Quickly, he shook his head. In truth, he didn't understand how a bright, vital young woman like Claudette could be happy in such squalid surroundings, but he didn't want to hurt her feelings by saying that. After all, she had saved his life, more than likely, and she was about to feed him a bowl of gumbo.
'Everybody's got a right to live where they want,' he said, 'and to live the way they want to as long as they ain't hurting anybody else. Which I don't reckon you are.'
'Just want to be left alone, me,' she said, still not looking at him, and he wondered if somehow she had been hurt in the past. Had she left this bayou haven and ventured out into the rest of the world, gone to New Orleans maybe, and had something happen to her that was so bad she had run back here determined to spend the rest of her life among the cypresses and the bougainvillea and the water lilies?
It was none of his business, of course. After what she had done for him, he didn't want to pry too deeply into her life.
She found bowls and spoons in a wooden crate that evidently served as a pantry, then dished out the gumbo from the black iron pot on the top of the stove. Longarm sat down at the table as she brought over the food and took the chair opposite him.
'Eat up,' she said with a smile. 'Hope you like gumbo.'
'Sure do,' said Longarm. He dipped up a spoonful of the thick, steaming soup. It tasted good and was full of chopped-up okra, just the way he liked it. He said as much to Claudette, who smiled brightly.
They ate in silence for several minutes. Then Longarm asked, 'How'd you happen to be down there in the marshes so that you could help me out?'
'Planned to go out into the bay and do some seinin' for shrimp, I did,' she replied. She grinned across the table at him. 'Caught me a big ol' fish instead.'
Longarm chuckled. He had been called a lot of things in his life, but he didn't remember anyone ever referring to him as a fish before.
'A shark, maybe, with plenty-plenty sharp teeth,' Claudette went on. Her smile disappeared, replaced by a solemn look. 'Why you runnin' round the marshes with smuggler men tryin' to shoot you, Custis?'
Longarm hesitated, unsure how to answer that question. Claudette had an obvious antipathy for smugglers, so he didn't want to admit to working with Jasper Millard, but he wasn't just about to reveal his true identity to her either. Finally, he said vaguely, 'I was on my way down to Grand Isle to see a man about a boat. Those fellas you say were smugglers jumped me for no good reason and tried to kill me.' He said nothing about Millard.
Claudette nodded, seeming to accept his explanation. 'Prob'ly see you and think you spyin' on 'em, they did. Hones' folks in the Delta stay away from them smugglers, you bet.'
'That sounds like a good idea,' said Longarm sincerely. He didn't want an innocent like Claudette getting tangled up in the feud between Millard and Royale. Of course, by helping him, she had already taken a hand, but maybe he could keep her out of any further involvement.
He scraped up the last of the gumbo, swallowed it, and asked, 'What's the best way back to New Orleans from here?'
'There a road not far off. Take you there in the mornin', I can.'
Longarm frowned. 'I figured I'd start back to town today.'
Claudette shook her head. 'No. Too far to walk 'fore dark, and you don't want to be out trampin' round the bayous after the sun, she is gone down. Too many snakes, and the night is black like God damn. Best you stay here tonight, tomorrow maybe catch a ride on a wagon goin' to town.'
What she said made sense, all right, but Longarm still chafed at the delay. He wanted to get back to New Orleans and find out if Millard had survived this second attack by Royale's men. Two attempts on Millard's life in less than twenty-four hours, mused Longarm. Royale was certainly turning up the heat. The friction between the two leaders of the smuggling rings was going to burst into the flame of an all-out war if this kept up.
But there was nothing he could do about it tonight, so he nodded in acceptance of Claudette's advice. 'I'm much obliged,' he said. 'I reckon that hammock out on the front porch will hold me all right.'
Again she shook her head. 'You get the bunk, Custis. Gran'pere sleep there when he still alive. I take the hammock, me.'
'Don't hardly seem fair,' said Longarm with a frown as he reached into his pocket for a cheroot. 'This is your place.'
'And you my guest. Don't argue with me 'bout this, you.'
He had to grin. 'All right,' he said as he held up his hands in mock surrender. 'I'll take the bunk, and you can use the hammock.'
She nodded, clearly pleased with her victory.
Nightfall was not far away now. Longarm smoked a cheroot, which Claudette said reminded her of her gran'pere's pipe. She brought out a clay jug with a wooden stopper and offered it to Longarm. 'Home brew,' she told him. 'I like a little taste now and again, me.'
'So do I,' he said with a grin. He pulled the stopper with his teeth, then crooked his arm and tipped the jug to his lips. Fiery liquor flowed into his mouth. He caught his breath as the heat of it seared his gullet and fairly exploded in his belly. 'Potent stuff,' he said as he blew his breath back out.
'Good for the digestion.' Claudette took the jug from him and downed a healthy swallow of the homemade whiskey. She wiped the back of her other hand across her mouth.
She was quite a contradiction, thought Longarm. Undeniably lovely, probably intelligent, yet she willingly lived this primitive backwoods existence... which, of course, was her choice and none of his business, he reminded himself. Yet he couldn't help but wonder how she would look cleaned up and in some better clothes.
Shadows were gathering outside, making it even darker in the shack. After putting the jug away, Claudette opened the front door and said, 'Good night, Custis.'
