Under the Cajun Moon Page 13

  Outside the car, I noticed a trio of attractive young women coming up the sidewalk toward Travis. They were obviously tourists, wearing Mardi Gras beads, weaving a bit, and drinking from bright green plastic cups.

  “I might have a few ideas,” I replied. “It’s kind of complicated.”

  “Well, listen, if I can be of help in any way…”

  I watched as the girls caught sight of Travis and paused to talk to him. They were obviously drunk and ready to have a good time. That he smiled and chatted with them in return was a bit disconcerting, though I couldn’t say why.

  “You’ve already been more help than you know, Wade.”

  “Well, listen, you keep my number close at hand, okay? Let me be the first one you call if you get into any more trouble.”

  “Will do.”

  “I’m glad to help you out in any way I can. Your daddy and I go way back, you know, before you were born.” Much to my dismay, he launched into a long drawn-out tale about how his father died when he was fifteen, and my father and Alphonse sort of took him under their wing after that. “My family lived on a little houseboat just a few miles up from Paradise, and though I was a lot younger than them, I used to join up with their whole group to go out in the woods sometimes. They were like big brothers to me, especially your daddy. I was a young man angry at the world about losing my father. Julian had a temper too, you know, but he handled his better than I did mine. I tried to learn from that.”

  I didn’t comment, but my head filled with a thousand tirades, echoes of my father’s temper. If he handled it well, that was news to me. As far as I knew, he had never struck anyone physically, but he could whip a person to death verbally. I had seen grown men wither and fade under a Julian Ledet tongue lashing, sometimes for crimes so absurdly unimportant that I couldn’t believe they had even been mentioned, much less yelled about.

  “Anyhoo,” Wade continued, “it was your daddy who helped me get out of the swamps altogether. We was so poor, you know, really hard up. After your pop opened his restaurant in New Orleans, he helped me find a room to rent near the Quarter and gave me a job at Ledet’s.” Wade chuckled. “I didn’t have no skills and I couldn’t do nothing right. But instead of firing me, your daddy helped me figure out what I really wanted to do with my life and then go for it. Even after I made it through police academy and was working the force, whenever money was tight I could always call up your dad for help and he’d throw odd jobs my way, give me a little extra work on the side. He’s a real stand-up guy, that man. I’m sorry he’s not doing so well now. If I can pay back just a little of his kindness by helping out his daughter, I’m more than happy to do so.”

  I thanked him again and finally managed to conclude the call. My mother had always thought of Wade Henkins as a crude and crass backwoodsman. He had a few rough edges, but his heart was obviously in the right place. I was just glad to know I had an insider on my side.

  Glancing out at Travis, I could see that he was in no hurry to embark on our next errand. Though I was eager to get to Sam’s apartment, I decided to take another minute or two and read the “Recipe for Success” all the way through.

  It was getting dark outside, so I turned on the cab’s dome light and began reading:

  Recipe for Success

  By Julian Ledet

  There is a place of great repast,

  Where promises and friendships last.

  Where patrons dine on meals of kings,

  And Quarter boys can live their dreams.

  Yet not alone do I succeed,

  But with your help in word and deed.

  And so I give you at this time

  Security inside a rhyme.

  Here in the City Care Forgot

  We’ll make a gumbo in a pot.

  So grab your spices from the shelf.

  We start with Chef Ledet himself.

  In gumbo, always make a roux,

  4T oil heated through.

  Then add 5T flour, white,

  Stirred over heat till the color’s right.

  For the one who loves chou and chouchou,

  I couldn’t have done it without you,

  I add to the roux your trinity,

  First learned in your vicinity.

  For the Bürgermeister, a man of means,

  Who learned to fight in old Orleans,

  I add some andouille sliced fine as can be

  ’Cause you Allemands love your boucherie.

  For king of the Sunday breakdown raids,

  Whose ancestors brought seeds in their braids,

  Professor of juré extraordinaire,

  I add fresh okra into the pot there.

  Next comes the stock to fill up the pot,

  Seasoned with mirepoix, heated till hot.

  For my hoghead friend I shall not scrimp,

  As I add to the gumbo a helping of shrimp.

  And finally for he who has always been there,

  Son of a traiture, kind and fair.

  We grind up filé to add at the end,

  Then the dish is finished and ready for friends.

  For all who dare make this recipe,

  There is one secret you’ll not get from me:

  The measure of how much each item to add.

  Unless you know that, the recipe’s bad.

  Divided among those named in this poem,

  I give each a quantity that’s theirs alone.

  Together they come to solve this rhyme,

  The treasure they only together can find.

  But if all else fails, I will tell you this:

  North and West you may search for things gone amiss.

  ’Tween hill and dale and dock and dune,

  It’s out there, under the Cajun moon.

  I was dumbfounded.

  It suddenly struck me that in all our conversation last night, Kevin had never once said where the statuettes were now, just that they had long ago been put away for safekeeping. Through all these years of fruitless research and angry infighting, where had the two men safely stashed the statuettes? I had a feeling this poem was the key, a sort of treasure map—or a treasure puzzle, really—one that led to the millions of dollars’ worth of gold my father and Alphonse Naquin had been fighting over for decades.

  Outside, Travis was pointing toward something up the street and still talking to the girls. If this was the kind of person he was, I was glad he and I would part ways soon. He had been a huge help with the reporters at the courthouse, and his work with the taped message had gotten me this far, but once we finished going through Sam’s apartment to see if we could figure out where he might be, I was going to thank Travis for his help and gladly retrieve my own vehicle from the parking garage up the street. I needed to get to the hospital as soon as possible, anyway.

  Tucking the poem back into the tote bag, I hid it under the seat and hoped it would be safe there for just a little while. Fortunately, the girls were walking away by the time I got out of the car.

  “Bye, sugar!” one of them called back to Travis, giggling. “Thanks for your help!”

  He smiled and waved, but as soon as they were out of earshot he turned to me and said, “I don’t know what these young girls are thinking, going around like that, half dressed and completely hammered. That’s what Grandmere Minette calls ‘trouble waiting to happen.’”

  “You didn’t seem to mind when trouble came calling,” I said sharply, turning to head up the street toward the entrance to Sam’s apartment. As he fell into step with me, I added, “You weren’t exactly turning them away.”

  “They were looking for Pat O’Brian’s, and I was trying to explain where it was. But they were so drunk, I had to repeat myself about five times. Mais non, I can’t stand drunks, not the ones who think they’re so charming and funny when they’re really just sloppy and irritating.”

  We continued up Toulouse toward the archway that would lead to the alley that ran behind Ledet’s and Sam’s apartment.

  “I thought
Cajuns were big drinkers,” I said. “Do you mean to tell me you don’t toss back a few out there in the swamps when you and your buddies are fishing?”

  Travis was silent for a long moment as we walked in step down the dark sidewalk. It took a moment for me to realize that he had stopped walking and was standing still behind me. I paused, turning toward him.

  “What is it?”

  “And there she is, the Chloe Ledet I remember,” he said, slowly shaking his head from side to side. “I thought maybe you had changed, but now I see you haven’t, not at all.”

  “Excuse me?” I asked, stepping toward him.

  “You’re still the snobby, judgmental, rigid little bon á rien you always were. Cajuns are all drunks? Mais non!”

  “Bon á rein?” I asked. If the man was going to call me names, at least I wanted to know what those names were.

  “‘Good for nothing,’” he translated. “Nothing but judging others with broad stereotypes that do not apply.”

  “Okay, I’m sorry, you’re right. That was a stereotype. But don’t pretend to know who I am just from one careless remark.”

  “One careless remark? Pooyie! You have got to be kidding.”

  It was my turn to be silent for a moment.

  “Do you have a problem with me?” I asked finally, lowering my voice and taking a step back.

  “Same problem I always had, cher. For a girl who’s supposed to know all about good manners, you seem to forget the most important rule of all.”

  “And what’s that?” I asked stiffly, thinking that he was treading on dangerous ground here. No one impugned the knowledge and etiquette of Chloe Ledet. I wrote the book on good manners. I was the queen of rules.

  “You can know all the etiquette in the world, cher, but if you use it to make a person feel small, then I hate to tell you, that’s not good manners. Not at all. That’s just ugly.”

  With that, he started walking again. I stood and watched him go and then ran to catch up with him, grabbing the hem of his shirt to get his attention.

  “Is that what you think I do? Make other people feel small? I’ve got news for you, Travis. I make my living teaching people to respect other cultures, other ways of life. I teach entire seminars based on the principle of respect!”

  “Yeah, I’ve heard about those seminars,” he replied, stopping again. “Seems to me like you can say all you want about other cultures in other countries, but when it comes to the cultures right here in your own backyard, Chloe, you haven’t got a clue.”

  We simply stared at one another there on the street. There was too much going on in my life right now to be having this argument, an argument I didn’t even understand. Suddenly, I had the feeling his anger wasn’t coming just from today but from something in the past, maybe from our long-ago date, the one I couldn’t quite remember.

  “Did something happen when we were teenagers, Travis? Did I do something wrong?”

  He surprised me by laughing.

  “You talking about our one big date? The one that went down in flames, so to speak?”

  “I don’t remember much about it. What did I do? Obviously, I hurt you in some way.”

  He grunted, shaking his head from side to side.

  “Hurt me? Cher, you eviscerated me. Took me five years of admiring you from afar before I finally got the nerve to ask you out. I thought you were the nicest, most beautiful, most intelligent girl I had ever known. You were coming home from your fancy boarding school for the summer, and I had a job running deliveries for a seafood supplier, so I knew I’d be in town a lot. It was my last summer before college, and I had this vision that you and I would fall in love and share that whole summer together. I asked you out as soon as you got home. Tol’ you I wanted to take you to dinner and a show.”

  “I remember that much. We ate at the Camellia Grill and went to the movies.”

  “Yeah, well, guess I should’ve made it Antoine’s and the Saengar Theatre, because nothing less would have been good enough for you. My grandmere raised me right. I had sense enough to hold doors open for you and know what fork to use with my salad. But you found fault in everything, Chloe, every single little thing I did. I started out that night feeling so sure and confident of myself, but by the end of the evening you had me questioning everything I ever knew about myself and my family and where I had come from and where I was going. It was just one night, but I cannot begin to describe the impact it had on me. Long-term impact. After that, I made some stupid decisions, trying to be somebody I wasn’t, trying to ‘better’ myself. Trying to get things so right that no one else would ever look at me and decide I wasn’t good enough again. Problem was, I nearly sold my soul in the process. Thank the good Lord I finally came to my senses and made my way back home to Louisiana where I belonged.”

  I was stunned by Travis’ speech, stunned that a night I could hardly recall had etched itself into his memory like engraving on steel. If what he said was true, if I had indeed spent the evening looking down my nose at him and making him feel small, then I was very sorry about that, and I told him so now.

  “I was not a happy person back then, Travis. Whatever went on between us, I can guarantee you the only one on that date I hated was myself, not you. If I was acting like a snob and clinging to a bunch of silly rules, its only because that’s all I had to hang on to. Who was I if I wasn’t the wellbred product of the Windsor School for Girls, the rich daughter of the great Julian Ledet himself, the Ice Queen who didn’t need anyone else in her life because she could do just fine on her own? I’m terribly sorry that I hurt you, but it was only because I was lashing out from the stuff that was going on in my own life.”

  Travis took off his hat and ran a hand through his hair. After tonight, I might not ever see him again, but I wanted this to end well. I felt bad about what I had done all those years ago, and I hoped he believed me.

  “All right,” he said finally. “Apology accepted.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Who knows, Chloe. Maybe sometime when your daddy’s better and this whole mess is behind us, perhaps I can educate you a little bit about Cajun culture. My people spent a lot of years being forced to hide who they were. In my grandparents’ day, they weren’t even allowed to utter a single word of French in school—not even out in the schoolyard during recess—or they’d be beaten by the teacher. We had already been persecuted in the past, when our ancestors were kicked out of Nova Scotia and forced into the Grande Dérangement. That’s how so many Acadians came to live in Louisiana in the first place, because it was one of the few places in the world that didn’t turn them away. We’re proud of our heritage, proud it has endured for all these years and is finally thriving again. If you let me, I could introduce you to a whole world, one you would quickly come to see was a fine and beautiful thing, not one to be scorned and dismissed.”

  “I hear what you’re saying, Travis. And I think you’re right. I’ve been so focused on foreign cultures that I’ve managed to dismiss one of the ones that was here under my nose.”

  Travis showed just a hint of a smile, one dimple appearing on his cheek.

  “And a very pretty nose at that,” he said softly. “Aiyee, no wonder I was so crazy ’bout you back then.”

  I was taken aback at his sudden about-face.

  “You’re flirting with me? Two minutes ago you tell me I eviscerated you and now you’re flirting with me?”

  He laughed.

  “That’s a Cajun for you, cher. Lesson one. We lay it all out there, work through it, then make up and move on.”

  “Given the world I grew up in, that’s about the most foreign way of dealing with differences I’ve ever heard,” I said. I didn’t add that it actually sounded kind of refreshing, openly airing your issues instead of going on raging tirades, like my father, or silently swallowing them down where they could eat at you from the inside, like my mother. “For now, can we focus on the task at hand? We’re here to look for Sam, remember?”

  “Si tu
veux,” he replied with a wink, and then we were walking again. I didn’t speak Cajun French, but I knew regular French enough to understand many of his expressions. Si tu veux was simply a way of saying, If you want or As you wish.

  Soon we reached the archway that led to the courtyard and the alley that ran behind Ledet’s. We stepped inside and went down the walkway and then up the stairs that brought us to Sam’s kitchen door. There didn’t seem to be any lights on inside, but Travis knocked loudly anyway. When Sam didn’t come to the door after a second knock and another brief wait, I pulled out my key ring, flipped around to the old key, and slid it into the lock. For a moment I was afraid that perhaps Sam had changed locks in the last few years, but with one quick turn and a single click, the knob freely twisted in my hand.

  It was dark inside, so I moved forward and ran my hand along the wall to find the switch. When my fingers finally found it, I flipped it upward, knowing that the kitchen light was a fluorescent fixture that always took a few moments to come on. As it flickered to full power, Travis stepped inside behind me and shut the door. Something smelled bad in there, and I told him that we should probably take out the trash for Sam when we were ready to go.

  With a soft buzz overhead, the light sprung fully to life, and as it did Travis and I both froze in our steps. Though I gasped, I did not scream. In fact, I don’t think I could have screamed. I couldn’t even breathe. In the middle of the kitchen sat a single, hard wooden chair. On that chair was Sam.

  There was no question that he was dead.

  Worse than the fact that was he dead, though, was what he had obviously gone through before death. Someone evil had done this, someone who had been willing to beat him first. His poor body was bloody and battered, his hands and feet bound to the chair with duct tape.

  “Le travaille de diablo,” Travis whispered. The work of a devil.

  He was right about that.

  SEVENTEEN

  FRANCE, 1719

  JACQUES