The Lost Girls of Johnson's Bayou

She stood stock-still just inside the front door and felt the hair on the back of her neck rise. She listened for sounds that would indicate anyone was there, but all she heard was the quiet ticking of the kitchen clock. Scanning every square inch of the room, she tried to find something out of place. Something that would explain her fear, but everything appeared as it had when she’d left that morning.

She started to move, but then a scent wafted past her nose. The faint smell of musk, like a man’s aftershave. Without a sound, she placed the container on the floor next to the door and walked toward her bedroom, leaving the door to the apartment wide open in case she needed to make a run for it. She stopped just outside the bathroom and reached around the wall with her hand to flip on the lights. Light flooded the tiny room, and one quick look was all it took for her to know it was empty. The curtain was pulled back on the bathtub, just as she’d left it that morning, so no one could be hiding inside, and the tiny bathroom didn’t have a linen closet.

Easing down the hall, she reached inside her bedroom and turned on the lights. The room appeared undisturbed, and she was glad she’d left in a hurry that morning and left her closet door open. It was so small that she could see every square inch from the doorway, and no one lurked inside. Her bed was platform style with drawers for storage underneath, so no one could be hiding there.

Relief washed over her and she plopped down on the bed, chiding herself for scaring herself half to death over nothing. She needed to get a grip on her overactive imagination. It had been getting worse for some time, but ever since her trip into the woods and her run-in with Paul Stanton, it seemed to be in overdrive. She pulled open the drawer on her nightstand to retrieve lip balm she kept inside and froze.

Her diary had been moved.

She leaned over for a closer look, but she knew it wasn’t where she’d left it. It wasn’t off by much, but she was almost anal about fitting it exactly into the corner of the drawer. Now, it lay about an inch from the side. Lifting the journal from the drawer, she inspected the bookmark. Just as she suspected, it was off. The pink flower that she always left peeking out from the top of the journal was buried halfway in the book.

Suddenly, she remembered that she’d left the front door wide open and she jumped up from the bed, dropping her journal on the bed as she dashed out of the room. She slammed the door and slid the dead bolt into place, then leaned back against it, trying to slow her racing heart.

No one but Madelaine had a key to her apartment, or the café, for that matter. And she couldn’t think of any reason at all that someone would break into her apartment to read her journal. She didn’t have much of value, but she kept a stash of cash in the same nightstand as the journal, and it was still there. It didn’t make sense. Why would anyone go through the trouble of finding an undetected way into the café and her apartment just to read the ramblings of a waitress?

Paul Stanton!

Ever since he’d grabbed her in the woods last night, he’d shown up everywhere she was. Granted, it was a small town, so that wasn’t hard to do, but Ginny didn’t believe for a moment that he’d picked Johnson’s Bayou at random for a vacation and then went roaming around the woods at night carrying a gun for relaxation.

Then there was that scene at the festival today. She’d seen his expression when he asked her about the necklace. He was surprised and agitated and afraid, all at the same time, just as he had been when he’d found her in the woods that night. But why?

Ginny crossed the room to the kitchenette and pulled a bottle of wine out of the refrigerator. She had moved past scared to angry. A glass of wine and a hot bath were in order. It had been a long day of work between the café and the festival, and she had to do it all again tomorrow.

She took a sip of the wine and stared out the kitchen window into the woods. If Paul Stanton had the nerve to show up at the café or the festival tomorrow, she was going to give him a piece of her mind.

In fact, she was almost looking forward to it.

PAUL TIMED HIS ENTRY into the café just after the locals had cleared out to set up for the festival. He’d barely slept, his mind rolling around every possibility associated with the jewelry he’d purchased from Ginny the day before. The jewelry laid out in the same swirl of circles that his sister used to draw on everything—her signature, she used to call it. Their mother had even helped her paint the design on her bedroom walls in bright pinks and blues.

It wasn’t impossible that two people would have the same idea, but it was highly unlikely. And if Ginny was the girl who had wandered out of the woods the day the LeBlanc School had burned, then Lord only knew what might be locked in her memory. If her lost memories contained anything to do with his sister, he intended to figure out a way to access them. Surely, she would understand…would help, if he explained the situation. She’d seemed nice enough, despite his less-than-polite behavior, and her mother had definitely shown all the signs of Southern hospitality.

He slipped into an empty booth at the back of the café, as far away as possible from the few patrons who were still lingering. Until he had a better idea of exactly what had happened at that school all those years ago, it was best to keep his purpose in town hidden from the masses. Plus, if he asked Ginny personal questions and she got uncomfortable, locals would probably jump in to protect her. That was typical small-town behavior.

The couple sitting nearest to his booth rose right after he’d taken his seat and left some money on the table. Perfect timing. Now all he needed was for Ginny to come over with her order pad. He hadn’t seen her when he walked in, but she was probably in the back plating food or running dirty dishes through the wash.

The door to the kitchen swung open and he took a deep breath, mentally preparing the words he wanted to say. A second later, he let out the breath in a whoosh of disappointment as Madelaine approached his table, a big smile on her face.

“Morning,” she said. “You want coffee?”

“Yes, please,” he said, trying not to let his disappointment show.

Madelaine stopped at a pot on the counter to pour him a cup of coffee, then placed it on the table in front of him. “Guess the food didn’t kill you yesterday.”

“No. In fact, your omelet is one of the best I’ve ever had.”

Madelaine blushed a bit. “Oh, well, what a nice thing to say. Did you enjoy the festival yesterday?”

“Yes. I was impressed with the variety of the artists.”

“Ginny said you bought a necklace from her. Do you think your aunt might be interested in carrying some of her stuff?”

Paul’s mind went blank for a moment and then he remembered the lie that had rolled off his tongue the day before. “It’s certainly possible,” he said, suddenly realizing why Madelaine was steering the conversation to Ginny.

Which also gave him the perfect opportunity to inquire about her. “I didn’t get a chance to talk with her yesterday,” he said. “I was hoping to catch her this morning. Has she already left for the festival?”

Madelaine beamed. “No. She ran upstairs for a second. Just let me take your order so I can get it started and I’ll send her right out to chat with you.”

“Great,” Paul said and ordered the breakfast special.

Madelaine stuffed her pad in her apron and hurried into the kitchen, still smiling. Paul felt a momentary twinge of guilt for deliberately misleading the nice woman, but it passed quickly. A little white lie was a small price to pay if it led him to information about his sister.

A couple of minutes later, Ginny came through the kitchen door and into the café. She looked toward his booth and hesitated just a moment before continuing to make her way over. She did not look happy to see him.

“I don’t know who you think you are,” she said, glaring down at him, “but I want you to leave here before I call the police.”

Paul stared for a moment before launching into action. “Wait,” he said as she started to move away. “I’m sorry I offended you yesterday, but being rude isn’t an offense you need the police to deal with.”

“Breaking into my apartment is.”

“I didn’t.... Someone broke into your apartment? Look, I swear, it wasn’t me. I don’t even know where you live.”

She studied his face, and he waited for her to draw a conclusion. Surely, the shock he felt was clear in his expression. If not, then he was sunk. It was much harder to prove you hadn’t done something than proving you had. She bit her lower lip and rolled an end of her apron between her fingers.

“But you want something from me,” she said finally. “And I don’t believe for a minute it’s my jewelry.”

Paul ran one hand through his hair, not wanting to immediately launch into his reasons but knowing he needed to explain enough to keep her from running. “No. I’m not interested in your jewelry—at least, not as a buyer.”

“Are you still accusing me of stealing that design?” Ginny’s face flushed.

“No. That’s not it at all.” Paul saw the kitchen door open a crack and Madelaine peeked over at them. “Look, I need to talk to you. It’s personal and I don’t want anyone else to know what I’m doing here. Is there any way you can take a break?”

Ginny glanced back at the kitchen and Madelaine ducked back inside. “Let me get your breakfast and tell my mom I’m going to speak to you a bit before heading to the festival. We’re closing soon, anyway.”

Relief coursed through him. “Thank you. I promise I’ll explain everything.”

“You better,” Ginny said, then spun around and headed back into the kitchen.

Paul watched her walk through the door to the kitchen and tried to organize his thoughts. He’d hoped to get information from her without divulging the real reason behind his query, but if someone had broken into her apartment, that changed everything. The timing could be totally coincidental, but it would be one heck of a coincidence.

And one that Paul wasn’t ready to buy.

Chapter Five

Ginny hurried back into the kitchen, her emotions all over the place. She didn’t believe Paul was the person who’d broken into her apartment. The look of shock on his face was genuine, unless he was the best actor she’d ever met. But he was a man with secrets, and for some reason he seemed to think his secrets involved or included her. That unnerved her on many levels, especially as she’d never met the man before that night in the woods. What could he possibly want with her?

And if Paul Stanton hadn’t broken into her apartment, then who had?

She broke off her thoughts as she approached the grill, hoping the stress she felt didn’t show on her face. Madelaine turned from the grill with Paul’s breakfast order. “I saw you talking to Mr. Cutie.” She gave Ginny a big smile. “So is he interested in your jewelry, or something else?”

Ginny forced a smile. “He would like to talk to me some about my designs. I told him I could spare a few minutes while he ate, if that’s all right.”

“Of course. The café’s almost empty, and I’ve just got to clean this grill and rinse the coffeepots. Take all the time you need. I’m going to finish up in here then head out to the festival. You can lock up the front when you’re done.”

Ginny took the plate from Madelaine and slipped bottles of catsup and Tabasco in her apron. “Thanks,” Ginny said and hurried out of the kitchen with the food before Madelaine could clue in to how nervous she was. The woman could read her far too well for Ginny to fool her for long.

She placed the plate, catsup and Tabasco on the table in front of Paul, refilled his coffee and poured herself a cup before sliding into the booth across from him. The last of the patrons said goodbye as they stepped out of the café, and Ginny gave them a wave. “My mom is going to finish up in the back, but I don’t have very long before I have to get to the festival. Please tell me what this is about.”

Paul nodded and pulled out his wallet. He flipped it open and showed Ginny a license inside.

Ginny stared at the license in surprise. “A detective? What in the world…I mean, why would a detective need anything from me?”

“I’m looking for a missing child. She’d be a young woman now, but she went missing sixteen years ago.”

Ginny’s pulse began to race. “And you think I’m her?”

“No. You don’t have the right eye color. Her eyes were brown and I think she’s probably a little older than you, but not by much.”

“I don’t understand, Mr. Stanton. There are no other adopted women my age in Johnson’s Bayou, and if I’m not the girl you’re looking for, then I don’t know how I can help.”

“I thought the girl I’m looking for may have been at the school in the woods. You’re the girl who wandered out of the swamp the day after the school caught fire, aren’t you?”

Ginny froze. Of all the things that had ran through her mind, this wasn’t one of them, which was stupid since her first run-in with Paul Stanton had been at the LeBlanc School.

“I…yes, that was me. But I still don’t see what good that does you.”

“I hoped that you may remember something…anything that would help me find out if she was at the LeBlanc School.”

“But I don’t remember anything. I never have. I don’t even know if I was at the LeBlanc School. “

“Then why were you in the woods that night at the house?”

“I don’t know.”

He narrowed his eyes. “So you normally stroll through a swamp at night, carrying an expensive spotlight?” he asked. “And don’t tell me you were hunting. I won’t buy it.”

“I was, oh, I don’t know what I was doing. I guess I thought if I saw the house that maybe…”

Paul stared at her, clearly surprised. “You’ve never been to the house before that night? That’s hard to believe.”

“I never had a reason to go. Knowing what happened that night wasn’t going to change my life now. I don’t expect you to understand.”

Paul stirred his coffee, silent. After a couple of seconds, he spoke. “I understand. The truth of what happened that night must be horrid, or your mind wouldn’t have blocked it all this time. Remembering won’t add any value to your life now, and in fact it may only take away.”

Ginny stared. “You surprise me, Mr. Stanton.”

“Please call me Paul.” He gave her a sad smile. “I know what it’s like to live in the past. Part of you moves forward every day, but you’re not really existing in this point in time. You’re not really living because the part of you clinging to the past weighs you down—steals a part of you so that you can’t be whole.”

Ginny felt the weight of his sadness, and a thought flashed through her mind. “You knew her—the missing girl?”

“Her name is Kathy. She’s my sister.”

“Oh, no!” Ginny reached across the table and placed her hand on Paul’s. “I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine losing someone so close and never knowing what happened. You think she was at the LeBlanc School? But why didn’t your parents come claim her after the fire?”

“Our parents were killed in a car accident, and we had no other family. We were separated by the foster care system, and I stopped hearing from her sixteen years ago. When I was old enough to insist on tracking her down, I found out that she’d been ‘lost.’”

“How do you lose a child you’re being paid to protect?” The thought horrified Ginny.

“I’d love an answer to that, but her foster parents disappeared, as well. Their identities were fakes, and I’ve never been able to trace them any further.”

Ginny’s mind raced with all the possibilities of what could have happened to his sister, and none of them were good. “What made you think your sister might have been at the LeBlanc School?”

“I didn’t really, before I came here. Any more than I thought I would find her when I looked into a hundred other cases of dead girls who’d never been identified, but then I saw your jewelry…”

Ginny gasped. “The design?”

Paul nodded. “My sister used to draw that design all the time. It was on every school notebook…my mom even helped her paint it on her bedroom wall.”

“You think I saw that design at the LeBlanc School—that your sister drew it somewhere and it stuck in my mind.” Ginny took a deep breath then blew it slowly out. “I wish I could help you, but I swear I don’t remember anything, not even the design. It’s just always been in my mind.”

“But yet, you went into the woods at night. If you really don’t remember and don’t care to, why did you go?”

Ginny lowered her gaze to the tabletop. “You’d think it was crazy,” she said, almost angry with herself that she cared what he thought. She barely knew him. Why should his opinion of her matter?

This time Paul reached across the table to squeeze her hand. “I would never think you’re crazy. Please, talk to me.”

“I feel something. Like something’s out there watching. I look into the woods and I don’t see anything, but it’s almost like it silently calls to me. Like something alive.” She withdrew her hand from his and took a drink of her coffee. “I told you you’d think I was crazy.”

Paul stared at her for a couple of seconds, and Ginny could tell he was contemplating her words. “You’re wrong,” he said finally. “I still don’t think you’re crazy.”

“You don’t have to humor me.”

“I’m not humoring you. I think you’re sensing something. Some people are very intuitive. If things feel different to you now from how they did before, then something has changed. The fact that it’s not immediately visible is disconcerting, but hardly proof that you’re imagining it.”

He frowned. “And besides, you’re forgetting a huge point in your favor.”

“What’s that?”

“Someone broke into your apartment. Someone is watching.”

Ginny crossed her arms across her chest as a chill passed over her. “What do they want?”

“I think if we can figure out the why, we may be able to figure out the who.”

“We…?” Private detective, she reminded herself. “Oh, but I don’t have the money to pay you—”

“I don’t want any money,” he interrupted. “I just want to help.”

Ginny sighed. “You’re hoping I’ll remember something about your sister.”

“I’d be foolish not to hope, but I meant what I said about helping you. Even if your past doesn’t help me at all, I’m not going to leave you to deal with whatever is going on. I’ll help you find the truth, if you’re willing to work with me.”

“What would I have to do?”

“Involve me in your life, for starters. I can’t watch things closely if we’re polite strangers.”

“But how? Everyone knows the only family I have is Madelaine, and I don’t want her to know anything about this at all. She’d worry herself to death, and it might all be nothing.”

Paul nodded. “A family connection wasn’t exactly the kind I had in mind.”

Ginny felt a flush run up her neck and onto her face. “You want me to pretend we have a romantic relationship?” She shook her head. “I don’t think I can do that. I’m not the relationship kind.”

“That makes two of us, but all you have to do is pretend for a bit.”

Ginny’s mind screamed at her to say no. To walk away from the table and pretend she’d never laid eyes on Paul Stanton, but her body had responded to Paul’s suggestion in a completely different way—one that made Ginny’s mind scream even more. “What exactly would I have to do, to pretend, that is?”

“That we met at the café, chatted and enjoyed each other’s company. I already told your mother I was here on vacation. There’s nothing wrong with a little vacation romance.”

“I don’t think anyone will buy that.” Paul, with his toned body, wavy brown hair and supersexy green eyes, was the kind of man who could have anyone. No way would anyone believe he’d chosen her.

Paul looked at her, his confusion clear. “Are you gay?”

“No. I just…I don’t think I’m the kind of girl someone like you would be interested in.”

“Are you kidding me? You’re beautiful.” He stared at her for a minute, then shook his head. “You really don’t know that, do you?”

Ginny looked down at her watch, not saying a word.

He rose from the booth. “I better get out of here and let you get to the festival before your mother starts worrying. I know we still have a lot to talk about, but we can get to it later. I want you to act completely normal. I don’t want anyone to know that you are on to them.”

Ginny nodded, still stunned from Paul’s earlier declaration.

“I’ll drop by the booth when you’re not busy. In the meantime, I’ll be around, watching.” He pulled a card from his pocket and handed it to her. “That card has my cell number on it. If you see anything suspicious or get that feeling like you’re being watched, call me immediately.”

He pulled some money out of his wallet and handed it to her. “When you see your mother, please tell her the breakfast was great.” He exited the café and walked down the sidewalk toward the town square.

Ginny stared after him for a minute, then jumped up and locked the café door behind him.

He’d called her beautiful.

That almost scared her more than knowing someone was watching her.

PAUL WALKED AMONG THE booths of the festival, stopping occasionally to chat with townspeople about their wares and then making notes on his phone to go over with Ginny later on. Whoever was watching Ginny was probably someone local—someone she’d known her entire life, which was why they weren’t on her radar. Someone who knew the truth about the past had sensed a change in Ginny or perhaps misread an action and now feared her memory was returning.

And that could be very dangerous for Ginny, especially if something nefarious had gone down at the LeBlanc School all those years ago. Paul believed something was wrong with the entire situation, the school, the girls with no families to speak of, the fire—all of it reeked to high heaven. Someone was already watching her, had already risked getting caught in her apartment. They’d taken that risk for a good reason.

With any luck, he’d figure it out before Ginny’s watcher escalated to something worse than reading her journal.

He had to make sure that no one suspected his involvement in researching Ginny’s past. In small towns, people would notice everything, especially a stranger dating a local. He had to make sure people believed he was interested in Ginny in the dating sort of way, despite being as averse to relationships as Ginny claimed to be.

He’d meant it when he told her she was beautiful. She was, in fact, one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen outside of television or magazines. Even without the benefit of camera filters and Photoshop, her skin was flawless, her hair so silky it made him want to touch it. And the eyes. Her eyes were more than just brilliant pools of blue. They conveyed emotion without words.

Get a grip!

The words echoed through his mind. The last thing in the world he should be doing right now is running down a laundry list of Ginny Bergeron’s most attractive qualities. He needed to get as much information as he could from her, figure out what the threat to her was and eliminate it, then get out of Johnson’s Bayou and back on with his life.

He looked over at Ginny’s booth, which had been crowded the entire day. Two women who’d been deliberating over the selection for almost a half hour finally made their choices and left Ginny’s table with satisfied looks on their faces. It was the first time that day her booth had been empty, so he walked over to check in. Ginny looked up from her cash box as he approached and gave him a tentative smile.

“Busy today,” he said. There were more bare gaps on the table than jewelry.

“Definitely. I’m glad I made extra pieces earlier this week, or I’d run out before the festival is over.”