Showdown in Mudbug by Jana DeLeon
Chapter One
Raissa Bourdeaux went through the uses of the different-colored candles for what had to be the hundredth time. She knew Mrs. Angelieu was more interested in gossiping than actually buying anything, so there was really nothing more to do but continue to point to items and wait her out. She glanced at her watch and was dismayed to find it was hours before closing. Monday had been a very long day.
“And then,” Mrs. Angelieu said, her face animated, “I told Lucille that I just couldn’t believe she’d bring that casserole dish to the church. Why, it belonged to her mother, and everyone knew what a harlot her mother was. It’s a wonder God didn’t send lightning down right there in the middle of her potato salad.” She gave Raissa a single nod and waited for confirmation.
“Well,” Raissa said, struggling for something that wasn’t rude, “that certainly would have been a show. But God hasn’t really been that obvious since the Old Testament. I mean, I haven’t heard of a burning bush in a long time.”
Mrs. Angelieu laughed. “You always know how to put things in perspective, Raissa. That’s why I love talking to you. I consider it my weekly dose of reality.”
“Oh, you don’t have to come to me for that. Just turn on any news channel.”
Mrs. Angelieu sobered. “It’s just horrible about that missing child, isn’t it? My Lord, I can’t imagine what those parents are going through.”
“What missing child?”
“Why, it’s been all over the news today. That sweet little six-year-old girl who went missing from her bedroom last night. Just vanished.”
Raissa frowned. “I haven’t had the TV on all day, so I didn’t know. That’s very sad.”
Mrs. Angelieu nodded. “Well, I’m going to take one of these pretty blue candles and get out of here. Maybe you can have a nice glass of wine and relax a little. I don’t mean to offend you, Raissa, but you look a little tired.”
“It’s been busy lately,” Raissa said as she rang up Mrs. Angelieu’s purchase and wrapped the candle.
“Well, that’s better than being bored, I suppose,” Mrs. Angelieu said as she took her bag. “I’ll see you next week.” She waved to Raissa as she exited the shop.
Raissa locked the front door and put the closed sign in the window. She had no other appointments and simply wasn’t in the mood to deal with another Mrs. Angelieu. The old woman couldn’t have been more wrong about being bored. A couple of weeks before, Raissa’s close friends had found themselves in a mess of trouble. After a harrowing week of bombs, poisonings, a disgruntled ghost, and too many lies to count, Raissa would have welcomed a day with nothing better to think about than whether God should send lightning into the potato salad of a former harlot bowl owner.
She turned off the lights for the shop and headed up the back staircase to her apartment above the store. It was small, but it suited her perfectly. Raissa had learned long ago to economize. At any given time, she might need to put everything important into her car and disappear. It had been a long time—more than nine years—since the last time she’d had to change everything in her life but the clothes on her back, but she knew that possibility was always there. Long-term plans were not part of her life.
She poured a glass of wine and turned on the television. The news had preempted local programming to feature more about the missing girl. As soon as the picture flashed on the screen along with the girl’s name, Raissa clunked her wine down on the coffee table, the liquid sloshing onto the carved wood surface. Melissa Franco, the abducted child, had been in Raissa’s store many times with her mother, Susannah. They didn’t necessarily believe in the paranormal, but every month the little girl convinced her mother to stop in after their visit to the doctor across the street. The pretty candles and stones in the front display were apparently too much for the child to resist, and her mother always bought at least one more item for Melissa’s growing collection of pink and purple.
The reporter suggested the girl had run away, but Raissa didn’t buy that for a moment. Melissa was always happy and very inquisitive, asking Raissa endless questions about her shop, the candles, and ghosts. She was obviously doted on by her mother and didn’t even cross the street without first grabbing her mother’s hand. Not the kind of girl who would have run away from home. And certainly not the kind of girl with the street smarts to remain hidden in the midst of a citywide manhunt.
As the report began going over the details of the case, Raissa’s pulse began to race. Melissa had been asleep in her bedroom the night before, and there was no sign of forced entry. She’d simply vanished. Raissa took a big gulp of her wine, her hand shaking as she sat the glass back on the table.
Not again. Not after all these years.
Her head began to pound and she pressed her fingertips to her temples. Everything flooded back to her in a rush. The unanswered questions about entry into the house—every case the same. The seemingly identical victims, although she could never make a connection between the families. The girls, returned a week later, but with absolutely no memory of the abduction or anything that had happened to them while they were missing. Two years of undercover work blown by her trying to solve those cases. The man she knew was guilty, but couldn’t find evidence against.
The reason Raissa had fled protective custody nine years ago.