sssarawolf
Has No Life - Lives on TB
Thank you.
Story Ava (Complete)
- Thread starter Kathy in FL
- Start date
Griz3752
Retired, practising Curmudgeon
So....this Cliff guy...he lives at your place? Nearby maybe?
I ask as a few of us want to have him over for a bit of festivity.
I mean, it's the Fourth right?
Bur seriously, ALL y'all have a great Fourth. There's issues but I see some hope too.
Thank you Kathy.
I ask as a few of us want to have him over for a bit of festivity.
I mean, it's the Fourth right?
Bur seriously, ALL y'all have a great Fourth. There's issues but I see some hope too.
Thank you Kathy.
Chapter 77 (part 1)
Trust me, I was feeling pretty numb at that point but you know me, sitting around doing nothing is not a talent I excel at. I wasn’t hungry exactly, but I knew I needed something to replace everything I’d upchucked. I also needed to clean my clothes and wash up. I’d carried a body that could have gangrene or some other nasty bacteria and then rolled another that was decaying and … er … juicy.
I knew that Yula Mae got her cleaning water from a cistern and her drinking water from a well that she boiled and then kept in glass jugs in the kitchen area. I decided clean came first and took my first bath in a long time. It was in a thing she called a hip bath … basically a mini aluminum tub/trough thing. I’m sure, given her size, she fit in it better than me but with no one around I wasn’t caring at all what I looked like. All I know is that it was big enough. By the time I was finished I almost felt human. I was also a couple pounds lighter and a few shades brighter.
The bath had slacked my thirst some but not so much I didn’t need a drink. I’d already gone through the supplies I’d brought with me and I didn’t think Yula Mae or Martin cared anymore about what was in the house and frankly even if they had I would have still worked a deal for some crapwork in exchange for food. What I’d just done was way on the other side of crapwork and justified the salvaging I was about to do. Yeah, I know that sounds callous and cold-blooded. Welcome to real life.
What I found in Yula Mae’s kitchen was weird, amazing, and unbelievable at the same time. It reminded me a bit of my grandparents’ kitchen but at the same time like something from a story book about witches and wise women who lived way back in the swamp. At first glance there was a bunch of stuff hanging from the open ceiling on nails driven into the rafters. String of onions. String of garlic. Herbs tied in bunches and strung upside down. A string bag of what was probably potatoes. There was also a string of very dry looking sausages and a couple of small hams.
Dropping my eyes from the ceiling I saw there were corn muffins in a stoneware crock, brown eggs sitting in a bowl, and root vegetables in what Auntie had explained was a piece of furniture called a pie keep. I’d eaten Yula Mae’s cooking plenty so was not afraid of what was there. The corn muffins were a little stale but still some of the best I’ve ever eaten. She blushed like a school girl the last time I told her that. And about that moment is when shock started wearing off and reality started setting in. And so did sorrow. I hadn’t know Yula Mae long but I’d liked her. I didn’t know whether to be grateful that she got through “dying” faster than Martin had or angry that she hadn’t gotten to experience any more of life whether in time or beyond the boundaries that her parents and those that had come after them had imposed on her. Had they protected her to death or allowed her to live the life most of those her kind of special never did?
I lost my appetite and wandered the small house wondering what to do. I’d never been inside beyond the kitchen and I had nothing else to do to keep the heebies from running around in my skull. She’d told me once that the boys slept up in the loft and the girls, few though there were, had slept downstairs in the 2nd bedroom. I found her bedroom easy enough as it was the one in regular use. The other room must have been the one her parents used. It was clean, tidy but obviously hadn’t seen use for years. There was rot in all the fabric from bed coverings to window coverings. There was only three pieces of furniture; the bed, a cane back chair that looked like a sneeze would make it fall apart, and something that must have acted as a chifforobe. I opened that last one up and was surprised to see a string of fresh hot peppers laying around a few books. Mr. Julius and Momma L swear by hot peppers to take care of mice and I thought it kinda weird. So apparently it is actually a thing. Who knew?
I took the small stack of books and a thin, cardboard expandable file that might have belonged to Yula Mae but since she couldn’t read or write they had to have belonged to someone else before her. And they did. Or some of them had.
~~~~~
Trust me, I was feeling pretty numb at that point but you know me, sitting around doing nothing is not a talent I excel at. I wasn’t hungry exactly, but I knew I needed something to replace everything I’d upchucked. I also needed to clean my clothes and wash up. I’d carried a body that could have gangrene or some other nasty bacteria and then rolled another that was decaying and … er … juicy.
I knew that Yula Mae got her cleaning water from a cistern and her drinking water from a well that she boiled and then kept in glass jugs in the kitchen area. I decided clean came first and took my first bath in a long time. It was in a thing she called a hip bath … basically a mini aluminum tub/trough thing. I’m sure, given her size, she fit in it better than me but with no one around I wasn’t caring at all what I looked like. All I know is that it was big enough. By the time I was finished I almost felt human. I was also a couple pounds lighter and a few shades brighter.
The bath had slacked my thirst some but not so much I didn’t need a drink. I’d already gone through the supplies I’d brought with me and I didn’t think Yula Mae or Martin cared anymore about what was in the house and frankly even if they had I would have still worked a deal for some crapwork in exchange for food. What I’d just done was way on the other side of crapwork and justified the salvaging I was about to do. Yeah, I know that sounds callous and cold-blooded. Welcome to real life.
What I found in Yula Mae’s kitchen was weird, amazing, and unbelievable at the same time. It reminded me a bit of my grandparents’ kitchen but at the same time like something from a story book about witches and wise women who lived way back in the swamp. At first glance there was a bunch of stuff hanging from the open ceiling on nails driven into the rafters. String of onions. String of garlic. Herbs tied in bunches and strung upside down. A string bag of what was probably potatoes. There was also a string of very dry looking sausages and a couple of small hams.
Dropping my eyes from the ceiling I saw there were corn muffins in a stoneware crock, brown eggs sitting in a bowl, and root vegetables in what Auntie had explained was a piece of furniture called a pie keep. I’d eaten Yula Mae’s cooking plenty so was not afraid of what was there. The corn muffins were a little stale but still some of the best I’ve ever eaten. She blushed like a school girl the last time I told her that. And about that moment is when shock started wearing off and reality started setting in. And so did sorrow. I hadn’t know Yula Mae long but I’d liked her. I didn’t know whether to be grateful that she got through “dying” faster than Martin had or angry that she hadn’t gotten to experience any more of life whether in time or beyond the boundaries that her parents and those that had come after them had imposed on her. Had they protected her to death or allowed her to live the life most of those her kind of special never did?
I lost my appetite and wandered the small house wondering what to do. I’d never been inside beyond the kitchen and I had nothing else to do to keep the heebies from running around in my skull. She’d told me once that the boys slept up in the loft and the girls, few though there were, had slept downstairs in the 2nd bedroom. I found her bedroom easy enough as it was the one in regular use. The other room must have been the one her parents used. It was clean, tidy but obviously hadn’t seen use for years. There was rot in all the fabric from bed coverings to window coverings. There was only three pieces of furniture; the bed, a cane back chair that looked like a sneeze would make it fall apart, and something that must have acted as a chifforobe. I opened that last one up and was surprised to see a string of fresh hot peppers laying around a few books. Mr. Julius and Momma L swear by hot peppers to take care of mice and I thought it kinda weird. So apparently it is actually a thing. Who knew?
I took the small stack of books and a thin, cardboard expandable file that might have belonged to Yula Mae but since she couldn’t read or write they had to have belonged to someone else before her. And they did. Or some of them had.
~~~~~
Chapter 77 (part 2)
Another year, another journal. Don’t know why I bother. No one cares. The man I married is dead. His son left quick enough when he found his father didn’t leave anything but debts. My child, lost to me so long ago, doesn’t know I exist and is herself showing signs of the family madness … wanting things she has no business wanting. She married a good man, or he was a good man when they married. I worry she’s bleeding the good out of him as I heard he’s been drinking. I should not have encouraged the marriage. I knew she didn’t love him. I could have stopped it. I didn’t. I gave up the right to have a say in her life when I let them convince me giving her up was what was best for her.
And here I am with the years passing and …
She went on that way at length. A lot of woe is me and how times were changing and she only wished they’d changed sooner and she might have led a different life. I was surprised, but not, to find out a couple of the books belonged to my Aunt Sylvee. I hope when people remark on me being like my Aunt Sylvee they aren’t referring to the fact that she was like this. Or maybe this was the part of herself she kept hidden. I don’t know, I just know I don’t want to live with all the regrets she seemed to have.
Another journal began quite differently.
I’ve asked Yula Mae to give these to Martin when she thinks he’s ready. I know that he believes a lot of the family nonsense, but I don’t know how much. I won’t risk allowing it to become a topic of conversation. I won’t encourage it. I could straighten him out but he’s not ready. He’ll run straight to Henley and I’m not having that. That boy reminds me too much of his father and the man was a wastrel despite the fact he adored my sister. Martin is more like a son to me than my stepson was. But he’s not ready for it. He’d wind up like my little girl who finally ran off and got what she wanted but was never happy with it.
My body aches like it did the first time the damn blood clots happened. But that was ten years ago. I’m older now and perhaps I won’t survive them this time around. I’m glad I chose Martin to take care of Yula Mae. I have a feeling … no, I know … I won’t be coming back here again. Even should I srvive, it is time to pass the torch.
Yula Mae will outlive us all, but only with help and some tender care. The one time I mentioned her moving to town she nearly told me not to come back, said she wouldn’t have anything to do with the “debils” that had gotten her brothers. That she wouldn’t allow a man to come courting her for her land and home. I nearly laughed if she hadn’t been so serious about the promise she’d made her father. Imagine a man, any man, trying to come court us at our age. So I’ve let it be and let her be. Martin understands despite the fact that he’s a man. I’ve been blessed to have him nearly as my own child. The relationship had to remain secret. Damn his mother and her meddling. What she holds over him I’ve never been able to get him to reveal. But I suppose I have my own secrets so I must respect his.
And speaking of secrets, I’ve burned all but these two of my journals after re-reading them. I wrote things I never should have, felt things that have changed with time and experience, sometimes as fast at the ink dried on he page. Named names and circumstances that never should have left my mind. With age I’ve come to understand that I could have let the hurts go a long time ago. I was my own worst enemy. I was different yes, I wanted to be different yes, but I didn’t need to let my differences hurt people the way I did. What would have been the harm in conforming a bit here and there? Why did I have to be so angry for so long, even at people that didn’t have a hand in what happened to me? Because they had a hard time understanding why I was like I was? Why blame them for something that would have been impossible to do because I kept why I was like I was a secret … a guilty secret I had no reason to feel guilty of.
Those boys are all long dead and returned to dust. They suffered for their choices. Maybe not for what they did to me, but they did not live a life of ease. I have to be satisfied with that, should have been satisfied with that long ago. I never have figured out which one got me pregnant. It doesn’t matter anymore. It has taken me nearly a lifetime to come to terms with that. I’ve outlived them all. I wish it brought me the pleasure I thought it would.
There were a couple of blank pages and then it was obvious she was writing to Martin alone.
Martin, I pray you understand this. I never wanted for you the madness that seems to run in certain branches of the family. Greed is only part of it. I know you don’t want the treasure for that reason but the danger of being tipped in that direction by others was just too dangerous for me to simply present you with the truth. But I’ve entrusted Yula Mae to know when you’ll be ready and when you are, here are all the answers you need. Please don’t be angry with me or her, it is simply that we’ve witnessed what the Delavoye Treasure has done to too many. The lies and mistakes perpetuated over generations. Brother killing brother to gain just one bit of it. And for what? There are only a few coins left. The stories of some great vault of them are nothing but a tall tale. And how it came to be in our possession is just a bunch of twisted, half-remembered stories told over the generations.
Even I didn’t know the truth. I thought I did but that saying that you hear nothing good when you eavesdrop on people you shouldn’t is a sad fact. The lies I thought true is in part why I chose the path I have. But the truth turned out to be lies. Not intentional lies, but of ignorance and pride and the rest of that sort of nonsense that every family that has ever been will find when they look into their own history. I let the treasure hunt rule me as well for too long. I wanted it, not so much for monetary value, but so that those that hurt me could not have the thing they thought more valuable than me.
The truth – the real truth – was sitting under my nose for years before I realized what it was. It is all in the Delavoye Bible, the one that has been passed down through the Levert line for many generations. The very one that should be in this stack that Yula Mae has given you. It was in this house the entire time. My refuge. Now yours if I haven’t missed the mark. My understanding is that the Thibodaux and Frechette lines should have had the same information at some point but it was lost somehow. Matheiu has pieced most of it out but has his own reasons for withholding the information from his line. If you do not understand what I have left you, go to him. But for your sake be careful of including Henley in your knowledge. I don’t consider him a bad person, but he has the potential for being a bad influence. He reminds me of his father and chases the girls far too much.
Rather than leaving you to piece it out yourself, as I had to, I will simply tell you. But when you open the Bible be careful as its age makes it extremely fragile and the words may have completely faded by now. The earliest pages are in French and some is little more than gibberish written by near illiterate hands. There are also documents between some of the pages that will support the story that I am about to tell you. It is the only tool you will need to understand that I am telling you the truth.
There was indeed a Clemente Delavoye that was a pirate, but he lived in the late18th century, not the late 19th century as the stories we heard had it. He was descended through some of the original Acadian outcasts that settled in lower Louisiana. Yes, there were two Delavoye daughters, but not of Clemente. They were his several times great granddaughters. I suppose I must go back to the beginning if there is going to be any hope you’ll understand.
Clemente Delavoye was an indentured servant to a certain privateer; a polite term for pirate in those days. Family history didn’t record his name, but it appears he was a successful pirate if rather short-lived, like many of his profession. Clemente stole his maps; and also from the sound of it a great deal of his treasure which he subsequently reburied in a different location. Clemente tried captaining his own ship but was not nearly as successful. He was captured and for a short time re-indentured as punishment. This was shortly before the American Revolution. These papers are in the Bible and don’t mention the indenture to the original pirate beyond stating that Clemente’s indenture was longer than normal because of crimes against the crown from piracy.
Clemente being who he was, soon freed himself by informing on the man that held his indenture and then quickly moved and potentially even left a family behind. There are other Delavoye’s that claim a pirate in their family tree but they have proof the man’s name was Clete. Are these two men the same? Probably but there is no proof and in truth it really doesn’t matter except to prove that our Clemente’s character is questionable.
Fast forward to the War of 1812. Clemente’s shipping business went bankrupt due to blockades of French ports and goods by the English. He was far too old by that time to start over and also became ill. He had one son that survived to adulthood that took after his father a great deal, including his lack of character. Clemente’s great grandson was raised fatherless as both his father and grandfather died in duels. It was not until he was an adult and nearing thirty-five that he came into possession of some family papers that showed where Clemente had buried the treasure. Right here in Beaux Bridge. This man had been in the midst of becoming a priest – perhaps where some of the story of a priest in the family line – when he decided to look for Clemente’s treasure.
Roger, the name of the man, moved to Beaux Bridge immediately but it took him two years to find the exact location of the treasure. Then came the Civil War. He was in France at the time and it took him five years, a marriage, a wife, and two children to get back to Beaux Bridge. The land had changed, or so it seemed, and it was another year before he again found the location of the treasure. But, as so often happens with “treasure” it was found by someone else and plundered of all but a few small chests. Also with time passing Roger was growing older … and perhaps wiser. His French wife had come from a wealthy merchant family and had expected to be kept in the same style. Their marriage was an unhappy one and not long after arriving in Louisiana she took lovers. Roger was never certain that any but his oldest son and daughter were his though he did his best to get each one started in life as if they were his own.
Tragedy dogged the family even back then. Roger’s oldest daughter died during a yellow fever outbreak before she married. The oldest son was a hard-working young man, and well respected. The remaining children either did not survive to adulthood or left home of their own accord and I have found not evidence of their lives. Not even Roger’s will gives a hint that he knew where they were.
Roger kept the knowledge of the “treasure” secret only passing it along to his oldest son on his death bed when that son, also named Roger, was well into middle age himself.
Roger II was a very religious man but had made a poor choice in wife and his sons and daughters – all but the oldest – took after the wife’s family who were gamblers on the Mississippi, and perhaps Clemente’s character as well. Most of them died before having children of their own. However, from my research this is where twins entered our family. It is also when enmity between twins first shows up. The oldest – we’ll call him Roger III – and his twin fought constantly from birth. The twin died in a bar brawl so Roger II never had to decide who to share the knowledge of the treasure with.
Roger III only had one child by a wife that died in childbirth and did not remarry. That one son and his wife died in a housefire leaving their two little girls to be raised by their grandfather. These are the two Delavoye sisters that were the women that started the three lines from which our family all descends. For whatever reason, Roger III favored his great granddaughter that married a Levert and that is why most of the oldest documents and pictures passed to that line. However, he may have favored her in that way, but he was fair in others. Shortly before his death Roger III divided the remaining treasure between his three great granddaughters, his two granddaughters being in ill health and widows. But he left written instructions that they were to keep the bequest a secret and only upon the majority and marriage of each of their male heirs were they to give them one coin.
The husband of Roger III’s great granddaughters outlived them but for whatever reason continued the tradition but they added their own stipulation. The coin was only to be given to a son who was recognized by the church – in other words from a registered marriage – who showed moral character. And it was to remain a secret. If any son was caught bragging he would be cut off. I do not know for certain, I have no proof except for half remembered stories told by my elders, but there were several children from that generation and later that were not of high character. Some were gamblers, some river pirates, some simply ne’er do wells that left the area or disappeared.
Twins have shown up frequently in the more recent generations but they were always at odds with each other. The best example for you to witness is Henley’s step-father Matheiu and his brother. Matheiu and Mason, your grandfather. I fear one day what Mason may do so I implore you to stay out of it. You already know how badly it influenced your own father. And now a family secret I hope you do not despise me for keeping. Your father was a twin as well but your mother was convinced to place his twin with another family as she was unwed. He grew up a Deveraux and I’m sorry to tell you that that Dagobert and Dante are your first cousins. I pray they never discover the connection because they would make your life a misery. Remy is enough of that for anyone to deal with.
You are still a young man Martin. You can make choices different from most of the other men in our families. You do not need to allow greed and avarice to motivate you. You can live a life without monetary temptation. It is not money that is evil but the love of money and too many in this family forget that fact. Get married. Have a family. Prosper.
And with that said I pray I am not burdening you with what little remains of the Delavoye Treasure. And when I say little I mean precisely that. Papa Levert never, by word or deed, ever revealed that he knew the resting place that Clemente chose so long ago. But he had to have known otherwise why would he have chosen the very spot for his homestead? Why would he have gone to so much trouble to have its existence wiped from county records? I am sure that is what happened because if you look for the original documents, you will find pages torn out of surveys and documents missing from places they should not be. Not even census records reveal the latter Levert generations. Yula Mae’s birth was never even registered with the Church. I suspect, but have never told her that I suspect, that Yula Mae is not even Momma and Poppa Levert’s child but a by-blow of one of their sons. Momma Levert would have been in her 50s when Yula Mae was born. Not impossible but unlikely. Perhaps that explains Poppa Levert’s mania concerning Yula Mae never leaving the homestead and hiding her away as he did.
~~~~~
“You going to keep me in suspense Cher? And no, don’t give me that look. I ain’t after it.”
I sighed. “Sorry. Force of habit I guess. Seems my entire family is nutty over that stupid treasure like it was Ali Baba’s Cave.”
“So, take it that the story made it out to be more than it was.”
“I suppose it depends on how you look at it. When I saw where she said the treasure was hidden all these years I could not believe it. Martin had been so close for so long. And I still don’t understand why Yula Mae never gave him the stuff Sylvee left for him.”
I felt Em shrug in the dark. “Maybe the old lady was afraid that if she did then he wouldn’t come back. Could be she might not have understood how important it was. Or maybe, as Sylvee instructed, she was only supposed to give it to him when he was ready and she sensed he wasn’t.”
“Or maybe she just forgot. I don’t suppose it matters except as irony.” I sighed again before telling him. “It was underneath one of the angels on the crypt. All the other angels had harps and stuff, but not that one. It carried a flag that you could just barely make out a skull and crossbones on and seemed to be crying harder than all the others.”
“You’re joking.”
I shook my head. “Wish I were.”
Another year, another journal. Don’t know why I bother. No one cares. The man I married is dead. His son left quick enough when he found his father didn’t leave anything but debts. My child, lost to me so long ago, doesn’t know I exist and is herself showing signs of the family madness … wanting things she has no business wanting. She married a good man, or he was a good man when they married. I worry she’s bleeding the good out of him as I heard he’s been drinking. I should not have encouraged the marriage. I knew she didn’t love him. I could have stopped it. I didn’t. I gave up the right to have a say in her life when I let them convince me giving her up was what was best for her.
And here I am with the years passing and …
She went on that way at length. A lot of woe is me and how times were changing and she only wished they’d changed sooner and she might have led a different life. I was surprised, but not, to find out a couple of the books belonged to my Aunt Sylvee. I hope when people remark on me being like my Aunt Sylvee they aren’t referring to the fact that she was like this. Or maybe this was the part of herself she kept hidden. I don’t know, I just know I don’t want to live with all the regrets she seemed to have.
Another journal began quite differently.
I’ve asked Yula Mae to give these to Martin when she thinks he’s ready. I know that he believes a lot of the family nonsense, but I don’t know how much. I won’t risk allowing it to become a topic of conversation. I won’t encourage it. I could straighten him out but he’s not ready. He’ll run straight to Henley and I’m not having that. That boy reminds me too much of his father and the man was a wastrel despite the fact he adored my sister. Martin is more like a son to me than my stepson was. But he’s not ready for it. He’d wind up like my little girl who finally ran off and got what she wanted but was never happy with it.
My body aches like it did the first time the damn blood clots happened. But that was ten years ago. I’m older now and perhaps I won’t survive them this time around. I’m glad I chose Martin to take care of Yula Mae. I have a feeling … no, I know … I won’t be coming back here again. Even should I srvive, it is time to pass the torch.
Yula Mae will outlive us all, but only with help and some tender care. The one time I mentioned her moving to town she nearly told me not to come back, said she wouldn’t have anything to do with the “debils” that had gotten her brothers. That she wouldn’t allow a man to come courting her for her land and home. I nearly laughed if she hadn’t been so serious about the promise she’d made her father. Imagine a man, any man, trying to come court us at our age. So I’ve let it be and let her be. Martin understands despite the fact that he’s a man. I’ve been blessed to have him nearly as my own child. The relationship had to remain secret. Damn his mother and her meddling. What she holds over him I’ve never been able to get him to reveal. But I suppose I have my own secrets so I must respect his.
And speaking of secrets, I’ve burned all but these two of my journals after re-reading them. I wrote things I never should have, felt things that have changed with time and experience, sometimes as fast at the ink dried on he page. Named names and circumstances that never should have left my mind. With age I’ve come to understand that I could have let the hurts go a long time ago. I was my own worst enemy. I was different yes, I wanted to be different yes, but I didn’t need to let my differences hurt people the way I did. What would have been the harm in conforming a bit here and there? Why did I have to be so angry for so long, even at people that didn’t have a hand in what happened to me? Because they had a hard time understanding why I was like I was? Why blame them for something that would have been impossible to do because I kept why I was like I was a secret … a guilty secret I had no reason to feel guilty of.
Those boys are all long dead and returned to dust. They suffered for their choices. Maybe not for what they did to me, but they did not live a life of ease. I have to be satisfied with that, should have been satisfied with that long ago. I never have figured out which one got me pregnant. It doesn’t matter anymore. It has taken me nearly a lifetime to come to terms with that. I’ve outlived them all. I wish it brought me the pleasure I thought it would.
There were a couple of blank pages and then it was obvious she was writing to Martin alone.
Martin, I pray you understand this. I never wanted for you the madness that seems to run in certain branches of the family. Greed is only part of it. I know you don’t want the treasure for that reason but the danger of being tipped in that direction by others was just too dangerous for me to simply present you with the truth. But I’ve entrusted Yula Mae to know when you’ll be ready and when you are, here are all the answers you need. Please don’t be angry with me or her, it is simply that we’ve witnessed what the Delavoye Treasure has done to too many. The lies and mistakes perpetuated over generations. Brother killing brother to gain just one bit of it. And for what? There are only a few coins left. The stories of some great vault of them are nothing but a tall tale. And how it came to be in our possession is just a bunch of twisted, half-remembered stories told over the generations.
Even I didn’t know the truth. I thought I did but that saying that you hear nothing good when you eavesdrop on people you shouldn’t is a sad fact. The lies I thought true is in part why I chose the path I have. But the truth turned out to be lies. Not intentional lies, but of ignorance and pride and the rest of that sort of nonsense that every family that has ever been will find when they look into their own history. I let the treasure hunt rule me as well for too long. I wanted it, not so much for monetary value, but so that those that hurt me could not have the thing they thought more valuable than me.
The truth – the real truth – was sitting under my nose for years before I realized what it was. It is all in the Delavoye Bible, the one that has been passed down through the Levert line for many generations. The very one that should be in this stack that Yula Mae has given you. It was in this house the entire time. My refuge. Now yours if I haven’t missed the mark. My understanding is that the Thibodaux and Frechette lines should have had the same information at some point but it was lost somehow. Matheiu has pieced most of it out but has his own reasons for withholding the information from his line. If you do not understand what I have left you, go to him. But for your sake be careful of including Henley in your knowledge. I don’t consider him a bad person, but he has the potential for being a bad influence. He reminds me of his father and chases the girls far too much.
Rather than leaving you to piece it out yourself, as I had to, I will simply tell you. But when you open the Bible be careful as its age makes it extremely fragile and the words may have completely faded by now. The earliest pages are in French and some is little more than gibberish written by near illiterate hands. There are also documents between some of the pages that will support the story that I am about to tell you. It is the only tool you will need to understand that I am telling you the truth.
There was indeed a Clemente Delavoye that was a pirate, but he lived in the late18th century, not the late 19th century as the stories we heard had it. He was descended through some of the original Acadian outcasts that settled in lower Louisiana. Yes, there were two Delavoye daughters, but not of Clemente. They were his several times great granddaughters. I suppose I must go back to the beginning if there is going to be any hope you’ll understand.
Clemente Delavoye was an indentured servant to a certain privateer; a polite term for pirate in those days. Family history didn’t record his name, but it appears he was a successful pirate if rather short-lived, like many of his profession. Clemente stole his maps; and also from the sound of it a great deal of his treasure which he subsequently reburied in a different location. Clemente tried captaining his own ship but was not nearly as successful. He was captured and for a short time re-indentured as punishment. This was shortly before the American Revolution. These papers are in the Bible and don’t mention the indenture to the original pirate beyond stating that Clemente’s indenture was longer than normal because of crimes against the crown from piracy.
Clemente being who he was, soon freed himself by informing on the man that held his indenture and then quickly moved and potentially even left a family behind. There are other Delavoye’s that claim a pirate in their family tree but they have proof the man’s name was Clete. Are these two men the same? Probably but there is no proof and in truth it really doesn’t matter except to prove that our Clemente’s character is questionable.
Fast forward to the War of 1812. Clemente’s shipping business went bankrupt due to blockades of French ports and goods by the English. He was far too old by that time to start over and also became ill. He had one son that survived to adulthood that took after his father a great deal, including his lack of character. Clemente’s great grandson was raised fatherless as both his father and grandfather died in duels. It was not until he was an adult and nearing thirty-five that he came into possession of some family papers that showed where Clemente had buried the treasure. Right here in Beaux Bridge. This man had been in the midst of becoming a priest – perhaps where some of the story of a priest in the family line – when he decided to look for Clemente’s treasure.
Roger, the name of the man, moved to Beaux Bridge immediately but it took him two years to find the exact location of the treasure. Then came the Civil War. He was in France at the time and it took him five years, a marriage, a wife, and two children to get back to Beaux Bridge. The land had changed, or so it seemed, and it was another year before he again found the location of the treasure. But, as so often happens with “treasure” it was found by someone else and plundered of all but a few small chests. Also with time passing Roger was growing older … and perhaps wiser. His French wife had come from a wealthy merchant family and had expected to be kept in the same style. Their marriage was an unhappy one and not long after arriving in Louisiana she took lovers. Roger was never certain that any but his oldest son and daughter were his though he did his best to get each one started in life as if they were his own.
Tragedy dogged the family even back then. Roger’s oldest daughter died during a yellow fever outbreak before she married. The oldest son was a hard-working young man, and well respected. The remaining children either did not survive to adulthood or left home of their own accord and I have found not evidence of their lives. Not even Roger’s will gives a hint that he knew where they were.
Roger kept the knowledge of the “treasure” secret only passing it along to his oldest son on his death bed when that son, also named Roger, was well into middle age himself.
Roger II was a very religious man but had made a poor choice in wife and his sons and daughters – all but the oldest – took after the wife’s family who were gamblers on the Mississippi, and perhaps Clemente’s character as well. Most of them died before having children of their own. However, from my research this is where twins entered our family. It is also when enmity between twins first shows up. The oldest – we’ll call him Roger III – and his twin fought constantly from birth. The twin died in a bar brawl so Roger II never had to decide who to share the knowledge of the treasure with.
Roger III only had one child by a wife that died in childbirth and did not remarry. That one son and his wife died in a housefire leaving their two little girls to be raised by their grandfather. These are the two Delavoye sisters that were the women that started the three lines from which our family all descends. For whatever reason, Roger III favored his great granddaughter that married a Levert and that is why most of the oldest documents and pictures passed to that line. However, he may have favored her in that way, but he was fair in others. Shortly before his death Roger III divided the remaining treasure between his three great granddaughters, his two granddaughters being in ill health and widows. But he left written instructions that they were to keep the bequest a secret and only upon the majority and marriage of each of their male heirs were they to give them one coin.
The husband of Roger III’s great granddaughters outlived them but for whatever reason continued the tradition but they added their own stipulation. The coin was only to be given to a son who was recognized by the church – in other words from a registered marriage – who showed moral character. And it was to remain a secret. If any son was caught bragging he would be cut off. I do not know for certain, I have no proof except for half remembered stories told by my elders, but there were several children from that generation and later that were not of high character. Some were gamblers, some river pirates, some simply ne’er do wells that left the area or disappeared.
Twins have shown up frequently in the more recent generations but they were always at odds with each other. The best example for you to witness is Henley’s step-father Matheiu and his brother. Matheiu and Mason, your grandfather. I fear one day what Mason may do so I implore you to stay out of it. You already know how badly it influenced your own father. And now a family secret I hope you do not despise me for keeping. Your father was a twin as well but your mother was convinced to place his twin with another family as she was unwed. He grew up a Deveraux and I’m sorry to tell you that that Dagobert and Dante are your first cousins. I pray they never discover the connection because they would make your life a misery. Remy is enough of that for anyone to deal with.
You are still a young man Martin. You can make choices different from most of the other men in our families. You do not need to allow greed and avarice to motivate you. You can live a life without monetary temptation. It is not money that is evil but the love of money and too many in this family forget that fact. Get married. Have a family. Prosper.
And with that said I pray I am not burdening you with what little remains of the Delavoye Treasure. And when I say little I mean precisely that. Papa Levert never, by word or deed, ever revealed that he knew the resting place that Clemente chose so long ago. But he had to have known otherwise why would he have chosen the very spot for his homestead? Why would he have gone to so much trouble to have its existence wiped from county records? I am sure that is what happened because if you look for the original documents, you will find pages torn out of surveys and documents missing from places they should not be. Not even census records reveal the latter Levert generations. Yula Mae’s birth was never even registered with the Church. I suspect, but have never told her that I suspect, that Yula Mae is not even Momma and Poppa Levert’s child but a by-blow of one of their sons. Momma Levert would have been in her 50s when Yula Mae was born. Not impossible but unlikely. Perhaps that explains Poppa Levert’s mania concerning Yula Mae never leaving the homestead and hiding her away as he did.
~~~~~
“You going to keep me in suspense Cher? And no, don’t give me that look. I ain’t after it.”
I sighed. “Sorry. Force of habit I guess. Seems my entire family is nutty over that stupid treasure like it was Ali Baba’s Cave.”
“So, take it that the story made it out to be more than it was.”
“I suppose it depends on how you look at it. When I saw where she said the treasure was hidden all these years I could not believe it. Martin had been so close for so long. And I still don’t understand why Yula Mae never gave him the stuff Sylvee left for him.”
I felt Em shrug in the dark. “Maybe the old lady was afraid that if she did then he wouldn’t come back. Could be she might not have understood how important it was. Or maybe, as Sylvee instructed, she was only supposed to give it to him when he was ready and she sensed he wasn’t.”
“Or maybe she just forgot. I don’t suppose it matters except as irony.” I sighed again before telling him. “It was underneath one of the angels on the crypt. All the other angels had harps and stuff, but not that one. It carried a flag that you could just barely make out a skull and crossbones on and seemed to be crying harder than all the others.”
“You’re joking.”
I shook my head. “Wish I were.”
Jeepcats27
Senior Member
Wow!Thank you for the new chapter!
sssarawolf
Has No Life - Lives on TB
A very big thank you.
Here I am dead tired from dealing with 27 pounds of cherries and several pounds of tomatoes by dehydrating or preparing for the freezer, baking bread, cherry crisp and working on my 10X10 walk-in pantry, and YOU post two chapters to keep me from laying my tired old bones down for some rest. Ah your are a evil woman I tell you. 
Did I forget to thank you?
Did I forget to thank you?
Chapter 78
I crawled over to the trunk I kept my clothes and some other odds and ends in, moved it to the side, and then pulled up the oversized floor register where the oil heater used to put out air. I’d always wanted to laugh about this giant heat registers, especially when the days got into the upper 90s and near 100% humidity.
“And why didn’t I know that was there?” Em asked in a playful way when he saw what I was doing. I figured he knew I was stressing and was trying to help. It kinda did and it kinda didn’t. It was nice to know he was on my side of things, cared enough to try and make me feel better. It also made me feel rotten to have kept this mess from him as long as I did.
“Because I’m nosier than you,” I answered trying to joke back with him even though I felt the exact opposite of that. I reached in and pulled out a small wooden box.
Em looked at it and said, “That kinda looks like your grandfather’s treasure box.”
“That’s because it is like grandfather’s treasure box. Including the special weird key. Only it’s smaller. I’m thinking they were a set. See the ‘T’ on this one? For Thibodaux. I’m not sure how Yula Mae’s father got it unless my great grandfather gave it to him for some reason when he married my grandfather since there weren’t any other male Thibodauxs. Who knows? It is just gong to have to be one of those lame mysteries of life. Pa-pere’s has an ‘F’ for Frechette so I know that he inherited his from his line.”
“Where’s the Levert one? You told me the story went they were the favorite.”
Also out of that place in the floor I pulled out another box, this one bigger and more ornate than the other two. “There’s no lock on this one but the design for the lock is there.” I flipped open the lid and inside was a really old Bible that was all but falling apart, and the other papers and pictures that I’d found in Yula Mae’s house. “There’s a false bottom in this box, same as in Pa-pere’s. It looks like it was designed to hold jewelry or something but you can see indents in the felt just the size of the coins from that smaller box so they must have been hidden there for a long time. Pa-pere’s treasure box is the same way.”
“Wait. What do you mean that … you saying …?”
“Yeah. There were coins in there same as in the crypt. Pa-pere’s had other things in there as well. Some old, ugly jewelry with stones in them almost too heavy to wear. Some hideous necklaces; pieces of necklaces really because they’ve fallen apart. Just … stuff.”
“And you’ve got this ‘just stuff’ in the storage locker?! Are you outta you mind woman?”
I shrugged too stunned having him call me a woman to really take offense at his tone.
“Ava …”
“I know Em. I’ve been so damn turned upside down that … that …” For some weird reason I felt like crying. “Now I’ve dragged you into this.”
That gave him pause. “Dragged me into what?” he asked cautiously.
“This whole treasure nonsense is just that. Sure, it’s a treasure. I get that. Big whoop in a sorta kinda way though.”
“Sorta kinda way,” he said deadpan trying yet again to get a smile out of me. But I didn’t have any in me right then.
“Em, you remember why I came here in the first place?”
“Yeah. Your uncle … Aw hell no. Are you telling me this treasure business has something to do with his death?”
“Honestly? I don’t think it does. Not directly. But this family business does. They don’t call us Ragin’ Cajuns for no reason. And the biggest thing that can cause anyone, including Cajuns, to rage is family. Uncle Henley had figured out how he and Martin were related. Maybe it wasn’t ever a big secret except no one in town that I’ve met that knew both men ever remarked on them being related. Did you know?”
“Naw Cher. Never heard anyone ever say anything about the two being related.”
“But Uncle Henley knew. And if Uncle Henley knew then Martin knew. I’m certain my grandparents would have known. Martin’s grandfather was my grandfather’s twin brother even if Martin’s father was born out of wedlock. It’s all just … stupid. Grade A, double shot of espresso level stupid.”
“I’m not following you Cher.”
I took a breath then tried to explain. “I’ve been wondering why Martin thought it was his brother Remy that was pirating and drug running in the swamp. He wasn’t that old when he screwed up so bad and got sent to prison for life. And maybe it happens in the movies, but crime syndicates aren’t really run from prison, and certainly not by men as stupid and reckless as Remy. I thought maybe Dagobert or Dante but they’re just as stupid as Remy. And their father is just plain too lazy to run something like that. You know who that leaves.”
“Cher …”
“It explains why Wylene keeps doggin’ me. It explains why they found so much corruption in the local LEO offices that the feds took over. It explains that idiot boyfriend of Mona’s behaving so stupid as to openly poke the bear where I was concerned. It explains how Martin’s reputation was constantly shredded and him seeming to be manipulated by someone or something when he wasn’t acting a little crazy. This isn’t about the treasure, it’s about Uncle Henley and whether he left any kind of evidence or letter or anything that I’ve found in his stuff giving away who beat on him enough that it led to his death.” When Em didn’t say anything I would have gone off in a huff if I hadn’t been so tired. And if he hadn’t pinned me in by having me sit between his legs on the floor. His knees were at my shoulders and as soon as he felt me tense up his hands came down to hold me there.
“Ava … you got any proof, any proof at all of this?”
“Nothing the feds can use. It’s circumstantial or just my word on it.”
“But that means you do have something.”
“Oh I’ve got something all right. You just need to keep it together and not lose your cool.” I went on to tell him the rest of my time on Yula Mae’s island.
~~~~~
Maybe you’ll approve or maybe you won’t and then think I’m sick or callous or something but I just couldn’t leave all of Yula Mae’s hard work – years of hard work and care – rot where it lay. I went around the little house gathering up all the pictures and important papers, those Sylvee left and the few others I found looking around. While I was in the loft I found old wood crates – and more strings of peppers – and brought them down and started gathering all of the food together and packing it away. Looking around I realized just how little Yula Mae had. Her clothes, carefully mended for years on end, were still just a stitch away from falling apart. I suppose bringing her anything new had ended with Sylvee. That was the era that her clothes seemed to end at. There was a cedar chest in Yula Mae’s room that had some quilts and other linens in it, but they too were from bygone days and were mended over and over and over. Her sewing box only had a couple of needles and two spools of thread in it. There were a pair of scissors that were newer but looked like they were rarely used in favor of a much older pair that had been sharpened more than a few times.
Everywhere I looked there were signs of decay that I’d not noticed before. It was like while Yula Mae lived she had some kind of magic holding everything together, but now that she is dead the illusion is gone and you could see just how bad off she’d been. The island she lived her entire life on wasn’t a gilded cage, it was a decrepit prison. Perhaps one she chose but one that must have been growing dangerous for an old woman. Even the house was revealing its barely mended status to me once I was really looking and not just glancing at it. Why didn’t I see it before? I’m well and truly ashamed at how much I missed. I am Queen of Crapwork. There was enough to keep me busy for a lifetime. I should have noticed. The repairs I saw were the ones that I excel at. I felt and feel like an idiot for missing so much.
Before nightfall I did my best to pull Martin’s pirogue out of the swamp. It wasn’t easy. I nearly gave up, but I finally got it to dry land – relative dry land – and turned over so it would dry out. I pulled my own raft up beside it and took my pole to the porch so it wouldn’t accidently slide back in and be lost to me forever. There was nothing I could do for the boat Remy stole. Martin hadn’t just disabled it, he’d destroyed the motor well beyond my ability to repair it. I don’t think even Scooter could put that mess straight. What I did do was set the boat adrift. I don’t want anyone seeing it from the air.
I didn’t see any sign of Remy’s corpse. I doubt anyone ever will. Gators don’t normally congregate in numbers in the area. Yula Mae told me her father claimed it was because of the currents around the little island. I haven’t a clue, I just know despite being in the middle of nowhere, deep in the swamp I’d never seen gators. But I was sure seeing them then. Fresh food … or food already decaying … was too much of a temptation. Lucky for me none of them ever came up on the dock, not even near it. But they were out there. I saw some … and heard more of the big lizards.
I was exhausted that night. But you know me, I can cat nap like it is an Olympic sport. I got through the night somehow but even before first light I was checking the pirogue and raft for damage and making sure that I’d found everything I was going to find in the little house. Found a large jug of kerosene in a little lean to in the garden and that reminded me to take the reflector lamps that Yula Mae used when she bothered being awake after the sun went down. I also took the canes that she said were her parents, and the one that she’d made for herself at some point and had only started to use full time the last month or so.
And then I hit the garden. I pulled everything that was ready to be picked which was most everything. The bushel of peppers I left lying around inside the house. I don’t know why, it just seemed the thing to do. The greens I cut and left for the ducks that ran feral on the island. That’s another thing I don’t know why I bothered, again it just seemed the thing to do. Then I went in back to the kitchen and took a few things beyond food like the small cast iron pieces and some of the old stoneware. I keep telling myself it isn’t stealing. It didn’t feel like stealing at the time. It felt like Yula Mae – or someone – was prompting me to take some things, like it was sinful to let it go to waste. Looking back though I feel … conflicted. Crazy word to come out of my mouth but it goes along with the crazy feelings that keep trying to break loose and run around in my head.
By the time I got everything loaded into the pirogue and onto the raft I was beat and it was too late to be traveling around in the swamp, especially since there might be problems from the storm. I got up early the next morning and by first light I was poling away from the island back towards town. I’d been correct, there was storm damage. The drought the year before had weakened some trees and the storm had felled them in places that I normally passed through. It already wasn’t the easiest thing in the world to pole the pirogue with the raft attached but the deep places was making it worse. I was pulled over trying to decide which path to take through some downed trees when I heard them.
Wylene called, “Pull the engine up Rasmu, there’s too much …”
“Belay that! I’m not wasting anymore time. My brothers are out here somewhere and I’m going to find them.” I knew that voice. Em would have as well. Good thing for me I was hidden in the fallen cyprus treetops.
“Dan …”
“Shut up Wylene. If you had done as I said and stayed away from that girl I wouldn’t have had to come get you and I’d had more time to deal with the situation. Dammit, all I need is for the two of them to screw everything up.”
“We found one of those men. You said there was another with your broth …”
“Shut up I said,” Daniel Edgar growled in a deadly tone. “People are getting suspicious. I might be able to lay the blame on Remy if I can catch him before he gets caught by the feds.”
“And if Martin …”
“If Martin what?”
“What if Martin has killed him. The caliber you dug out of that one we found matches what Martin usually carries.”
“Martin hasn’t got it in him to kill Remy … or me. I’ve got him terrified that it is Remy or his son that killed Henley and then beat him up. Martin always has been a coward.”
“You sure? He’s certainly played you on a few things.”
*SLAP!*
“How dare you!” she yelped.
“I am not telling you again Wylene. Shut your pie hole or I’ll take care of the problem you created for me right here and right now.”
I’d made a huge mistake where Daniel Edgar was concerned. In the beginning I considered him a butt kisser. Maybe a little bit of a trickster, a guy used to getting by on charm and full of himself, but never had I figured him for a cold blooded killer, at least not to the degree that I heard in his voice at that moment. I’ve known kids with sociopathic tendencies and he sounded like a grownup version of what they were. Wylene – I can’t decide whether she’s brave or a fool – either way she opened her mouth but never got a chance to utter a sound because Daniel didn’t just slap her that time, he slugged her hard enough she fell into the bottom of the boat. Then he kicked her twice.
“Boys, I think we have us some gator bait. Want a taste before I get busy?”
The sheer enjoyment he seemed to be getting out of finally terrorizing Wylene into submission was nauseating.
“Enough!” she shrieked. “I get it. I get it already. And don’t forget, I have another appointment tomorrow. If I’m not there they’ll come looking for me.”
“So? Let ‘em look.”
“Danny … pleeeeease …”
“Now you listen to me. I don’t care what you want, who you are, where you come from. You either do as I say … quickly, quietly, obediently … or I will slit your throat and leave you to bleed out here in the swamp for the local wildlife to clean up. Let me repeat … no one gives a shit about you. I don’t give a damn who your daddy was. No real man let’s his daughter do the kind of things you’ve done. If the fool wasn’t already dead he’d disown you. And give it up with blaming me for your loss of virtue. I wasn’t your first. I wasn’t your second. You’ve been had by so many men even you’ve lost count. You’re convenient … but that’s changing. You mouth off to me, saying anything but yes Daniel … not Dan, not Danny … Daniel … cause me any grief whatsoever and you’re a dead fem. You think you can remember that or do we need to have a little more … talk.”
“No Daniel. I mean yes Daniel. I understand.” she said with her head bowed like she was waiting for his permission to even stand up.
“Then get your ass in gear. And if you’ve caused me to miss my chance with them …”
“No Daniel. I’ll be quiet.”
He sent a kick at her and she flinched then he laughed in pleasure. Made me wonder how many times a scene like that has played out … with Wylene or with some other woman. It usually runs in families like that. Thank God my own father was not like that. I can’t imagine the hell my early life would have been. ‘Course I can see my mother putting up with that kind of thing either. But I supposed you never know, not really, what goes on behind closed doors.
The other two men that had been in the boat with Daniel and Wylene completely ignored the goings on. Then the one called Rasmu said, “Boss? Something up ahead.”
I won’t describe what I heard. It was part of another man. Could have been Remy or the other one. Tore up, probably as gators fought over the corpse.
“Maybe I caught a break and those idiots killed each other,” Daniel wondered aloud.
None of the others ventured an opinion and I don’t blame them. Daniel Edgar is certifiable. Maybe not crazy in he has no responsibility for his actions but he is the kind of something you don’t want to run into in a dark alley. I hid in that cypress log jam until I was sure they’d given up and moved on. It took me so long to pole everything in and then I had to figure out how to get the stuff from the water to the storage facility. I decided in for a penny in for a pound and poled right up the bayou as close to the storage facility as I could get and then hid what I could until I could go up and bring down that wagon we use to cart stuff from your truck when we have a load going or coming.
By the time I was finished with that I was once again cutting it close with curfew. But I made it and you were here and …
~~~~~~
I’d run out of words. Run out of just about everything.
“Yes,” he said.
“Yes what?”
“Yes, I’ll go with you to hunt nutria. But that’s Sunday. Tonight we are going to get some rest. Tomorrow … no today since it is after midnight … we’ll go check the co-op garden and while we’re over there we’ll get us some pop and chips and then see if someone has a cooker going and get a poboy to split. It’s Saturday so something is bound to be set up. We aren’t going to worry about shi … er … crap except sunburn and mosquitoes and breathing. And if anyone bothers you they gonna get stomped. By me. That’s final. Now c’mon. Put your stuff back in your hidey hole and come up on this bed with me. I’m a needin’ some sleep and it ain’t gonna happen if you ain’t close.”
“Just like that?”
“That’s right Cher. Just like that.”
And for better or worse I decided to go with his plan ‘cause it sounded better than what I’d been thinking.
I crawled over to the trunk I kept my clothes and some other odds and ends in, moved it to the side, and then pulled up the oversized floor register where the oil heater used to put out air. I’d always wanted to laugh about this giant heat registers, especially when the days got into the upper 90s and near 100% humidity.
“And why didn’t I know that was there?” Em asked in a playful way when he saw what I was doing. I figured he knew I was stressing and was trying to help. It kinda did and it kinda didn’t. It was nice to know he was on my side of things, cared enough to try and make me feel better. It also made me feel rotten to have kept this mess from him as long as I did.
“Because I’m nosier than you,” I answered trying to joke back with him even though I felt the exact opposite of that. I reached in and pulled out a small wooden box.
Em looked at it and said, “That kinda looks like your grandfather’s treasure box.”
“That’s because it is like grandfather’s treasure box. Including the special weird key. Only it’s smaller. I’m thinking they were a set. See the ‘T’ on this one? For Thibodaux. I’m not sure how Yula Mae’s father got it unless my great grandfather gave it to him for some reason when he married my grandfather since there weren’t any other male Thibodauxs. Who knows? It is just gong to have to be one of those lame mysteries of life. Pa-pere’s has an ‘F’ for Frechette so I know that he inherited his from his line.”
“Where’s the Levert one? You told me the story went they were the favorite.”
Also out of that place in the floor I pulled out another box, this one bigger and more ornate than the other two. “There’s no lock on this one but the design for the lock is there.” I flipped open the lid and inside was a really old Bible that was all but falling apart, and the other papers and pictures that I’d found in Yula Mae’s house. “There’s a false bottom in this box, same as in Pa-pere’s. It looks like it was designed to hold jewelry or something but you can see indents in the felt just the size of the coins from that smaller box so they must have been hidden there for a long time. Pa-pere’s treasure box is the same way.”
“Wait. What do you mean that … you saying …?”
“Yeah. There were coins in there same as in the crypt. Pa-pere’s had other things in there as well. Some old, ugly jewelry with stones in them almost too heavy to wear. Some hideous necklaces; pieces of necklaces really because they’ve fallen apart. Just … stuff.”
“And you’ve got this ‘just stuff’ in the storage locker?! Are you outta you mind woman?”
I shrugged too stunned having him call me a woman to really take offense at his tone.
“Ava …”
“I know Em. I’ve been so damn turned upside down that … that …” For some weird reason I felt like crying. “Now I’ve dragged you into this.”
That gave him pause. “Dragged me into what?” he asked cautiously.
“This whole treasure nonsense is just that. Sure, it’s a treasure. I get that. Big whoop in a sorta kinda way though.”
“Sorta kinda way,” he said deadpan trying yet again to get a smile out of me. But I didn’t have any in me right then.
“Em, you remember why I came here in the first place?”
“Yeah. Your uncle … Aw hell no. Are you telling me this treasure business has something to do with his death?”
“Honestly? I don’t think it does. Not directly. But this family business does. They don’t call us Ragin’ Cajuns for no reason. And the biggest thing that can cause anyone, including Cajuns, to rage is family. Uncle Henley had figured out how he and Martin were related. Maybe it wasn’t ever a big secret except no one in town that I’ve met that knew both men ever remarked on them being related. Did you know?”
“Naw Cher. Never heard anyone ever say anything about the two being related.”
“But Uncle Henley knew. And if Uncle Henley knew then Martin knew. I’m certain my grandparents would have known. Martin’s grandfather was my grandfather’s twin brother even if Martin’s father was born out of wedlock. It’s all just … stupid. Grade A, double shot of espresso level stupid.”
“I’m not following you Cher.”
I took a breath then tried to explain. “I’ve been wondering why Martin thought it was his brother Remy that was pirating and drug running in the swamp. He wasn’t that old when he screwed up so bad and got sent to prison for life. And maybe it happens in the movies, but crime syndicates aren’t really run from prison, and certainly not by men as stupid and reckless as Remy. I thought maybe Dagobert or Dante but they’re just as stupid as Remy. And their father is just plain too lazy to run something like that. You know who that leaves.”
“Cher …”
“It explains why Wylene keeps doggin’ me. It explains why they found so much corruption in the local LEO offices that the feds took over. It explains that idiot boyfriend of Mona’s behaving so stupid as to openly poke the bear where I was concerned. It explains how Martin’s reputation was constantly shredded and him seeming to be manipulated by someone or something when he wasn’t acting a little crazy. This isn’t about the treasure, it’s about Uncle Henley and whether he left any kind of evidence or letter or anything that I’ve found in his stuff giving away who beat on him enough that it led to his death.” When Em didn’t say anything I would have gone off in a huff if I hadn’t been so tired. And if he hadn’t pinned me in by having me sit between his legs on the floor. His knees were at my shoulders and as soon as he felt me tense up his hands came down to hold me there.
“Ava … you got any proof, any proof at all of this?”
“Nothing the feds can use. It’s circumstantial or just my word on it.”
“But that means you do have something.”
“Oh I’ve got something all right. You just need to keep it together and not lose your cool.” I went on to tell him the rest of my time on Yula Mae’s island.
~~~~~
Maybe you’ll approve or maybe you won’t and then think I’m sick or callous or something but I just couldn’t leave all of Yula Mae’s hard work – years of hard work and care – rot where it lay. I went around the little house gathering up all the pictures and important papers, those Sylvee left and the few others I found looking around. While I was in the loft I found old wood crates – and more strings of peppers – and brought them down and started gathering all of the food together and packing it away. Looking around I realized just how little Yula Mae had. Her clothes, carefully mended for years on end, were still just a stitch away from falling apart. I suppose bringing her anything new had ended with Sylvee. That was the era that her clothes seemed to end at. There was a cedar chest in Yula Mae’s room that had some quilts and other linens in it, but they too were from bygone days and were mended over and over and over. Her sewing box only had a couple of needles and two spools of thread in it. There were a pair of scissors that were newer but looked like they were rarely used in favor of a much older pair that had been sharpened more than a few times.
Everywhere I looked there were signs of decay that I’d not noticed before. It was like while Yula Mae lived she had some kind of magic holding everything together, but now that she is dead the illusion is gone and you could see just how bad off she’d been. The island she lived her entire life on wasn’t a gilded cage, it was a decrepit prison. Perhaps one she chose but one that must have been growing dangerous for an old woman. Even the house was revealing its barely mended status to me once I was really looking and not just glancing at it. Why didn’t I see it before? I’m well and truly ashamed at how much I missed. I am Queen of Crapwork. There was enough to keep me busy for a lifetime. I should have noticed. The repairs I saw were the ones that I excel at. I felt and feel like an idiot for missing so much.
Before nightfall I did my best to pull Martin’s pirogue out of the swamp. It wasn’t easy. I nearly gave up, but I finally got it to dry land – relative dry land – and turned over so it would dry out. I pulled my own raft up beside it and took my pole to the porch so it wouldn’t accidently slide back in and be lost to me forever. There was nothing I could do for the boat Remy stole. Martin hadn’t just disabled it, he’d destroyed the motor well beyond my ability to repair it. I don’t think even Scooter could put that mess straight. What I did do was set the boat adrift. I don’t want anyone seeing it from the air.
I didn’t see any sign of Remy’s corpse. I doubt anyone ever will. Gators don’t normally congregate in numbers in the area. Yula Mae told me her father claimed it was because of the currents around the little island. I haven’t a clue, I just know despite being in the middle of nowhere, deep in the swamp I’d never seen gators. But I was sure seeing them then. Fresh food … or food already decaying … was too much of a temptation. Lucky for me none of them ever came up on the dock, not even near it. But they were out there. I saw some … and heard more of the big lizards.
I was exhausted that night. But you know me, I can cat nap like it is an Olympic sport. I got through the night somehow but even before first light I was checking the pirogue and raft for damage and making sure that I’d found everything I was going to find in the little house. Found a large jug of kerosene in a little lean to in the garden and that reminded me to take the reflector lamps that Yula Mae used when she bothered being awake after the sun went down. I also took the canes that she said were her parents, and the one that she’d made for herself at some point and had only started to use full time the last month or so.
And then I hit the garden. I pulled everything that was ready to be picked which was most everything. The bushel of peppers I left lying around inside the house. I don’t know why, it just seemed the thing to do. The greens I cut and left for the ducks that ran feral on the island. That’s another thing I don’t know why I bothered, again it just seemed the thing to do. Then I went in back to the kitchen and took a few things beyond food like the small cast iron pieces and some of the old stoneware. I keep telling myself it isn’t stealing. It didn’t feel like stealing at the time. It felt like Yula Mae – or someone – was prompting me to take some things, like it was sinful to let it go to waste. Looking back though I feel … conflicted. Crazy word to come out of my mouth but it goes along with the crazy feelings that keep trying to break loose and run around in my head.
By the time I got everything loaded into the pirogue and onto the raft I was beat and it was too late to be traveling around in the swamp, especially since there might be problems from the storm. I got up early the next morning and by first light I was poling away from the island back towards town. I’d been correct, there was storm damage. The drought the year before had weakened some trees and the storm had felled them in places that I normally passed through. It already wasn’t the easiest thing in the world to pole the pirogue with the raft attached but the deep places was making it worse. I was pulled over trying to decide which path to take through some downed trees when I heard them.
Wylene called, “Pull the engine up Rasmu, there’s too much …”
“Belay that! I’m not wasting anymore time. My brothers are out here somewhere and I’m going to find them.” I knew that voice. Em would have as well. Good thing for me I was hidden in the fallen cyprus treetops.
“Dan …”
“Shut up Wylene. If you had done as I said and stayed away from that girl I wouldn’t have had to come get you and I’d had more time to deal with the situation. Dammit, all I need is for the two of them to screw everything up.”
“We found one of those men. You said there was another with your broth …”
“Shut up I said,” Daniel Edgar growled in a deadly tone. “People are getting suspicious. I might be able to lay the blame on Remy if I can catch him before he gets caught by the feds.”
“And if Martin …”
“If Martin what?”
“What if Martin has killed him. The caliber you dug out of that one we found matches what Martin usually carries.”
“Martin hasn’t got it in him to kill Remy … or me. I’ve got him terrified that it is Remy or his son that killed Henley and then beat him up. Martin always has been a coward.”
“You sure? He’s certainly played you on a few things.”
*SLAP!*
“How dare you!” she yelped.
“I am not telling you again Wylene. Shut your pie hole or I’ll take care of the problem you created for me right here and right now.”
I’d made a huge mistake where Daniel Edgar was concerned. In the beginning I considered him a butt kisser. Maybe a little bit of a trickster, a guy used to getting by on charm and full of himself, but never had I figured him for a cold blooded killer, at least not to the degree that I heard in his voice at that moment. I’ve known kids with sociopathic tendencies and he sounded like a grownup version of what they were. Wylene – I can’t decide whether she’s brave or a fool – either way she opened her mouth but never got a chance to utter a sound because Daniel didn’t just slap her that time, he slugged her hard enough she fell into the bottom of the boat. Then he kicked her twice.
“Boys, I think we have us some gator bait. Want a taste before I get busy?”
The sheer enjoyment he seemed to be getting out of finally terrorizing Wylene into submission was nauseating.
“Enough!” she shrieked. “I get it. I get it already. And don’t forget, I have another appointment tomorrow. If I’m not there they’ll come looking for me.”
“So? Let ‘em look.”
“Danny … pleeeeease …”
“Now you listen to me. I don’t care what you want, who you are, where you come from. You either do as I say … quickly, quietly, obediently … or I will slit your throat and leave you to bleed out here in the swamp for the local wildlife to clean up. Let me repeat … no one gives a shit about you. I don’t give a damn who your daddy was. No real man let’s his daughter do the kind of things you’ve done. If the fool wasn’t already dead he’d disown you. And give it up with blaming me for your loss of virtue. I wasn’t your first. I wasn’t your second. You’ve been had by so many men even you’ve lost count. You’re convenient … but that’s changing. You mouth off to me, saying anything but yes Daniel … not Dan, not Danny … Daniel … cause me any grief whatsoever and you’re a dead fem. You think you can remember that or do we need to have a little more … talk.”
“No Daniel. I mean yes Daniel. I understand.” she said with her head bowed like she was waiting for his permission to even stand up.
“Then get your ass in gear. And if you’ve caused me to miss my chance with them …”
“No Daniel. I’ll be quiet.”
He sent a kick at her and she flinched then he laughed in pleasure. Made me wonder how many times a scene like that has played out … with Wylene or with some other woman. It usually runs in families like that. Thank God my own father was not like that. I can’t imagine the hell my early life would have been. ‘Course I can see my mother putting up with that kind of thing either. But I supposed you never know, not really, what goes on behind closed doors.
The other two men that had been in the boat with Daniel and Wylene completely ignored the goings on. Then the one called Rasmu said, “Boss? Something up ahead.”
I won’t describe what I heard. It was part of another man. Could have been Remy or the other one. Tore up, probably as gators fought over the corpse.
“Maybe I caught a break and those idiots killed each other,” Daniel wondered aloud.
None of the others ventured an opinion and I don’t blame them. Daniel Edgar is certifiable. Maybe not crazy in he has no responsibility for his actions but he is the kind of something you don’t want to run into in a dark alley. I hid in that cypress log jam until I was sure they’d given up and moved on. It took me so long to pole everything in and then I had to figure out how to get the stuff from the water to the storage facility. I decided in for a penny in for a pound and poled right up the bayou as close to the storage facility as I could get and then hid what I could until I could go up and bring down that wagon we use to cart stuff from your truck when we have a load going or coming.
By the time I was finished with that I was once again cutting it close with curfew. But I made it and you were here and …
~~~~~~
I’d run out of words. Run out of just about everything.
“Yes,” he said.
“Yes what?”
“Yes, I’ll go with you to hunt nutria. But that’s Sunday. Tonight we are going to get some rest. Tomorrow … no today since it is after midnight … we’ll go check the co-op garden and while we’re over there we’ll get us some pop and chips and then see if someone has a cooker going and get a poboy to split. It’s Saturday so something is bound to be set up. We aren’t going to worry about shi … er … crap except sunburn and mosquitoes and breathing. And if anyone bothers you they gonna get stomped. By me. That’s final. Now c’mon. Put your stuff back in your hidey hole and come up on this bed with me. I’m a needin’ some sleep and it ain’t gonna happen if you ain’t close.”
“Just like that?”
“That’s right Cher. Just like that.”
And for better or worse I decided to go with his plan ‘cause it sounded better than what I’d been thinking.
Jeepcats27
Senior Member
Thank you for the Fourth of July surprise. I hope you and your family are having a great day!
Yes, as soon as it is finished posting here.
sssarawolf
Has No Life - Lives on TB
Good one, nice to find, it may be Independence Day but while we can we're getting as much done as possible. Got up again with a horrible headache and the youngest son came up to help dh fill in the soffit on the new deck room so birds won't build nests up in there. Happy 4th.
Griz3752
Retired, practising Curmudgeon
Not sure a 'butt whipping' is enough ...good start point though!
Ditto on the Thanks Kathy
"if he's lucky enough for it to stop there." ;-)
Chapter 79
I don’t know how Em does it. He can be the most wound up man I’ve ever met and then he can turn it off and tune it out and be so dang chill it makes me wonder if he is real. My head was about to come off my neck and rocket around our room but then he said he needed sleep, that we both did, came up with a plan for the next day and … and he just … and I just … I swear it happened just the way he said. The only stain on the t-shirt is when someone from the local investigative office hunted me up at the co-op and asked me a few questions like if I had seen Martin.
I heard someone call, “Yo! Ava! Someone here to see you!”
I stood up from where I’d been bent over picking beans and looked over. I knew right away he was a fed because they are the only crazies I know that on Saturday in this heat would be wearing a dark suit and reflective sunglasses. I mean he could have been a Seventh Day Adventist out evangelizing but the reflective sunglasses made me lean in the direction of him being a fed. As soon as he opened his mouth and I heard a painfully Boston accent I had my suspicions confirmed.
“Ah you Avah Mahxine Thib … Tib …”
“If you are trying to ask whether I am Ava Maxine Thibodaux the answer is yes. And you are?”
“An investigator with the Louisiana branch of the Federal Bureau of Investigation.”
“Uh huh. Do you have a name … and a badge for me to look at Mr. Federal Investigator?”
From behind me Em said softly, “Ava.”
I looked at the investigator then tossed my thumb at Em and said, “That sheep dog occasionally masquerades as a growly gator. Don’t hold it against him. He’s just overprotective because of my age and because some …” I sighed tiring of the game before I started it. “Look if you are here about what happened to my uncle’s grave I already gave a statement the other day.”
He handed his ID to Em who nodded and handed it back. “His name is Mr. Holcomb.”
“Well Mr. Holcomb, it’s a little hot and as you can see I’m a little busy trying to keep my job your previous round of questioning almost cost me. Let’s get down to business shall we?”
He smiled at me and said, “I’ve got a pair of twin daughters your age.”
“You have my sympathies if they are anything at all like me,” I told him. “Now that we’ve got that out of the way?”
He still looked at me with that half grin. “I saw the tapes of your questioning. I believe you are telling the truth. You had nothing to do with the vandalism at the cemetery. The rest of your story checks out. However you’re lying about something when it comes to the missing man called Martin Edgar. Did you know him?”
“Of course I knew him. I never said I didn’t. Of all the cockamamie …”
That quiet, calming voice came again. “Ava.”
I sighed very put upon. “I am not being disrespectful.” Turning back to Mr. Holcomb I repeated for emphasis, “I am not being disrespectful. But why would you ask me such a question. Probably half or more of the town could tell you that Martin was a close friend of my uncle’s. Close enough that he tried to investigate his death himself and got worked over pretty bad by someone. Just don’t ask me who ‘cause he would never discuss it except to warn me off doing the same thing and when he caught me fishing or hunting on my own he would usually dog me through the swamp until I finished and then make sure I got out of the swamp and heading back home. Not to mention the first few times I was out he was checking to make sure I knew what I was doing since he was a Fish & Wildlife employee.”
“You were … friends?”
“Eh … I’m not sure if you would call it that. He was my uncle’s age and people would probably call something like that borderline inappropriate. I guess mostly he has a daughter a few years younger than me … I think she’s fourteen? Fifteen? And with the Uncle Henley thing he was just looking out for me in his own way as … as … I don’t know … a remembrance or something like that.”
“Weren’t you worried about the stories of Mr. Edgar being a bit … off?”
I wasn’t falling into that trap. And even if Martin was a little squirrely I wasn’t going to disrespect his memory by encouraging people to think of him as crazy. I told the FBI man, “My understanding is he didn’t get that way until after he got beat on so bad. He wasn’t crazy if that’s what you are implying. He still loved his wife and daughter and not all the problems there were Martin’s fault. His wife is … um … I’ve never met her so this is gossip but I heard from other people that she loved Martin, she just wasn’t in love with his job because her parents were always on her for not marrying the doctor they’d had picked out for her.”
“And how would you characterize Mr. Edgar?”
“Twitchy. Worried a lot about making sure I knew to get home before dark. Kinda paranoid if he’d heard I had been out in the bayou or swamp without a partner … or if I had been talking to anyone in particular.”
“Talking to anyone?”
“Yeah. There was something going on between Martin and his brother Daniel. And you did not bring up his brother Remy. That was a guarantee to shut a conversation down.”
“Remy Edgar.”
“Yeah. I guess every family tree has to have a few nuts in it and of the three Edgar Brothers, Remy was theirs. Martin was always freaking a bit about Remy’s son too. Showed me a picture of some little kid, said it was Remy’s son, and that if I ever saw someone like that to run in the opposite direction and let him know so he could check it out.”
“Remy Edgar’s son is deceased.”
I acted surprised, blinked, and then said, “You better tell Daniel Edgar then because that’s who told Martin about their nephew. Or at least that’s what Martin told me a couple of times. And you better tell Lorelei their sister … half sister … as well. Though I think she either lives with Daniel or he watches after her. He used to get her jobs in law offices and banks and stuff. I’m not sure where she is right now. I avoid those places when I can.”
Mr. FBI dude scribbled some things on a little notepad. Looked at me and then point blank asked me if I thought Martin Edgar had dug up my uncle.
“I don’t know if I believe that. But, assuming you have proof that he did it, I can tell you he wouldn’t have done it except under duress. When I say he and Uncle Henley were close I mean close. Not dirty close if you know what I mean. But they were like brothers and were from the time they were younger than me. Martin had a hard time of it. His father abandoned the family and his mom remarried – which is where Lorelei comes in – but I think the early years really marked him. That and Remy might have been younger than him but didn’t exactly bring good things into and around the family. Martin escaped it when he went off to college but got dragged back into it when he graduated and moved back. He was always wishing he’d moved his wife and kid someplace different, maybe out west so he could be a ranger at a national park. Something like that. He used to ask me what Florida was like.”
“What did you tell him?”
“Told him it depended what part of the state he was talking about. Florida is pretty big and diverse. I’m from Bradenton myself which bounces between subtropical and tropical and has a huge retirement community.”
He looked at me and I could almost hear the wheels turning in his head. He finally asked me, “Have you seen Martin Edgar recently?”
“If you mean since Uncle Henley’s grave was vandalized the answer to that is no. And I’m worried about him. They said there was a lot of blood inside Martin’s rental and a couple of bullet holes in the wall. I heard a neighbor of his say that his truck was gone and so was his pirogue but there’s also been all kinds of stuff getting stolen on that side of town. Someone got their fishing boat stolen same time that Martin …” I sighed. “I just know the doofus probably went after whoever it was that beat on him.”
“And why do you say that?”
“’Cause he was as bad as Uncle Henley. Uncle Henley got beat on and messed up and people say he might have lived had he come out of the swamp sooner and gotten help. I’m really worried that maybe the same men that beat on Uncle Henley and beat on Martin the first time around might have come back … and worse Martin may have gone looking to confront them if they were the ones that vandalized Uncle Henley’s grave. Has anyone heard anything yet? I mean on the open investigation about Uncle Henley’s death.”
“Open investigation?”
“Yeah. Daniel Edgar told me there was an ongoing investigation when I first moved here from Bradenton. I think he told me to keep me from going off half cocked but I mean he’s a cop. He can’t just say there is an ongoing investigation without there being one. Right?”
He gave a noncommittal answer and then after scribbling a few more things, closed his notepad, reminded me not to leave the area as there might be more questions, and if I did see Martin Edgar I was to call the number on the card he gave me immediately.
“Yes Sir but it will probably be from the hospital because that’s where I’ll be dragging him when he shows up.”
He nodded and then left nearly falling before figuring out not to cross rows but to walk up a row and out of the garden.
Having had enough of people staring I turned and bent over thinking moon-ish thoughts while keeping my butt firmly covered. Em must have figured what I was doing though. “Cher you are going to wrench your back, especially if you start swinging your hips and dancing to go with that tune you’re humming. Not to mention I’m about to bust a gut. So do me a favor and knock it off.”
I squatted down in a more reasonable position and said, “I’m about done.” He understood me to be saying that I wasn’t just finished picking the row but was done with other things as well.
“Good. Give me that bushel full and I’ll carry it to the end of the row and get the truck and bring it over here to load up that one and the others as well. I heard someone was frying oysters down at the Fruit Stand. Auntie also has an order of shelled pecans to pick up from them. I don’t know about you but an oyster po boy is sounding good right about now.”
“With a grape soda?” I asked thinking of a day out we had early on.
“Naw. They got a batch of Abita Rootbeer in.”
“Rootbeer.”
“Sure Cher. They make it in Anita Springs with Lousiana cane syrup and spring water. Good stuff.”
I wanted to laugh but was too hot and tired. “Fine. I’ll take your word on it but I wanna pick up a couple of Peach Nehi’s for the frig too. And a couple of Pineapple Fantas. Maurice stopped carrying them and … well I guess everything runs out eventually, but I don’t want to have to be without until I have to be without.”
“No hibiscus lemonade?”
I shook my head. “I’m trying to give up dragging family stuff around.”
“You know Cher, some family stuff isn’t bad to drag around.”
“Some stuff. Maybe. But … I gotta start separating my identity from Uncle Henley’s. I’m getting tired of people telling me I’m just like Henley or Sylvee and … to be honest … what I’ve found out about those two …”
He came over and helped me stand up because without realizing it I’d finished the last row. “Why don’t you let that ride. Give your mind a rest from it. You gotta be tired.”
I stretched and popped my back. “And then some.” I sighed. “Fine. I’ll try and set it to the side for a bit. That’s no guarantee it won’t come find me though.”
“That’s always a possibility but only a possibility. Take a break from it while you can. Grab some rest and some perspective. Who knows what that brain of yours will figure out given a little space.”
I hope he is right. I feel a lot of things are coming to a point. Not just my personal crap but the stuff with Em, my job, this war … lots of things that seemed to be standing just off stage waiting to run out and muck up the script I’ve been working from.
I don’t know how Em does it. He can be the most wound up man I’ve ever met and then he can turn it off and tune it out and be so dang chill it makes me wonder if he is real. My head was about to come off my neck and rocket around our room but then he said he needed sleep, that we both did, came up with a plan for the next day and … and he just … and I just … I swear it happened just the way he said. The only stain on the t-shirt is when someone from the local investigative office hunted me up at the co-op and asked me a few questions like if I had seen Martin.
I heard someone call, “Yo! Ava! Someone here to see you!”
I stood up from where I’d been bent over picking beans and looked over. I knew right away he was a fed because they are the only crazies I know that on Saturday in this heat would be wearing a dark suit and reflective sunglasses. I mean he could have been a Seventh Day Adventist out evangelizing but the reflective sunglasses made me lean in the direction of him being a fed. As soon as he opened his mouth and I heard a painfully Boston accent I had my suspicions confirmed.
“Ah you Avah Mahxine Thib … Tib …”
“If you are trying to ask whether I am Ava Maxine Thibodaux the answer is yes. And you are?”
“An investigator with the Louisiana branch of the Federal Bureau of Investigation.”
“Uh huh. Do you have a name … and a badge for me to look at Mr. Federal Investigator?”
From behind me Em said softly, “Ava.”
I looked at the investigator then tossed my thumb at Em and said, “That sheep dog occasionally masquerades as a growly gator. Don’t hold it against him. He’s just overprotective because of my age and because some …” I sighed tiring of the game before I started it. “Look if you are here about what happened to my uncle’s grave I already gave a statement the other day.”
He handed his ID to Em who nodded and handed it back. “His name is Mr. Holcomb.”
“Well Mr. Holcomb, it’s a little hot and as you can see I’m a little busy trying to keep my job your previous round of questioning almost cost me. Let’s get down to business shall we?”
He smiled at me and said, “I’ve got a pair of twin daughters your age.”
“You have my sympathies if they are anything at all like me,” I told him. “Now that we’ve got that out of the way?”
He still looked at me with that half grin. “I saw the tapes of your questioning. I believe you are telling the truth. You had nothing to do with the vandalism at the cemetery. The rest of your story checks out. However you’re lying about something when it comes to the missing man called Martin Edgar. Did you know him?”
“Of course I knew him. I never said I didn’t. Of all the cockamamie …”
That quiet, calming voice came again. “Ava.”
I sighed very put upon. “I am not being disrespectful.” Turning back to Mr. Holcomb I repeated for emphasis, “I am not being disrespectful. But why would you ask me such a question. Probably half or more of the town could tell you that Martin was a close friend of my uncle’s. Close enough that he tried to investigate his death himself and got worked over pretty bad by someone. Just don’t ask me who ‘cause he would never discuss it except to warn me off doing the same thing and when he caught me fishing or hunting on my own he would usually dog me through the swamp until I finished and then make sure I got out of the swamp and heading back home. Not to mention the first few times I was out he was checking to make sure I knew what I was doing since he was a Fish & Wildlife employee.”
“You were … friends?”
“Eh … I’m not sure if you would call it that. He was my uncle’s age and people would probably call something like that borderline inappropriate. I guess mostly he has a daughter a few years younger than me … I think she’s fourteen? Fifteen? And with the Uncle Henley thing he was just looking out for me in his own way as … as … I don’t know … a remembrance or something like that.”
“Weren’t you worried about the stories of Mr. Edgar being a bit … off?”
I wasn’t falling into that trap. And even if Martin was a little squirrely I wasn’t going to disrespect his memory by encouraging people to think of him as crazy. I told the FBI man, “My understanding is he didn’t get that way until after he got beat on so bad. He wasn’t crazy if that’s what you are implying. He still loved his wife and daughter and not all the problems there were Martin’s fault. His wife is … um … I’ve never met her so this is gossip but I heard from other people that she loved Martin, she just wasn’t in love with his job because her parents were always on her for not marrying the doctor they’d had picked out for her.”
“And how would you characterize Mr. Edgar?”
“Twitchy. Worried a lot about making sure I knew to get home before dark. Kinda paranoid if he’d heard I had been out in the bayou or swamp without a partner … or if I had been talking to anyone in particular.”
“Talking to anyone?”
“Yeah. There was something going on between Martin and his brother Daniel. And you did not bring up his brother Remy. That was a guarantee to shut a conversation down.”
“Remy Edgar.”
“Yeah. I guess every family tree has to have a few nuts in it and of the three Edgar Brothers, Remy was theirs. Martin was always freaking a bit about Remy’s son too. Showed me a picture of some little kid, said it was Remy’s son, and that if I ever saw someone like that to run in the opposite direction and let him know so he could check it out.”
“Remy Edgar’s son is deceased.”
I acted surprised, blinked, and then said, “You better tell Daniel Edgar then because that’s who told Martin about their nephew. Or at least that’s what Martin told me a couple of times. And you better tell Lorelei their sister … half sister … as well. Though I think she either lives with Daniel or he watches after her. He used to get her jobs in law offices and banks and stuff. I’m not sure where she is right now. I avoid those places when I can.”
Mr. FBI dude scribbled some things on a little notepad. Looked at me and then point blank asked me if I thought Martin Edgar had dug up my uncle.
“I don’t know if I believe that. But, assuming you have proof that he did it, I can tell you he wouldn’t have done it except under duress. When I say he and Uncle Henley were close I mean close. Not dirty close if you know what I mean. But they were like brothers and were from the time they were younger than me. Martin had a hard time of it. His father abandoned the family and his mom remarried – which is where Lorelei comes in – but I think the early years really marked him. That and Remy might have been younger than him but didn’t exactly bring good things into and around the family. Martin escaped it when he went off to college but got dragged back into it when he graduated and moved back. He was always wishing he’d moved his wife and kid someplace different, maybe out west so he could be a ranger at a national park. Something like that. He used to ask me what Florida was like.”
“What did you tell him?”
“Told him it depended what part of the state he was talking about. Florida is pretty big and diverse. I’m from Bradenton myself which bounces between subtropical and tropical and has a huge retirement community.”
He looked at me and I could almost hear the wheels turning in his head. He finally asked me, “Have you seen Martin Edgar recently?”
“If you mean since Uncle Henley’s grave was vandalized the answer to that is no. And I’m worried about him. They said there was a lot of blood inside Martin’s rental and a couple of bullet holes in the wall. I heard a neighbor of his say that his truck was gone and so was his pirogue but there’s also been all kinds of stuff getting stolen on that side of town. Someone got their fishing boat stolen same time that Martin …” I sighed. “I just know the doofus probably went after whoever it was that beat on him.”
“And why do you say that?”
“’Cause he was as bad as Uncle Henley. Uncle Henley got beat on and messed up and people say he might have lived had he come out of the swamp sooner and gotten help. I’m really worried that maybe the same men that beat on Uncle Henley and beat on Martin the first time around might have come back … and worse Martin may have gone looking to confront them if they were the ones that vandalized Uncle Henley’s grave. Has anyone heard anything yet? I mean on the open investigation about Uncle Henley’s death.”
“Open investigation?”
“Yeah. Daniel Edgar told me there was an ongoing investigation when I first moved here from Bradenton. I think he told me to keep me from going off half cocked but I mean he’s a cop. He can’t just say there is an ongoing investigation without there being one. Right?”
He gave a noncommittal answer and then after scribbling a few more things, closed his notepad, reminded me not to leave the area as there might be more questions, and if I did see Martin Edgar I was to call the number on the card he gave me immediately.
“Yes Sir but it will probably be from the hospital because that’s where I’ll be dragging him when he shows up.”
He nodded and then left nearly falling before figuring out not to cross rows but to walk up a row and out of the garden.
Having had enough of people staring I turned and bent over thinking moon-ish thoughts while keeping my butt firmly covered. Em must have figured what I was doing though. “Cher you are going to wrench your back, especially if you start swinging your hips and dancing to go with that tune you’re humming. Not to mention I’m about to bust a gut. So do me a favor and knock it off.”
I squatted down in a more reasonable position and said, “I’m about done.” He understood me to be saying that I wasn’t just finished picking the row but was done with other things as well.
“Good. Give me that bushel full and I’ll carry it to the end of the row and get the truck and bring it over here to load up that one and the others as well. I heard someone was frying oysters down at the Fruit Stand. Auntie also has an order of shelled pecans to pick up from them. I don’t know about you but an oyster po boy is sounding good right about now.”
“With a grape soda?” I asked thinking of a day out we had early on.
“Naw. They got a batch of Abita Rootbeer in.”
“Rootbeer.”
“Sure Cher. They make it in Anita Springs with Lousiana cane syrup and spring water. Good stuff.”
I wanted to laugh but was too hot and tired. “Fine. I’ll take your word on it but I wanna pick up a couple of Peach Nehi’s for the frig too. And a couple of Pineapple Fantas. Maurice stopped carrying them and … well I guess everything runs out eventually, but I don’t want to have to be without until I have to be without.”
“No hibiscus lemonade?”
I shook my head. “I’m trying to give up dragging family stuff around.”
“You know Cher, some family stuff isn’t bad to drag around.”
“Some stuff. Maybe. But … I gotta start separating my identity from Uncle Henley’s. I’m getting tired of people telling me I’m just like Henley or Sylvee and … to be honest … what I’ve found out about those two …”
He came over and helped me stand up because without realizing it I’d finished the last row. “Why don’t you let that ride. Give your mind a rest from it. You gotta be tired.”
I stretched and popped my back. “And then some.” I sighed. “Fine. I’ll try and set it to the side for a bit. That’s no guarantee it won’t come find me though.”
“That’s always a possibility but only a possibility. Take a break from it while you can. Grab some rest and some perspective. Who knows what that brain of yours will figure out given a little space.”
I hope he is right. I feel a lot of things are coming to a point. Not just my personal crap but the stuff with Em, my job, this war … lots of things that seemed to be standing just off stage waiting to run out and muck up the script I’ve been working from.
Jeepcats27
Senior Member
Thank you for the new chapter!