Fever Moon (22 page)

When he’d left her on River Street, where the nicer cathouses were located, she’d refused to even look back at him. He checked his watch. He’d agreed to meet her at four, and he had to get a move on.

Driving through the business district of the capital, Raymond noted the stately buildings where lawyers plied their trade. The war had destroyed his innocence and taught him that men of power never bothered to concern themselves with the havoc wreaked upon the poor and weak. Because of the oil beneath the Gulf waters offshore, Iberia Parish was becoming a primary interest of the politicians. Henri Bastion had controlled Iberia Parish in ways most folks didn’t understand. The average parishioner saw the Bastion plantation and understood that Henri was wealthy. The sugar cane plantation was only the visible evidence of Henri’s power and wealth, though. His interests extended to the railroad that was being built across the Atchafalaya Basin and into New Iberia as well as drilling rigs out in the Gulf of Mexico. Henri pulled the strings on everything, from the untaxed liquor that flowed into the parish to Adele Hebert. Henri had touched her life and driven her insane.

Though he didn’t believe in the
loup-garou
, Raymond believed that greed and envy drove men to madness, and he was beginning to picture Henri as a man of voracious appetites. Raymond had to find out which of Henri’s interests had brought about his brutal death and how Adele had become caught in the middle. But first he had to find Florence and make amends. He took a folded legal document from his inside jacket pocket and put it on the seat of the truck.

When he turned along River Street, he slowed. Florence was here somewhere, making a lazy afternoon visit with women who earned a living at night. Realizing the full impact of what he’d asked of her made him pull out a cigarette and light up.

The houses, two- and three-storied, and now shuttered and quiet, spoke of a time of luxury before the war. Once elegant private homes in Grecian or Federalist style, the houses were well-known addresses for upper-class whores far removed from the hot pillow joints along the riverfront. It was this River Street section where a man with money came to rent the attentions of a young girl or the exotic beauty of an octoroon.

When he spotted Florence sitting on white wicker furniture on a front porch secluded by elephant ears and banana plants, he parked and walked up the sidewalk to the front steps.

Florence stood, nodding subtly to him. “Callie, this is my friend Raymond. He’s the one looking for Armand.”

“Callie,” he said to the young woman who looked no more than sixteen. She was beautiful with a milky complexion, green eyes, and chestnut hair. “I need to find Dugas. Someone who helped him may be in serious trouble.”

The girl looked up at Florence.

“Raymond is telling the truth,” Florence said. “He doesn’t want to put Armand back in prison. He only wants to help Adele Hebert; she’s the one who helped Armand escape.”

“He’d kill me if I told where he was.” Callie kept her gaze on Florence, trusting only what she read there.

“But he is alive?” Raymond said.

Callie flicked a look of distrust at him. “I know a man who calls himself Armand Dugas. Could be he’s someone else, just using that name.”

“Could be,” Raymond agreed. “Could you deliver a message?”

“Maybe. If I see him. Armand is only seen when he chooses to be. Sometimes he just shows up, then disappears like a whisper.”

“Tell him Adele Hebert needs his help.” Raymond wrote down the sheriff’s office phone number and handed it to Callie. “Tell him to talk only to me.” He started to say more but stopped. It was possible Armand had slipped back to the bayous to settle his score with Henri Bastion personally. Adele might not be his highest priority. “Tell him to call me because if he doesn’t, I’ll find him. And then, if it’s too late to help Adele, I’ll make sure he goes back to Angola.”

Callie’s nervous gaze shifted to Raymond and back to Florence.

“He means it,
cher
. Adele is his personal mission. If he fails her, he’s going to be a very mean man to deal with.” She kissed the top of Callie’s head. “Take care, baby.”

Raymond tried to put his hand on Florence’s elbow as they walked down the sidewalk, but she shook him off. “I’m not your paid escort, and you don’t have a right to touch me.” She got in the passenger seat.

Sliding behind the wheel, Raymond studied her profile. It was going to be a long ride home.

The golden light of late afternoon had faded, leaving the sky misted with pink. Chula sat at the wrought-iron patio table across from John. With John’s return from his unsuccessful attempt to find Clifton Hebert, her anxiety had abated, but unrest nibbled at her. She touched his hand on the table, an unconscious gesture that startled her once it was done. When had she become a woman who initiated such an intimate move? Since she’d met John, Chula felt as if she stepped from an amber prison, like an insect trapped for eternity. At night she was troubled with dreams, kisses and moments of passion, the cries of a baby—things she’d sealed away inside herself since she and Raymond had called it quits.

“Chula, are you okay? You’re unusually reserved.” John sipped the iced tea Maizy had prepared.

“Praytor was looking for you earlier. Did the sheriff talk to you?”

John was surprised. “To me? Why?”

“Someone told him you were writing a book about the
loup-garou
. He’s looking at you as an expert. He’s feeling a bit desperate from what I hear.”

John brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. “If it means I can spend more time here in New Iberia with you, I’ll be an expert. Chula, my feelings for you are strong.”

She let her hand linger in his for a moment before she withdrew it. What he offered her was so large she couldn’t look at it head-on. Not yet. “That little girl, Peat Moss Baxter, is still missing. It’s been almost twenty-four hours.” She looked at the oaks that made the backyard so beautiful. “I hate for night to fall. People are so afraid. They aren’t thinking rationally.”

He stood up, offering his hand to her.

She put her palm in his and felt the electric friction that was both pleasurable and dangerous. “Let’s go find Joe and get this behind us. Gossip around town is that Raymond has gone AWOL. Joe is really on edge. I went to Madame’s today, but she was gone and so was Adele. I’m getting worried, John.”

“Even with Raymond gone, can’t the sheriff handle it?”

Chula couldn’t help but smile. “Joe’s a superstitious fool. He means well, but Raymond does most of the work.”

They turned at the sound of footsteps. Maizy all but rolled her eyes. “Miss Chula, Mrs. LaRoche is here to see you. She’s in the parlor. I gave her some brandy to help calm down. She’s in a state. I tried to call the doctor, but she won’t hear of it. She says she’s got to talk to you right now.”

Chula didn’t waste any time wondering why Jolene LaRoche had shown up on her doorstep. She knew the woman from church, but they’d never been friends. Chula strode through the house, trusting that John would follow. She found Jolene slumped on the sofa, her hair disheveled, her dress stained with sweat and dirt. “Jolene, what happened?” She knelt in front of her, picking up a limp hand and chafing it.

Jolene’s green eyes focused slowly. “I … I went out to talk to Marguerite Bastion.” Her wild gaze found John standing in the doorway but she didn’t seem to register his presence. “Father Finley has the older boys.” She stumbled. “Marguerite’s boys. I went to talk to her. I …”

Chula picked up the brandy Maizy had poured and held it to Jolene’s lips. She helped her take a sip. “You have to tell me what’s happened. I can’t help unless I know.”

Jolene closed her eyes and took a breath. “I didn’t know where else to come. Raymond isn’t in town and the sheriff is off on a search. Pinkney told me to come to you. He said you had a car and could find Raymond.”

Chula patted Jolene’s arm. “I’ll do what I can, if you’ll tell me what happened. Are Marguerite and the children okay?”

Jolene shook her head. “The older boys hung the scarecrow in Father Finley’s tree. Marguerite brought them and left them. She wants them sent to the reformatory. I went to talk to her, but when I got to the house, no one was there except the little girl, Sarah.” She covered her mouth as if to keep something from surging out. “I heard her singing in the back of the house. Oh, God.” She rocked back and forth.

Chula held her still and offered her more brandy. Jolene sipped, her gaze once again shifting around the room until it stopped on John. “Who are you?” Jolene asked.

“He’s my friend.” Chula gently turned Jolene’s face back to her. “Is Sarah okay?”

Jolene nodded. “She was singing. I’ve never heard her make a sound in her life. She comes to church and never says a word. I’d wondered if she was mute. But she was singing a lullaby. I knocked, but there was no answer. The door was unlatched, so I went inside. I was worried about Sarah. It seemed she was all alone. Marguerite’s Packard was gone. No one was there except that three-year-old child.”

Chula sensed slow movement behind her and realized that John had taken a seat in one of the chairs. He sat very still, drawing no attention to himself.

“Did you see Sarah?” Chula asked.

“I walked back through the house, following the singing.” Tears moved down her cheeks disturbing the dirt smudges. “It was so beautiful. I was captivated. Like something in a painting. And then I saw her.” Wide green eyes riveted into Chula’s. “Sarah was sitting in a rocking chair with a woman. I was so shocked. The baby was sitting on the woman’s lap, singing and touching her hair. I came up behind them, and I wondered who was holding Sarah and where was Marguerite.

“When Sarah saw me, she stopped singing. It was as if her voice disappeared. She stared at me, and then the woman in the rocking chair turned. She moved so slowly. She turned and looked at me.” Jolene had grasped Chula’s hand and held it so tightly that Chula thought she might be crippled.

“Who was it?” Chula asked.

“It was Adele. Adele Hebert sat with that child on her lap.”

Chula couldn’t believe it. “Are you sure?”

“I’m positive. When she saw me, she put the baby down very gently and stood up. Her clothes were torn. She was almost … naked. She started toward me and I lost my nerve. I screamed and ran. In the parlor I tripped on the rug and fell. Adele jumped over me and ran out the front door. I got up and chased her. I don’t know what came over me, but I chased her into the swamp. I was afraid she’d cursed me and I wanted her to take it back.” Jolene wept in earnest now. “I don’t want to turn into a wolf when the moon is full. I don’t—”

Chula swallowed her impatience. She eased up on the sofa and put an arm around Jolene. “You aren’t cursed. I swear it. You’re fine.”

“How can you be sure?” Jolene asked.

“The
loup-garou
has no power in the daylight.” She looked at John as she spoke. She was playing into the myth, giving it more steam by adding even a simple bit of foolish comfort, but she had to calm Jolene and keep her quiet until Raymond could be found.

“She’s right,” John said. He came to stand beside her. “You’re completely safe, Mrs. LaRoche. The werewolf has no power in the daylight.”

“Are you sure?” Jolene asked.

Chula nodded. “So sure that I’m going to run you a bath and find some clean clothes. I want you to get cleaned up and by that time, I’ll be back.”

“You’re leaving me here alone?” Jolene’s grip on her arm was fierce. “Please. Not alone.”

Chula looked at John. “My friend will be down here in the parlor, and Mother will be home any minute. John will call Father Finley. When you’ve had a bath, Maizy will give you something hot to eat.”

“Where are you going?” Jolene asked.

“To find Sarah Bastion,” Chula said. “I can’t believe her mother left her alone in the house. I’m afraid if Marguerite doesn’t come back, the child might wander into the woods and be lost.”

“She’s already lost,” Jolene said. “Just like that other little baby girl.” She twisted her hands in her lap. “They aren’t children anymore. They belong to the
loup-garou.”

C
ARS lined the road beside the sheriff’s office. As Raymond drove by, he felt a stab of concern. Joe Como wasn’t known to work late, yet his car was parked beside the vehicle of Praytor Bless and some others he didn’t recognize. Only an emergency would draw folks into town, burning their gas ration. When Raymond saw Pinkney standing out in the cool night, he stopped and rolled his window down.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

“You in a worlda hurt. Sheriff’s been rantin’ and ravin’ all evening ‘bout how you disappeared. He called Lafayette and they said no one has seen you. Praytor Bless”—his lip curled—“said you went off to Baton Rouge with your ho—with Miss Florence.” He nodded at Florence.

“Did they find Peat Moss?”

“No, sir. No sign of that baby. The swamp done swallowed her up.” Pinkney was almost dancing with anxiety.

“Has something else happened?”

“Mrs. LaRoche been by, hysterical ‘bout somethin’ at the Bastion plantation. Those bad Bastion boys done confessed to prankin’ Father Michael with that scarecrow. He brought them in to talk to the sheriff. That’s what’s happenin’ now. Sheriff Joe and Praytor got those boys in there tryin’ to make ’em tell things.”

“What things?”

“They sayin’ they saw Adele Hebert runnin’ loose in town last night. They sayin’ she was howlin’ at the moon and slobberin’ and that she got after them and tried to catch them.”

“Bullshit.” Raymond spoke before he thought. He opened the driver’s door. “Pinkney, would you drive Miss Delacroix home?” The thing he wanted to tell Florence would have to wait. He picked up the papers from the seat as he got out.

“Me?” Pinkney looked confused. “Sheriff don’t let me drive the county car.”

“It’s okay. Just take her home and make sure she gets inside safely and locks her doors. Then come right back here.”

“Okay,” Pinkney said, nodding. “I can do that. I can drive Miss Florence.” He walked around and slid behind the wheel. “I’ll be right back.”