Right off, the judge looked at Luc and said, “Luc! Good to see you again? How’s your aunt?”
“Tante Lulu is great. I swear she’ll outlive us all.” Turning to Gabrielle, he explained, “Tante Lulu and Judge Thibault’s grandmother used to go to USO dances together during World War II.”
Was there anyone that Tante Lulu didn’t have a connection to?
The judge looked at Thor then and asked, “Robertsson, good to see you again. You still have that boat out on Lake Pontchartrain?”
“Yes, sir, although I haven’t had much time to go out this year.”
“Time!” The judge sighed. “A problem we all have.”
She was introduced to the judge then, and the three of them sat down on the opposite side of the table.
The judge opened a folder . . . presumably Leroy’s case file . . . and studied it for a few moments. “The other judges on this court, and myself, have studied the request for an appeal. It’s granted. I’ll turn this back to district court in East Feliciana Parish where Mr. Sonnier was convicted of the prison murder.”
What? Just like that they had been granted an appeal? Stunned, Gabrielle turned to the lawyers on either side of her. She realized then that it truly did help to know the right people.
“I’ll send this material to the prosecutor there and alert him to the fact that you’ll be contacting him for a court date,” the judge concluded, closing the folder. “I doubt it will ever go to trial.”
And just like that, they were done. Leroy was going to get his day in court . . . his new day in court.
“By the way, Dolly Landeaux from down Lafayette way gave me a call last week and told me to work my ass off to move this case off my desk,” the judge told them just before he left. “If you know Dolly, you know she’d come here and give me a shove, if she had to.” They could hear his continuing chuckles in his wake.
So, Gabrielle would have to add Dolly, the parole board member whom she’d thought had been so unhelpful, to the list of people she would never be able to thank enough.
When they were walking outside to their respective cars, Gabrielle asked, “What next?”
“We meet with the DA in East Feliciana.”
“When? I mean, how long will it take?”
“As long as he wants,” Thor said. “Honestly, Gabrielle, it could be tomorrow or months from now.”
Her shoulders slumped.
“Hey, chère, look at where you are today compared to several weeks ago,” Luc reminded her.
Thor added, “ I work in Baton Rouge. This is record time for a appeal decision.”
When she got to the car, though, Gabrielle didn’t leave right away. Instead, she sat there, dazed, and started to weep, then sobbed into a wad of tissues. Mostly, they were tears of relief.
Finally under control, she called Ivak’s cell number. He picked up immediately.
“Gabrielle? What happened?”
“They’ve granted the appeal.”
“So soon?”
“Well, I think Tante Lulu being a buddy of the judge’s grandmother might have helped.”
“Good old Tante Lulu!” Ivak said. She could hear the smile in his voice.
“Will you tell Leroy for me? And ask him to call me first chance he gets?”
“Of course.”
“You might want to alert the warden about today’s events, too.”
“With pleasure. I wish I could take a photograph of his face for you when I do.”
She found herself smiling, too. “I miss you already,” she said softly.
“Same here, sweetling.”
“When will I see you again?” She shouldn’t have asked that question, shouldn’t be pressuring him, but she couldn’t help herself.
“As soon as possible. We’re still under tight security here at Angola, and there’s a strong presence of Lucies in and around the prison.”
Now she would be worried about his safety. “Are your brothers and the additional . . . uh . . . vangels still around?”
“Mordr and Harek are, and about thirty vangel warriors. Don’t worry. We’ll take care of the problem shortly.”
“I love you,” she said then.
“Ah, Gabrielle! It warms my heart to hear you say that. I love you, too.”
After she hung up with Ivak, Gabrielle wanted to make one more call. It rang quite a while before an out-of-breath voice said, “Hello!”
“Tante Lulu?”
“Yep. Is that you, Gabrielle?”
“Yes. You sound like you’re having trouble breathing. Are you okay?”
“Good as rain. I was outside pickin’ okra in my garden when I heard the phone ring. I forgot to bring the cell phone out with me.”
“I have good news, Tante Lulu. They’re granting Leroy a new trial.”
“Thank you, Jesus! We’ll have to celebrate. Why dontcha come back here and I’ll call the fam’ly ta come over? I already got one of my Peachy Praline Cobbler Cakes in the oven.”
“Not today. I have too much work to do back at my office, and, really, we’re still a long way from getting Leroy out. Still, it was a good day, and I want to thank you for all your help.”
“I dint do nuthin’. You know who you gotta thank, dontcha, girl?”
She did. When Gabrielle clicked off her cell phone, she bowed her head and said, “Thank you, St. Jude.”
She could swear the bobble-head St. Jude doll on her dashboard, a gift from Tante Lulu, winked at her.
Silence can be golden . . . or not . . .
For the next few weeks, Ivak talked to Gabrielle every day, but he was unable to be with her. Everything was happening all at once, keeping him confined to the prison.
First, he and his brothers Mordr and Harek were planning a sweeping campaign against the Lucies to be held the day before the rodeo. It was their belief that the Lucies, under Jasper’s direction now, were planning a grand finale here at Angola to coincide with the last rodeo of the month and all the distractions that would be occupying the prison staff.
Second, with everything that had been happening in Leroy’s case, Ivak was keeping an especially vigilant eye on him. Ofttimes when a prisoner was up for release, other inmates tried to get him in trouble. A case of jealousy, mostly, but sometimes they provoked trouble just because they were downright mean. The same was true of some prison staff. There was one red-haired guard in particular that concerned Ivak. He was always there whenever Ivak saw Leroy, and he always seemed to find something wrong.
Then, there was the talent show that was coming along nicely, thanks to Tante Lulu and her family. In fact, so much attention were they getting that a number of TV stations had asked if they could film it. Benton, smart as he was, decided to have it filmed himself and sell the rights to whoever wanted to use it. Benton and René were arguing over that issue, whether Benton had the right to profit off the LeDeux family.
Finally, Gabrielle was extremely busy with two new court cases. A thirty-four-year-old woman who was put in a women’s prison ten years ago for killing a husband who had beaten her mercilessly . . . Gabrielle was trying to get a lesser sentence for her. And then she was also working with a young boy who had robbed a gas station using a pistol. Apparently having a weapon, even with a minor robbery, was enough to get a youthling tried as an adult. Gabrielle had a soft heart, and her job at Second Chances allowed her to use her sympathies for good causes.
If that wasn’t enough, Ivak’s purchase of Heaven’s End was going ahead full-throttle. Faster than he was ready to handle. He had a closing scheduled for next Friday, with Thor handling the legal details. And Tante Lulu had already made arrangements on his behalf to have a landscape firm come in and make a preliminary effort to clear out the jungle. It would be no small feat because apparently there were at least a hundred acres with the place. Just in case he wanted to raise sugar sometime, Thor had pointed out. In jest, Ivak hoped.
But Ivak’s biggest worry was Michael’s silence.
Twenty-Two
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There’s a bimbo in every woman just waiting to come out . . .
Finally, the day of the rodeo arrived, and Gabrielle kept checking her compact mirror to see if she looked all right. She would be seeing Ivak today.
“Settle down, honey. Yer as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rockin’ chairs,” Tante Lulu said from the other side of the backseat. Rusty and Charmaine were in the front seat of the smooth-riding BMW.
The rest of the family was following them in a caravan of cars and vans. Apparently, they needed a lot of equipment and costumes for their Cajun Village People act, which had been transformed for this occasion into the Cajun fais do do, loosely interpreted Cajun party. Plus, a few of René’s band members would be there, too.
“How was the dress rehearsal yesterday?” Gabrielle asked.
“Wonderful,” Charmaine answered. “But I knew it would be. Any production I’ve been in . . . seems like chaos ’til the last minute, but it always comes together at the last minute.”
“They sold out weeks ago,” Rusty told them. “The warden is already planning to expand the arena for next year.”
“Hah! He better not think we’re gonna do this fer him every year,” Tante Lulu said.
When they got to Angola, it took them more than an hour to go through heightened security. In fact, two of the earlier rodeos this month had been canceled. They needed today’s event to be successful to bring in funds for special programs. As a result, every single guard was on duty today. And any person entering the penitentiary grounds went through screening devices brought in especially for the occasion. Women had to check their purses. Men had to empty their pockets. Prison officials were taking no chances of hidden weapons.
Finally, they were inside, and the first thing she saw was Ivak. He was wearing his clerical collar under a short-sleeved button-down shirt tucked into blue jeans. Very respectable. The gleam of knowing in his eyes was not.
He smiled and walked straight to her, squeezing both her hands in his as he kissed her cheek. It was the discreet thing to do in front of everyone, especially in his minister attire.
Tante Lulu just chuckled and said something about a hope chest being almost ready.
Ivak took her hand and laced his fingers with hers. No one noticed because the rest of the LeDeux clan and friends were trailing in, chattering and laughing.
“Where’s Leroy?” she whispered to Ivak.
“In the auditorium with the other talent show contestants. I’ll have to go back in a minute. I’ve missed you, sweetling.”
She nodded, her eyes telling him more than words could.
Just then, she heard Tante Lulu ask Luc, “Whass that stuff yer carryin’?”
“Sylvie’s outfit for the show.” It was a scrap of red cloth and red high heels. “She tripped over a loose carpet last night and sprained her ankle. The doctor told her to keep it elevated today.”
“Ah, thass too bad. I’ll call her later,” Tante Lulu said. “I have some gator spit ointment that’ll fix her up jist fine.”
“Who’s going to take Sylvie’s place in the act?” Charmaine asked.
There was a pause, then everyone turned to Gabrielle.
“What? No, no, no! I don’t sing.”
“All you gotta do is move yer lips and shake yer booty,” Tante Lulu said.
Shake my booty? In front of ten thousand people? Are you nuts?
Remy’s wife, Rachel, spoke up then. “I know how you’re feeling, Gabrielle. I felt the same way the first year they tricked me into participating. But, honestly, all you have to do is sing a few doo-wops and watch our dance steps.”
“Dancing, too?” She was horrified and her voice must have said so.
Tante Lulu narrowed her eyes at Gabrielle. “Are you sayin’ yer not willin’ ta make a sacrifice fer the cause?”
That’s how Gabrielle got conned into being part of a loony-bird Cajun musical act.
“A velvet bulldozer, that’s what we call Tante Lulu,” Tee-John’s wife, Celine, told Gabrielle.
Luc shoved the red outfit and shoes into Gabrielle’s reluctant hands.
When she turned back to Ivak, she saw that he was grinning.
“It’s not funny. I’m tone deaf.”
“Forget about your singing. I can’t wait to see you in that.” He pointed to the spandex dress that looked as if it would fit a pencil.
She had even more misgivings when they did a little practice run in the auditorium. Honestly, these LeDeux were born entertainers. Sexy and funny and talented theatrically, all of which she was not. But she was being a sport. And turned out, she could doo-wop. A little.
Leroy pumped a fist in the air when he saw her, and after seeking permission from a scowling red-haired guard to leave his seat with the other contestants in the talent show, he came over to sit beside her. “I didn’t know you could sing.”
“Please!”
“It wasn’t too bad.”
“Talk about faint compliments!”
He grinned at her.
“It’s good to see you so happy.”
“I have hope now. Thanks to you.” He squeezed her hand, knowing a hug would probably have the guards pouncing on him.
“Don’t thank me. Thank Ivak and Tante Lulu and her family.”
He chuckled. “You know who Tante Lulu would tell me to thank, don’t you?”
“St. Jude,” they both said at the same time.
“Hey, if . . . when . . . I get out of here, I’m gonna put his statue smack-dab in the middle of my home.”
She wanted to ask him where that home would be, but now was not the time.
“I better get back to my group,” he said, squeezing her forearm before standing to leave.
After watching several of the contestants practice one last time, some of whom were really good, she decided to go over and watch the rodeo, which she’d never attended before. When she went up to tell Tante Lulu her intentions, the old lady said she’d stay there, having no interest in watching the rodeo again. Apparently, she’d attended several times.
“Make sure you’re at the dressing room by four p.m.,” Charmaine interjected. “The rodeo should be winding down by then, and the talent show starting. I’ll bring your outfit.”
Thanks a bunch. I was hoping it could get lost. “There’s a dressing room?”
“An office in the stable,” Charmaine informed her with a laugh. “Don’t worry. I brought my makeup case.”
That is just great! Like lipstick and eye shadow are my biggest concerns!
“An’ I got air freshener in my purse, if they let me bring it over there. Doan wanna faint from smellin’ horse poop.”
She carries air freshener in her purse. Good Lord! Between the pistol she mentioned once before, all the St. Jude statues, air freshener, and God only knew what else, the thing must weigh a ton.
“I’ll go with you to the rodeo,” Rachel offered. “I’ve never seen it before, either.”
Ivak muttered something about it being no great loss. Gabrielle already knew how he felt about the prison rodeo.
Remy, Rachel’s husband, came up to her, a worried frown on his brow, both the good and damaged sides. “Are you sure it’s safe, honey?”
“I’ll be fine.” She leaned up and kissed his cheek. On his scarred side.
When they went to the door and told the guard they wanted to go to the rodeo grounds, he told them they’d have to have an escort. He motioned for someone behind them to come forward, and of all people it was the red-haired guard. The surly man remained silent the whole way through the dreary corridors and checkpoints and out to a prison vehicle.
Rachel crawled in the backseat first and the guard asked Gabrielle before she followed, “Are you Sigurdsson’s whore?”
“I beg your pardon.”
“Word is that you’re sleeping with the . . . chaplain.”
“If I were you, I’d stop right there. Do you really want me to report you to the warden?” She glanced pointedly at
his name tag, which read “Roland O’Malley.”
“Go right ahead. No skin off my ass.” He went to the driver’s door, not even waiting for her to get in and close the back door.
“What did he say?” Rachel whispered to her.
“Later,” Gabrielle whispered back, but she knew her heated face must be a clue that she was angry.
The man didn’t say a word the whole way, and neither did she and Rachel. When they got to the crowded rodeo grounds, he just sat there, letting them get out themselves. When she glared at him, he smirked. She couldn’t let him get away with such behavior. Walking over to his open driver’s window, she said, “You could lose your job over this.”
He shrugged and drove away.
“That was weird,” Rachel said once Gabrielle told her what the guard had said to her. “You really should report him.”
“I will. Later. Oh my goodness! Look at this!” There was a sign that said, “Rodeo Sold Out, Hobbycraft Tickets Only.” That’s not what amazed her. What did was the fact that not only would the rodeo arena hold ten thousand people, but there was a prison craft fair already drawing at least a thousand more people.
She and Rachel bought their tickets and bypassed the prison museum, neither of them having an inclination to see old electric chairs, sample prison cells, an array of homemade prison weapons, and such. Instead, they strolled through what could only be described as a giant flea market, all run by and benefiting the individual convicts.
The men, clearly identified as inmates by their white T-shirts and denim pants, some with name tags, sold all kinds of food. The usual hot dogs, hamburgers, French fries, onion rings, nachos, pizza, funnel cakes, snow cones, cotton candy, and candy apples, but also po’ boys, barbecued ribs, tacos, grilled chicken, fried catfish, gumbo and jambalaya, baked potatoes and rice, cracklin’s, and salads. Numerous signs warned that no food or drinks could be taken into the arena. So, all about, people were enjoying the food. Never mind that it had been made by inmate hands, maybe even a murderer’s.
She got a cheeseburger and soda, while Rachel bought a grilled chicken sandwich with a lemonade. Delicious!