Sweet Mystery (17 page)

Rae twisted a thick tendril of hair through
her fingers. “I know, I know. It’s stupid and I should back
away.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“A minute ago you were acting like I’d lost
my mind.” Rae realized her hair was all knotted and set about
untangling it.

“You just caught me off guard. I mean, things
kinda developed fast.” Marcelle wiggled her eyebrows. “Go
girl.”

“Yeah, right. What started out as a way to
piss Toya off has gotten me in trouble.”

Rae gazed out at the trees swaying in the
slight breeze that brought little relief from the heat, but what
she really saw was trouble ahead. Her mind tried to make her heart
believe that being with Simon was something she did not truly want
as a woman. So far, the heart was winning the argument hands
down.

Marcelle folded her hands in her lap and
rocked. “Um-hum, coulda told you so.”

“Then why didn’t you stop me, Miss
Know-it-all? I would have avoided this mess,” Rae said.

“Hey, don’t try to blame this on me,
cher.”

Rae sat down next to her. “Marcelle,
everything tells me this is crazy. I’m wild with a smart mouth;
he’s quiet and sensitive. I’m a blues guitarist, used to
travelling; he’s lived in this parish all his life.”

“He’s a St. Cyr and you’re a Dalcour,”
Marcelle said, adding the obvious.

Rae pulled her hair back from her face.
“Right.”

“Not to mention he was married to Toya the
Terrible. Come here.”

Marcelle fished a hairbrush from the pocket
of her sleeveless jumper. Rae slipped down to sit on the floor in
front of her, so that her friend could brush her hair.

“What to do, Marcelle?”

Rae leaned back between the other woman’s
knees. The sensation of soft bristles whisking through her dark,
coarse hair was helping her to relax, much as when her mother had
tamed her unruly mane when she was a little girl.

“Seems to me you oughta forget what happened
fifty years ago. Love is too hard to find, cher.” Marcelle wrapped
a rubber band around Rae’s hair, making a thick ponytail, and then
rested her hands on her shoulders.

“I can’t forget my promise to clear Pawpaw
Vincent’s name,” Rae said.

“Then go ahead with that. I mean don’t let
what happened come between you and Simon. Either your pawpaw did it
or he didn’t. Got nothin’ to do with y’all today.”

“I don’t know. We still have to face folks in
this town. I’m not sure Simon realizes how deep feelings run
against the Dalcours.” Rae got up and sat in the rocker next to
Marcelle again.

“He’s not dumb, girl. Anybody who grew up
around here knows about all that stuff. You worried he doesn’t care
enough to put up with it.” Marcelle nodded at her with the look of
a wise woman. “That means you’re in love, deep love.”

Rae jumped up from the rocker. The word
scared her. “All I wanted was to show this town what us Dalcours
are made of. I didn’t wanna leave just because they wanted me to
leave, ya know?”

“Uh-hum. Been like that as long as I’ve known
you. Nobody’s gonna tell you what to do.”

“Then Toya got in my face and I wanted to
show her. That and my promise to Daddy, to do what he’d wanted to
do so bad all his life, made me know I couldn’t leave.” Rae took a
deep breath.

“Now you’re in love with him,” Marcelle said
in a quiet voice.

Rae stared ahead. “I don’t know if it’s love.
Maybe it’s just that I need someone; dealing with Daddy’s death and
all. I’ve been on the road a lot, doing without the kind of warmth
Simon gives.”

“And you thought you didn’t need it.”
Marcelle sighed. “Cher, you’re only tough on the outside. You’ve
got a whole lot of love bottled up, waitin’ for the right man to
unstop the cork. Looks like you found him.”

“But a St. Cyr, Marcelle! Why did it have to
be him? Daddy is probably setting speed records spinning in his
grave.” Rae covered her head with both hands.

“Come on and have some more iced tea.”
Marcelle poured a glass from the large pitcher. “Sit down now. Let
me tell you how it’s gonna be.”

“Marcelle, you’re starting to sound just like
your monmon. Next thing, you gonna pull out some gris-gris and
start predicting the future.” Rae sat down as though releasing a
heavy burden.

“Lord, wouldn’t mama have a fit? She still
fusses at her mama ‘bout all that old superstition. But you don’t
need no bones or conjure to see you and Simon are in love.”

“I don’t know–”

“L-O-V-E, cher. Don’t interrupt me again!”
Marcelle folded her hands in her lap again. “You gonna have rough
times, that’s a given, but you can make it.”

“And my promise to Lucien to find the
truth?”

“Simon will understand that, Rae. Tell him
about it. He’ll support you.” Marcelle rocked, looking
satisfied.

Rae felt a sinking feeling. “Marcelle, we
forgot something.”

“What’s that?” Marcelle sipped her tea.

“If Pawpaw Vincent didn’t steal the money,
there are only two other people who could have taken it.”

Marcelle lowered her glass slowly. “Henry
Jove or...”

“Joe St. Cyr,” Rae murmured.

Chapter 9

Two days later, Rae was sat at the breakfast
table in Tante Ina’s kitchen, eating apple pie. As the sun streamed
through the windows, the yellow checked curtains made the white
kitchen look even brighter. Rae was reminded of all those times
she’d sat here with her cousins when they were children. There was
always laughter and singing at Tante Ina’s, in sharp contrast to
her own house.

For two days Rae had put off coming here. Not
because she didn’t want to see her aunt, but because Rae feared
asking her the questions that could lead LaMar to unlock the past.
A past that seemed like Pandora’s Box, no matter what answers came
popping out.

“My Michael tells me the dance hall is
lookin’ good, yeah.” Tante Ina eased down into the chair across
from Rae. “Says it’s gonna be the biggest thing to hit this town
since the seafood plant opened eight years ago.”

Rae picked at the flaky crust. “Yes,
ma’am.”

“Says you gonna have the best Zydeco and
blues folk around. People will be comin’ from all ‘round here, even
New Orleans.” Tante Ina sipped her strong coffee. “Mon Dieu, Lucien
would be so happy.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Sa va bien, oui?”

“Oui. Things are going well. The dance hall
should be open in another week or so,” Rae replied.

Tante Ina raised both eyebrows at the morose
expression on her niece’s face. “You lookin’ mighty pitiful to say
life is goin’ so good.”

“I didn’t say that, Tante. I said the dance
hall is coming along okay.” Rae put down her fork.

“I knew it. Don’t nobody neglect my pie
without a good reason,” Tante Ina said with a chuckle, “especially
not my tite mouche à miel (little honey bee).”

“Why did you always call me that, Tante?”

“Because you can make sweet music, like the
bee makes honey. But you got a bad sting when you get mad.” Tante
Ina pinched her chin.

“I never thanked you.” Rae caught her soft,
plump hand.

“Thanked me for what?”

“All those days you let me sit in this
kitchen with Elise, Michael and the rest without asking why I
showed up.” Rae kissed her aunt’s skin, rough from hard work. “You
don’t know how much it meant to me.”

“Oh poo,” Tante Ina said in a gruff voice.
Her eyes were glassy. “Stop your nonsense – you one of my children.
I tell everybody I born six, but I got ‘bout twenty altogether.”
She got up to put her cup in the sink. Before turning back to sit
down, she dabbed at her eyes.

Rae laughed. Tante Ina was right. Uncle David
would just shake his head when he came home from work to find the
house full of children. Nieces and nephews crowded into Tante Ina’s
living room and kitchen, and spilled out into the yard. Rae thought
Tante Ina was the quintessential mother hen.

“Now don’t try to change the subject on me.
What’s got you frownin’ like this, cher?” Tante Ina would not be
put off.

“Back about two years ago, when Daddy was so
sick that time and I came home, we had a long talk. We worked out a
lot of things. Daddy said he was sorry for making Mama so sad.” Rae
could see Lucien with the vividness of a color photograph, sat in
his favorite easy chair with a cotton afghan covering him from the
waist down.

Tante Ina nodded. “Broke my heart to see it.
‘Letha was good for Lucien, but he hurt her bad. There were women,
too, you know.”

“I heard the talk, but... So it was true?”
Rae had already guessed as much, though her mother never said a
word against him. Lucien had alluded to being no good as a
husband.

“Not so many as some tried to put out, but
yeah. I told Lucien one was too many. But it wasn’t just that.”

“I know. Anyway, Daddy said he wished the
dance hall could be open again to give us something of our own,
along with the land.”

“And you doin’ that, cher. A good job of it,
too, to hear your cousins braggin’ on you.” Tante Ina patted her
hand. “So why the long face? You made peace with your papa.”

“He begged me to prove Pawpaw Vincent wasn’t
a thief.” Rae gazed into Tante Ina’s eyes, the color of pecan
shells. “I’ve hired a private investigator to try and track down
what happened to him.”

“Mais, jamais de la vie (well, for goodness
sake),” Tante Ina said in a soft voice. “He wants to talk to you,
so he can get more information to go on.” Rae watched her aunt with
growing concern. Tante Ina sat staring out the window at the
landscape. “To find out the truth.”

“The truth could snap us up like a big
alligator, cher. I ain’t talked about that in years.” Tante Ina
blinked as though trying to gain her bearings. She looked at Rae.
“We were all tore up, you know. Us children cryin’ for Papa, and
Mama half out her mind for days, my lord. Then she got quiet. That
scared us even more.”

“So much pain. Maybe he left and that was
wrong. But Daddy was so sure.” Rae had been moved by Lucien’s faith
in the father he had not seen since he was six years old.

“Lucien thought Papa hung the moon. He was
still cryin’ for him long after us older children stopped. But your
daddy was just a baby, cher. He couldn’t know.”

“Maybe, but nobody knows for sure. There
could be another explanation.” Rae did not add that even she
couldn’t think of one.

“I’m gonna tell you somethin’ I never
breathed to another livin’ soul before now, not even David.” Tante
Ina leaned forward. “I was there the night Mama caught Papa with
Miss Estelle. She couldn’t sleep. She followed him one Friday
night. When he got home ‘bout three in the morning, Mama let him
have it. I was hidin’ under that old sofa with the claw legs. He
finally owned up to it and swore to break it off.”

“Then that proves–”

“Don’t prove nothin’. A week later they were
back at it, honey. Old Miss Dixie, with her gossipin’ self, told
it. Not that she was much different from the other folks in town.
They said Miss Estelle was still steppin’ out with a man and Henry
Jove was boilin’ mad.”

“But that was just gossip like you say.” Rae
tried to find some hope.

“I put two and two together, and came up with
four.” Tante Ina got up and poured more coffee in her cup. “Tell me
you think different.”

“That does look bad,” Rae admitted. They sat
quietly for a time. “But they said some man, not Pawpaw
Vincent.”

“Yeah, say she was ridin’ in the car toward
Lake Charles and couldn’t see who was drivin’. In that Ford Mr.
Henry bought for her, too.”

“Then it might not have been Pawpaw Vincent.”
Rae sighed at Tante Ina’s look of skepticism. “Yeah, pretty
flimsy.”

“Child, we both grabbin’ at straws. We never
wanted to believe the talk but... I remember that day.”

“Tante Ina, Daddy never told me much besides
saying Pawpaw didn’t do it.” Rae wanted a first-hand account, as
much for herself as for LaMar.

“It was September, ‘round Labor Day. We were
all gettin’ ready for a parade down at Chauvin’s field.” Tante
Ina’s voice took on the smooth tone of a storyteller and she smiled
at the memory.

Rae did not want her to stop. “Mr. Chauvin’s
field was where black folks had picnics,” she said in a soft voice,
to prompt her aunt for more.

“Yeah, nice man. I dated one of his boys for
a while. Mr. Chauvin had some big tables he built and would rent
out his park, or so he called it. We called it a field.” She
chuckled. “Used to make him so mad.”

“It’s a nice park now, with swings and such
for kids; a building for receptions, too. Pawpaw Vincent took y’all
there?”

Tante Ina continued, “Usually, on holidays,
but that time, no – he didn’t come home that night. Mama got up and
packed a basket. I heard her tell Tante Marguerite she wasn’t gonna
let Papa spoil our fun. She sat off talkin’ with her sisters. Like
kids, we knew somethin’ was wrong, but soon got caught up in
playin’ and the firecrackers.

“Long ‘bout two o’clock, Henry Jove come
barrelin’ up in that big Chrysler of his, and jumps out. He starts
yellin’ how Papa was a thief. Mr. Joe tried to get him to lower his
voice so us children wouldn’t hear, but he was too out of his mind.
Mr. Henry was yellin’ ‘bout his Estelle. And, I’ll never forget
this, he cried. That man just sat down and bawled. ‘Fore long we
heard there was money missin’, too.”

“They searched for them, right? I don’t
understand why they didn’t find them,” said Rae, thinking that even
in 1963 they must have been able to trace people.

“The law didn’t much care ‘bout black folk
business back then. Old Sheriff Leblanc flat out said he wasn’t
gonna waste his resources runnin’ up and down the countryside. The
sheriff in New Orleans found Miss Estelle’s car. That fine car
would have given them up for sure; the color of a sable coat. Guess
that’s why they ditched it,” added Tante Ina.