Cajun Magic 01 - Voodoo on the Bayou (5 page)

Elaine propped a hand on her hip. “That’s not what Mozelle Reneau said.”

Joe frowned. “Miz Mozelle likes to gossip. You shouldn’t listen to her.”

“She said you were the black sheep of your family. Is that true?”

Joe’s lips tightened. “She’s got no business telling that story to a stranger. What’s happened in my family is my own business, not hers.”

“By the looks of him, Craig could well be the black sheep of the family now. And you want me to go out with him?” Elaine gave the man a pointed look. “Why does he walk around half-clothed?”

Joe gulped and tugged at his collar. “It’s mighty hot around here in the summertime.”

“Since you’re not going to tell me why you’re the black sheep, I’m not guaranteeing I’ll consider an offer of a date from your nephew.”

Joe mumbled and turned toward the door. “That’s what he gets for messing with a Voodoo queen.”

Did he say
Voodoo queen
? Perhaps she’d heard wrong. “What was that you said?”

“Nothing.” Joe waved a hand over his shoulder. “I gotta get back to the bait shop. I left a motor running or something.”

“Thanks for helping me unload.” When he didn’t respond, she added, “I’ll keep your request in mind.”

The older man turned and smiled. “You won’t be sorry.”

She already was. If Craig wasn’t the only guide she knew in the area, she’d keep as far away from him as possible. He unsettled her, and she didn’t have any theory or hypothesis of why.

She stood at the door for several minutes watching Joe amble down the road toward the bait shop. When he was halfway there, Elaine realized he’d left Dawg.

She waved her hand at the animal and nudged him with her foot. “Go on, Dawg. Go home.” The dog slowly stood, his tail thumping against the wooden planks of the front porch.

The animal’s eyes were so soft and beseeching, she caved and opened the door to go back inside and unpack. “Fine. You stay on the porch. See if I care.” She looked back at him, but he’d gone. She marveled at the comings and goings around Bayou Miste.

She had a lot of work to do before the evening and her rendezvous with the other Mr. Thibodeaux. At the thought of the Cajun hotty, the trail of perspiration between her breasts increased.
Damn my unruly hormones
. She marched to the window air conditioner and turned it down several notches to chill her skin.

Unfortunately, the temperature had nothing to do with the tingling sensations rippling through her body.

Chapter Five

“Craig! Craig!” The loud screech of the screen door heralded Uncle Joe’s arrival at the marina.

Since he’d woken after sunup, all green and slimy, Craig had paced the floor. Well, as much as a frog could pace. He’d hopped a path back and forth across his bedroom throughout the day. Like an idiot, he’d closed the door prior to his transformation into a frog. Once he’d shifted, he was stuck in the bedroom until Uncle Joe came looking for him and let him out. His frustration level had topped out hours ago.

After his visit with Madame LeBieu, and before his metamorphosis, he’d sat down with Uncle Joe and covered all the bases if anyone came looking for him during the day.

His father was bound to demand to know his whereabouts and why he hadn’t sealed the deal with Littington. His “working vacation” was supposed to be over in two days. With plenty of work piled on his desk awaiting his attention, the others at the family law firm would be less than sympathetic to his tardy return.

If anyone asked for him from Bayou Miste, Uncle Joe was to say he’d been summoned to a nearby town and he’d be back late. Craig would call Jason Littington the following evening to arrange for a night meeting.

If his father or brother called during the day, Uncle Joe was to tell them he was taking some time to catch up on his fishing and would return their call that evening.

Meanwhile, he was stuck as a frog during the day, which had its own set of challenges. He hadn’t eaten since the night before and he was getting desperate enough to eat a twelve-pack of flies. But the back bedroom was fly-free and his froggy belly was starving. He’d tried to get his mind off his hunger by thinking of solutions to his problem, but he’d come up short of any foolproof answers. How did you argue with a spell—or a Voodoo queen for that matter?

To get a woman to fall in love with him would be a piece of cake. But he didn’t want the lady in question to think he was committing to anything other than a convenient relationship to break an inconvenient spell. He may be a confirmed bachelor, but he wasn’t out to hurt anyone.

He hadn’t had a committed bone in his body since he’d dated Tracy, back in law school. From that incident forth, he’d made it a point to inform his lady friends he didn’t want a long-term relationship. He’d told each one of them he’d drop her if she started making noises about happily-ever-after. Much to their disappointment, he’d done just that. Which was one of the major factors in his decision to take this pseudo-vacation.

Ah the lovely, Cassandra. One of the newest partners in his family’s law firm. Beauty and a razor-sharp intelligence was a killer combination. What a shame she’d only been hunting a diamond engagement ring. And Craig thought she was going to be different, but she’d turned out like all the rest. He wondered if she’d ever really loved him. Not that he wanted her to…until now.

Hell, he should call her.

“Where are you, dagblast it?” Uncle Joe’s voice called out on the other side of the wooden door.

Craig hopped away from it to avoid being pancaked.

“Craig?” The door swung open and his uncle towered above him. “There you are.” Uncle Joe squatted down and peered at him. “That is you, isn’t it?”

Craig nodded.

Uncle Joe grinned. “Takes a little gettin’ used to, havin’ a frog for a nephew. Almost thought I dreamt it all up.” He clapped his hands together once.

The sound reverberated through Craig’s head and he staggered backward.

“I’ve got good news. That scientist lady doesn’t have any significant other hanging around New Orleans waiting for her to come back. You can ask her out. That is, as soon as you’re up to it. Get it?” Uncle Joe laughed so hard he fell back off his heels and landed on his backside.

Craig wished he could claim credit for knocking his uncle over. How could the old man make fun of him when he was in such a dire predicament?

Now, what had his uncle said about the scientist lady? She was single? Craig cringed. As if he needed his uncle to set him up with women. He could do that all on his own.

Dr. Smith looked like someone with relatively little experience in the field of love. He grimaced. She’d definitely expect more than he was willing to give. Her moss-green eyes would look up at him and beg him to love her in return.
Damn
.

“I even softened her up for you.”

Uh-oh
. What did Uncle Joe mean by that?

“I asked her to consider going out with you, and told her you were all right and not to listen to anyone who says otherwise.”

Craig croaked and fell over on his back. Just what he needed, a matchmaking uncle.

“Craig? Are you all right? Didn’t get a hold of a rotten fly, now, did you?”

Craig flipped over onto his haunches and shook his head.

“Good. Gave me a damn heart attack.” Joe straightened. “Could you use some fresh air? I’ll let you out the side door. Here, let me carry you.”

Craig hopped out of range of his uncle’s hand and made his own hoppity way toward the door.

“Okay, okay. I get the hint. You always were a determined cuss. Have it your way.” Joe opened the door and allowed him to hop down the steps and out onto the grass.

Inside, the phone rang. Joe glanced back at the bait shop. “Will you be all right out here by yourself? I’m going to answer that. Could be Littington.”

Craig nodded.

Uncle Joe dashed back inside to answer on the fourth ring.

The overgrown grass needed cutting. Craig could barely see over the top of the jagged spears. He glanced down the road to where Uncle Joe’s rental house stood on the other side of Old Lady Reneau’s. No one stirred outside in the midday heat.

He wasn’t so certain being outside was a good idea. The world was a cruel place for a small green frog. He peered back at the bait shop. He could see beneath the porch. He never realized how dark and sinister the underside of the porch appeared. What dangers lurked beneath? Was there a huge snake waiting to swallow him whole? Death by digestion. He shuddered.

“Woof!”

He jumped a full foot off the ground, his heart thumping against the thin wall of his chest. The grass cushioned his fall and he leaped to the side.

Behind him hovered a beagle, half the size of Dawg, but twenty times the size of a frog.

“Woof!”

The sound deafened his ears and he raced for the steps to the bait shop. He didn’t stand a chance of making it up the steps, but he could duck beneath. Suddenly, the underside of the bait shop didn’t look so menacing. Next to the slobbering black, white, and tan beagle, it was a haven—should he reach it before the dog decided to take a bite out of him.

Two inches from sanctuary, sharp teeth closed around him, locking him behind the canine bars of ivory. And the smell of dog food and dead animals permeated his senses.

Craig freaked and instinctively puffed out his body. His skin oozed a natural coating of bitter-smelling oil. The dog gagged and he fell from its mouth to the grass below.

He staggered to all four webbed feet and gazed up at the beagle. The dog’s chomps foamed and he shook his head to rid his mouth of the nasty taste of scared frog.

Ha. Served him right. Eating defenseless frogs.

A deep-voiced bark sounded from the house down the street, and Craig looked up in time to see Dawg barreling down the road toward him and the beagle.

The beagle stared at the much larger animal, tucked his tail between his legs, and sped off in the opposite direction.

Way to go, Dawg. That’s putting the fear of dog in him
. When Dawg reached him, the hound ground to a halt so fast, his back end nearly flipped over the front of his body. He sniffed at Craig and whined.

Craig could swear the dog knew him. Dawg was apparently a lot smarter than he’d ever given him credit for.

Dawg nudged him with a cool, dry nose, knocking him over. Then a long, wet tongue snaked out to rasp against his chest. The ground trembled with rhythmic thumping. Craig’s heart kicked into hyper-drive. Was it the Voodoo drums? He righted himself and noticed Dawg’s tail whacking the ground.

Damned wishful thinking. That old witch wasn’t going to let him off the hook that easy. She wanted him to grovel and suffer for a while. To hell with that. He’d think of something or someone to get him out of this.

Yeah, but who and what?

He glanced around. And spotted Mo and Larry ambling down the street, two very large characters in a small town. He’d always thought they’d make great bouncers in a New Orleans bar, but after their role in his abduction and ultimate cursing, he was convinced.

A slick black Camaro pulled to a stop beside them and the window slid down. Randall Pratt leaned out. “Who’s the piece of ass renting Joe’s cottage?”

Craig heard his question, even from as far away as he was and his blood boiled. Randall was a snake, a low down worm of a man and he had no respect for women.

“Dôn know,” Mo said. “Why dôn you aks Joe?”

Randall snorted. “Clueless.” The window slid up and he drove off spewing gravel.

“Man’s got a problem.” Larry’s gaze followed the vehicle.

“Yup. Wonder how he can afford dat ride.” Mo bent to pick up a rock.

“Didn’t know Acme paid dat well.”

“See him drivin’ round in dat truck down by de plant.”

Larry snorted. “Madame LeBieu need to put de gree gree on dat one.”

Mo resumed walking as if Randall had never stopped to question them.

They halted when they saw him sitting there next to Dawg.

Larry leaned down and stage-whispered in a voice loud enough for Old Lady Reneau to hear, “Hey, Craig, is dat you?”

“Of course it ain’t him. Dat frog dôn look nothin’ like Craig.”

“How you know what Craig looks like as a frog? Have you seen him yet?”

“Course not, fool. I tink he’d look like a lot smarter frog den dat. Dat one’s hoppin’ away like it dôn know me.”

Craig croaked a laugh, heading for the bait shack.

Larry cupped a hand to his mouth and yelled. “Craig!”

Both men wore the maintenance uniforms of Littington Enterprises, crumpled and dirty from a hard day’s work cleaning and performing maintenance on oil refinery equipment..

“Hey, Dawg.” Larry pointed.” You thank dat be Craig?”

Mo leaned down and inspected him again. “Nah, I told you, dis frog looks too dumb.”

“Yeah, but you know how Dawg hangs wit’ de man like he ain’t got any better sense.”

Mo scratched his head and frowned. “Dat you, Craig? If it is, hop twice.”

Craig rolled his eyes, a technique infinitely easier as a frog. He hopped twice.

Larry grinned widely and rocked back on his heels. “What do you know. It is Craig.”

“Yeah,” Mo grumbled, “but he still dôn look too smart.”

Larry planted a hand on his hip. “Have you ever seen a smart frog, Mo?”

“Guess you got a point.” Mo dropped to the step beside Craig. “Hey, man, Larry and I got dis ting figured out.”

Craig nodded his head, hoping to encourage Mo to continue.

“We tink we got you some ways out of dis problem.”

All right already, spit it out.
Would they go and plead with the old bat to free his body to return to normal? Would they sacrifice themselves to allow him to be free?

Larry plopped onto the stoop and pulled a folded sheet of paper from his pocket, carefully straightening it. “We made a list of candidates.”

Candidates? Oh no, not them too. Between Larry, Mo and Uncle Joe, they’d have him married off before the sun rose on a new day.

“Yeah, we figured you could use some help being as you’re a little short on time.” Larry snickered. “Short, get it?”

Mo elbowed him. “Get on with it.”

“Anyway, we thought of every single woman in de parish who might fall for you. Top of de list is DeeDee DuBois.” Craig’s groan came out as a
ribbet
, and Larry lifted a hand. “Jes hear me out. She’s twenty-four and available. Better still, she dôn have no prospects.”

“Larry put her on da list. Personally, I couldn’t get past her slack jaw and pock marks, but she’d be willing and would fall in love within de first fifteen minutes of a date. Hell, she’d fall in love with a warthog, she’s dat desperate.”

Craig used his front foot to make a gagging motion.

“No?” Larry looked down the list. “Maddie Golinski.”

“She’s too young. Didn’t we scratch her off de list? She’s only fifteen. Give it to me.” Mo snatched the list and continued down.

“How about Lisa LeBieu?”

Craig swung his head side to side in a swift motion.
No way.
She was the one who got him into this pickle in the first place.

“Guess not.” Mo ran his finger further down the list. “I’m sorry to say, but dis town dôn have many unattached girls. All de good ones done been spoke for. You gonna have to settle for one of de not so good ones.”

Craig hung his head.

“Cheer up, buddy. At least you be seeing dem at night. If you find a dark enough place, you can pretend she’s pretty.” Larry smiled. “Dat’s what I do.”

“You be a sad, sad little man, Larry.”

Larry frowned and stood. “Am not.”

Mo rose, a full two inches taller than Larry. “Are too.”

“Not.”

“Too.”

Larry’s frown lifted. “Hey, I just remembered. What about my sister, Josephine?”

Craig remembered a gangly pre-teen in pigtails. Josie, the little girl who used to kick him in the shins.

“You haven’t seen Josie in eight years. She be all growed and not half bad to look at.”

Mo crinkled his eyes into a narrow squint and touched a finger to his chin. Finally, he shrugged. “Hate to admit it, but Larry’s got a point. She’s jes returned from beauty school.”

“Yeah, she’s learned a trade and everytink. ‘Bout to drive mama and de girls nuts doin’ all deir hair and nails.”

Craig couldn’t get past the image of the twelve-year-old Josie. And his friend’s sister. Since he didn’t plan on a life-long commitment, he couldn’t get involved with a friend’s sister.

Mo tapped the paper in his hand. “Dat’s all we could come up wit’. You could go to another parish, but dat’d take time. Time you dôn have.”