Monday, March 18, 2024

Oyster Bay Limbo - Chapters


Oyster Bay Limbo is my new book, number 4 in the Oyster Bay Mystery Series set on a magical island off the coast of Louisiana in the Gulf of Mexico. The action begins with an early-morning duck hunt culminating in the siting of a band of ghostly pirates. The action heats up when Amani LeClair, a beautiful and mysterious woman, appears on the beach in an old Volkswagen van. Who is Amani, and what is she looking for? Why is a coven of witches coming to the island? Will Louisiana mob boss Frankie Castellano prevail in his lawsuit and boot the island's quirky inhabitants out of their happy homes? Limbo arrives on March 26 and is available for pre-sale until then for only $2.99. Order your copy now, b
uckle up, and hold on tight because you're in for a wild ride. 


Chapter 1 


Dawn was hours away when John Pierre Saucier banged on Jack Wiesenski’s door. J.P. was six feet tall with dark hair and eyes and had the good looks of a movie star and the self-confidence to go with it. He’d spent over twenty years as a deputy with the police department and had wanted to retire for years and start a dog training academy. When his captain fired him, he had no further reasons to procrastinate.

Lucky, J.P.’s chocolate Labrador retriever, waited for Jack to let them in. The footsteps padding toward the door preceded someone opening a crack and peering out.

Seeing it was J.P. and Lucky, Jack, dressed in a blue nightshirt, motioned them to enter, then padded into his little galley as he wiped the sleep from his eyes. Jack was short, probably no taller than five-six or seven. He was wiry, closely shaven, with brown hair buzzed almost to his scalp. From the odd shape of his mouth, It was hard to tell if he was smiling or frowning.

“What the hell, J.P.? It’s not even five yet.”

J.P. and Lucky followed Jack to the plank table in his little kitchen he called his galley.

“Surely, you didn’t forget our duck hunt?” he said.

“I thought you were kidding,” Jack said.

“You said you wanted to go,” J.P. said.

“You didn’t tell me we were leaving in the middle of the night,” Jack said.

“We have to set our decoys out and be in the blind before the sun comes up,” J.P. said. “You coming or not?”

“My brain doesn’t work without coffee. I need a cup,” Jack said.

“I have a thermos in the truck,” J.P. said. “Where’s Chief?”

“I think he thought you were kidding,” Jack said.

“Get your clothes on, your shotgun, and let’s move it. We don’t have much time,” J.P. said.

“Hell, J.P.! I don’t even have a shotgun.”

J.P. shook his head. “This ain’t Massachusetts. If you live in Louisiana, you have to hunt ducks. Don’t you know anything?”

“I’m a fisherman, not a hunter,” Jack said.

Grogan ‘Chief’ La Tortue entered the front door, followed by his two dogs, Coco, a chihuahua, and Old Joe, a German shepherd.

Chief was an imposing man of American Indian descent. He hadn’t bothered combing his shoulder-length gray hair, and it looked like he’d slept in his chinos, moccasins, and blue work shirt. J.P. was at least six inches shorter than the big Atakapa Indian. After propping his shotgun against the wall, Chief went to Jack’s coffee pot, finding it empty.

“What the hell?” he said. “You swearing off coffee these days?”

“It’s not even five o’clock yet,” Jack said. “I’m an early riser. This is ridiculous.”

“I have an extra shotgun you can use,” J.P. said. “Get your clothes on. Chief and I will start the pot.”

Jack grumbled as he disappeared into his bedroom. Dressed in camouflaged fatigues, J.P.’s duck call hung around his neck from a leather strap. Chief found Jack’s bottle of Dominican rum and poured some into a mug as the coffee pot began perking.

“I haven’t hunted ducks in ten years,” Chief said. “Today’s the first day of duck season. What’s your hurry?”

“Lucky holds the gold medal as the best duck-hunting dog in St. Bernard Parish. The competition is coming up next week. We’ve barely had a chance to practice with everything happening on the island. The two of us need this hunt,” J.P. said.

“Hell, J.P., Coco, and Old Joe are raring to go. Maybe Lucky can teach them a thing or two.”

J.P. was grinning as he poured himself a shot of Jack’s rum and topped it with the brewing coffee.

“Hope Jack doesn’t want to take Oscar,” he said. “Bulldogs can’t swim.”

“That’s a fact,” Chief said. “Doesn’t matter. I doubt we’ll get out of the door without him.”

Chief and J.P. turned when someone said, “Or us.”

It was Odette Mouton and her two dogs, Mudbug and Bruiser. Mudbug was small, and Bruiser large. Odette was a former Bourbon Street stripper, short, barely five feet tall, her wind-swept blond hair contrasting with her dark Cajun eyes. She’d hitchhiked to Oyster Island after meeting Jack and Chief at Rockies, a Bourbon Street strip club, and was now part owner of the Oyster Island Dog Training Facility.

“What are you doing here?” J.P. asked.

“I like hunting ducks,” Odette said.”

“You can’t go. There’s not enough room in my duck blind.”

“Maybe you should have built a bigger blind,” Odette said.

“Odette can take my place,” Jack said. “I’m not into hunting.”

“You’re into drinking, aren’t you? That’s half the fun of a hunting trip,” J.P. said.

“I like to drink,” Odette said.

“Okay,” J.P. said. “The only dog that needs to go is Lucky. The rest can stay here.”

“I’ll stay with them,” Jack said. “You can tell me about the trip when you return.”

“Me too,” Chief said. I never liked wasting time sitting in an uncomfortable duck blind.”

J.P. was frowning when he glanced at Odette.
“I don’t know about this,” he said.

“You look like twins dressed in matching camouflage fatigues,” Jack said. “Get out of here and have fun.”

Odette and J.P. grumbled as they loaded their shotguns and ice chests into the back of the island’s awaiting all-terrain vehicle. Anticipating the hunting trip, Lucky was the only happy member of the diminished group. J.P. continued grumbling when Odette beat him to the driver’s seat.

“You don’t even know where we’re going,” he said.

“I take directions,” she said.

“Fine. You know where Drusy Lake is on the island's backside?”

“Bruiser, Mudbug, and I have a swimming spot there.”

“You never told me that,” J.P. said.

“Lots of things I never told you,” Odette said.

“You ever hunted ducks?” J.P. asked.

“Since I was about three years old,” Odette said. “Cajuns invented duck hunting; my mama could make the best duck gumbo you ever tasted.”

“Yum,” J.P. said. “Can’t remember the last time I had duck gumbo.”

“Me either,” Odette said. “Isaac has promised to cook us a pot if we bring him some ducks.”

Isaac was the chef at the Majestic Hotel and Casino, the main attraction on Oyster Island, the barrier island off the coast of Louisiana and situated about fifty miles from New Orleans in the Gulf of Mexico.

“That shotgun of yours is bigger than you are,” J.P. said. “You ever shot it?”

“Trust me when I tell you I can shoot a shotgun as good as you. Don’t underestimate me.”

“Get your panties out of a wad,” J.P. said. “My mama could shoot better than my daddy could. It’s different with me because I’m a trained professional.”

J.P. grinned when Odette said, “Trained asshole.”

Drusy Lake encompassed no more than forty acres, the tops of dead trees protruding from the water. Even in the darkness, Odette could see the shadow of J.P.’s duck blind. She parked the ATV near an open boat with a small motor attached to its backside. Lucky jumped out of the little electric vehicle, headed straight for the boat, and climbed aboard.

“I put out the decoys yesterday,” J.P. said. “We just need to get situated in the blind before sunup.”

J.P. grabbed the ice chest, and Odette followed him to the little boat. The duck blind was a permanent structure constructed of treated wooden planks. J.P. had covered the frame with grass panels, which looked like a thatch of brush in the swampy lake. He piloted the boat beneath the blind and turned off the little electric motor.

“Did you build this blind?” Odette asked.

“Worked on it over the summer,” J.P. said.

J.P.’s head swelled when Odette said, “You did a wonderful job.”

“Thanks. At least it’s blocking the north wind blowing across the lake.”

“Mid-forties isn’t bad,” Odette said. “We’ll forget about the chill in the air when the ducks start arriving.”

“In an hour or so,” he said. “How about a shot of rum until then?”

Got any coffee in your thermos to go with it?”

“You bet I do. Hot and black,” J.P. said.

“Just the way I like it,” Odette said.

“I even brought water for Lucky.”

“He’s a beautiful animal. You’re fortunate to have him.”

“Getting fired this past year and starting a new career has been tough. Lucky has helped me keep my sanity,” J.P. said.

“Dogs are the best,” Odette said. “Don’t know what I’d do without Mudbug and Bruiser.”

Odette cradled the steaming cup in her palms. Letting the warm vapor waft over her face, she waited until he’d laced it with rum before taking a drink.

“Perfect,” she said. “Just what I needed to chase the chill away.”

“How’s your new job?” J.P. asked.

“Beyond my wildest dreams, Eddie has become a better boss than I thought he’d be. He’s letting me make tough decisions, and we’re both learning as we go.”

“I'm Glad to hear it,” J.P. said. The training facility is doing well. If things go as planned, we’ll have our next big sale soon. There is only one possible fly in the ointment.”

“Only one?” Odette said.

J.P. nodded. “Frankie Castellano’s lawsuit. If he wins, it’s back to square one for all of us,” he said. “What else?”

“Eddie’s finances. He ate through his profits while the film crew was on the island. He’s now into his savings.”

Odette laughed when J.P. said, “Does he have enough to weather the storm until business turns around?”

“Eddie has never saved a penny; the severance package the government gave him when they let him go was all the money he had, and that is all but gone.”

“How do you know all of this?” J.P. asked.

“I do the books for the Majestic.”

“Yeah, but how do you know about Eddie’s finances?”

“I got worried when he sold his Porsche 911,” Odette said. “He loved that car.”

“He told me he wanted something bigger,” J.P. said.

“A ten-year-old Chevy sedan? The tires are even worn out,” Odette said.

“Shit!” J.P. said. “You just ruined my day. Have you talked to Eddie about it?”

Odette shook her head. “Not yet.”

“Why not?”

“We’re living on an island ten miles from Chalmette. We can barely find enough people to run the hotel, much less to pay to stay here.”

“I grew up sprinkling Louisiana hot sauce on practically everything I eat,” J.P. said. “Now, I’m eating antacids like candy. You gave me another reason to buy an extra bottle next time I visit the grocery store.”

“I hear that,” Odette said. “Our world rests on Eddie’s work in the courtroom. He’s going broke and hasn’t sobered up in six months. I’m scared shitless.”

“Feels like we’re tightrope walking without a net.”

“I know,” Odette said. “What else could go wrong?”

“I don’t even want to think about it. Let’s enjoy this duck hunt and worry about everything else later.”

The sun was rising on the eastern horizon, an early morning glow cast upon the lake's calm surface. Odette’s expression was perplexed as she stared out at the far bank.

“Hear that?” she asked.

J.P. nodded. They both heard the haunting melody carried on the breeze. It was as if the wind was whispering secrets from the past.

“What the hell?” J.P. said.

Something was moving on the lake’s edge. Odette also saw it. Clutching J.P.’s elbow with one hand, she silenced him with the other. The grass panes of the blind camouflaged them from view. Lucky couldn’t see the lake for the mats. It didn’t matter. A guttural growl emanated from deep in his chest as he lay prone on the wooden planks.

The temperature inside the enclosed duck blind had dropped at least ten degrees as a procession of ethereal figures began emerging from the undergrowth, moving toward the other side. The group looked like a band of spirits dressed in the garb of a past century. They could have been historical reenactors, except they weren’t real, their luminescent bodies glowing with a pale light amid the early morning mist rising from the lake.

The dozen or so spirits, their clothes tattered and their hair unkempt, were dressed as sailors from another century. Two men were carrying a wooden chest. The group crossed the lake, their boots skipping across the water like solid ground. When they reached the bank, the person in charge motioned for them to halt.

The imposing man wore black breeches and a flowing silk shirt beneath a black leather vest. His hair was dark, as were his eyes and mustache. The hat of a pirate’s captain topped his regal head. The two men carrying the wooden chest set it beside him on the bank. Others in the group began digging a hole in the ground.

Not all of the spirits were men. An attractive woman in a ruby-colored velvet dress stood beside the pirate captain. The woman’s skin color, a shade of café au lait, suggested she was of mixed heritage. Her flowing black hair and green eyes seemed to emphasize that conclusion. She had a roll of paper in her hand.

When the sweating sailors had buried the chest, the woman handed the paper and a quill pen to the pirate captain. He made a mark on the form and returned it to the woman.

Odette and J.P. hadn’t moved, transfixed by what they were witnessing. So intent were they on watching the eerie scene unfold that they hadn’t noticed the flock of ducks that had landed in the water in front of the blind. When Lucky sprang to his feet and began to bark, the ethereal figures melted away. As they did, the ducks flew up and away from the lake.

Lucky was still barking when J.P. said, “What the hell did we just see?”

“I don’t know,” Odette said. I do know that Isaac’s duck gumbo will have to wait a while.” 

  

Chapter 2


 

Eddie Toledo owned and operated the Majestic Hotel and Casino, the Prohibition-Era resort on Oyster Island. He lived on the top floor, and his veranda had the best view of the Gulf of Mexico. Yesterday’s rain had finally moved north as the early morning sun peeked through the cloudy sky. Not wanting to go downstairs for breakfast, he nibbled on crackers, his bare feet propped up on the railing surrounding the deck.

Eddie was a forty-something bachelor from New Jersey who’d lived and worked in New Orleans most of his adult life. A respected lawyer, he’d graduated valedictorian from the University of Virginia Law School. He was also the previous Assistant Federal District Attorney in the Big Easy.

Eddie had brown wavy hair, which he’d worn too long for his position with the Department of Justice. He was good-looking and knew it. Gorgeous women were his fatal flaw and why he was now working and living on Oyster Island instead of enjoying the country club life in New Orleans’ Garden District.

Following a torrid love affair with the beautiful daughter of southern mob figure Frankie Castellano, Eddie was asked to resign. The situation became even direr when he jilted Frankie’s daughter, leaving her waiting at the altar.

Eddie’s suite, in the center of the building and on its highest level, afforded him a fantastic view of the beach. The past few days had been stressful, and he’d gone without much sleep. He was about to nod off in the chair when a cool breeze blowing in from the Gulf caused him to open his eyes.

He went to his apartment to get a sweater. When he returned to the deck, the faint glow of a campfire on the beach cutting through the dim morning haze caught his attention. He decided to investigate and pulled on pants, tennis shoes, and a sweater over his L.S.U. tee shirt.

The three-story Majestic Hotel and Casino had no elevator. It did have lighting and electricity installed courtesy of a film crew filming a vampire movie on the island. The hotel was empty following the departure of the film crew. As Eddie descended the stairs, he felt a ghostly presence. It made him wonder how many people had died in the old hotel and casino and how many spirits resided there. He let the thought pass as he strolled across the covered walkway to shore.

Though the rain had passed, a cold morning mist hung in the air as he shuffled across the sand toward the beach. The odor of salty air and the sound of waves crashing into the shore, a freshly painted red and white Volkswagen camper van was parked in the sand, a fire burning, and no one was there to watch it.

A backpack mounted on an aluminum frame sat near the van. The camper had spread a yellow blanket on the sand in front of the tent, a speargun cocked and loaded lying atop it. As Eddie watched from the ground fog floating up from the sand, someone emerged from the water and walked toward the fire.

The person dressed in a black wetsuit approached him. When they removed their mask, Eddie saw it was a young woman. She pulled off the rubber piece protecting her head from the cold, letting her long black hair cascade to her shoulders.

Consumed by voyeuristic attraction, Eddie remained locked in place as the young woman sat on the blanket and wrestled off her rubber pants to reveal a yellow bikini bottom. When she removed the rubber top, he saw she was naked from the waist up. A branch cracked when he stepped backward. He had little time to react as she dived for the speargun on the towel beside her.

“I see you, and you’re about to get skewered. Step into the light.”

Eddie complied with the woman’s request and said, “Don’t shoot me. I surrender.”

“Stop right there. You get your eyes full?”

Eddie couldn’t help but grin as the woman pointing the menacing speargun at him hadn’t bothered covering her half-nude body.

“If I didn’t, I have now,” he said. “Why don’t you put that fish sticker down before you hurt somebody?”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” she said.

“I’m not a mad rapist. I’m Eddie Toledo, the owner of the Majestic Hotel. I saw your fire from my window and came to investigate. Can I lower my arms?”

The woman pulled the trigger on the speargun, the spear lodging in the sand beside her. She dropped the weapon and patted the knife sheathed on her waist.

“My knife is sharp as a razor. Make one false move, and I’ll cut your balls off.”

“Whoa!” Eddie said, lowering his arms. “I’m a good guy. Not here to rape anyone.”

The woman took her hand off the knife's hilt. The night was chilly, and goosebumps popped up on her chest and arms. She disappeared into the van, returning dressed in sweatpants and a light blue cotton sweater.

“Who are you?”

“Like I said, I’m Eddie Toledo. And you?”

“Amani LeClair.”

“Pleased to meet you, Amani. You have a lovely accent. Where are you from?”

“Jamaica,” she said.

Amani’s arms were clasped tightly around her chest. “I thought Louisiana was supposed to be warm.”

“Not in January,” Eddie said. “I’m from New Jersey, though I’ve lived in New Orleans for the past decade.”

“Doing what?” she asked.

“Government prosecutor.”

“Figures,” she said. “Every lawyer I ever met was kind of kinky.”

“Why do you think I’m kinky?” he asked.

“You were standing in the shadows, peeping on me. I’d call that kinky. You a peeping tom?”

“I have my foibles.”

Amani smiled and said, “We all do.”

Amani had dried her long hair with a towel, and it was beginning to curl tightly.

“Did you see something you like?” she asked.

“I'm sorry,” he said. “It isn’t often I see a beautiful half-naked girl emerge from the sea.”

Amani reached into her duffel bag, tossing him a silver flask she’d fished out.

“You’re a ballsy sort, even for a lawyer. Have a drink.”

Eddie unscrewed the cap of the flask and took a drink.

“Jamaican rum,” he said. “Pretty damn good!”

“You’ve tasted better?”

“Way better,” he said. “Try some of mine.”

Eddie fished his flask from his pocket and tossed it to Amani, watching as she took a drink.

“Best rum I’ve ever tasted,” she said. “What Jamaican distillery does it come from?”

“Not Jamaican. It’s Dominican Rum.”

“No way,” Amani said. “Show me the bottle.”

“Come back to the hotel with me, and I will,” Eddie said.

“I need socks and shoes. Wait for me?”

“You bet,” Eddie said.

Eddie waited by the little fire as Amani disappeared into her Volkswagen camping van. She was gone for fifteen minutes. When she returned, a colorful skirt and ruffled blouse had replaced her sweatpants.

Amani was still wearing the sweater and had a potted plant in her arms. The plant’s vivid green leaves were attached to a vine that wound up a tall trellis, beautiful yellow flowers blooming.

“I need to water my plant before we go. Mind waiting?”

“Take your time,” Eddie said. “I’m in no hurry.”

Amani filled a copper pot from the nearby pump to water the flowering vine.

“Your plant is gorgeous. I’ve never seen anything like it. What is it?”

Amani smiled. “A cerasee vine. It grows everywhere in Jamaica. Locals use the leaves and stems to make cerasee tea. It has medicinal properties. I brought it with me from Jamaica.”

“It’s lovely, just like you,” Eddie said.

Ignoring Eddie’s blatant flirtation, Amani said, “I’m starving. Does your hotel have a restaurant?”

“Of course,” he said.

“I’ll buy your breakfast, and you can show me your bottle of Dominican rum.”

“You’re on,” Eddie said with a smile.

“Shall I drive us?” Amani asked.

“It’s not far. Let’s walk. Along the way, you can tell me why you’re visiting Oyster Island.”

“Are visitors discouraged?”

“Course not. It’s just that you are off the beaten path. Few people even know about Oyster Island.”

“I purchased the Volkswagen camper in New Orleans. The salesman informed me the island has awesome beaches.”

“Did he now?” Eddie said.

“He didn’t tell me it was too cold to swim without a wetsuit. I had to buy warm clothes.”

“In Chalmette?” Eddie asked.

Amani nodded. “A nice town.”

Good prosecutors always seem to know when someone is evading the truth. Eddie wasn’t just good. He’d been among the best. He decided not to worry about why Amani was on the island.

“I parked the van near the public toilets and bathhouse,” she said.

“Good choice,” Eddie said. “This was a public beach in the thirties. The WPA drilled a well and installed the bathhouse and toilets. The well still works, and so do the bathrooms. There is no hot water, but the showers work. Are you planning on staying awhile?”

“I’m on no particular timeline.”

“Looking for a job?” Eddie asked.

“I have money and not indigent if that’s what you mean,” Amani said.

“I wasn’t suggesting you are,” Eddie said. “I’m always looking for help at the Majestic.”

“What kind of help?” Amani asked.

“Waitresses, assistant chefs, bartenders, room service, maintenance. The list goes on.”

“Doesn’t appear you have much of a labor pool on the island,” Amani said.

“Right about that,” Eddie said. “I’m a desperate man. Do any of the positions I named attract you?”

“I can do all of them, though I’m not looking for a job.”

“Perfect,” Eddie said. “What’s that in your hand?”

“Spanish doubloon,” Amani said.

“Find it in the surf?”

“A lucky piece,” Amani said.

“Heavy objects float to the beach’s surface after a storm,” Eddie said. “There’s another storm coming tomorrow.”

“Maybe a sunken Spanish treasure ship laden with a fortune in gold and emeralds lies in the depths near the island.”

“There are rumors,” Eddie said. “You know something I don’t?”

Amani clutched Eddie’s hand. “We only just met,” she said. “I can’t tell you all of my secrets.”

“Nor would I want you to,” Eddie said.

Cloudy skies covered the Majestic as Eddie and Amani followed the wooden plankway to the Hotel’s front door. Eddie had given Odette the day off to go duck hunting. Meika smiled when Eddie and Amani pulled up stools in the dark little bar and joined her.

“Meika,” Eddie said. “This beautiful lady is Amani LeClair. She’s visiting the island and is from Jamaica.”

Meika was a Cajun beauty with long black hair, dark eyes, and a winsome smile.

“I miss the film crews and thought I was going to be alone again today,” she said.

“What you miss is their big tips. Is Isaac in?” Eddie asked.

“You know he is,” Meika said. “He told me he is making something special tonight for dinner.”

“Like what?” Eddie said.

“He didn’t say,” Meika said.

As they spoke, a little man came out of the kitchen. “My ears are burning. Somebody talking about me?”

“Guilty as charged,” Eddie said. “Amani LeClair, this is Isaac Guillot, the Majestic’s incomparable chef.”

Isaac was a bald little man no taller than five-six or seven. He looked to be in his mid-sixties but could be much older. His dark eyes had faded, though not his smile. Isaac was smiling when he shook Amani’s hand.

“Hope you’re staying for dinner. I’m cooking something special,” he said.

“What?” Eddie asked.

“Duck gumbo,” he said.

“Where’d you get the ducks?” Eddie asked.

“Odette went duck hunting this morning with J.P. and the boys. They should be here any minute with the wild game.”

“Sounds wonderful,” Amani said. “Right now, I’m more interested in breakfast. In Jamaica, I would order Callaloo with saltfish and fried dumplings.”

“I’d love to exchange recipes with you,” Isaac said. “Many people’s favorite here in Louisiana is eggs Sardou.”

“Which is?” Amani asked.

“Poached eggs and creamed spinach on artichoke bottoms with hollandaise sauce. Interested?”

Isaac smiled and nodded when Amani said, “Sounds lovely.”

Eddie and Amani were soon feasting on Isaac’s egg Sardou.

“How is it?” Isaac asked.

“Wonderful,” Amani said. “Eddie is a lucky man to have you as his chef.”

“Glad you like it. I’d love to try your callaloo with saltfish and fried dumplings.”

Amani beamed Isaac her biggest smile and said, “I’ll drop by tomorrow morning and show you. Right now, I have business to attend to.”

“Don’t go,” Eddie said. “You haven’t seen my bottle of Dominican rum yet.”

“Show me,” she said.

Eddie fetched a bottle of rum and topped up their coffee cups.

“I must admit that this is the best rum I’ve ever tasted,” Amani said. “I can’t believe it isn’t Jamaican.”

Odette and J.P. entered the bar as Eddie and Amani discussed Dominican rum. Isaac had a quick question.

“Where are the ducks?” he said.

“No ducks,” Odette said. “Sorry.”

“Not even a single duck?” Isaac said. “What happened?”

“You won’t believe us if we tell you,” Odette said.

Odette and J.P. were still dressed in camouflaged fatigues and sat at the bar on the other side of Eddie. When Eddie introduced them to Amani, they both did a doubletake.

Neither Odette nor J.P. responded when Amani said, “Pleased. Thanks for your hospitality, Eddie. I have work to do. Perhaps I’ll see you later?”

“I certainly hope so,” he said.

Meika poured rum for J.P., Odette, and Eddie as they watched Amani leave the bar.

“What’s up?” she said. “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I think we just did,” J.P. said.

 


Chapter 3


 

As Isaac served breakfast on the polished oak counter, Odette and J.P. forgot about Amani. Meika topped up their coffee cups with rum as they ate. Isaac gave them a look when Odette placed her fork on her empty plate and dabbed her mouth with a napkin.

“Well?” he said.

“What?” she said.

“I can’t believe the two best duck hunters in St. Bernard Parish didn’t return with a single duck. There are thousands of ducks in Louisiana now. Surely, you saw at least one.”

“Something happened,” Odette said.

“Like what?” Isaac said.

“An apparition,” J.P. said.

Eddie had turned his back to the conversation as he drank his rum-laced coffee. Hearing J.P.’s pronouncement, he wheeled around on the bar stool.

“You saw a ghost?” he asked.

“More than one,” Odette said.

“Tell us about it,” Eddie said.

“It was almost dawn,” J.P. said. Odette, Lucky, and I were in the blind. The decoys were set, and the morning fog was floating off the lake as the sun came up. I heard something coming through the trees surrounding the lake. Odette heard it, and so did Lucky.”

“What?” Meika asked.

“More rum, please,” J.P. said.

Meika poured them more rum and said, “Whatever!”

J.P. isn’t exaggerating,” Odette said. “Something came toward us through the underbrush.”

“Like what?” Isaac asked.

“A band of pirates,” Odette said.

“Get out of here!” Isaac said. “There are no pirates in the Gulf of Mexico.”

“Maybe not now,” Odette said. “There used to be.”

“These were ghost pirates,” J.P. said. “They were carrying a treasure chest.”

“How do you know they were ghosts?” Meika asked.

“Because they walked across the lake like it was solid ground. They dug a hole on the other side of the lake and buried the treasure chest.”

Basil Doles had walked in on the conversation. He didn’t interrupt as he took a seat at the bar. Meika poured him a cup of coffee.

“Continue with your story,” he said.

“There was a woman with the pirates,” Odette said. “She wore a red velvet dress and looked exactly like Amani.”

“You must be hallucinating,” Eddie said.

“Odette wasn’t hallucinating, and neither was I,” J.P. said. “The woman we saw didn’t just look like Amani; she was Amani.”

Eddie chuckled and shook his head. “You were a law officer for years. You’re suffering from group hysteria.”

“Bullshit!” J.P. said. “Odette and I saw what we saw.”

“Your brains were compromised when you met Amani. Your memories can’t be trusted,” Eddie said.

“We saw her,” Odette said.

J.P. took a deep breath, drank from his coffee cup, and patted Odette’s hand.

“Eddie could be right,” he said. “I’ve seen this syndrome play out for years. I’ve just never been on this end of the stick.”

“You’re doubting what we saw?” Odette asked.

“Our brains are powerful organs,” J.P. said. “They’re fully capable of playing tricks on us.”

“My turn to say bullshit!” Odette said. “We saw what we saw. You know we did.”

“We saw a woman with dark hair, eyes, and coffee-colored skin. When we met Amani, our brains connected the dots.”

“I’m not buying it,” Odette said. “Amani is the woman we saw.”

Odette and J.P. continued to bicker as Eddie went to the bar to talk with Basil.

Basil was reading the Chalmette newspaper. He dropped it on the bar when Eddie sat on the stool beside him.

J.P. and Odette looked at Basil when he said, “Could one of the pirates have been Jean Lafitte?”

“Don’t know,” J.P. said. “Maybe. Why do you ask?”

“The Chalmette newspaper ran an article last week about the treasure map I found in the hotel safe.”

Eddie grabbed the paper and began reading the article. “I didn’t show the map to anyone. Did you?”

“Nope,” Basil said.

“Then who did?” Eddie asked.

“Don’t know,” Basil said. “Can we speak in private?”

“Let’s go to your office,” Eddie said.

Basil Doles was the son of the wealthiest man in St. Bernard Parish. He’d recently completed his law degree from L.S.U. and was helping Eddie with his lawsuit against Frankie Castellano. He and Heather, his new bride, had lived on the island until recently. They’d bought a starter home in Chalmette, and Basil commuted to the island daily to help Eddie with the lawsuit.

A movie had just been filmed on the island. The studio’s construction crew had modernized the complex and fitted it with computers, printers, and phones. The filming crew was gone, and the offices were empty except for Eddie, Odette, and Basil. Eddie followed Basil down the short hallway to the complex.

“What’s so important that you need to talk to me privately?” Eddie asked.

“We had a break-in last night,” Basil said.

“Was something stolen?”

“Not that I can tell,” Basil said.

Eddie gazed around the complex. “Nothing appears out of place. How do you know someone was in here?”

Basil opened his office door, grabbed a sheet of paper from the top of his desk, and showed it to Eddie.

“What is it?” he asked.

“A copy of the treasure map we found in the old safe when the film crew’s construction manager opened it for us. It was jammed in the copier when I tried to use it earlier this morning.”

Eddie stared at the copy of the map. “Who even knew it was in the safe?”

“You, me, and everyone who read the article,” Basil said.

“Then the person who broke in was probably from around here.”

“Not necessarily. The article was republished on the Internet and has made the rounds on all the major social networks. No telling who read it,” Basil said.

“Damn!” Eddie said. “How did they get in?”

“When I got here this morning, the front door was locked. No one has keys to the complex except Odette and us. They must have picked the locks. I guess they found the treasure map in the safe, made a copy, put it back in the safe, and left.”

“If they didn’t want anyone to know they were here, why didn’t they clear the jam?” Eddie said.

Basil grinned and said, “They did. The problem is there were two sheets jammed in the copier. Whoever did this got the first copy without realizing another sheet was also stuck.”

“Damn!” Eddie said. “Any ideas?”

“I’m clueless,” Basil said.

“I’ll talk to J.P. about it. Maybe he’ll have some ideas.”

“There’s something else we need to discuss.”

“Like what?”

“I can’t keep working for you,” Basil said. “Marriage and impending fatherhood have altered my perspectives on life. I need a real job and to move on with a paying job.”

Basil nodded when Eddie said, “Heather’s pregnant?”

“It’s changed my perspectives,” Basil said.

“I have money. I can pay you,” Eddie said.

Basil raised a hand and shook his head. “No, you don’t.”

“You know something I don’t?” Eddie said.

“Have you talked to Odette lately?” Basil asked.

“Every day. Tell me what she said.”

Basil had an empty box beside his desk and was beginning to pack his belongings into it.

“Maybe you’d better ask her,” Basil said.

“Are you leaving me? We have a hearing in three days.”

“Sorry,” Basil said.

“You’re killing me here.”

“Wish I had a choice,” Basil said. “I don’t.”

When Eddie returned to the bar, he found Odette talking with Meika and Isaac.

“How’s Heather?” she asked.

“Pregnant,” Eddie said.

“Seriously?” she said.

“His asshole is puckered so tight he can hardly breathe.”

“He’ll make a wonderful papa,” Meika said.

Odette slid off her stool. “I’m calling Heather. We need to plan the baby shower.”

Isaac said, “Since we have no ducks, we’ll have to cook up something else.”

“Wait,” Odette said. “I’ll drive up the road and buy some ducks. Everybody and their brother went hunting today.”

“You can’t do that,” J.P. said.

“Why not?” Odette asked.

“It’s illegal. You’ll spend the next ten years in a federal prison,” J.P. said.

Odette looked at Eddie and said, “Is he making this up?”

“Nope,” Eddie said. “The Migratory Bird Treaty Act of 1918 prohibits the capturing, selling, trading, and transporting of protected migratory bird species. Don’t even think about it.”

“Damn it!” Odette said. “I had my heart set on a bowl of Isaac’s duck gumbo.”

“Doesn’t even sound good to me,” Eddie said. “Why is duck gumbo better than gumbo with oysters, crawfish, or shrimp?”

“Have you ever eaten wild game?” J.P. asked.

“Wipe that smarmy smile off of your face,” Odette said. “We’re talking about food and not some sexual escapade you once fantasized about.”

“Odette isn’t lying,” J.P. said. “Duck gumbo prepared by a Cajun cook is wonderful. You’ll never taste anything quite like it.”

“I’m intrigued,” Eddie said.

“How do restaurants sell duck gumbo if they can’t buy the ducks?” Odette asked.

Eddie shook his head and said, “They don’t.”

“Come to think of it, I’ve never seen it on the menu anywhere,” Odette said.

“Go hunting again tomorrow,” Eddie said. “Duck season has just begun.”

“I can’t,” J.P. said. “I have other things to do.”

“Me either,” Odette said.

“Then we’ll all have to wait on Isaac’s duck gumbo,” Eddie said.

One of Eddie’s new employees was Alex Pavlovich. Alex had been a conscripted Russian army officer during the Ukraine invasion. He’d fled with Renata Yatsenko, now the Oyster Bay Canine Training Center’s veterinarian.

Separated at the Mexican border, Alex and Renata were reunited on Oyster Island after he and J.P. rescued Renata’s mom and daughter from Ukraine. Alex was shorter than Eddie, his receding hair dark and his pate shiny. His shoulders beneath a red floral Hawaiian shirt were broad, his knees exposed by his shorts knobby. Alex grabbed a stool beside Eddie.

“Morning,” Eddie said. “You aren’t dressed for a chilly January day.”

“The weather here is like summer in Russia,” Alex said.

Everything okay?”

“Fine,” he said. “I forgot something and need to return to my room.”

J.P. took the stool Alex had vacated.

“Is he okay?” Eddie asked.

“Confused,” J.P. said.

“About what?” Eddie asked.

“Renata.”

“He’s getting mixed signals?”

“More like no signals at all,” J.P. said.

“Renata’s daughter and mother are crazy about Alex.”

“Sveta and Iryna don’t make Renata’s decisions,” J.P. said. “I advised him to forget her and find someone else.”

Eddie chuckled. “With who? Odette or Meika?”

“I was trying to be kind,” J.P. said.

“He could move to Chalmette.”

“You tell him.”

“Hard to worry about Alex when I have problems of my own,” Eddie said.

“Don’t we all,” J.P. said.

You two are close,” Eddie said. “Take him to Pauline’s.”

Pauline’s was a truck stop house of prostitution in rural St. Bernard Parish.

“Don’t tell Heather about Pauline’s. Now that she’s pregnant, she thinks Basil’s playing around,” J.P. said.

“He’s the last person I would ever expect to play around,” Eddie said.

“Doesn’t matter,” J.P. said. “It’s hard fighting raging hormones.”

When Eddie and Odette were alone at the bar, he said, “Can we talk?’

“Sure,” Odette said. “What’s up?”

“Can we go to your office?” he asked.

“You bet,” she said.

When they reached the complex, they entered Odette’s office, Eddie shutting the door behind them.

“Basil’s leaving me. He said it’s partially because you told him I’m running out of money.”

“I’m a competent bookkeeper, Eddie. I can read the numbers and know what they mean. I think you do, too.”

“Maybe hearing you tell me will help it sink in,” Eddie said.

“There’s barely enough money to get us through the end of the month. Unless something changes radically, we’ll have to shut the doors of the Majestic and let everyone go.”

“Is it that bad already?” Eddie asked.

“I think you already know the answer.”

“I thought things would turn around. It’s like Elvis said, ‘You never know how short a month is until you have a Cadillac payment.’”

“Never heard that one,” Odette said.

“It’s true. It’s been three months since the film crew left the island, and the overhead is eating my lunch. Have any suggestions?”

“A convention would be perfect, though there’s no easy way to get a large group of people from the airport to the island and back again.”

“And not enough nightlife to interest a group of rowdy conventioneers. I know; I’ve attended a few memorable conventions,” Eddie said.

“I’ll bet you have,” Odette said, “I love my job and don’t want to lose it. We’ll think of something.”

“This place is starting to grow on me,” Eddie said. “Will you stay with me until I come up with an answer?”

“I own part of the Oyster Bay Canine Training Facility, and we’re about to graduate our first students. Jack, Chief, J.P., and I will have enough money to help you. None of us can afford to lose the island.”

“That’s a problem,” Eddie said. “Basil just quit me. He’s packing to leave. The situation was touch and go with him. Without him, I’m toast.”

“Damn it!” Odette said.

“Don’t panic,” Eddie said. “I can keep the wolves at bay until our cash flow increases.”

“Then what?” Odette asked.

“Don’t ask,” he said.

“I’ll have a powwow with Jack, chief, and J.P.,” Odette said. “Maybe we can staunch the blood until our luck turns. Right now, I have books to keep.”

###




Born near Black Bayou in the little Louisiana town of Vivian, Eric Wilder grew up listening to his grandmother’s tales of politics, corruption, and ghosts that haunt the night. He now lives in Oklahoma, where he continues to pen mysteries and short stories with a southern accent. He authored the French Quarter Mystery Series set in New Orleans, the Paranormal Cowboy Series, and the Oyster Bay Mystery Series. Please check it out on his Amazon author page. You might also like checking out his Facebook page.