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?”
Luc swallowed. “The sheriff is checking out the LeBlanc family.” He rose, the long hours of the day pressing against every muscle in his body. “I’m sure Bubba will be by to talk to you.”
“That cooyon? He couldn’t find his foot in the dark with a flashlight.”
“He’s the best we have.”
His uncle snuffled. “I just can’t believe this.”
“I know.” The emotions filled his throat. He gave a cough and locked stares with his uncle. “I can tell you this, Uncle Justin—whoever did this to Grandfather will be punished.”
“Even if it’s that gator gal?”
“Even her.” Luc opened the front door and strode toward his vehicle, not ready to discuss anything more about the possibility of CoCo’s involvement. Yet, the memory of her mixing herbs to make a potion still haunted him. Could she have, would she have put a curse on his grandfather? He shook his head. It didn’t matter, he didn’t believe in all that voodoo stuff anyway. God had always been at his side. Still, Grandfather being murdered…
He steered toward home, his heart already overburdened, and he still had to tell his mother and Felicia. Sometimes being the responsible one in the family just plain wore him out.
Ten minutes and two turns later, Luc parked in the driveway. He sat in the vehicle, in the dark, staring at the house before him. Pristine white columns lined the front of the veranda, much like Twelve Oaks in Gone With the Wind.
God, this is harder than I ever imagined. Yes, I was angrywith Grandfather, and I confess the anger to You and ask for Your forgiveness. I never wanted him to die. Murdered, at that.
Better to go ahead and get his duty over with so he could go to bed and end this awful day. Luc trod up the front steps, unlocked the door and then stepped quietly over the threshold.
His mother sat at the kitchen table, a glass snifter in her hand. “You’re out late, ma chère. Everything okay?”
“Not really.” He dragged himself to the wood table and pulled out a chair. He sat with all the heaviness of the burdens in his heart. “Grandfather’s dead.”
His mother’s eyes widened and her mouth formed an O, but no sound came out.
“Before you ask, we don’t know much. Someone shot him in the back and left his body in the bayou. That’s all I know for now. I’m meeting with the sheriff in the morning to learn more.”
“What will we do? How will we live? Can we stay in the house?” A hint of liquor steeped from her breath as she gasped in drama.
“I don’t know, Mom.” He pushed back the chair; it scraped against the tile floor. “I’m going to tell Felicia and then I’m hitting the sack. It’s been a really long day.”
Luc turned and ambled down the hall, not giving his mother time to voice her panicked concerns. In the past few months, her late-night nip of brandy had become a large glass. He’d have to deal with the drinking issue later, but right now he felt beyond tired.
The hallway walls boasted photographs of him and his sister at varying times in their lives. Birth, christenings, graduations…even his college diploma hung proudly against the white wall. So much of the past stuck here in the present.
Pausing outside Felicia’s bedroom, he rapped on her door with the backs of his knuckles.
“Yes?” his sister asked.
He pushed open the door a crack. “Hey, Boo. It’s me.”
“Luc. Come on in.” Using her elbows, she pushed herself into a semisitting position. The queen-size bed seemed to swallow her, with the lightweight blue comforter and big fluffy white pillows.
She looked even more frail and fragile in bed. He sat beside her. “Got some bad news.”
Her blue eyes blinked in the half-light. “Mom?”
“No, she’s fine.” He patted her hand. “She’s drinking, but that’s another story.”
“Then what?” His sister’s angelic face wrapped in worry.
“It’s Grandfather.”
“What’s he done now?”
“Nothing. They found his body in the bayou tonight.”
“Body?” Her eyes filled with tears, reminding Luc of the Caribbean ocean, so clear in comparison to the murky waters around Lagniappe.
“He’d been shot.”
“I don’t understand.” Tears squeezed from her eyes