Fever Moon (20 page)

Down the line the chains rattled. Another prisoner stood up. “Shut up and eat, Daniel. Veedal don’t want us talking.”

Raymond looked in the direction of the plantation house. Veedal would indeed return, and he wouldn’t be happy at Raymond’s presence. “Tell me about Dugas.” Raymond directed his request at Daniel.

Daniel held out his tin cup for water. Raymond filled it from the barrel, and he wasn’t certain if he’d given an advantage or gotten one. His fingers touched Daniel’s as he passed the cup to him. “Tell us about Adele,” Daniel countered.

“You know Henri is dead.” A nod went down the line. “Folks are saying Adele murdered him. Adele Hebert is not a
loup-garou
. She’s been set up, and Armand Dugas figures into what’s really going on. If Adele was ever kind to you, now’s the time to pony up.” He eyed the line of men. Most failed to meet his gaze, and he knew no help was forthcoming. When he returned to Daniel, he saw something else in the stillness of his eyes.

“Armand had friends.” Daniel’s gaze never faltered.

“You steppin’ too close to your grave.” A tall black man in the middle of the line stood and walked toward Raymond, dragging his chain and forcing the men on either side of him to stand. Even twenty pounds underweight, he was a large man, his skin shining in the October sun. “You get caught out here talkin’ at us, we’re the ones gone pay.”

Raymond looked at him. “You’re already dead, mister. You just don’t know it.” He turned back to Daniel. “Tell me. Anything might help Adele. Please.” If begging would help, Raymond would beg.

Daniel’s gaze shifted beyond Raymond to the path Veedal would take when he returned. “Armand was from Baton Rouge. He ran a string of women, prime snatch for the big men sittin’ at the capitol.” His pause was brief but eloquent. “Armand did somethin’ else for those men. When someone stirred up too much trouble, Armand made him go away.”

Raymond could guess the rest of it. “Dugas was convicted of murder and sentenced to Angola. Who’d he kill?”

Daniel looked down the line of chained men. “Armand tole me he didn’t kill no one. He was tried for killin’ a whore name of Aleta Boudreaux. Thing is, no body was ever produced. Accordin’ to Armand, this woman never existed. They made her up and sent him to the chain gang for killin’ a ghost.”

Dugas had been tried, convicted, and quickly sent to the swamps to work where his chances of survival were slim to none. It was an effective means of getting rid of someone who might know too much.

Raymond pressed the prisoner. “The night Dugas escaped. Tell me about it.” He kept watching for Veedal’s return.

“Adele brought food when she could. Veedal didn’t like it, but it gave him a chance to mess wid her. That night when she come down, he wasn’t overly suspicious. The fat bastard put his hands on her, tried to kiss her. Adele was a smart one, though, she brought him some whiskey she’d stole from Bastion’s private bottle.” Daniel rubbed his ankle where the leg iron had rubbed the skin. “She played him. He drank the whiskey and ten minutes later he was on his hands and knees runnin’ in circles like a dog.”

Laughter moved down the line of men.

“The liquor had a potion in it?” His words were rushed.

“Must have, but it sure upset Adele to see Veedal the way he was. See, Adele and the Missus grew herbs, for healing and such, up behind the house. Sometimes one of us would go and help work the ground.” He shrugged. “I figure she used something from there.”

The chains rattled. “Veedal was slobber in’ and gruntin’ like a boar hog in the river mud.” The thin blond man grinned at the memory. “He was actin’ crazy. Armand finally hit him in the head wid a shovel. That put an end to his crawlin’ and growlin’.”

Daniel reclaimed the story. “Then Adele got the key from the wall and unlocked Armand’s chains.”

Raymond stayed focused on what the men could tell him. Veedal would be back any minute. He had to make his questions count. “For Dugas only?”

The men shifted down the line, the play of metal on metal the sound of hopelessness.

“No one else would go. We wouldn’t survive the swamp.”

“So Dugas took off on foot and Adele did what?”

He shrugged. “She’d been feelin’ poorly. She said she was gonna go home to the swamp. Said her brother would bring her fish and meat and she’d stay home.”

“Do you think Dugas got away?” Raymond asked.

Daniel shrugged. “They hunted him for days. They tried to make us tell where he went, but we had nothin’ to tell. Armand was a friendly man, but he never talked to us about his plans. We didn’t know nothin’ we could tell if we’d wanted.”

Raymond had one more question. “Were Adele and Dugas lovers?”

Daniel laughed and the chuckle passed down the line of men. He held up his chains. “I been here two years. The chains never come off. Never. Dugas was chained just like me.”

“Were Adele and Henri lovers?”

Daniel shook his head. “Adele was a kind woman. If she slept with Henri Bastion, it wasn’t ‘cause she wanted it.”

Raymond was already moving when he spoke again. “I’ll be back to see what I can do.” He stepped into the cover of the brake as Veedal rounded the point of land that hid the plantation house, his horse covered in a nervous sweat.

The overseer put the men back to work and Raymond slipped among the dense trees toward the house. It was at least a half mile, and he felt the pressure of time slipping away from him.

Each step brought a pinch of pain in his back, but he kept going. At last the white house, like a dream, could be seen among the trees. He skirted the yard and went to the back, searching for signs of a garden. About fifty yards from the house he heard the soft buzz of bees. The busy drone drew him toward a thick wall of azaleas. He moved forward cautiously, until he saw the hive boxes hidden among the foliage.

Beyond the beehives he found the herb garden choked with weeds. Some of the plants—peppers, thyme, basil, dill—he recognized as everyday herbs necessary for cooking spicy Cajun foods. Others he didn’t know.

Always listening for the sound of Marguerite’s car or Veedal’s horse, he wasted precious time searching for a container. At last he found a dishpan and began the tedious process of gathering samples. He collected even the plants he knew.

He was about to leave when he noticed a band of wild grass bordering the south side of the garden. The beaded heads, heavy with black grains, dipped and crested in the breeze. Coastal Bermuda contained a small black head, but this was different. He stepped forward for a closer look. The peculiar growth seemed out of place so he grasped a handful of the grass, pulling it by the roots, and added it to his collection.

Madame Louiselle would be able to help him identify the plants. It was possible that Adele’s strange behavior could be accounted for by something growing right in the Bastion yard. He felt an unfamiliar tension between his shoulder blades and was surprised to recognize hope. If something in this garden proved responsible … it was almost too much to believe. But if it was true, then he’d have the how. All that would be left would be the who.

Raymond sped into town, the dishpan beside him on the car seat. He was headed toward Florence’s house when he spied Chula coming out of the post office. She carried a satchel of mail.

He slowed as he pulled beside her and stopped. “Chula, are you going out toward Madame Louiselle’s?”

“I could be.” She leaned on the window. “What’s that?” She pointed at the dishpan.

“If you’re going out toward Madame’s, you could save me a lot of time by taking these to her.”

“Hand them over.” Chula reached into the car. “I need to check on her anyway.”

Raymond hesitated. “Thank you, Chula.”

“I’m glad to do it.” She lifted the pan to her hip. “Whether you like it or not, Raymond, I hold you in high regard.”

She turned and left him in the idling car as she walked down the street, the mail satchel swinging at her side and the dishpan on her hip.

Raymond revved the engine and accelerated. Chula Baker had inherited her mama’s high-handed ways, but he couldn’t stop the smile that touched the corners of his mouth. He could only thank his lucky stars she was an ally and not an adversary.

By taking the herbs, Chula had freed him to search for Armand Dugas. Raymond knew the price of hope, but he couldn’t help but believe the convict was not only alive but in possession of knowledge that would help him prove Adele’s innocence.

Florence let the crisp air flow over her face from the open window of the car. She caught her hair in one hand, restraining the dark curls from tickling her face. She was almost afraid to glance at Raymond as he drove. He’d been distant, more tense than usual. The weight he carried had grown heavier, and she knew it was Adele. Whatever Adele’s ultimate fate, Raymond had assumed the responsibility. His fate was now bound with Adele, for better or worse. Adele had softened him in some ways, yet made him more distant, too.

His invitation to ride to Baton Rouge had been so unexpected that she’d failed to ask why they were making the trip. It was county business, because they rode in the patrol car on gasoline paid for with county coupons. But when business was done, there would surely be an element of pleasure. Why else would he have invited her to ride with him?

She’d chosen a red top with sleeves that tied on her arm and a tight black skirt, the kind of dress any woman might wear for a day of shopping in the state capital. Shopping. Or lunching. Or going to a movie or even a live performance at one of the supper clubs.

On either side of them the marshes stretched like a sea of grass. The sky was cloudless and blue, and she caught the scent of dead fish and mud. Beyond the vista she knew so well, she saw another reality. Hovering on the horizon was a different image, a cottage in a shady, respectable neighborhood with shuttered windows and a quiet lawn. She was traveling to Baton Rouge—and the future she dreamed about—with the man she loved. Surely this was the first step in that direction.

When she did chance a look at Raymond, she saw a hardness in the set of his mouth that made her anxious. Whatever he chewed was bitter. Once his business was done, he’d come around to feeling better. She’d make sure of it.

“Has there been a sign of that missing child?” she asked.

Raymond glanced at her as if he didn’t know who she was. He blinked. “Joe’s got a search party out. Clifton Hebert’s leading another one.”

“Do you think Peat Moss is still alive?”

His grip on the wheel tightened. “I don’t know.”

Exasperated, she asked, “Raymond, why are we going to Baton Rouge?”

“Business.”

He was never a talkative man, but his silence was like a wall between them. “Why did you ask me to ride with you on county business?”

He sighed. His hand moved toward her and then returned to the steering wheel. “Did you ever hear of a man named Armand Dugas? He worked around Baton Rouge.”

Florence felt the point of his question like a knife. The fantasy of a life in Baton Rouge with Raymond died a violent death. “Is this Armand Dugas in the life?”

“Yes.”

“You brought me along with you so I could help you track down a pimp?”

“Yes.” He didn’t look at her.

She focused her gaze out the window. The open stretches of marshland were behind them. Cypress trees crowded close to the road, their limbs bound by vines and moss. They hadn’t passed another car for miles.

“Did you ever hear of him?” Raymond asked.

“No.” She blinked back tears, and when she wiped her cheek her finger found the thin ridge of the crescent-shaped scar. Raymond had never implied this was a date. She knew they were in the county car. This had only ever been business. For all that she prided herself on her practicality and lack of sentimentality, she felt the searing heat of disappointment and betrayal.

His hand touched hers, his fingers tracing her own until they caught around hers. “Florence, I didn’t mean to hurt you. I should have explained.”

“But you were afraid I’d say no.”

He didn’t answer, and she knew she was right. Her jaw ached from grinding her teeth. “Why is this Armand Dugas so important?”

“I can’t be certain, but he may have the answer to Adele Hebert.”

“Do you ever think of anything except Adele Hebert?” She turned on him. “What about that child? You’re hauling me off to Baton Rouge while that little girl is still missing. What about her? Why is it only Adele you feel the need to protect?” Anger and hurt fueled her words.

He was surprised by her outburst and that made her even angrier. “Don’t you think people talk? They say you took Adele Hebert from her cell and hid her in the swamp so she can’t be made to pay for what she did. They say she’s cast her spell on you.”

“Who says that?”

“The men who pay me for the pleasure I give them.” She flung the words at him, hoping for pain. He viewed her as a whore with useful contacts; she would show him what contacts she had.

“They’re wrong.”

“Where is Adele Hebert? That’s the question everyone asks, Raymond. You told me Halloween Night that she had escaped. Folks in town think you have her. Have you hidden her?”

Raymond put both hands on the wheel. “No. I wish I had, though. Adele could be dead in the swamps. Will you help me?”

She turned away from him. “Do I have a choice?”

“With me, always.”

C
HULA shoved the letters into the postal slots, her quick fingers sorting with experienced speed. Madame’s cottage had been empty when she’d gotten there, so she’d left the herbs with a note on the top step. Worried about Madame and Adele, she’d returned to chaos at the post office.

Claudia worked beside her, fumbling each piece of mail she touched. It was easy to see that Claudia was in a terrible state, and Chula could easily guess the reason why.

“Did you talk to Mrs. Lanoux?” Chula asked.

Claudia dropped a stack of letters that scattered across the wooden floor. When she stooped to retrieve them, a sob escaped her. “I went to visit, but …” She pressed her face into her knees and wept, hunkered into herself like a child.