Читать книгу The Lost Girls of Johnson's Bayou - Jana DeLeon - Страница 11

Chapter Three

Paul gripped the phone, anxious for the information Mike, his partner at their New Orleans detective agency, was about to provide. “You’ve found something?”

“I may have a line on something, but I can’t be positive. The information on that case is so sketchy.”

“You thinking cover-up?”

“Not necessarily. It may have just been a case of inexperienced cops with a situation far beyond what they were qualified to handle. The whole thing is pretty weird. I mean, all those kids dying but no one coming to claim them. It reeks all the way around, Paul.”

“Yeah, I know, but it’s an avenue I have to check. So what did you find?”

“One student survived, for sure, but the bodies of one other student and the headmistress were never recovered. Then this is where it gets weird. The day after the fire, a girl walked out of the swamp and into town, but no one could identify her as a student. No one in the town, even the locals who worked at the home, had ever laid eyes on her.”

“Well, who did she say she was?”

“She didn’t know. Total amnesia.”

“Great. The best witness I might have and she doesn’t remember anything. Any idea where the girls are now?”

“I tracked the girl rescued from the house as far as a hospital in New Orleans, but the trail went cold after that. You’ll probably have to speak to people off the record. The hospital’s not likely to give you anything without a court order.”

Paul blew out a breath, knowing his partner was right, and that as things stood right now, he had no legal grounds to gain such a document. “And the other? The mystery girl?”

“That one’s a little trickier. There’s nothing in the police records. No follow-up at all, so the best I can do is a rumor from an old aunt of mine that lives down that way. She heard that the girl was adopted by someone in town. Thinks the woman who adopted her might own a restaurant or something.”

Paul clutched the phone and shot a glance toward the kitchen. Could it possibly be the café waif was looking for answers in the swamp, as well? “You’re sure?”

“No, I’m not sure about any of it, but my aunt is certain that’s what she heard. It may be something. It may not.”

“Okay, thanks. I’ll check out a few things here today and be in touch tonight.” Paul set the cell phone on the table and looked out the glass front of the café into the swamp. Ginny couldn’t be the child he was searching for. She was the right age, but the child he sought had brown eyes, something she’d always complained about. Ginny’s eyes were bright blue.

But if Ginny was the child who had wandered out of the swamp, maybe she remembered something. After all these years, surely some memory, even if seemingly insignificant, had returned. She was the only potential witness to a horrible crime, if you believed the rumors that the fire had been set. That might explain why she was out in the swamp after dark. Maybe her memory was returning.

“Here you go.” The older woman who’d taken his order slid a plate with an omelet and toast on the table in front of him. Paul looked up, momentarily disappointed that Ginny wasn’t delivering his food, but then, he could hardly force her to sit in the booth and tell all her secrets. She’d seemed nervous when he apologized earlier, and the last thing he wanted to do was alienate himself from the one lead he had. What he needed to do was find out more about Ginny, and then maybe he’d be able to design an approach.

“It looks great,” he said and glanced around the café. “Is it always so quiet in here?”

“Oh, no, not usually. But most of the locals have booths at the festival, so they’ve already been in and out. Is that what you’re here for?”

“Yes,” Paul lied, figuring the festival would make a good cover, at least for a couple of days. “I’d heard a bit about it and thought I’d check it out. Maybe get in some fishing afterward. I just didn’t realize it started this early.”

“The official kickoff is at noon, but setup takes a while for those with a lot of merchandise. I just sent my daughter off to set up her booth. I’ll likely close everything up once you’re done and head to the festival myself to help people out.”

“That sounds great. What does your daughter sell?”

“Handcrafted jewelry. She even fashions some of her own metal,” she said, her voice full of pride. “A store in New Orleans is selling some pieces already.”

Paul smiled. “My aunt has a boutique in Baton Rouge. I’ll take some pictures and maybe buy a few samples of your daughter’s work. She loves featuring items by Louisiana designers.”

The woman beamed. “That would be fantastic. Well, my name’s Madelaine, and my daughter’s Ginny. I’m gonna get out of here and let you finish your breakfast.”

She hustled back to the kitchen, and Paul turned his attention to the omelet. The festival was the perfect cover, and it provided an excellent reason for him to ask some questions about Ginny, both to Ginny and to others.

Less than one day in town and he already had a lead. Not bad at all.

THE MAN WATCHED HER from across the town square as she unpacked jewelry from cardboard boxes and arranged it on a folding table covered with black velvet draping. She didn’t appear different from what she did any other day, but he knew something was different. He’d noticed her staring out the window of the café lately, looking toward the abandoned school.

After all these years, she’d never seemed to care. Never wanted to talk about her past when people, even specialists like doctors and counselors, tried to bring it up. So why did it seem her curiosity was developing now? What had changed? Nothing in town or within her immediate family and friends. He was sure about that, as he knew everyone in Johnson’s Bayou.

Was she starting to remember?

He hoped not, because he liked Ginny. Liked the young woman she’d become. It would be a shame to have to kill her now.

GINNY TOOK THE CASH from another happy customer and handed her a bag of jewelry in exchange. The woman thanked her and hurried off to meet her husband, who’d waited almost patiently for the thirty minutes the woman had taken to pick out the perfect pair of earrings. Ginny tucked the cash into her apron and smiled at Mrs. Foster, who was giving her a thumbs-up from her table of baked goods across the brick walkway.

With her table empty of customers for the first time that day, Ginny decided to walk across to Mrs. Foster’s table and grab up something good before it was all gone. Mrs. Foster’s baking was famous in Johnson’s Bayou, and Ginny didn’t want to miss out.

“You been doing some good business today,” the silver-haired Mrs. Foster said as Ginny approached. “You might sell out before me.”

Ginny laughed. “That will be the day.” Ginny scanned the table of picked-over goodies. “No more coffee cake?” she asked, trying not to let her disappointment show in her voice.

Mrs. Foster reached beneath the table and brought up a coffee cake, a big grin on her face. “I saved one for you.”

“Bless you,” Ginny said and pulled some money out of her apron.

Mrs. Foster shook her head. “Your money’s no good here. Those earrings you made me are still the most coveted at bingo night.”

Ginny smiled. “Then we’re even, because I might have a matching necklace tucked under my table for you.”

Mrs. Foster’s face lit up and she clapped her hands. “That old biddy Adelaide will never get over it. You’ve made my day, Ginny.”

Mrs. Foster’s gaze shifted past Ginny and she pointed. “Got a new customer. Nice-looking one, too.”

Ginny looked back at her table, then froze. It was him.

She supposed Mrs. Foster was right. He was good-looking, when she could manage to separate the man standing at her booth from the man who’d scared her half to death the night before. He studied the jewelry with more interest than she would have expected from a guy, but she immediately chided herself for such a sexist thought. For all she knew, he may have a wife or girlfriend at home whom he was purchasing for. She knew she should go back to her table, but she hesitated. He made her uneasy in a way she’d never felt before.

Finally, she took a deep breath and began to cross the walkway. Suddenly, he stiffened, then reached for a custom metal necklace at the end of her table. He stared at the piece, his expression a mixture of surprise and confusion.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

He whirled around to face her and shoved the necklace at her. “Where did you get this design?”

Surprised by his obvious agitation, she took a step back. “I…I didn’t get it anywhere.”

He waved one hand at her table, his frustration apparent. “You used it in half of your jewelry. Why? What does it mean to you?”

Ginny stared, not certain what answer he was looking for, but clearly she didn’t have the right one. “It doesn’t mean anything to me. It’s just a design I thought of. It was popular with the customers, so I adopted it as a sort of signature.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “You just thought of the design? Just like that?”

Ginny bristled, done with his attitude. “Yes, that’s what artists do. They just think of things then create them. If you’re not interested in purchasing that necklace, please return it to the table and be on your way, Mr....” She trailed off, realizing that he’d never given her his name.

“Stanton. Paul Stanton.”

He studied her face with an intensity that was almost alarming. Ginny got the distinct impression he was trying to decide if she was lying, although about what she had absolutely no idea.

“I’ll take this necklace,” he said and pulled out his wallet. “How much?”

Ginny’s initial instinct was to refuse to sell him the necklace and demand that Paul Stanton leave her table, but she was afraid he wouldn’t be put off that easily. More than anything, she wanted this angry, suspicious man out of her personal space. “Twenty dollars.”

He pulled a twenty out of his wallet and handed it to her. “You’re certain you’ve never seen this design somewhere before?”

“What do you want me to say—that I stole the design from someone? Well, I didn’t. I had that image in my mind years before I began designing jewelry.” Since the day I walked out of the swamp and into Johnson’s Bayou.

“How long?”

Ginny frowned. “How long have I been designing jewelry?”

“No. How long have you had that image in your mind?”

“I don’t see—”

“Just tell me.”

His voice had a desperate edge to it, and Ginny began to see something behind the frustration in his expression. Fear?

“Sixteen years,” Ginny replied. As long as I can remember.

He stared at the swirl of metal that lay on his palm. “Sixteen years,” he whispered and clutched his hand around the necklace before he turned and walked away.

What in the world? Ginny stared at his retreating figure, at a complete loss over their exchange. She didn’t think the design was stolen. Surely, she’d have seen it before now if that was the case, but Paul Stanton had acted as if he’d seen the pattern before. Seeing the design on her jewelry had clearly bothered him.

But why?

She watched as he disappeared into the festival crowd, somehow knowing she hadn’t seen the last of him. Turning to her table, she looked at the rows of metal pieces, many fashioned in the same swirl of circles with one circle in the middle, giving the design a flower-like appearance. She’d never questioned where the design had come from. It had always been there.

Even though it was at least eighty degrees outside, she felt a chill run over her. Was the design part of her past? The single item she’d brought out of the woods with her?

And if so, what did it mean to Paul Stanton?