Page 16 of Beau
Aurelie’s widened. “Dolley and Madison?”
“My aunt named her children after important historical figures like past presidents, inventors and founding fathers.” He glanced toward her. “Ben and Alex are Benjamin Franklin Boyette and Alexandra Belle Boyette.”
Aurelie laughed. “I didn’t know that. How clever. What about your family? Did your parents do that as well? I mean, Beau isn’t a name I recognize as a historical figure.”
He shook his head. “No, my mother is a Cajun through and through. She gave all her children good old Cajun-French names.” He turned off the main highway onto the road that would take them to the small town of Bayou Miste as if he’d done it a hundred times. “I haven’t been back here since I was on leave for Ben’s wedding. That’s been a few years.”
“I’ve met his wife. She’s a beauty and really nice. She gave me a charm to ward off evil.”
Beau’s eyebrows rose. “She did? Are you sure that’s what it’s for?”
“That’s what she said. Why?”
“You know she’s the granddaughter of Bayou Miste’s Voodoo Queen, don’t you?”
“I might have heard that,” she said, trying to remember who might have told her. “So?” She stared at him. “You don’t believe in Voodoo, do you?”
He shrugged. “I’m not going to say I don’t. All I’m saying is there’ve been some things that have happened in the bayou that can’t be explained away with science.”
“Well, I don’t believe in magic.”
“Do you still have the gris-gris Lucie gave you?”
“Yes. It was a gift. I couldn’t just throw it away.”
He slowed as he passed the battered shack, with a sign hanging over the door proclaiming it the Raccoon Saloon.
“Some things never change,” he murmured. “I’m surprised that building hasn’t fallen down.”
Aurelie chuckled. “Me, too. But that doesn’t scare people away. The parking lot is always full on the weekends.”
When he drove into Bayou Miste, he pointed at his aunt’s house.
Aurelie told him where to turn, and soon, he pulled into the gravel driveway of the little cottage she’d painted robin’s egg blue with a pastel yellow door.
She sighed as he shifted into park. This was her home, the very first and only house she’d ever signed a mortgage on. “Thank you for bringing me home.” Aurelie pushed open her door.
He opened his door as well.
“You don’t have to walk me to the door,” she said.
He ignored her statement and met her at the front of his truck with his hand held out. “The key?”
“I left my purse in my father’s car.” Despite her admission, she climbed the stairs. “But I keep a spare under the flowerpot next to the—” she stopped short of the door, her brow furrowing.
The flowerpot she’d planted full of petunias lay in pieces, dirt scattered across the porch, flowers uprooted and dying. The key was gone, and the front door stood slightly ajar.
Beau stepped in front of her. “Get in the truck.”
When she didn’t move immediately, he spoke louder, “Get in the truck. Now!”
Aurelie jerked to attention and started down the porch stairs.
Beau moved with her, backing down the porch steps without turning his back on the semi-opened door.
Aurelie hurried toward the truck, climbed into the passenger seat and waited for Beau to get into the other side.
He didn’t get into the driver’s seat. Instead, he reached beneath the seat and pulled out a very lethal-looking handgun.