Daddy turned to me, and I went to fetch Aubrey. He was reluctant to tell the police any of the bizarre details about Mommy's behavior, but I urged him to be as forthcoming as possible. Lieutenant Ribocheaux took more notes.

The patrolmen returned. They had found the snake's head, but Lieutenant Ribocheaux said there was nothing remarkable about it. "As I suspected, it's no different from what you can buy at Marie Laveau's. Someone's having some fun with you," he added.

"If that's true, it's very cruel," I replied.

After the police left, I sat with Daddy in his study.

"I'm not optimistic about their finding her, Pearl. They'll send a patrol car around, all right, but unless Mommy is standing right in front of them . . . I know these voodoo people. They believe they are doing something spiritual and something good. They won't want Mommy to be found and brought back. That might break some sort of spell."

"Maybe we should go to Nina's sister's house too, Daddy," I suggested, "and stay until she tells us the truth."

"We won't fare any better. At least the police carry some authority. Why don't you go up to bed, honey? No sense in both of us staying up and worrying all night. Besides, I need you strong and healthy for the days to come."

"You're not going to remain down here all night, are you, Daddy?" I gazed at the bottle of bourbon.

Daddy saw where my eyes were fixed. "I won't drink anymore," he promised. "I've got to stay alert in case we're needed."

I nodded, rose, and went to him. We hugged, and he held on to me for a few moments longer than usual before releasing me and sitting back.

"Good night, Daddy."

"Good night, princess. Thanks for making me come to my senses," he said, smiling. "For a moment there I thought I was looking at your mother when she was about your age."

I kissed him again and walked away. At the doorway I turned. He had already swung his chair around and was gazing up at his and Mommy's portrait again, wondering, I'm sure, how they would ever get back to the happy, wonderful time they had when the portrait was painted.

When I peeked in on Pierre, both he and Mrs. Hockingheimer were fast asleep, so I closed the door softly and went to my room. Just as I got into bed, Sophie called. I told her all that had happened, right up to the black girl throwing the snake's head out of the streetcar window.

"I don't know much about voodoo," she said, "but nana does. I could ask her if you want."

I thought about it. I was beginning to agree with Daddy. The more we involved ourselves with these things, the more twisted and confused we became. All it did was fill my head with bad thoughts and give me nightmares. "No, thanks. I'd rather not know."

"I can come over after work and help you go looking, if you want," she volunteered.

"Thank you, but I wouldn't even know where to start. We'll wait and see what the police say tomorrow."

"Maybe she'll come home tonight."

"Maybe."

"I'll say a prayer for you and your family," she said. How ironic, I thought. A few weeks ago Sophie had sat in the streetcar gazing out the window at the Garden District, her face full of envy as I waved good-bye and started for home. She would have given anything to trade places with me, I'm sure. Now I was the object of her pity and sympathy. Money makes people comfortable, but it doesn't guarantee happiness, I thought.

"Thank you, Sophie." It brought tears to my eyes to think that none of my so-called upper-class friends from school had called or visited, but my new friend, my poorest friend, cared enough to volunteer her time to help me.

After I hung up, I put my palms together under my chin, closed my eyes, and said my own prayer. I prayed for Mommy, I prayed for Pierre, I prayed for Daddy, and I prayed that I would have the strength to help everyone. Then I tried to fall asleep. I tossed and turned for hours before drifting off, but my sleep was restless and continually interrupted. I woke often with a start, listening hard for the sound of a door being opened or a phone ringing. I longed to hear Mommy's voice echoing through the hallway or up the stairs, but the dead silence of our morgue-like house was all I heard.

Daddy was disheveled and tattered-looking in the morning. No doubt he had stayed awake most of the night. He had slept on the sofa in his study when he did catch some sleep. I made sure he ate something substantial for breakfast and then persuaded him to take a shower. Mrs. Hockingheimer had Pierre up and washed. She got him to eat a portion of his breakfast, but he had the same empty look in his eyes, the same anticipation when I entered. I spoke to him for a while. His lips quivered and then formed the word "Mommy." It shattered the thin veneer on my heart and made me gulp back the tears.

I convinced Daddy that he should call Lieutenant Ribocheaux to see if they had any leads, but they didn't. Daddy hung up the phone and looked at me, his face lined with exhaustion and frustration.

"I told you it wouldn't do us any good to call the police," he said. "They don't take this voodoo thing seriously, and when an adult disappears, they're not really concerned. Of course, they promised to keep looking."

"I can't stand this waiting around, Daddy. We've got to do something."

"What, honey? Ride around the city?"

"I don't think she's in the city anymore," I said. "I think we should go to the bayou."

Daddy laughed. "A lot of good that would do—you and I, two city slickers trying to find someone in the swamps. If we have little hope of doing so here, where we are familiar with the territory, can you imagine how futile it would be for us to go out there? I wouldn't even know where to begin."

I thought for a moment, recalling Mommy's stories, and then looked up at him with bright, hopeful eyes. "We'll start at the shack," I said.

"Shack?"

"Her old shack, where she returned when she became pregnant with me. She believes in spirits; surely she hopes her grandmère Catherine's spirit will still be there, or even her mother's spirit."

Daddy said, "Let me look at the picture you said she painted."

We went to Mommy's studio, and he stood gazing thoughtfully at it for a while.

"What are you thinking, Daddy?"

"What was it that crazy old lady, Nina's sister, told us . . . that Ruby went to wherever the curse started. You might be right. In her mind that could very well mean the bayou. Especially when I look at this picture. I'll give Jeanne a call." He returned to his office to do so. I followed and waited at the door while he spoke to Uncle Paul's sister.

Aunt Jeanne hadn't heard about Jean's death. That news was devastating enough for her to digest. Then Daddy told her about Mommy's disappearance. I waited hopefully at his side, but it was clear from the rest of the conversation that she hadn't heard from or seen Mommy, nor had anyone she knew.

Daddy shook his head and cradled the receiver. "Well, we know she hasn't been to the bayou yet," he said and sat back.

"We should still go out there, Daddy."

"I don't know."

"It's better than just sitting here and staring at each other hopelessly. Please. Let's go there and search. She might have just arrived, or she could be somewhere the Tates wouldn't know about. They certainly don't go looking around the old shack."

He considered. "Okay," he said. "I suppose it's worth a try and you're right. Not doing anything but waiting for phones to ring is just eating away at both of us."

"I'll go up and tell Mrs. Hockingheimer and Pierre what we're doing so he won't miss us," I said.

"Good idea. I'll dig out my maps of the bayou. It's been a while since I drove there."

Having a strategy and something concrete to do put hope back into our hearts and renewed our energy. I hurried upstairs to change my clothes, and then I went to see Pierre.

"I was just about to go down to see you and Monsieur Andreas," Mrs. Hockingheimer said. "I don't like the way Pierre keeps drifting off, and now he's refusing to drink any water."

"Oh, Pierre," I said, sitting beside him on his bed and taking his hand into mine. His eyes remained fixed on the wall. "You can't do this to yourself any longer. You've got to get strong and well again. We need you to help with Mommy. Daddy and I are going to find her and bring her home to you, but you must eat and drink so you can be strong when she returns. Please," I begged. "Please try."

His blinking quickened, and he took a deep breath. I brushed back his hair. "Will you, try, Pierre? Will you?"

He didn't respond, but I thought there was more light and alertness in his eyes.

"We'll be gone most of the day, Mrs. Hocking-heimer, but we'll phone you in a few hours."

"I'll ask the doctor to stop by later this afternoon," she promised.

"Fine."

"Good luck, my dear."

"Thank you." I gazed back at Pierre. His lips were moving, so I sat beside him again and brought my ear close to his mouth.

"Mommy . . . Mammy went to get Jean," he whispered.

His words put a block of ice in my chest where my heart should have been. For a moment I couldn't speak or swallow.

"Oh, Pierre honey," I moaned. I embraced him and kissed him and rocked back and forth with him. Then I wiped away my tears and rushed from the room, hoping with all my soul that we would find Mommy and bring her home where she belonged.


9

  My Cajun World

As Daddy and I headed out of the city toward Terrebonne Parish and Houma, the town from which Mommy had come, a kind of paralyzing numbness gripped me. I had not been back there since I was an infant. Our troubles with Uncle Paul's mother and father since the famous trial to determine who should have custody of me had created an almost impenetrable wall around that part of the bayou. The income from the oil well Uncle Paul had left in my name had built a substantial trust for me, but I had never seen the well, since it was at Cypress Woods and neither Daddy nor Mommy could ever find the courage to return. At least, not until now.