Chapter 9

 

 

Saturday morning LaShaun went to visit Miss Rose again. The elderly woman had been delighted to get her call. The drive to Mouton Cove was lovely. Even with the cold of winter holding on for one last bite, Louisiana fought back. Green leaves mixed in with the bare gray branches of leaves stripped by frosty winds of early March. Fluffy clouds, light giant cotton balls, hovered against the blue skies. Yet the bright March sunshine hadn’t worked on LaShaun’s dark mood. By the time she reached Miss Rose’s lovely old Creole Cottage, it was barely seven-thirty in the morning. LaShaun drove down the driveway around to the back of the house. The older woman waved at her from a window.

Miss Rose opened the kitchen door. “Hello, sweet daughter. This is a fine morning, eh?”

“Good morning. Yes, the weather is nice.” LaShaun pulled her jacket closer against the sharp March wind. “Whew, I’m looking forward to spring though.”

“Warmer weather and a wedding. You have good reason to look forward to spring.”

LaShaun took off her jacket after she entered the cozy kitchen. Miss Rose chuckled as she closed the door firmly against the chill. She slipped on an oven mitt and took a cast iron skillet from the oven. She placed it on the stove. The smell of fresh coffee, biscuits, and sausage filled the air. Miss Rose placed the food on two plates. LaShaun poured two cups of coffee, and both of them sat down at the table.

“You need something hot in your stomach. You shouldn’t miss breakfast.”

“Thank you, Miss Rose.” LaShaun didn’t need to ask how the older woman knew she hadn’t eaten. “I’m sorry for bothering you at this early hour.”

“Child, I get up at five o’clock every morning. Old people don’t sleep well. My husband is already up and gone. He went to his friend’s farm to help him put out hay for his cows. Fred’s kids have all moved to the city. Young folks don’t want to live the old ways, eh? Well I don’t blame ‘em. Who wants to walk through manure all day?” Miss Rose chuckled again. “Ah, but I miss the old days. My first husband had a ranch.”

“Yes, ma’am,” LaShaun said respectfully. She knew the story of Miss Rose’s first husband. Loris Mouton had been a handsome Creole cowboy. In the forties and fifties he’d competed in rodeos.

Miss Rose sighed. “I’ve been blessed with two good men, Dieu merci. But you didn’t come out here to listen to my dusty stories from the past.”

LaShaun smiled at her with affection. “There is more wisdom in your ramblings than most could hope to have in a lifetime.”

“So, it’s old woman wisdom you need, eh child?” Miss Rose lifted a dark eyebrow at LaShaun.

“Counsel from a woman who understands that there is more to this world than what we see with our eyes,” LaShaun said, her smile now gone.

Miss Rose drank her coffee in silence for a few moments as she seemed to ponder LaShaun’s words. “Eat your breakfast.”

LaShaun had skipped dinner the evening before, unable to stomach food. She spent most of the night watching the eerie blue light dance in her woods. Its return taunted her that prayers had not been enough to banish the demon. Or maybe her prayers had not been strong enough or pure because of the things she’d done in her past.

Miss Rose’s maternal attention consoled LaShaun. Suddenly at ease, LaShaun felt hunger pains for the first time in hours. The fluffy buttered biscuit melted against LaShaun’s tongue when she tasted it. Miss Rose nodded approval and nibbled on at piece of sausage, still thinking. The two women shared the morning meal as though they were having a normal visit. After a time Miss Rose stood slowly. She tugged the sweater she wore a bit closer as she left, slippers shuffling across the tiled floor.

“I’ll be right back, cher,” Miss Rose said over her shoulder.

True to her word, Miss Rose came back a few minutes later. She carefully laid a thick book on the table. She tapped a forefinger on the dark green leather cover with gold letters. A border of more gold, in the shape of leaves laid end to end, decorated the book. LaShaun gazed at the book for a second. She carefully wiped her hands on the cloth napkin before picking it up.

“Warriors Against Evil: The Battle Rages Quietly, by Father Leonce Gautier,” LaShaun read aloud. She admired the workmanship of the book for a few seconds before opening the pages. “Wow, written in seventeen ninety-nine.”

“He wrote the second edition and published it in eighteen forty-seven. Father Gautier came to Louisiana in seventeen eighty-nine. He was twenty-two years old. He went to Natchitoches first. You know it’s the oldest settlement in Louisiana. Anyway, he eventually made his way to Vermilion Parish. He’s not as well known as Father Maigret in the history books, but those of us who know understand. This is an English version. I donated the French version, second edition, to Xavier University. Four of my ten grandchildren attended there you know.”

“You’re right to be proud, too,” LaShaun said. Afraid Miss Rose would veer off to brag on them, LaShaun gently prodded her back to the subject at hand. “But the book.”

“Hmm, ah yes. You know me too well, cher. In a minute I’d be showing you pictures of my beautiful babies.” Miss Rose laughed, and then turned serious again. “This book talks about Father Gautier’s encounters with people who did terrible things. He eventually concluded that some were possessed. Others, while not possessed, had simply decided that committing evil acts would benefit them more than following the scriptures.”

“Satan worshippers?” LaShaun flipped to the first chapter.

“No, not exactly. He spoke of those who had scorn for Biblical instructions to turn the other cheek, resist the lure of fleshly desires and so on. They followed Satan by their deeds, choosing to lie, steal, commit adultery with whoever they wanted to as often as possible. You name a sin, they committed it.” Miss Rose wore a grin. “Not that different from today, eh?”

“No difference at all, Miss Rose,” LaShaun agreed.

“According to Father Gautier, there are those among us who choose evil. While they live, they prey on the weak-minded. The worst of these may come back as demons once they die. Father Gautier calls these weak ones “dupes”. They’re seduced by the truly evil ones, who tend to be charismatic and good-looking. Finally there are those who are possessed by demons. They don’t seek to be taken over, but a strong evil spirit can seize a chance to become even more powerful. ” Miss Rose leaned back against her chair. She looked tired, as though speaking of such wickedness sapped energy from her.

LaShaun refilled Miss Rose’s empty cup with more coffee. “We can put off this talk for another time. I think you need rest.”

“No, we talk now. You will tell me why you’re so afraid for the young man you love.” Miss Rose nodded slowly when LaShaun put a hand over her mouth. “Tell me, cher.”

Her voice trembling at first, LaShaun began the story. LaShaun told her about her ancestors first, and how the loa had been called on to help them again. Every detail documented in the journals tumbled across LaShaun’s lips. She hadn’t spoken to anyone of the accounts of family misdeeds that spanned just over two centuries. Monmon Odette had been her only confidant. Now Miss Rose filled a void. LaShaun could speak of these things with not only someone who shared her Creole heritage, but who had “the gift”. LaShaun finished with the account of her long ago affair with Quentin Trosclair.

“I feel like my ancestors brought on this evil. Including what happened at the Metier House in 1837.” LaShaun let out a long sigh. Some of the weight of her family guilt lifted from her soul. But by no means all of it.

“Cher, there is something very deep going on here. Father Gautier attended the trial of Clarissa Metier. He was her spiritual advisor. I found an account that doesn’t name her, but I’m sure this is the same incident from the way he describes it. But...” Miss Rose paused dramatically. “Father Gautier describes much more than that old newspaper article.”

“The murder was more gruesome,” LaShaun said softly.

“Yes, her husband’s throat was cut so deeply his head almost came off. ‘Only a slender thread of flesh held it close to the poor wretch’s body’, is exactly how Father Gautier put it.” Miss Rose gave a shudder. “He talks about what he calls depravity. Mrs. Metier was rumored to have had many lovers.”

“Was she one of the truly evil or a dupe?” LaShaun flipped the pages of the book.

“Father Gautier could never figure her out. Maybe she was possessed,” Miss Rose said quietly. “Now, cher, tell what has happened to Deputy Broussard?”

LaShaun felt a stab of ice cold fear in her chest. “The blue light in my woods is back. And Chase is acting... not like himself. He’s more aggressive than I’ve seen him before. It’s not like he’s on edge or losing his temper. No, he’s cool and calculating about using violence to enforce his will. No remorse, and no apologies.”

“Ah, you know him much better than me, child. Your gift will guide.” Miss Rose sipped more coffee and sat deep in thought.

“Here’s another thing. Just the mention of Quentin used to make him practically spit in disgust. The other day he was joking about him, and we’re going to the Trosclair Mardi Gras ball,” LaShaun said.

“Mon dieu. That doesn’t sound like a good idea, cher,” Miss Rose exclaimed.

“Sometimes you have to track a predator instead of waiting for him to come to you, Miss Rose,” LaShaun said with a voice of steel. “I want to know how Quentin is connected to any of this. He’s one who has chosen evil. Unfortunately I know him well, too.”

Miss Rose gazed at her. “Quentin Trosclair would have chosen his path even if he’d never met you.” Miss Rose went back to sipping coffee and thinking.

LaShaun read a couple of pages before she closed the book. “I don’t know what to do.”

Miss Rose gave LaShaun’s hand a maternal pat. “Ah, cher, you must let go of your past. You hug it much too close. As for what to do, you have your grandmother’s good sense and your mother’s fire. You’ll find your way.”“I would gladly let go of my past, Miss Rose. But it keeps rising up like a zombie to follow me,” LaShaun said, her voice heavy with a dread of what might come.

 

 

***

 

Saturday night at eight o’clock Chase picked her up at home. Despite all of his long hours, he made time to attend the famous Trosclair Mardi Gras ball. He looked magnificent in a black suit. A black top hat and a silver mask was his only costume. Yet he managed to look like a gentleman from a bygone era. The heavy gold chain of a watch swung from the pocket of his suit jacket. LaShaun chose to wear a lace shift dress the golden color of the finest champagne. Her hair was in a French roll, and she wore a gold headband around her head. She wrapped a fancy bronze colored brocade cloak around her to keep warm against the chilly night. When she opened the door, Chase let out a long whistle.

“You look so beautiful,” Chase said. His dark eyes shone bright with desire.

“Merci, monsieur. I’m a lady from the nineteen twenties ready to slip into a speak-easy and shake my shimmy to some hot jazz.” LaShaun batted her eyelashes at him.

“We’ll hold off on the shakin’ until after this party,” Chase replied. “For now, I’m going to shake hands to get last minute votes.”

LaShaun’s amusement faded quickly when she remembered where they were going. “Why don’t we forget about this party? Since we’re all dressed up we could drive to Club Francois in Lafayette for their Saturday night jam. We’d have a much better time.”

“Yes, but nobody in Lafayette can vote in Vermilion Parish. Now come on so you can make all those rich women jealous.” Chase kissed her lightly on the forehead, and then swept a hand out with a flourish. “Your carriage waits, princess.”

“My prince calls his pick-up truck a chariot. Yep, you’re a true Cajun,” LaShaun quipped. She followed instructions and went ahead of him out of her back door.

Despite her effort to match Chase’s good mood, LaShaun’s unease grew as each mile slipped beneath the truck tires. They drove toward the outskirts of Beau Chene to the Trosclair family home. The moon glowed in the night sky like a giant white mother of pearl disk. For once, LaShaun hoped Chase would get a call that he needed to report for work. His phone remained annoyingly quiet.

Chase brushed a finger against LaShaun’s cheek. “Beautiful night, huh? The moon looks like it’s so close.”

“There are a lot of myths associated with the moon. For instance, in some African legends the moon and the sun are lovers. The solar and lunar eclipses happen when they make love.” LaShaun shrugged when he glanced at her. “It’s true. Look it up if you don’t believe me.”

“You’re my moon. Let’s make an eclipse right now. I can pull off under those trees over there.”

“Don’t you dare,” LaShaun said quickly and pointed ahead. “You keep this truck on the road.”

He laughed hard for a few seconds. “Okay, okay. Guess we’ll have to stick to the plan.”

LaShaun relaxed at the familiar playfulness that she enjoyed. Maybe it was all in her imagination that Chase was different. Still the reality of where they were headed poked at her. “Honey, I’m really shocked that you agreed to attend a party given by Quentin. You’re not exactly a fan of his. In fact, you threatened to shoot him once.” (Read A Darker Shade of Midnight)

“I’m willing to use his curiosity about me to be more visible with high rollers.” Chase grew serious. “I did some research. A lot of the society types that accept his invitations don’t really like him. But his family still has a lot of power all over the state.”

“Really? People don’t like Quentin? I’m so totally shocked!” LaShaun fell back against the leather truck seat in melodramatic fashion. “Maybe the fact that he’s a selfish, backstabbing snake has something to do with it.”

Chase let out a bark of laughter. “Anyway, you know the old saying about staying even closer to the enemy.”

“Yeah, well sometimes it’s better to handle a snake with a really long handle,” LaShaun retorted.

“We can debate it later,” Chase replied. He turned the truck off the four lane highway that led to Beau Chene. A wide street curved around until it ended. “Wow.”

Belle Oaks Drive ended at the Trosclair family home driveway. Yet “family home” didn’t begin to describe the three storied structured. Four Ionic columns graced the wraparound porch on all three floors. All were lit up. The first floor had golden hued lights, the second floor had green lights, and the third floor had lavender lamps. The Mardi Gras colors made the house glow. Garlands in matching colors had been wrapped around the railing of each porch. A giant set of Mardi Gras Masks hung on the huge double doors leading into the house. Valets kept busy parking luxury cars that arrived.

“Damn, I should have put some Mardi Gras beads on the truck to fancy it up,” Chase joked.

“Humph,” LaShaun said with a snort. “You look mighty fine in this truck any day of the week.”

“Guess I won’t worry about you wanting to run off with some guy in a Jaguar then.” Chase looked around at the professionally landscaped grounds.

“All the glitter doesn’t impresses me. Remember, Quentin has scales beneath those thousand dollar suits he wears.” LaShaun placed a hand on his arm and squeezed firmly. “I don’t miss those days at all.”

Chase gazed at her. “I don’t doubt your love, darlin’, and I’m not jealous.”

“You have zero reason to be,” LaShaun said and kissed his cheek. “Now let’s get this over with.”

A burly young man hurried to the passenger door. “Let me help you, ma’am. Sir, I’ll need to see your invitation.

“No problem,” Chase replied. He pulled the envelope from his inside jacket pocket and handed it to him.

“Thank you, sir. Now if you leave the keys we’ll safely park your vehicle.”

“I hope they’re paying you well tonight,” Chase said as he handed the young man a valet key.

“I’m doing good,” the valet grinned back.

LaShaun put on her mask as she waited for Chase to finish small talk with the valet. She listened to music coming from inside. Chase joined her and they walked up the brick path to the steps. As they crossed the porch, the doors swung wide as though they’d been expected. A middle-aged woman took LaShaun’s cloak.

“Here, ma’am. Put this ticket in your purse. Not that I won’t remember you wore this lovely thing. Is this fur collar real?” The woman held up the cloak.

“Thank you. No, it simulated seal fur.” LaShaun smiled at her.

“My oh my. Y’all go on in and get some refreshments.” She blinked at them. “You make a handsome pair, if I’m not being too familiar.”

“Thank you, ma’am. All compliments like that make you darn near family,” Chase said. The woman hustled off when a stern looking man glanced their way.

“Well, let’s mingle with our betters,” Chase murmured. He walked close to LaShaun.

“Trust me, no one here is better than us. They’re all people with the same flaws. They just get to display them in a more elaborate way with all their money.”

Chase chuckled. “You’re very cynical tonight. So, does the place look different?”

“I’ve never been here before.” LaShaun raised an eyebrow at him above her golden mask. “Sweetheart, I was not the date Quentin could bring home to meet the folks.”

“What a naughty girl you were back then. Save some of that for me later.” Chase put his arm around her waist.

“Stop,” LaShaun whispered, but giggled. “Someone is going to hear.”

“No one has noticed us. They’re too busy drinking expensive wine and eating this fancy food.” Chase waved to a passing waiter with a tray of goblets.

“Don’t let these folks fool you. We’re being discreetly examined. Once they warm up we’ll get some interesting questions. I give it maybe five minutes before the ice is broken.” LaShaun smiled as she took a sip. “Yes, only the best.”

A woman with reddish blonde hair glided over to them. She wore a floor length cream silk gown that draped her slender figure perfectly. The long sleeves ended in a bell shape at her wrists. Perfect white teeth sparkled when her blood red lips parted in a smile.

“I’m Janine Trosclair. Welcome to our little gathering. I don’t believe we’ve met.”

Janine Trosclair gave Chase an appreciative head to toe look. Then she turned to LaShaun. Her smile faltered for a second, but she recovered quickly. Her exclusive private-girls-school manners took over. An artificial smile stretched her thin lips up at the corners.

“Deputy Chase Broussard, and this is my fiancée Ms. LaShaun Rousselle.”

“You’re running for sheriff of Vermilion Parish. How wonderful that you could be here. I don’t care what some of my husband’s friends say. I think you’re just as qualified as Mr. Godchaux.” Janine’s velvet tone delivered the zinger as though she was merely making polite conversation. Still her eyes glittered as she waited for a reaction.

LaShaun knew instantly that the woman relished manipulating tense, even explosive scenes. “Why thanks for your confidence, Mrs. Trosclair.”

“Please call me Janine, LaShaun. Now that we’re friends, Chase, let me introduce you to Bill Ambrose. You might have seen his name in the papers as William J. Ambrose. He’s the CEO of the southeast division of Pantheon Corporation. His grandfather was one of the founders.” Janine paused. “You don’t mind if I borrow Chase for a moment. This is a golden opportunity for him to make connections.”

“Of course not. I’m going to make new friends myself over at the buffet table,” LaShaun replied with her own killer smile firmly in place.

“Perfect, dear. You have fun over there.” Janine’s tone managed to communicate that it might be best if LaShaun not go with them. A mixed couple might test the facade of tolerance of the most supposed liberal among her set.

Chase’s dark eyebrows drew together. “I won’t be gone long.”

“No need to rush on my account.” LaShaun waved at him.

Chase left with the hostess. Janine chattered away as they moved through the crowd in the large foyer. LaShaun gave him another smile of assurance when he glanced back at her over his shoulder. Once they disappeared, LaShaun took time to notice the interior of the home. Marble floors the color of rich cream gleamed beneath a chandelier in the foyer. A curved staircase led up to the upper floors. On the western facing side of the house was another arched entrance. The oak frame of the open double doors had carvings of magnolia blooms. The dining room beyond had been set up with a long table filled with gold plated trays of food. The center piece was a large paper mache harlequin figure. It sat in the center of a king cake.

“I’m glad you convinced Deputy Broussard to come.”

LaShaun spun around at the sound of the silken seductive voice so familiar to her. She gazed into the icy blue eyes of Quentin Trosclair. He held a large champagne flute in one hand. He laughed and took a long gulp of the golden wine.

“Hello, Quentin. Thanks for the invitation,” LaShaun said in a distinctly ungrateful tone.

“Well don’t fall over with delight, darlin’. I was just kidding about you convincing ‘The Candidate’ by the way. He’s quite the political climber. Neal says he was eager to come.”

“How exactly do you know Neal?” LaShaun ignored his dig at Chase.

“We were at Princeton together. Before they kicked me out that is. The men in our respective families have attended since before the Civil War. Anyway, he graduated and came to Tulane law school. I was there work on my MBA. Grandfather whipped me into shape and made me finish college.” Quentin lifted his glass. “Here’s to grand old granddad.”

LaShaun eyed him closer. He swayed ever so slightly. “So you two stayed in touch.”

“We’ve been great friends for years. He’s considered a legal genius across the country. He’s even given lectures at international conferences.” Quentin sidled up close to LaShaun as though they were on great terms. “But he still knows how to have fun, too.”

“Odd he happens to be in Vermilion Parish representing a serial killer, since he’s such a prominent man in the legal world,” LaShaun said. She noted with satisfaction the brief glint in Quentin’s eyes. He wasn’t as drunk as he pretended.

“Neal doesn’t take on battles he can’t win. So there must be solid evidence the man is innocent.” Quentin nodded slowly.

“That’s bull,” LaShaun said bluntly.

“I like how you deliver an opinion. Straight, no chaser. Brings back the old days when we were... close, remember?”

LaShaun rolled her eyes. “Yes, unfortunately I remember more than I’d care to.”

“Now darlin’, don’t be like that.” Quentin’s gaze swept over her body.

Jonathan Graham stumbled around and through other party goers until he got to them. He gave Quentin a look of contempt. Dark beer sloshed over the side of the large glass mug he held in one fist. “Well, I see you’re still chasing other men’s wives. Slimy son of a...”

“Drink my liquor and insult me. Isn’t that what the perfect guest should do?” Quentin replied mildly.

Allison Graham stood across the room. She didn’t move to intervene or stop her husband’s behavior. Most of the other guests kept right on partying, as though they were used to drunken confrontations on the subject of adultery. A few shook their heads and headed off to get more food or drink.

“Stay the hell away from Allison you bastard. Screwing half the population of Louisiana doesn’t keep you busy enough?” Jonathan shouted.

“Mr. Graham, maybe you should give the drinking a rest and go get some fresh air,” LaShaun said quietly.

“And what the hell is she doing here? Her man must not know about the history between you two. I’ll bet you’re going to give him a couple of earfuls, huh Quentin?” Jonathan lurched toward LaShaun. “Yeah, bet he’s got some stories to tell about you.”

“Making a scene won’t help your family at all, Jonathan,” Quentin said in a reasoned tone. “Your son is in quite enough trouble. That’s where your focus should be. Not on baseless accusations.”

“You don’t know a damn thing about my son,” Jonathan snapped. He pointed at LaShaun. “And you stop filling my wife’s head with a lot of bullshit jungle magic.”

Chase strode up. “Just what the hell does that mean, Mr. Graham?”