Bayou Paradox by Robin Caroll

tone clear. Mad as a gator stuck in a trap.
    â€œTara, we’re looking at every piec—”
    â€œWhy don’t you just out-and-out accuse me, Sheriff? I am the voodoo woman, remember? Much easier just to blame me rather than actually having to work a case, yes?” Her words tumbled over each other. “Well, I’m not to blame and if you can’t figure that out, then you’re more of a cooyon than I thought!”
    He opened his mouth to interrupt just as a click sounded. Was her cell cutting out? Four seconds later, another click. She’d hung up on him!
    He could almost understand. She felt as if he’d accused her of harming two of the people closest to her. He didn’t believe she’d do that for even a minute.
    But his training whispered in his ear. Sometimes the guilty went on the offense to throw the scent off them. No, that couldn’t apply to Tara LeBlanc.
    Could it?

NINE
    T he gumption of the man! All but accusing her of poisoning Grandmere. Sheriff René “Bubba” Theriot had really pushed her to the limit this time. Why did the man continue to get under her skin?
    Tara shoved the broom in the closet and surveyed the workhouse. It’d taken a couple of hours and lots of elbow grease, but the room was now back in order. She let out a slow breath. Released the anger. Drew in the fresh air. She had to get her anger under control or she couldn’t gather plants, and she really needed to make another healing potion for Tanty. One dose hadn’t done the trick with Grandmere, and Tanty’d been in a coma longer. She’d probably require at least three.
    Continuing to take deep cleansing breaths, Tara hummed a Cajun tune. If only CoCo and Luc weren’t still at the hospital, Luc could play his sax for her. Zydeco music always lifted her mood. For now she’d just have to make do with humming.
    The adrenaline at last subsided, she grabbed her bag and slipped her feet into the rubber boots, then took off for the water’s edge deep in the woods. Cicadas cried in the afternoon heat. Birds rustled the dry leaves of the trees. An isolated breeze stirred the Spanish moss hanging from the cypress trees. Lagniappe was in for a long hot summer.
    Tara quickly gathered foliage, filling her bag to overflowing, and returned to the shed. She pulled off the boots and wiggled her toes. Footwear was a necessary evil, in her humble opinion. If given the choice, she’d be barefoot forever.
    The cuckoo clock announced two o’clock. Tara burst into action. Having set up a rotating schedule with her sisters for visiting Grandmere, her time would be at three. She selected the freshest plants she’d picked and lit the burner. Her back ached as she concentrated on mixing just the right amount of ingredients in the glass flask. Sweat glued her shirt to her back. At last, the potion was ready to place on the burner. Very carefully, Tara put the flask atop the burner and adjusted the open flame. Her chant came as a whisper, then grew louder as bubbles burst forth in the potion.
    She lowered the heat and continued to chant. This part of the process was critical. Every word had to be said with confidence. Each bubble of the boil had to be gentle so as not to burn, yet forceful enough to blend all the ingredients.
    Finally the potion was complete. Using pot holders, Tara poured the mixture through a colander, gathering the liquid in a small glass vial. She straightened and twisted the dropper-top on tightly.
    â€œA healing potion?”
    Tara jumped and turned.
    CoCo stood in the doorway, her arms crossed over her chest.
    Shoving the vial into her pocket, Tara shrugged. “How’d you know?”
    CoCo laughed. “I trained for more years than you, Boo . Do you think I wouldn’t recognize the chant?” She moved across the room and looked at the damp solids in the colander.
    Leave it to her sister to remind her that she was Grandmere’s second