Cajun Magic 01 - Voodoo on the Bayou (23 page)

Numb and hurting more than she ever thought possible, Elaine moved around the cottage gathering her belongings, stepping around the broken microscope. She’d save that for last. She couldn’t bear even to look at the pieces on the floor.

Packing took her longer than she thought. Just before the sun dropped below the tree line, she shoved the last box into the back seat of her sedan and returned to the house for one last look. And to collect her treasured microscope.

The place looked the same as the first day she’d set foot inside the front door, except for the angry red words on the wall.

Go home, or die!

Right now it felt as though she’d be doing both…

Other than the paint, the quaint cottage with its vintage furniture stood ready for the next renter. She walked over to the dinette with the speckled tabletop and bright red vinyl seat cushions. She smiled, running her finger across the surface. Who’d have thought they still had tables like these. She switched the light off in the kitchen and turned toward the bedroom.

She’d left this room for last. The old, white iron bed conjured memories best left behind. Craig lying there in nothing but a smile, stroking the hair from her face, trailing kisses down her neck.

Given Craig’s concern for his uncle and his love for the swamp, his representing Littington and his polluting factory just didn’t make sense. Why would he jeopardize a place he loved so much?

Elaine could picture a smaller version of Craig, running through the trees of Miz Mozelle’s peach orchard. Whether the boy was a younger version of Craig from the past or the possible child he’d bring to Bayou Miste someday, Elaine couldn’t tell.

A sob caught in her throat. Why torture herself? They weren’t meant to be. Hadn’t he said he wasn’t one to commit to her?

Now she knew why.

She touched the light switch, setting the room and that chapter of her life in the dark. Now, all she had to do was get her microscope, say goodbye to Joe and go.

In just a few short days, she’d connected with Bayou Miste more than all the years she’d spent alone in her house in New Orleans. She stared down at the old microscope lying on its side on the hardwood floor, its gray metal full of memories of her parents, and now Craig.

But, the microscope was a thing, not a warm living, breathing person. If she had a choice between keeping the scope or having a single shot at getting her parents back, she’d toss the scope into the Mississippi in a New Orleans minute, and fight with all her heart to see her parents alive and safe again.

So why wasn’t she willing to fight for Craig?

He wasn’t married to Cassandra. From the little Elaine had gleaned from their conversation, they weren’t even engaged. Basically, she didn’t have any real hold on the man. Problem was, Elaine didn’t know bupkis about Craig’s feelings—for herself or for the perfect Cassandra.

And did she, Elaine Smith, the woman terrified of water, rejection, and serious relationships, love Craig enough to go after him?

Good lord. Was that what she was considering?

For a woman used to analyzing scientific phenomena and developing hypothesis, it was clear she hadn’t done her work here. She’d observed a change in herself. That change she’d describe as a feeling of completeness when she was with Craig and a corresponding emptiness when she wasn’t. The only logical hypothesis she could come up with was…

Love.

But how was she to know if this “love” she was feeling was the real thing if she didn’t hang around and experiment? That was the basis of all scientific proof.

What if he doesn’t want me?
that insidious voice asked.

Was the possibility of rejection so abhorrent she’d refuse to expose her heart? Even if she only had a one in a bazillion probability of Craig returning her love, wasn’t even that small possibility worth the risk?

Hell, yes.
This time, the voice in her head sounded loud and clear.

Assuming the phenomena was love, how would she feel if he discarded it? Worse than horrible. But at least she would have tried. She’d know for certain one way or the other, and she’d have no regrets for missed opportunities.

That much, she had learned from Miz Mozelle and Uncle Joe.

But what about Craig’s dealings with Littington? Could she form a relationship with a man who didn’t trust her enough to tell her the truth, no matter how awkward or painful?

She stared down at the microscope. The answer came into focus. As Miz Mozelle had so plainly put it, she needed to fight for her man. If that meant giving him a chance to explain and going toe-to-toe with the intimidating Cassandra, so be it.

She set the remains of the microscope on the table with a thump, and marched out to her car. When she leaned into the back seat to grab a box, a voice sounded behind her.

“Going somewhere?”

“No.” Elaine answered before she realized the question had not been internal rhetoric. A chill raced down her spine, and she spun to face the intruder.

With his hip leaning against her car, and his face partially concealed in the shadows, Randall Pratt’s eyes glowed with strange intensity.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded.

He pushed away from the car and walked closer, like a snake sidling up to his next meal. “Now, is that any way to greet a friend?”

“You’re not my friend.” Elaine knew what friends were, now that she’d met Miz Mozelle and Josie.

“
Tsk, tsk
.” He lifted a strand of her hair. “I came to make sure you left town for good.”

“I’m not leaving.” Elaine planted her feet slightly apart, refusing to back away from his threatening closeness.

“Oh, but I think you will.” Randall lifted his hand, pointing a gun at her midsection. “You’re coming with me. You’ve caused more than enough trouble.”

Her heart pounding in her chest, Elaine inched backward until her shoulder blades bumped against the cool metal of her car door.

“What have I ever done to you?”

“Don’t play stupid. You and the fancy-schmanzy lawyer been nosing around where you don’t belong.”

Pieces fell in place and lodged in the pit of Elaine’s stomach. “
You’re
the one dumping the barrels in the bayou.”

“Give the lady a prize.” Randall jerked the gun toward the door. “Let’s go.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” She infused as much confidence into her voice as she could with a gun pointed at her vital organs. “You might get away with dumping pollutants in the bayou, but you’ll never get away with murder.”

A swaggering smile slid up one side of his mouth. “I could bury a Mack truck in the bayou and no one would ever find it.”

She inhaled a long slow breath and glanced toward Miz Mozelle’s empty house.

Randall’s gaze followed hers. “Don’t even think about screaming. A nine-millimeter bullet may be small, but it leaves a big hole in a person’s gut. Makes for a mess.”

Cold metal pressed against her sternum. All the breath left her lungs in a
whoosh
.

“That’s more like it,” Randall said. “Now, get in the car.”

Chapter Twenty-two

The meeting with Jason Littington had concluded better than Craig had hoped and they had a good idea who was responsible for poisoning the bayou. As the first gray reminders of sunrise lightened the sky, they had a plan in place.

Craig had hurriedly shoved the refinery owner out the bait shop door, locking it behind him. Wouldn’t sit well with Littington if he stepped back into the shop and found Craig in the throes of frog metamorphosing.

Unfortunately, Littington’s departure had left Craig no time to leave the shop before the change occurred. After shrinking to his bullfrog form, Craig hopped to a quiet corner and slept. The business of staying up all night and changing forms twice a day was exhausting.

His sleep had been intermingled with disturbing dreams of Voodoo ceremonies and an effervescent, full orange moon. When he woke in the late afternoon, an urgent sense of impending doom settled in his gut. What did the night hold in store for this man-frog serving a penance he probably deserved?

Uncle Joe hadn’t made it to the shop today, no doubt convalescing with his new sheet shifter, Mozelle Reneau. The marina remained locked throughout the day.

With the “closed” sign still displaying in the front door, customers came, peered in through the windows and left without bait or tackle. Trapped inside, Craig impatiently awaited sunset and his transformation back to human form. He worried about Elaine being alone in her cottage, a target to whatever maniacs had been terrorizing them in the swamp. With Uncle Joe out of commission and Craig locked in the shop, she didn’t have anyone to protect her.

The hands on the wall clock crawled through each hour until Craig knew he’d explode with the need for action. Finally, the sun dropped below the horizon. He welcomed the pain of his stretching, growing, and lengthening bones and tissues.

As soon as he could focus, he slipped into jeans and a shirt. Then, he reached for the phone and dialed home. “Hey Mom, this is Craig, let me talk to Dad. Tell him it’s urgent.”

“Hello, Craig,” his father’s brisk voice cut across the line. “What’s the problem?”

“Dad, I need you to call the EPA and get them down here right away.”

“What’s this all about?” his father demanded. “Did you seal the deal with Littington?”

Trust his father to be more worried about the Littington deal. “Not exactly.”

“You’ve been down there a week. You should have all the paperwork signed and delivered back to New Orleans by now.”

Craig breathed deeply to squelch his rising impatience. “I know, but more important things have come up.”

“What could be more important than bringing in new business to the family firm?”

People’s lives, the environment,
loving someone
. “Lots, Dad,” he answered.

“I sent Cassandra down there to bring you back. She should be there by now.”

“She’s here.” So Cassandra hadn’t come because he’d called. She’d come because the boss ordered her to. Figured. “I sent her up to Morgan City. I won’t be coming back with her.”

“She’s an aggressive attorney, son. And a fine woman. You could do worse.” His father cleared his throat, his usual prelude to father-son advice. “It’s time you started thinking about your future. Maybe even settle down and raise a few kids.”

Craig pinched the bridge of his nose, a headache building behind his eyes. “I’m working on it, Dad. Just not with Cassandra.”

“Don’t tell me you’re foolin’ around with one of those Cajun swamp gals?”

Craig bit down on his tongue and breathed through his nose several times before he answered. “Dad, I’ll choose who I want to spend my life with. If she happens to be a Cajun swamp rat or an Alaskan Eskimo,
I’ll
be the one to make that choice, not you.”

“Don’t take that tone with me, young man. I still control who works for Thibodeaux and Associates.”

With a sigh, Craig realized the time had come. “That’s true. But not me. I quit.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” His father huffed. “What’s got into you, boy? Did you drink too much swamp water? Has my brother been filling you with crazy ideas?”

“No, Dad.” How could he explain to his bottom-line driven father? “I want to do more with my skills and degree. I want to make a difference in the world.”

“You make a difference to your clients back here.”

“Yeah, a difference as to how much money they get from their fifth divorce in as many years. Or who gets to keep the family pet that cost as much as some people make in a year.” This conversation was getting him nowhere. “Dad, I don’t have time to discuss this. I appreciate everything you’ve taught me. Now, it’s time for me to get out on own.”

Richard Thibodeaux paused as if grasping for something to say to change his mind. “You’re making a big mistake,” was all he came up with.

“Maybe so, Dad, maybe so. But sometimes you have to go after what you believe in.”
Like Elaine Smith.
“Will you call the EPA for me?”

His father hesitated, and then breathed an audible sigh over the line. “I’ll call. But don’t think we’re done with this discussion. When are you coming back to New Orleans?”

“I don’t know.” Craig ran a hand through his hair.

“Your mother will be upset.”

Cheap shot, Dad
. “I’m pretty sure Mom will understand.” Craig sucked in a deep breath. No matter how he felt about the family firm, he loved his parents very much. “Dad, this may be hard for you to comprehend, but I know this is the right decision for me.”

“You should think about it more,” his father said. “Take a vacation. Sleep on it.”

“I have, Dad.” Craig looked out at the darkening sky. “I have to go. Tell Mom I love her.”

“Son—”

With a steady hand, Craig set the phone on the hook.
Wow, he’d actually quit
.

All his life, he’d been geared toward following in his father’s footsteps, becoming a part of the family business. Now, he didn’t have a job. But he had something he hadn’t had in a long time—a purpose. He slipped into shoes and headed for the door.

Adrenalin pumped through his veins as he headed across the street and straight for his uncle’s rental cottage. Before he launched his mission for the night, he had to be sure Elaine was okay after the previous night’s disastrous outcome.

The dark, silent cottage appeared asleep among the row of houses. Elaine’s car wasn’t in the driveway, and the front door stood ajar.

Craig’s heart skipped a beat. Leaping to the porch, he slammed through the doorway into the living room. “Elaine?” His voice echoed through the empty rooms. None of her papers or notebooks lay scattered across the room and every available surface. The little table she’d set up against the wall was gone. He ran into the bedroom and pulled the drawers out on the dresser.
Empty
. The bathroom was clean of any toiletries.

His heart stalled.

Elaine was gone
.

She’d packed up and left without a goodbye
.

Stricken, he wandered back out into the living room in a numb stupor, the only thought in his head reverberating in incessant repetition.

She’s gone. She’s gone. She’s gone
.

The house looked as if Elaine Smith had never been there. Every item of furniture had been moved back to its original location, the room swept, and the dishes cleaned and shelved. Had she been nothing more than a figment of his imagination, another trick played on him courtesy of Madame LeBieu?

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the microscope standing on the kitchen table.

Thank God
. No, she hadn’t been only in his imagination. She had been here and left her mark on the town, the swamp, and most of all, him.

A lump lodged in his throat. When he lifted the instrument, a sickening rattle indicated the tool had suffered damage. Elaine loved this microscope. Could she have been mad enough about his betrayal she’d leave behind the last token of her parents’ love?

He stared down at the gray hunk of metal as if the cold steel would answer his unspoken question. Had she left it as a message to him that their relationship was over? As broken as this delicate instrument? His hand tightened around the grip.

The clock on the wall bonged. The time had come to catch the polluting perpetrators.

As much as he wanted to follow Elaine and bring her back, he knew any hope he had with her hinged on tonight’s activities. His love life would go on hold until he dealt once and for all with the people who dared to dump poison in what he considered his own backyard.

A quick duck into his uncle’s house for the new digital video camera he’d gotten him last Christmas, and Craig was off to Littington Refinery.

He backed his car in between a stand of oleanders and magnolias, just past the only open entrance to the plant. With the windows rolled down on his black BMW, he inhaled the moist warmth of the Louisiana night air. The fragrant scent of flowers reminded him of Elaine and of the perfume Madame LeBieu had sprayed in his face.

Craig frowned. Hadn’t the Voodoo priestess spoken of a woman who would come into his life? One who’d love him warts and all? Had that woman been Elaine? And fool that he was, he’d thrown her love away through a stupid lack of communication.

With his head tipped up, he prayed to God and the Voodoo Queens of the swamp that he wasn’t too late to woo Elaine back into his life.

He’d never met anyone who brought out the best in him as she did. She’d helped him discover the emptiness in his career and the need for more meaningful work. And she’d shown him how important it was to commit to a worthwhile goal and throw your heart into it, no matter how scared or distracted you might become.

He smiled. Elaine was one hell of a woman. And he’d let her get away. With the full moon just days from now, he didn’t have time to waste. If Elaine was the woman of Madame LeBieu’s spell, he had some serious back-paddling to do in his canoe to make her see him as worthy of her love.

A dingy gray truck lumbered up to the gate, stopped, then passed through. Craig could barely make out the faded letters on the side panel. Acme Chemical Disposal.

Bingo. Let the games begin.

Craig switched his engine on and waited for the truck to come back out with its load of barrels, supposedly headed to a safe disposal site. All he needed was evidence of Pratt and his partner dumping the barrels into the swamp and he’d go straight to the cops, the coast guard, and the EPA with the video.

Littington had agreed to foot the bill for the cleanup. Disturbed by the damage to the environment and by the negative publicity the press would give his company, Jason Littington had embraced the opportunity to offer cleanup. He wanted the bad guys to be caught and put away for a long, long time. He’d insisted he hadn’t even been aware of what was going on until the previous day. Acme Chemical Disposal had been the low bidder and all their disposal licenses had been up to date. With no one else collecting the chemicals from Littington for disposal, Acme, or someone in that company, had to be the culprit.

Craig had secretly jumped for joy. He knew how long and expensive litigation would be if the refinery refused to provide the necessary reparations. But thankfully, Jason Littington proved to be open, honest, and concerned, much to his credit—unlike many of Craig’s previous clients. Littington’s kid had grown up in the parish and he hated the thought of pollution poisoning his home as much as Craig did.

The truck reappeared, slowing to clear the gate. Craig’s heart pounded in his chest. He’d never played the role of private detective. He didn’t know what to expect from the thugs who’d already shot at him and tried to kill Elaine and Uncle Joe by capsizing their boat. Perhaps he should have gotten a gun from Uncle Joe’s collection, but there wasn’t time now.

Lights off, he maintained a discreet distance from the lumbering truck, following it to a nearby boat launch.

He parked behind bushes, left the car running and sneaked out with the video camera. Ten barrels stood in the back of the truck. He recognized Randall Pratt and Gator Brouchard as the men rolling the barrels to a boat tied to the pier. Craig was amazed at their gall. They hadn’t even attempted to take any of the barrels to the appropriate disposal sites. They’d gone straight from the refinery to the swamp.

With video recorder in hand, Craig caught them on camera rolling the barrels one by one into the boat. Neither man spoke as they worked to move the toxins.

When five of the ten barrels were on board, they returned to the truck. This time when they went in the back, they came out carrying something long and skinny, wrapped in an old blanket. They hauled it on the boat and laid it down on the deck.

Craig frowned. He understood what was in the barrels but what did Randall and Gator have in the blanket? By the shape of it, it could have been a body. Thank goodness Elaine was on her way back to New Orleans. He would rather she was mad at him for the rest of his life, but safe, than be the target for these two thugs of yet another attempt to kill her.

“I didn’t sign up for no killing.” Gator’s voice carried loud enough for the video camera to pick up.

Jesus!

So the lump
was
a body!

A trickle of sweat ran down Craig’s back.
What the hell did he do now?
This was more than he bargained for. If he was smart, he’d get his butt back into his car right this minute and go find the police.

“You’re getting paid, aren’t you?” Randall tossed a strap to Gator. “Tie those barrels down.”

“I said, I didn’t sign up for no killing.” Gator leaned over and wrapped the strap around a barrel and the deck railing. “You said we were just going to scare people away.”

“Look,
coo-yôn
, if the cops get wind of our little disposal operation, not only will the money stop flowing, we’ll go to straight to jail. We won’t pass go, we won’t collect two hundred dollars.” Pratt stepped closer, face to face with Gator. “You ever been to jail?”

“No.” Gator stepped backward, his legs up against one of the seats.