Chapter 7 #2
“You’re a glutton for punishment, frogman.” She looked at him through narrowed eyes. “And I don’t need your pity.”
“Not pity,” he said. “I figure a woman the mafia wants shouldn’t be making house calls alone. It’s all purely practical and part of my job.” He lifted his chin toward the cottage. “Who lives here?”
Lissette’s eyes glistened suspiciously. She glanced down at the package and instructions, avoiding his gaze.
“Mrs. Miriam Sage is diabetic and doesn’t get out often.
My grandmother brings her insulin and poultices for sores that won’t heal.
I’m supposed to apply the poultice if she’ll let me.
We could’ve come by road, but it’s faster by boat. ”
Lissette squared her shoulders and knocked on the door.
After a long pause, the door opened to a diminutive woman who could have been eighty or one hundred years old, with rheumy blue eyes and an extensive map of well-earned wrinkles across her face.
“Can I help you?” she asked in a shaky voice.
“Mrs. Sage,” Lissette said, “Madame Gautier sent me with your insulin and a poultice.”
She leaned to the side to peer around Lissette. “Where’s Madame Gautier?” When she spotted Xavier, she frowned. “You’re not her.”
“No, ma’am,” Xavier said with a smile. “I’m not. Xavier Xanders at your service.”
Her attention returned to Lissette. “And who are you?”
“I’m Madame Gautier’s granddaughter,” Lissette answered.
“Of course you are,” the old woman said. “Come in. What did you say your name was, my dear?”
“Lissette,” she answered.
“Such a pretty name for a pretty girl.” She shuffled over to a lounge chair, eased into it and bent over to remove her sock.
“It seems to be getting better. Whatever she put in that goo she applied is doing the trick.” She smiled up at Lissette.
“What was your name, again?” Mrs. Sage’s brow creased.
“I forget more than I remember these days.”
“Lissette,” she repeated as she followed the woman across the floor and knelt in front of her chair. She pulled the jar of “goo” from the package and set it on the floor beside her, along with a pair of rubber gloves, which she quickly pulled on.
“Which granddaughter was the one who spent time in prison?” Mrs. Sage asked as she raised her foot.
“That would be Lissette,” Xavier offered.
“Such a pretty name,” Mrs. Sage said. “And what a shame that she got all caught up in mafia ugliness after everything she went through with her father and mother deserting the poor thing.”
Lissette pulled on the gloves, focusing on the task at hand. She removed the bandages and old poultices, then opened the jar her grandmother had packed.
“She was a pretty little girl with a long back braid and eyes so dark I could see my reflection in them.” Mrs. Sage looked into Lissette’s eyes.
Xavier thought for sure the old woman would make the connection in that moment.
“She had eyes much like yours,” Mrs. Sage said. “So deep and sad. It made me want to hug her until all the bad memories faded.” Her brow wrinkled. “Did you know her then?”
Lissette nodded, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “Yes, ma’am.” Without looking up, she applied the poultice and then wrapped the sores in fresh bandages.
Mrs. Sage reached out a bony hand and cupped Lissette’s cheek. “She was such a pretty girl with a pretty name. Much like you.” Her brow wrinkled again. “What did you say your name was?”
Lissette pushed herself to her feet. “Do you need help with your insulin?”
“No, sweetie. You can put the insulin in the refrigerator with the other bottle and save me a trip. I have a timer set for each hour I need to take a shot.”
“Madame Gautier also wanted me to give you some soup she made,” Lissette said, pulling a glass jar out of the package. “I can heat it up, if you like.”
“Thank you, dear,” Mrs. Sage said with a smile. “I’m old, but I can nuke my soup in the microwave. Easy peasy.” She leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. “Right now, I’d rather close my eyes and take a little nap.”
“You do that,” Lissette said. She found a light blanket folded over the back of a chair and laid it over the woman’s lap. “Sleep well,” she whispered softly.
They tiptoed out of the cottage, closing the door quietly behind them.
“You didn’t tell her about the reliquaries and the hurricane,” Xavier pointed out as they walked down the dock.
“I doubt she’d remember. I’ll just have to come back and check on her every day until after the reliquaries are found and the hurricane passes.
” She paused on the dock to look back at the cottage.
“She was just as nice back then as she is now. And she did hug me, making me believe for that moment that all the bad memories would go away.”
“Did they?” Xavier asked.
“While she hugged me.” Lissette turned and climbed into the boat. “But then, not all hugs are forever like bad memories.”
Xavier climbed into the boat. “Where to now?”
“Back to the marina and then to the shop. It’ll be dark before long. I want to check in on Johnny at the Mamba Wamba.”
They made the rest of the trip back to the marina in silence. Once they secured the skiff and gathered the basket containing the remaining house call packages, they walked along the dock to the parking lot.
Xavier held the passenger door to his pickup open for her to climb aboard. “Are you going to make any more house calls this evening?”
“I am,” she said with a grimace. “I need to get to the rest of the people on the list, let them know what happened at the cemetery and warn them about the hurricane heading our way. You don’t have to go with me.”
“I’m going with you.” When she started to say something, he held up his hand. “It’s nonnegotiable—at least for the next six days.”
“You’re going to get tired of doors slamming in your face.”
“I have thick skin,” he said. “Do you?”
Her pretty lips pressed into a line. “Yes, for as long as I can remember.”
He bet she did. “How did you get involved with the mafia?”
“I was so determined to make it on my own and rely on no one; I even refused my grandmother’s help.” She shrugged. “Both the Cajun mafia and the New Orleans mafia offered easy money and a place where I felt I belonged. After all, I was my mother’s child. Even she couldn’t stand me.”
Xavier heard the resentment in her words.
He closed the door and rounded the front of the truck to slide into the driver’s seat.
He paused with his hand on the starter. “No judgment, and you can tell me to go fuck myself, but I have one question for you, if you choose to answer.” He glanced her way and waited for her response
Her brow twisted, and one corner of her lip lifted. “After you’ve followed me around all day and witnessed my sterling reputation with everyone we met today, I suppose you deserve to ask something.” She lifted her chin. “Go ahead. Hit me with your best shot.”
He met and held her gaze. “Back then, when it happened, did you want Shelby Taylor dead?”