Page 118 of The Cajun Doctor

John shook his head. “Not yet. The house is secure. Give it another day or two. Let the Fibbies give you the all-safe signal before you leave here.”

She nodded.

“The biggest concern now is Jimmy Guenot and his branch of the Dixie Mob,” John went on. “Until those arrests are made, y’all have gotta lay low. Not you so much, Samantha, but by association, yer still in danger. As evidenced by those lowlifes that visited you before you left Nawleans.”

“I keep tellin’ y’all. Lemme call Jimmy’s mama. If she knew what her boy was up to, she’d hogtie ’im and roast ’im over her bar-b-q.” Truly, Tante Lulu was enjoying all the excitement, you could tell by the gleam in her eyes and the way she practically bounced on her seat as she talked.

“Yer not callin’ anyone,” John told his aunt. “Everything is still hush-hush.”

“Right,” Tante Lulu agreed, zipping her lips, but grinning mischievously. The bayou grapevine would be singing as soon as the old lady got the go-ahead, or maybe even beforehand.

After more discussion about the day’s events, John said he was going to drive his aunt home, promising to pick up Tante Lulu’s car the next day.

“I gotta come back mah self t’morrow to help with the cabin,” she protested.

“Not tomorrow. You’re having lunch with Charmaine, Sylvie, Rachel, and Valerie. A planning session for yer birthday party, remember?” Rachel and Valerie were the wives of Remy and René LeDeux. Tante Lulu’s big pool party bash was planned for Saturday, only four days from now.

“Hmpfh! I doan see why I hafta plan mah own party? It should be a surprise.”

“How could it be a surprise when it was yer idea ta begin with?”

She was still arguing with her nephew while they walked off. But almost immediately, she came back and told Samantha, “Tell Daniel I’ll be puttin’ the finishin’ touches on his hope chest.”

Then she was off again.

Samantha had to smile as she explained to Lily Beth and Angus how Tante Lulu made hope chests for all the men in her family. Quilts, monogrammed pillowcases, doilies, and lots of St. Jude imprinted items, like place mats, napkins, and wind chimes.

Aaron and Lily Beth went to their room where they planned to watch a Big Bang Theory marathon. The double bed they’d put in the front parlor for Lily Beth to use, temporarily . . . the one with the rice frame . . . had been moved up to the guest bedroom, aka Aunt Mel’s room for when or if she ever came to visit, along with the rest of the matching bedroom furniture that had been delivered by some high school boys that day . . . an armoire and a dry sink. The boys had also brought two single bed frames that had been unreachable in the back of the storage unit, but for which Daniel and Samantha had already bought mattress sets.

Apparently, Daniel and Aaron had not only set up the guest bedroom, but they’d put together the two twin beds in the front parlor for Lily Beth and Angus to use. A lot of work for a temporary situation. Something more for which she had to thank Daniel. And Aaron, of course.

Samantha took care of all her animals, delighting in Clarence’s new vocabulary. Maybe she should have spent more time teaching him. But then, maybe his ability to be taught would make him more adoptable.

It was almost ten o’clock before Samantha heard a vehicle in the front driveway. She’d taken a shower and put on clean clothes . . . well, relatively clean, considering her dwindling supply . . . and was running a comb through her damp hair. She rushed downstairs, anxious to see Daniel. She heard a vehicle shut down, and voices raised in discussion, then another motor turning over and a vehicle departing. She figured it was probably Aaron, off for his nightly trips to no one knew where.

By the time she got to the front gallery and was going down the steps, though, all she could see by the exterior lights was Aaron. It was Daniel who had taken off.

“Where’s Daniel?” she asked Aaron.

“Um . . . he decided to sleep on Remy LeDeux’s houseboat tonight, to allow more room for you all here at Bayou Rose. It’s just temporary.” Aaron didn’t quite meet her eyes as he relayed this news.

The message being: temporary, as in, after I leave.

Maybe it was better that she was alone tonight. So much had happened in such a short time. She wasn’t thinking clearly.

Even so, the first thing she did when she got back in the house was hunt out a bottle of good Scotch whiskey. This was a night that warranted booze. Even Southern Belles, especially Scottish ones, appreciated the medicinal value on occasion of a good binge.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Who needs soap operas with a life like his? . . .

Daniel was not in a good mood when he arrived at Bayou Rose at nine o’clock the next morning. He’d barely slept all night, and then he had to go to the bus station in Houma at seven-thirty to pick up Edgar (call me Ed) Gillotte and take him for a quick visit to the cancer center before bringing him to the plantation.

Luckily, Molly was having a good day, and if she could keep her numbers steady for a week, a bone marrow transplant would be scheduled soon. Her daddy’s presence proved to be the best medicine available. As the potential donor, Edgar would begin testing tomorrow, but that would only take a few hours every day until the surgery. In the meantime, he would work on the slave cabin and live there. Hopefully. Everything was based on hope.

Edgar was about thirty years old and overly thin, but with wide shoulders and impressive biceps. A receding reddish blond hairline led to long hair, clubbed at the neck into a ponytail. One of his incisors was missing. Probably no money to replace it once it had been pulled. Despite all that, he wasn’t a bad-looking guy, and his clothes were well-worn, but clean.

But wait till Tante Lulu got a look at his tattoos, though. Up one arm and down the other, like a colorful billboard, and presumably on other body parts, as well. Daniel hadn’t looked too close. He hoped they weren’t pornographic. Oh, hell, no, he didn’t care. And Tante Lulu probably wouldn’t either. Except . . . oh, crap! . . . was that a horned devil peeking out of a bush? Tante Lulu will have a screaming Cajun fit.