House on Diablo Road: Resurrection Day (The McCann Family Saga Book 3) (14 page)

“
Cal, let him up!” Annie shouted.

Jesse sprang forward and pulled Cal off Tobi. “Calvin! Take a walk and cool off, and hand me the keys to the Model T.”

Cal gave them all a baleful look, flung the keys to the floor with a look reminiscent of his long deceased father Leroy Conner. Then he slammed the door on his way out.

Jesse pulled Tobi to his feet. “Now what else do you have to say?”

“
Nothing, sir.”

“
Then go up to your room, Tobias”

“
Not again!”

“
Again.”

As the boy went up, Buck’s voice boomed down from the top of the stairs. “What’s all this uproar down here? What shack in the thicket and what woman?”

He entered the room looking pale and deflated—he who was usually as imposing as a grizzly. He looked as if a tree had fallen on him for the second time in his life.

Jesse’s reply came in measured pace. “There’s nothing going on down here that I can’t handle, Buck.”

“
My Lord. Why don’t you just let the boys be
boys
? Even so, there's no call to be going into a stranger’s house. Does Tobi know the woman’s name?”

“
He says she didn’t want them to know her name and asked them not to say they had been there.”

Buck collapsed into a chair and laid down his cane. “I've always dreaded this day... but the time has come. Annie, Jesse, sit down. It’s time I told you the part I left out of the story about the night Cyrus was killed. There was one little thing I kept to myself.”

‘
What does
that
have to do with
this
?’

“
Everything. The boys obviously went way too far out, got lost and ended up at the old Hennessy home place, where my grandparents used to live, and where my papa grew up. Has to be the one because it's the only house around. The old woman they saw there is Phoebe Monet.”

“
Louis’ wife?”

“
No one else it could be. I sent her and Louis and Baby Thomas out there the night of the hanging, so they would be safe. The man
looked
awful guilty. He was the only person seen with the body and took it off in the wagon. As it’s turned out, the Monets have lived out there all these years, beyond the thicket where nobody goes.”

Tobi was trying not to cry. “
We wouldn’t have gone in, but the lady came out and offered us fried peach pie, and we were hungry and …”

Buck grinned. “And you just couldn’t resist.”

Jesse went wide-eyed and slack jawed, still dazed by the confession Buck had just made. “Why, at that point in time, did you interfere in as serious a matter as the murder?”

“
There was little regard for truth in Civil War days. Those Night Riders started out as the Home Guard sworn to protect the women and children left behind by Confederate soldiers. They took it upon themselves to hang deserters and traitors, sometimes without a trial. The Night Riders ran East Texas. Why did I help Monet hide you ask? I
protected
an
innocent
man from the same fate as Cyrus, who was innocent of desertion!”

“
How can you be so sure Monet is innocent?”

“
I would bet my life on him. As for where he hid the body—that I do
not
know and swear it on sweet Charlotte’s grave. Only one who knows is Louis, and maybe Phoebe. Could be he was terrorized by Jonathan Bonney and his Night Rider vigilantes. Maybe they forced him to dispose of the body. Those fellas said they hadn’t been out riding that night, and I know better. I heard their horses thundering over Deadman's Bridge.”

“
Will you tell this to Snake Eye Higgins? I’ve hired him to find Cyrus’ remains. He wants meet you at the speakeasy at three tomorrow. Will you tell him how to find Monet?”

“
Yeah. I reckon I’ll even take him out there. It's me and only me knows the way in and out. I need to square things, since I got one foot in the grave...and it’s the only foot I got.”

Annie smiled at the wry, natural humor so typical of their old friend. Upon impulse, she gave Buck a peck on his scruffy cheek.

“
What’s that for?” he purred.

“
For being you. That’s what for.”

“
Taffy...strawberry...taffy...vanilla.Get it here...get it now. Catch a spell, and all is well.”

The Creole street vendor strolled down Dauphine Street pushing a cart filled with pastel colored candies wrapped in paper. Katie leaned out from the balcony of the French Quarter hotel room and waved to him on the street below. The man looked up, smiled, and tipped his cap. “Taffy for you,
Belfiti.
..free for a kiss on the wind!”

She blew him a kiss, and he threw her sticks of taffy with a fine overhand pitch; when she caught them, they both laughed in surprise. “Savor my gift to you,
Beltifi
…
it is magic for you.”

The man winked and rolled his cart on down the street, until Katie no longer heard his sing-song chant. She unwrapped a stick of the chewy concoction and ate it with gusto, enjoying the sweet salty smoothness.
Catch a spell , and all is well.

A sudden cool breeze blew in across the Mississippi River, where a luxurious river boat floated effortlessly with the current. Katie visualized tourists on board, foxtrotting to the best bands in the South and could even hear the sounds of the clarinets and saxophones. She felt as if she could see everyone on board and feel their happiness. All of her senses were heightened at the same time.

The sting of homesickness had left her. She had felt it earlier morning while wondering if her parents missed her, if her brothers were behaving, and if Mr. Hennessy was in good spirits. She wondered if her great grandmother had begun to eat again—for it was Katie alone who was able to coax her. Yet even she had failed, since the Founders Day celebration. Granny had reacted almost violently to the proposal in front of the crowd that day. She at first thought Granny’s fears about the house and the Bonneys were unfounded, and although she trusted Nate with her life, the unidentified sounds in the house had shaken her badly. She had decided it had been just what Nate had suggested: the wind scrapping the holly bush against the house or mice scurrying about in the walls.

Now, looking out beyond the narrow streets and ancient buildings of a city with a c
es't la vie
perspective, she made a decision. When they returned home, she would tame that old house. She would forge through it top to bottom, remodeling and refreshing and making it hers. Maybe the horror of the past would vanish, and if anything evil roamed those halls, it would go away. Her mother could arrange for a Shaman to come and purify the place, including the family cemetery, if it made Granny happy. For Granny would not rest until the deed was done.

She hadn’t long to think through the project. A freshly bathed and shirtless Nate came to stand behind her and wrap his arms around her. Her senses were filled the fragrance of Bay Rum aftershave and the feel of cool, damp skin. She turned and hugged him to her and laid her head against his chest “Isn’t it lively here, Nate? I love New Orleans, but I’ve been thinking. I can hardly wait to get back home, so I can redo that old monstrosity you call a house.”

“
I like the house the way it is—solid bone structure and antiquated charm, just like you.” He kissed the tip of her nose, her chin, her cheeks.

She captured his eyes with hers. She would not be placated. “I’m serious, Nate. The house needs a woman’s touch. It hasn't been lived in since your great grandfather rattled around in there.”

‘
We’ll discuss the house
after
the honeymoon. We only have two days left. I have a newspaper to run, you know. What’s that you have in your hand?”

“
Oh...would you like a piece of taffy? These are from the street vendor, and he said they held magic.” She smiled at the absurdity of the remark. “Not that I believe in it, but I did eat a piece of it and felt awfully good. We shall see what becomes of me.”

“
I don’t need charms or potions or spells. I already have magic...right here in my arms.”

He scooped her up and carried her in from the balcony and placed her on the rumpled bed. “I love you Kathryn Hannah McCann Bonney,” he murmured. “I’ll never let you get away from me.”

Late morning, the honeymooners enjoyed a leisurely breakfast at Cafe Du Monde. There they lingered over fresh, yeasty beignets and rich cafe´au lait. It had been a glorious week filled with dark smoky jazz clubs, artists’ villages, and coffee shops where writers and pseudo-intellectuals commiserated over world events, post World War I. The 1920s had brought a sense of celebration to the country, and New Orleans had become the bohemian mecca—a mix of the garish, the artistic and the mystical. The city had its way with her, and she was somehow changed by it.

Nate noticed the shift in Katie’s mood and attempted to pull her thoughts back to him: “Is there any one thing we’ve failed to do while here—something you would enjoy?”

Katie's eyes lit up. “Oh yes! Let’s walk across the street to Madame Emmaline’s. ” She pointed at a sign:
Fortune Telling : Tarot Card Readings, Seances. Spells Made and Spells Broken.

Nate's smile vanished. “I don’t believe in that voodoo, but it's okay if it makes you happy.”

“Then
you will!” She crooked her arm in his, and they crossed the street. “Don't look so dour. I promise not to take it too seriously.”

As they entered the tiny shop, there was the aroma of exotic incense, combined with the stale sweetness of aromatic candles. A crush of tourists filled the tiny shop, as inch by inch, they moved to the back where readings were held. In front of the curtained stalls sat a large woman with a multicolored head scarf, crimson lip rouge and gold spangly earrings. She looked at them with bored and guarded eyes. “You must wait. All our readers are with guests...except Thomas. You would not like Thomas.”

“
And why would I not?” Katie asked.

“
Because he is not a pure blood.
He is mixed and has some dark, secret past. He was raised here in New Orleans by Haitian Creoles, but rumor is he’s African and
Irish
—a mix that makes
gri gri
.”

“
Are you not a mixture as well, as are most of us?”

The woman jutted her chin and squared her shoulders. “I am pure Acadiana French from Vermillion Parish!”

“
Ah, I see, but you employ this man of mixed blood.”

“For the locals...those filled with trouble. Tourists like
happy
fortune telling, and he does not always tell them what they want to hear. He channels in the bad along with the good, more than the tarots show show. The cards are only a prop for his gift.” Madam Emmaline leaned closer. “Thomas channels spirits and sees the past and future!”