Voodoo River - Robert Crais Page 0,45

she made up her mind. "You want some lemonade? I put some up this morning."

I smiled at her and she smiled back. "That'd be fine. Thanks. If you've got the time."

"I got a few minutes."

We sat in the shade of the little porch on a sofa that was covered with crocheted bedspreads. Mrs. Lawrence Williams came to the door every few minutes, still pissed about being inside, always with the big purse. She probably had something in there in case I decided to trifle with them. "This is good lemonade."

"I put honey in with the sugar. That's clover honey. A man down the bayou keeps a hive."

I said, "The newspaper reports said that the sheriff believed that Leon was killed by a transient over a gambling dispute."

"Leon was fourteen. What he know about gamblin'?"

"What'd your parents think?"

"Said it was silly. Said it was just the sheriffs way of shinin' us on. A black man gets killed, they don' care."

"Did your parents have an idea of what happened?"

She squinted out at the road. Trying to remember. A truck pulling a natural-gas tank rumbled past and made the thin glass in the windows rattle. "Lord, it's been so long. Daddy died in seventy-two. Mama went, oh, I guess it was eighty-one, now."

"How about Lawrence or Robert, Jr.? Did they ever say anything?"

She thought harder. "Lawrence didn't really have nothin' to do with Leon, but Leon and Junior were close. I remember Junior sayin' somethin" 'bout some gal. I guess there couida been some gal mixed up in there."

"Like maybe Leon got killed over a girl?"

"Well. I guess." Chantel pulled deep on the cigarette, then flicked the butt out into the yard. A skinny Rhode Island Red hen picked it up, ran a few feet, then dropped it, squawking. The other chickens circled it, cocking their heads for a better look, then ignored it. Chantel said, "The gals did flock around Leon, let me tell you. He was a beautiful boy, and, my, he could talk. Charmin'? I was just a baby and I remember that. Robert used to get jealous! Oo!" She crossed her arms and leaned forward on her knees, enjoying the memories. "You know, I haven't thought about that in years. Here it is, sometimes I can't even remember Leon's face, but I remember that."

Mrs. Williams came to the door, still with the big purse, still with the pissy expression. "You don't have time for all this, now, girl. You have to get back to work."

Chantel nodded without looking.

"You late, that Jew'll get after you."

Chantel closed her eyes. "Ada!"

"Well, he's a Jew, isn't he?"

"Ada. Please."

Mrs. Williams harumphed and stalked back into the house. Chantel Michot said, "That woman is such a trial."

I said, "Think about Leon. Maybe you'll remember something else."

She stood up. "I may have something. You wait here." She went into the house and came back a few minutes later with a King Edward cigar box and sat with it on her knees. "This is mostly Robert's things, but there's some stuff from Leon in here, too. Lord, I haven't looked in here in years."

She opened the box and stared down at the contents, as if the letters and snapshots and papers within were treasures awaiting discovery. "You see Leon? Here's Leon right here. That's Lawrence and that's Junior and that's Daddy."

She handed me a yellowed Kodak snapshot with a little date marker on the white border: 1956. An older man was standing in front of an enormous Chevrolet roadster with three boys. Mr. Williams and his sons. Lawrence and Junior and Leon. They were light-skinned men with delicate features. Leon was the smallest, with large expressive eyes and long lashes and an athlete's carriage. He would have been twelve. She said, "We had some good-looking men in this family, but that Leon, he was plain pretty."

"He's handsome, all right."

She fingered through handwritten notes and birthday cards and a couple of elementary school report cards and tiny black-and-white snapshots of older black men and women, all neatly dressed and stiffly formal. "My momma gave me these things. She said these were the little bits of us that she held dear. This is me. This is Robert and Lawrence. Oh, my God, look how young." She smiled broadly and the smile made her seem younger and quite pretty, as if for a moment she was free of the weight of the five children and the crummy job at the sausage factory. "Robert was killed in the army," she said.