Bayou Paradox (18 page)

T
he bass thumped, and the treble made the glass candleholders on the tables vibrate. The volume in the jazz club could register an eight on the Richter scale.

Despite that, Tara spotted Vincent as she wove through the throng of dancers to the bar. Cigarette smoke mixed with the random cigar hovered in the air. Add in about twenty different brands of perfume and cologne and the room stank.

Tara sidled up to Vincent and smiled wide.

He smiled back, recognized her, then frowned. “Well, well, well, if it isn't the guardian of the bayou. Come to run me out of town?”

Butterflies tore into her stomach. She offered a shaky smile. “I don't blame you. I haven't been exactly hospitable to you, have I?”

“Hardly.” He glared at her.

“Look, I think we got off on the wrong foot. I'm sorry for snapping at you. It's just that I've been under a lot of strain, what with my grandmother being in the hospital and all.”

“I heard about that. Sorry.”

Yeah, she just bet he was. The creep—he was to blame! No, she couldn't let her disgust show. “So I've been a bit snappy lately, and I'm just real particular about the bayou. And my property.”

“Yeah, I can see that.”

“So, what do you say?” She offered a trembling hand. “Truce? Can we start over?”

He eyed her hand before taking her palm and shaking. “Sure. Let me buy you a drink.”

“I'd like that.” She smiled and knocked on the bar. “Mike?”

The bartender glanced at Tara, then Vincent, and then back at Tara. “Can I get you something?” His look clearly said he didn't approve of her choice of companionship. Was he aware of Jayden's crush on her? She'd have to explain later.

“Soft drink,
merci
.”

Vincent gave her a hard stare. “Just a cola? Are you kidding me?”

She swallowed, recognizing the distrust leaping back into his eyes. “I'm taking medication that can't be mixed with alcohol.”

“Oh.” He barely glanced at Mike. “I'll have another whiskey sour.”

Mike stared at Tara. “Want me to bring them to the table?”

She smiled her relief. “Yes,
merci
.” She pushed off the bar and led Vincent toward the table in the back corner, the one Jayden kept reserved for any VIPs that might show up. Not that Lagniappe ever had real VIPs, but occasionally a political figure would drop by and it made them feel important to have a table held.

Tara slipped into the booth, expecting Vincent to sit across from her. He didn't. He slid in beside her. Close beside her. The smell of liquor on his breath almost made her gag. He was three sheets to the wind. Would that loosen his tongue? She inched closer to the wall. “So, why don't you tell me about your company?”

“Thought you didn't care.” He scooted closer to her, until his thigh pressed hers. The guy gave her the willies.

Shifting, she crossed her legs. “Change my mind.” She smiled.

He laid a hand on her knee. “Sounds like a challenge.”

Mike appeared with their drinks. She smiled her appreciation and took a sip of the cola.

Vincent stared at her a moment and then downed his drink. He coughed. Tara patted his back. “You okay?”

He let out a violent breath. “That's got quite a bite.”

Tara inched away from Vincent. “So you guys are out here doing research? What are you really looking for in the bayou?”

A frown covered his face. Uh-oh, she'd pushed too far too fast. She smiled. “You know, I'm just protective of the bayou because I need the plants for my potions.”

His face went slack. “Potions? You do that voodoo stuff, too?”

“Of course. Trained by my grandmother and another lady named Tanty Shaw. I'm good. Real good.”

The flicker of recognition was unmistakable. Score one for the good guys.

“Really?” He smiled. “I'll just bet you are.”

She let the innuendo slide. “Yeah. So if I was rude, I apologize. I just have to protect what I need.”

“The whole voodoo thing is very intriguing to me, I must say.” He traced a finger along her shoulder.

“It's fascinating.” She squared her shoulders. Didn't flinch.

“So, you make all kinds of potions?”

“Yep. There's a potion for just about every ailment you can imagine.”

“Remarkable. You have like a potion-recipe book, or what?”

Vincent's eyes watered. He shook his head and moved close to her again. Laid his hand on her thigh.

The heebie-jeebies snaked down her back. She shot to her feet. “Let's dance.”

He followed her to the dance floor. Great, she had to suggest a dance when the song was slow. Where was the fast zydeco when she needed it? Too late to turn back now. She stepped into his arms, but locked her elbows so she maintained her personal space.

As they swayed to the music, her mind drifted. To what it would feel like to be dancing with Sheriff Theriot. Slow. Rhythmic. Comforting.

She stiffened and smiled when Vincent shot her a quizzical look. She had no business thinking about Bubba. Especially not now.

Even though her heart ached at just the thought of him.

And that annoyed her all the more.

 

Lord, I don't know what I'm doing, so I'd appreciate a little guidance.

Bubba sat in his truck, staring at the entrance to the jazz club. Why would Tara just up and leave without telling him—without saying a word?

If she wasn't in there, he'd call CoCo and have her try Tara's cell.

If she was…well, he might choke her.

What could she be thinking? Didn't she realize how dangerous the situation was? What would possess her to do something so asinine?

When he found her, he was going to give her a lecture she'd not soon forget.

He'd give her an earful for causing him so much trouble. For causing him to worry about her.

For causing him to care so much about her.

 

What a class-A
cooyon!

Three drinks later, and Vincent was practically under the table. Except for his hands. They were constantly trying to touch her.

Good thing she moved fast, and his motions were slowed by the alcohol pumping through his veins. And now that he was good and happy drunk, she'd finally get to the truth. And her personal suffering would all be worth it.

“Tell me about your research. It sounds interesting.”

“Not as interesting as you.” He reached for her, but she stood and brushed imaginary lint from her shorts. “Whatcha doin'?”

“I've got something on my shorts.” She brushed again, then sat down on the other side of the booth. “What kind of research?”

He twisted and faced her. “Just looking into some of the plants. Something that might be able to fight cancer.”

That was a new one. Last thing she'd expected to come out of his mouth. She didn't even move when he shifted to her side of the booth. “Fight cancer? Whatever would make you think a plant would be able to fight cancer?”

“My brother was here this winter with some friends of his. Kind of a last great hurrah. All his buddies rallying around him to make sure he had a good time.” His words slurred, but not with the alcohol. More with emotion. “He has a very aggressive type of prostate cancer. It spread.”

“I'm so sorry.” And she truly was.

“No, that's the thing. It's in remission now.”

“That's wonderful.” Was Vincent too drunk to make sense? “But what does that have to do with plants here?”

“Wayne got sick while he was here. Some poison ivy or allergic reaction to something, I don't know.” He wrapped an arm around her shoulder and drummed his fingers on her upper arm until the short sleeve of her shirt moved up enough for him to touch her skin.

She tolerated his closeness. Finally she was getting somewhere. “And because he got sick, you think that put his cancer into remission?”

“Nah. He saw somebody here, a witch doctor or something. She gave him a potion and sent him home.” He drew her closer to him.

She resisted shuddering, but shifted.

“When he told me, I was furious. He was scheduled to start another round of chemo, and if he'd ingested something that would make him sick, it'd delay his treatment. Wayne was in dire need of chemo and radiation.”

She inched farther away.

Vincent followed, keeping his arm around her shoulders. “I ran some tests and discovered his cancer had gone into remission. No explanation. No reason for it. The only thing he had different than before was whatever the witch doctor gave him.” He lowered his head and breathed in her ear.

She swallowed the bile burning the back of her throat and turned her head, avoiding his lips. “And so?”

“He's been in remission ever since. No trace of the cancer.” He shrugged. “So I figured it had to be something in whatever that woman gave him. I came to find out what that is.”

“By taking the plants.”

“Hey, I tried to get the recipe off those two old voodoo women. Neither would even think of telling me, and they wouldn't sell it to me, either. I offered them a lot of money.”

No, Grandmere and Tanty would never give out the recipe for any potion. Tradition called for it to be only passed down from grandmother to granddaughter. Tanty had made a huge exception in taking over completing Tara's training. But there'd been extenuating circumstances, to say the least.

Vincent leaned closer to her. “Wanna tell me what's in those potions? I can make it well worth your while. Financially…and in other ways.” His lips landed on her neck like a wet slug.

She shoved him away, disgust giving her strength.

“Tara. Who's your friend?”

She looked up to find Jayden hovering at the table's edge. The hurt look on his face made her sorry she was doing this at all.

She stood. “It's not what you think.”

“It isn't?” Jayden glared at Vincent. “You're drunk. You're outta here.”

Vincent scooted out of the booth, stumbled, but managed to stand by holding on to the edge of the table. “And who are you to tell me I'm gone?”

“The manager, that's who.” Jayden tossed Tara a disappointed look. “Did you come with this clown?”

“Clown? I'm no clown, buddy-boy.” Vincent reared back a fist and swung.

Jayden ducked and shoved Vincent. “As I said, a clown.”

Vincent landed on his back on the table behind him. He staggered to his feet. “I'll show you a clown.” He swung again and his fist made contact with Jayden's cheek this time.

Jayden fell to the floor, then Vincent was on top of him. The two men rolled across the floor, fists flying.

“Jay, stop!” Tara tried to grab what she thought was Jayden's arm, but was pushed into a table.

People moved out of the men's way, but gathered around to watch.

Mike, like a sword-fighter from a previous era, jumped into the battle and grabbed both Jayden and Vincent by the scruff of the neck and set them on their feet. He immediately let go of his boss, but kept a hold of Vincent. “There's no fighting in here.” He gave Vincent a little shove. “You'd best leave before I call the police.”

“Too late, I'm already here.”

Tara pivoted and locked stares with Sheriff Theriot. And once again, he looked ready to throttle her.

This time, she deserved it.

“W
ould somebody like to tell me what's going on here?” Bubba broadcast the question, but kept his gaze on Tara.

“I just broke up the fight, Sheriff.” Mike shrugged. “Can I get back to the bar now? I'm the only one working it tonight.”

Bubba nodded, still not looking at anyone but Tara.

She ducked her head, not saying a word.

“Remember me, Jayden Pittman?” Jay held out his hand. “I'm the manager here.”

Bubba shook it and again asked the question, “What's going on?”

Tara lifted her head. “It's my fault.”

More than likely, he thought, but as a police officer, he had to take reports. “Care to elaborate, Ms. LeBlanc?”

She flipped hair over her shoulder and wet her lips.

“Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.”

Bubba caught the man's movement in his peripheral vision. He shoved Tara backward, moving her out of the line of danger. The man rushed forward as he screamed, holding something in his hand. He moved so fast, he struck Jayden before Bubba could go for his firearm.

Jayden screamed and fell to the floor, holding his chest. The left side of his shirt went red with blood. A piece of glass stuck out of his shirt.

Tara shot to her feet. “It's him, Vincent Marsalis. The one who poisoned Grandmere and Tanty.” Her gaze dropped to Pittman. “And now…this.”

Unholstering his gun, Bubba spun in the direction the attacker had fled. The front door to the jazz club shut. He yelled for people to get out of his way, but the traffic to the door became congested as women screamed and men filled the aisle. Bubba pushed his way to the door and exited just in time to see an SUV tossing gravel in its wake as it hit the pavement.

He radioed Missy, put out an APB on Marsalis and ordered an ambulance and the only free deputy left on the force, then made his way back inside. He'd find Vincent Marsalis soon enough. Right now, he had to stabilize Jayden until the paramedics arrived.

At the door, he spoke loudly. “Ladies and gentlemen, I have to ask you not to leave the premises. A deputy will be here soon to take your statements. Please be patient, but this is now a crime scene, and you're all witnesses. You may not leave until your statement has been taken.”

He found Tara on the floor, kneeling over Jayden. The glass had been removed—a broken beer bottle, now lying on the floor—and Tara pressed her palms against the wound. Blood covered her up to the elbows. Her hands were steady as she rocked and chanted some unfamiliar words.

“What are you doing?” He knelt beside her.

“Shh. I'm stopping the bleeding.”

“With what? Words?” He shook his head. “He needs prayer, not chants, and medical attention now. The ambulance is on its way. Move over.” He looked for a rag, something, anything to use as pressure against the gaping wound.

Her eyes shot open and she glared at him. “I can stop the bleeding.”

“Not like that, you can't.” He snatched a tablecloth off the nearest table and folded it into a rectangle that would cover Jayden's wound.

She hadn't moved, just rocked back on her heels and simmered.

He didn't have time for this. A man's life was at stake. The wound was directly over the heart. Bubba shoved Tara's hands aside and placed the folded tablecloth against Jayden's chest. “The ambulance is on the way. Stay with me, Pittman.”

“Hurts. Bad. Want. Sleep.” The man writhed against the concrete floor.

“Not yet, buddy. Hang on.” Bubba looked around the crowd. “I need something to use as a pillow. And grab me another tablecloth to cover him. He's going into shock.”

People acted on his command. A wadded-up sweater was passed to him. He ordered Tara to place it under Jayden's head. Someone tossed a tablecloth to the floor. He ordered Tara to cover Jayden's body, while he kept constant pressure on the tablecloth over the wound. “You're gonna be okay. The paramedics will be here in a minute. Just hold on, buddy.”

The bartender, Mike, hovered over Bubba's shoulder. “You want me to get people out of the way? I can sit them all in the banquet room until you're ready to take their statements.”

“That'd be great.
Merci.
”

Mike barked orders and people moved. Bubba had a fleeting thought that the man would make a good deputy. Soon, the room was clear.

Tara shifted to Jayden's head and laid her blood-soaked hands on his temples. She closed her eyes and rocked, mumbling words.

Enough was enough! Bubba's resolve snapped, as did his control. “Stop it, Tara! You're making things worse.”

She stared at him, mouth agape.

“I'm sick of it. Your games, this playing at voodoo, all of it. You're putting people in danger to suit your own purposes. Grow up.” He felt moisture against his palms. Blood had soaked the tablecloth. He looked straight at Tara. “Start helping now. Get me another tablecloth.”

She continued to stare at him.

“Now, Tara!”

She pushed to her feet and shuffled over to a table, grabbed the cloth and then handed it to him.

He shook his head. “Fold it up like this one. He's losing a lot of blood, and we need to try to slow the bleeding.”

Her hands trembled as she complied. Bubba leaned into Jayden's face. “Come on. Just hang on a bit longer.”

Sirens wailed in the distance. About time.

Bubba took the folded tablecloth and swapped it for the soaked one. “Hear that? The ambulance will be here in just a second. Hold on.”

Jayden's breaths were thready, shallow. His gaze lit on Tara. “I'm s-sorry. I thought h-he was t-taking advantage of you. I didn't know he was your d-date.”

Tears welled in her eyes. “No, I'm the one who's sorry. I don't know what I was thinking.”

Something twisted in Bubba's gut. “You weren't thinking. Period. Look at this. All of this could've been avoided. But you didn't think about anyone else, did you?”

She jerked as if she'd been slapped.

The door blew open as two paramedics made their way around tables, a stretcher rolling between them. One kneeled down to assess Jayden's condition. “Nasty. What happened?”

“Fight. Got stabbed with a broken beer bottle.” Bubba moved out of the paramedics' way, standing close by.

“Shouldn't have removed the glass. It would've slowed the bleed.”

Bubba locked stares with Tara, who had stood, as well. “I didn't.”

In seconds, Jayden was on the stretcher and wheeled to the waiting ambulance. Bubba and Tara both stood in its wake. A cruiser careered into the lot and skidded to a stop. Gravel dust billowed around them. Lightning flashed, and Bubba could feel the electricity in the air. Lagniappe would finally get some much-needed rain.

The deputy addressed the sheriff. “Ten-eight, sir.”

Good thing he was ready for duty. “I need you to take statements from everyone inside the club.”

“Yes, sir.” The deputy rushed to the door.

“I'm going to the hospital.” Her voice trembled as she spoke.

“You need to answer some questions.”

She faced him, tears streaming down her face. “Can't it wait? I need to make sure Jayden's okay.”

If only she'd stayed out of this. Playing games. Toying with people's emotions.

“Please, Sheriff. Let me go to the hospital now. Once I know Jayden's okay, I'll answer all your questions.”

“
If
he's okay.” As soon as he saw the fear widen her eyes, he regretted his harsh words and tone. But it was a distinct possibility that Jayden wouldn't be okay. He'd lost a lot of blood and was weak. Tara needed to face reality. She needed to take responsibility for her actions.

“Please.”

His heart twisted. “Fine. Give me a second to get my deputy on task first.” He stomped into the club, Tara trailing.

Mike met him just inside the door. “I've cleared out part of the office for y'all to take statements privately. I'll keep furnishing coffee for everyone in the banquet room until they're called.”

Yeah, the man would make a great deputy. After all this was over, he'd have to talk to him about the possibility. “I appreciate it.” He nodded at Tara. “I'll just go check and make sure my deputy's got things under control.” He didn't wait for a response, just headed to the office Mike had indicated.

Deputy Tim Marsh had only been on the Lagniappe force a mere six months. Yet he sat behind the desk, asking the correct questions and filling out the proper forms. Bubba nodded at him. “You need me, radio dispatch.”

“Ten-four, sir.”

Still so green he used codes, instead of words, even in person. Bubba turned and headed back to the main room of the jazz club. He glanced around, no sign of Tara. Maybe she'd gone to the ladies' room. Probably to wash the blood off her hands. He didn't blame her.

He approached the bar, where Mike poured coffee into cups, filling a tray. “I appreciate all you're doing.”

“No problem, Sheriff. I'm used to it.”

“Really? Do tell.”

Mike grinned. “Marine Corps, honorable discharge, at your service.”

Ah, that explained his take-charge ability. He looked over his shoulder. “Do you happen to know if Tara's in the ladies' room?”

Mike crinkled his forehead. “Ladies' room? No, she went to the hospital to check on Jayden. Said you told her that was okay.”

The sneaky…

“Sheriff, about Tara?”

“Yeah?”

“She's a good girl. Got a good heart.”

Yeah, her heart might be good, but she sure lacked the common sense of a goat. And she sure needed spiritual healing.

 

If Jayden didn't make it, Tara would never forgive herself.

She jumped as a jagged bolt of lightning flashed in front of her. She gripped the steering wheel of her car and pushed the accelerator harder. What had she done?

That arrogant sheriff. Blaming her for everything. It wasn't her fault Vincent was crazy. She had no control over his actions.

But she did have control over Vincent and Jayden's altercation. She was the one who sought Vincent out at the club in the first place. And she'd known about Jayden's crush on her and hadn't cleared the air between them.

Her heart ached and tears blurred her vision. Bubba had been right. She was selfish. Determined to do things her way, no matter how many people got hurt. She'd removed the glass because she had the feeling she was supposed to, but the EMT had said it made Jayden worse. This was all her fault.

She pulled into the hospital parking lot with a heavy heart. Where did she go wrong? What was happening to her?

Fat raindrops fell against the car. Thunder rumbled, rattling the windows. Weeks upon weeks of no rain, and tonight it decided to storm? Even nature seemed mad at her.

CoCo's soft admonishment about spirits and nature and God nudged her conscience. Could her sister be right? It sure seemed that she, Alyssa and Grandmere were all full of peace and serenity during the tough times. Could they all be right on target?

That would mean she was wrong. Who she was, everything she'd been, all wrong. The thought sickened her.

Her steps dragged across the asphalt, despite the now battering rain. She was sick of coming to this hospital. Tired of this feeling of helplessness cloaking her all the time. Tired of not knowing what to do anymore. Was it time to change her life?

She addressed the triage nurse in the ER. “Jayden Pittman. He was brought in by ambulance. May I see him?”

The nurse checked her board. “I'm sorry, the doctors are evaluating him now. Someone will update you as soon as possible.” She motioned toward the groupings of chairs in the lobby. “Just have a seat and someone will find you when there's news.”

Tara thanked the nurse and wandered to the chair area. A middle-aged woman held a coughing child, patting her back with each cough. A man, probably in his early twenties, with an icepack on his bruised hand sat across from the woman and child. People waiting for attention. Tara paced, not able to sit.

She hadn't meant to cause problems. She'd only wanted to help people. Always had. But now…what if she'd harmed more people than she'd helped? Guilt covered her heart like the thick mud of the bayou.

Reaching for her cell phone, she realized she must've left it in the car. She dug in her pocket and found fifty cents. She located the pay phone, dropped in the coins and dialed her home number. She didn't want CoCo to hear about the incident from anyone but herself. CoCo would understand. She wouldn't condone, but she wouldn't yell, either.

And right now, she couldn't take someone yelling at her, judging. Her conscience was doing that enough already.