Cajun Persuasion

  “Did your friend, Frannie, get rescued at the same time?”

  “No.” Tears now streamed down Fleur’s face. “She committed suicide a month after we were kidnapped.”

  “Oh, my God!” he whispered, but he had to keep calm, while she was not. “Was returning home, here on the bayou, not a possibility, after your rescue?”

  She shook her head. “To my family, I was already dead. Besides, it was my fault for being in that situation, they claimed. They didn’t say the words, but they really thought I should have killed myself, like Frannie. Otherwise, I must have been there willingly.”

  Rage filled him at the intolerance of ignorant people. Somehow, he would find an outlet for that rage, later, but he had to focus on what was important in the here and now. “Let’s examine the facts here, Fleur. Ten years later, you think this scumbag recognized you and will somehow locate you and enact revenge. That is a stretch, sweetheart.”

  The endearment had just slipped out. Luckily, she didn’t hear or just ignored it. “I saw him write down the license number of Tante Lulu’s car on his hand. How hard is it today, with the Internet and everything, to trace a plate? He’ll come. It’s only a matter of time.”

  Okay, maybe not such a stretch, after all. He was beginning to share her distress. “You’ve got to get out of here then. Pronto. That’s the first thing.”

  “I know,” she said, more composed as she wiped her face with a tissue, “but I can’t go back to the convent. Even if they don’t find me here, eventually they would go after Tante Lulu to find out where I am.”

  She was probably right.

  “Not only would that put Tante Lulu in danger, but the convent, too. And not just that. If they make a connection between me, my escape, and the Magdas, their mission to rescue kidnapped girls will be put to an end.”

  Maybe. Maybe not.

  “Secrecy is essential; it’s a miracle they’ve been able to conceal their activities for so long. If the criminals, or the police, don’t stop their work, the church will.”

  Now that’s where he drew the line. “We’re going to have to contact local law enforcement, or the feds, no matter what you say.” He held up a halting hand. “I’m not saying that we do anything without first consulting the Street Apostles and the Magdas, but this is bigger than just you. We’ll move slowly, carefully. Agreed?”

  She nodded, reluctantly.

  “But first, we need to get you and Tante Lulu to a safe place. Bayou Rose makes the most sense.”

  “What? No!” Fleur protested.

  “Yes. Perfect,” Tante Lulu said, coming through the screen door by hitting the frame with her little hip. She carried two icy glasses of sweet tea, one of which she handed to him before sitting in the third rocker. “This will be jist like the time you hid Samantha and her step-brother from the Dixie Mafia. You worked up a bite . . . no, a whatchamacallit . . . a sting, that’s it . . . with the FBI and the FDA and a bunch of those other government letter agencies what no one understands, dint ya, Aaron? And yer plantation was the perfect hidin’ place. Plus, Daniel got his chance ta woo Samantha inta bed while she was there. Lagniappe, so ta speak.” She waggled her sparse gray eyebrows at him meaningfully. The gray brows were in contrast to the big blonde wig that sat lopsided on her head, as if she’d just yanked it on before coming outside.

  He got her meaning about the lagniappe, the little something extra.

  But Fleur didn’t. She was still gaping at Tante Lulu’s long spiel about all those government agencies on his plantation premises and some involvement with the Dixie Mob. Once she’d recovered, she said, “I can’t intrude on you that way, Aaron. I know that I asked you to come and give me advice, but I wasn’t expecting such a huge favor. Besides, your brother and his wife live there. You can’t make that kind of offer for their home.”

  “It’s half mine.”

  “Still . . .”

  “Actually, that was the thing I wanted to discuss with you, Fleur. Turns out my brother and Samantha may be moving to Baton Rouge for a new job. So, I may be living there all by my lonesome.”

  Fleur looked puzzled as to why this was something he wanted to discuss with her. He wasn’t sure he had an answer.

  “What? Thass the first I’ve heard ’bout Daniel and Samantha movin’,” Tante Lulu said, but immediately added, “See. It was meant ta be. We’re movin’ inta Bayou Rose. It’ll be jist like a vacation. I get the bedroom next ta the bathroom.”

  “Don’t tell anyone about Daniel moving,” Aaron warned Tante Lulu. “Nothing definite has been decided.”

  Tante Lulu pretended to zip her lips and throw the imaginary key over her shoulder.

  “If nothing is decided, they won’t be moving right away. We would still be intruding,” Fleur argued. “Especially at this time, with Samantha about to have a baby. Talk about impositions!”

  “It ain’t imposin’ when it’s family,” Tante Lulu told her.

  “But I’m not family.”

  “Shush yerself, girl. Yer extended family.”

  Fleur ignored what Tante Lulu just said, though Aaron could tell she was kind of touched. The old lady had a knack for doing that, annoying the hell out of you, then doing something wonderful. “The timing is also bad for you, Aaron. With the FAA investigation, you need to keep under the radar.” Fleur looked imploringly at him, trying to get him on her side.

  Not a chance! “No one’s going to know that I’m involved with you.” He liked the sound of that and couldn’t help but grin.

  “Stop flashing that dimple at me. There’s nothing funny about this situation.”

  She noticed my dimple again. That has to be a good sign. “It’s not about funny. It’s about me being happy to help two lovely ladies.”

  Tante Lulu preened.

  Fleur snorted, and he thought she muttered something under her breath, immediately followed by “Click!”

  “Okay, I’m going to call my brother to alert him to the situation while you two start packing. I’ll call Luc, too, and tell him to come out to Bayou Rose tomorrow.”

  “Why Luc? He’s a lawyer. We don’t need a lawyer. We need protection.”

  “We need Luc’s skills in planning which agencies to contact. I’ll provide any protection you need.”

  “I’ll protect you, too,” Tante Lulu offered, patting the pistol in her hip holster, which he’d just noticed.

  Fleur groaned.

  “Later, I’ll call Snake, and see what they suggest from their end,” Aaron said. To Tante Lulu, he explained, “Snake is an old Air Force buddy of mine. Brian Malone. Rather, Brother Brian Malone with the St. Jude’s Street Apostles.” It had taken Snake a long time to recuperate from his wounds last year, but he was back in action again, back at the Street Apostles’ Dallas headquarters.

  “Maybe I could hide out there . . . at the Street Apostles’ ranch,” Fleur said.

  “Maybe,” Aaron conceded, though he preferred her under his care.

  “I have Shrimp Étouffée ready ta go in the oven fer dinner. Should we eat first?” Tante Lulu asked.

  “No, just pack it up. We’ll eat it back at Bayou Rose.”

  “What about Tante Lulu’s convertible?” Fleur asked, apparently resigned, finally, to their move. At least temporarily. “I put it in the garage, but I’m not sure we should leave it here. Miguel and his grunts might see it through the garage window and decide to wait us out. If it’s not here, they might think they got the wrong place.”

  “From your lips to God’s ears,” Aaron said.

  “Or St. Jude’s,” Tante Lulu piped in.

  “We’ll bring the car with us,” Aaron decided. “You can drive it or my truck,” he told Fleur.

  While Tante Lulu and Fleur went inside to prepare for their indefinite stay at the plantation, Aaron took out his phone to call his brother. But first, he listened in as Tante Lulu told Fleur, “Stop bein’ so snarky with Aaron. He’s tryin’ ta help.”

  “I just don’t want to be beholden to th
e man.”

  “Why? He’s in love with you.”

  “He used to be. Not anymore.”

  “That’s what you think. That boy wants ta jump you like a dead battery, if ya ask me.”

  “I am dead, that’s for sure. In more ways than one.”

  “Ain’t you jist a ray of sunshine. Give yerself a chance, girl. Sometimes happiness sneaks in through a door ya dint know was left open.”

  Fleur laughed. “You are nuttier than squirrel poop. Maybe when you’re done with your herb remedy book, and your biography, you could write a book of Cajun proverbs. Wacky Cajun proverbs.”

  “Good idea. Here’s a good one ta start with. ‘People are lonely because they build walls instead of bridges.’ And, missie, yer walls are so thick, it would take dynamite ta break through. By the way, make sure ya bring yer computer and all those folk remedy books of mine soz you can work on the project while we’re at Bayou Rose. Ya never know how much time I have left and we gotta make use of every minute.”

  “Are you unwell?”

  “Nah, but best ta be prepared. We kin work on my biography, too. Lordy, every time I think all my adventures are over, somethin’ else comes up. Ain’t this excitin’?”

  “Yeah, real exciting!”

  “Keep frownin’ like that and yer face is gonna freeze like an old hag. Me—as old as I am—I’ll never look like a hag ’cause I’m allus so cheery and positive. You could learn some things from me, girl.”

  Aaron grinned. Fleur was probably doing mental clicks in her head. He pressed the contact number on his cell phone and waited. Finally, Dan picked up.

  “Hey, bro,” Aaron said cheerily. “You ready for some company?”

  “Uh.”

  “I’m over at Tante Lulu’s. I’m bringing her and Fleur back there with me.”

  “Why? For how long?”

  “Indefinite.”

  “What’s this about, Aaron?”

  “Remember how the plantation became a hideout for Samantha and her step-brother Angus and his girlfriend Lily Beth last year?”

  “Yeeaah,” Dan said, drawing the word out.

  “This is kind of the same situation, except maybe worse.”

  “Aaron!”

  “Are you okay with me bringing them there?”

  “Of course. I’ll tell Samantha and Aunt Mel to get some rooms ready, or do you think they would prefer one of the cottages? They’re empty for the moment while work is being done on the new septic lines, but I’m sure we could make one or two of them useable by jerry-rigging the old pipes.”

  “Maybe. No, I think it would be better if they were inside the Money Pit.” That was their name for the mansion that ate cash like a slot machine, the kind that only took big bills. “We can decide that later. For now, for tonight at least, let’s plan on them being in the main house.”

  “Okay. Anything you want us to do from this end?”

  “No. Just know that Fleur is really anxious about intruding. Make her feel welcome.”

  “Of course.”

  His heart kind of swelled with love and pride that his brother didn’t insist on more details before agreeing to unexpected guests. “Thanks, bro. You’re the best,” Aaron choked out.

  “Always,” his brother said. “One last thing. Does this mean we’re going to get a St. Jude swimming pool, with the bayou bulldozer, aka Tante Lulu, on the job site?”

  “Probably,” Aaron said with a laugh.

  “You know what the old lady’s going to say about all this, don’t you? It’s St. Jude and the Thunderbolt at work. All part of the celestial plan to get you to jump through the love hoops.”

  Aaron could only hope. As long as he wasn’t making that jump by himself.

  Chapter Six

  Home, home, on the range . . . uh, plantation . . .

  Everyone was being so nice, which made Fleur feel just awful.

  Fleur took care of her own problems. She’d been on her own for a long time, without depending on other people for help. Even back at the convent, she’d carried her own weight, giving a hundred percent and more of herself to “pay her way,” and not just through the rescue missions.

  These people here at Bayou Rose wanted nothing in return for their favors, except for Aaron, maybe, who was behaving perfectly. Too perfectly. There was mischief in him, just waiting to pounce; she knew it, sure as God made sin and pretty red apples. It was like Tante Lulu had told her, when working on her biography, “Never trust a Cajun man with angel eyes and a devil’s own grin.” Fleur would add to that, “Especially if he has a killer dimple.”

  Of course, she was immune. But, still . . .

  Fleur had picked a bedroom on the third floor, where she would be by herself. There, she felt safe, far removed from the recent threat posed by Miguel. Besides, she appreciated a solitary space to think and pray, which was of course the whole purpose of her respite from the convent. To contemplate her future. Which was looking dimmer and dimmer.

  Actually, this level was the fourth floor, or attic, if you counted the ground level as the first floor. Bedrooms up here had been used by servants, or slaves, at one time. Everyone else was in one of the six bedrooms on the floor below, except for Aaron, who lived in that separate building, and except for Daniel and Samantha who had converted a second parlor on the main floor into a temporary bedroom so that she wouldn’t have to go up and down the stairs in her advanced state of pregnancy.

  Fleur’s room was small and plain, with rough-cut pine boards arranged horizontally on the walls and whitewashed lightly so the wood showed through. The random plank cypress floors, worn unevenly by years of use, were covered only by a woven, mat-like area carpet. An antique block-patterned quilt in shades of faded indigo blue and white was folded back to expose crisp white cotton sheets on the single bed.

  An electrified hurricane lamp atop a chest of drawers made up for the lack of overhead lighting. In addition, a modern floor lamp with its own round table surrounding the pole sat next to a comfy upholstered chair, both looking like flea market finds, but perfect for reading.

  In fact, built-in shelves held a dozen or so books in several genres—mystery, romance, nonfiction, along with some magazines—Time, Newsweek, Psychology Today, Architectural Digest, Southern Living, and Cosmo. That latter drew a smile, especially the cover which proclaimed “Celibacy Is Hot!” The top shelf also held an old Bakelite radio, which still worked. She had turned it on low to a local station which played traditional Cajun ballads in twangy Acadian French. Right now, it was that favorite, “Jolie Blon.”

  It was a corner room with small windows, overlooking the sugarcane fields on one side, and on the other, a row of quaint, pastel-colored cottages surrounded by white picket-fenced, postage-stamp size yards, once the slave quarters, but now used for families of cancer patients under Dr. Daniel LeDeux’s pediatric oncology care.

  A ceiling fan, along with the open windows, allowed for a slight breeze, making the room, not air-conditioned cool, but comfortable. At least, at nighttime. During a summer day, the heat might be unbearable.

  She’d come up to put her clothing and meager belongings away. There was no closet, but plenty of drawer space. Since there was no desk, she would have to figure out some place to work on Tante Lulu’s projects. Maybe the kitchen when no one else was there.

  Footsteps sounded on the stairs and Aaron soon appeared in the open doorway. He wore tan cargo shorts, a black T-shirt with the sleeves ripped off, and rubber flip-flops instead of his usual cowboy boots. His hair was wet and slicked back off his face, and a piney scent wafted into the room. He must have just showered. He hadn’t shaved, though, and his face was covered with an evening stubble.

  Leaning against the doorframe, he said, “Are you sure you want to be up here? There are bigger bedrooms downstairs with window AC units.”

  She shook her head. “This is perfect. In fact, it’s the nicest room I’ve ever had.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. You come from a
different background than I do, Aaron. I grew up in a run-down bayou shack with eight brothers and sisters. Just having a room of my own would have been bliss. And at the convent . . . well, the rooms are more like cells, which they’re intended to be. Bare bones. Utilitarian. This is”—she swept a hand to indicate the attic room—“pretty.”

  “If you say so.” She could tell he wanted to ask more questions, probably about her family, but he restrained himself. Instead, he walked around the room, examining and touching things. The fabric of the lace-edged pillowcase. A sampler on the wall proclaiming in cross-stitch, “Home Is Where the Heart Is.” A blue silk nightshirt hanging from a wall peg; she’d purchased the garment at the used clothing store this morning, which seemed like eons ago. Even the magazines with Cosmo left on top, to her dismay, but he just snickered under his breath and said nothing. Which was not normal for him. She was right to be on her guard where Aaron was concerned. He was up to something.

  “You only have a half bath up here,” he pointed out. “If you want to shower or soak in a tub, you’ll have to go downstairs.”

  “Sounds good to me. Is there time before dinner?”

  “Should be. Tante Lulu and Aunt Mel are going gangbusters in the kitchen. Mixing the shrimp dish Tante Lulu brought along with the grilled cheeseburgers Aunt Mel had been planning. Should be interesting.”

  “Maybe I’ll hurry up and take a shower then,” she said, beginning to pull out drawers to gather clean clothes.

  “Don’t rush. I installed a super deluxe rainforest shower here, with all kinds of sprays and gadgets. You’ll want to relish the experience. In fact, I should probably show you how it works.” He batted his eyelashes at her with exaggerated innocence.

  “I think I can figure it out,” she said with a laugh. This was the first that Aaron had acted like his normal rascal self all day. She liked it.