The Lost Girls of Johnson's Bayou. Jana DeLeon

      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.”