Between Dusk and Dawn (3 page)

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 popular 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.

“
Good morning. How can I
help you?” A fresh faced young woman beamed up at her. Savannah’s
new legal secretary had big hazel eyes and bouncy reddish brown
curls. Her smile suggested that any legal problem brought to their
door could be solved. The name plate on her desk read “Ginger
Roberts” in black letters.

“
Hi. Nice to meet you,
Ginger. I’m here to see Savannah. LaShaun Rousselle. I don’t have
an appointment,” LaShaun added before the young woman could
ask.