Night Magic Read Free Page B

last time you
tied in with him. Just be careful, Poppy."Savannah was worried now.
Her father had been nearly killed in an "accident" while he was
fishing one day eight years ago, this during a dispute over
property Antoine owned. The Trosclairs claimed it was originally
part of the plantation, and thus rightfully theirs. Antoine had
escaped serious injury when he fell from his boat into the chilly
waters of Bayou Teche. He'd managed to hang onto a floating log for
a half hour when another fisherman saw him and got help. The
accident was suspicious because it was well known the way Antoine
traveled in the bayou and he knew it like the back of his hand. He
knew the submerged log had not been in the spot between the large
swamp cypresses the day before. The speed of his motor boat made
the impact hurl him several feet into the air. Though nothing could
be proved, the unwanted scrutiny brought on by this coincidental
event caused Trosclair to back off.
    "Be careful. Promise, Poppy."
    "Don't worry now, cher. Your papa, he can
take care of himself." He hugged her to him.
    Savannah nodded uncertainly. She knew her
father was a strong man and not easily taken down, but he couldn't
keep dodging danger forever. Despite his confident words, she felt
a sense of foreboding. The mere thought of losing Antoine was more
than she could bear. She tightened her embrace and pushed away the
frightening image of him lying hurt in the swamp.
     
     

Chapter 2
     
     
    "Galee, sha! You done got so pretty. Come
give Nenaine some sugar." Nenaine Sherleen grabbed Savannah in a
big affectionate hug.
    "Humph, Humph. You sho is somethin', yeah."
Uncle Coy took his turn, giving her a big kiss on the cheek.
    Savannah was a bit overwhelmed by all the
relatives who descended on the spacious home. Even the wooden frame
house seemed to be bulging, packed with family and friends eager to
see if and how Savannah had changed. Like good-natured doctors,
they poked and prodded for clues that she was still one of them.
She endured teasing about losing her taste for down home favorite,
like cracklins.“Now y'all just hush up. No matta how long she been
'way from here, she won't lose her taste for real food." Tante
Marie set a large plate down in front of her containing a generous
helping of fried catfish.
    Savannah forced a smile. Looking down at the
dish, she took a deep breath. The spicy aroma of traditional Creole
seasonings made her mouth water. It would take all of her strength
not to stuff herself on everything on the plate then accept
seconds. She picked up a hush puppy, admiring its golden brown.
Breaking it in half, a thin finger of steam rose from the center.
Nobody could tempt her like her aunt. In a region where good
cooking was the standard, her Tante Marie's talents placed her in
class all her own. Having had no children and widowed at the age of
thirty-eight, she had readily taken on the task of helping her
younger brother raise his infant daughter. And Savannah loved her
with the same fierceness she loved her father. For those times
Tante Marie was busy catering ritzy functions for the wealthy and
tourist parties at local plantations, her godmother, Nenaine
Sherleen, gave her the same loving attention and lots of good,
fattening foods; a definite threat to her waistline. Pudgy all
through childhood, going away to college had meant a change in her
eating habits. Working out regularly had become a habit after law
school, especially when she was able to afford a really nice health
club. Taking another bite of catfish, she made a silent vow to
search the phone book for one nearby.
    "Poppy was telling me about the fight over
the plant." Savannah was helping her aunt wash dishes after dinner.
They had finally seen off the last of her welcoming committee.
    "That Trosclair ain't nuthin' to play with,
no. He low down. I don't put nuthin' past him." Tante Marie shook
her head as she scrubbed plates vigorously.
    "But what do you think?" Savannah knew that
her