Kent Conwell - Tony Boudreaux 02 - Skeletons of the Atchafalaya by Kent Conwell Page B

at him, trying to fit his stunning revelations into my own sense of order and propriety.
    They didn’t fit.
    “I still can’t believe it. They’re cousins.”
    Patric smiled sadly. “And my boy is black.”
    I leaned back and stared blankly at my uncle. Now I
understood why he stayed drunk so much.
    A thought popped into my head. “You said `one reason
was that A.D. was her father.’ Is there another? Is there
something else?”
    Uncle Patric glanced surreptitiously around the parlor.
“A.D. and lolande, they send Bonni away. She fool them
and don’t go where they say. Now they don’t know where
she be.”
    He had me confused. “What does that have to do with
Giselle?”
    “Giselle, she good woman. Help family always. Me, I
think fine woman, and I always feel sorry because she
never have no one close to her.” His voice dropped to a
whisper. “I don’t know what you hear, Tony, but Giselle,
she is different. Her and Bonni … they go much places
together … they are very close to each other … more than
family kin.” He grimaced, trying to decide how to say what
he wanted to say. “A.D. and lolande, they don’t want Bonni
spend so much time with Giselle, so they send her away.”
He shrugged. “Me, I don’t know if Giselle, she knows why
Bonni leave or not. Me, I’m just an old man who don’t
know much.” He hesitated, a slight grin playing over his
lips in relief of having said what he did.
    “What did it hurt how much time they spent together?”
    Patric cleared his throat and stared at the ceiling. “Not
so much the time together, I don’t think. They just think
Bonni, she should have friends more her age than Giselle.
They think Bonni, she should find her a nice young Cajun
boy.”
    Naive me, I still didn’t understand exactly what he was trying to tell me. Like two blind men playing catch, Uncle
Patric would toss out an implication, and I’d miss it.

    Before I could pursue the matter, Leroi came into the
kitchen. He shook his head. “The storm stalled. She isn’t
moving.”
    I closed my eyes and dropped my chin to my chest. I
shoved Patric’s information back into the recesses of my
brain and muttered a soft oath at the latest change in the
storm. Outside, the wind and rain blasted the house. I
couldn’t help wondering how the families down in the village were managing. Their shelter was cedar and cypress
clapboard, not brick like ours.
    My mind wandered back to Giselle. Everyone in our
family knew she was illegitimate. It had been one of the
whispered secrets cussed and discussed at every family
gathering. Everyone knew, but no one admitted it. But,
now-if what Uncle Patric said was true-why, that wasI couldn’t say the word.
    Leroi stuck his head in the door. “Any coffee there?”
    Patric waved him in. “Come here, boy. Me, I gots a
question.”
    Leroi frowned at me and shrugged as he came up to the
kitchen table. “Shoot.”
    “Yesterday, you say you come inside to use the john.
You go upstairs. Why you not use the toilet down here?”
    It was a good question, one I should have asked, but like
I said, I’m no Al Grogan.
    Leroi sighed wearily. “Someone was in there, Pa. I didn’t
want to waste any time because Tony was waiting out in
the truck for me so I went upstairs. Okay?”
    Patric glanced at me, a smug grin on his face as if to
say, “You see. It wasn’t my boy.”
    I winked at Leroi. “That’s what I figured, but how do
you explain the screwdriver?” I looked from one to the
other.
    Patric shrugged. “That easy. Anyone could open the toolbox in back of Leroi’s truck. Anyone.”

    That’s how I figured it also. I just wanted one of them
to say so.
    The lights flickered once, twice, then continued burning
steadily. Patric cleared his throat. “The generator? We got
enough gasoline?”
    “Sure, Pa. There’s several tanks in the shed. Looks like
they ought to hold about two or three hundred gallons