A Twisted Ladder (8 page)

Samantha nodded. “I hear ya, but you shouldn’t do that sort of thing alone.”

Alone. Madeleine resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Being alone had seemed a necessity. All these years she’d had her hands full building her practice and looking after Daddy and Marc. Now here she was on sabbatical from her job; no Daddy, and no Marc. The irony could turn a river red.

Madeleine turned to Vinny. “Have you seen my father anywhere over the past couple of weeks?”

“No, baby. I ain’t seen Daddy Blank, and I ain’t heard nothing either.”

Her body sagged. She wondered how long before her father slipped into the skin of that other man. That violent man in the video.

The door to the shop flew open and a young, dark-haired Latina bustled in. “Sorry I’m late!” she called, and kept stride to the back room where she disappeared.

Madeleine and Vinny gawked. “Who was that?”

“That’s Anita,” Sam replied. “She’s new.”

Madeleine said, “Oh yeah, the new intern.”

“Yup.” Sam raised her voice in the direction Anita had gone. “She’s studying horticulture up in Baton Rouge, but
she spends more time studying the men than the plants!
”

“I heard that!” Anita called back.

Sam and Maddy giggled.

Anita returned, wrapping an apron around her waist, and Sam introduced her around.

“You a police officer?” the girl said to Vinny. “Because I’m thinking of getting a handgun.”

The group gaped at this announcement, and Anita laughed.

“I need to protect myself. My dad has me taking this self-defense class, but did you hear about that girl in the news? The one who disappeared?”

“Yeah,” Sam said. “Angel Frey. The one in Baton Rouge. They still haven’t found her. It’s so sad.”

Vinny said, “I knew that girl. She used to do volunteer work with mentally handicapped adults. I’d see her at the charity drives. She was cute. Very sweet.”

“My dad’s got me all paranoid now,” Anita said. “I live in La Place but I go to school in Baton Rouge. I’m really thinking about getting a gun.”

“Be careful,” Vinny said. “Take the training and get the proper permits if you’re gonna do that. No need to be in a hurry.”

“You ain’t gotta tell me twice. The guy who did my self-defense class has a gun shop, and he also does handgun training. And he’s so cute!”

Madeleine said, “Wait a minute. I grew up with a guy who runs a gun shop in Baton Rouge. What’s your trainer’s name?”

“Zenon Lansky.”

Madeleine gave a half laugh. “Same guy all right.”

BAYOU BLACK, 2009

AMID THE SILVER GLOW
of dawn, Zenon untied the rope that tethered the boat to the dock. He turned the motor over and it churned to life. A garish sound against the morning quiet. But it didn’t matter because for once, Zenon was alone. He eased into the narrow byway, enjoying the solitude.

The cypress trees towered like buildings on a city street. The bayou was already coming to life. As the morning light grew stronger, the trees would fill with the sounds of birds and the sawing wings of cicadas. He followed the slate path until swamp gave way to marsh, which in turn gave way to open sea, and once again, silence. A remarkable time of day.

He sipped his coffee and savored the cool, heavy air. The trawler continued south until dawn slipped into morning and land fell from sight. At this point he knew he was far enough out, but he pressed on a bit further, if only to enjoy the peaceful moment.

Eventually, he cut the motor and drifted. The only sound came from the water lapping at the sides.

Taking great care, he lifted the long black industrial garbage bag that contained the weighted-down body of Angel Frey, and heaved it over the side. The dark shape receded beneath the surface.

He switched on the shortwave radio, tuning it to the Albanian station.

HAHNVILLE, 1912

T
HEY HAD LABORED UNTIL
dawn, when sluggish gray light had finally illuminated their efforts. Along the wooden basket weave of the levee’s edge, Rémi had found conical mud chimneys. Crawfish holes. Like a termite infestation in an old house, they weakened the framework. He had checked the water level again and saw that it had risen two inches. Despite their frantic efforts, the sandbags could only go so far. The higher the makeshift wall had risen, the more stout the base had had to be, and it had seemed as if they were trying to build a mountain from a bag of marbles.

Francois had appeared with a cartload of laborers. Clad in galoshes with their bellies full from cold cornbread and hot coffee that Tatie Bernadette had hastily sent along, the Terrefleurs workers had set upon the levee with fresh vigor. Soon after, the sheriff and deputy had arrived with more men from other plantations. At that point Rémi had actually felt hope.

However, as the hours had slipped by, the river had continued to rise and push against the thin structure with mounting force. Morning had now worn into noon, and Rémi decided to send Francois back to Terrefleurs for more supplies. They needed sandbags, food, and tents. They would remain there through the night.

But before releasing Francois, Rémi leaned over and spoke to him in a low voice, “While you are there, check the levee at Terrefleurs. I want to know how it’s holding up.”

IN THE AFTERNOON, THE
rain stopped, and everyone breathed sighs of relief. Their bodies ached from long hours of exertion and lack of sleep. The workers slackened, resting in wet grass on higher ground, discussing past floods. Rémi heard horse hooves, and was relieved to see Francois returning with the supplies.

“
Ici
,” he called, gesturing toward the least soggy stretch of grass.

Francois eased the cart into place, and Rémi started pulling out crates before Francois had even dismounted. The smell of steaming beans and biscuits caused Rémi’s belly to cramp with sudden, almost savage urgency. It occurred to him that Glory Plantation was not sending provisions, and he wondered whether Francois’s load would accommodate everyone present. But as he peered into the back of the cart, he saw several more of the same crates. Tatie Bernadette had guessed the situation and sent enough for the entire lot.

The workers formed a food line and all chatter ceased. Rémi looked across the faces of hungry men to Francois, who nodded in acknowledgment. Terrefleurs was safe.

As much as Rémi longed to fill his plate, he waited while the men dished up first. He watched as one by one, they began to consume their meals, and he waited for the line to dwindle. He thought of his wife’s servant, Chloe, and how he would have preferred that she might have joined them. Not for labor nor skill in the kitchen, but she had about her a command that rallied others to toil, and her skill in healing could go far in situations such as these, where injuries and ailments prevailed.

He lifted his face toward the heavens, wondering whether the deluge had stopped for good this time. One of the laborers had finished his meal and was already back at work. Rémi joined him. Might as well work—it might take his mind off the smell of food until he would take his turn. But although the rain had indeed stopped, the water continued to rise. The sheriff lingered along the great sandbag berm, speaking in low tones with Elrod Chapman, who then saddled his mare and disappeared into the mist. Rémi did not pause to ask where his father-in-law had gone.

The deputy set off on foot in the direction of Vacherie, most likely to advise evacuation. Finally, the last man had filled his plate, and Rémi took from what was left. Cold and thin now, but enough. He told Francois to go home for the night and return with more supplies in the morning. Soon the sky would grow dark, and they’d have to pitch tents and build fires.

THE RAIN HAD STARTED
again during the night.

At daybreak, the workers ate their breakfast, toted in again by Francois and his cart. He discreetly informed Rémi that the Terrefleurs levee was still in no danger, and that all was well at home. Rémi nodded, but silently cursed the Chapmans for not having reinforced the Crow’s Landing levee. The water level had risen seven inches during the night as the rain continued to fall.

A few of the workers trudged back to the heap and resumed filling and hauling sandbags. Rémi joined them, working with verve, trying to appear confident. And yet he was on the verge of admitting defeat: With the water continuing to rise, they had little chance of laying enough sandbags to maintain the levee. Already, water streamed from leaks in the weaker joints. Should the levee burst while they were toiling, men could drown. Some of the workers were casting around with anxious eyes, and men from Terrefleurs whispered to each other with wary faces as they stacked the leaden bags.

Jacob Chapman glowered at them and strode to his horse, withdrawing his shotgun. He cocked the weapon, circling the workers.

“You boys better not be thinking about runnin off,” Jacob said, and focused a hard stare at the men who had been whispering. “You just keep layin those sandbags and do as you’re told.”