Only By Moonlight (11 page)

LaShaun took a step toward Becky. “Whatever
they told you, whatever he told you is a lie.” His promises come
with a terrible price.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking. You’re
just a crazy lady wandering around in the woods,” Becky said in a
musical childish tone.

“I know your name,” LaShaun murmured and then
stepped back.

“Who sent you?” Becky blurted out. The smile
disappeared.

“Don’t experiment with evil, Becky. At first
it feels so good, right? You feel strong and free from everyone
telling you what to do, when to do it, and how you should live.
Then horrible things start to happen. Like your friend Elliot. He’s
dead.” LaShaun recited a prayer Monmon Odette had taught her, the
same prayer from a Rousselle family journal written in 1801.

“Elliot’s not dead. Look up. That plant is
brown and looks dead, doesn’t it? Under the right conditions it
comes back to life, green and vital.” Becky pointed to a high thick
branch of the oak tree. “Resurrection fern is what they call it.
Water, that’s all it takes because it’s not really dead.”

“You listen to me,” LaShaun snapped and
grabbed her arm. “Elliot was a human being, not a plant. He was
your friend. His parents had his funeral three days ago. That’s
reality.”

“No. No. You’re the one full of lies.” Becky
shook her head.

“You don’t think his mother wanted him to be
alive? She had to see him lying in the hospital morgue. If she even
thought he was still breathing, Mrs. Dubois would never have let
the coroner...”

“Stop it,” Becky shouted.

“Cut him up doing an autopsy,” LaShaun
continued fiercely.

“LaShaun, what’s wrong?” Chase called out as
he ran toward them.

“You’ll pay for touching me, bitch,” Becky
spat at LaShaun. Her hazel eyes seemed lit with the fire of her
rage. “You don’t know who you’re fucking with. I’m chosen.”

“You silly fool,” LaShaun shouted back at
her.

“Becky!” a woman yelled. “Becky, are you
okay?”

“Ma’am, stop.” A female deputy tried to pull
the woman back. Mrs. Saucier moved faster. She brushed past Chase,
making a wide arc around him so he couldn’t stop her either.

“What the hell...” Chase shot forward and
managed to grab the woman’s checked flannel shirt and pull her
back.

“This woman has my daughter. You should be
manhandling her. That’s my child she’s attacking!” The woman
shrieked and struggled to get free.

“Calm down,” Chase replied in a steady voice.
“LaShaun isn’t trying to hurt your kid.”

“Mama, she slapped me. She wants to hurt me,”
Becky wailed. “Help me, mama!”

“You let go of my child or I swear I’ll...”
Becky’s mother fought against the hold Chase had on her.

Four more deputies arrived along with a tall
dark-haired man. M.J. marched through the growing crowd and took in
the scene before her. She looked at Mrs. Saucier. “LaShaun helped
in the search. You need to settle down.”

“Jody, stop it. Just stop,” a dark-haired man
said. Chase let her go only when the man was close enough to take
his place. Mike Saucier put an arm around his wife’s shoulders.

“That’s the Rousselle woman, Mike. God only
knows what she’s gotten Becky into.” Jody pointed a finger at
LaShaun.

“Please, don’t make things worse,” Mike
Saucier said in a shaky voice. Still he grimaced when he looked at
LaShaun.

Becky glared at LaShaun in triumph. She
raised a hand to strike her and LaShaun shoved her back. The
teenager fell to the ground in a melodramatic fashion with a
shriek. She cried hard and curled into a ball. Her mother shouted
profane threats toward LaShaun. Finally between M.J. and the other
deputies, the Saucier family was hustled yards away. Deputy Dave
Godchaux, Chase’s election opponent, seemed able to get the parents
to listen after a few minutes. LaShaun couldn’t hear them, but
Jody’s dark glances shot in her direction said a lot. Mike Saucier
finally helped herd his wife and daughter down the path toward the
road a quarter of a mile away. After a moment Dave strode over to
them. M.J. gave directions to a group of deputies to step carefully
and look for any possible evidence. Three deputies began walking an
arm’s length apart, their heads down scanning the ground.

“Everybody move back but step carefully,”
M.J. said. “Just move away from this area. It’s a long shot because
we’re not even sure which way she came.”

“Don’t know what we’re lookin’ for, Sheriff,”
a thin older deputy said in a thick Cajun accent. “Ain’t no crime
far as I see. That little gal run off on her own.”

“Not much to see in the dark either,” Chase
put in.

Still they tried a preliminary search using
the beams of their powerful flashlights. M.J. wiped sweat from her
forehead with a bandanna. “All we need,” she grumbled.

“I don’t think getting your woman involved
was a good idea, Broussard,” Dave said gazing at Chase. His twin
bushy black eyebrows went up.

“LaShaun is my fiancée,” Chase snapped
back.

Dave turned to M.J. “That Schaffer guy is in
town, too. He’s still sniffing around after Louisiana spooky stuff.
I say we concentrate on real police work. Reporters will definitely
make a big deal outta this.”

“Right after you make a beeline to tell
them,” Chase muttered.

“Let’s make sure Greg Graham wasn’t
involved,” M.J. said quickly and shot a warning look at Chase.

“Is Becky his girlfriend? That would explain
her slipping away to see him. Their parents were advised to keep
them apart,” LaShaun said.

“Why is she involved in this case? She
shouldn’t have knowledge that might be material to an on-going
investigation.” Dave shot a glance at Chase and then back to M.J.
“I convinced the Sauciers not to discuss this incident with
anybody. But reporters will be jumping for joy to find out the
local voodoo woman is hooked up in another murder. I say we...”

Chase pointed a forefinger at Dave’s nose.
“If you insult LaShaun again I’ll turn you upside down and use your
head to dig a hole in the dirt.”

LaShaun moved quickly to pull him away from
Dave. His muscular bulk made that task impossible. She didn’t even
succeed in moving Chase an inch. “Those are just words. Don’t let
him push your buttons.”

“More proof you’re not the man to take over
the sheriff’s office, Broussard. Hot-headed and too willing to make
the wrong choices. Your fiancée has been involved in weird killings
since she got back to town. You think the voters will look past her
and just see your smiling face? That slick campaign talk won’t
work.” Dave’s voice held the edge of more insults he could have
said, but held back.

“You slimy son-of-a...”

“Chase!” M.J. shouted.

Dave sprang back. He swung a fist that gave
Chase a glancing blow. Chase called Dave a couple of colorful
names. Two male voices grew animated. LaShaun turned to see them
pointing. One raised a hand, no doubt to record video. LaShaun used
all of her force to push Chase in the opposite direction away from
Dave. The older man huffed and puffed in rage, but didn’t try to
follow.

“You chose one helluva time to pick a beef,
Dave,” M.J. said in a voice tight with anger. She kept her voice
low. Then she spun around to face the two deputies who had observed
the action with amusement. They lost their grins under her hot
scrutiny. “Get those damn reporters far away from here. You two,
keep looking, and Dave will help,” she barked at the remaining men.
They nodded and went back to work.

Dave opened his mouth to object, but when
M.J. glared at him he backed up. He cleared his throat then
strutted off with a take charge attitude. “Keep sweeping the area
guys. Not likely we’ll find anything useful, but we need to be
thorough.”

“Lord,” M.J. said. She rolled her eyes as she
watched him.

Chase took a deep breath and let it out
slowly. “I’m okay. I’m okay.”

“You’re supposed to respectfully disagree,
not beat the crap out of each other,” LaShaun said.

“He had that coming, and more. Dave’s been
dropping slick little remarks for weeks around the station. I’m
sick of him and his phony ass Mr. Church-Going Good Guy act.” Chase
seemed to be getting worked up again.

M.J. marched over to them. “Great, just damn
freakin’ perfect. Two senior Vermilion Parish deputies who also
happen to be running for sheriff get into a brawl, and with
reporters sitting ringside.”

“Yeah, right. Sorry.” Chase’s scowl in Dave’s
direction implied he had no regrets.

“Go talk to the girl and her parents. Try to
remember we’re working a case, not having a bar fight,” M.J.
growled at him.

“Okay.” Chase glanced briefly at LaShaun and
then left.

LaShaun turned to M.J. when he was a few
yards away. “Any chance those reporters didn’t see what
happened?”

“No such luck. I want to shove this job off
on Chase as soon as possible. I’d appreciate if he didn’t screw up
my plans by losing the election,” M.J. said firmly.

“You’re preaching to the choir, so give him
this lecture, Madame Sheriff,” LaShaun replied with a shrug.

She stared ahead. About a third of a mile
through a stand of trees, the Saucier family stood near a circle of
sheriff department cruisers. Dave draped a blanket around Becky.
LaShaun tried tuning out the activity around her, to use her extra
senses as a sort of feeler. But the adrenalin and tension from
everyone was like static that drowned out the psychic signals.

M.J. looked around as if making sure they had
privacy. Even so, she pulled LaShaun farther from the scene. “Have
you noticed anything... different about Chase lately?”

“What do you mean?” LaShaun continued to
focus on the teenager who’d caused the frenzied search.

“He’s got a hair trigger these days around
the station. I thought he was going to slap that Graham kid when we
questioned him a few days ago. He gave the father a tongue lashing
that had the man shaking in his shoes.” M.J. shook her head. “I’ve
never seen him act like that before.”

LaShaun forgot about the Saucier girl and
focused on M.J. instead. “Chase has always taken his job
seriously.”

“Yeah, he has. But Chase is typically the
good cop in the old ‘good cop - bad cop’ routine. Hell, I’ll be
glad when this election is over.” M.J. observed her deputies while
tapping a fist against her thigh.

“You hit the target; M.J. Chase is under more
stress than he wants to let on with this campaign. And he’s been
working long days lately,” LaShaun said.

“The last couple of months have been brutal.
Greg and his little crew having a party that turned bloody just
about capped it,” M.J. said and grunted.

“Yeah,” LaShaun replied with a grimace.

“So far, we haven’t found any of the usual
signs they’re experimenting with Satanism or witchcraft.” M.J.
crossed her arms. “I’m lighting candles at mass that Vermilion
Parish gets back to everyday old crime. You know, common stuff like
guys cutting each other up over a woman or drug dealing,” she
quipped.

LaShaun raised an eyebrow at her friend. “I
hope you’re not implying that I brought some bad mojo with me when
I moved back home.”

“Of course not,” M.J. said promptly. Then she
gave LaShaun a sideways grin. “But you gotta admit...”

“Here we go,” LaShaun sputtered. “The
Rousselle family legend lives on, huh? I’m not inspiring these
folks to act crazy.”

M.J. turned somber again. “And Manny Young is
trying to get out of prison. He’s almost as much trouble locked up
as he was out killing folks. The fun times just keep rolling.”

“Hey, boss lady. We found a few things you
wanna take a look at,” Deputy Ricard shouted from a distance. She
waved her super-sized flashlight as a guide.

“On my way. Whoa, where you think you goin’?
This is an official investigation. Bye.” M.J. pointed the way for
LaShaun.

“But maybe I could help...”

“Look, I appreciate the offer. But we can’t
give any defense lawyer reasons to say we tampered with evidence,
if anything comes of Becky’s little trip. Dave isn’t going to let
it drop that Chase brought you along. And those reporters will have
a great time bringing up your past adventures.” M.J. held up both
palms when LaShaun started to speak. “I’ll have one of my guys take
you home.”

LaShaun studied the determined expression on
M.J.’s smooth brown face. Standing five feet eight inches in her
socks, M.J. cut a formidable figure. She looked more than able to
handle trouble, even if her uniform accentuated her female curves.
M.J. Arceneaux took her job just as seriously as Chase.

“I promise to get in Chase’s truck and stay
there. Just let me know what you find.” LaShaun nodded to M.J.

“No way,” M.J. shot back.

“Okay. Wait a minute. Make a big show of
ordering me out of the way.”

“Huh?” M.J. raised both eyebrows and then a
smile tugged her full lips up. “Might make Becky and her folks more
talkative if they think we’re putting you in your place.”

“LaShaun winked at her. Then she affected a
scowl and raised her voice. “Fine, stumble around this case on your
own! Just don’t come begging me for help later.”

“I can promise you that won’t happen,
LaShaun. You need to leave the crime scene,” M.J. replied just as
loudly.

LaShaun strode off wearing a stony expression
without looking left or right. She passed a few feet from where the
Saucier family stood with Chase. When she went by, Mike Saucier
shushed the giggling Becky.

For two hours, LaShaun sat patiently waiting.
Finally Chase joined her. He got in the truck, slammed the door,
and started the engine. They drove along for ten minutes. Unlike
his usual habit, he didn’t turn on the radio or CD player.
Listening to Cajun, blues and Zydeco music seemed part of his
routine to help him sort through facts. LaShaun had watched him tap
his fingers to a tune while mulling over case reports many times.
Instead he wore a frown and stared straight-ahead at the road. The
dotted yellow painted squares that divided the two-lane highway
whizzed by.