“Can’t say I have, no.”
“Mary Alice’s husband, Charles, had a sister named Leona. Paul Courtland was her son.”
Thibodaux stroked his soft chin. “Well, let’s see, then. That would make Rebecca Lemay this Courtland fellow’s first cousin, wouldn’t it? And you think she killed her own kin?”
“Right now, she’s a person of interest. Which is why I need to talk to her. Do you know if she’s been seen around these parts lately? I heard someone was spotted at the old Lemay place not long ago.”
He dropped his hands to the arms of his chair, drumming his fingers against the scarred wood. “I wouldn’t put too much stock in that story if I were you. Stevie Ray Wilson claims he saw Mary Alice looking out one of the upstairs windows, but we know that can’t be true. Knowing Stevie Ray, he probably just saw his own reflection or something. That boy’s never been the sharpest knife in the drawer, plus, he likes to hit the sauce pretty good. So he’s not exactly what I’d call a reliable witness.”
Evangeline nodded absently. “Could I ask you some questions about that case?”
“Thirty years is a long time, and my memory’s not what it used to be. Don’t know how much help I’ll be. I’ll answer what I can, though.”
“Can you tell me if all the bodies were recovered?”
“Yep. We found all three of the little boys. And that’s all I want to say about that.”
“What about the baby?”
He stared at her for the longest moment. “How did you know about that? It’s not common knowledge, even around these parts.”
“I’ve talked to Ruth Lemay. She goes by the name of Lena Saunders now. She’s a writer. She said she spoke to you on the phone recently about the sighting at the old house.”
He shook his head. “I don’t know who she talked to, but it wasn’t me.”
“You’re sure?”
“My short-term memory is just fine, so, yeah, I’m sure.”
He looked a little peeved by her question, so Evangeline decided not to press him on it. “So what about the baby?”
He turned his head and stared out the window for a moment. “All we found was a bunch of bloody sheets and the severed umbilical cord wrapped in an old towel. After we took Mary Alice into custody, she was examined by a doctor, and he confirmed that she’d recently given birth. My guess is she threw that baby into the swamp. A body that size wouldn’t last long out there.”
“Who called the sheriff’s office that day?”
“Mary Alice’s cousin. A woman named Nella Prather.”
“Does she still live around here?”
“Nah, she’s been gone for years. She married an old boy name Mike Blanchard, and last I heard, they’d moved up to New Orleans. Shouldn’t be too hard for you to locate her.”
Evangeline took a moment to jot the woman’s name in her notebook. “When Mary Alice was brought in, did she say why she’d done it?”
“She said something about wanting to save them. That doesn’t make any more sense to me now than it did back then. How did killing those little boys in cold blood save them?”
Evangeline knew it was a rhetorical question.
“What about the girls? Did they have much to say about what happened?”
“I remember the oldest girl was all torn up about it. Just kept crying for her mama and her brothers. They finally had to ask the doctor to give her something to settle her down. But the youngest…” His eyes were dark and troubled as he gazed at Evangeline across the desk. “That girl had ice water in her veins. Never showed a lick of emotion. And the way she’d look at you…” He broke off on a shudder. “I don’t mind saying, that one gave me the creeps.”
Evangeline thought about the woman in her house the night before, the way she’d cradled and hummed to J.D. The way she’d kissed his head and hugged him to her breast.
Evangeline felt panicked and sick just thinking about it.
“I’d like to go out to the house and take a look around myself, if that’s okay,” she said.
“Well, technically, you’d be trespassing, but nobody’s lived out there in years. I don’t reckon it’d do any harm. If you can wait a spell, I’ll ride out there with you. Otherwise, all I can do is point you in the right direction.”
“That might be best,” Evangeline said. “I’ll be heading back to New Orleans soon.”
“I better write it down for you, then.” He scribbled the directions on a piece of paper and slid it across the desk. “Keep to the main road as much as you can. You don’t want to get lost out there in the swamp. Might take us days to find you and I don’t want to have to postpone my fishing trip.”
Evangeline couldn’t tell if he was joking or not.
“I’ll remember that.”
“One other thing.” He rose and walked her to the door. “Folks around here are still a mite skittish about that old place. There’s always been a lot of talk about ghosts and such. It’s all just superstitious hogwash, but I don’t know that I’d mention going out there to anyone if I were you. No sense stirring up talk and bad memories if we can help it.”
She held up the paper. “Thanks for the directions.”
“You bet. Y’all take care. If you’re packing a piece, keep it on you.” He pointed to the ankle holster on his desk. “Even off duty, I don’t ever go into the swamp unarmed.”
Evangeline missed the turnoff and had to double back twice before spotting the narrow gravel road that cut through a heavy forest of oak trees and scrub brush. The canopy of tangled limbs across the road was so dense that half a mile in, the light disappeared and the wind blowing in through the open car window felt cool and moist.
As Evangeline cleared the dripping trees, she caught her first glimpse of the house. The two-story clapboard rested on stilts, and on first glance, it seemed to have held up remarkably well over the years. But as she got out of the car, she noticed the sagging porch and peeling paint, the screen door that drooped on one hinge.
Slowly she climbed the steps, testing the planks on the porch before moving to the door. Turning, she surveyed her surroundings before going inside. She was miles from anywhere and the silence was so deep and pervasive, she could feel an uneasy chill beginning a slow crawl up her backbone.
She was starting to wish she’d waited for Thibodaux to come with her, but then she told herself to buck up. She had a .38 in one hand and her flashlight in the other. The sun was shining in the clearing, but without electricity, the interior was bound to be dim and shadowy.
Stuffing the flashlight in the back pocket of her jeans, Evangeline pulled open the screen door and stepped inside.
She’d expected the house to be dank and smelly and layered with years of grime, but instead of cobwebs hanging from the ceiling and creepy-crawlies rustling around in dark corners, the scent of lemon oil clung to the silent rooms. Which was odd. According to Thibodaux, the place had been abandoned for years.
But in the light that filtered in through the broken windowpanes, the house looked freshly scrubbed from top to bottom.
It made Evangeline think of something Rebecca Lemay had told her:
Mary Alice had been preparing the house for what was about to happen. And now Evangeline couldn’t help wondering if someone had made preparations for the same reason.
As she stood just inside the door, a deep foreboding settled over her. She didn’t want to stay in that house a moment longer. It was as if some invisible force tugged her back outside, into the sunlight and safety of the clearing.
But Evangeline ignored the warning and instead of retreating, she pulled back the receiver on her gun, easing a round from the clip into the chamber. Steadying her nerves, she slowly walked through the house, checking each room and finding the next as spotless as the last.
Most of the furniture had long since been destroyed or stolen, but the classroom at the back of the house looked just as it must have all those years ago when Mary Alice had homeschooled her children. The chalkboard was wiped clean and an eraser and fresh chalk rested in the tray.
