A Darker Shade of Midnight (4 page)

“I’m glad you’re home, Cher . Have
 
you forgiven me?”

LaShaun looked up to find her grandmother’s dark gaze fixed on her. “I didn’t blame you for anything that happened to me, Monmon.”

“Maybe you should have, and for your maman, too. So many mistakes and no time to fix them. But I may still have time to do some good for you.” Monmon Odette inhaled deeply causing a rattling sound deep in her chest. She breathed out slowly then closed her eyes.
 

“I made my own choices, and my own mistakes.” LaShaun blinked away tears.
 

Monmon Odette nodded without opening her eyes. “Maybe Le Bon Dieu will have mercy on this old woman.”

“Just rest, sweet mother. I’ll take care of you, and we’ll laugh and sing Boozoo Chavis songs.”
 

“Oh yeah,” Monmon Odette murmured softly. She even hummed a bit of a zydeco tune as she drifted into sleep.
 

LaShaun crossed to the nightstand and turned off the lamp but left a nightlight on. The faint illumination cast shadows that heightened atmosphere of an eighteenth century Creole cottage.
 
She watched her grandmother’s chest rise and fall for a few seconds, and then tucked the quilt up closer to Monmon Odette’s chin. LaShaun moved quietly across the rug-covered hardwood to the door.

“My lawyer will make things right Tuesday,” Monmon Odette whispered.

 
“What?” LaShaun spun around.

Monmon Odette’s head turned to the side on the pillow. She gave a contented sigh, and snuggled deeper into the covers. Seconds later she snored lightly. LaShaun could almost believe she’d imagined hearing her; except Monmon Odette wore a slight, sly smile as she slept. She resisted the urge to shake the old mischief-maker awake and get answers. Instead, she went to her bedroom. Fatigue forced her into pajamas and into bed. The sound of rushing wind lulled her to sleep. Her dreams were filled with misty swamp scenes, elusive voices, and the sense of being watched.

The next morning LaShaun pushed back the curtains in her bedroom. Maybe the bright Louisiana sunshine could banish the uneasy sense left behind by dreams she couldn’t quite remember.
 
After getting dressed, she went outside to the front porch. Her grandmother sat in the sunshine, a cup of hot coffee on the table next to her. Wrapped up in a crocheted shawl, Monmon Odette smiled when she saw her.

“Good morning, my bébé.” Monmon Odette sighed, and then picked up her cup. She sipped and sighed again. “Nothing like good coffee on a pretty morning.”

LaShaun looked around at the magnolia and oak trees scattered around the house. “I missed the green grass. Los Angeles is nice, but dry. You gotta have a lot of money to get your lawn green like this. Humph, you gotta have money to have a lawn.” LaShaun walked to the edge of the porch and leaned on the railing.

“This is where you belong.” Monmon Odette gazed off into the distance. Her voice held a strange quality, as though she spoke to someone else.

“Some might argue with that,” LaShaun retorted with a smile. “I saw Savannah last night.”

Monmon Odette waved a gnarled hand in dismissal. “Nonsense. This is your home.”

“I caused a lot of trouble in my time. I had fun doing it sometimes.” LaShaun winked at her grandmother.

“Girl, you still got the same spunk.” Monmon Odette chuckled softly. Then her gaze shifted to the blacktop road. She pointed to an approaching car. “Now what would they want?”

The white Vermillion Parish Sheriff’s department cruiser with green and blue lettering pulled up into the driveway. Deputy Broussard sat inside for a few seconds before he cut the engine. When he got out LaShaun noticed the long, lean frame wrapped in the dark khaki uniform. His wore an unreadable expression behind the dark sunglasses. He studied his surroundings then strode toward them.

“Morning ladies.” Deputy Broussard nodded to Monmon Odette. “I was out this way, and decided to return your property. He held out a white plastic bag.

“Thanks.” LaShaun looked inside at the three bags of herbs in cloth sacks.
 
“I guess you found out I was telling the truth. Since you’re not explaining my rights or taking out the handcuffs I mean.” His crooked smile surprised and pleased LaShaun. Warmth from his curved lips seemed to snake out and curl around her body.

“Nothing but herbs, like you said. Sorry for the inconvenience.” Deputy Broussard looked at Monmon Odette. “Hope you’re feeling better, Mrs. Rousselle.”

“Indeed I am, young man. Having my granddaughter home is a comfort.” Monmon Odette smiled at him.

“I’m sure it is, ma’am.” Deputy Broussard nodded respectfully.

Monmon Odette braced herself and stood up. “Let me look at my roses. I sure hope that cold weather didn’t burn them.” She started walking away toward the far end of the long porch.

“Monmon, what are you doing? Let me help you.” LaShaun took a few steps when her grandmother scowled at her.

“I’m tired of everybody hovering over me like gnats. I can still enjoy a short stroll, and look at my own roses. Besides, don’t be rude. This young man came way out here to bring back your belongings.” Monmon Odette continued to walk as she spoke.
 

 
“She’s very strong-willed,” Deputy Broussard said.

“You have no idea. I could have picked up my herbs. Or were you curious about the infamous Rousselle family?” LaShaun dropped the bag on the small table next to the cane chairs.

His dark eyebrows went up over the sunglasses, and then he took them off. “Very curious to be honest, especially after the sheriff came to your defense.”

“Oh really?” LaShaun leaned against a post and crossed her arms.
 

“According to him none of the evidence indicated you killed Claude Trosclair. He also said the talk of you being a voodoo queen was a load of superstitious swamp country crap. That’s a direct quote.”

LaShaun laughed out loud. “Well, well. I never would have believed that Sheriff Triche would become my defender. Monmon, did you hear? The sheriff thinks the reports of my crimes and misdemeanors have been greatly exaggerated.”

“Always said Roman Triche had sense,” Monmon Odette called back.

“Anyway, I just wanted to say…” Deputy Broussard cleared his throat as LaShaun gazed at him. “Welcome back to Vermillion Parish.”

“Thank you, Deputy Broussard. Maybe we’ll run into each other again, hopefully under friendly circumstances.” LaShaun’s gaze followed the strong line of his jaw up to his dark eyes. He looked at her for several minutes before putting his sunglasses on again.

“Yes, ma’am.” Deputy Broussard gave a sharp nod. “Good day, Mrs. Rousselle.”

“Bye bye deputy. You come back anytime.” Monmon Odette beamed at him.

She made her way back along the porch holding the wooden railing with one hand and her cane with the other. Moments later the cruiser disappeared around a curve in the driveway. Monmon Odette chuckled to herself as she gazed at LaShaun.

“What?” LaShaun placed one hand on her hip.

“That young man came way out here to bring you one little old bag. I feel safe knowing we got us such a considerate deputy. Yes indeed.” Monmon Odette continued chuckling as she went inside.

“You’re so funny, Monmon,” LaShaun said. When the screen door banged shut, LaShaun turned to look toward the road. And smiled.
 

* * *

LaShaun spent the next day settling in. True to her word, Rita moved back to her condo. She has arranged for a home health services for Monmon Odette. A nurse and nursing assistant would make regular visits. LaShaun became the contact person. Rita made the change with a matter-of-fact façade, but LaShaun detected the tension. In fact, all the smiling and cooperation as Rita handed over Monmon Odette’s day-to-day care wore on LaShaun’s nerves. Monmon Odette watched them both, saying nothing but knowing all. This family meeting with her lawyer was sure to be interesting.

At eight forty-five Tuesday morning. a sleek silver BMW sedan rolled up the driveway. Seconds later a tall, fine black man got out. LaShaun sat on the porch with the local newspaper. She dropped it on the table next to her chair, no longer interested in the new discount store opening or local high school sports. She watched Devin J. Martin, size up the house and surrounding land. His expression was unreadable behind the expensive sunglasses. Moments later he smiled as if aware he was being observed. He walked to the front porch, and LaShaun stood to greet him. His smile widened in appreciation when he saw her.
 

“Good morning, Mr. Martin. I’m LaShaun Rousselle, one of Mrs. Rousselle’s granddaughters.” LaShaun shook his hand. His skin was smooth and warm. He held her hand for the just the right amount of time. Not too long to be suggestive, yet long enough to leave the door open. She recognized a fellow player.

“Good morning.” His handsome face registered surprise for an instant.
 

“Come in. I’ll get you a cup of coffee. You’ve had a long drive from New Orleans.”

“Thanks,” he said as he followed her into the living room. He set his briefcase on the floor. Then he took off his sunglasses and carefully placed them in an inside pocket of his suit jacket. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Rousselle.”
 

”And you.” LaShaun turned to face him.

“So the stories are true. You’re supernatural. You knew my name and that a cup of Louisiana dark roast would be appreciated.”

She smiled at him. “Apparently not. I don’t know what you like in your coffee.”

Martin let out a throaty baritone laugh. “Nothing. I like it hot and strong.”

“Then you’re in luck. We can accommodate. Come on in.” LaShaun stood aside against the open screen door as he entered.
 

With a confident stride, he went to the living room. The scent of his expensive cologne lingered. LaShaun let the screen door shut and watched him closely. Martin scanned the antiques in the foyer, pausing for a few seconds at a row of wood sculptures. LaShaun could almost hear his mind working, estimating what it could be worth in dollars.
 

“I see the lawyer made it.” Rita stood on the porch wearing a slight smile. She opened the screen door and joined LaShaun in the hallway.

“You’re both the first ones here,” LaShaun said, smiling back at her.

“Are we?” Rita glanced at her smart phone. “Guess I’m just used to getting up early. Is Monmon Odette in the living room yet?”
 

LaShaun raised an eyebrow at her attitude. “I’ll get her. Go on in and have a seat. I’m fixing coffee now.”

“Let me know if you need help,” Rita said over her shoulder. Her offer seemed half-hearted because moments later she disappeared.
 

LaShaun went to the kitchen. She had a rolling wooden serving cart prepared with a carafe of hot coffee, cups, and beignets. Two elaborate ceramic bowls held sugar and real cream. Monmon Odette would not allow substitutes in her kitchen. As LaShaun came back down the hallway, she met Monmon Odette walking with care along the hardwood floor. The soft moccasins made her footsteps silent.

Monmon winked at LaShaun, put a finger to her lips, and whispered. “Listen, Cher , listen to them making plans. Shh.” Indeed, they could hear the murmur of voices.

“What are you up to, Monmon?” LaShaun gazed at her through narrowed eyes. “You set up some mess inviting them here.”
 

“Now why would I want to provoke my sweet relatives? Especially when they’ve been so good to me.” Monmon Odette dark eyes sparkled with mirth. She gave a soft laugh then turned to leave.
 

Before LaShaun could say more Martin came through the archway. With a smooth, solicitous expression, he took Monmon Odette’s arm and escorted her to the living room.
 

“Good morning, Mrs. Rousselle. How are you feeling?”

“Hello, Mr. Martin. It was so good of you to come on short notice.” Monmon Odette matched his smoothness with her own charm. “Such an important lawyer like you must be busy with more important matters in the big city.”

“I was in the area on other business, so it was no trouble. Besides, your granddaughter has been very helpful.” Martin helped Monmon Odette get settled in one of the high back upholstered chairs.
 

“LaShaun has spoken to you. How wonderful,” Monmon Odette replied.

“No, I mean Ms. Rita here.” Martin looked at Rita then back at Monmon Odette.

“I see. Tell me how she’s been helpful.” Monmon fixed a steady gaze on Rita.
 

“Ahem, I meant to say…” Martin looked at Rita again as if asking for help.
 

 
“Knock, knock. We’re comin’ in so don’t shoot,” a strong male voice boomed.
 

Moments later Theo Rousselle entered the room his head barely clearing the top of the doorframe. Albert, the quieter, more morose brother, followed behind, as usual. Monmon Odette’s two surviving sons looked alike except for the difference in height.
 

“Hello, mama. LaShaun, look at you. I swear our niece gets prettier every year, don’t she Albert?” Uncle Theo kissed LaShaun on the forehead like she was still the six year old he used to tickle.