mind.
“But didn’t she run away from here almost two hundred years ago?”
Marie shrugged. “That’s what they say.”
Laurel frowned. “Then why would her spirit stay in a place where she hadn’t wanted to be?”
Marie shrugged again. “Maybe because she all guilty for running away and leavin’ her husband and her babies. Maybe she’s doomed to spend eternity here at Mimosa Grove because she didn’t stay and care for it in life. Who knows? I’m just the housekeeper round here. You’re the one who’s supposed to know all that kind of stuff. Come on with you, now. You need to get you a bath before the power goes out.”
Laurel followed the old woman upstairs, letting her fuss and scold, because she knew it was her way of showing that she cared. Later, after they’d shared bowls of soup and cold sandwiches by candlelight while the storm still raged beyond the walls, Laurel gave up trying to read and went to bed, hoping that power and rationality would both return with daylight and the passing of the storm. And hoping that somehow she would reconnect with her dream lover, who’d been noticeably absent since her arrival in Louisiana.
Parish police chief Harper Fonteneau and his men had been searching for the little girl for hours, but with no luck. When it started to rain, their hopes dropped. Whatever clues might have led them to four-year-old Rachelle Moutan’s location were being washed into the river that connected with the Atchafalaya Bay. Tommy and Cheryl Ann Moutan were pale and quiet as the dead, which bothered Harper even more than if they’d been screaming and cursing his name. But losing a child in the bayou country was dangerous in broad daylight. It was now almost midnight, it had been raining for hours, and he was at the point of praying they’d at least find her body before the gators did.
While little Rachelle’s parents clung to each other in desperate silence, her uncle, Justin Bouvier, had been manic—almost driven to find her himself. Upon his arrival three hours earlier, he’d taken to the bayous in a shallow boat with an outboard motor for power. And with a two-way radio for communication, he’d covered a large portion of the waterways on his own, leaving the others to search higher ground, where they believed the little girl to be.
It wasn’t until a few minutes ago that one of his deputies had bemoaned the fact that Marcella Campion had passed. If she’d still been alive, they were certain she could have given them a direction in which to search, if not an exact location. It was then that Harper had remembered the woman he’d accidentally insulted in Bayou Jean.
“Holy Mother of God,” he muttered. “I forgot she was here.”
“Who you talkin’ about, Harper?” one of the deputies asked.
“The granddaughter! Miz Marcella’s granddaughter is at Mimosa Grove.”
“She got the sight like her grandmama?”
“I don’t know, but I’m damn sure gonna find out,” Harper said, and ran toward the lost child’s parents. “You got anything here that belongs to Rachelle?”
Tommy only shook his head and started to cry, but Cheryl Ann had a different answer.
“Her jacket,” she said, and ran toward their car. “I brought it in case the mosquitoes got too bad before we got home from the picnic.” Moments later she thrust it into Harper’s hands. “Are you gonna use the dogs? Maybe it’s not too wet for them to track her, right, Harper?”
“No, darlin’,” Harper said. “Not the dogs. They couldn’t get a scent in this rain. I’m takin’ this jacket to Mimosa Grove.”
“That won’t do any good. Miz Marcella is dead…like my baby.” At that, she started to wail.
“Her granddaughter is at Mimosa Grove. I don’t know if she’s got the sight, but I’m gonna find out.”
4
L aurel was dreaming about Christmas and a flashing string of lights that kept falling off the Christmas tree when she realized that the flashing lights were
“But didn’t she run away from here almost two hundred years ago?”
Marie shrugged. “That’s what they say.”
Laurel frowned. “Then why would her spirit stay in a place where she hadn’t wanted to be?”
Marie shrugged again. “Maybe because she all guilty for running away and leavin’ her husband and her babies. Maybe she’s doomed to spend eternity here at Mimosa Grove because she didn’t stay and care for it in life. Who knows? I’m just the housekeeper round here. You’re the one who’s supposed to know all that kind of stuff. Come on with you, now. You need to get you a bath before the power goes out.”
Laurel followed the old woman upstairs, letting her fuss and scold, because she knew it was her way of showing that she cared. Later, after they’d shared bowls of soup and cold sandwiches by candlelight while the storm still raged beyond the walls, Laurel gave up trying to read and went to bed, hoping that power and rationality would both return with daylight and the passing of the storm. And hoping that somehow she would reconnect with her dream lover, who’d been noticeably absent since her arrival in Louisiana.
Parish police chief Harper Fonteneau and his men had been searching for the little girl for hours, but with no luck. When it started to rain, their hopes dropped. Whatever clues might have led them to four-year-old Rachelle Moutan’s location were being washed into the river that connected with the Atchafalaya Bay. Tommy and Cheryl Ann Moutan were pale and quiet as the dead, which bothered Harper even more than if they’d been screaming and cursing his name. But losing a child in the bayou country was dangerous in broad daylight. It was now almost midnight, it had been raining for hours, and he was at the point of praying they’d at least find her body before the gators did.
While little Rachelle’s parents clung to each other in desperate silence, her uncle, Justin Bouvier, had been manic—almost driven to find her himself. Upon his arrival three hours earlier, he’d taken to the bayous in a shallow boat with an outboard motor for power. And with a two-way radio for communication, he’d covered a large portion of the waterways on his own, leaving the others to search higher ground, where they believed the little girl to be.
It wasn’t until a few minutes ago that one of his deputies had bemoaned the fact that Marcella Campion had passed. If she’d still been alive, they were certain she could have given them a direction in which to search, if not an exact location. It was then that Harper had remembered the woman he’d accidentally insulted in Bayou Jean.
“Holy Mother of God,” he muttered. “I forgot she was here.”
“Who you talkin’ about, Harper?” one of the deputies asked.
“The granddaughter! Miz Marcella’s granddaughter is at Mimosa Grove.”
“She got the sight like her grandmama?”
“I don’t know, but I’m damn sure gonna find out,” Harper said, and ran toward the lost child’s parents. “You got anything here that belongs to Rachelle?”
Tommy only shook his head and started to cry, but Cheryl Ann had a different answer.
“Her jacket,” she said, and ran toward their car. “I brought it in case the mosquitoes got too bad before we got home from the picnic.” Moments later she thrust it into Harper’s hands. “Are you gonna use the dogs? Maybe it’s not too wet for them to track her, right, Harper?”
“No, darlin’,” Harper said. “Not the dogs. They couldn’t get a scent in this rain. I’m takin’ this jacket to Mimosa Grove.”
“That won’t do any good. Miz Marcella is dead…like my baby.” At that, she started to wail.
“Her granddaughter is at Mimosa Grove. I don’t know if she’s got the sight, but I’m gonna find out.”
4
L aurel was dreaming about Christmas and a flashing string of lights that kept falling off the Christmas tree when she realized that the flashing lights were
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