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  “Have a seat, Mr. Honorè. He’ll be with you shortly.”

  Paul sat down in a comfortable leather chair. He stared at the prints on the wall and tried not to get any more jumpy than he was already by the nerve wracking wait. Although it had only been fifteen minutes by his watch, it had seemed longer. Finally, an older and more conservatively dressed woman came to the reception area.

  “Mr. Honorè? Come this way. Mr. Singleton is sorry for the delay; a long distance conference call took longer than he had anticipated.” She ushered him into a conference room with a large oval-shaped oak conference table. He sat down and began taking out his notebook.

  “Good to see you, Honorè. So we finally meet. Have some coffee. Rose, you forgot to bring in the coffee.” He barked in irritation at his secretary, but to Paul, Kyle Singleton was as ingratiating in his manner as he had been at their two previous meetings. His dark brown hair was badly cut; his expensive suit was a little too tight around his portly frame.“No thanks, I’m fine.” Paul nodded a greeting at a second, younger man already seated in the conference room.

  “Well, you just make yourself to home then. Oh, where are my manners. This is my vice-president of operations— ah, here you are.” Singleton looked over Paul’s shoulder.

  The second man walked into the room with the air of one who felt he belonged no matter where he was. Tall and distinguished, he stood erect despite his years. Paul guessed he had to be at least seventy-nine, yet he had a thick head of silver gray hair. His suit was just as expensive as Singleton’s, but the fit was perfect.

  “Claude, this is the young man who will conduct what I’m sure will be an objective and unbiased assessment of the site for our new treatment facility.” Singleton’s toothy smirk implied that he wanted anything but that. “Paul Honorè, Claude Trosclair.”

  “How do you do? Kyle.” Claude clapped Singleton on the shoulder.

  “Oh yes, this is his grandson Quentin, our senior vice president.” Singleton grinned.

  With that simple greeting, Paul reached out and shook hands with his grandfather and cousin.

  Chapter 3

  Savannah stood gazing out of the shop window. The leaves on the pin oak and sycamore trees had begun to turn lovely shades of dark red and yellow. Mixed in with some of the still green vegetation, the colors were a beautiful blend of nature’s best early fall redecoration. Bright sunshine spilled over the lovely landscaped little downtown of Beau Chene. Typical for southern Louisiana, late September had begun to foreshadow the splendor of the change of seasons; not just from the change in the leaves, but by the cooler nights. The temperature dropped only by as little as five or ten degrees, but drop it did. Just as she had done as a little girl when deep in thought or troubled, Savannah absent-mindedly twisted a thick lock of her hair. Her return home had much smoother than she had hoped, but she felt restless and uneasy. The conflict over the Big River plant loomed on the horizon like dark storm clouds. She knew there was no easy way it could be settled, no compromise available. No matter the outcome, there was sure to be bitter feelings. If it was proven the plant would harm the people living nearby, the plant could be forced to close. That would please some, but those losing jobs would not forgive neighbors even relatives who helped make it happen. Paul’s report being prepared on Big River was going to be critical to the outcome.At the thought of the handsome engineer, his face seemed to float in the plate glass window for a split second. She blinked rapidly. Her thoughts were of his hands touching her shoulders then cupping her face as he lowered his lips to hers. No matter how she tried, she couldn’t think of him without having such fantasies. Never had she reacted so strongly to a man. True, she had found others attractive, even been infatuated, but this silly adolescent obsession was getting out of hand. She should be spending time worrying about her father and how she could help keep him out of trouble.Across the street and still several blocks away, Savannah noticed a vaguely familiar figure walking toward the shop. A thick black braid hung down the woman’s back. She wore a simple cotton dress that served to emphasize her figure and reveal bare shapely legs. She crossed the street and headed straight toward Savannah. Recognition dawned slowly as the woman reached to open the door.

  “Hello, Savannah. Heard you were home. Welcome back.” LaShaun leaned across the counter and brushed her cheek against Savannah’s. Her slightly almond shaped, dark brown gaze swept the shop. “I only been in here once before and that was, goodness, over six years ago. Nice stuff. So, what’s up with you?”

  LaShaun Rousselle had changed from an awkward brooding little girl into a sultry young woman. She regarded Savannah with a look of cool, appraisal letting her know nothing had changed. LaShaun wore a look of disdain. It was clear she would make sure Savannah knew of her enmity. The animosity LaShaun’s mother had felt for Therese and Antoine seemed a caustic legacy left to be carried on by her daughter.

  “Not much.” Savannah’s smile was strained. LaShaun seemed crafty to Savannah and she reminded herself to watch her back.

  “You giving up your job in Shreveport to run your daddy’s shop? Seems strange, you had such a big time law career, so they say. Making a lot of money; so they say.” She paused in her examination of a small female figure carved from a piece of oak.

  “Sometimes that type of success is just not enough. Besides, with my father getting on in age, he could use some help around here with his business interests.”

  “I guess. ‘Course Mr. Antoine is in good shape from what I can see. What I mean is you don’t have to worry about him getting senile anytime soon.” LaShaun faced her briefly, and then turned quickly to examine a shelf of spices.

  “That’s not what I meant at all. He could just use help with this plant dispute getting so, intense.” Savannah was immediately sorry she had mentioned it.

  “Oh yes. Claude Trosclair wants to make even more money than he has already. And your daddy, bless him, is getting in his way. Always was a bold man, your daddy. Least my mama always said so.” LaShaun faced her, a sly smile spread across her face.

  Savannah clenched her teeth to keep from rising to the bait and instead forced a smile. “He believes in what’s right. And he won’t let people walk over him, or make a fool of him either.”

  “Oh he’s good at getting out of things, for sure. Course, Claude Trosclair is good at getting what he wants. Hope he knows what he’s doing crossing him.” She walked over and leaned against the counter.

  “He does.” Savannah did not want to talk about her father anymore, especially not with LaShaun.

  “Well, guess I’d better get to work. I’m working at the museum.”

  “I didn’t know we had one here.”

  “It’s kinda small. But we’ve got a real interesting set of exhibits on local history, artifacts and such.”

  “Sounds nice.” Savannah made a show of moving things around on the counter near the cash register. She hoped LaShaun would take the hint.

  “Oh yes, we’ve been written up in some tour magazines. Come over some time.” LaShaun started to leave. She paused with her hand on the door knob.

  “Maybe I will.”

  “The most popular section is the one I set up myself. The tourists just find it fascinating. I think you would, too. On voodoo.”

  Savannah looked up sharply. LaShaun was still smiling, her eyes had narrowed making her face take on the look of a cat stalking prey. Savannah’s hands shook, causing her to drop several ink pens she was trying to place in the round container along with other small souvenirs.

  “Bye now.” LaShaun gave a low, throaty chuckle as she went through the door.

  *****

  The lingering aroma of Tante Marie’s famous cooking drifted through the warm evening air. Savannah and Charice sat on the large front porch watching Charice’s offspring play in the front yard. Antoine sat at the other end puffing his pipe. Stuffed on chicken and sausage jambalaya, mustard greens, and hush puppies, it was all they could do to lift a hand to wave the straw f
ans to cool themselves. Despite her protests, all had pitched in to clean up the kitchen. Tante Marie finally came outside. She plumped up the large flowered cushion, and then sat down heavily in a large cane chair.

  “Ah, that breeze feel good, yeah.” Tante Marie mopped her face with a flowered handkerchief.

  “Nothing like a quiet Sunday afternoon after a good home cooked dinner. Tante Marie, that was some kind of delicious meal you cooked. Umph!” Charice patted her stomach.

  “Yes indeed. That was the one thing I never got over after I left home, missing your food. I don’t think I could move if I wanted to, which I don’t. Look at those two, where do they get the energy? Hey, Crystal and Nikki, don’t you want to take a nap or at least slow down?” Savannah called out to the girls who just giggled and kept playing.

  “Forget it, honey. They stopped taking naps long ago; unfortunately. Were we ever that bouncy?”

  “Yes, Lord. ‘Member the time y’all was always having slumber parties or king cake parties or somethin’. House full of little noisy gals.” Tante Marie shook her head with a laugh.

  “Speaking of king cake, we used to really have a ball at Mardi Gras. Especially in high school. And can we ever forget who was queen of the Krewe of Noir Mystique carnival ball in her junior year? That gown you wore knocked ‘em dead. Strapless with a wide hoop skirt.” Charice gave Savannah a playful pat on the arm.

  “Oh please. I’ve still got scars from that dress. Those pretty green sequins and beads made sitting down a pain, literally. And standing up was worse. That thing must have weighed a ton.”

  “Back then, we didn’t care about being in agony if it meant being beautiful. You were so busy strutting your stuff for Andre LaMotte, you didn’t even notice.”

  “Don’t remind me. And what about you? Dewayne did this, Dewayne said that.” Savannah spoke in a high pitched little voice.

  “Hmm, I haven’t thought about him in years. Last I heard, he was living in Houston. Andre still lives here.”

  “So far I haven’t seen him; which is okay by me,” she added to ward off Charice’s matchmaking plans.

  “He was always a little wild, but he got downright crazy in our senior year. When you broke up with him that was something. LaShaun spent the next six months bragging that she took him from you.”

  “She came in the shop the other day.” Savannah spoke quietly, all amusement gone from her voice.

  “What did the devil’s daughter want with you?” Charice grimaced.

  “To tell me about the museum.”

  Charice shuddered. “She still gives me the creeps.”Living in that big old house with crazy old Mama Odette.”

  “All them Rousselles is sly, from Odette’s monmon on back. She crazy like a fox, old Odette is. She made herself plenty good money in her time. Even had some property down in New Orleans,” Tante Marie said.

  “They say all three her of her sons came to a bad end. And Francine, LaShaun’s mama—”

  Antoine got up abruptly and went in the house. The women exchanged glances. Shortly they heard the bang of the back screen door. The signal that he was going for a walk.

  “Sorry, I should keep my big mouth shut.” Charice sighed.

  “No, cher. Don’t worry ‘bout that. It happened years ago.”

  “What happened, Tante Marie?” Savannah asked. “Every time there was trouble between LaShaun and me, Poppy would get this strange look. And every time somebody mentioned LaShaun’s mama, somebody else would cut off the conversation if we kids were close around.” Savannah gripped the chain of that held the swing attached to the roof. Planting her feet on the floor, she stopped the swaying bench.

  “It’s best left alone.” Tante Marie folded her arms and stared straight ahead.

  “But if it was so long ago, then we ought to be able to talk about it now. I’m not a child anymore, Tante Marie. So stop treating like one. There were whispers about voodoo or hoodoo. And it had something to do with my mama, LaShaun’s mama, and Poppy—” Savannah leaned forward with a look of intensity as if willing her aunt to reveal more.

  “Leave that alone I said.” Tante Marie spoke in such a loud sharp voice, the two girls playing several yards away stopped abruptly to stare at the adults sitting on the porch. Tante Marie stood slowly with a grunt. “I’m goin’ inside now. My show comin’ on.”

  Moments later they heard the sound of the television. Savannah was deeply shaken. Not by Tante Marie’s harsh rebuke, but by the thought of the secret that caused it. Remnants of the dark fears of her childhood began to crowd around the edges of her mind. The breeze across her arms now sent a chill that raised goose bumps. She hugged herself, swaying slowly in the old cane rocker.

  “Don’t worry about it.” Charice said after a long silence between them.

  “Not knowing is worse than anything they could tell me. I remember overhearing Miss Julie telling Tante Marie Poppy should have listened to her and put something in the front yard to protect Mama from Francine. I used to have nightmares about some witch grabbing my mama and then coming after me.”

  “Miss Julie always was a little weird. You don’t believe in that voodoo junk and you know it.” Charice said.

  “What I believe is that something happened between them that a lot of people think led to Mama dying young.”

  “That’s crazy. You said yourself an aneurysm was the cause of her death.”

  “But it doesn’t matter, don’t you see? They think Francine caused it. Just like Odette blames Poppy for Francine dying. And why LaShaun grew up hating me. Odette taught her that. Since we were little kids in nursery school, LaShaun has never missed an opportunity to pick a fight or try to hurt me. It all goes back to Mama and Francine, how they died.”

  “Maybe they didn’t get along, maybe it had something to do with your father, but that was over twenty years ago. It had nothing to do with your mama’s death. It’s in the past.”

  “Seeing LaShaun after all these years, it was the same as when we were kids. No, whatever happened is not in the past for her, or for me.”

  *****

  “You may not meet the standards as a recycling site, at least not with the equipment and disposal processes you have now.” Paul stopped abruptly, aware that he was sounding less than objective.This was the third meeting with Trosclair and Singleton. He had done an extensive review of their plans even to the point of visiting the site with their construction people to walk through how and where all facilities would be placed. Though he knew of his reputation, he had been surprised at the interest Trosclair had shown in the actual operation of the plant. The questions he asked showed that he was not just a member of the idle rich, but possessed a keen intellect. Trosclair listened carefully to Paul’s explanations of his findings. Even from their first meeting, he and Trosclair seemed to communicate easily. Paul was impatient with Singleton’s clumsy, obvious attempts to charm him. But Trosclair made no such attempts. He seemed to be sincerely interested in seeing the plant operators made every effort to safely deal with the dangerous substances that would be handled at the site. Grudgingly, Paul had come to respect him. Even more disturbing, he had begun to feel a growing urge to tell Claude who he really was. Two things held him back; one was his promise to his father. Charles had shocked Paul at his violent reaction to the possibility of any contact with the Trosclair family. The other was Quentin Trosclair.He was everything his grandfather and father appeared not to be. Quentin had their looks, the long thin nose. He was tall and wore expensive clothes well. He would have had his grandfather’s smile were it not for the way his mouth curled into almost a sneer. Before he opened his mouth, his expression said he thought a lot of himself. From their first meeting, he let Paul know in words and actions that he thought of Paul as little more than a servant.

  “I don’t see why this delay is necessary, frankly. I’ve been looking into it and I don’t think we have to follow the standards for a waste disposal site. With this new process for making road construction materials,
we are a recycling site, which means the more strict standards don’t apply. I say we go with what we’ve got. They can’t stop us.” Quentin, as usual, didn’t even look at Paul or acknowledge his presence.

  “You might be able to get by with it, but in the case of Bayou Processors they eventually paid heavy fines.” Paul said.

  “But they are still operating, which sets precedent. Really, grandfather, do we have to go over this again? I think it’s clear we’ve got the upper hand. We’ve gotten the permits we need, and Mike has assured me—” Quentin waved his hand in Paul’s direction in dismissal.

  “Of course, but we also want to be able to assure the public that we are sensitive to their concerns.” Claude cut off his grandson smoothly, addressing Paul directly.

  “He’s done his report. And from reading the conclusions, there is nothing there that would make the DEQ change the type of permits we need. Especially since most of the research shows the high feasibility of using slag for road beds and even house foundations. Even at high temperatures, the chemicals do not break down and leach into the environment. We don’t need anything else from him.” Quentin sat back in his chair.

  “This process is new.” Paul spoke in a measured tone, pointedly ignoring Quentin. “Continuing to monitor the possible long term environmental impact is essential.”

  “There is no conclusive evidence that our product is unsafe,” Quentin snapped.

  “That may be true, but Paul’s right,” Claude responded. “We should be cautious. We might even conduct our own research in this area and anticipate any problems. Your reports have been very thorough. I have learned quite a bit these last two weeks.” Claude turned to Paul smiling.

  “Thank you, Mr. Trosclair.” Paul gathered up his papers tucking them into his leather portfolio.

  “I hope you will continue to work with Kyle and Quentin, we’ll discuss terms of course.”

  “But we have our own staff; I still fail to see why we need him.” Quentin leaned forward, speaking in a rapid undertone. “Grandfather, I think we should discuss this later—”