Robin Caroll - Bayou Justice

“No, he wasn’t, but that doesn’t mean he deserved to be shot.”

“I understand that. And I’m sorry because I know it puts something else between you and Luc.”

“That’s over anyway. This doesn’t change anything.”

“Are you sure about that?”

CoCo nodded, pressing her lips together.

“I’m not so certain. Luc still stares at you like that.”

The smile she forced cost her more pain in her heart than she’d ever imagined it would after all this time. “It’s been over for two years. You know that.”

“If you say so. I just see the way he looks at you. Like a man in love.”

CoCo snorted. “You’re imagining things, Tara.” No, no…she couldn’t let hope rise in her chest. He’d betrayed her, the pain he’d inflicted left a scar across her heart that would never totally heal.

Her sister stood. “I don’t think so. Hey, it’s your life, not mine.” Her words were sharp, but delivered with a soft tone.

“Did you want to talk about anything else?”

Tara shook her head. “I just wanted to check on you. I know it’s been a rough day”

Now here was the little sister she remembered. She flashed an authentic smile. “I’ll be okay, Boo. I appreciate you asking.”

“Okay. I’ll see you in the morning.” Her sister turned and walked soundlessly to the door.

“Tara?”

“Yeah?” She glanced over her shoulder.

“I love you.”

A smile spread across her sister’s face. “I love you, too.”

With the door closed, the room sank into darkness once more. CoCo glanced at the clock—12:59. Lovely. Today had already disappeared, and tomorrow didn’t look too promising. She scrunched back under the cotton sheet, flipping to her side. Maybe she had touched Tara with her witnessing. Could it be?

A screech owl hooted right outside her bedroom. Once, twice. CoCo bolted upright, her heart racing. Old habits dying hard and all that jazz. She slipped out of bed and crossed to the window, pushing back the sheer curtains. An owl perched on the magnolia tree branch just outside. It seemed to stare right at CoCo, before hooting twice more. The moon danced in the sky, catching the stars and washing them in more light, as if they weren’t brilliant enough.

Her door swung open. Tara trembled. “Did you hear it? There’s gonna be another death.”

CoCo let her hand fall from the curtain and moved to her sister. “That’s superstition.”

“The picture fell off the wall, then you found Mr. Beau. Don’t you see? It’s not superstition. You, of all people, should know the power of the gris-gris.”

She wrapped her arm around her sister’s shoulders. “Tara, that picture falling off the wall had nothing to do with Mr. Beau getting shot. Come on, it just isn’t logical.”

Tara stepped out of her embrace. “You’re wrong, CoCo. You can tout Christ all you want, and say how black magic and voodoo are wrong, but the spirits are angry and you can’t deny their intervention in life.”

How could she explain? Lord, give me the words. She took a deep breath. “Tara, I’ve never said there weren’t bad spirits—I can’t believe in God and not believe in Satan. Doing any kind of voodoo or spells and such is against God’s teachings. It’s against His will.”

“So this god of yours doesn’t want us to defend ourselves? I’m sorry, I don’t buy that.” Tara shook her head. “You know the teachings—the old ways tie us into the spirit of nature, to allow us to defend ourselves against the bad spirits. If your god is so powerful, why does he allow the spirits to torment us?”

Just what she’d been asking God about earlier. “Tara, God is love. He created nature, so of course, we’re in tune to all His creations.”

Tara hurried to the door. “I don’t want to hear anymore. It’s all lies. Voodoo works. It’s proven, and I know in my heart it’s true.”

“Wait,” CoCo cried and took a step forward, but Tara rushed from the room and shut the door firmly behind her. It wasn’t worth another argument. Besides, she couldn’t explain to Tara what she couldn’t figure out herself.

She got back in bed, scowling at the clock. The neon numbers blinked 1:41, mocking her inability to sleep. CoCo shoved the clock, knocking it off the nightstand. It thundered to the floor with a loud thump.

Luc sat in his four-wheel drive, staring at his great-uncle’s house. No lights blazed, not even a welcoming one burned on the front porch. Maybe he should wait until later to break the news to Uncle Justin. Luc reached for the keys still hanging in the ignition, then stopped himself. The press would be all over the story in the morning. His grandfather had been a respected pillar of the community, having served as a state representative for two terms. No, he couldn’t let his uncle hear about this on the morning newscasts.

This evening had been a nightmare, one laced with memories—hard memories, painful memories. He shook his head. No, he couldn’t compare the two. He refused. This time was different. Last time, it’d been an accident—this time, it was murder.

Father God, please forgive my human instincts that scream out for revenge. I pray Your justice be served, for Grandfather and all of us.

He opened the door and stepped onto the dirt driveway. His stride slowed, dread weighing down his legs. Before his foot hit the first stair, lights blazed in the windows and the front porch lit up like the bayou during a parish-wide cochon de lait. He could almost smell the pig roasting over an open pit.

The front door whipped open with a creak and his burly uncle stood there, shotgun raised. “Who’s there?”

“It’s Luc, Uncle Justin.”

“Luc? What’re ya doing here this time of night?” He lowered the gun and squinted in the dark. His thinning hair stuck up at odd angles, its streaks of white sparkling under the harsh porch light.

“I have some bad news. Can I come inside?”

“Of course. Come on in.” Justin moved his big bulk out of the doorway, letting Luc pass.

Luc moved into the small living room and dropped to the couch. It always amazed him that his grandfather gave his uncle so much money, yet Justin never seemed to spend a dime of it. At least, not on his house or its furnishings.

Running his hand over his hair, Luc struggled to find the gentlest words available. He must have a limited thesaurus of the brain as nothing came to mind. “Uncle Justin, I don’t know how to say this…”

“Just spit it out, boy.” His uncle leaned the shotgun against the wall before taking a seat in the recliner across from the couch. The leather popped against his weight.

“Grandfather was found dead in the bayou tonight.”

“No!” Justin’s face paled under the bright lights.

“I’m sorry.” He let out a long sigh. Maybe he should have let Bubba Theriot do the notifying—it was his job, after all. No. This was his family, his responsibility.

“Not again!” His uncle’s face turned red as a lobster and his big hands shook when he ran a hand over his haphazard hair. “What happened?”

“Someone shot Grandfather in the back.”

“Shot!” His uncle leapt up, no small feat considering the man’s large girth. “Who?”

Luc shook his head. “We don’t know yet.”

“Beau was just here today.”

Jerking up his head, Luc stared at his uncle. “When?”

“Today.” Justin lifted a shoulder. “’Bout early afternoon, I s’pose.”

“What’d he come by for?”

“To tell me about evicting the LeBlancs.”

“Oh.” Luc lowered his head. Suspicion always circled back to link to CoCo and her family. “Yeah, he told me about that.”

“You’re still sweet on that oldest gal, aren’t ya?”