Night Magic (5 page)

*****

Paul stood outside the expensive suite of
offices, his heart pounding. He thought that he had prepared
himself for this moment but now knew differently. What would his
grandmother say if she were living? Marguerite had been a proud
woman who faced difficulty with a determination not to be defeated.
She had supported herself and Paul's father with a variety of back
breaking jobs. When she married Henry Honorè, Paul's father was two
years old. Henry raised Charles with the same love and strict
discipline he gave to the six other children they had. So much so,
that Paul was shocked to learn that Henry was not his natural
grandfather.

"Hello, I'm here for a meeting with Mr.
Singleton. Paul Honorè." He stood nervously while the blonde
receptionist called to tell Singleton's secretary that he was
waiting.

"Have a seat, Mr. Honorè. He'll be with you
shortly."

Paul sat down in a comfortable leather chair.
He stared at the prints on the wall and tried not to get any more
jumpy than he was already by the nerve wracking wait. Although it
had only been fifteen minutes by his watch, it had seemed longer.
Finally, an older and more conservatively dressed woman came to the
reception area.

"Mr. Honorè? Come this way. Mr. Singleton is
sorry for the delay; a long distance conference call took longer
than he had anticipated." She ushered him into a conference room
with a large oval-shaped oak conference table. He sat down and
began taking out his notebook.

"Good to see you, Honorè. So we finally meet.
Have some coffee. Rose, you forgot to bring in the coffee." He
barked in irritation at his secretary, but to Paul, Kyle Singleton
was as ingratiating in his manner as he had been at their two
previous meetings. His dark brown hair was badly cut; his expensive
suit was a little too tight around his portly frame."No thanks, I'm
fine." Paul nodded a greeting at a second, younger man already
seated in the conference room.

"Well, you just make yourself to home then.
Oh, where are my manners. This is my vice-president of operations--
ah, here you are." Singleton looked over Paul's shoulder.

The second man walked into the room with the
air of one who felt he belonged no matter where he was. Tall and
distinguished, he stood erect despite his years. Paul guessed he
had to be at least seventy-nine, yet he had a thick head of silver
gray hair. His suit was just as expensive as Singleton's, but the
fit was perfect.

"Claude, this is the young man who will
conduct what I'm sure will be an objective and unbiased assessment
of the site for our new treatment facility." Singleton's toothy
smirk implied that he wanted anything but that. "Paul Honorè,
Claude Trosclair."

"How do you do? Kyle." Claude clapped
Singleton on the shoulder.

"Oh yes, this is his grandson Quentin, our
senior vice president." Singleton grinned.

With that simple greeting, Paul reached out
and shook hands with his grandfather and cousin.

Chapter 3

Savannah stood gazing out of the shop window.
The leaves on the pin oak and sycamore trees had begun to turn
lovely shades of dark red and yellow. Mixed in with some of the
still green vegetation, the colors were a beautiful blend of
nature's best early fall redecoration. Bright sunshine spilled over
the lovely landscaped little downtown of Beau Chene. Typical for
southern Louisiana, late September had begun to foreshadow the
splendor of the change of seasons; not just from the change in the
leaves, but by the cooler nights. The temperature dropped only by
as little as five or ten degrees, but drop it did. Just as she had
done as a little girl when deep in thought or troubled, Savannah
absent-mindedly twisted a thick lock of her hair. Her return home
had much smoother than she had hoped, but she felt restless and
uneasy. The conflict over the Big River plant loomed on the horizon
like dark storm clouds. She knew there was no easy way it could be
settled, no compromise available. No matter the outcome, there was
sure to be bitter feelings. If it was proven the plant would harm
the people living nearby, the plant could be forced to close. That
would please some, but those losing jobs would not forgive
neighbors even relatives who helped make it happen. Paul's report
being prepared on Big River was going to be critical to the
outcome.At the thought of the handsome engineer, his face seemed to
float in the plate glass window for a split second. She blinked
rapidly. Her thoughts were of his hands touching her shoulders then
cupping her face as he lowered his lips to hers. No matter how she
tried, she couldn't think of him without having such fantasies.
Never had she reacted so strongly to a man. True, she had found
others attractive, even been infatuated, but this silly adolescent
obsession was getting out of hand. She should be spending time
worrying about her father and how she could help keep him out of
trouble.Across the street and still several blocks away, Savannah
noticed a vaguely familiar figure walking toward the shop. A thick
black braid hung down the woman's back. She wore a simple cotton
dress that served to emphasize her figure and reveal bare shapely
legs. She crossed the street and headed straight toward Savannah.
Recognition dawned slowly as the woman reached to open the
door.

"Hello, Savannah. Heard you were home.
Welcome back." LaShaun leaned across the counter and brushed her
cheek against Savannah's. Her slightly almond shaped, dark brown
gaze swept the shop. "I only been in here once before and that was,
goodness, over six years ago. Nice stuff. So, what's up with
you?"

LaShaun Rousselle had changed from an awkward
brooding little girl into a sultry young woman. She regarded
Savannah with a look of cool, appraisal letting her know nothing
had changed. LaShaun wore a look of disdain. It was clear she would
make sure Savannah knew of her enmity. The animosity LaShaun's
mother had felt for Therese and Antoine seemed a caustic legacy
left to be carried on by her daughter.

"Not much." Savannah's smile was strained.
LaShaun seemed crafty to Savannah and she reminded herself to watch
her back.

"You giving up your job in Shreveport to run
your daddy's shop? Seems strange, you had such a big time law
career, so they say. Making a lot of money; so they say." She
paused in her examination of a small female figure carved from a
piece of oak.

"Sometimes that type of success is just not
enough. Besides, with my father getting on in age, he could use
some help around here with his business interests."

"I guess. ‘Course Mr. Antoine is in good
shape from what I can see. What I mean is you don't have to worry
about him getting senile anytime soon." LaShaun faced her briefly,
and then turned quickly to examine a shelf of spices.

"That's not what I meant at all. He could
just use help with this plant dispute getting so, intense."
Savannah was immediately sorry she had mentioned it.

"Oh yes. Claude Trosclair wants to make even
more money than he has already. And your daddy, bless him, is
getting in his way. Always was a bold man, your daddy. Least my
mama always said so." LaShaun faced her, a sly smile spread across
her face.

Savannah clenched her teeth to keep from
rising to the bait and instead forced a smile. "He believes in
what's right. And he won't let people walk over him, or make a fool
of him either."

"Oh he's good at getting out of things, for
sure. Course, Claude Trosclair is good at getting what he wants.
Hope he knows what he's doing crossing him." She walked over and
leaned against the counter.

"He does." Savannah did not want to talk
about her father anymore, especially not with LaShaun.

"Well, guess I'd better get to work. I'm
working at the museum."

"I didn’t know we had one here."

"It's kinda small. But we've got a real
interesting set of exhibits on local history, artifacts and
such."

"Sounds nice." Savannah made a show of moving
things around on the counter near the cash register. She hoped
LaShaun would take the hint.

"Oh yes, we've been written up in some tour
magazines. Come over some time." LaShaun started to leave. She
paused with her hand on the door knob.

"Maybe I will."

"The most popular section is the one I set up
myself. The tourists just find it fascinating. I think you would,
too. On voodoo."

Savannah looked up sharply. LaShaun was still
smiling, her eyes had narrowed making her face take on the look of
a cat stalking prey. Savannah's hands shook, causing her to drop
several ink pens she was trying to place in the round container
along with other small souvenirs.

"Bye now." LaShaun gave a low, throaty
chuckle as she went through the door.

*****

The lingering aroma of Tante Marie's famous
cooking drifted through the warm evening air. Savannah and Charice
sat on the large front porch watching Charice's offspring play in
the front yard. Antoine sat at the other end puffing his pipe.
Stuffed on chicken and sausage jambalaya, mustard greens, and hush
puppies, it was all they could do to lift a hand to wave the straw
fans to cool themselves. Despite her protests, all had pitched in
to clean up the kitchen. Tante Marie finally came outside. She
plumped up the large flowered cushion, and then sat down heavily in
a large cane chair.

"Ah, that breeze feel good, yeah." Tante
Marie mopped her face with a flowered handkerchief.

"Nothing like a quiet Sunday afternoon after
a good home cooked dinner. Tante Marie, that was some kind of
delicious meal you cooked. Umph!" Charice patted her stomach.

"Yes indeed. That was the one thing I never
got over after I left home, missing your food. I don't think I
could move if I wanted to, which I don't. Look at those two, where
do they get the energy? Hey, Crystal and Nikki, don't you want to
take a nap or at least slow down?" Savannah called out to the girls
who just giggled and kept playing.

"Forget it, honey. They stopped taking naps
long ago; unfortunately. Were we ever that bouncy?"

"Yes, Lord. ‘Member the time y'all was always
having slumber parties or king cake parties or somethin'. House
full of little noisy gals." Tante Marie shook her head with a
laugh.

"Speaking of king cake, we used to really
have a ball at Mardi Gras. Especially in high school. And can we
ever forget who was queen of the Krewe of Noir Mystique carnival
ball in her junior year? That gown you wore knocked 'em dead.
Strapless with a wide hoop skirt." Charice gave Savannah a playful
pat on the arm.

"Oh please. I've still got scars from that
dress. Those pretty green sequins and beads made sitting down a
pain, literally. And standing up was worse. That thing must have
weighed a ton."

"Back then, we didn't care about being in
agony if it meant being beautiful. You were so busy strutting your
stuff for Andre LaMotte, you didn't even notice."

"Don't remind me. And what about you? Dewayne
did this, Dewayne said that." Savannah spoke in a high pitched
little voice.

"Hmm, I haven't thought about him in years.
Last I heard, he was living in Houston. Andre still lives
here."

"So far I haven't seen him; which is okay by
me," she added to ward off Charice's matchmaking plans.

"He was always a little wild, but he got
downright crazy in our senior year. When you broke up with him that
was something. LaShaun spent the next six months bragging that she
took him from you."

"She came in the shop the other day."
Savannah spoke quietly, all amusement gone from her voice.

"What did the devil's daughter want with
you?" Charice grimaced.

"To tell me about the museum."

Charice shuddered. "She still gives me the
creeps.”Living in that big old house with crazy old Mama
Odette."

"All them Rousselles is sly, from Odette's
monmon on back. She crazy like a fox, old Odette is. She made
herself plenty good money in her time. Even had some property down
in New Orleans," Tante Marie said.

"They say all three her of her sons came to a
bad end. And Francine, LaShaun's mama--"

Antoine got up abruptly and went in the
house. The women exchanged glances. Shortly they heard the bang of
the back screen door. The signal that he was going for a walk.

"Sorry, I should keep my big mouth shut."
Charice sighed.

"No, cher. Don't worry 'bout that. It
happened years ago."

"What happened, Tante Marie?" Savannah asked.
"Every time there was trouble between LaShaun and me, Poppy would
get this strange look. And every time somebody mentioned LaShaun's
mama, somebody else would cut off the conversation if we kids were
close around." Savannah gripped the chain of that held the swing
attached to the roof. Planting her feet on the floor, she stopped
the swaying bench.

"It's best left alone." Tante Marie folded
her arms and stared straight ahead.

"But if it was so long ago, then we ought to
be able to talk about it now. I'm not a child anymore, Tante Marie.
So stop treating like one. There were whispers about voodoo or
hoodoo. And it had something to do with my mama, LaShaun's mama,
and Poppy--" Savannah leaned forward with a look of intensity as if
willing her aunt to reveal more.

"Leave that alone I said." Tante Marie spoke
in such a loud sharp voice, the two girls playing several yards
away stopped abruptly to stare at the adults sitting on the porch.
Tante Marie stood slowly with a grunt. "I'm goin' inside now. My
show comin' on."

Moments later they heard the sound of the
television. Savannah was deeply shaken. Not by Tante Marie's harsh
rebuke, but by the thought of the secret that caused it. Remnants
of the dark fears of her childhood began to crowd around the edges
of her mind. The breeze across her arms now sent a chill that
raised goose bumps. She hugged herself, swaying slowly in the old
cane rocker.