For a split second panic crossed her face, but then she smiled. "A friend of mine from back home. I'm so excited to be going home that I called her up to share the news."
"Who's the he you were talking about?"
She hesitated for a moment, then quirked her lips. "I was talking about my brother."
"Armand?"
"No. Stephan."
Rock stared at her but she didn't flinch. Stephan was her younger brother and an embarrassment to the Boucher family since he was born developmentally disabled. For years they acted as though they only had two children, except for Clotille. She'd always talk about her brother and share funny stories about him to Rock when they were growing up. He remembered the day she'd called him out of the blue when she was a sophomore in high school and he was a junior. They'd drifted apart at that juncture in their young lives, and, on that day, she'd been very upset. She'd asked if they could meet in the alcove in the park, their secret hiding place from the cruel adults in their lives when they'd been kids.
He'd met her and had been blown away at how pretty she'd looked in her short skirt and knit top, her hair shining in the sunlight. Then he'd noticed her eyes were red and puffy, her face swollen. It had been on that day that he'd fallen in love with her. She'd flung herself into his arms and cried for what seemed like hours. Her parents had taken Stephan away and put him in a place for "children like that." She'd cursed her parents, especially her mother, who had been the instigator of ridding the household of Stephan, and lamented the emptiness in her heart since he'd gone away. She'd told Rock he was the only person who knew about her younger brother. Then, when the sun had begun to descend, she'd told him she had to go. As she ran from him, she'd stopped, turned around, and simply said, "I love you. I always will." Then she was gone.
"Rock? What's wrong?" Her voice heralded him back to the present.
"Nothing. I'd forgotten about Stephan. How's he doing?"
"He's happy. He's still at the same place so that's good. I had to sell all my jewelry to keep him there after my dad died and we had no money."
"Fuck. Is your mom paying for him now?" Her jaw hardened and she shook her head. "Then Armand? Isa tells me he's doing pretty good for himself." Again she shook her head. "Then how's he staying at that fancy place?"
She lowered her head. "Frederick. But then I suppose he'll stop that if I don't go back to him. So much that is good in my family is tied to him."
"Don't let all that sway you. You made the decision to leave him. You can't give up your life for your family. We'll figure it out." He crossed the room and pulled her into his arms. She shuddered beneath his touch. Hugging her, he stroked her hair. "We're leaving tomorrow. Pack real light ‘cause we're going by bike."
"No heart attack-inducing mountain passes, right?"
He threw his head back and laughed. "No. I promise." Then he kissed her deeply, the urge to keep her safe and happy overpowering the feeling that she still wasn't telling him the whole truth. I should take her to Lafayette and walk away. But how the fuck can I? I've been addicted to her since I was a boy. And like an addict, my sweet craving is going to fuckin' kill me.
"Rock? I have to send some money for … Stephan by wire. I'm sending it to my friend to pay the facility. Can you take me to the grocery store so I can send a MoneyGram?"
"Why don't you send it directly to the place?"
"I don't want Frederick tracing it back here."
"Won't he be able to trace it to your friend? You're still leaving a paper trail."
"Are you going to take me or not?" Irritation had crept into her voice.
"Yeah, sure. We can pick up some stuff for the trip. We'll leave at nine in the morning."
"Then we better get to the store so I can get everything arranged."
He scanned her face. Although it didn't reveal anything, he knew without a doubt she was bullshitting him big time.
He grabbed the keys to his Harley. "Come on. Let's go."
She walked out and he followed her down the hall.
I wonder how this is going to play out.
I wonder if I'll ever be able to get her out of my blood.
I wonder if I want to.
Chapter Fourteen
The small wooden house crouched in the shadows under the sprawling boughs of a large cypress tree. Inside the abode, there were four rooms and an enclosed back porch where Madame Germaine Vincennes kept various concoctions for spells and potions. Customers usually came over in the evenings, under cover of the darkened sky, to pick up a healing salve, a love potion, or a mojo bag to bring them whatever relief they desired.
For over forty years Madame had offered her services to help others. She believed God had given her the gift of healing and warding off evil spirits, as she'd had an uncanny sixth sense ever since she'd been a young child. She charged only what it cost her to make the candles, powders, mojo bags, and spells. It never occurred to her to make money from her gift; it was enough that she could help an unsettled person find comfort and meaning in his life.
The small house was where she'd raised her children, laid out her husband when he was killed in a mining accident, and gave tea leaf readings for the distraught. She was a great-great-grandmother and lived alone, fiercely proud of her independence.
On a side table, among the numerous pictures of her children, stood a framed black-and-white wedding photograph. The bride sat in a chair with a bouquet of roses resting in her lap, and the groom stood behind her looking so handsome in a black suit. Upon waking each day, Madame Vincennes took the portrait in her hands and held it to her heart as she wished her husband a good day. After a half hour of prayers and recollections, she'd place the wedding photograph back in its place, knowing that one day she and her husband would be reunited.
The perimeter of the largest room was chock-full of mason jars stuffed with various herbs, stones, animal bones, and powders. Small vials of oils filled several curio cabinets. The scene was repeated on the back porch.
That evening, the old fortune teller rose from the chair, her knees cracking, when her doorbell rang. The wooden cane in her hand clacked on the wooden floor as she went to answer it. Peering out the curtained window on her door, her face tightened. What does he want? She paused, debating on whether she should let him in. A gust of wind rattled her windows at that moment and her cat skedaddled across the floor, disappearing under a worn couch.
"Germaine, I know you're in there. I have to talk to you. It won't take long."
Pushing down the apprehension that clawed at her psyche, she turned the lock and opened the door. He walked in and smiled at her. His suit was perfectly pressed, and there wasn't a hair out of place. "How are you?"
"I'm doing okay. Why are you here? You already gave me my money for the month."
"You're all business, aren't you? I came over to talk to you about something. Come on, let's have a seat." The tall man threw her a toothy smile, and she didn't trust him at all. Evil surrounded him.
He sat down when she did, then spread his hands on his thighs. "We have a slight problem here."
Madame Vincennes tucked a loose strand of silver hair into the bun on top of her head. She stared hard at him, her sharp blue eyes clear and young. Her orbs held the echoes of her youth, unlike the rest of her. The lines in her face were deep and saggy, like the skin no longer had a connection to the skull underneath it, and age spots gave her skin a coffee-stained look. She gave him a twisted smile. "What's the problem?"
"You've not been entirely silent about that night, have you?" His stare was piercing.
"I have. You made it very clear what would happen to my children and grandchildren if I told anyone."
"And receiving two thousand dollars a month hasn't been too shabby." He crossed his leg and smoothed down his pants."
"Mon Dieu, just tell me why you're here."
"Why did you send Rock the mojo bag?" His face was taut, his eyes narrowed into slits. A damp chill gripped her like a hand from the grave. "You didn't think I'd find out about it, did you? And the note telling him that his father didn't kill his mother was stupid." He pressed his lips together and they looked like a slash across his face. "Actually, it was … suicide."
This is the night I'm going to leave the Earth. Mon Dieu, if I'd known, I wouldn't have chastised Delphine this morning. I would've told my family I love them. Her eyes misted as she stated to her would-be killer, "I've been having what happened on my conscience and in my soul for too long. I couldn't let a son go to his grave thinking his père murdered his maman. I need to have peace."