Cajun Magic 01 - Voodoo on the Bayou (21 page)

He pushed through the haze and the darkness, propelling his fully transformed body through the brackish waters to the surface. “Elaine! Uncle Joe!”

His eyes strained against the gloom, and he listened for the slightest sound of splashing.

“Joe!” A gurgling feminine cry rent the air a few yards to Craig’s left. He launched himself in that direction. In the meager light still eking its way through the dense canopy overhead, he could see ripples disturbing the water’s surface. He dove into the middle of them, his hand connecting with hair. Winding his fingers into the floating tresses, he dragged her up until he could hook his arms beneath hers and lift her to the surface.

Expecting her to kick and scream hysterically, he was surprised when she hung limply in his arms. His heart alternated between racing and standing still. Was she alive? She had to be!

Then her body jerked and she coughed up water. “Joe,” she gasped.

“It’s me, Craig,” he said, swimming her toward a small island, praying the alligators with give them a break this one night.

“Craig? How’d you get here?” she asked. “Where’s Joe?”

He concentrated on keeping her head above water until his bare feet touched bottom. He sat her on a large root, grabbed a low-hanging branch, and shoved it into her hands. “Can you hold on until I find him?”

She nodded, tears slipping down her cheeks. “Yes, go.”

He threw himself back into the murky water and swam out to the overturned boat. With a deep breath, he dove beneath and resurfaced on the other side. No uncle.

He swam in wider circles bumping along the bottom of the bayou in case his uncle had submerged. In the shadow of a giant bald cypress tree, he found a still form draped over a knobby cypress knee. Uncle Joe!

His face was out of the water but the man wasn’t moving. “Uncle Joe?” No response. With his heart in his throat, Craig searched for a pulse. For a moment, he couldn’t feel the reassuring beat of the old man’s heart. Pain shot through Craig’s chest, threatening to shut off his breathing.
Not Uncle Joe. Please, God, not Uncle Joe
.

“Craig? Is that you, boy?” Uncle Joe breathed in a raspy voice.

“Yes, sir. It’s me.”

“Thought I saw you hop in the boat.” Uncle Joe coughed, grimaced and grabbed for his ribs. “Thank God for cypress knees. Kept me from drowning, but I think I busted a rib.”

“Don’t you worry, I’ll have you outta here in no time.” Craig glanced around for the boat.

“Where’s Elaine?” Joe asked.

“I’m here,” she called out from the darkness. “Are you all right?”

“Nothing a little alcohol won’t cure,” Joe yelled back. He coughed for his troubles. When he got his breath again, he asked, “What about the other boat?”

“Gone,” Craig said.

“Good.” Uncle Joe inhaled carefully. “Not up to a fight right now.”

“No, you’re not.” Craig didn’t remind his uncle they weren’t out of hot water yet. With the alligator population up and the fish population down…well now, that made for a bad combination for humans swimming in alligator habitat.

Uncle Joe pushed against the cypress knee, winced and looked around. “What about our boat?”

“I don’t know,” Craig said. “Hang tight while I check it out.”

He swam out to the upside down craft and quickly ran the tips of his fingers along the hull. One corner was dented in six inches, and a gash stretched from the dent up to the rim. He couldn’t feel any other holes. Whatever the damage, the skiff was their only option. He had to get Elaine and Uncle Joe out of the water.

Swimming hard, he pulled the boat to the shallows and struggled to flip it onto its belly. The skiff floated, but the motor was waterlogged and completely unserviceable. If they were lucky, they’d make it back to the marina before morning using good old-fashioned elbow grease and a paddle. He just hoped Uncle Joe’s injuries weren’t life threatening.

With one hand wrapped around the tie-off rope, Craig swam the boat over to Elaine. He helped her over the side onto the cool metal bench.

Her teeth chattered and she clung to him even when she was seated. “I’m glad you found us.”

“Me too.” He kissed her hard on the lips and peeled her arms from around his neck. “I’ve got to get Uncle Joe. We’re going to be all right.” He swam the skiff to where Uncle Joe slouched over the cypress knees. “Need a hand?”

“Yeah, ‘fraid I do.” Uncle Joe never asked for help. The fact that he would now meant he was in some amount of pain.

“Not a problem.” Craig slid his arms under his uncle and eased him over the side of the boat.

The older man grunted, but didn’t cry out.

With both of the people Craig had grown to love in the boat, he realized he couldn’t get in without a whole lot of questions.

All the while he’d been swimming in the nude. As a frog, he didn’t have a need for clothing. As a man, he’d have a tough time explaining his lack of covering. Just as he pondered the dilemma, the rubber hip waders floated to the surface in front of him.

Craig sent a silent thank you to the heavens as he slid them on.

They just might make it through the night intact, both physically and mentally. His jaw tightened. And when he got back to dry land, he planned to nail whoever did this to his family.

Chapter Twenty

Elaine thought they’d never get back to the marina. Damp and in a state of semi-shock, her teeth clattered so hard against each other, surely they’d chip.

Without the engine and with only the one paddle Craig wielded, progress was slow.

Cupping her stiff fingers, Elaine baled water out of the bottom of the boat. She wished she could do more to help them along.

Uncle Joe had lapsed into silence facing Craig in the middle of the boat.

Elaine worried he wasn’t doing well. She hoped he hadn’t punctured a lung with the broken rib. He could also have a concussion, which meant he probably should stay awake.

“Mr. Thibodeaux?” she called out. “Joe.”

A few seconds went by before he grunted.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

He didn’t sound okay. She tried to think of something to say that would keep him talking. “How long have you owned the marina?”

“Since I quit law.”

Not quite the answer she expected. “I didn’t know you were a lawyer. Is everyone in Bayou Miste an attorney and I just didn’t know it?”

“No, just the Thibodeauxs,” Craig said.

“Why did you get out, Joe?” she asked.

“Had my reasons.” His words were clipped, not inviting more digging. The night grew silent with only the sound of the paddle dipping in the water.

She couldn’t help herself, she had to ask, “Was it a woman? You don’t have to answer. I’m just curious.” She rubbed her hands together to get the blood flowing in her cold fingers.

For a long time, Joe was quiet. Then out of the darkness, he said, “Yeah.”

Elaine recalled Miz Mozelle’s comment about Joe loving Craig’s mother, and the pieces fell into place.
Holy Bunsen burners
. She should have kept her big mouth shut. And she would for the rest of the journey back to the marina.

But Joe had more to say. “It was a long time ago. And I still think about her every day of my life. Kinda hard not to.”

Elaine persisted, but only because Joe seemed to want to talk about it. “Why? If it was such a long time ago?”

Joe nodded his head in the direction of Craig. “This big doofus keeps coming back to remind me.”

Uh-oh
. Looked like the Uncle Joe had kept a secret from his nephew and she had just busted it wide open. She wished she could crawl under a rock or slip over the side of the boat. She shrank back on the metal bench hoping she hadn’t started a family feud.

“Me?” Craig frowned.

In the light from the half-moon shining down on the bayou, Uncle Joe stared across at Craig. “Yeah, you.”

“What do I have to do with your love life?”

What can of worms had she opened with her line of questioning? Elaine had only meant to keep him talking until they could get him back to land and a doctor.

“I fell for the wrong girl back when I was about your age.”

“Why was she wrong?” Craig asked.

Elaine thought about her predicament with Craig. She was a scientist, he was an attorney representing a client possibly responsible for polluting the ecosystem of the bayou. How much more wrong could they be for each other?

“She was in love with another man,” Uncle Joe said.

Her shoulders stiffened. Waiting for the rest of the story and Craig’s reaction was like waiting for a train wreck.

“Did you tell her how you felt?” Craig held the paddle out of the water.

Here it comes.
Elaine braced herself, her heart already pinching for Craig.

“Yeah.” Uncle Joe’s gaze held Craig’s. “She married my brother anyway.”

…

Craig’s gaze bored into his Uncle’s for a long minute. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Uncle Joe attempted a shrug, and winced for his effort. “Wouldn’t have changed anything. She married your father, I moved to Bayou Miste, and the rest is history.”

Craig leaned forward, the paddle dragging in the water. “Why did you run away?”

“I left. Your father wouldn’t have wanted me hangin’ around like a dadgum fifth wheel.”

“You’re brothers.” Craig dipped the paddle into the water. “Couldn’t you have worked things out?”

“No,” Uncle Joe said. “For years I couldn’t be around her knowing she wasn’t mine. And I couldn’t forgive myself for betraying my brother.”

“For loving my mother?” Craig frankly couldn’t see his mother, queen of the New Orleans social scene, with Uncle Joe.

A half smile tilted the corner of his uncle’s mouth. “No, for telling her on their wedding day.”

“Oh,” Craig sat back, the wind sucked out of his sails.

“Yeah, the timin’…how do you say…sucked.”

“No kidding,” Craig muttered.

“I’ve kicked myself all my life, wondering if it would have made a difference if I’d told her sooner. When you were old enough to come visit, I pretended you were our son. I probably even wished it. Then you grew up and stayed away from here so long, I thought I’d lost you as well.”

Craig ran a hand through his hair. “I didn’t know.”

“No, you weren’t supposed to.” Joe shifted on his seat. “When you went on to join the family business, just as your father wanted, I thought you were well on your way to making the same mistakes I did.”

“I liked my life,” Craig insisted.

“Did you?” Uncle Joe studied him.

Elaine, who’d been sitting quietly in the front of the boat, chose that moment to speak up. “You like representing men like Jason Littington, who very well could be killing Bayou Miste?” At his surprise, she explained, “I heard you were only in town on business and that business was with Littington of Littington Enterprises, the only refinery or major industrial anything between here and Morgan City.

“That’s right.” Craig felt like he was on the wrong end of a judge, jury, and hangman’s noose.

“I’ll bet if we pull that barrel we found out of the swamp, we’ll find Littington oil at the bottom of it.” Elaine glared at him. “And you’re proud of representing people like that?”

“I don’t judge until I hear both sides of the argument.”

“And you tell no more of the truth than absolutely necessary, either.” Her voice broke at the end of her words. “Is that one of the first lessons you learned in Law 101?”

“I didn’t lie to you, Elaine,” he protested.

“You didn’t tell me the truth, either.” She wrapped her arms around herself to ward off a round of shivers.

“But, I didn’t lie,” he insisted.

“What else haven’t you told me, Craig?” She sniffed, and he suspected the darkness was hiding moisture in her eyes.

“I’ve told you everything I can. For anything else, you’ll just have to trust me.”

She huffed. “How can I trust you, when you don’t tell me the whole truth? Such as, how did you get out in the swamp and find us? And why are you wearing those…those…rubbery things…instead of clothes?”

He couldn’t tell her without ruining his chances to undo the spell. And she would never trust him again if he didn’t tell her. Damned if he did, and damned if he didn’t. “There’re some things I can’t tell you right now. Hopefully someday, but not now.”

“Can’t tell me? Or won’t?” Her shoulders rose and fell. “There’s no trust.”

He stared from her to his uncle, and back again. His heart squeezed tight in his chest. She was slipping away from him and he couldn’t do anything to get her back. “I guess that’s it then.”

“I guess so.” Elaine looked away.

“What are you going to do with the information about the swamp?” he asked her.

“I’ll go to the EPA,” she said, her voice low and her head still down.

“Then there’s nothing more to say.” His heart squeezing in his chest, Craig clamped down hard on his tongue, bound by attorney-client privileges. He’d helped her as much as he could gathering evidence, but he couldn’t do anything to inflict harm on his client…until Littington was no longer his client, or he could clear up this mess.
Mon Dieu
, he hoped he could fix this. Craig dug the paddle into the water. The quicker he got back to the marina, the sooner he could get away from her, and those green eyes filled with betrayal.

“Bull feathers!” Uncle Joe shouted, followed immediately by several tentative coughs.

“Stay out of it, Uncle Joe,” Craig warned.

“Didn’t you hear anything I said to you just now?” Joe whispered in deference to his sore rib.

“Yes, but this is different.” He dug the paddle in again, propelling the boat forward and a little to the left. He compensated by dipping in on the opposite side.

“Bull feathers!” Uncle Joe repeated. “You’re crazy about this girl. Don’t screw it up like I did.”

“Uncle,” Craig said, his voice low and dangerous. If ever there was a time for the coast guard to show up, now would be good.

The sound of a motor hummed softly in the night.

“Do you think they came back for us?” Elaine asked.

“
Shh
.” Craig tilted his head in the direction of the sound. “Sounds like a trolling motor.”

“Larry, you gotta turn de motor off if you wanna gig dose frogs.” Mo’s voice could be heard before Craig actually saw him.

“But we be gettin’ there much faster with it dan without,” Larry argued.

“Dôn do no good for frog giggin’ if you scare de frogs all away.”

“Why we be giggin’, anyway?” Larry asked. “Ain’tcha ‘fraid we might catch our good buddy?”

“He ain’t a frog at night,
coo-yôn
. An’ I got a hankerin’ for some fried frog legs.”

“Oh, yeah.”

Craig turned and stood in the boat, waving his paddle high over his head. “Mo, Larry, over here.”

A pirogue similar to the one they were in trolled into view.

“Craig, whatcha doin’ out here on de bayou? Shouldn’t you be findin’ you a woman or something?” Mo called out.

He cringed, and quickly said, “Had us a little accident, guys. Think you could give us a tow back to the marina? Uncle Joe could use some medical attention.”

“You all right, Mr. Thibodeaux?” Mo pulled the boat alongside the damaged skiff.

“Okay,” Joe wheezed. “For an old man with a broken rib, I guess.”

“
Coo-wee
! What happened here?” Larry stared at the skiff’s damaged corner.

“Had a run-in with an airboat.” Craig tossed them the towrope.

Mo whacked Larry in the gut. “I tol’ you, der be some powerful bad magic on dis bayou, tonight.”

Larry rubbed his belly, frowning. “You didn’t tell me dat.”

“Well I felt it. I shoulda tol’ you.”

“You see what I have to put up wit’?” Larry said to Craig. He grabbed the rope and tied it to metal loop at the back of their boat. “Ready?”

“Thanks, guys,” Craig said. As usual, his buddies had come through for him.

Mo waved aside his gratitude. “Dat’s what friends are for.”

Craig smiled, though inside he was in turmoil. Question was, would he come through for them? He had a mess to clean up and it stank just as bad as the polluted barrel at the bottom of the bayou. He had to get to Jason Littington and find out what the hell was going on. And then he had to convince Elaine he was not working for the bad guys. About an hour later, they reached the marina. The bait shop had been closed since Uncle Joe left earlier, but in the parking lot stood a shiny red Mercedes sports coupe.

Uh-oh
. Craig’s mess had just exploded to gargantuan proportions.

…

Once Mo and Larry tied the skiff to the dock, Elaine hurriedly accepted Mo’s beefy hand to pull her to the wooden planks. “Thank you, Mo,” she offered, then turned to march up to the bait shop and as fast and as far away from Craig as she could get.

Not until she’d reached the parking lot did she realize she wasn’t alone. A woman stepped out of a bright red Mercedes parked under a street lamp, a female like no other Elaine had ever encountered.

She was everything Elaine was not. From her sleek, tailored suit, to her perfectly straight blond hair hanging to an ideal length, not too long, not too short. She was classically beautiful in every way.

With her clothes dripping dry on her body, and her new hairdo in soggy disarray, Elaine felt certain she looked like a reject from the Salvation Army with a Little Orphan Annie hairstyle.

The woman looked down her nose at Elaine and immediately turned her attention to the men coming up behind her. “Craig,” she called out and rushed to him, flinging her arms around his neck and pressing her perfectly tailored suit to his hip waders. “I’ve missed you so much.”

“Cassandra, what are you doing here?” Craig’s voice was clipped and didn’t sound too happy.

“I flew in from France yesterday and found your message on my answering machine. I came because you asked me to, silly.”

All of Elaine’s righteous indignation about the Littington fiasco paled in comparison to the way her heart hit rock bottom. Apparently, there were other things Craig had failed to tell her, proving he hadn’t meant for their relationship to last. He already had a girlfriend, one who could blend into his circles in New Orleans much better than a dweeb scientist who was afraid of the water.

While lover boy was hugging his Cassandra, Elaine slipped away to shower the smell of bayou water from her hair and body. If only she could wash the heartache away with the smell. Exhausted beyond belief, she trudged to her rented cottage, locking the door behind her.

Tonight would be her first night alone since she and Craig had started their steamy affair. She could only stand to be in the bedroom long enough to gather fresh clothing on her way to the bathroom. She’d sleep on the couch and pack her stuff tomorrow. Her stay in Bayou Miste was over. Time to face reality and get back to the university.

So you can resume hiding behind your microscope?
a voice inside her head challenged.

No way.

She’d overcome that phase in her life. Damned if she’d let herself backslide.

And her evidence against Littington Industries might have been stolen, but she knew exactly where to find more.

…

Two hours at the hospital with Cassandra yammering in one ear, while his uncle read him the riot act in the other, gave Craig a splitting headache. Finally convinced his uncle had no more lasting damage than a broken rib, he dropped him off at his house with a bottle of pain-killers and a lecture on taking it easy.