Free Bayou Justice by Robin Caroll Page B

never clean in here. It was Beau’s room.”
    â€œCheck this out.” The sheriff pointed at the second row of rifles and shotguns.
    Luc’s heart sank. Clear in the dust—an outline of the butt of another gun.
    Bubba straightened. “Any clue where that gun is or what gauge it happens to be?”
    â€œI don’t know. Like I said, we never come in here.”
    â€œUh-huh.” The sheriff grabbed the radio from his hip and lifted it to his lips. “Dispatch, I need a crime-scene unit at the Trahan place.”
    Nerves tangled in Luc’s gut. What had happened to that gun? Where could it be? More importantly, who could have moved it?
    Bubba completed his request. “I’ll be pulling Beau’s firearms records. If it comes back that he has a twelve-gauge and the forensics match up the butt outline… Well, I don’t have to tell you, Luc, it won’t look good for you.”
    â€œI did not kill my grandfather, Bubba. You know me better than that.” He ran a hand over his stubbly chin, hating the way his hands shook. “We go to church together, for pity’s sakes.”
    â€œI’ve been surprised before.” The sheriff wouldn’t meet his gaze.
    Luc chose not to reply. Right now, he couldn’t even think straight. He needed to pray. The situation had turned too dire to try to figure out on his own. And then he’d call CoCo.

    CoCo walked up the stairs to the old family plantation. She stopped on the porch, taking a minute to notice the condition of the house. The gutter hung lopsided from the eaves. Paint cracked and peeled over the entire home. Nails had worked themselves loose on the railings and the stairs. How long had she neglected to call someone out to do some handiwork? Grandmere usually called Toby, a neighbor’s grandchild to help out with the odd jobs, but it’d been weeks upon weeks since anyone had done any upkeep. Now that the threat of losing the plantation sat very real, she realized how much she loved the old house. It’d been her home for thirteen years and she couldn’t imagine being anywhere but here.
    Not to mention that her grandmother would die if taken from the bayou. While CoCo couldn’t condone her traditions any longer, she accepted that it was the way of life for Grandmere. She wouldn’t be able to function anywhere else. All her herbs and plants grew wild in the bayou, and some of them weren’t available to purchase in stores. At least, not fresh or organic.
    She turned to pull open the door, but a flash of light from the blue shed caught her attention. Dropping her hand, she bounded off the stairs toward Grandmere’s workshop. The smell of burning plants filtered to her. She jerked the door open, and felt her gut clench at the sight before her.
    â€œGrandmere, what’re you doing?”
    Her grandmother jumped with her hand at her neck. “Sakes, ma chère, you nearly scared the spirits outta me.”
    Wouldn’t that be nice? CoCo took in the herbs lying on the worktable beside the burner on which a glass beaker simmered. The overbearing stench of burnt roots filled the small and close building. She registered the names of the ingredients present, automatically flipping through her mental recipe book of potions. Her heart stilled, and she turned her glare on her grandmother. “A death gris-gris, Grandmere?”
    â€œSee, ma chère, you are a natural. You were able to instantly pull up the potion recipe.”
    â€œStop! Why are you making a death curse? And who is it aimed at?”
    â€œI’m just cleaning up in here, ma chère. Don’t be getting yourself all worked up.” Grandmere waved her hands toward CoCo. “It’s nothing, yes?”
    â€œTell me the truth, Grandmere. Who are you cursing?” She took a weakened step toward her grandmother. “Or who did you curse? Did you put a death cunja on Beau