The Love Potion

  “Tee-John’s not the only one Luc is accused of kidnapping.”

  “Who else?” She had to think only a second to realize who the other alleged victim might be. “I would hardly classify myself as a victim.”

  Remy slanted her a quick glance, then grinned. “So it’s that way with you two, huh?”

  She just lifted her chin. “Laugh and you are dead meat, mister.”

  He laughed anyway. “Tante Lulu will be so pleased.”

  “Don’t you dare say anything to her.”

  “Say what?” Tee-John wanted to know.

  “Nothing,” she and Remy said at the same time.

  Then Remy continued to list Luc’s supposed offenses. “Assault with a firearm. Resisting arrest. Using obscene language to a police officer. Making terroristic threats.”

  “Is that all?” she questioned sarcastically.

  Remy shrugged. “The bottom line is that Luc is in major trouble. There are some big shots pressing him to the wall this time.”

  Sylvie bit her bottom lip with worry. “Trouble of this seriousness is probably nothing new for Luc, but it’s a bone-chilling experience for me, I gotta tell you.”

  “That’s what happens when you’re in cahoots with ‘the bad boy of the bayou.’” He squeezed her hand to show he was just teasing.

  “Well, I’ll tell you one thing. Never again will I complain about my life being boring.”

  Soon, the plane was flying over Houma and preparing to land in a small private bayou docking area. It was hard to believe that she’d been gone less than two days, even harder to believe that it had been less than a week since Luc came into her lab for help, and accidentally swallowed the love-potion jelly beans.

  Suddenly, the clouds parted in the dawn sky, showing the place of her birth with all its numerous bayous and bridges. The scene was covered with a dreamlike, impressionist haze. Yes, that was what this whole experience seemed like…a dream.

  But she feared it was about to become a nightmare.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Despite her plea to be taken directly to the jail where Luc was being held, Remy took them to Sylvie’s apartment. Stubborn-to-the-bone must be a LeDeux family trait.

  She was amazed to find waiting there Tante Lulu, Charmaine, Claudia, and René. And it was only seven A.M.

  “Luc gave me specific instructions not to allow you to visit him in jail,” Remy was telling her in an increasingly louder voice, attempting to be heard over Tante Lulu, who was in the corner alternately scolding and hugging Tee-John at the same time. Boy and great-aunt were a sight to see, about the same height, eyeball to eyeball.

  Tante Lulu’s helmet of tight curls was dyed red today…bright red. She was wearing a black leather jacket and jeans, claiming to have traded in her purple Impala for a Harley. That must be why the white T-shirt visible under the open jacket read, “Rev My Engine.” A small emblem on the front of the jacket read, “Biker Babes” emblazoned on the back in huge red letters was, “Born to Be Wild.”

  Sylvie had heard of a mid-life crisis before, but late-life crisis? That was a new one. She shook her head to rid it of these extraneous thoughts.

  “Why? Why doesn’t Luc want me to go see him in jail?” Sylvie asked Remy. She couldn’t help feeling a twinge of disappointment that Luc would cut her off this way. She’d thought they were partners in this enterprise. And she’d been hoping they might be partners in another way.

  “I’m not sure. I just know he was adamant. ‘No Sylvie at the jail!’”

  “He probably wants to protect you,” René offered, sensing how hurtful those words would be to her. “You know, the Cajun Knight baloney.”

  Baloney about says it all.

  Remy made a snorting sound of disagreement. “All I know is that Claudia is the only one he wants showing up at his cell door.”

  Claudia? He wants to see Claudia? The green monster of jealousy dug its claws into her heart.

  Remy seemed to take particular note then of Claudia, who was sitting on the arm of the wing-back chair where René was seated. She looked as if she’d just come from the gym, wearing one of those black, crisscross spandex midriff tops and silk exercise pants.

  “Hey, Clau-di-a,” Remy said with a grin.

  “Hey, Re-my,” Claudia drawled right back at him, also grinning.

  The green monster of jealousy evaporated in Sylvie as she took in the serious chemistry ping-ponging between these two. But back to the issue at hand. “I can protect myself,” she snarled. “Really, this Cajun Knight business of Luc’s goes only so far before it turns sour.”

  “Did Luc offer to be your Cajun Knight?” Charmaine wanted to know. She was applying nail enamel with careless abandon, while seated in Sylvie’s great-grandmother’s delicate antique chair made of pallisandre or violet ebony. It was a priceless piece signed by none other than the New Orleans furniture maker Seignouret. “That is so cute of him. You should be flattered.”

  Oh, yeah, I’m flattered. More like furious at his high-handed orders. Keep me away from the jail? Hah!

  “Anyhow, shouldn’t you be worried about the warrant out for your arrest?” René reminded her. “I would think that a jailhouse is the last place you’d want to be seen.”

  “I called Peter Finch, my lawyer, from the cell phone in Remy’s plane. He’ll take copies of the JBX legal documents to the district attorney’s office this morning. They’ll show my equal right to the love-potion formula. There’s no basis for criminal action against me.” She waved a hand dismissively.

  “How about your mother?” Remy asked. “Remember those remarks she made about your mental stability?”

  Sylvie bristled at that reminder. “I’m not going to be intimidated by my mother…not anymore. If she pushes me too far, she’s going to find out that I know more family secrets than she would care to air in public.”

  Sylvie couldn’t believe she was behaving in such a calm manner…courageous, really, for one handicapped so often in the past by shyness. She guessed that when the people and things she valued most were jeopardized, fear took second place to outrage.

  “Let’s have some coffee and make a plan,” Tante Lulu suggested, her arm around Tee-John’s shoulder.

  “Good idea,” Claudia agreed. Then, to Sylvie, she added, “I need to update you on some things anyhow.”

  Seated around the kitchen table, Claudia quickly reviewed all the intelligence she’d been able to gather while they’d been gone. Her data, in combination with the samples they had gathered and the documents Tee-John had pilfered, would go a long way toward putting some high-placed people in legal jeopardy, maybe even prison. Oh, they didn’t have the makings of a complete lawsuit at this point, but maybe enough for a pretrial settlement.

  “Do you have those documents in a safe place?” Claudia asked Sylvie at one point.

  “Yep.” Sylvie smiled widely. “Under the newspaper liner in the bottom of Samson and Delilah’s cage.”

  Everyone laughed at that.

  “I’ll take them with me when I go,” Remy said.

  While they exchanged information, Tante Lulu took over Sylvie’s kitchen, brewing up a better pot of coffee than Sylvie had ever made…something about tossing egg shells in with the grounds or some such thing. Where she’d gotten egg shells, Sylvie had no idea, since she didn’t recall having any eggs in the house.

  But then she heard something ominous, coming from her basement.

  “Cock-a-doodle-doo!” the sound came again. “Cluck, cluck, cluck.”

  “What was that?” Sylvie had a sinking feeling even as she raised the question. They were all sitting around her kitchen table while Tante Lulu poured mugs of coffee for them, and diet pop for Tee-John.

  Without missing a beat, Tante Lulu answered, “The chickens.”

  “In my basement?” she squeaked out.

  “Yeah, Sylvie, remember me telling you about that the other night?” Remy reminded her. “Flocking the bride?”

  “Feathering the
bride,” Tante Lulu corrected, and went on pouring coffee. Then she pulled a baker’s bag off the counter—did the woman always come prepared with food?—and laid out on a platter a dozen les oreilles de cochran, or “pig’s ears”—a Cajun deep-fried pastry sprinkled with sugar. Tee-John downed one of the confections before Sylvie had a chance to register what his aunt had said. “Hope you weren’t too fond of that ugly red leather chair down there, hon. I tried to cover everything with those fancy flowered sheets of yours I found in the linen closet, but those birds have a mind of their own. The chair seems to be covered with a little bit of chicken poop.” She thought a moment. “Okay, a lot.”

  “But why in the basement?” she persisted, refusing to focus on the leather chair—her dead father’s favorite for reading—or the Christian Dior sheets her cousin Valerie had given her last Christmas.

  “’Cause your dumb neighbors complained about the noise of chickens squawkin’. Can you imagine? It’s not like I was playin’ heavy lead music or nothin’.”

  “Uh, I think you mean heavy metal,” René said, rolling his eyes at Sylvie.

  “Lead, iron, steel, metal, whatever,” Tante Lulu said, waving a free hand in the air. “Don’t these people know that the sounds of nature are pleasing? Betcha they’d be complainin’ if I dumped a truckload of cow manure on those sorry roses of yours out back, too. Yep, these city folks have lost their connection with the good earth.”

  “Don’t…you…dare,” Sylvie sputtered, “…bring cow manure here.”

  Remy and René were laughing uproariously at her dilemma, while Charmaine and Claudia appeared to be sympathetic. Tee-John just continued to eat.

  Sylvie raked the fingers of both hands through her tangled hair. She must look a mess. In fact, she noticed Charmaine eyeing her speculatively, even as she was blowing on her nails to dry the lacquer. No doubt Charmaine would be suggesting a makeover sometime soon. Before Charmaine got a chance, Sylvie wanted to set Tante Lulu straight. “What you don’t understand is that I am not a prospective bride.”

  “Really?” Tante Lulu sank down into a chair with a thud of disappointment. “I was sure that boy would see the light this time.”

  “Did you have a vision, Tante Lulu?” René asked.

  His aunt nodded sadly. “I coulda sworn I saw Luc walking down the aisle with a bride that looked like Sylvie here.”

  “Well, they was kissin’ and touchin’ a lot,” Tee-John informed the group. He was idly licking the powdered sugar off his fingers as he spoke.

  “They were?” everyone else exclaimed with decided glee in their voices. Except Sylvie, of course, whose face felt as red as Tante Lulu’s hair.

  “Yep,” Tee-John said.

  Tante Lulu’s smile was so wide, it was a wonder her face didn’t break.

  “And then there was the naughty stuff,” Tee-John elaborated. “Whoo-ee!”

  Sylvie let her face drop to the table, right on top of her own “pig’s ear.” She didn’t care. Life didn’t get any worse than this.

  Then her life got worse.

  Her mother and Valcour LeDeux arrived.

  “Have you lost your mind, Sylvie Marie?” her mother asked, as if she were a child, and not a grown woman. “And what is that ungodly white powder on your face?”

  Her mother had walked into the kitchen, uninvited and unannounced, and was regarding each of them in turn with her nose lifted in the air. The Queen Mother stepping down into the servants’ quarters couldn’t have shown more arrogance. Most of all, her disdain was for Sylvie.

  “Hello to you, too, Mother,” Sylvie remarked with a snippishness she usually contained around her family. As she scrubbed at her face with a damp dish towel that Tante Lulu handed her, she proceeded to berate her mother. “And I’m just fine, thanks. Yes, I managed to escape, unharmed, from the bullets shot through my front window. The voodoo snakes at the cabin were nonpoisonous, thank you very much. Would you like a cup of coffee? Or a cup of my blood?”

  “A lady does not speak with such sarcasm, Sylvie Marie. Restrain yourself.”

  “Jeesh!” she heard Claudia mutter under her breath. “Talk about a royal poker up the be-hind!”

  To which Charmaine added, “Someone ought to tell her that her little girl has grown up.”

  Oh, to be making such a spectacle of herself! Sylvie felt her palms begin to sweat, and a wave of cold shivers passed over her. Next, she would be hyperventilating.

  No, she was a new Sylvie. She was not going to crumble under her mother’s condemnation, or from fear of ridicule.

  Meanwhile, Valcour LeDeux, wearing a rumpled suit and a dress shirt unbuttoned at the collar, took Tee-John by the nape and pulled him out of his chair. “I ought to whup you good, boy.”

  “I dint do nothin’ wrong,” he wailed. At the same time, Tee-John gave Sylvie a look that promised he would disclose none of the secrets he’d learned from her and Luc at the bayou hideaway. Remy had already taken care of hiding the water and soil samples. She had the Cypress Oil papers stored in her own secret place.

  “Nothing wrong? I’ll show you ‘nothing wrong,’ Tee-John.” His father shook him, hard.

  “Uh, I don’t think so,” Remy said, rising to his feet. “The beatings in this family stopped a long time ago, Dad, and they aren’t going to start up now.”

  René and Sylvie joined him in standing, and they all glared at the man.

  “Don’t interfere in my bizness,” Valcour said icily, still holding a squealing Tee-John by the neck so that he had to stand on tiptoe. “He’s caused a lot of trouble to a lot of folks. He deserves to be punished.”

  “Not with physical abuse,” Sylvie declared.

  “Stay out of this, missy. You’re in enough trouble yourself.”

  “Don’t speak to my daughter that way,” Inez Breaux-Fontaine surprised Sylvie by saying. To Sylvie, she said, “Come home with me where we can discuss this…uh, matter, in private. With a little creative PR, we can still avoid a scandal, I’m sure.”

  “I’m not going anywhere till Luc is out of jail,” Sylvie said. “And frankly, at this point, scandal be damned.”

  Her mother sucked in air like a puff fish.

  “Way to go, Sylvie,” Remy said with obvious surprise.

  Inez gave Remy a once-over that included an unkind pause on his damaged face.

  Remy stared back at her, unwavering.

  Claudia looked as if she’d like to leap over the table and strangle Inez for her rude assessment.

  Inez turned her attention back to Sylvie. “Lucien LeDeux has nothing to do with you.” She said his name as if it left a bad taste in her mouth.

  “I beg to differ.”

  Her mother went bug-eyed, and everyone in the room turned to stare at Sylvie questioningly.

  Sylvie declined to elaborate, which caused Tante Lulu to narrow her eyes as she studied her. Tante Lulu was probably picking out wedding colors in her head, or ordering a few more chickens.

  Remy grinned and winked at her. René pumped his fist in the air in celebration of some victory. Claudia and Charmaine exchanged a sappy look that pretty much said, “Ain’t love grand?” Valcour LeDeux’s face turned practically green; he could probably use a stiff drink.

  “Sylvie Marie, we are talking about The Swamp Solicitor,” her mother hissed. “A man who takes great delight in being called ‘the bad boy of the bayou.’” To her credit, she relayed her message in an undertone, so as not to offend his family.

  “So?” Sylvie asked. “What’s your point?”

  Her mother slitted her eyes in a way that would have intimidated Sylvie into cowering compliance as a child. “Exactly what happened between you and that man while you were gallivanting up and down the bayou?”

  “I would hardly call running for our lives gallivanting, Mother. And nothing happened between me and Luc that should concern you, except that I got to know him a little better. And it’s my opinion that behind his bad-boy image is a different person. He’s a good man trying to help h
is family and a lot of mostly unrepresented people.”

  “Young lady, I can take care of my own family,” Valcour proclaimed in a seething tone. “I don’t need any uptown bitc—lady interfering in LeDeux business. And you don’t know Lucien as well as you think if you believe he’s anything more than bad to the bone.”

  All of Luc’s family inhaled sharply with shock at Valcour’s condemnation of his own son, Tante Lulu most of all. The little woman stood to her full five feet and told her nephew-by-marriage, “You are the one who’s bad to the bone, Valcour. What Adèle saw in you, I never knew. She mus’ be rollin’ in her grave now to see you put down your own son.”

  Valcour’s fists clenched and unclenched at his side. Fortunately, he’d let go of Tee-John’s nape. The boy stared in fear up at his father, whose face flushed so bright a red Sylvie feared he might have a stroke. “I will not have you, or Lucien, interferin’ with Cypress Oil business. He’s in jail where he belongs.”

  “Not for long,” Sylvie vowed.

  “I don’t care if you two are screwin’ each other’s brains out. I don’t care if you stem from some blue-blooded Creole family that thinks its vomit smells better than the rest of us. I don’t care what you think of me. You will not do anything to affect my holdin’s in Cypress Oil. And that’s a fact, missy.” Valcour was wagging his forefinger at Sylvie the whole time, and spittle clung to the edges of his mouth as he spat out the vicious statements.

  Before anyone could protest his horrible words, Valcour spun on his heels and left the house, dragging Tee-John with him.

  At first, there was just stunned silence. How a father could have such virulent feelings toward his own son was beyond them all. Sylvie’s heart went out to Luc, wondering how he’d survived childhood in the same house with that hateful man.

  “Killin’ would be too good for that man,” Tante Lulu said finally, pretty much summing up all their opinions.

  “Will Tee-John be okay?” Sylvie asked.

  “Yeah,” Remy answered. “Dad won’t do anything with so many of us watching his every move. Oh, he’ll make the kid miserable, but he’ll be safe.”