Voodoo Summer (LeGarde Mysteries Book 11) Read online

  “But, Sig? If he is her father, why would he hit her in the eye?”

  Siegfried looked at me as if I were a younger sibling. “Sometimes parents do bad things to their children.”

  “Especially if they aren’t their official kids?” I asked. “Because nobody would dare speak aloud about this, would they? They’d go on pretending the brave Marine was her father.”

  “I’ll bet Mrs. LaFontaine knows,” he said quietly. “And I’ll bet she was not too happy about it.” He paused. “And it makes me wonder how many more children there might be at the camp or back at the estate who have the same color eyes.”

  “True.” I combed my fingers back and forth in the sand. “Maybe he treats Willy badly because she reminds him of what he might have done with her mother.”

  “And maybe that is why Monique and Pierre treat Willy so badly. They are mad at their father. They hate Willy because of what she stands for. Nobody could ignore the similarity with the eyes for long, especially if they lived in the family.”

  I lay back on the sand and laced my fingers behind my head. “What a mess.”

  “Ja.” He sighed long and low. “Poor, poor Willy.”

  “Do you think Elsbeth will find out more from her?”

  “Probably. She is very good at that.”

  “Should we tell her what we saw last night? The voodoo ceremony, and all that?”

  He shook his head. “Let’s wait a little bit on that. She is very upset. Telling her we watched her do that strange thing might humiliate her.”

  “Oh, gosh. I didn’t even think of that.”

  “Think of what?” a voice said above me. The sun was blocked and I saw Willy’s pretty face looking down at us. That is, if you ignored the shiner.

  “Oh! Hi, girls.” I sat up and smiled at them, hoping they hadn’t overheard our serious conversation.

  Elsbeth plopped down on the sand beside me, pulling Willy after her. “Willy says we can see the ball tonight. She has a secret hiding place we can watch from.”

  I worried about the timetable. “When does it start?”

  Willy gave me the first genuine smile of the day. “It’s late, starts at nine tonight. You’ll have to sneak out of your cabins.”

  A thrill pounded in my chest. I’d done the sneaking out thing a few times in my past, not that I was especially proud of it. The first summer, we’d gotten up at two o’clock in the morning to follow William to the cultivated blueberry farm down the road from Loon Harbor. He’d taught us how to steal. And I’d never gotten over the guilt of that. Never ‘fessed up. Never told a soul. And as good as those warm, plump berries tasted, I had to admit, my thievery still bothered me.

  The second time I’d left in the middle of the night without permission had been last summer, when a ghostly Indian girl named Penni had called to me from beyond to save my friend, Mr. Tully, from falling through the rotten boards in his abandoned family home. That time I’d been okay with my stunt, because I’d saved his life.

  But sneaking out to watch some people dance around in fancy gowns?

  I glanced at Elsbeth’s starry eyes and knew in an instant she’d go with or without me. “Okay,” I said. “Let’s do it.”

  ***

  After we dropped Willy back at the cove, agreeing to meet at eleven PM, I lowered the throttle and turned to Elsbeth. “What did you two talk about over there, anyway?”

  Elsbeth shot me a mischievous smile. “Nothing much.”

  “Did you tell her about last night?”

  She shook her dark curls. “Not yet.”

  I pressed on. “Did she tell you who gave her the black eye?”

  She hesitated, and then clamped her lips shut.

  “You mean she did?”

  She looked away. “I promised not to tell.”

  Siegfried glanced back at us over his shoulder, but he really wasn’t interested. He seemed distracted. And heck, we both already knew who’d given Willy the shiner.

  “If I guess right, can you nod your head? That’s not exactly telling, is it?”

  She thought about it for a minute. “Only if you promise you won’t tell your parents or grandparents. Nobody can know, or her whole family will be turned out onto the street. They will starve, Gus.” She shot me a steely glance.

  “Okay. Well, my guess is Mr. LaFontaine hit Willy in the eye.”

  Elsbeth paled. “Oh mein Gott. How did you know?”

  I slumped onto the seat, not feeling good at all about guessing correctly. “Because he wasn’t surprised when he saw her with the black eye today. He just ignored it. And that’s the kind of thing you react to the minute you see it. You know, like Monique did. Like we all did.”

  “I see.” She put a finger in the air. “Very clever.”

  “Did she say why he did it?”

  This time she lowered her eyes. “Ja.”

  “Do you want to tell me?” I pushed.

  “Nein. I cannot. This part you can’t guess, you cannot ask me about it, okay?” Her pleading eyes filled with tears.

  I had a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. “That bad, huh?”

  She nodded and gulped. “Worse, Gus. Much worse.”

  I accepted her request. “Okay. No more questions. But if you think she’s in danger—I mean real danger—you might have to tell. Do you understand?”

  “Uh huh.” She slid her legs back over the seat to face away from me.

  Although she agreed, something told me she didn’t understand, not one bit.

  Chapter 15

  That night I hugged my parents and went to bed early to read my Hardy Boys book. Shadow lay on my bed, snoring. The soft water lapped beneath my floorboards.

  I read until nine, and then turned out my light. At nine-thirty, I heard my parents shut off all the cabin lights and retire to their own room. If everything went as usual, they’d be asleep by ten at the latest.

  I’d only have to wait for another hour to slip out and join the twins and Willy.

  Time dragged.

  The night air was cool, drifting into my room with a dampness that only can be found in Maine. An owl hooted nearby, persistent and sounding very lonely, not wise.

  Maybe it’s a baby owl. Just a kid. And he doesn’t know anything. Like me.

  The thoughts that plagued me were dark and disturbing. First of all, knowing that a guy like Mr. LaFontaine may have taken advantage of Willy’s poor young mother when their family had worked for the LaFontaines for centuries just about killed me.

  It was like this was happening back before the Civil War, when slave owners treated their slave women like possessions.

  I’d heard about it. I’d read a little about the mulatto children that had been born and raised on the plantations side by side with their white sisters and brothers. Beaten. Treated like dirt. And made to take whatever they were given because they had no choice.

  But didn’t colored folks have choices now? Martin Luther King said so. He said he had a dream. And that dream was a colorblind America.

  Weren’t we there yet?

  Or maybe they were behind the times down in the Bayou, or wherever their estate was located. It was in the South, after all, where habits and attitudes were ingrained in years of historical craziness. Maybe they passed down these behaviors from father to son. Now, in 1966, we were just celebrating one hundred and three years of freedom for slaves.

  Wasn’t a hundred and three years enough to banish such awful behaviors? How many generations would have gone before Mr. LaFontaine since January 1st, 1863? Three? Four? Hadn’t they even listened to Mr. Abe Lincoln or heard about the Emancipation Proclamation?

  I sighed deeply and tried to stop my troubled thoughts from dragging me down further. Tonight I had to concentrate, to protect Elsbeth from discovery, and to try to make sure her giggles of delight weren’t heard by anyone at The Seven Whistles.

  I imagined us hiding in some cupboard. The door whooshed open. Mr. LaFontaine was there, furious. He immediately called our
parents. My grandparents answered the phone.

  I couldn’t let that happen.

  The twins’ parents would never forgive me for dragging their children out after dark without permission, and the potential look of shock and disappointment on my own folks’ faces made me cringe when I imagined it.

  No. I’d have to be careful. Really careful.

  I used my flashlight to check my watch for the millionth time. Finally, eleven o’clock ticked over on my wristwatch and I slowly slipped out of bed.

  I raised the screen on my window that led to the porch, quickly sliding one leg through, ducking outside, and closing the window almost shut. Shadow didn’t even wake up.

  I heard a “Psst!” from beyond the porch and peered through the crisscrossed porch railings to see Elsbeth’s and Siegfried’s faces. “Come on, Gus,” she hissed.

  I hopped to the ground, flicked on my flashlight, and led the way over the trail to the cove. Just before we emerged, I shut off my flashlight and we stood quietly waiting for Willy’s signal.

  There it was. A low hoot. Three, then two, then three calls.

  “That’s her!” Elsbeth said in a whispered rush. “Come on.”

  We found Willy on the other side of the cove, waiting in the dark woods.

  “Over here,” she whispered.

  We scurried to her side and followed her silently through the woods, past her cabin, and up the hill.

  Bright lights shone from the main building and music—I swore I heard violins—drifted into the night. A few people stood smoking on the porch, dressed in evening gowns and tuxedos. But they seemed engrossed in their own world, sipping their martinis and laughing with carefree abandon. They didn’t even glance at us as Willy brought us inside through the cellar door.

  She put a finger to her lips. “Be really quiet, mes amis.” She led the way up a narrow staircase that opened into the back of the kitchen. Men in white coats and chef hats scurried back and forth across the room, shouting orders and beckoning waiters who wore black ties and vests.

  We slid around the corner and up another staircase to the second floor, which featured a balcony that overlooked the main ballroom. The scent of women’s perfumes mixed and filtered through the air, rising to meet us.

  “Here we go,” Willy said. In the light, her swollen eye looked even worse than it had in the morning. It was still sealed shut, and the bruise had bright yellow edges.

  She edged along the wall, motioning us to follow her. At the top of the balcony that ran the whole length of the second floor, a giant table stood with Maine artists’ works displayed on it. A long, black tablecloth draped to the ground. Woodcarvings, ceramic paintings, stuffed furry animals, and hand-carved flutes lay artfully displayed on the table with fancy calligraphy cards explaining each treasure.

  “Under here,” Willy said. “No one will see us.”

  The four of us slid into the cavernous space, completely hidden, yet able to lie on our stomachs to peer through the slit between the tablecloth and the floor. Willy lay between Elsbeth and Siegfried, and I settled in next to Elsbeth.

  Below us the dancers flowed in colorful whirls. Couples wound around in the center of the dance floor, and over fifty tables hugged the walls, set up with fancy white tablecloths and glass containers filled with lit candles. Waiters darted around the edges, delivering drinks and food on trays. I smelled bacon-wrapped scallops and nearly died with longing for such exotic treats.

  The string quartet was set up on a small stage at one end of the room next to a glossy black piano. As each piece was announced by none other than Mr. LaFontaine himself—between pithy commentaries on the wonders of the area—the crowd clapped and cheered. They rushed back to the dance floor with satin dresses swishing and toes tapping on the wooden floor.

  The variety of colors seemed almost too beautiful to be real. Dresses in creamy coral, cool turquoise, bright purple, dazzling white, petal-yellow, blood red crimson, and sparkling silver adorned the women. These certainly didn’t seem like the type of customers we’d had over the years at Loon Harbor. Then again, we’d never offered a fancy dress ball, either.

  Elsbeth and Willy giggled softly and talked about every dancer, every handsome young man, and the jewelry they saw glittering from necklines and fingers. Siegfried and I just watched.

  “And now,” Mr. LaFontaine announced just before eleven-thirty. “I’d like to introduce you to my beautiful daughter, Monique.” With a flourish, he motioned to a side door where a spotlight trained on the dark opening.

  “Monique will judge the waltz contest. The lucky winner will be given a free week at our beautiful establishment next summer, including manicures, massages, pottery lessons, and more. It’s a whole package, folks, worth over five hundred dollars.”

  There should have been a drum roll, the way he was setting her up for her grand entrance.

  Monique appeared in the light with a frozen smile. With a cobalt blue gown twinkling with rhinestones on the neckline and skirt, she preened a little, patting her hair, then pranced gracefully up to the stage, taking the mic from her father. “Thank you, Daddy.” She gave him a token hug, then shooed him away. “Well, shall we get started? Maestro?”

  I thought the maestro comment was a bit of overkill, since there wasn’t a conductor. But the crowd loved it and surged onto the dance floor to the sounds of a Strauss waltz. They streamed and flowed in brilliant circles, all smiles and laughter.

  We watched and waited, and I swear Willy and Elsbeth held their breath.

  When it was over, Monique returned to the stage, replete with good will and smiles. “Oh, that was just lovely! I could have sworn we were in a fancy ballroom in Baton Rouge with the most elite citizens from our native town.” She twirled a little, smiling at the couples who now thronged around her. “Thank you for a glorious exhibition. It was difficult to choose, but I’ve made my final decision. Mr. and Mrs. Arnold Trudeau,” she grinned. “You are our winners!”

  The elderly couple approached the stage, clearly in shock. From my limited vantage point, they hadn’t looked very adept at the dance and had sort of awkwardly cantered around the room in each other’s arms.

  I figured this had to be rigged. They’d been chosen up front because they could spread the word to their rich pals back home, because of connections, or something like that. It had to be, because there had been a dozen more capable dancers streaming below us.

  Amidst groans of disappointment and encouraging cheers of congratulations, the elderly couple tottered on stage and accepted their trophy from Monique. She gave them air kisses on both sides of their faces, and then watched them return to their seats.

  “Now,” she commanded when everyone had quieted again. “Who’s going to dance with me?”

  Seven young men surged to the stage, waving their hands. She selected one, strutted down to the floor, and began to float across the room to the swelling sounds of The Blue Danube waltz.

  Chapter 16

  We arrived back at camp after midnight and I tumbled into bed fully clothed. My mother woke me at seven, tut-tutting over the fact that I’d not woken up by myself like I normally did.

  “Honey? What’s wrong with you? Are you sick?” She laid the back of her hand against my forehead.

  I drew up the covers up to hide the fact that I still wore my clothes from the night before. “I’m fine, Mum. Just didn’t sleep too well, that’s all.”

  “Oh, sweetie. Why not?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “Well, that is not like you, son.” She studied me. “You don’t look well. Shall I tell Gramps you’re not going to make it this morning?”

  I sighed. As tired as I was, I couldn't let him down. “No, Mum. I’m getting up.”

  Her expression melted. “Oh, sweetie. You’re such a good boy.”

  There it was again, that misinterpretation of my goodness. I used to be a good boy, I thought. Not any more.

  I slogged through the breakfast shift with bleary ey
es. After the three of us finished our kitchen chores, the twins begged off to take a nap. I understood, but didn’t think I could sleep. Instead, I headed for the swing my grandfather had made for me years ago at the top of the hill, suspended from one huge limb that stretched between two gargantuan pine trees.

  At thirteen, I was a little embarrassed to have my friends see me take a swing ride. But I loved it so much; I screwed up my courage and pushed the thoughts aside. Anyway, they were already halfway down the hill and would be unlikely to see me.

  I sat on the smooth wooden plank and wrapped my fingers around the fibrous rope. With a noteworthy push backwards, I started pumping hard. In seconds the cool morning air whistled past my ears and ruffled my hair. Overhead, the blue sky was filled with puffy clouds just visible through the tops of the trees. I felt like I was actually flying and the swooping feelings in my chest were electrifying.

  I’d been swinging for about twenty minutes when the local Sheriff’s car rolled past the camp, continuing on in the direction of The Seven Whistles. I watched it bumping over the road until it disappeared.

  Mildly curious, I figured maybe they were doing a follow up on that guy who’d been looking in Mrs. Marggrander’s window. We’d never heard anything about it and I wondered if they had any new clues.

  With a final sigh, I let myself fly off the swing at the highest point, completely airborne for a few glorious seconds. I landed on the sandy ground, wobbled, almost fell, but pulled myself up at the last minute with a whoop, pumping both hands in the air. Just like Superman.

  Nervously, I twisted around to make sure nobody had seen me.

  The coast was clear.

  A minute later, I spotted William coming out of the icehouse with a block of ice balanced on a burlap bag on his shoulder.

  He flagged me down. “Hey, squirt.”

  “Hi, William.” I tagged along beside him. “How’re you doing?”

  He grimaced. “Been working like a dog this week. I haven’t even had time to go fishing.”

  “Oh, that’s rotten. I love fishing. Wanna go some time?”