Cajun Magic 01 - Voodoo on the Bayou (20 page)

Recalling last night’s performance, and her major role in initiating it, her lips curled upward and she sank back against the pillows. She’d really done it. She’d seduced a very provoking man. Not once, but twice. And, in the bucket seat of a sports car.
Woo hoo!

She really was becoming a wild woman, wasn’t she? By allowing her sexuality full rein, she’d discovered a sense of power and confidence lacking in her life up until now. Socially inept geek? Not anymore! She could conquer the world.

With a flick of her wrist, she tossed the sheets aside and leapt out of bed. She had work to do and not much time left. After a quick shower, she bravely stepped into the small living room.

I can handle this. I can handle this.
She looked around the room assessing the damage. Nothing a broom, a can of paint, and a little elbow grease wouldn’t cure.
Remember, I am the new improved Elaine. The Elaine who isn’t afraid to go after what she wants.

Before she touched a thing, however, she called the police.

Half the morning flew by in which Elaine filed a report, and answered the same questions asked separately by each of the three Bayou Miste deputies who’d shown up on her doorstep. When they’d taken all the required pictures, including one of her white lacy undies lying on the floor of her bedroom, the deputies filed out the door, promising to get right on it.

Finally, she could get on with the task of cleaning up the mess. Shoving the sleeves of her white oxford shirt up her arms, she dug in. She had a lot of work to do, to put the place to rights. And maybe afterward, she’d go shopping to replace every pair of khaki slacks in her wardrobe.

Two hours later, she stood back and examined the results of her cleaning spree and inventory. Aside from the paint on the wall, the cottage appeared almost normal. Some of the furniture was a little dented and scarred, and one chair needed a leg glued back on, but nothing major.

Except for her research.

That worried her. Every bit of her research from notes to specimens was gone. Even her dissecting tray with the frog in it she’d kept in the refrigerator and the frozen fish in the freezer had been taken. The anonymous sample she’d received at the university, the catalyst that set this entire effort into motion, was nothing more than a broken jar on the wooden floor of the living room. She’d been so busy doing the research, she hadn’t entered it into her laptop or downloaded the information to the university’s database. Hell, she wasn’t even sure there was an internet connection in Bayou Miste, much less WiFi.

If she wanted to pursue this investigation, she’d have to start over. Did she have the stamina and courage to do that?

Damn right.

But first, she wanted to do a little background investigation. She needed to find out what industries were nearby that could be dumping that much pollution into the swamp. The best place she knew of to get information was from a local who liked to talk a lot.

Hmm. Now, who did she know that fit that description?

“Elaine? You up for visitors?” Mozelle Reneau stood outside the screen door carrying a basket covered with a dishtowel. “I got pipin’ hot beignets.”

Speak of the devil.

“Please, come in.” Elaine hurried to open the door. The sweet smell of hot pastries filled her nostrils, reminding her she hadn’t stopped to have breakfast. A glance at the clock made her realize she’d even missed lunch. Her stomach growled.

Dawg sprawled on the porch in front of the door. She had to forcibly push him with the door to get it open enough for Miz Mozelle to get in.

“That’s got to be the laziest hound dog this side of the Mississippi,” Miz Mozelle muttered, then exclaimed, “
Mon Dieu!
” She stood just inside the living room door, staring at the red paint on the wall. “What happened?”

“Someone paid me a visit while I was out last night at the Raccoon Saloon.”

With a sympathetic cluck, Mozelle carried the basket to the kitchen. “I don’t know what gets into people to act so rude.”

“You and me both.”

“Mais, don’t you worry none. Nothin’ a little paint won’t cure.” She gave Elaine a sympathetic look. “There’s just no excuse for threaten’ a woman like that.”

“Agreed.”

“I’ll speak to Joe about it today.” She smiled a Mona Lisa smile.

“Thank you, Miz Mozelle.” The strange smile wasn’t lost on Elaine. She wondered what the older woman was up to.

“I noticed you didn’t stay long at the Raccoon Saloon,” Mozelle said, arranging plates on the table while Elaine measured coffee into the coffee maker.

Not sure how to respond, she asked, “Was that a question or a statement?”

“Just an observation.” Mozelle set forks next to the plates, and then turned to face her. “So, did the lessons work?”

Heat crawled up Elaine’s neck as she recalled how well the lessons had worked. She couldn’t restrain the smile that tugged at her lips. “Oh, yes.”

“Mais, bless my soul, that makes two.” Miz Mozelle grinned and turned back to polish a fork unnecessarily.

Elaine leaned her back against the counter. “Mozelle Reneau, what do you mean by two?”

“Oh, nothing.” She waved her hand in the air and remained uncharacteristically evasive for being Bayou Miste’s biggest gossip.

“You know you can’t throw out a comment like that without filling in the details.” Elaine crossed the room and circled Mozelle to get face to face. “From what I’ve learned about you in the past few days, you have got to be bursting to tell me, so spill it.”

Twin flags of color rode high on Miz Mozelle’s pale cheeks. She sank onto the bright red vinyl covered chair and smiled up at Elaine. “I asked a man to dance last night.”

Having hurdled that barrier herself, Elaine nodded, suspecting that wasn’t all Miz Mozelle had done. “Is that all, just one dance?”

Mozelle darted a glance toward the far corner ceiling. “Well, no. We danced several dances.” Her face flushed brighter.

“
And…?
” she prompted, drawing out the syllable.

Mozelle stopped staring at the ceiling and looked directly into her eyes. “We danced all night. There, I said it.” Her hand fluttered to her throat.

“Does the Raccoon Saloon stay open that late?”

The older woman’s forehead wrinkled, her cheeks flushing, and she stared at Elaine as if she were dense. “Uh, no,
cher
. We shared
un p’tit bec
and more.” Miz Mozelle huffed. “If I must spell it out. We danced in the sheets.”

Elaine sat in the seat across the Formica table from Mozelle, stunned. “Oh!” What did you say to top that? The older woman had scored.

Miz Mozelle popped out of her chair and pulled mugs from the cabinet. Over her shoulder she commented, “I haven’t had that good a sex since Mr. Reneau passed away over ten years ago. For that matter, I hadn’t had sex at all. I was almost afraid I’d forgotten how.”

Elaine cringed and prayed she didn’t go into the gory details. She liked the woman, but there was such a thing as too much information. “I’m really happy for you.”

With two cups of hot coffee, she returned to the table. “I never thought I’d get Joe to notice me. He’s been avoiding me for years.”

“Joe? As in Joe Thibodeaux? Craig’s uncle?”

“The one and only.” Miz Mozelle grinned. “I think the alcohol had something to do with it, but I’m sure in the light of day, he’ll realize we were meant to be together.”

Elaine clapped a hand to her forehead, scandalized. “Did you get him drunk and take advantage of him?”

Miz Mozelle chuckled. “Of course I did. How else was I gonna get him to dance? The old coot’s been pinin’ away for Craig’s mamma for the past forty years. It was about time he got over it.”

“Whoa. Wait a minute. Joe was in love with Craig’s mother?” Elaine sat back in her chair. This was an interesting tidbit. “And she didn’t love him?”

“I have my suspicions she might have, but Joe didn’t get around to askin’ a-fore his brother did.”

“Wow. And she said yes? How sad.” Elaine wondered if Craig knew anything about this. “That had to hurt Joe.”

“Yessum.” Mozelle smacked her palms on the table. “That’s been quite a while back and, like I said, it was about time he got over it. I just gave him a little push. Don’t know why I hadn’t done it sooner. Must be the new ‘do’. Makes a woman feel like she could conquer the world.”

Elaine almost groaned. Here she’d been thinking the exact same thing just that morning. Hearing Mozelle say it out loud didn’t make her feel all warm and fuzzy like she had earlier. The same words that had empowered her then, now only made her feel uncertain.

Had she coerced Craig into bed last night? Had she taken unfair advantage of him? She closed her eyes and thought through their activities.
Heck, no
. He’d been just as eager as she had.
Whew
.

Still. Maybe she shouldn’t get so carried away and over-inflate her opinion of her sexual prowess. Conquering the world was maybe not such a good idea, after all.

Time to change the subject. She opened her eyes. “Miz Mozelle, what are the local industries in this area?”

“Huh?” The abrupt change in topic made Mozelle blink.

“I’m studying the impact of pollutants on the swamps around Bayou Miste. I figure since you’ve lived here for a good portion of your life, you might know what industries are nearby.”

Mozelle waved her hand. “That’s easy. There’s only one between here and Morgan City. Littington Refineries.”

“Littington?” Elaine mentally scratched her head. Where had she heard that name before? Then it hit her. “Does Jason Littington have anything to do with Littington Refineries?”

“He owns it. That place employs most of the people in the three surrounding parishes. Without it, none of us could afford to stay. My husband worked there for thirty years before he retired. You don’t suppose that’s where the pollutants are comin’ from, do you?”

Elaine sure hoped not. “I plan to find out.”

Mozelle sipped from her mug. “Be a shame if it causes trouble for the refinery, bein’ as how most people depend on it for their livelihood.” She focused on the angry red writing on the wall. “You thinkin’ someone from the refinery’s doin’ this to you?”

“It’s a possibility. All my specimens and research have been stolen. Whoever did it is trying to keep me from proving the swamp is being polluted.”

“And is it?” Miz Mozelle asked.

“Yes.”

The older woman’s mouth formed a thin line.. “It’ll be a shame if they close down that refinery.”

“I doubt they’d shut it down. Just enforce the current environmental regulations. It would be a bigger shame if everything in the swamp dies due to negligence or turning a blind eye.” And a crying shame if she had to stand up in court against Attorney Craig Thibodeaux, who just happened to represent Jason Littington.

“Yes, yes, you’re quite right.” Miz Mozelle regarded her. “So whatcha gonna do about it?”

“I don’t know.” Elaine pinched the corner off the powdery end of a beignet, popped it into her mouth and chewed on the sweet pastry and her thoughts. The lump in her chest that used to be her heart hurt with every beat. She couldn’t believe Craig hadn’t bothered to tell her all this. Had he only helped her collect specimens to keep an eye on the enemy? If so, he was a slimeball that didn’t deserve her heartache. “I need to get back out on the swamp and collect more evidence.”

Miz Mozelle reached across the table and grasped Elaine’s hands. “It could be dangerous.”

“I know.” All her life Elaine had been safe within her parent’s home, safe within the walls of the lab, and safe behind her microscope. But, some efforts demanded that you conquer your fears and leave your safety net behind.

She reread the dire warning on the wall, a chill slipping down her spine. “This is something I have to do.”

Chapter Nineteen

Exhausted from his late night activities, Craig had hopped all the way back to Elaine’s cottage. Dawg had been waiting there, stretched across the front door as if protecting Elaine from further intrusions.

Craig wanted to pat the dog’s head and tell him he was a good boy, but figured it could wait until he was human again. In the early morning hours, he’d hunkered down next to Dawg on Elaine’s front porch and slept, waking at every sound, afraid it was someone trying to get to Elaine. He gave up on sleep about the time Old Lady Reneau showed up carrying a basket of what smelled like heaven.

As Miz Mozelle stood on the porch talking to Elaine, the voice clicked in his memory. This was the voice he’d heard earlier that morning at his uncle’s cottage! He gaped up at her as if seeing her for the first time. Uncle Joe was sleeping with Mozelle Reneau?

He’d rolled the revelation over and over in his mind. For a woman in her fifties, he guessed she was okay to look at. Although he remembered her as the woman who’d chased the local teenagers out of her peach trees, Miz Mozelle had shared beignets with them on occasion, and darn good ones at that. She’d been alone for the past ten years, since her husband passed. Uncle Joe had never married. Suddenly, Craig wondered why not?

When Elaine had pushed the door open, Craig leapt out of the way to keep from being stepped on by Miz Mozelle or crushed by Dawg. He hadn’t hopped fast enough to get inside, but figured it was just as well. The woman could talk the ear off a frog when she had a mind to.

Once the door closed, Dawg had rolled back over and blocked it again. After a few minutes, curiosity got the better of Craig and he thought he might want to hear what was going on in there after all.

He’d hopped down off the porch and around the house trying to get close enough to overhear some of the ladies’ conversation. After the success of last night’s love lessons, he was anxious to hear if the older woman had more advice for Elaine. He was also curious if Miz Mozelle planned to talk about her visit to Uncle Joe’s last night.

Craig had a lot to discuss with his father’s brother. He was just beginning to see the black sheep coming out in his uncle.

Unfortunately, no matter where he stood, he couldn’t hear the conversation inside the cottage. He hopped back to the front porch and settled in beside Dawg. He would love to have been a fly on the wall. Speaking of flies… He shook himself.
Save the hunger pangs for nighttime.
No more flies for this guy.

What felt like two hours later, Miz Mozelle emerged with an empty basket dangling from her fingertips and a promise to drop by the next day.

“Thanks for the beignets. They were wonderful,” Elaine called out.

Miz Mozelle walked away, a smile on her face.

Elaine reached down and patted Dawg’s head. “Hey, sweetie. How’s my good boy?”

The sound of her voice bathed Craig in the same afterglow from their previous night’s foray into foreplay and hot, steamy sex. He wanted nothing more than to take her into his arms and hold her throughout the day. But he couldn’t as long as he remained a frog.

“Oh, hi, Todd. I didn’t see you out here earlier.” Elaine squatted next to him in her khaki slacks and white blouse. She had her satchel and bucket in one hand, and a little powdered sugar on her chin. “Is Dawg taking good care of you?”

Craig stared up at the powdered sugar. If he stretched it, his tongue could reach out and wipe that sugar right off her. But what would that buy him? She’d freak out at being licked by a frog and he’d still be a frog.

Mon Dieu!
What the hell had he done to deserve this?

Elaine stood, walked down the steps, and across the street toward the marina.

When Craig could pull himself together and quit thinking about that little speck of powdered sugar, he hopped after her. Where in the heck did she think she was going at this time of day? The sun wouldn’t go down for another hour.

Craig hopped faster.

He’d just reached the marina parking lot when she strolled out onto the dock. Uncle Joe was pumping gas into an outboard tank on a small pirogue.

“Mr. Thibodeaux?” she called out.

“Oh, hello, Dr. Smith. Didn’t expect to see you here so early.”

So far, even from a distance, Craig could hear everything. He prayed she wasn’t there to go out on the swamp,.

“I had a break-in at the cottage last night while I was at the Raccoon Saloon. I thought you ought to know about it.”

Good. She was just telling Uncle Joe about the trouble at the house.

“Really?” His uncle hung the pump handle and hose on the gas pump and scratched his head. “Never had anything like that happen around here. Any of your equipment missing?”

“No, but all my specimens and research are gone.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

“Actually, that’s why I’m here.” She looked around the dock and up at the bait shop. “Is your nephew around?”

Uncle Joe rubbed his chin and nodded. “Likely.”

Craig hopped down onto the wooden planks and closer to the pair.

“Do you suppose he could take me out earlier this evening?” she asked.

“Depending on how much earlier.”

Craig would have smiled if he could. His uncle had a way of dancing around the issue when he wanted. Must have been all the practice he got as a lawyer thirty years ago.

“I was hoping to go out now. Do you suppose he could he take me?”

With a slow shake of his head, Uncle Joe answered, “Not hardly.”

“Maybe I could ask him myself. Is he here?” She glanced back up at the bait shop.

“Maybe he’s here, maybe he’s not.”

Way to be evasive, Uncle Joe.
Craig inched closer.

The fine lines of her eyebrows drew together behind her glasses. How long before she got tired of Uncle Joe’s riddles and decided to go home?

Soon, Craig hoped.

“Then could you take me out on the swamp?” She implored Uncle Joe with those big green eyes. “Out to your friend Bernie’s old fishin’ hole?”

Craig might have fallen into those eyes, but not Uncle Joe. “Now, I don’t know about that. My eyesight ain’t what it used to be at night.”

“I really need to get those samples as soon as possible. If we go now, we could be back before dark.”

Rubbing his chin, Uncle Joe dipped his head to the side. “You sure you can’t wait until Craig can take you?”

“After what happened last night and the other nights we were out on the swamp, I don’t feel comfortable going out after dark. But if we’re to stop the polluting, I need to get solid evidence to show the EPA.”

Joe rubbed his chin again.

Don’t do it, Uncle Joe.
Craig hopped up and down to get his uncle’s attention.
Don’t let her coerce you into something dangerous
.

“Well, if you think we can make it back by dark, I guess I could take you.”

Oh, Uncle Joe, you caved.
Craig croaked his dismay.

“Thank you, Mr. Thibodeaux.” Elaine kissed the old man’s cheek.

If Craig could have, he would have groaned. Uncle Joe was a goner. The kiss just sealed the deal.

“Could we leave right now?” Elaine insisted.

“Sure. Let me lock up the bait shop. Business has been kinda slow, anyway.”

She moved to the side to allow him passage on the boardwalk.

While Joe climbed the steps to the bait shop, Elaine eased over to the skiff and tossed her bucket and satchel in. With careful precision, she placed one foot at a time into the little boat while clinging to the wooden planks on the dock. Finally, she sat on the metal bench and breathed a huge sigh of relief.

Craig admired her spunk, even if he didn’t agree with her mission to go out on the bayou. Despite her fears, she’d gotten into the boat all by herself this time.

“I left a note for Craig telling him we’ll be at Bernie’s old fishin’ hole, in case we’re late getting back,” Uncle Joe called out behind Craig, before he stepped into the boat.

Craig took a flying leap and landed on a pair of rubber hip-waders piled in the front of the little boat. No way he’d let Elaine and Uncle Joe go out in the swamp without him. Too many crazy things had happened in the bayou lately.

He glanced at the sky. The sun was low, but not quite low enough for Craig to change back into a man. If they ran into trouble out on the water before sundown he couldn’t help them, but he’d at least be there to know what was going on.

He had an ominous feeling about going out on the swamp. He felt it all the way to his diminutive frog bones. Maybe the sensations had a little to do with the Voodoo hoodoo curse he was caught up in. But he was absolutely certain something was about to happen, and he wasn’t going to like it.

…

In deference to Elaine’s fear of the water, Craig had driven the boats slow and smooth, easing around twists and turns in the tributaries.

Not Mr. Thibodeaux. He drove like a madman.

Elaine clamped her teeth on her tongue and kept her eyes glued shut most of the way. When they slowed, she looked around to see the overhanging Spanish moss guarding the entrance to what she’d begun to think of as her and Craig’s lagoon—a polluted lagoon, but theirs nonetheless.

How strange to be out on the bayou without him. She missed his teasing and his understanding of her fears. Much as she liked Joe, he wasn’t Craig, and she didn’t have the same comfort level with him.

She pointed. “Could you take me close to that little island?”

Joe aimed for the small outcropping of land. Then he shut off the motor and allowed the craft to drift to a stop with a gentle thump against the bank.

She didn’t see a single frog jumping into the water. “Where are all the frogs? And I don’t see any dead fish,” she mused aloud. “There were at least a half-dozen the last time we were here.”

“Maybe someone came in and cleaned up the evidence.” Joe dipped a paddle into the water and maneuvered the skiff to another position farther along the island.

At the very least, she could sample the water. Carefully bending over the boat’s side, she collected a sample in a tube, labeled it, and slipped it into her satchel.

When they reached the end of the lagoon, Joe dug his paddle deeper into the water to turn the boat around.

Thunk
.

She met Joe’s gaze.

As one, they peered over the side and into the water. In the shadows cast by the late afternoon sun, they could just make out the curved edge of a barrel below the surface.

“Holy Moses,” Joe said.

“No kidding,” she responded. “We’ve found the source of the pollutants.”

Joe glanced up at the sound of an engine. “I think we’d better get the heck out of Dodge, or we’ll be sittin’ ducks in this pond.”

“Let’s go.” She sat up straight, trying to see through the dense foliage and lengthening gloom.

Turning in his seat, Joe pulled the crank rope, and the motor leapt to life.

Thank you, God
. Elaine sent a silent prayer to the heavens. Now would not be a good time for the motor to be stubborn. As far as she was concerned, Joe could drive any way he pleased as long as it was fast and furious.

They’d just cleared the low-hanging tree at the entrance, when the same airboat she’d seen before stormed around a bend in the bayou and headed straight for them.

Joe spun the skiff around and gave it all the gas the little motor could take.

The wind whipped her hair out of the neat ponytail, and the strands lashed at her neck. She alternated between watching out for low-hanging branches and glancing over her shoulder. The closer the other boat came, the more she looked back.

“Hang on, I’m gonna turn,” Joe yelled.

Already clinging with a death grip, Elaine leaned into the sharp turn. Just as they completed the ninety-degree angle, she looked back. The other boat bore down on them, aiming for the back end of the skiff where Joe sat.

“Look out, Joe!” she yelled.

The force of the collision lifted the smaller boat sideways, launching her from her seat. Joe catapulted into the water several feet away.

Although petrified of the tea-colored water filling her nostrils, she forced herself to be calm. Last time she’d fallen into the bayou, she’d only been in water about chest deep. If she just waited to get her feet under her, everything would be all right. Her lungs burned for a breath of air when her hip finally touched the soft silt at the bottom.

Quickly, she scrambled her feet beneath her and pushed to stand.
Oh, no
. Even standing erect, her head didn’t quite clear the surface. Panic surged through her veins, pooling in her gut, threatening to overwhelm her senses. She pushed hard against the slimy bottom, bouncing up to the surface where she gasped for breath before submerging again.

When her head was above the water, she could see dusk had settled over the bayou. Below, fragments of dirt and decomposed vegetation swirled around her, and a bullfrog swam by.
Oh, God
.

She had to get to Joe. He could have been hurt!

…

Craig hadn’t seen the other boat coming. He’d only seen the terror on Elaine’s face seconds before the skiff flipped over. He tried to leap aside, but the heavy rubber of the hip-waders dragged him below the surface. For a few panicky seconds he thought he’d be forever trapped and ultimately drowned beneath the rubber.

Just when he thought he was one dead frog, the rubber waders stopped their downward drift and buoyed upward. He kicked his webbed feet, and swam free. As he reached the surface, the sun plummeted below the horizon, melding shadows together into full darkness.

Before he could locate Elaine and Uncle Joe, the change hit him with the force of a Mack truck. With the strain of bones and skin stretching and growing, the pain dragged him beneath the surface.

With only enough breath in his lungs for a frog to survive, his fully-formed human lungs burned with the need for oxygen. His vision blurred and he fought against the fuzzy haze preceding the black abyss of unconsciousness.

Elaine was in the water somewhere nearby, possibly drowning in her worst nightmare. And who knew how Uncle Joe fared in the collision. The old man meant a lot to him. He’d been the balance in Craig’s upbringing. The roots to which he’d clung in his youth. He couldn’t give up, he had to stay conscious and find them.