Sandra Hill - [Jinx 03] (8 page)

If by some remote possibility the Jinx team was successful in recovering any of the Lafitte treasure, it would be making history as well as a financial boon. One thing puzzled her, though. “Tante Lulu . . . John . . . how did you get involved with Jinx? They’re based in New Jersey.”

“Six years back, I went ta Atlantic City ta bring my nephew home,” Tante Lulu said. “He was strippin’.”

Why am I not surprised.
Celine raised her eyebrows at John.

“Hey, I like ta dance.”

“Well, ya doan hafta be showin’ yer hiney ta dance.”

“It was only two weeks, and I did it on a dare,” John told Celine.

Everyone at the table was chuckling and shaking their heads at John. Apparently they knew him and his antics well.

Yep, great father material.
“I saw you dance one time. At a high school dance marathon for some charity.” Why she’d felt the need to impart that news to John was probably an indication of her nervousness.

“Really? Was I good?”

“Very good. You won, as I recall.”

“Did I dance with you?”

“No.” Good grief! She would have had a heart attack in those days if he had even asked. To her chagrin, she felt herself blushing.

“Tsk-tsk-tsk! Even I know better than to tell a woman I don’t remember her,” Adam said to John.

“I didn’t say I didn’t remember Celine. I didn’t remember
dancing
with her.”

“Same thing.” Adam smirked at John. “Maybe I could teach you something about Yankee finesse.”

John told Adam what he could do with his finesse.

Tante Lulu smacked John lightly on the shoulder with a wire whisk.

Then John frowned, no doubt taking in her heated face. “Did I hurt your feelin’s by not askin’ you to dance,
chère?
”

Yes!
“Hardly!”

He was still frowning.

“That’s like not remembering a woman after you’ve nailed her,” Adam went on.

“Adam!” Tante Lulu, Ronnie, and Brenda all said regarding his crudity. Tante Lulu gave Adam a whack with the whisk, too.

But that remark caused John’s face to flush, and hers to turn even redder, for different reasons, obviously.

Beside her, she heard Caleb chuckle.

Enough!
“Brenda, did you say something about having a little girl?” Celine asked, opting for a change of subject.

Brenda began a story about her eleven-year-old daughter Patti that soon had everyone laughing. The little girl was obsessed with
American Idol
and had talked her father into getting tickets for the finals last year, which proved to be an embarrassing mistake when Ryan Seacrest shamed Lance, who was tone deaf, into coming up onstage and doing a short duet with Paula Abdul to “I’ve Got You, Babe.”

“Speakin’ of
American Idol,
how’s yer sister Lizzie doin’?” Tante Lulu asked Caleb. Tante Lulu looked at Celine and explained, “Caleb’s sister is a wonderful singer. She wants ta be on
American Idol
.”

Celine flashed Caleb a sideways glance of surprise. “Isn’t she Amish?”

He nodded with a grimace. “Lizzie made it through the first round two years ago, but then she got mono and couldn’t continue.”

“She called herself an Amish J-Lo,” Tante Lulu elaborated.

“Now, she calls herself an Amish Carrie Underwood.” Caleb smiled, and, whoo-boy, a smile from this taciturn man was unexpected and dazzling. He was a testosterone- oozing hunk, for sure. “Actually, she’s gonna participate in the tryouts in New Orleans next month.”

“Ooooh, thass nice. Mebbe we kin all go support her.”

“Well, she and Patti should get along,” Brenda said. “She’ll go nuts when I tell her. I’ll mark the date on my calendar.”

“Do ya think Patti will like havin’ a baby sister or brother?” Tante Lulu asked Brenda.

Brenda gasped.

Uh-oh!
Good old tactless Tante Lulu.

“What makes you think I’m pregnant?”

Tante Lulu waved a hand dismissively. “It’s not ’cause yer gettin’ fat, if thass what ya think.” Celine had only been here a few hours, and already she knew about Brenda’s constant and unusual diets, even though she had a Marilyn Monroe–style figure that men loved. “Brenda, honey, I’m a
traiteur.
I can sense these things.”

Brenda’s face flushed with embarrassment.

“Are you happy about this pregnancy?” Ronnie asked after giving Brenda a hug.

“Yes. And no. I would like another baby. Of course, I would. But I’m thirty-nine years old.”

“I was almost thirty-five when I had Julie Ann,” Ronnie pointed out. “Does this mean you’ll stop working with Jinx?”

“Just for a few months. Maybe a year, but I want to come back eventually. My mother lives with us. She’ll help with the baby, just like she did with Patti. Lance will help, too.”

Now, that would be a story. Lance Caslow. Mr. Mom.

Tante Lulu patted Brenda’s hand. “Not ta worry. Wimmen have babies much older t’day, even when their boobs are saggin’ and their bottoms have gone all mushy.”

The old lady was outrageous.

“Babies are a blessin’, no matter when they come,” Tante Lulu concluded.

Maybe not so outrageous.

“Do you have any children?” Ronnie asked Celine, out of the blue.

“Yes,” she replied, taking herself and everyone else by surprise.
Oh, my God! Oh, my God!

Why did I admit that?

Because it would be like slamming my own son, that’s why.

Do I subconsciously want John to find out?

Of course not. I’m just an idiot.

She could tell that her slip shocked John. He leaned forward and turned his head to the right so he could see her better. “I didn’t know you were married,” he said, frowning. He was probably trying to remember if she’d ever said that precisely.

Her heart was beating so fast she feared everyone could see it through her T-shirt. “I’m not married,” she replied without looking his way. “But I’m engaged.”
I’ve never been embarrassed about being a single parent . . . at least not in the past. What’s going on here?

And I never lie, either.

Oooh, what is it they say about lies and how they always come back to bite you in the butt? Any more of this and I’m going to have to wear armor on my behind.

“Oh, no!” Tante Lulu said. “Tee-John, how could this be? Ya know what I thought . . . about Celine and the thunderbolt and such?”

“What thunderbolt?” Celine asked.

“Don’t ask,” John advised her, then stood and hugged his aunt. “I told you it wasn’t the right time, Auntie.”

“Is yer fiancé the baby’s daddy?” Tante Lulu asked.

That was really intrusive, but Celine didn’t think she could back down now. In fact, she felt as if she’d stepped into quicksand of her own making. “Uh, no.”

“When’s the weddin’?” John asked in an oddly grim voice.

“Uh, not for a while. Darryl is . . . uh . . . in Afghanistan. A war correspondent.”
Quicksand, quicksand, quicksand.

“No kidding? What’s his last name? What squad is he embedded with? Maybe I know him?” This from Caleb, who probably still had lots of contacts in the military.

The situation was spiralling out of hand. She needed to get the focus off her and the blasted fiancé.

“Boy or a girl?” Brenda asked. “Your child, I mean?”

Thank you, God!
“Boy. His name is Etienne,” she said, pronouncing it with a drawn-out A-T-N, like ATM. “He’s . . . uhm, four years old.” That must be about her sixth lie in less than five minutes. She was going to confession first thing when she got back home. But, no, maybe not. In order to get absolution, she would have to promise to correct the lies.

Meanwhile, John was studying her way too closely.

Something was wrong here. John wasn’t sure what it was, but his antennae were on red alert. He’d taken a class in college on body language—one of those easy-credit courses—and he would bet his badge that Celine was lying about something. In addition, he’d had a few conversations with Jake about “tells,” the little body giveaways that experienced poker players knew how to hide, but not the average person.

Celine was lying through her teeth about something.

But what?

And why?

Hmmm. She must have been a junior or senior in college when she got pregnant, after he’d graduated. He wondered who the father was, whether she had ever been married, and how she’d managed to complete her education while caring for a newborn. But he could see how uncomfortable she was discussing her private life, even about her fiancé, who would no doubt adopt her son.

Tante Lulu was still shaking her head with disbelief. “I jist doan understand,” she muttered. “St. Jude never gets it wrong.”

Well, at least this development would take Celine out of his aunt’s crosshairs in the bride hunt.

“Etienne is a rascal, all right. An adorable rascal.” Celine must have been talking while he’d succumbed to his shell shock. “Practically from the moment he was born, he’s been driving me nuts with his antics. And then, when he’s caught, he just flashes one of those irresistible grins, and I cave. He’s got the mischief/charm thing down pat.” She seemed to be babbling. With nervousness. How odd!

“Sounds jist like Tee-John,” Tante Lulu said.

Celine flinched, as if his aunt had made a derogatory remark.

Now, that was insulting . . . that she didn’t want any kid of hers being at all like him.
What am I? Slime?

“Should you be diving if you’re pregnant?” Celine asked Brenda, clearly wanting to change the subject.

“I’m only two months along, and this isn’t a particularly deep dive.”

“Do ya have a picture of yer boy?” Tante Lulu wasn’t about to let Celine off the hook so fast.

“No!” she said, way too vehemently for such an innocuous question. They were drowning in oddness here. “I mean, not with me.” She glanced his way and blushed.

This was getting curiouser and curiouser.

And he could tell that Tante Lulu’s antennae were up, too.

Celine was hiding something.

Maybe it was about the father. Could it be someone he knew? Yep, that must be it.

But she was uncomfortable with Tante Lulu, too. That narrowed the field down a lot. Someone he and his aunt both knew. Hmmm.

Was there anything lower than a man who made babies, then disappeared from the scene? That’s probably why Celine was so skittish. She’d been dumped by some two-bit piece of crap and left with a bun in the oven.

He shrugged. It was none of his business.

Chapter
7

Tante Lulu took a break after cleaning up from dinner. And, yes, she thought of herself as Tante Lulu, like everyone else, instead of Louise Rivard.

She was out on the porch, listening as Tee-John teased Brenda, trying to draw the young woman out of her obvious blues. Now that she was pregnant, she probably wanted to be home with her husband and little girl. Cajun music played softly in the background . . . a song by a band named BeauSoleil, she thought.

The boy—and yes she thought of Tee-John as a boy, even though he was twenty-eight—was good at heart, and she loved him almost more than all the others. He’d had to live with that devil Valcour LeDeux longest. Lots of people thought he was wild and worthless, even though he’d settled down when he took that cop job a few years back. She knew better. All his running around and joking was like a mask he put on. Inside he was still the little boy who came running to her cottage with welt marks from his hiney to his shoulders. And it wasn’t only one time, either. To this day, she got tears in her eyes thinking about the things she’d seen done to this child. Luc, Remy, and René had had each other, and her of course, when Valcour LeDeux had gone off on one of his rages; Tee-John mostly only had her.

At her request . . . okay, demand . . . Tee-John was pruning the climbing roses that were growing every which way almost as high as the roof. She’d given René cuttings from her own garden to plant here years ago when he rebuilt the cabin, but then everything grew like wildfire in this tropical heat. “So, what do you say to a NASCAR driver when you’re about to make love? Va-va-voom?” Tee-John continued to tease Brenda.

Brenda, who was painting her toenails with first one foot, then the other, propped on the porch rail, smiled at him and said, “No. I say, ‘Gentleman, start your engine.’”

“Good one! Hey, I could paint your toenails for you? I’m real good at it.”

“I’ll bet you are,” Celine muttered behind Tante Lulu.

“You mean like the movie
Bull Durham
?” Brenda asked.

“Yeah, but better.”

Celine snorted. “You’re no Kevin Costner,” she teased.

“Yeah, but better,” Tee-John repeated, this time to Celine with a waggle of his eyebrows. Tante Lulu would have to talk with the girl later; she needed to know snorting was not ladylike. On the other hand, that rascal Tee-John did tend to bring out the snort in a lady.

“Lance would kill you,” Brenda told him. Now that she was finished, she put the cap on the nail polish and put both feet on the rail to dry.

“He could try,” Tee-John said, over-confident, as usual. Then, craning his neck to the side so he could see Celine, he offered, “I could do you, Celine.”

Celine made a choking sound, and everyone on the porch or in the front yard smiled. Tante Lulu smiled, too. These two put off more sparks than a Fourth of July sparkler.

Done with his pruning, Tee-John came up onto the porch and tugged on one of Brenda’s blonde curls. “Did you hear about the blonde who thought General Motors was in the Army?”

Brenda shot right back with: “Mental anxiety. Mental dysfunction. Menopause. Menstrual Cramps. Notice how all women’s problems begin with men?”

Adam, who’d been sitting on the front steps with Caleb, jumped in with, “Did you hear about the redneck who thought Taco Bell was a Mexican phone company?”

“No, but do you know what to do if you see a dumb Yankee throw a pin?” Tee-John batted his long eyelashes at Adam. “Run. He’s probably got a grenade in his mouth.”

“Are you people nuts?” Celine asked.

Tee-John winked at Celine, and even Tante Lulu could see that the boy did have a sexy wink. Those long black eyelashes, no doubt. “Didja hear ’bout the half-Cajun gal who confused her Prozac with her birth control pills? No? Well, she had a dozen kids, but she doesn’t give a damn.”

Celine tried but couldn’t stop herself from smiling.

Tee-John had that effect on women, bless his heart.

Which was puzzling. Tante Lulu could swear she had seen thunderbolts zig-zagging between these two. Even when the girl had written that newspaper article about him, even if it didn’t mention him by name, Tante Lulu had sensed that Celine had done it to get his attention. How could she have been so sure that Celine was the one for Tee-John if she was already taken? Could she be losing her matchmaking instincts? Was she getting so old that her powers were weakening? If that was so, would she be losing other talents as well? Like healing? Or heading the family? Or being a hottie?

“Are ya sure yer engaged?”

Celine’s face got all pink and splotchy. “Um . . . why?”

“I was so sure.”

Celine frowned in confusion.

“Best ya doan frown so much. Girl yer age could get wrinkles.”

The frown disappeared, but the pink splotches remained.

“Yer glistenin’, Celine. You want I should get you a wet wipe?”

“Glistening?”

“Yep. Dint ya ever hear it said here in the South that pigs sweat, men perspire, and women glisten?”

Celine just shook her head as if Tante Lulu was hopeless. Hah! She wasn’t the one hopeless on this porch.
Which reminds me. I best pull out that St. Jude birdbath from the storage shed tomorrow.
The girl was wiping off her face now with a tea towel that a laughing Tee-John had thrown her way.

“Ya ever wear makeup, honey? My niece Charmaine has a beauty spa in Houma. She could give ya tips. She could help ya get rid of those splotches, too, lickety-split.”

“Of course I wear makeup sometimes, but why would I wear makeup here in the boonies?”

“Hah! I know some wimmen who wear makeup jist ta take the garbage out. But then, they probably have hunky garbage men.”

“Aaarrgh!”

Lots of people said that around her.

“What were you sure of?” Celine asked Tante Lulu testily.

“I was sure the thunderbolt had finally come fer Tee-John.”

“What thunderbolt?”

“The thunderbolt of love.”

“I’m probably going to regret asking, but what has this thunderbolt of love to do with . . . oh, no! You couldn’t possibly have thought . . . ? Me and John LeDeux?”

“Are ya sure yer engaged?”

“Yes.”

“When’re ya gettin’ hitched?”

“Um, when Duane gets home.”

“I thought his name was Darryl.”

“Um . . . Darryl is his first name, but he prefers to use his middle name.”

“His name is Darryl Duane?”

“Um, yes.”

“Whass his last name?”

“Um . . . Dalton.”

Tante Lulu arched her eyebrows. “Darryl Duane Dalton?”

“Um . . . yes.”

Tee-John snickered.

Celine glowered at him.

There are a bunch of ums comin’ outta that girl’s mouth. Hmmmm.
“When’ll it be?”

“What?”

“The weddin’.”

“Um . . . next year.”

“Next year? Holy moly, there’s lotsa time yet.”

“Time for what?”

“Fer the thunderbolt ta work . . . and St. Jude, of course. Do ya have a St. Jude statue, honey?”

Celine just stared at her, like she was dumb . . . or dumbfounded. Same thing.

“Why dontcha come into the kitchen with me, sweetie. I’m thinkin’ what a gal like you needs is . . . ” She beamed with inspiration, “ . . . a cup of my famous juju tea.”

Everyone else on the porch said, “Uh-oh.”

“Holy shit! Only you would go into hiding with the enemy.”

“She’s not the enemy, Chief.”

“She sure as hell isn’t your friend . . . or that of the department.”

“I’ve told you that she promises—”

“Screw promises. Get the hell out of there. I’ll call the FBI. We’ll have you set up in a safe place by tomorrow.”

“No!” he barked, then softened, “I mean, let me case the situation out. There’s no way to leave here unless Remy comes in by hydroplane, or someone spends days traveling by pirogue.”

“What happens if this project ends in a week or two? She’ll be coming back then.”

“She promises that my name won’t be mentioned.”

“LeDeux, LeDeux, LeDeux. Even now, she could call her newspaper.”

“No, she can’t. Cell phones don’t work here. I’m calling on a secure satellite phone. So, there’s no way she’s chit-chatting with anyone.”

“I don’t know.”

“Trust me. You won’t find a safer place than this remote cabin. But if you still insist, I can go to my brother Luc’s fishing camp. It’s even more remote.”

“Is being on this treasure hunt that important to you?”

He hesitated. “Yeah, it is.”

“Let me talk to the DA tomorrow morning. See what he thinks.”

“Remy’s flyin’ in about noon to take the owners of Jinx, Inc. back. So, try to make a decision by then.”

“Okay.”

“Boss, I can handle Celine Arseneaux.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

The old lady was giving her the heebie-jeebies, one of Etienne’s favorite words.

All evening long Tante Lulu had been pushing some pungent-tasting herbal tea on her . . . that was when she wasn’t hinting about some thunderbolt nonsense . . . or when she wasn’t giving her a mini plastic St. Jude statue or a St. Jude key chain or a St. Jude medal.

The senior citizen dingbat thinks I’m hopeless.

I’m not hopeless.

I’m hopeful.

Well, okay, a little bit hopeless, but only in certain areas.

Aaarrgh!

So far, she, the old lady, and the pregnant Brenda had to go pee ten times.

Meanwhile, she was having the strangest, most unwelcome thoughts about John LeDeux. Way more than her knees were involved.

Now, she was lying in one of the three single beds in the second of two loft bedrooms, pretending she was asleep so that Tante Lulu would finally shut up. The old lady, who was in the middle bed, with Brenda on the far bed, had an opinion on everything in the world, and asked the most intimate questions.

“Do ya wear a thong, dearie?”

“Are ya on the pill?”

“Didja ever wear fishnet stockings?”

“I wonder if Richard Simmons wears boxers or briefs.” Tante Lulu had a crush on the exercise guru. Celine didn’t know what was more unbelievable: that a ninety-two-year-old woman still got crushes, or who the object of that attraction was.

Celine really didn’t mind the old woman. In fact, overall, she was kind of charming. And her family certainly loved her, and vice versa.

To her surprise, Celine had enjoyed her first day on the Pirate Project. They hadn’t discovered any treasure yet; they hadn’t even tried, for that matter. It had all been set-up and planning.

“Clark Gable kissed my knee one time,” Tante Lulu said out of the blue.

Celine turned on her pillow to stare at Tante Lulu. By the moonlight streaming through two large windows, Celine could see that Tante Lulu was lying flat on her back with a sheet pulled up to her neck. Pink foam curlers adorned her hair which she’d dyed blonde earlier that night. On the other side, Brenda was staring at the old lady, too.

“What is it with you LeDeuxs and knees?” Celine exclaimed.

“Huh?” Tante Lulu said.

“Oh, nothing.”

“Ya cain’t stop there.”

“It’s just that John said something to me about licking the back of my knees. He was just teasing.”

Tante Lulu murmured something that sounded like “
Merci,
St. Jude,” while Brenda started to giggle.

“So, what were you saying about Clark Gable?” Brenda asked.

“Jist that he kissed my knee one time. I was visitin’ the set fer
Gone With the Wind
when I tripped and fell. He came over and kissed the boo-boo. Whoo-ee, did that mustache tickle! Talk about! I dint wash my leg fer a week.”

Celine thought a moment. “That movie was made in 1939.” She knew because it was one of her favorites on DVD.

“So?”

“You must have been some hot chick at one time,” Brenda observed while both of them made mental calculations of how old she must have been in 1939. About twenty-five.

“I’m still a hot chick.”

Celine didn’t need to glance over at Brenda to know she was smiling, just like her.

“Ya know the one thing I’ll regret when I die?”

Celine was becoming used to the sudden bends and twists in the old lady’s conversations. “What?”

“I never found my G-spot.”

Oh. My. God!

Brenda made a choking sound, probably trying to suppress laughter.

“Ya found
yer
G-spot yet, Brenda?”

Zap!

“Lance found it for me.” There was outright laughter in Brenda’s voice.

Celine knew what was coming next but didn’t know how to deflect it.

“Ya found
yer
G-spot yet, Celine?”

“I’m still looking.” She thought that would be the end of it.
Foolish me!

“Maybe Tee—”

“We had an interesting article in the paper last week,” Celine interrupted before the old lady could suggest what she was sure to do. “Doctors can give women a shot so their G-spots are more prominent.”

“I read that article,” Brenda said. “Something about how the injection causes that area to plump up.”

“Sounds painful to me,” Celine said.

“Hey, women stick needles in their lips to attract men,” Brenda pointed out. “Why not needles in their va-gee-gee?”

“It’s a little bit different. Ouch!”

“Charmaine was gonna have her thingamajig sewed up one time,” Tante Lulu told them.

Celine couldn’t not ask. “What thingamajig?”

“You know, the virginity membrane whatchama- callit. That was when she was gonna become a born again virgin. But then Rusty got outta jail, and that idea went out the window, kapooee. He had her in bed faster’n she could say ‘Your bed or mine, sugar?’”

“This is the most bizarre conversation I’ve ever had,” Celine commented.

“Ain’t this nice, though? Jist like a sleepover them teenage girls has. If it was earlier, we could put makeup on each other and practice dance moves. Or watch Richard Simmons tapes and do jumpin’ jacks. Mebbe tomorrow.”