Deja Voodoo (A Cajun Magic Novel) (Entangled Suspense) by Elle James Page B

from the marina. A gray-haired man got out, reached into the backseat, and pulled out a small suitcase.
    “Another tourist?” Ed asked, trying for casual curiosity.
    “Yup. Called this mornin’ looking for a cottage to rent. Just lucky I had a cancellation or he’d be out of luck.”
    “Is he from around here?”
    “Said he’s from New Orleans. We get a lot of folks out from New Orleans. They like to get away from the hustle and bustle.” Joe’s lips twisted. “I certainly understand that. Usta live there myself.”
    “You did?” He faced the older man, sure he was pulling his leg. He acted as if he was part of the bayou, born and bred.
    “You’d never know it by looking at me, but I was a highfalutin lawyer back in the day.”
    Huh . “And you gave it up for this?”
    “Damn right I did.” Joe scratched his scraggly beard. “Ain’t never looked back.”
    “Why?”
    “You know what lawyers are like.” Joe hitched his jeans. “It just wasn’t me.”
    Having gone up against some of the slimiest attorneys Louisiana had to offer, Ed nodded. But then, he wasn’t sure he got the lure of the bayou. Not yet . So far, it was hot, steamy, and full of insects and other, even less savory creatures. The sooner Leon Primeaux went to trial, the sooner the Ragsdale woman could leave the swamp, and him with her.
    “The man say why he’s here?” Ed asked.
    Joe rocked back on his heels, digging his hands into the back pockets of his faded, ragged jeans. “Same as you.”
    He did a double take before he realized what Joe was talking about. “Avid fisherman, huh?”
    “ Mais , he said he was looking for some good fishing.” Joe’s mouth twisted. “Not sure about avid. Have ta wait and see.”
    “Has he hired a guide yet?”
    “I asked him, but he said he just needed a boat, no guide.” Joe’s brows dipped. “Don’t like renting my boats until I know whoever’s taking it knows his way around the swamp. Mr. Mills said he can get around on his own. Hope I don’t have ta go lookin’ for him.”
    Interesting. A tourist wanting to get out on the bayou by himself. Ed made a note to keep an eye on the man. “Mills, huh? A common enough name.”
    “First name’s not so common.”
    “Oh, yeah?”
    “Oscar.” Ed shook his head. “Reminds me of one of those kids’ puppet shows on TV.” Joe hitched up his pants. “I better get going. Don’t want to be late to Miz Mozelle’s dinner table. See you in the morning.”
    Ed glanced at his watch. He had enough time before dinner to get back to his cottage and make a call to Ben.
    He made it to the rental without being accosted by alligators or Boyettes. As soon as he entered, he placed a call to Ben, leaving a message for him to run a search on Oscar Mills, assuming that was his real name.
    With thirty minutes left to kill, he thought he might try to figure out what the hell all this stuff was he was expected to know what to do with at the butt-freakin’-crack of dawn.
    He sat on the front porch and spread out the equipment he’d purchased. “This can’t be all that difficult.” Hell, if those folks on the reality shows could fish in the bayous, an educated man from Baton Rouge ought to be able to do it. He pulled his computer tablet out and cursed at the lack of Wi-Fi. Okay, so he was on his own. With a half hour to go before the dinner gauntlet at the Boyette cafeteria, he was determined to make it work.
    He started by trying to let out a little line from the rod and reel. After several attempts, he leaned back with no more line out than he’d started with. Short of tearing the reel apart, he didn’t have a clue.
    “You have to press the lever on the side to loosen the line,” a small voice said from beside him.
    He jumped and nearly decked a boy with curly black hair and bright-blue eyes.
    Beside him stood a girl with softer features but of the same height and with the same blue eyes.
    “Let me guess,” Ed said. “Boyettes?”
    They nodded in