Whispers of the Bayou (22 page)

“She’s precious, your daughter.”

“Thanks,” I replied, agreeing wholeheartedly.

I asked Lisa about her family and she told me about her husband, Junior, a mechanic who worked on an oil rig out in the Gulf of Mexico.

“It’s an odd life,” she said, “three weeks on, three weeks off. I miss him so bad when he’s gone, but after he’s been back for a week I’m ready to get rid of him again!”

We laughed. I thought about telling her about my own marriage woes but thought better of it. Between grieving for her uncle and trying to solve the mystery he’d left behind, she had enough problems already; surely she didn’t want to hear about mine.

“Junior won’t be back for another ten days,” Lisa added, glancing shyly at me, “so I was wondering if maybe I could stick around here till then to see if I can figure this whole thing out.”

“But how?” I asked miserably. “I don’t even know what step to take next.”

Lisa shrugged.

“I could talk to people, like I said, and maybe offer to help Deena by packing up Willy’s papers. There’s a chance he left something behind in some document or something that might clue us in.”

“It’s worth a try,” I mused, suddenly feeling quite hopeless. “You’re welcome to stay if you want.”

“Thanks. At least this way you can go back home and I’ll keep you posted from this end.”

I opened my mouth to tell her that I wasn’t leaving just yet when my daughter let out a bloodcurdling scream. Stunned, I looked up to see her frantically clawing at her legs, jumping back and forth as though they were on fire. In an instant I was on my feet and flying across the yard, praying to God she hadn’t been bitten by a rabid animal or a poisonous snake, ready to kill with my bare hands whatever it was that had dared to hurt my child.

Meanwhile had spread in the village the tidings of ill, and on all sides
Wandered, wailing, from house to house the women and children.

“I just don’t understand why you didn’t warn us,” I said angrily to Lisa as my child sat on Deena’s kitchen counter, whimpering. “I’m sorry. I thought everyone knew about fire ants,” Lisa replied. She was mixing a paste made of meat tenderizer, baking soda, and water while Deena searched the bathroom cabinets for Benadryl. I stroked Tess’s hair and spoke soothing words to her, trying not to wince at the welts that had raised up in about ten different places on her legs.

“I don’t like fire ants,” Tess said through pitiful tears. “They hurt, Mommy.”

“I know, baby,” I said, wishing I could take all the pain away.

I was just grateful that the cause of her screams had been ants and not something horrible or maiming or deadly. Lisa brought over the bowl of paste and made a game of dabbing it onto each welt, slowly teasing the pout from Tess’s lips. Deena emerged from the back moments later with a half bottle of Benadryl, which she handed to me.

“Thank you so much,” I told her. “She might need more again later, so if I can just keep the bottle, that would be great. I’ll pay you for it, of course.”

“What kind of person do you think I am?” Deena asked, but before I could answer she said, “You can subtract ten percent because it’s partially used.”

Not bothering to reply, I measured out a dose for Tess. She was just swallowing it down when there was a knock on the door.

“Come in!” Deena shouted, making the rest of us jump.

The door slowly opened and then Nathan’s sister peeked her head inside.

“Miranda?” she asked, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the light. “Oh my gosh, is this whole joint really yours? It
rocks!
”

My face burned with embarrassment as I invited her in and made the necessary introductions. Not only had Quinn’s greeting been inappropriate, but she had interrupted what was not one of my finest moments as a mother. At least Tess was instantly cheered at the sight of her aunt, the painful stings nearly forgotten in her excitement.

Though it was hard to think of my daughter leaving, I didn’t have much time to spare either, so after dispensing with the introductions, I quickly cleaned Tess up and got her ready to go. Outside, we put Tess’s suitcase and carry-on into Quinn’s little hatchback, and I resisted the urge to lecture my young sister-in-law about safe driving as she prepared to hit the road. What could I say about safety anyway, considering that I had allowed my own child to be stung so badly in the yard less than an hour ago? In the backseat, Tess had a glazed look in her eyes, and I realized that the Benadryl was kicking in and she would probably conk out very soon. I told Quinn as much, saying in a way it was good because Tess might sleep halfway to Houston.

For some reason, I got tears in my eyes as I told my daughter goodbye, which was strange considering that I frequently traveled for business and was used to our partings. I chalked it up to the emotion of the last few days. This hadn’t been an easy time for any of us, not at all.

I gave Quinn the bottle of Benadryl and the leftover paste in a paper cup and told her to call me immediately if the bites started to look worse or if she noticed any sort of allergic reaction in Tess, such as shortness of breath or a runny nose.

“No prob,” Quinn said, taking the proffered items and tucking them between two bags on the passenger seat. “I’ll keep an eye on her, but I’m sure she’ll be fine.”

Leaning into the backseat, I double-checked Tess’s seat belt, fixed the pillows around her so she could comfortably go to sleep, and then hugged and kissed her again, holding my emotions in check as we said goodbye. I stood and waved until they disappeared from sight around the bend of the driveway, and then a sob burst from my lungs once the car was out of sight. Standing there, I let myself cry, not even sure which of my current traumas I was crying about. Probably all of them. Finally, I wiped my face and took a few breaths, forcing myself to calm down.

As I turned back toward the house, I was suddenly overwhelmed with a feeling of apprehension. Though it would have been nice to have the house to myself, to fling it wide open and explore from top to bottom, to search out memories and feelings from my past without anyone else around to get in the way, a big part of me was glad that I wasn’t here alone. The two women who were currently serving as my housemates were also unwittingly my protection. As the preacher had said, though one may be overpowered, two can defend themselves—and a cord of three strands could not easily be broken.

Still, at the moment I didn’t want to have to make conversation or be with anyone else. When Lisa poked her head out the door to make sure that I was okay, I told her I thought I might take a little walk around the property and explore.

“Good idea. If we’re gone when you get back, we’re just down the road at the funeral home.”

“Okay.”

“Don’t go into any of the outbuildings. They have some structural damage. And for goodness’ sake, watch out for fire ants.”

“I will, thanks.”

Taking her advice, I started my walk by returning to the place where Tess had been stung to see what a fire ant pile really looked like and make sure I didn’t land on one myself. Glancing up at the sky as I went, I realized that clouds were moving in. Lisa had said it was supposed to rain
tonight, so maybe this was a good time to walk around anyway, before the grounds became muddy.

Behind the building Lisa had called the canning shed, it wasn’t hard to find the spot where my baby had been stung. Judging by the footprints, she had stepped squarely in the middle of the ant pile, a mound about eight inches high and maybe a foot across, made up of particles that resembled gray, uncooked cream of wheat. The mound was currently swarming with angry ants, and I took a step back, lest a few wanderers find their way to my legs. Nearby were the two sticks Tess had been holding when it happened, both lying where she had dropped them on the ground near the ant pile.

Something about one of those sticks caught my eye, and even though it had a few fire ants on it, I moved closer and leaned down to get a good look. With a shiver I realized why in today’s version of
The Lion King
Tess had decided to play Scar. Scar was the evil uncle who lived in a cave surrounded by the gnawed carcasses of animals. I sucked in a breath, understanding that this particular stick wasn’t a stick at all: It was a bone.

To the best of my limited knowledge, it was a human bone.

I ran to the house, resisting the urge to scream, but when I flung open the back door both women looked up at me with dismay, assuming that I, too, had been bitten by ants. By the time I explained what I had found and brought them back outside to see for themselves, neither one of them seemed to be exhibiting any sort of alarm or excitement.

“This is the country, Miranda,” Deena said, planting her feet widely in the green grass. “Animals die out here all the time. Doesn’t take long for the insects and other animals to pick the carcass clean.”

“In rural areas, finding a bone isn’t that unusual,” Lisa agreed.

“But this isn’t an animal bone,” I insisted. “I had a lot of anatomy and physiology in college, I studied the human body inside and out as a part of my art curriculum. I’m not a doctor, but I think I know a human bone when I see it.”

I glanced at Lisa, who was summarily unimpressed.

“You’re a nurse, Lisa,” I cried. “Don’t you agree that it’s human?”

“I have no idea,” Lisa said, shaking her head as Deena snorted derisively. “You’d probably have to ask an anthropologist or something.”

“Forget an anthropologist, I’m calling the police.”

Against their objections—and ignoring the roll of Deena’s eyes—I pulled out my cell phone and dialed nine one one. After giving the operator my location, she patched me through to the appropriate station. The man who took the call was as unexcited as Lisa and Deena had been, repeating their objections almost word for word.

“But I’m almost certain it’s a
human
bone,” I said, and then I proceeded to explain my educational background just to make him understand that I knew what I was talking about.

His answer to that surprised me.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, “it very well could be a human bone. That wouldn’t be all that unusual.”

“What do you mean?” I demanded, wanting to scream. Out of regard for the newly widowed Deena, I took a few steps away, lowered my voice, and hissed into the phone. “Don’t people in Louisiana use caskets to bury their dead? Or do they just toss the bodies out in the woods where the animals will pick ’em clean? What’s wrong with this picture?”

The line was silent for so long that I was afraid the man had hung up on me.

“Uh, ma’am,” he said finally, “maybe you don’t realize that Hurricane Katrina did a number on many of our graveyards. We’ve had cemetery ornaments and bodily remains and human bones popping up in all sorts of places. South of here, there were entire caskets floating down the street. Chances are, that’s some fellow’s shin bone that got blown out of one of the graves in town. Or, just as likely, it could be a piece from some old lady’s rib that rode the wind all the way here from Grand Isle or something. A hurricane is a mighty thing, ma’am, and Katrina was one of the worst we’ve had in a while.”

I took a deep breath, still irritated but also ashamed. I had no experience with anything remotely similar except for Hurricane Gloria, which hit the Northeast back in the ’80s. I had been nine years old at the time,
and all I could recall about it was the excitement of watching the wind whipping around the trees in Central Park.

“So you’re not going to send someone out about this?” I asked, feeling defeated and embarrassed.

“I can’t any time soon,” he replied. “Though if you’d like to bring the bone into the police station and drop it off, I’d be happy to get it to the coroner and have him take a look. He might have some thoughts on the subject. I guess it wouldn’t hurt for you to mark the place where it was found, just in case.”

“Fine. We’ll mark the spot and bring it in.”

I hung up the phone but didn’t have to explain the outcome to my two companions as they were still standing there and had heard most of the call.