A Darker Shade of Midnight (17 page)

“Are you rushing me out of here because of my welfare, or do you have another reason?” Savannah craned her neck to look over LaShaun’s shoulder to the window.

“What are you talking about?” LaShaun tensed.

“I’m talking about that good looking deputy. This isn’t the time for romantic interludes on the bayou.” Savannah shook a finger close to LaShaun’s nose.

“I agree completely,” LaShaun said. “And if he shows up I’m going to send him packing. Girl Scout’s honor.”
 

“You were never a Girl Scout. You told us scary stores until we refused to go camping in the woods, drove the troop leaders nuts.” Savannah gave a short laugh. She picked up her purse, but still didn’t move to leave. “You’re right about Paul. He’s sent me three text messages in the last hour. Now remember what I said.”
   

“About what?” LaShaun tried not to let her impatience show through.

“Hazelton has a shaky case, so don’t stay up all night worrying.”

“I’m not going to be thinking about the DA tonight, trust me.” LaShaun resisted the urge to shove Savannah to the front door. She walked behind her giving token answers to Savannah’s talk about their next move and doing more investigation.

“Wait a minute. I don’t think you should be out here by yourself,” Savannah stood in the open front door. She looked around at the rural setting, and the dark night.

“I’ve got strong locks and a big shotgun in a closet. Drive carefully.” LaShaun gently pushed her forward onto the porch.

“Okay. Anyway I have a feeling Deputy Broussard is not far away.” Savannah winked at LaShaun. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” LaShaun repeated. She watched as Savannah got into her Buick Enclave and drove off. “I hope she’s wrong about Chase being around here.”

When the red taillights disappeared, LaShaun spun around and ran down the hallway. Then she remembered the front door was still open. She went back to secure it then went to her grandmother’s bedroom. The old diary lay open on the dresser. LaShaun picked it up slowly, holding her breath for a long minute before exhaling. Chase could arrest a human killer, and with his strong arms could overpower a physical opponent. Savannah could use her intelligence and skill to defend LaShaun in a court of law. But LaShaun had to face this unearthly threat on her own.

The pages no longer had a faded aged appearance in the soft yellow light coming from the table lamps in the room. Strangely, the ink looked fresh as though the words had been written only days or hours before instead of generations ago. LaShaun felt compelled to rush to the woods, but the words of her ancestors told her to wait. LaShaun looked up from the pages and sighed. She put the diary aside and picked up another one. The wind outside picked up until it made a sharp whistling sound. She went to the window that faced the woods. The blue light still curled around the trunk of a giant live oak, an invitation. No, more like a challenge. LaShaun cleared the antique table. She found a lace runner and three white candles in brass holders on it. LaShaun brought out the large ornate Bible she’d found in Monmon Odette’s antique armoire. It had passed from hand to hand since 1902, and used on formal family occasions.
 
Holding Monmon Odette’s treasured rosary beads, she got on her knees before the flicker candles and began to pray. Windows rattled in the old house. The longer the prayed the louder the wind moaned outside. Creaks and snaps crackled as the wooden frame of her grandmother’s large Creole-styled home resisted the pressure of a strange force.
 

“Enough.” LaShaun stood.
 

All noise ceased, like the quiet after a tempest. Yet, LaShaun knew very well that she was still in a hurricane. This peace was only the eye of the storm passing over. More was to come. She looked out into the night. A full smoky yellow moon stood above the trees.
 
LaShaun left the bedroom and went down the hall past the kitchen and out of the back door.
 

“I knew you’d come.”
 

The throaty whisper gave her chills, but LaShaun didn’t answer in words. Instead, she crossed the boundary of light and entered a darkness that seemed to beckon. The blue light danced crazily in the distance, a clearing she knew well. When she got to the edge of the trees shadows seemed to move around her. LaShaun fought the urge to run.
 

“You’d just pull me back, wouldn’t you?” LaShaun said to the air around her.
 

The reply was snapping of branches that sounded like a dozen insane gremlins giggling. She gasped when a pressure in the middle of her back forced her forward two steps. Monmon Odette’s words came to her clearly.

“Cher, you must go on your own. Be bold.”
 

This was advice she’d given to LaShaun as a child while taught to practice the old religion their ancestors brought from Saint-Domingue. LaShaun nodded as though her grandmother stood next to her. She clutched Monmon Odette’s rosary, and shook herself like a prizefighter about to enter the ring. Then she walked straight for the family cemetery. A faint shape, no more than a translucent outline, stood next to the oldest headstone.

“In the name of the most powerful one and only God, I pray that this doorway be slammed shut on the wicked ones who bring destruction to us.”

 
LaShaun spoke calmly in spite of the way her heart hammered. The shape seemed to cock its head to one side. Then raucous laughter bounced from tree trunk to tree trunk about her.
 
She fingered the gold cross over her heart. Laughter turned to a guttural growl that filled her ears. Pressure pushed her until she dropped to her knees and went forward into a crouch. Obscenities slapped her from all sides, and her legs pried apart by something hard and hot. Fighting the terror that tore through her, LaShaun started to pray. Invisible fingers pulled at the crotch of her jeans, and roughly caressed her breasts, but she continued to pray. Warmth flowed down her chin. She realized her nose was bleeding. Panic made her tremble violently, and she dropped the cross. More laughter assaulted her as a gust of wind blew dust in her eyes. The darkness thickened until she felt smothered. Moonlight lit the ground as leaves parted in the wind. LaShaun clawed through earth and grass for the glitter of gold until she found it. She prayed, screaming the words of faith. Hours passed, but gradually like a balloon losing air the tumult died away.

 
Exhausted, LaShaun panicked for few moments when she couldn’t muster the strength to get up. Somehow, she managed to half crawl out of the woods toward the circle of brightness around the house. After a few steps, her legs gave out and she curled into a ball on the ground. She lay on the grass physically drained, but free of the evil spirit that wanted to control of her mind and body.

She lost track of time, but finally got to her feet and staggered into the house.
 

When she pushed through the back door her great-great grandmother’s clock chimed the fourth hour of April twenty-fourth. The time and date Odette Marie Hypolite Rousselle was born, the seventh daughter of a seventh daughter.

Chapter 12

At the arraignment the small courtroom was packed. LaShaun’s family split along the two rows of benches. Her uncles and a handful of cousins sat behind LaShaun and Savannah at the defense desk. Aunt Leah sat with a boisterous contingent of relatives who showed up to give her support. Reporters were scattered throughout the crowd on both sides of the courtroom. LaShaun looked back, surprised to see Azalei seated between Aunt Leah and a scowling woman, one of Aunt Leah’s best friends. Azalei looked less dazed, but still did not seem interested in what was going on around her. Aunt Leah gave LaShaun a fierce glare. Shaken by the poison in her dark eyes, LaShaun looked away just as the Judge Alsace Trahan strode in.
 

“You see. She can’t even look us in the eye. She knows what she’s done, and I’m going to see she pays for it,” Aunt Leah said.
 

Murmurs of agreement rose around her like a cloud of buzzing insects. The relatives sitting on LaShaun’s side of the gallery tossed out a few comments in response. The click of cameras responded as well so the reporters could catch the reactions on both sides.

Judge Trahan stopped flipping through the pages in front of him, picked up the gavel, and banged it. The sound brought everyone to attention. “Let me make this clear, I won’t put up with outbursts or a lot of noise. I can and will clear everybody out of here if necessary.” He looked around. “As for you reporters, no snapping pictures once proceedings begin. This is a preliminary hearing, not a reality show. I won’t repeat myself.
 
Proceed Mr. Hazelton.”

“Your honor, the state has provided the court with evidence that Ms. Rousselle had an on-going, bitter and even sometimes violent feud with the victims in this case. We have pictures of one such fight, and the police reports detailing a disturbance involving the defendant and the victims. Ms. Rousselle attacked one or both of the victims on both occasions. The cause of the animosity was quite familiar, money. The victims had strong reason to believe that the defendant had taken advantage of their ailing grandmother so she could take control of a valuable estate. The defendant has a questionable alibi for the projected time of these crimes.” Hazelton wore a solemn expression as he approached the bench. “Not to mention she has a history of being involved in another murder trial–”

“Objection.” Savannah shot from her chair. “Mr. Hazelton knows very well that those charges were never brought, and my client was only questioned. He is attempting to create a hostile and prejudicial climate for my client.”

“Sustained.” Judge Trahan’s thick dark brown eyebrows bunched together as he looked at the DA. “You know better. Don’t bring that other matter up again.”

“Yes, your honor. I only intended to establish the reckless nature and tendency toward violence of this defendant. We think there is more than enough evidence to support going forward with a trial.” Hazelton sat down. His assistant seated next to him nodded as though she thought the decision was clear.

“Ms. Honoré.” Judge Trahan nodded to Savannah.

She stood, smoothed down the front of her dark gray suit jacket, and then walked a few steps forward. “Your honor, the defense does not intend to dispute the facts of the family conflict between Ms. Rousselle and the victims. What Mr. Hazleton didn’t mention was that Mrs. Odette Rousselle had created a revocable trust that effectively transferred all of the assets to my client immediately upon her death. So, my client didn’t have a financial motive to harm the victims. She owns the properties and monies in the estate outright. In addition, I can call witnesses who will say that the victims struck out at my client for that very reason. Most importantly, there is no physical evidence linking my client to the crime. Even the surviving victim has not once accused her. We also have information that because of their lifestyles and questionable associates, both victims could have been attacked for reasons that have nothing to do with the estate of the late Mrs. Rousselle. In short, this is a hurried case thrown together based on old gossip and incomplete police work.” Savannah sat down.

“I see you both have witness testimony,” Judge Trahan rumbled.
 

“Yes,” Savannah replied quickly with a confident nod.

“Yes, sir.” Hazelton stood.

“You first, Mr. Hazleton.”

“I call Mrs. Leah Shropshire to the stand,” the DA said.

Aunt Leah patted Azalei on the shoulder, whispered something to her other daughter then marched forward. Hazelton opened the short wooden door of the bar separating the lawyers from the gallery. She managed to give Savannah a contemptuous glare as she walked by. Aunt Leah sat down after being sworn in.

“Mrs. Shropshire, were you present to see the animosity between your daughter, Ms. Rita Rousselle and the defendant?”

“I certainly was, like most of my family. The ones that have the decency to be honest.” Aunt Leah glared at her brothers.

“Just stick to what you know ma’am,” Judge Trahan said. He shot a warning look at the spectators and the rising murmurs died away.

“Yes, sir. I was present when LaShaun went after her own cousins like a crazy person. She tried to choke the life out of poor Rita. My daughter showed me the pictures so she can’t deny it.” Aunt Leah turned her furious gaze on Savannah. “

 
“That’s all. Thank you.” Hazelton sat down.

“Mrs. Shropshire, has your daughter been able to tell you what happened?” Savannah stood, but didn’t walk toward the witness stand.

Aunt Leah squinted at Savannah. “Of course not. She’s too traumatized, not to mention your client tried to cut off her tongue completely. Thank God she wasn’t successful, but not because LaShaun didn’t try. But the doctors say she’ll heal and with speech therapy...”
 

“Your honor, please instruct the witness to answer the questions only,” Savannah said calmly as though she didn’t notice Aunt Leah’s belligerence.

“Mrs. Shropshire, you can’t make accusations. Stick to a subject at hand.” Judge Trahan gazed at Aunt Leah.

“Fine,” she snapped. “No, Azalei hasn’t been able to talk.”

“Has she mentioned my client at all in connection to what happened to her, or to the other victim?” Savannah pressed.