Bones to Ashes

“Does thinking about that place make you sad?”

“I don’t think about it.”

“Can you describe it?”

She shook her head.

“Was someone mean to you?”

Claudine’s sneaker made tiny squeaks as her knee jittered up and down.

“Was it a man?” Softly.

“He made me take off my clothes. And.” The jittering intensified. “Do things. He was bad. Bad.”

“Do you remember the man’s name?”

“Mal-o. He was bad. It wasn’t my fault.”

“Of course it wasn’t.”

“But he gave me something cool. I kept it. Want to see?”

“Perhaps later—”

Ignoring my reply, Claudine shot from the room. In seconds she was back carrying a woven leather circle decorated with feathers and beads.

“It’s magic. If you hang it over your bed you’re sure to have good dreams. And—”

“Why are you harassing Cecile?”

Claudine and I both turned at the sound of Obeline’s voice.

“We’re having a chat,” Claudine said.

“There are apples on the counter.” Obeline never shifted her scowl from my face. “If you peel them we can make a pie.”

“OK.”

Twirling her dream catcher, Claudine stepped past Obeline and disappeared. In moments, the sound of singing drifted down the hall. “Fendez le bois, chauffez le four. Dormez la belle, il n’est point jour.”

I translated the child’s tune in my head. Chop the wood, heat the oven. Sleep, pretty one, it’s not daytime yet.

“How dare you,” Obeline hissed.

“No, Obeline. How dare you?”

“She has the mind of an eight-year-old child.”

“Fine. Let’s talk about children.” My tone was polar. “Let’s talk about your sister.”

All color drained from her face.

“Where is she?”

“I’ve told you.”

“You’ve told me lies!”

Slamming both palms on the table, I leapt to my feet. My chair capsized and hit the floor like the crack of a gun.

“Evangeline wasn’t murdered,” I said, tone as hard as my expression. “At least she didn’t die at sixteen.”

“That’s nonsense.” Obeline’s voice wavered like an audiotape that’s been overplayed.

“Harry found Bones to Ashes, Obeline. I know Evangeline wrote those poems. Some of them as recently as 2001.”

Her eyes darted past me to the window.

“I know about O’Connor House. I’m tracking the purchase order. I’ll bet Virginie LeBlanc will turn out to be you or Evangeline.”

“You stole from me.” She spoke without bringing her eyes back to mine.

“I hate to break it to you, but what you and your husband have done is infinitely worse than pinching a book.”

“You misjudge us, and make hurtful accusations that are untrue.”

“What happened to Evangeline?”

“This is none of your business.”

“Was that the reason? Business? What the hell, the kid works for Daddy. It’s not in the job description, but I’ll strip her, tie her with ropes, and take a few shots. She’s young and poor, needs the work. She won’t rat me out.”

“That’s not how it was.”

I slapped the table so hard Obeline flinched. “Then tell me. How was it?”