Chapter 2 #2
As she climbed the steps, Napoleon faded back into the shadows to continue his mission of island surveillance and security.
A warm light shone through the window, casting a warm, yellow glow onto the porch.
Madame Gautier, Voodoo Queen of Bayou Mambaloa, grandmother to Lissette Gautier, had waited up to make sure her granddaughter had made it home.
Lissette wished it was because the old woman still loved her wayward granddaughter, but the truth was that she’d waited up because she was responsible for her young granddaughter’s whereabouts, since she was out of prison on parole—a trial period, if she was willing to accept it.
“You shouldn’t have waited up, Mémère,” Lissette called out as she pushed through the screen door into the home she’d done her best to escape as a teen and young adult.
“Ah, mon cher, I would’ve waited up even if you did no have a curfew.
I can no help but to worry.” Her grand-mère rose from the floral overstuffed sofa, hobbled crossed the wood floor and cupped Lissette’s cheek with her strong, capable hand.
“Je t'aime. Always.” Her lips curled on her dark mocha face.
“Sometimes I do not like you, but always dere is da love.”
Lissette leaned her cheek into her grandmother’s palm. “I love you, too, Mémère, though I haven’t always shown it. I appreciate that you’ve stood by me throughout, with a few slaps on the wrist when I needed them. I only wish I had stayed closer to you instead of falling in with the wrong crowd.”
“De past is behind,” Grand-mère’s forehead creased. She raised her hand and brushed aside the hair on Lissett’s forehead. “What is dis?”
“Nothing,” Lissette said.
Her grandmother tsked her tongue. “Dis is no nothing. Were you in a fight? You know you can no cause da trouble.”
Lissette caught her grandmother’s hand in hers. “I didn’t cause trouble.” She released the hand and sighed.
Her grandmother’s lips tightened, and she stared into her granddaughter’s eyes for a long, hard moment.
Then she nodded, as if she believed her granddaughter.
She took Lissette’s hand in hers. “Come. Let me tend to your injury, and you can tell dis ol’ woman what be happenin’ to de daughter of my blood. ”
She led Lissette to the small table in the kitchen and then pushed her onto one of the chairs.
There, she sat facing the old refrigerator with the calendar secured with magnets, a constant reminder of the dates she was to present herself to her parole officer.
“You should be the one sitting, Mémère.”
“I sprained my ankle. It’s no broken.” While the old woman gathered what she needed and fussed over the cut on her forehead, Lissette told her what had happened.
“And the worst part is that they got away with my bag.”
Grand-mère covered the small gash on her forehead with a bandage and leaned back, planting her fists on her hips. “And what be so important in your bag dat makes it worth dying for?”
Lissette hesitated. This was the part she hadn’t wanted to tell.
“Come, girl,” the old woman cocked an eyebrow, “you can no keep secrets. Not from me. You say you want to be accepted by da people of Bayou Mambaloa. You can no do dat from prison.”
“Yeah, I get that.” Lissette pushed her hair back, frustrated, tired and bruised.
“But I’ve been here a couple of months, and I’m still getting angry looks and cursed at from people I’ve never hurt.
A woman walked into the shop today, took one look at me, scowled and then turned and left muttering something about letting murderers out of jail.
” She shook her head. “I didn’t kill anyone. ” Thank the goddess.
“No, but you tried to kill one of our beloved peacekeepers.”
“I don’t expect Shelby will ever forgive me for that,” Lissette said. “But the others...”
“Time heals most wounds.”
“Yeah, well, I thought if I did something to help not only our family, but the community as well, they might come around sooner.”
The old woman’s brow furrowed. “What help you plannin’ to do?”
Lissette squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. “Mémère,” she leaned forward, “Many of the tombs have been broken into. Reliquaries have been stolen.”
Her grandmother shook her head. “Da Gautier tomb is secure. Our family reliquary is as secure today as da day our ancestor, Séraphine Gautier, was buried dere. She is da one who created da reliquary to ward off bad juju. Each generation since has added to da reliquary spells to ward off da evil.” Her voice hardened. “Each generation except one.”
“My mother. She didn’t believe.” Lissette sighed, knowing the story from when her grandmother had told her many years before. “Grand-mère, the reliquary is not where it should be.”
“And you know dis how?” Grand-mère scowled.
“When I’d heard that some of the tombs and shrines in the cemetery had been vandalized, I went to see the truth. So many of the tombs have been desecrated, including ours.”
“It was locked,” her grandmother said.
Lissette pulled the hasp from her pocket and held it up. “They cut the padlock.
The old woman shook her head. “Who would do such a t’ing?”
“I don’t know,” Lissette said. “Whoever it is has taken things from each. I only want to return those items to the families they belong to.”
Grand-mère pressed a hand to her chest. “Dis vandal took our reliquary?”
“Yes,” Lissette said quietly. “I got the reliquary back.”
Her grandmother’s eyes widened. “Intact?”
Lissette shook her head. “Empty.”
“Show me,” the old woman demanded.
“I can’t.” She raised her hands, palms up. “It was in my bag.”
The Voodoo queen’s eyes narrowed. “Da one da attackers spirited away?”
“Yes.” Lissette’s anger and frustration spiked at the memory of the two men taking her and the bag.
If not for Xavier Xander, she’d have been taken away.
If they hadn’t killed her, they would most likely have made her break her geographic confinement and violate her forbidden associations list. One of the men who’d tried to take her had been Ron Cormier, a slimy bastard of a man with deep connections in the New Orleans mafia Lissette had been entangled in prior to her year in prison.
She’d begun to believe the year in prison had given her a reset. A chance to change her life, to vanquish her connections with the bad influences she’d fallen in with so easily.
Getting out of Bayou Mambaloa had given her the distance from those people.
Yet, here she was, back at her grandmother’s house, this time required by law to stay in the town where she’d lost herself.
A year ago, Lissette would have fought the tether. Now, she chafed but accepted. Better to be here than in some depressing halfway house in Baton Rouge.
Then again, she was back in the very place she’d gone so far astray. Maybe she’d have been better off going to Baton Rouge where she knew no one and could truly start over.
Though her old habits and attitudes died hard, she’d come back with the determination to give back to the people she’d taken advantage of. One of whom was her grandmother. Regret stung at the pit of her belly. The woman had done her best to help Lissette after her mother had abandoned her.
“If da reliquary was taken, how did you find it?” her grandmother asked, eyes narrowing.
Lissette swallowed hard. “I asked around.”
“Asked who?”
“People.”
“Good people or bad people?” her grandmother asked, her tone tight.
“People I knew from before,” Lissette answered softly. “Nub LeJeune. He salvages. He located the reliquary and brought it to me.”
“Lissette, Lissette, mon cher.” Grand-mère drew in a deep breath, held it, and let it out slowly. “You can no be anywhere near dose folk. Your officer of the parole told you dat if you were seen with dem, your parole could be revoked.”
“Don’t you think I know that?” Lissette flung her hands in the air and paced the room. “Without access to them, how else can I find the items and return them to their rightful owners?”
Her grandmother stepped in front of Lissette’s pacing. “You let da law handle it.”
With a defiant lift of her chin, Lissette stared down into her grandmother’s eyes. “And how is that going now?”
The mocha-skinned woman stared hard into Lissette’s eyes, her stance and aura making her appear taller and more intimidating. “It does no matter,” she said. “You go to da sheriff’s office in da morning and tell dem of da attack.”
An image of the woman Lissette had tried to kill rose in her mind.
Shelby Taylor would have no use for her.
She doubted her husband, Remy, would allow Lissette anywhere near his precious wife.
Not that Lissette blamed him. What she’d done had been inexcusable.
She knew that and wished she’d never fallen so easily for mafia propaganda and brainwashing, believing the money she could make through illegal means justified the actions.
She’d needed money to get the hell out of the bayou, away from the life she’d seen only as a dead end.
Well, she’d gotten out of Bayou Mambaloa, but not in the manner she’d expected.
She’d gone in the back of a police vehicle, straight to prison. If not for the plea bargain to give information about the mafia, she would have spent more than a year there.
Go to the sheriff now? To Deputy Taylor? She’d probably spit in her eye or worse...report Lissette to her parole officer.
Lissette shook her head. “I can’t go to the sheriff. I won’t.”
Grand-mère’s lips tightened into a formidable line. “Do or do not hand it over to da law. But as da one who mus’ account for you, I forbid you to continue associatin’ with da swamp rats who got you in da mess dat is your life now.”
Anger surged up her neck and burned into her cheeks at her grandmother’s edict. In the past, Lissette would have told the old woman exactly what she thought of her bossing around. “How else am I supposed to find the stolen items?”