The Lost Girls of Johnson's Bayou

She shook her head. No, she wasn’t crazy. The scream had been real, but many things had stopped her from picking up the phone last night and calling the police. No proof. Everyone in town looking at her strangely again. The list went on and on, and there was no time to cover it all now.

She locked the apartment door behind her and hurried down the stairs. Today was the first day of the town’s annual Fall Festival and the café would be crowded early so that everyone could get to the town square and set up their booths. If a little girl was missing, Ginny would be certain to hear about it during breakfast service. Then she’d go to the police. If no one was missing, she would have to admit that her imagination had played tricks on her and figure out how she felt about that.

In the meantime, she was almost late for work, and the last thing she needed was to give her mother any indication that her life was not calm and, if not perfect, at least boring. Madelaine looked up from her bowl of pancake mix as Ginny exited the stairwell into the kitchen. She gave her a critical once-over, then went back to mixing the batter.

“Thought maybe you were calling in sick,” Madelaine said.

“No, sorry. Just overslept. I stayed up too late working on jewelry,” Ginny lied.

The bit of worry in Madelaine’s face relaxed. Her mother knew better than anyone how time could escape Ginny when she was making jewelry. “I thought you had everything ready for the festival already?”

“I did…do…just a last-minute thought.” Ginny tied an apron around her waist and slipped an order pad into one of the front pockets. She glanced down at her watch. “Is the coffee on out front?”

Madelaine nodded. “Did it first thing. Turned on the two pots in here, as well. Gonna be busy this morning.”

“Praise God and bring the customers,” Ginny said, quoting one of Madelaine’s favorite sayings.

Madelaine grinned. “If business goes well this week, we might even close for a bit. Go up to New Orleans and have somebody paint our toenails pink.”

Ginny laughed, a feeling of normalcy returning to her in a rush. “That sounds wonderful.” She glanced at the front of the café, where a crowd was already gathering outside. “It’s a couple minutes till, but I think I’ll take pity and let them in.”

Madelaine nodded and Ginny opened the front door of the café at 5:49 a.m. to a happy roar of locals.

Two hours later, the last of the townspeople had completed the breakfast rush and Ginny slumped in a chair in the kitchen. Madelaine handed her a glass of iced tea and took a seat on a stool in front of the giant double sink teaming full of dishes.

“Busy one,” Madelaine said as Ginny took a huge drink of the cold tea.

“I think the good weather’s bringing everyone out.”

Madelaine nodded. “Should be a good turnout for the festival. Maybe some more New Orleans stores will see your jewelry and want to stock it.”

“I’ve got my fingers crossed. It’s doing well at Sarah’s shop, but I’d love to have more distribution.”

Madelaine opened her mouth to reply, but the dinging of the bell on the front door stopped her. She motioned to Ginny, who was already rising from her chair. “You take a break for a minute. I’ll get the order. You can deliver the food.”

Ginny sank back down, grateful for the reprieve, no matter how slight. A couple of minutes later, Madelaine hustled back into the kitchen, scooped a huge cinnamon roll onto a plate and handed it to Ginny.

“That’s it?”

“No. He wants an omelet but asked to have this out first. And he’ll likely need a coffee refill, the way he was downing the first cup.”

“Who is it?” Ginny asked as she started toward the kitchen door.

Madelaine shrugged as she cracked eggs on the skillet. “Probably here for the festival.”

This early? The thought flashed through Ginny’s mind and just as quickly, a second thought hit her and she sucked in a breath. Surely not.

She pushed open the kitchen door just enough to scan the café without being seen. It was empty except for one booth on the far end from the door occupied by the man who, unfortunately, had his back to Ginny. You’re being foolish. What are the odds?

She pushed the door completely open and stepped into the café. She was only a couple of feet from the man’s table when he turned slightly to look up at her.

It was him. The man from the swamp.

Her heart rate spiked and she dropped her gaze to her hands, clutching the plate so hard, she thought it would snap. It took every ounce of control for her to set the plate in front of him. She forced herself to raise her head and meet his gaze, and she was surprised to notice he seemed out of sorts as well. He was older than she’d originally thought, maybe early thirties, but then her eyes had been on his gun last night and not him. His dark brown hair was a little long and lay in natural waves. Green eyes studied her as she reached for the coffeepot on the counter station and refilled his empty cup.

“Your omelet will be ready in a couple of minutes,” she said, trying to keep her voice even. “Is there anything else I can get you?”

He shook his head, but Ginny got the impression there was something he wanted to say but didn’t. She took that as her cue to exit, but as she turned to walk away, he grabbed her arm. She looked down at his hand, wrapped around her wrist, and wondered why this man made her feel so nervous, so off-balance.

“I probably owe you an apology,” he said and drew his hand back from her arm. “I didn’t mean to scare you last night, but you surprised me. I didn’t expect to find anyone out in the swamp at that time of night.”

“Neither did I.”

He gave her an uneasy chuckle. “Yeah, I guess not. So anyway, sorry I grabbed you.”

“It’s okay.” Ginny was more than ready to end the uncomfortable conversation, but she took a breath then blurted out, “Did you find the child?”

He stared at her for a moment, the indecision in his eyes apparent. Finally, he shook his head. “No. I looked around, but I didn’t see any trace that someone else had been near the house, and I didn’t hear anything.”

She bit her lower lip, knowing she should just return to the kitchen and forget she’d ever been traipsing around the swamp. “Nothing at all?”

“I’m sorry,” he said and gave her a sympathetic look.

She gave him a brief nod and walked back toward the kitchen. Great, now he thinks I’m crazy and feels sorry for me.

Hell, who was she kidding? Despite her certainty last night, maybe she was crazy. There hadn’t been so much as a whisper about a missing child in the café all morning, and that kind of story would have been huge news in Johnson’s Bayou. Maybe she’d imagined the scream. That’s what she got for letting something build for so long without addressing it. She should have stalked straight to that house the first time her mind latched on it. Instead, she’d put it off for so long that her imagination had run wild.

Before she slipped into the kitchen, she glanced back at the man. She noticed he hadn’t bothered to explain what he’d been doing in the swamp at night, and she hadn’t wanted to ask. But she wondered. Now, he sat at an angle in the booth, talking on his cell phone, and from the look on his face, he didn’t like what he’d just heard.

Chapter Three

Paul gripped the phone, anxious for the information Mike, his partner at their New Orleans detective agency, was about to provide. “You’ve found something?”

“I may have a line on something, but I can’t be positive. The information on that case is so sketchy.”

“You thinking cover-up?”

“Not necessarily. It may have just been a case of inexperienced cops with a situation far beyond what they were qualified to handle. The whole thing is pretty weird. I mean, all those kids dying but no one coming to claim them. It reeks all the way around, Paul.”

“Yeah, I know, but it’s an avenue I have to check. So what did you find?”

“One student survived, for sure, but the bodies of one other student and the headmistress were never recovered. Then this is where it gets weird. The day after the fire, a girl walked out of the swamp and into town, but no one could identify her as a student. No one in the town, even the locals who worked at the home, had ever laid eyes on her.”

“Well, who did she say she was?”

“She didn’t know. Total amnesia.”

“Great. The best witness I might have and she doesn’t remember anything. Any idea where the girls are now?”

“I tracked the girl rescued from the house as far as a hospital in New Orleans, but the trail went cold after that. You’ll probably have to speak to people off the record. The hospital’s not likely to give you anything without a court order.”

Paul blew out a breath, knowing his partner was right, and that as things stood right now, he had no legal grounds to gain such a document. “And the other? The mystery girl?”

“That one’s a little trickier. There’s nothing in the police records. No follow-up at all, so the best I can do is a rumor from an old aunt of mine that lives down that way. She heard that the girl was adopted by someone in town. Thinks the woman who adopted her might own a restaurant or something.”

Paul clutched the phone and shot a glance toward the kitchen. Could it possibly be the café waif was looking for answers in the swamp, as well? “You’re sure?”

“No, I’m not sure about any of it, but my aunt is certain that’s what she heard. It may be something. It may not.”

“Okay, thanks. I’ll check out a few things here today and be in touch tonight.” Paul set the cell phone on the table and looked out the glass front of the café into the swamp. Ginny couldn’t be the child he was searching for. She was the right age, but the child he sought had brown eyes, something she’d always complained about. Ginny’s eyes were bright blue.

But if Ginny was the child who had wandered out of the swamp, maybe she remembered something. After all these years, surely some memory, even if seemingly insignificant, had returned. She was the only potential witness to a horrible crime, if you believed the rumors that the fire had been set. That might explain why she was out in the swamp after dark. Maybe her memory was returning.

“Here you go.” The older woman who’d taken his order slid a plate with an omelet and toast on the table in front of him. Paul looked up, momentarily disappointed that Ginny wasn’t delivering his food, but then, he could hardly force her to sit in the booth and tell all her secrets. She’d seemed nervous when he apologized earlier, and the last thing he wanted to do was alienate himself from the one lead he had. What he needed to do was find out more about Ginny, and then maybe he’d be able to design an approach.

“It looks great,” he said and glanced around the café. “Is it always so quiet in here?”

“Oh, no, not usually. But most of the locals have booths at the festival, so they’ve already been in and out. Is that what you’re here for?”

“Yes,” Paul lied, figuring the festival would make a good cover, at least for a couple of days. “I’d heard a bit about it and thought I’d check it out. Maybe get in some fishing afterward. I just didn’t realize it started this early.”

“The official kickoff is at noon, but setup takes a while for those with a lot of merchandise. I just sent my daughter off to set up her booth. I’ll likely close everything up once you’re done and head to the festival myself to help people out.”

“That sounds great. What does your daughter sell?”

“Handcrafted jewelry. She even fashions some of her own metal,” she said, her voice full of pride. “A store in New Orleans is selling some pieces already.”

Paul smiled. “My aunt has a boutique in Baton Rouge. I’ll take some pictures and maybe buy a few samples of your daughter’s work. She loves featuring items by Louisiana designers.”

The woman beamed. “That would be fantastic. Well, my name’s Madelaine, and my daughter’s Ginny. I’m gonna get out of here and let you finish your breakfast.”

She hustled back to the kitchen, and Paul turned his attention to the omelet. The festival was the perfect cover, and it provided an excellent reason for him to ask some questions about Ginny, both to Ginny and to others.

Less than one day in town and he already had a lead. Not bad at all.

THE MAN WATCHED HER from across the town square as she unpacked jewelry from cardboard boxes and arranged it on a folding table covered with black velvet draping. She didn’t appear different from what she did any other day, but he knew something was different. He’d noticed her staring out the window of the café lately, looking toward the abandoned school.

After all these years, she’d never seemed to care. Never wanted to talk about her past when people, even specialists like doctors and counselors, tried to bring it up. So why did it seem her curiosity was developing now? What had changed? Nothing in town or within her immediate family and friends. He was sure about that, as he knew everyone in Johnson’s Bayou.

Was she starting to remember?

He hoped not, because he liked Ginny. Liked the young woman she’d become. It would be a shame to have to kill her now.

GINNY TOOK THE CASH from another happy customer and handed her a bag of jewelry in exchange. The woman thanked her and hurried off to meet her husband, who’d waited almost patiently for the thirty minutes the woman had taken to pick out the perfect pair of earrings. Ginny tucked the cash into her apron and smiled at Mrs. Foster, who was giving her a thumbs-up from her table of baked goods across the brick walkway.

With her table empty of customers for the first time that day, Ginny decided to walk across to Mrs. Foster’s table and grab up something good before it was all gone. Mrs. Foster’s baking was famous in Johnson’s Bayou, and Ginny didn’t want to miss out.

“You been doing some good business today,” the silver-haired Mrs. Foster said as Ginny approached. “You might sell out before me.”

Ginny laughed. “That will be the day.” Ginny scanned the table of picked-over goodies. “No more coffee cake?” she asked, trying not to let her disappointment show in her voice.

Mrs. Foster reached beneath the table and brought up a coffee cake, a big grin on her face. “I saved one for you.”

“Bless you,” Ginny said and pulled some money out of her apron.

Mrs. Foster shook her head. “Your money’s no good here. Those earrings you made me are still the most coveted at bingo night.”

Ginny smiled. “Then we’re even, because I might have a matching necklace tucked under my table for you.”

Mrs. Foster’s face lit up and she clapped her hands. “That old biddy Adelaide will never get over it. You’ve made my day, Ginny.”

Mrs. Foster’s gaze shifted past Ginny and she pointed. “Got a new customer. Nice-looking one, too.”

Ginny looked back at her table, then froze. It was him.

She supposed Mrs. Foster was right. He was good-looking, when she could manage to separate the man standing at her booth from the man who’d scared her half to death the night before. He studied the jewelry with more interest than she would have expected from a guy, but she immediately chided herself for such a sexist thought. For all she knew, he may have a wife or girlfriend at home whom he was purchasing for. She knew she should go back to her table, but she hesitated. He made her uneasy in a way she’d never felt before.

Finally, she took a deep breath and began to cross the walkway. Suddenly, he stiffened, then reached for a custom metal necklace at the end of her table. He stared at the piece, his expression a mixture of surprise and confusion.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

He whirled around to face her and shoved the necklace at her. “Where did you get this design?”

Surprised by his obvious agitation, she took a step back. “I…I didn’t get it anywhere.”

He waved one hand at her table, his frustration apparent. “You used it in half of your jewelry. Why? What does it mean to you?”

Ginny stared, not certain what answer he was looking for, but clearly she didn’t have the right one. “It doesn’t mean anything to me. It’s just a design I thought of. It was popular with the customers, so I adopted it as a sort of signature.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “You just thought of the design? Just like that?”

Ginny bristled, done with his attitude. “Yes, that’s what artists do. They just think of things then create them. If you’re not interested in purchasing that necklace, please return it to the table and be on your way, Mr....” She trailed off, realizing that he’d never given her his name.

“Stanton. Paul Stanton.”

He studied her face with an intensity that was almost alarming. Ginny got the distinct impression he was trying to decide if she was lying, although about what she had absolutely no idea.

“I’ll take this necklace,” he said and pulled out his wallet. “How much?”

Ginny’s initial instinct was to refuse to sell him the necklace and demand that Paul Stanton leave her table, but she was afraid he wouldn’t be put off that easily. More than anything, she wanted this angry, suspicious man out of her personal space. “Twenty dollars.”

He pulled a twenty out of his wallet and handed it to her. “You’re certain you’ve never seen this design somewhere before?”

“What do you want me to say—that I stole the design from someone? Well, I didn’t. I had that image in my mind years before I began designing jewelry.” Since the day I walked out of the swamp and into Johnson’s Bayou.

“How long?”

Ginny frowned. “How long have I been designing jewelry?”

“No. How long have you had that image in your mind?”

“I don’t see—”

“Just tell me.”

His voice had a desperate edge to it, and Ginny began to see something behind the frustration in his expression. Fear?

“Sixteen years,” Ginny replied. As long as I can remember.

He stared at the swirl of metal that lay on his palm. “Sixteen years,” he whispered and clutched his hand around the necklace before he turned and walked away.

What in the world? Ginny stared at his retreating figure, at a complete loss over their exchange. She didn’t think the design was stolen. Surely, she’d have seen it before now if that was the case, but Paul Stanton had acted as if he’d seen the pattern before. Seeing the design on her jewelry had clearly bothered him.

But why?

She watched as he disappeared into the festival crowd, somehow knowing she hadn’t seen the last of him. Turning to her table, she looked at the rows of metal pieces, many fashioned in the same swirl of circles with one circle in the middle, giving the design a flower-like appearance. She’d never questioned where the design had come from. It had always been there.

Even though it was at least eighty degrees outside, she felt a chill run over her. Was the design part of her past? The single item she’d brought out of the woods with her?

And if so, what did it mean to Paul Stanton?

Chapter Four

Ginny placed what remained of her jewelry in the plastic storage container and strapped it on the dolly she’d borrowed from the café. It had been a good day for sales, and despite her somewhat unnerving run-in with Paul Stanton, she felt upbeat as she pulled her purse strap over her shoulder.

“Need any help?” Madelaine’s voice sounded behind her, and she turned to smile at her mother, who was laden down with bags.

“Looks like I should be asking you that question.” She pulled the top off her storage container and collected some of her mother’s shopping bags, dropping them inside. Her mother unwound more bags from her other arm and continued adding to the container until it was full. She was still clutching two more bags.

“Whew, that’s a relief,” Madelaine said, rubbing her forearm with her free hand.

Ginny secured the top on the container, shaking her head. “What in the world did you buy? You live here year-round with everyone selling their wares. You don’t have to buy everything at one time.”

“Carol’s aunt was here—the one I told you about, remember?”

“The seamstress?”

“That’s the one. When we chatted at Carol and Glenn’s anniversary party, I mentioned wanting new tablecloths and such for the café but not being able to find what I was looking for premade. I was going to call her to get some pricing, but one thing led to another, and well, you know how it is.”

Ginny swung the dolly around behind her and they started walking down Main Street toward the café. “You forgot.”

“Exactly.”

“So what’s with all the packages?”

“The aunt had an idea for the café based on what I’d described and made up some tablecloths and napkins, figuring if I wasn’t interested, she’d sell them at her shop in New Orleans.”

Madelaine dug in one of her bags and pulled out a napkin fashioned from patches of bright patterned materials in turquoise, pink, green and yellow. She handed the napkin to Ginny. “How perfect is that?”

Ginny looked down at the splash of colorful fabrics and smiled. “It is perfect and totally you.” She handed the napkin back to Madelaine. “What about valances? That blue gingham with the sunflowers has been hanging there since I was a little girl.”

“She’s coming by tomorrow to measure the windows. I’m also thinking it’s time for a fresh coat of paint, maybe a sunny yellow to match that color in the napkins. What do you think?”

“I think it sounds like a lot of work…but nice.”

Madelaine waved a hand in dismissal. “I’ll hire Saul Pritchard to do the painting. He finished up Carol’s bedroom last week, so I know he’s got the time. So I guess the almost-empty container means you had a good day.”

“It was an excellent day. I sold everything but ten pieces, and a couple of buyers for bigger shops bought pieces and took pictures and business cards.”

“Whoo! I’m telling you, one day you’re going to be famous and you’re going to buy me a nice beach house in the Bahamas, with one of those cute guys who bring you fancy drinks.”

“A cabana boy?” Ginny laughed. “If I get rich and famous, it’s a deal.”

“Carol said she saw a likely candidate at your booth today when she passed with her grandkids. From her description, I thought it might be that good-looking young man who was in the café this morning.”

Ginny nodded, struggling not to frown. “He bought a necklace.”

“That’s it?” The disappointment in Madelaine’s voice was clear.

“Yes, that’s it. What was he supposed to do?”

“Well, he said he had family that owned a store, but maybe he plans on taking the piece to them to see. And I thought…well…oh, never mind.”

“You thought since he was over ten and under sixty, I should jump him at the festival?”

“Of course not, but a nice lunch wouldn’t be out of line. Oh well, he said he was taking a bit of a vacation. Maybe you’ll see him again before the festival is over.”

Ginny stopped in front of the café and pulled her keys from her purse to unlock the front door, trying not to think about what Madelaine had said. She’d bet everything she owned that Paul Stanton was not on vacation. He had far too much intensity for a man who was supposed to be relaxing. Ginny was certain he was in Johnson’s Bayou for a reason, but she didn’t even want to know what it was. She just wanted him to leave her alone.

“You coming in?” Ginny asked.

“No. I’m pooped. I’m gonna take a long shower and go to bed early.” She gave Ginny a kiss on the cheek. “Just leave my bags in the kitchen. I’ll deal with them tomorrow.”

Ginny pulled the dolly into the kitchen and unloaded her mother’s bags on the desk in the back corner of the kitchen. She grabbed the almost-empty container and hauled it upstairs with her to refill for tomorrow’s display. She balanced the wide container on her hip and the wall to unlock her apartment, but the instant she stepped inside, she knew something was wrong.