Two Hot Mamas: Cajun Delight Excerpt
ONE
BETTE DEAVILLE STOOD at her kitchen sink staring out of the window, admiring the beginning of her new empire. Her face was dusty and hot. She wiped the sweat from her forehead with a paper towel. It was rough against her smooth skin. She wondered where the handkerchief was she’d used before to refresh herself. The scratchy paper absorbed the perspiration that trickled down onto her eyebrows.
She poured herself a glass of fresh brewed iced tea, the sweetest drink in Louisiana. The Mélange was Bette’s favorite drink. The ice melted when the tea flowed over it. It clinked and clanked until it exploded under the pressure of the hot brew. She took a long swallow, her throat cooled as it quenched her thirst.
She gazed out over her new lawn, compliments of a disastrous late October hurricane. The high winds uprooted century-old pecan trees, scattering them across the yard. The bayou had overrun its bank, leaving a dross of mud and muck deep enough to cover her feet or a precious secret, if need be.
With a sigh, she brooded over how much of her chore was still left to do. Gulping down the last of her cooling draft, she pulled her work gloves over her delicate hands and headed back outside to finish her job.
Bette is a divorcée from Port Bluff, Louisiana, a small town along King’s River in Atchafalaya Parish. Port Bluff is a quiet, stilled town with its main source of commerce to be fishing. Every day fisherman, donning white rubber boots, fill the local markets with fresh fish they angled from King’s River.
Her ex-husband, Craig Olivier, was one of the wealthiest fisherman in Port Bluff. He managed to build a small dynasty from the fish he snared from the river. Some say he’d pulled a lot more than fish from the water.
Craig Olivier is a man with a malicious heart that held deep, dark secrets, enigmas that are as dark as the Cajun blood coursing through his hardened veins.
During he and Bette’s marriage, he was very abusive. He showed no compassion for her or her needs. She hid the bruises with a sturdy smile for fear of someone finding out. There was a pretty good chance he’d be bait instead of the shad. Bette's delicate features sometimes portrayed her as being weak. But in the heat of battle, there was no mistaking her strength. She proved it with the demise of her marriage.
Every punch. Every degrading remark. Every humiliation came back to bite him. Bit him hard as the THUNK of a rattlesnake.
When Bette got tired of being Craig's doormat and beating post, she left. Her revenge played out right where it hurt the most, his pockets.
Years before they were married, Craig was awarded a small trust fund left by his grandfather at his passing. Against his family’s advice, he married Bette without a prenup. He held to his superstitions and beliefs that if he had a prenuptial agreement, he was asking for a grim marriage. A notion Bette could finally see the irony in.
He invested the small fortune in starting his own fish market. It was a booming local trade, and with the right money to make money, Craig knew he could exploit King's River for all it was worth. Soon after that he built the empire known as Olivier’s Fisheries, Inc.
Early in their courtship Bette thought Craig's insecurities were cute and soft. But soon after the wedding, those little foolish notions and idiocies, which once lured her, allowing her guard to fall, became torments of guilt and shame.
She plotted through swollen eyes and tear-stained cheeks. When she left, she hired the best and dirtiest divorce attorney in Atchafalaya Parish. The day the divorce was settled she demanded only two things, her maiden name, and half of all Craig was worth.
Bette had only been in her new home for a couple of months. When she made her decision to buy, there was only one kind of home she wanted, the Cajun Mansion, a triple-wide mobile home. She had it nestled on Bluff Bayou, underneath pecan trees left over from the old orchard. This plot of land went along with 150 acres that traveled all the way down the bayou. Revenge.
Though she was only forty years old, she had been through so much turmoil during her marriage. She needed the peaceful air of the bayou to bring her serenity back. Louisiana nights on the bayou were mesmerizing. Each night she’d sit on her beautiful deck and listen to the orchestra of bullfrogs and chirping crickets harmonizing in baritone and time. She was glad to be back.
When at last she’d raked the final leaf and limb into a pile to be burned, Bette made her way to the hardwood deck. She took her rest on the Cypress swing hanging from beams under the press-tin porch.
The grand veranda was compliments of JJ Batiste. JJ was a close friend of the Deavilles, and an even closer friend to Bette.
JJ and Bette had been friends since grade school. Their parents were friends when they were young. They were in the same social circle throughout their lives. JJ saw Bette through her albatross and heartaches throughout their life. He was well aware of Bette’s troubled marriage and family secrets. Heck, the whole town was. Nothing traveled faster in a small town like Port Bluff than cheap talk. Gossip here flowed as fast as the current in King’s River.
Bette tore off her work boots and gloves with fervency, allowing the sweet breeze that only a harsh hurricane can leave behind to rejuvenate her hands and feet.
The deck still smelled of fresh stain that JJ so heavily and methodically applied to the wood. He was a methods man, having what he called the “JJ Batiste Method” to explain things that seemed unexplainable. Like the way he got the wood to shine as though he'd put ten coats of polyurethane upon each and every splinter of the wood, when he swore there was only one.
A ‘Gentle Giant’ he's been accused of being, but he had his own demons and insecurities, one of them being Bette. She drove him to exist as though she was hell chasing him down. She always thought he’d loved her in a sibling manner. But it was with a passion, a secret dedication and adoration that he loved her with.
Her phone was sitting next to her on the swing. It too was a nice prize for Bette, a fancy, iPhone 7. She was one of the first in the entire Parish to get one. The swing shimmied when it started vibrating, alerting her of a call coming through. She flipped it open and read the contact's name, “Elvis.”
“Elvy?” Bette answered the phone. It was her twin sister.
Their mother had named them after the two singing legends whom she loved to the point of obsession, Elvis Presley and Bette Midler.
Elvy was a troubled soul according to the standards of the people of Port Bluff. She had been involved in more than one paradoxical situation which gained her somewhat of an ambiguous reputation. Her life had been as sharp as her French features. She was very much a sandpaper person, always seemed to rub others the wrong way. Even as a young child her impulses and rebelliousness waxed hard upon her. She developed addictions young. Not only to drugs, but she loved to steal and lie.
“I thought you were at the casino,” Bette said.
Elvy’s voice was raspy and excited. “You will never believe what happened!” She was more than ecstatic.
“Did you run over a small child on your way home?” Bette laughed sarcastically. “You sure sound happy.” There was a twist of pang in her words. Bette thought about the struggles her sister had been through and overcame. It wasn’t often she heard such dither in her sister’s voice.
“Better than that. I hit at the casino!” she shouted with turbulence into the receiver, as though if she spoke calmly, her sister shan't hear her.
“Are you cryin’ wolf, again?” Bette showed her skepticism. Her sister embellished stories when opportunity presented itself, which was very often.
“I knew you wouldn’t believe me. I almost decided not to call you.” Elvy was laughing at her sister’s hesitations. She was well aware of Bette’s reasons to doubt her. “Since you don’t believe me, I guess I don’t have to share my earnings the Hopewell Indians just paid me.”
Elvy slammed the phone shut, throwing it onto the seat beside her. She pressed the gas pedal of her old Ford pickup truck. Putting her foot to the floor, she raced to Bluff Bayou to prove herself to her sister.
Dust and gravel flew from the tires as Elvy drove like a mad person. The truck jumped and hopped over and across the road, but she paid it no mind. The Grand Hopewell Casino officials thought her to be completely void of senses when she took all her winnings in cash. She threw the money, all small bills, into a complimentary bag marked with the casino logo and hastily made her getaway.
“Zhonna Bette!” Bette called out to her niece when she realized Elvy had hung up the phone. “Get out here, girl. Your Mama just hit at the casino!”
Zhonna Bette was Elvy’s daughter born out of wedlock to a boat captain named Sawyer Davis. Elvy and Zhonna moved in with Bette after the divorce since Bette didn’t want to be alone and Elvy needed to make ends meet. They were all comfortable on the bayou.
“Yeah, right.” Zhonna stepped through the sliding glass door leading to the deck. “How much this time? $35 like the time when y’all went to Natchez?”
“I don’t know, cher, but it must be huge. She just called and sounded even more deranged than usual.”
In the distance the two heard the blaring of a horn. It was Elvy’s truck horn. The rusty, silver and black truck came jumping over the levee pass, kicking up a rooster tail of dust.
“Don’t believe her, Auntie. You know how she is. Don’t believe it until you see the face of Ben Franklin.” Zhonna Bette pulled the scrunchy from her wrist tying her hair up with it, revealing her cafe au lait toned skin. She was a beautiful Cajun princess.
Elvy did everything she could to afford her princess a decent life, without any help from Sawyer Davis. After Elvy told him she was pregnant, he guided his tug boat up the river and never came back. She was on her own. Bette took the brunt of her emotions, but Elvy took all responsibility for Zhonna.
Elvy dragged her truck to a halt in front of the deck and jumped out. Out of breath from her private celebration on her way home, she toted the blue casino bag to the swing where her sister was sitting.
“Y’all, I sang Mary Chapin Carpenter’s I Feel Lucky all the way to the casino this morning. And I really felt lucky!” Elvy shouted through her rapid gasps for breath. She tossed the bag in her sister’s lap. It landed with a THUD from the heaviness within.
The bag was full of money. Hundreds, fifties, and twenty dollar bills.
“Oh Em Gee!” Zhonna Bette shouted, reaching into the bag fondling the bills. “How much is this?”
“After taxes,” Elvy smoothed her hair back with shaky hands, “I came out with a cool $122, 428.”
Bette was astonished. She worried in the past about Elvy’s gambling weakness. Not that Elvy was any kind of big time gambler, but she did frequent the Louisiana casinos and juke joints, if truth be told, more times than naught. Often on the losing end. She never thought that her sister’s habit would pay off.
Even though Bette had recovered well from the divorce, most of her settlement was still tied up in lawyer fees and other obligations. Along with the money spent on the new homestead, she made a large donation to Jubilee Church and was back living month to month on alimony. This was major cash for their family. A hundred thousand dollars could change lives on the river for a lot of people. It may not seem like much money to most, but to those along King's River, it was like hitting a lick.
None of them slept that night. The trio stayed up talking and celebrating. They beat the drum over Bette’s triumph in her divorce, something that should have been lionized before now, and they celebrated all of Elvy’s trials by fire, which had finally paid off.
It was champagne all around, marshmallows on an open fire and Percy Sledge on Pandora. Even Zhonna Bette drank a glass of bubbly during the toast.
“This is to the future for us two hot Mamas.” Bette raised her glass.
“And one hot child in the city,” Zhonna Bette added. They clinked their glasses together and the fete flowed until daybreak.
It was a night for memories, some good, and some not so good. However painful the trip, the three Deavilles made their way down memory lane. A journey that was difficult and uneasy. The broken road and the shattered dreams brought them to the exact moment they were endowed with now. They felt accomplished and proud. Except for Elvy. She was in overdrive now more than ever. She needed to buy something, and it had to be something big.
Each one had their opinion on what Elvy should do with the motherlode she’d won at the casino. Her options were few and far between. Port Bluff wasn’t exactly metropolitan. There were few houses she could buy and renovate, in which she could either sell the property or rent it out. The area could use a few nice places to live, she thought. They all agreed on that.
There were a couple of old commercial properties up for auction or sale. Morrow’s old music store and bait shop, and Daigle’s Cajun Delight, an old bar and grill on the river. Both were businesses that once thrived in Port Bluff’s economy. Due to the enormous drop in the economy on the river, they had long been closed. Days when the town’s people patroned the local markets and mercantile were known better as “The Boom In Port Bluff,” and they were days gone by.
Still, throughout the night the ladies laid a lot of things out on the line. They got a few important things off their hearts, too. Zhonna Bette, who had always been a trustworthy, kind, and obedient daughter and niece, opened up to her mother and aunt about her insecurities, her opinions, and the things she was grateful for.
Never having had a father around, her connection to others became grim and stiff. She knew of her mother's terrible reputation. Not that she judged her for it. She knew when doctors said her mother's problems stemmed from jealousy of her twin and a need for attention, they were just brushing her off because there was more going on with her mother than just some bad attitude.
She was a witness to some of the outlandish outbursts and fiery fits of rage. Never directed at her though. Perhaps it was because of her, in the sense that her mother's struggles as a single parent may have worsened any mental condition she had.
Many tears were shed before dawn seeped in.
TWO
GLIMMERS OF SUNSHINE through the Spanish moss dangling from the Cypress trees. Dew kissed the blades of grass with a hush and gentle tang of mist. Sunrise was always a beautiful time of day along the bayou. Delighting in sunrise on Bluff Bayou was done with a steaming cup of coffee and a gossip session. Both were much loved southern institutions.
For those who believed in the power they possess, traditions in southern families come a dime a dozen and are adhered to like the Holy Grail. Some are spooky superstitions involving voodoo, some tell tall-tales about the Rougarou, a swamp creature legend to roam the swamps and bayous of Louisiana, tormenting its inhabitant, and some of them are just old wives’ tales that have evolved into family traditions.
Fibs, like the coffee they loved, came from the fields of Versailles and were aged in French Royalty. Folklore is the chicory beans that King Louis XIV's brought over and slaves planted and brought over during his reign. The beans sprouting today still come from the first burlap sacks that made the voyage from France to Louisiana, so the myth continues.
The girls sipped their coffee, each one enjoying their view of the dawn on the bayou from the magnificent veranda. They watched as the sun rose above the fog hovering over the bayou. They blew nimble puffs of cool air over their cups, watching as the wisp began to lift.
Bette and Elvy’s mother, Donna Ann, and their grandmother, Genevieve, had once sat out on an old porch made from cypress, much like the one JJ built for Bette. Most of the original homes were made of this indestructible wood.
Their home sat just on the other side of the levee, which was relatively new. Built in the 1970’s, the old house sat on the bayou long before the levee was there. It was one of the first settlements in this part of the Parish. Many times the bayou had overrun its bank, taking the old place to a watery grave.
Genevieve Le Blouf was born in France and came to Louisiana with her parents, Eugene II and Marie Therese Le Blouf, and her grandparents, Eugene I and Celestine Le Blouf, in the early 1800's. The families were people of noble consequence. Augenè Le Blouf was brother in-law to Augustin Robespierre. He served Napoleon in battle, earning him the title of Duke of Basse-Normandie. This led to the Le Blouf assignment to New France, by way of New Orleans, where he held the title of Archduke of Orleans.
Once Napoleon's reign was accomplished, Eugene I and his son Eugene II, better known as Gene, moved north from New Orleans and settled in Hopewell Indians territory of today's Atchafalaya Parish.
The father-son dyad began trade between the then unsettled poor town and France. Cotton, tobacco, spices, and furs became a main trade between the countries. However, fishing was already a way of life on King’s River. Most King’s River natives did what they knew best and fished the river for a living, in all sense of the word. The fishing trade exploded into a commercial dynasty and surpassed any new beginning for the fisheries expansion in the Parish.
Within a year of his arrival to the destitute land, a committee convened and voted to incorporate the town, naming it Port Bluff after the Le Blouf family, who had the original dream for making this area along the river one of industry, merchants, and money.
The town became a doorway into the central parts of Louisiana and a water gateway connecting King’s River with the Mississippi and Red Rivers, which led all the way to the Basin.
Genevieve shared many mornings just like this one with their mother, Donna, when she was a young girl. They would sit on the porch enjoying the coolness of the morning breeze. It was a recherché home, kept warm, inviting, and secure by Genevieve after her mother Celestine passed away in the early 1900’s.
The porch warmed up by the rays of the sun that peeked through the pecan trees. The gnats and mosquitos were already doing their jobs of aggravating the senses out of the bayou natives. They were still a terror on the bayou even though it was October, compliments of Hurricane Oudette. Elvy fanned herself with a silk hand fan that belonged to Genevieve. Barely tattered and not showing itself to be over a hundred years old, the fan wafted in the air a hint of cedar from being preserved in a cedar chest. The morning solace was comforting.
During the celebrations from the night before, Elvy’s made up her mind about what to do with the money she’d won. She was waiting for the right moment to bring the subject up. She knew she’d have to convince her sister it wasn’t just some hair brain scheme. She had to persuade her to believe the idea was a true marketable venture that would bring new things to Port Bluff, like jobs and better attitudes. She could carry on the Le Blouf legacy. She hoped Bette would get on board with her idea.
Elvy gazed at her sister, whose stocking feet were perched up on the porch railing. She was trying to think of the right words to say. People had been cynical in the past concerning her, so she knew she had to sell Bette on her plan.
“I’ve thought things through and have come to a decision as to what to do with the money.” She swirled the coffee around in the cup.
“You? Think something through?” Bette returned in laughter. “This is gonna be good. Just what exactly have you decided?”
“I,” she started slowly. “Have decided to become a business owner.”
Pulling an envelope from her purse, she handed it to her sister. It was overstuffed with money.
“What is this, Elvy?” Bette asked suspiciously. “And what are you involved in?”
Bette wanted to be supportive of her sister’s purpose; however, Elvy had been muddled in more than one shady scheme bounding her up tighter than a bale of hay. These contrivances were holding Bette back until she knew the plan in its entirety.
Elvy was trying to turn over a new leaf in her life. Some say she had gotten “saved” a while back at the Jubilee Church. But you could never tell about Elvy. She held tight to those Cajun ways, and being raised a River Rat gave her the maniacal senses she swayed to like a first love.
Bette opened the envelope. There was $50,000 inside. “What is this for, Elvy?” Bette gave her sister a perplexed look with a slightly twisted grin shrouded behind her beautiful full mouth.
“Remember how you used to always tell Daddy you wanted to have your own Shad Shack when you grew up? You used to dream about frying up all the seafood from the river and selling hot plates of freshwater fish cooked to perfection.”
“Yes, I remember that.” Bette’s head moved back and forth on her neck, ever so slightly, not even noticeable to her sister. “So?”
“So, I am buying the old Daigle’s Cajun Delight. And going into business with my best friend.” She patted her sister’s hand, silently and tenderly, giving thanks she’d had this opportunity to do something good and right. No matter what anyone told her, she knew she had found true salvation.
“What best friend?”
“YOU, silly. It’s gonna be the new “Cajun Delight!”
“I can’t do this right now, Elvy,” Bette said, foiling her sister’s plans. “I know you think it's a good idea and all, but I’m sorry, I don’t get another lump sum of money for a few more months. I couldn’t do anything before then.”
“I thought about that too. Dang.” Elvy was quickly frustrated when not immediately admired for trying. “And it is going to take a few months to bargain Old Man Daigle down to about 37.50 for the landing. Signing the final paperwork probably won’t happen until after harvest season. Then you could use some of your alimony payment to buy what we need to renovate and get started.”
Elvy needed to do this and she needed her sister’s approval. Not just approval, she needed her sister’s guidance and level headedness to help make the crucial decision.
“Please, Bette, we could be 50/50 partners.” She was nearly begging.
Standing up from the porch swing, Bette walked over to the rails. She lit the hanging citronella candles used to ward off the pesky mosquitoes.
Having a restaurant on the river was a dream she always had. It was a dream of her mother’s and sister’s as well; even though Donna Ann didn’t live to see it come true.
“I don’t know what to say.” Bette sat down next to her twin sister. Even though they shared the same womb, the two couldn’t be any more different and attached. She hugged Elvy tightly, “And just how do you suppose I am going to run a restaurant? Dreams usually don’t come true you know.”
“WE!” Elvy hugged and kissed her sister. “How are we gonna run a restaurant. I am going in all the way with you, shoot.” She emphasized how important this venture was to her. “I can’t just turn you lose with my money. I gotta protect my investment.” They both laughed through their tears.
***
When The Eagle Tribune arrived, Bette brewed another pot of coffee and the sisters sat at the kitchen table searching the classifieds.
“Here,” Elvy pointed to the newspaper. “FOR SALE: Daigle’s Cajun Delight, $50,000 negotiable.”
Bette jumped up from the table after they’d finished their coffee, feeling energized and stoked. “Let’s get dressed and take a ride.”
Bette and Elvy arrived in front of Daigle’s Cajun Delight just down the river. They were sold at first sight.
“Remember Daddy would bring us here for hot dogs and hamburgers when we used to go camping?” Elvy reminisced.
“Yep, I remember. He’d drive that old aluminum boat right up to the porch there and tie off. We would swim out to the pontoon raft and listen to the band play from the middle of the river. Oh, I used to love it. I still love it,” Bette declared.
“Let’s do it. Let’s turn Daigle’s into Two Hot Mama’s Cajun Delight!” Bette felt excited to accept Elvy’s offer. For the first time in a very long time she felt hope and a reason for living.
“Let’s,” Elvy joined in agreement with her sister.
THREE
EASTER WAS ONLY a few weeks away by the time the renovations and restorations were complete. An Easter Grand Opening on the river with all-you-can-eat boiled crawfish nearly guaranteed everyone within a 50 mile radius of Port Bluff would be spending their holiday with the Deaville girls.
Elvy and Bette had thrust themselves into bringing vibrancy, life, and passion back into the Cajun Delight.
Old Man Daigle was the builder and only owner of the landing. During the 70s and 80s, Daigle’s Cajun Delight was also a sanctum for members of the Delta Mafia. That was one of the many dark secrets of Port Bluff. Innuendos and back-fence gossip told grim chronicles of organized crime and malice. Some tales said at one time Atchafalaya Parish had more mayhem than the Las Vegas strip, with its gambling, drugs, prostitution, and even murder. Some also say the mafia is still alive and strong today.
The girls were dedicated and meticulous in the renovation plans, the choices in furnishings, kitchen appliances, all the way down to what brand of toilet paper they would be using had to be perfectly coordinated with the river below it. They jubilated at bringing harmony and retreat back to the river. Country boys who grew up along the river turned into men that built barges, pontoons, fishing docks, and small camps for themselves and their families to enjoy. It was a second home to many.
For weeks, along with the renovations on Cajun Delight, screams of drills and bangs of hammers could be heard coming from any one of the many plots set aside on King’s River for family fun. The festive seekers were anticipating a new watering hole coming back to the river.
Finally, the day had arrived. Flags, bright with Spring colors, flew from the porches of Cajun Delight, inviting guests to come and revel in the solace and hospitality the Deavilles had to offer.
The sisters and Zhonna Bette were nail-biting anxious to open the doors to their new sanctuary, the Cajun Delight, where southern charm would be served in every seafood platter and a smile would drench every Mint Julep with love and invitation for fun.
Lent was over so there would be lots of people eating, drinking, and being merry. Catholics would make up for lost times during their suffrage through Lent, those that weren’t Catholic were just ready for a new hangout where they could release their own suffrages by drowning their sorrows in beer and crawfish.
It was also a perfect time to make money. If the sisters had any skill at all, it was a knack for making money. Something that was passed down to them. With the opening of the new restaurant and seafood market would come relief that provided new jobs for the locals. The Cajun Delight was just what the lifers on the river needed.
Bette and Elvy planned an extravagant affair for the Grand Opening. The doors were to open at 5pm sharp. The crawfish boil was to begin at 7pm along with the live band, River Winds, jumping off with a little southern blues and zydeco favorites. The band would salute the boat parade at 8pm and fireworks at 9. The sisters were excited to show the town a good time.
The Cajun Delight became a two-story pontoon restaurant, having a five star restaurant/bar and grill on the top deck, and a seafood market below. It was tied off right on the edge of the water where fishermen could coast up to the dock and sell their load of fish for the day.
Upstairs in the restaurant and bar they transformed a stage for the live music bands to showcase their talent and entertain the guests. There were arcade games for the kids, pool tables for the adults and the best seafood cooking you could find along King’s River.
That night the festivities were C'est si bon. The crawfish were the biggest they’d been in years. Mr. Tony Andres was the best crawfish boiler in town and he’d outdone himself with these. They were boiled with the perfect blend of seasonings and spices. Everyone enjoyed themselves tremendously. The sisters were a hit. But Elvy received a little too much adoration from a man known to be “Fresh,” from Elmwood to Fort DeCheane, the despicable T.T. Thibodeaux had victimized women all over Atchafalaya Parish. And of all nights for him to mistake Elvy's kindness for weakness, he chose this night to attempt to womanize her.
The band played lots of Geno Delafose and Queen Ida Zydeco music for everyone to enjoy, young and old alike. The more the guests drank, the more they danced. No one noticed T.T. grab Elvy and try to plant a nasty kiss on her. He had one fat fingered hand on her butt and the other scurrying for her breast.
Elvy shook loose from his grimy clutches and reared back. A sudden hush fell across the bar. Nearly everyone there had seen Elvy in a terrorist rage before, so they feared the worst for T.T. Her left hand landed on his right cheek, sending his glasses flying across the bar top. But she didn't stop there.
“The first one was because you're scum,” she said once T.T. gathered himself. Then she waylaid another lick to the opposite side of his face. “That one was just for fun.”
She continued in her verbal tirade until Bette made it to her side. A place Bette often found herself when her sister was in need. The last thing she said was, “I should killed you, Old Man. But you're not worth the bullet.”
T.T. was escorted out with his pride hurt. Elvy went to their private bathroom to collect herself while Bette, of course, stood by her side reassuring her that T.T. Thibodeaux would never step foot back into the Cajun Delight again.
After the last guest finally made their way off of the river bank and back over the levee, the employees started to clean up. JJ, who acted as security for the night, finally convinced Bette and Elvy it was time for them to head to the bayou. He escorted the ladies to Bette’s Range Rover that was sitting under a Weeping Willow at the foot of the levee. Her truck was compliments of Olivier’s Fisheries, Inc. It was one of the nice prizes that came with winning her divorce settlement.
During the walk up to the levee, JJ held Bette’s hand tightly in his. His palms never sweat. Bette liked that about holding JJ’s hands. Most big men had sweaty hands that grossed her out, but not him. She never told him that and maybe she never would.
JJ had been secretly in love with Bette for a very long time, though he never pushed himself on her. Every once in a while he would sneak a kiss, but never was he brash about his feelings.
JJ had been there during Bette’s divorce, and its publicity as the small town talked trash. Although he was a whopper of a man, standing 6’4” and over 200 pounds, he wasn’t foolhardy or bold enough to unmask the true affection he held for her. The Deaville sisters were a smash hit. The newspaper and local TV stations gave only rave reviews. One article said,
“There is no need for security at the new Cajun Delight as long as Hot Mama Elvy is on duty!” A local anchor described Elvy as the “Rajun Cajun.” It didn't bother her none the least. She and Bette felt like it was good for publicity. Two strong, independent women controlling their own lives and helping others along the way. Quite an intimidating force.
Every weekend from Easter on and throughout summer, the riverbank was open to swimmers, boaters, pontooniers, campers, and people from all around who made their way to the Cajun Delight, either for a good meal or a good drink. Either way, Bette and Elvy counted it as a blessing as the money started to come in.
The fish market downstairs was a success as well. This was a particularly good year for fisherman. The fish had been on a steady good run and many of the local fisherman were beginning to see a marketable profit. The town was abuzz with blether and chitchat pertaining to the new river moguls of Port Bluff.
The steamy hot summer was finally nearing an end. It was a successful maiden summer for the Cajun Delight. The excruciating heat of the Louisiana sun had beat down on the river goers long enough and everyone was ready for the coolness that fall would bring to the air on the river.
September was approaching and the Deaville sisters were planning a tremendous back-to-school bash with Tiny Juneau as the fry cook. He was devising a menu plan of all-you-caneat Louisiana seafood buffet, sure to satisfy even the most delicate and picky of palates. All the seafood Tiny was to cook would come right out of King’s River, from the boats of Port Bluff fishermen.
The Cajun Delight was generating big revenue for the King’s River and Port Bluff region. Along with using only locally caught freshwater seafood, the fish market and restaurant gave a lot of the local Port Bluffians jobs too. The locals were practically running the place. Truth be known, they made it work like a fine tuned clock.
Everyone decided that the Sunday before Labor Day the restaurant would be closed and the back-to-school-bash would be held on Labor Day evening. It had been a nonstop party since the grand opening. This day off would give everyone a much needed day of rest before the next big party on the river. Elvy, Bette, and Zhonna even planned on attending services at the Jubilee Church.
Bette was so ready for her day off. The Sunday morning air was light and just barely warm, the way Bette thought Sundays should feel. Hummingbirds slurped their sweet, pink drink that hung from the porch in a Fleur de lis hummingbird feeder.
Elvy had picked up the feeder at the flea market and posted it right outside the kitchen window. Bette adored watching the birds as they fluttered their beautiful wings in harmony with the breeze. Although Bette was engrossed in her early morning bird watching, she needed to tell Elvy they had to stop by and check on the restaurant after church services were over.
Church services were gracious and energizing. Both Elvy and Bette left the rickety church feeling exuberant and filled up. The drive out to the river was a particularly nice one. They discussed quietly the pastor’s message. It had been a while since Elvy had gone to church. Once she’d gotten saved she tried to attend regularly, but she continued to feel out of place and finally someone told her Jesus wasn’t for sinners, so she never went back. Elvy cracked her window and lit a cigarette.
“Well, Brother Travis’ sermon was sort of peculiar today, right? I have never heard him preach forgiveness and acceptance as he did today.” Elvy took a long pull from her cigarette and blew the smoke out of the window.
Bette looked at her sister with a mean, suspicious glare. Elvy seemed to be just a little bit too controlled, almost monotone.
“He was all about not biting the hand that feeds you, huh?” Bette turned the air conditioner up, pretending not to be suspicious.
Finally, after she could no longer hold her tongue, Bette said, “The other day he was preaching about the church taking a stand against sin and sinners. I wonder what made him change his mind to today’s message of ‘those people have a purpose too?’” She pulled off her sunglasses to allow Elvy to see the grimace on her face. “He was sure glad to see you, too.”
“Yeah, well, I paid my tithes,” Elvy said as she handed Bette a check duplicate.
Bette swallowed hard. She could not believe her eyes.
“Did you give Brother Travis $10,000?” Bette shook the checkbook in the air. “Are you crazy? Have you completely lost your mind?”
Bette was not surprised that her sister would do something so selfless or deranged. Even though Elvy had had her troubles, she was still a pay it forward kind of girl.
“No. What is the matter with you?” Elvy retaliated toward her sister. “I gave you $50,000. You sure didn’t question my sanity then.” She folded her checkbook and placed it back in her purse.
“And besides, I didn’t give any preacher anything. I paid my tithes, so I was giving to the Lord.” Elvy didn’t like having to go into detail about her money. No one else Ok’d anything with her, so why did she have to run every detail of her life by anyone. She was tough.
Bette burst out laughing. “No wonder Brother Travis was all kissing your butt and saying we are all sinners who fall short of the Glory. Now we are all sinners. The other day we were to separate ourselves from those kind. Ironic, isn’t it?”
The truck jumped across the cattle guard on the levee and Bette pointed it towards the river. There was a lone vehicle in the parking lot.
“Now who is this?” Elvy blurted out.
“Oh, I don’t know. It looks like Purpera’s truck. But we don’t even do business with them.” Bette answered her sister, then she asked, “So why would their fish truck be in our parking lot?”
Elvy was always quick to try to calm her sister’s suspicious inquisitions by answering her rhetorical questions.
“Sambo is probably sleeping off his drunk before he goes home with his load. You know he likes to nip and sip from Toledo all the way back home.”
Bette pulled the truck up behind the old fish truck and threw it in park. The sisters sat, both staring at each other, silently debating with their eyes who was going to get out, in the heat, and go wake up “Ole Sambo.”
Finally, Bette let out an impatient sigh and got out of the truck. She walked slowly to the front of the fish truck, scanning and looking around. When she reached the driver’s side mirror, a horror she did not see coming lunged from the front end of the fish market’s truck.
“Elvy!” Bette released a yelp that announced a chilling discovery.
Elvy instantly recognized the fear in her sister’s voice. She grabbed her pistol from the glove box, hurried out of the Range Rover and rushed over to where her sister was standing.
She could not believe what she was seeing. There lay a man with his head bleeding. Elvy bent down and checked for a pulse.
“He’s dead!” she screamed.
“Oh my God!” Bette’s voice was low and quivering. “It’s T.T. Thibodeaux.”
“Don’t touch anything,” Elvy ordered her sister. “I’m calling 911.”
It was only a few months earlier when T.T. accosted Elvy at the grand opening, and here he lay, dead. Elvy felt all the blood drain from her face. She began to shake and tremble. She knew this didn’t look good for her.
The murder scene was gruesome and terrible. The victim had been bludgeoned to death. It appeared that the killer wasn’t very concerned about covering up any evidence because a boat paddle, covered with blood, lay on the ground next to T.T., which vividly appeared to be the murder weapon.
T.T. Thibodeaux was the Police Jury Member for Port Bluff. He was maniacal and despising. A crooked politician in its worse form. Rumor has it that he was into a lot more than levees and waterways.
He came to Port Bluff not long after Hurricane Katrina. A millionaire politician from New Orleans, he bird fed his way to the Police Jury office for Atchafalaya Parish. It didn’t take too much pocket patting to convince the undercover poachers that lived along the river to become his supporters.
Now, T.T. Thibodeaux had gotten himself killed. And for some reason, he was laying on the limestone in the parking lot of the Cajun Delight.
JJ sat with Bette and Elvy as they watched the coroner zip the corpse up in a black bag. The detectives were speculating that the body had been dumped in the parking lot only hours before. They had no idea the connection between the Purpera’s fish truck and the murder, except that Forest Purpera had reported the truck missing the day before.
Detective Austin James turned his dutiful eye to Elvy, immediately making her a suspect given their altercation and Elvy's threat at the grand opening.
It was no secret the Deaville sisters would have to cancel the Labor Day festivities.
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