and nodded, then slunk from the room.
Could
she have made a miscalculation somewhere? She shook her head as she entered the waiting room. No, she'd checked and double-checked the recipe. She'd followed it to the nth degree.

But she
had
been distracted when grinding and during the initial preparation.

She groaned. How many times had both Grandmere and Tanty warned her to keep focused when preparing her potion ingredients? It was entirely possible she was to blame for Grandmere's pain and Tanty's not being healed.

Dropping her head into her hands, she rocked herself.

A hand on her shoulder brought her up short. Even more when she met the gaze of Suzie Richard.

“Are you okay?”

Tara swallowed. “Uh…yeah.”

“You don't look so good. Has something happened with your grandmother?”

Aside from her maybe being responsible for causing the pain? “I haven't seen her yet this morning.”

“Your sister updated us earlier.” Suzie waved toward the group of women huddled in a corner, Bibles open on laps. “She said the doctor was still keeping Marie on heavy doses of pain medication, but her vitals were stable and strong.”

Great. The pain was still there. All her fault.

Suzie squeezed her shoulder. “We're praying for her—and for you.”

For some reason she couldn't fathom, Tara wanted to cry. Sob. Let someone hold her like the sheriff had and tell her everything would be okay.

Suzie's expression was so kind. All the women in Godly Women had been more than considerate, actually. They'd been up at the hospital around the clock, keeping a prayer vigil not only for Grandmere, but for Tanty, as well. Bringing up coffee and pastries to share with the family. They'd been a big comfort to CoCo and Alyssa with their soft prayers and gentle demeanors. Peaceful, that's the word she'd use to describe them. And she was anything but at the moment. It made her want to cry out.

No, she couldn't break down here. She refused. Not now. She still had to face the sheriff. Tara's gut tightened, nausea threatening to overtake the guilt.

“It's going to be okay, Tara.”

She blinked back the tears. “Suzie, I'm sorry I was so callous with you. But you understand why I had to question you, don't you?”

Moisture pooled in Suzie's eyes and she dropped to the chair beside Tara. “I do. But I assure you, I had nothing to do with either lady's illness. You'll have to trust me.”

Trust. Something that didn't come easily to her. Tara sighed. “I don't think you had anything to do with it. Not intentionally.”

“But unintentionally?”

Glancing past Suzie into the hall, Tara saw no sign of Bubba. Good. But a nurse walked by at that moment. A blonde. Something about her seemed familiar.

“Tara?”

She shook her head and focused on Suzie again. “Is it possible your husband found out, despite your fear of him doing so, and did something?”

Suzie's hand landed on her stomach. “No. No, that's not possible.”