The Secret of Cypriere Bayou. Jana DeLeon
no street signs to follow, ain’t no street either when it comes right down to it. It’s more like a dirt path, and you’re gonna have to find your way by landmarks. I’ve drawn them on the map and labeled them.”
Olivia gave the cook a grateful smile. “Thank you. I’m sure I’ll see you again. I’m not much of a cook, and I eventually tire of sandwiches.”
The cook gave her a single nod and turned back to the grill, ignoring the sheriff’s disapproving stare. Olivia took one step backward toward the door, feeling that she’d already overstayed her welcome even though she hadn’t unpacked a single bag. She gave the frowning sheriff a wave, then turned around and left the café.
She glanced at the map, then backed her car up and headed east. What the heck was going on here? She figured laMalediction’s bloody history would prevent the more easily spooked from speaking of it at all, but these people lived within miles of the structure. Surely they knew that it was only a house?
She glanced in her rearview mirror for a final look behind her. The sheriff was standing just outside the café, watching her intently as she drove out of town, but when she took a good look at his expression the annoyance she’d expected to see was nowhere in sight. Even though it was easily eighty degrees outside, she felt a shiver run through her.
The sheriff looked frightened.
“DAMN IT!” Olivia jammed her foot onto the brake as the road she’d been driving on disappeared into a wall of cypress trees. She must have missed a turn somewhere. Glancing up at the rolling black clouds, she bit her lip. That creepy sheriff was going to be right. Chances of her beating the storm to laMalediction were growing slimmer by the minute.
If it was the right way to begin with.
The thought ripped through her mind like one of those bolts of lightning that was surely on its way. What if the cook had meant to get her stranded in the storm?
Stop it!
Imagining monsters when there were none was great for her stories, but she couldn’t afford that kind of fantasizing in real life. She looked at the map once more and decided that she must have missed the twisted cypress trees that marked the last turnoff. Backing up slowly, she scanned the brush and finally located the trees almost hidden by a drape of moss and marsh grass. Mentally chastising herself for her earlier fear, she eased her car into the narrow opening. Only a thin strip of illumination from the fading sunlight passed through to the path.
Ten minutes later the light vanished completely and rain began to pour in giant, blinding sheets. Her visibility reduced to almost nothing; she eased her foot off the accelerator, slowing to a crawl. Seconds later her car dipped into a low spot on the path and came to a stop, the tires spinning in place. She grabbed her cell phone from the passenger seat. No signal.
Hitching a ride wasn’t likely given the location, and she wasn’t going to drive her car out of the hole it was stuck in. Walking was the only option. So did she brave a monsoon and try to locate a house hidden away in the bayou, or did she follow the path back to town, which would probably take hours?
Suddenly, lightning struck in front of her car, shaking the entire vehicle with its impact. The aftershocks of the blast echoed around her like flashes from a camera, illuminating an iron gate twenty yards in front of her. She felt her pulse quicken. Surely, the house was close. She kept a change of clothes, toiletries, and her pistol in her backpack. That would do for the night. She grabbed the backpack and a flashlight and stepped out into the storm.
The rain pelted her, stinging her face with its force. She lowered her head and rushed along the path as fast as her vision and the thick bayou mud allowed.
Would this house be the one?
She was holding one hand over her eyes to block the rain, straining to make out the jutting edges of the almost invisible structure in front of her when a burst of lightning struck right over the top of the house, lighting up the structure and the grounds surrounding it. She sucked in a breath so hard it made her chest hurt. Her heart pounded in her throat, blocking out the noise of the storm around her. She felt her fingernails dig into the palm of her hand as she clenched it.
She’d looked for it for eighteen years. And now, she’d found it.
OLIVIA RAN the remainder of the way to the house, sliding to a stop on a covered porch. Her heart raced as she unlocked the massive front door. She felt inside the door for the light switch, but nothing changed when she pushed it up. Shining her flashlight into the pitch-black house, she saw a huge circular staircase in the center of a two-story entry with marble floors.
She pulled off her mud-caked boots and left them on the porch, then closed and locked the front door behind her. Without electricity, the smartest thing to do was find a bedroom and secure it for the night. In houses of this era the bedrooms were usually upstairs, so she grabbed her backpack and started up the spiral staircase to a long hallway.
The first two rooms were being used for storage, but she hit pay dirt on the third. A huge bedroom, complete with king-size bed and adjoining bath. The bedding was dusty but would do for a night. She closed the bedroom door and turned the giant iron key in the lock on the inside, wishing she had the dead bolts from her luggage. Not that it mattered. A house this old would have secret passageways for servants, and she needed to locate them. Securing her sleeping quarters was her first task when entering old homes, and her need for security at laMalediction was stronger than any she’d ever had.
She started tapping the walls in the far corner of the room, working her way around and listening for a hollow sound or trying to detect flex in the paneling. After an hour of looking she gave up and slumped into a chair in front of an antique desk. When she got her luggage she’d have the tools necessary to do a thorough job. Right now she needed a hot bath and a good night’s sleep.
She grabbed a T-shirt and shorts from her backpack, turned on the water in a huge, claw-foot tub and sighed with relief when it came out hot. She shrugged off her damp clothes and slipped into the steamy bathwater. This is heaven. Leaning forward, she placed her head under the faucet and began to rinse her short tresses.
And that’s when she heard a creaking sound.
She bolted upright and banged her head on the faucet. “Who’s there?” she called out.
Only silence greeted her.
She waited a couple of seconds and was ready to decide it was just the house settling when she felt a gentle current of cold air blow across her bare skin. Shivering, she rose quietly from the tub and reached for a thick towel that hung on the wall. She stepped silently onto the floor, cursing herself for leaving her weapon in her backpack, and crept to the bathroom entry.
Her flashlight was propped on a shelf above the sink and it cast a dim glow around her. Without so much as a breath indicating her presence, she leaned into the doorway and peered into the bedroom.
Empty.
She grabbed the flashlight and shined it into the bedroom for a better look. Still nothing. But as soon as she stepped through the doorway, she felt the remnants of cool air pass across her bare arms and knew it hadn’t been her imagination. That draft had come from somewhere in the bedroom, and since both the windows and the door were locked tight only one explanation worked. There was another way into the master suite, and someone had used it.
She turned the flashlight on her backpack to see if anything looked disturbed, and that’s when she heard a noise downstairs. Standing stock-still, she listened, hoping to hear the sound again, but there was only silence. Frustrated, she blew out the breath she’d been holding.
It’s an old house. It makes noise.
But what she’d heard wasn’t the normal creaking and settling of an old house. It was a whooshing sound. Like someone was moving something big—maybe the exit panel to the hidden passageway attached to her room.
Damned if someone was going to get away with spying on her. She hurried into the bathroom and pulled on her shorts and T-shirt, not even bothering to dry off, then grabbed her nine millimeter