to ceiling. Papa had been religious, but the sheer number of them suggested a fervor that Aurora had never experienced from him.
More unnerving were the objects that seemed significant but foreign to Aurora. The side tables, desk, and dining room table were littered with them; tiny jars and vases, some filled with liquid, others clear; bundles of sticks and rolled-up paper tied with string, and rows of bags, cinched at the top.
Aurora jumped at the sound of her cell phone, trilling somewhere in the depths of her bag. A familiar name flashed on the screen. Luna Riley. She picked it up.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Aurora. Just wanted to check in with you and see that you made it down there in one piece. Everything okay?”
Aurora turned away from the mantel, where a felt doll crowned in purple feathers leered at her. “It’s not what I expected.”
“Is everything all right?”
“There’s just a lot of—well, I don’t know how to describe it. He has these bags everywhere. They’re kind of like sachets, tied with ribbon.” She knew she sounded insane, but miraculously, Luna Riley hummed in agreement on the other end of the phone.
“Gris-gris,” Luna said.
“What?”
“That’s what the bags are called. They’re for luck. Good fortune. It’s nothing bad, Aurora. I promise. Your grandfather and people like him who grew up on the bayou, it’s just a part of life for them to have those. Like a talisman.”
“Do you know anything about why he’d have these jars? And pieces of paper with string?” Aurora perched on the edge of the satiny yellow sofa. Beside her, the waxy, bubbled remains of several violet candles dotted the windowsill.
“I’m not an expert in that stuff, so I’m not sure,” Luna admitted. “There’s somebody in town who is, though—you can be sure of that. I’ll let you settle in. Mr. Beaumont, that attorney I mentioned, is expecting your call.”
“Terrific, thanks.” Aurora ended the call. Shadows had begun to creep across the ceiling. She walked from room to room, flipping every switch, drenching the house in light. What had Papa been doing with these religious objects? Aurora had assumed that Jefferson meant Papa was reviewing her mother’s case, looking through old files, but the truth appeared to be something more supernatural.
She put the kettle on, the purr of the stove reassuring. Her grandfather grinned at her from a picture magnet on the refrigerator, one of those plastic ones you buy at a gift shop. World’s Sweetest Grandpa! the frame in the shape of chocolate bars proclaimed. Tears of recognition sprang to Aurora’s eyes. Papa must have brought it down here on one of his trips back to the bayou. She had bought this for him on their sixth-grade class trip to Hershey, Pennsylvania. The man in the photo was the grandpa she loved, stalwart and solid, a man who handled everything in his stride. It was hard to picture him lighting these candles, tying the bags of gris-gris, summoning the daughter that was never coming back.
Aurora leaned against the counter. For as long as she could remember, she had felt her own sense of responsibility. Be a good girl, be kind, be the best you can be . She’d had to do it because Raylene could not, because her mother’s death had to mean something. She had to save people because if she didn’t, what was left? The other part of herself. She was Wade Atchison’s child too. He’d killed her mother and spared her. What your daddy did casts a long shadow .
Maybe Papa had stumbled across a dark truth that he could not handle. Maybe that was up to Aurora.
There was nobody else to do it. She was the only one left.
CHAPTER NINE
“They ain’t critter bones. I told you, Doc. I knew it. I was right. Wasn’t I, though?” Zeke Crumpler demanded.
Slowly, in a way that he hoped conveyed the annoyance he felt, James brought himself to a standing position and turned away from the duffel bag and its grim contents.
Zeke Crumpler hovered
More unnerving were the objects that seemed significant but foreign to Aurora. The side tables, desk, and dining room table were littered with them; tiny jars and vases, some filled with liquid, others clear; bundles of sticks and rolled-up paper tied with string, and rows of bags, cinched at the top.
Aurora jumped at the sound of her cell phone, trilling somewhere in the depths of her bag. A familiar name flashed on the screen. Luna Riley. She picked it up.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Aurora. Just wanted to check in with you and see that you made it down there in one piece. Everything okay?”
Aurora turned away from the mantel, where a felt doll crowned in purple feathers leered at her. “It’s not what I expected.”
“Is everything all right?”
“There’s just a lot of—well, I don’t know how to describe it. He has these bags everywhere. They’re kind of like sachets, tied with ribbon.” She knew she sounded insane, but miraculously, Luna Riley hummed in agreement on the other end of the phone.
“Gris-gris,” Luna said.
“What?”
“That’s what the bags are called. They’re for luck. Good fortune. It’s nothing bad, Aurora. I promise. Your grandfather and people like him who grew up on the bayou, it’s just a part of life for them to have those. Like a talisman.”
“Do you know anything about why he’d have these jars? And pieces of paper with string?” Aurora perched on the edge of the satiny yellow sofa. Beside her, the waxy, bubbled remains of several violet candles dotted the windowsill.
“I’m not an expert in that stuff, so I’m not sure,” Luna admitted. “There’s somebody in town who is, though—you can be sure of that. I’ll let you settle in. Mr. Beaumont, that attorney I mentioned, is expecting your call.”
“Terrific, thanks.” Aurora ended the call. Shadows had begun to creep across the ceiling. She walked from room to room, flipping every switch, drenching the house in light. What had Papa been doing with these religious objects? Aurora had assumed that Jefferson meant Papa was reviewing her mother’s case, looking through old files, but the truth appeared to be something more supernatural.
She put the kettle on, the purr of the stove reassuring. Her grandfather grinned at her from a picture magnet on the refrigerator, one of those plastic ones you buy at a gift shop. World’s Sweetest Grandpa! the frame in the shape of chocolate bars proclaimed. Tears of recognition sprang to Aurora’s eyes. Papa must have brought it down here on one of his trips back to the bayou. She had bought this for him on their sixth-grade class trip to Hershey, Pennsylvania. The man in the photo was the grandpa she loved, stalwart and solid, a man who handled everything in his stride. It was hard to picture him lighting these candles, tying the bags of gris-gris, summoning the daughter that was never coming back.
Aurora leaned against the counter. For as long as she could remember, she had felt her own sense of responsibility. Be a good girl, be kind, be the best you can be . She’d had to do it because Raylene could not, because her mother’s death had to mean something. She had to save people because if she didn’t, what was left? The other part of herself. She was Wade Atchison’s child too. He’d killed her mother and spared her. What your daddy did casts a long shadow .
Maybe Papa had stumbled across a dark truth that he could not handle. Maybe that was up to Aurora.
There was nobody else to do it. She was the only one left.
CHAPTER NINE
“They ain’t critter bones. I told you, Doc. I knew it. I was right. Wasn’t I, though?” Zeke Crumpler demanded.
Slowly, in a way that he hoped conveyed the annoyance he felt, James brought himself to a standing position and turned away from the duffel bag and its grim contents.
Zeke Crumpler hovered
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