A Darker Shade of Midnight (3 page)

“I didn’t miss living in a fish bowl,” LaShaun retorted.
 

“The Trosclair family has powerful friends. Not that you didn’t piss off a few more folks in your time,” Sheriff Triche said. “With your grandmamma being down sick folks might feel little safe comin’ at ya. If you know what I mean.”

LaShaun stood. “I’m here to spend time with Monmon Odette, that’s all.
 
If you don’t mind I’d like to go now.”

Sheriff Triche stood. “One more thing, your family ain’t been exactly harmonious. I heard talk about feuds over her land and such.”

“There’s no place like home,” LaShaun said with a grunt. “Thanks for the warning. By the way, why are you giving me the heads up on all this stuff?”

“Hoping it might help ward off another big mess. I’ve dropped a few words of warnin’ to various other citizens, too.” Sheriff Triche tapped a forefinger against his temple.
 

“You’ve got a sharp brain inside that old Cajun head.” LaShaun put her hands on her hips.
 

 
“Steer clear of Quentin and trouble.”

“Yes, sir.” LaShaun snapped to attention and gave him a military salute.
 

Sheriff Triche shook his head and pointed to the door. “Lawd, have mercy. I’m about to retire in a few months, and you come back to town. Go on then.”

LaShaun lowered her hand and gazed back at him.
 
“Sheriff, if there’s any trouble it won’t be because I started it.”
 

“Humph.” The sheriff didn’t sound convinced as he followed her out of his office.
 

Deputy Arceneaux had been leaning against the wall of the hallway. She stood straight when she saw them and fell in step behind Sheriff Triche.

“I feel so safe with all this police presence,” LaShaun joked.
 

The three of them reached the big open room. Once again, all chatter and noise quieted as they entered. Deputy Broussard was talking to Deputy Gautreau, and the exchange didn’t look friendly. LaShaun once again picked up on the bad blood between them.
 

“Sir,” Deputy Broussard said, and looked at his boss expectantly.

“Until you find out these ain
’
t illegal substances LaShaun
can go on to Monmon
Odette’s.”

“Okay.” Deputy Broussard nodded.

“But she could leave anytime,” Gautreau said.

“Right now we don’t have enough to hold her. I still know the law even with one foot out the door.” Sheriff Triche rubbed his forehead and winced. “Now just do what I say.”

“My grandmother is seriously ill, so I have no plans to leave for at least two weeks.” LaShaun gazed at Sheriff Triche and then at Deputy Gautreau.

“No probable cause.” Sheriff Triche gestured for LaShaun to follow him.

“I didn
’
t write out the ticket for that broken taillight.” Deputy Broussard
wrote the ticket. He tore off the short white piece of paper and held it out to LaShaun. “You have to pay the fine or report to traffic court.”

“I’ll pay the fine since I’m guilty. But for the record if any other broken tail lights show up I didn’t do it.” LaShaun
took the ticket and smiled at Deputy Broussard, her lips parted. He stared back at her mouth. “And you can’t prove I did even if you try.”

“Lawd, have mercy.” Sheriff Triche muttered and heaved a sigh.

LaShaun flipped her fingertips at them as her only goodbye. Despite her insolent, hip-swaying exit from the Sheriff’s station her legs
felt shaky. When she reached the parking lot LaShaun took in a deep breath of the cool March night air. Once inside the Mercury Mariner, she exhaled and locked the door. Though she should have known better than to issue that challenge, LaShaun had been unable to stop herself. After all, she was Francine’s daughter and Odette LaGrange
Rousselle’s granddaughter. Challenging authority was most likely coded into her DNA.
 
 
* * *

The digital clock glowing in soft green on her dashboard said it was almost eleven thirty. The dark night of rural Louisiana hugged the Mercury Mariner on all sides as she drove down the country highway. After another fifteen minutes of driving LaShaun turned off Highway 77 onto the black top road called Rousselle Lane. A few twists and turns brought her to Monmon
Odette’s driveway. A curtain twitched and moments later the front door cracked open. LaShaun
opened the driver’s side door and got out. Her cousin Rita stood in the doorway, the bright porch light washed over her. She put both hands on her wide hips.

“Monmon kept asking about you. She was about to make me call out the sheriff’s department to find you.” Rita crossed the screened porch and let the screen door slap shut behind her.
 

“Just so happens they could have told you exactly where I was. One of your diligent deputies hauled me in. Got three bags. Grab this little one. I’ll get the others”

“Damn, that didn’t take long. You already pissed somebody off?” Rita stared at her for a few seconds.

“I’m not that good at being bad.” LaShaun handed Rita a bag.
 
“How’s Monmon
been today?” LaShaun went to the rear of the SUV. She unlocked the hatch and picked up both suitcases.
 

“Sleeping a lot. She’s getting weaker in body and mind. She talks a lot about the past, most of it in Creole French, so I can’t understand. I fixed up your room.”
 
Rita didn’t wait for her, but went up the porch steps and disappeared into the house.

“Thanks,” LaShaun said to empty night air. She went inside and placed her bags in the hallway.

Not seeing her cousin, LaShaun followed the smell of food to the kitchen. She breathed in the scent of onions, peppers, and garlic. A large electric skilled was set to the warm setting. Inside was jambalaya. A woven basket held a loaf of French bread. Minutes later Rita came to the kitchen. Rita turned from the stove when LaShaun came in.

“Monmon fixed that for you. She wouldn’t let me cook. Says she’s the only one knows how to prepare your favorites.” Rita’s tone held an edge.
 

“She’s got an iron will. How are you?” LaShaun tried to ease the tension that crackled in the air between them.

“I’m doing fine. Since you’re here I’m moving back to my place.” Rita turned to go.

“Hey, you don’t have to leave tonight. There’s plenty of room.” LaShaun caught up with her halfway down the hall.
 

“I put clean towels in your bathroom.”

LaShaun smiled at her. “C’mon, we can hang out and catch up.”

“I’m going home. The home health aide is named Tasha Easley. She comes three times a week to help. And the nurse comes by to check her vitals once a week.” Rita said.

“I really appreciate all you’ve done.” LaShaun started to say more but Rita cut her off.

 
“Monmon Odette will want to spend time alone with you.” Rita left was through the front door and in her Ford Mustang before LaShaun could say goodbye. The headlights flashed against the house as she turned the car around to leave.

LaShaun sighed as she locked the front door. She instinctively turned into the living room to her left. The sights and smells of her grandmother’s house acted like a time machine. One long sofa sat against a wall. A painting of Monmon’s house and part of the woods surrounding it hung just above it. Two other smaller paintings of bayou scenes hung on two other walls. Over the fireplace was a portrait of a breathtaking woman, Odette when she was a woman of thirty. A baby grand piano sat in one corner of the room. The polished walnut finish gleamed as always. Most people didn’t know it, but Monmon Odette was an accomplished pianist. LaShaun went to it and traced the fingers of one hand along the carved music desk above the keys. Then she sat down and gently played the first few notes of “Over The Rainbow”.

“Why you actin’ like you scared of them keys? Play the song right. That’s one of my favorites.” Monmon
Odette said from the doorway.

She leaned heavily to one side on a thick carved wooden cane. Her skin had the color and texture of ancient brown parchment. Her white hair was combed back, and her scalp showed through in spots where it had thinned. The dark eyes still hinted at some secret power. She wore stud earrings. The twin gold beads gleamed as she moved her head. Then she smiled with affection. The years seemed to slip away. A remnant of the beautiful woman she in the portrait came through. LaShaun once again knew why Monmon Odette was a legend in Vermilion
Parish. Nothing short of magic seemed to flow from that smile. Yet, LaShaun also knew the truth.

Chapter 3

LaShaun answered by playing the song as though she were in a grand concert hall. She repeated the opening notes then let them tinkle like flowing water. Monmon Odette continued to smile as she sat down in the nearest stuffed chair. LaShaun ended the tune with a flourish that would have made any conductor proud.

“Humph, now you’re just showin’ off,” Monmon Odette said when the final note died away. She put the walking cane aside and stretched out a hand to LaShaun. “Welcome home, my sweet baby girl.”

LaShaun went to her. She kissed the hand that had guided her through childhood. Now the knuckles were knotted, the tapered fingers weakened by arthritis. Yet, the skin appeared strangely smooth.
 

“Bon soir, Monmon. You should be in bed.” LaShaun kissed her forehead. She breathed in the familiar scent of Cashmere Bouquet. The fragrance of lavender and chamomile came from another era.
 

“So, you finally come home. To watch me die, eh?” Monmon Odette patted LaShaun’s cheek.
 

“To celebrate your life, sweet mother,” LaShaun whispered. A tear slipped down her face. No need to make pointless protestations otherwise. They both knew Monmon Odette’s time on earth was growing shorter.
 

Monmon Odette shushed away her sadness with a soft hiss. She produced a scented lace handkerchief from the pocket of her robe and dabbed away the tear. LaShaun sat on the floor and rested her head in Monmon Odette’s lap.
 

“Don’t grieve just yet, Cher . The blood is still runnin’ warm in these old veins. I’ve got just enough time left I think.”
   

“Time for what?” LaShaun toyed with the hem of her grandmother’s cotton gingham robe.
   

“You’ll know soon enough. But tonight you need rest after a long journey. You’ve come back home through time and space I think,” Monmon Odette murmured.

LaShaun looked up at her. “Has anything changed here?”
   

Monmon Odette patted her shoulder as a signal she wanted to stand. With a short grunt from the effort, and a hand from LaShaun, she rose from the chair.
 
Monmon Odette held LaShaun’s arm as they walked down the hallway to her bedroom.

“Some things are eternal. The movement of the wind, the heat on the bayou when summer comes. All that is the same.”
 

“The land stays the same if people don’t ruin it. Like they ruin a lot of things,” LaShaun said softly.

“Human nature doesn’t change either, Cher .” Monmon stopped and gave LaShaun a sideways glance. “The same deadly sins rule a man’s nature.”
 

“And women,” LaShaun added raising an eyebrow back at her.
 

Monmon Odette laughed and started walking again. “True. But age does make a difference. When you get to be old you look at things differently.”

They arrived at the door to her grandmother’s bedroom. As they entered, LaShaun let her go in first. Then she fluffed the down pillows as her grandmother sank onto the bed. LaShaun helped her remove the robe and ease back onto the pillows. Once she’d tucked the vintage quilt around Monmon Odette’s chest her grandmother sighed.
 

“Thank you, sweet girl. Now sit with me awhile.”
 

LaShaun sank onto the cushioned seat of a large oak rocking chair next to the bed. A Bible was on the nightstand. “Of course. Shall I read to you?”
   

“Non.”
 

Monmon Odette closed her eyes after a few moments. LaShaun watched the slight rise and fall of her grandmother’s chest. After a while, she gazed around. Monmon Odette had redecorated. Her grandmother had a fondness for antiques, history and tradition. Yet, Monmon Odette was no old lady clinging to the past. LaShaun smiled when she saw the combination radio and compact disc player on the other wide nightstand. The high tech device didn’t clash with the country style décor. Curtains with a lovely old rose pattern on a cream background matched the quilt, the rug and pillow shams. An overhead cane ceiling fan looked old enough to have come from one of the plantation homes along Vermilion River. Then LaShaun saw the family photos on a round table. She left the rocker and went to it. Several pictures were sepia toned, taken before the turn of the last century. “Celie LeGrange, 1866-1932” was written at the bottom of one. Monmon Odette’s mother. Jules Paul LeGrange, husband to Celie and Monmon Odette’s father, stared stone-faced from another photo. An even older picture of a lovely woman dressed in a long dress and button top shoes sat next to it. LaShaun did not have to read the faint letters to know her. Acelie LeGrange stared at her descendant across time, two hundred years to be exact. LaShaun’s mother stared from a photo taken in 1982. She looked beautiful in a flowered sundress. Francine stood next to a five year old LaShaun. Both wore forced smiles trying hard to look happy for the camera. LaShaun didn’t remember that particular day, but she remembered her mother’s overwrought disposition. Still in love with Antoine St. Julien even five years after he married another, Francine never found happiness.