Free Under the Cajun Moon by Mindy Starns Clark

long.
    “Have you been able to remember anything else about last night, Ms. Ledet?” he asked, pulling out his pen and holding it poised above his notepad. The expression on his face was one of benign interest. Though he obviously thought I was a murderer, he was doing a good job of making it look as though he was giving me the benefit of the doubt for now.
    “Yes, I have remembered some,” I said slowly, wondering how much to tell him. If I started spouting off about buried treasure, he would surely think I was crazy. On the other hand, my only defense was the truth. Crazy or not, I had no choice but to tell him all that I had been able to recall thus far. My father and Mr. Naquin might not appreciate my giving away the information about their secret treasure, but the more fully I could explain, the better chance I had that Detective Walters might actually believe me—no matter how incredible my story sounded.
    Slowly, I explained everything I had managed to remember thus far.As I did, it almost looked as if the detective was starting to believe the incredible tale of how I had come to town to see my father, stopped first at the restaurant to meet with his lawyer and sign some papers, and ended up learning about a secret family treasure.
    He listened intently, making notes and interrupting me frequently for clarification. I ended what there was of my story by saying I felt sure at some point last night I had been given a drug that had rendered me unconscious—and I had remained that way until the police banged on my door this morning. I said I had no idea how Kevin had ended up here as well, dead no less, or why I might have scratched his face. But I suggested that they draw some of my blood so that we could find out what drug I had been given. For that matter, they should test Kevin’s too, I said. Perhaps both of us had been under the influence of some substance—one that had rendered me unconscious and killed Kevin. That wouldn’t explain why I had scratched his face, but it might help us start piecing this puzzle together.
    The detective called in a technician, who donned a pair of rubber gloves, pulled out the necessary supplies, and promptly took a vial of blood from my veins. As he finished and walked away, I wondered if it might be time for me to get myself a lawyer.
    “Let me get this straight,” the detective said, using the phrase he had already uttered about fifteen times since I started my story. “You don’t remember when or where it happened, but you believe that last night you were administered a twilight drug?”
    “Yes…a twilight drug. Isn’t that what they call the stuff that knocks you out and erases your memory?”
    He nodded.
    “That’s it. I feel sure of it. I was given a twilight drug.”
    There was still more of the memory to recover, of course, and I couldn’t know what lurked in the fog at the back of my brain, but at least I had been able to recall some of what had happened. Now I just needed to think more about Sam, about what had happened after he arrived. I said as much to the detective.
    “Okay, well, why don’t you think on that while I go check a few morethings,” he replied. Without another word, he got up and left the room, tucking pen and paper back into his pocket.
    Closing my eyes, I again leaned back against the couch and rested my head. Sam. What had happened last night with Sam?
    At the restaurant, I remembered embracing him and thinking how thin he felt. He had always been a wiry sort, but now he felt positively skeletal. We pulled apart, and for some reason, just the sight of my old friend caused my eyes to fill with tears. Blinking them away, I invited him to sit down with us and asked him how he was holding up. He and Kevin shook hands and exchanged greetings as I returned to my seat.
    “I’m hanging in there,” Sam had said as he pulled out a chair, “but I feel like I’ve aged ten years in the last couple of hours. I’ve been running around like