The Isle Of Sin And Shadows - Keri Lake Page 0,102
with water for her.
“Ever try olive oil and lemon juice?”
“For cookin’, or cleanin’?”
“Well, both, but in this case, cleaning.” Shrugging, I flip on the faucet to warm the water. “Just something I learned while living in a cabin. Works great on wood floors.”
“Can’t say I have. I should try it, den?”
“Sure. Here, I saw some lemons in the fridge. I’ll grab them.”
“I have to say, you da first woman I ever seen here.”
Really. I pass off the lemon I scrounged from the fridge, and dump a bit of olive oil into the bucket for her. “Just … so we’re clear, Thierry and I aren’t a thing. In case you were thinking that.”
From her pocket, she pulls a small pocketknife, the sight of which doesn’t faze me as much as it probably should, seeing as I’ve carried a knife my whole life. Probably a necessity in the bayou. “I don’ make no assumptions, me. No worries ‘bout dat.” The way she side-eyes me suggests otherwise, though. She pokes a hold into one of the lemons and squeezes the juice through the hole, into the bucket.
“So, you’ve been here a while, then?”
“‘Bout ten years, give, or take.” Using the mop to stir the mixture, she plunges it a few times, before sloshing it onto the floor.
“You’ve known Thierry that whole time?”
“We know da Bergerons for longer than dat. Our families go way back.” Her voice is hardly broken with the toil, as she scrubs the kitchen floor. Telling of a hard-working woman, for sure. Once finished, she plops the mop back into the bucket and props it against the wall. “Just leave dat dere. I’ll git it when I’m done.”
“So, Thierry … he’s not some weirdo psychopath who feeds his guests to Moses alive, then?”
“Mais, non. Thierry would never t’row a body out to Moses like dat. He’d cut dem up first.”
“Um.”
“I’m just playin’ wit you, chère!” The throaty laugh she belts out isn’t reassuring, though. “Cocodries don’ seek out dat human meat as a rule, so you got nothin to worry about. I mean, I wouldn’t jump in da water wit’ Moses—he’s still a wild animal wit’ an appetite.”
“Of course.”
“Pauvre ti bête, I didn’ mean to scare you. I’m gon’ go do some cleanin’ up.”
“Okay, I’ll clean up my mess after this.”
“You can leave it. I’ll put up da dishes in a bit. Bon appétit.”
“Merci.”
After skinning the fish with a blade that’s way too sharp to be sitting out on the counter, I plop it into the simmering oil and crack an egg, practically salivating for the protein I’ve been lacking.
A high-pitched scream has my hand jerking hard enough to break the yoke of my egg on accident, the yellow leaking onto the pan around the fish.
“Mon dieu!” Jo hobbles into the kitchen and sets one of the objects from my bag out onto the counter, tucking her hands against herself as if the thing burned her. The Baphomet.
I’d probably be mortified over what she thinks of me after finding that stuff, if I wasn’t pissed that she just went through my things.
A string of Valir flies out of her mouth, words I can’t even begin to understand, but given the horrified look in her eyes, and the pointing of her finger, I’m guessing she wants me to explain.
“Look, I really don’t appreciate you going through my stuff, but this isn’t what it looks like.”
“You got a statue of da goat! Do you even know what dat means?”
“Do … you? Just out of curiosity.”
“It’s da devil. You study dat?”
Technically, yes, since I plan to read some of the books and learn what had my father so wrapped up in it. “No. Not as a religion. I’m just curious to know more about it. But not like …. I don’t plan to slaughter animals, or anything.
“If I was you, chère, I would keep dat stuff put away. Folks ‘round here might get suspicious.”
“You mean there are other folks around here? I thought it was just us and Moses.”
“Some folks don’ appreciate things like dat. I wou’n’t show nobody else.”
“Again, it’s just curiosity.”
“I’m gon’ go now. If Mr. Bergeron asks why I din’ finish, just … please tell him I got da mal au coeur.” She shuffles out of the house quicker than a cockroach.
“Wait!” The door slams in my face as I lurch after her. “What the hell does that even mean?”
23
Thierry
Rubbing a hand over my jaw, I stare down at the numbers handwritten by Miranda from the night before, then up