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The Lost Girls of Johnson's Bayou
Jana DeLeon


She was only six when she walked out of the swamp after the LeBlanc School for Girls caught on fire. Sixteen years after the terrifying night that stole her memory, a child's scream lures Ginny back into the woods…where a strong arm encircles her. The gun-wielding stranger is Paul Stanton, a cop-turned-P.I., who's come to Johnson's Bayou looking for answers of his own.Paul has spent almost two decades searching for his missing sister and now, this Southern beauty could be the key to his quest. But someone would rather see Ginny dead than have her memories resurface. And although uncovering the dark secrets of the past could put them both at risk, it's a chance Paul's willing to take if it means finding his future…with Ginny.







Who is Ginny Bergeron?

She was only six when she walked out of the swamp after the LeBlanc School for Girls caught on fire. Sixteen years after the terrifying night that stole her memory, a child’s scream lures Ginny back into the woods…where a strong arm encircles her. The gun-wielding stranger is Paul Stanton, a cop-turned-P.I., who’s come to Johnson’s Bayou looking for answers of his own.

Paul has spent almost two decades searching for his missing sister and now, this Southern beauty could be the key to his quest. But someone would rather see Ginny dead than have her memories resurface. And although uncovering the dark secrets of the past could put them both at risk, it’s a chance Paul’s willing to take if it means finding his future…with Ginny.


“You’re not a coward,” Paul said and placed his hand over hers.

“You were surviving. And if you hadn’t put it all out of your mind, he would have come after you before now. Before you were better prepared to deal with it.”

Ginny gave him a small smile. “Before you were here to help me.”

Paul squeezed her hand. “We’re going to get through this, and then your life can be about the future and not the past.”

The future.

Paul’s words hung in the air as if to tease her with possibilities that she knew would never be. She raised her gaze to his and realized just how close to her he was. He leaned in to kiss her and her body responded before her mind could put on the brakes.




The Lost Girls of Johnson’s Bayou

Jana DeLeon







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Jana DeLeon grew up among the bayous and small towns of southwest Louisiana. She’s never actually found a dead body or seen a ghost, but she’s still hoping. Jana started writing in 2001 and focuses on murderous plots set deep in the Louisiana bayous. By day, she writes very boring technical manuals for a software company in Dallas. Visit Jana at her website, www.janadeleon.com.


CAST OF CHARACTERS

Ginny Bergeron—No one knew who she was or where she came from, including Ginny. But she made her home in Johnson’s Bayou and tried not to think about her mysterious past. Then Paul Stanton showed up, looking for answers.

Paul Stanton—He was separated from his sister by the foster care system seventeen years ago and is determined to find out what happened to her. His answers may lie in Ginny’s flickering memories, but his growing attraction to his potential witness isn’t sitting well with the P.I.

Madelaine Bergeron—She adopted Ginny after the fire and raised her in Johnson’s Bayou. She made a normal life for Ginny, but is afraid the past has come back to haunt her.

Josephine Foster—Everyone sees the tiny, silver-haired woman and assumes she’s harmless, but Josephine knows more about the secret lives of Johnson’s Bayou residents than the sheriff.

Saul Pritchard—He was the caretaker at the LeBlanc School, but were his pursuits limited to repairing only the home?

Thomas Morgan—He was the contractor in charge of the construction of the LeBlanc School, with a shady past and a lot of unexplained cash.

Mayor Joe Daigle—Johnson’s Bayou’s mayor would do anything to keep the sixteen-year-old horror from resurfacing in his town.

Sheriff Thomas Blackwell—He was the chief investigator for the fire at the LeBlanc School, but did he know more than what was reflected in the police reports?


To my mentor and friend, Jane Graves, for being so willing to share all your knowledge with a rank beginner.


Contents

Chapter One (#u9fa96795-f089-5f91-aaae-0ad235c810db)

Chapter Two (#uc73ed52c-fdd7-5d5c-b0b5-52c7f61de00b)

Chapter Three (#u88373aef-bef0-5976-a78a-2781792a854a)

Chapter Four (#uc861881d-30df-58c0-9d92-36fde6d9439e)

Chapter Five (#uac3e5a11-4151-59fe-93f8-c4d63c02494f)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)


Chapter One

Ginny Bergeron stood in front of the café’s plate-glass window and stared into the swamp. The setting sun cast an orange glow on the cobblestone street in front of the café and the thick range of cypress trees that littered the swamp beyond the edge of the small town. It was the same view she’d had every day for sixteen years, yet today, it felt different. As if something wasn’t right.

“You gonna finish cleaning that coffeepot or just stare out the window all day?”

The booming voice of the heavyset woman behind her made Ginny jump, and she spun around to face Madelaine, the woman who was, for all practical purposes, her mother.

“Sorry,” Ginny said. “I guess I wandered there for a minute.”

Madelaine gave her an understanding smile and glanced out the window. “It’s a beautiful sunset. I finished up in the back, so as soon as those coffeepots are washed, we can leave.” She grabbed one of the pots off the warmer behind the counter. “Since you’re up here lollygagging, I’ll help.”

Ginny smiled at Madelaine’s teasing, more because she knew her mother expected it than because she felt like smiling. The beautiful sunset wasn’t what had caught Ginny’s attention. In fact, Ginny couldn’t put her finger on exactly why she’d been staring out the window, or what she expected to see. But she could feel it—something out there didn’t belong.

Ginny grabbed the half-empty coffeepot off the table where she’d placed it a couple of minutes earlier and headed behind the counter. Madelaine already had hot water running in the huge stainless steel sink, so Ginny poured out the old coffee and stuck the pot under the stream of water. Some of the steamy water splashed onto her bare hands and she flinched. Her mother glanced over at her bare hands and shook her head, her expression one of long-standing exasperation worn by parents who’d told a child something over and over again in vain.

“I have a pot roast in my Crock-Pot,” Madelaine said. “Why don’t you come over for dinner and a movie?”

“Great minds think alike. I put a roast in my Crock-Pot this morning.”

Madelaine wiped the coffeepot with a clean rag and set it on the counter. “Well, if you’re sure.”

“I’m sure,” Ginny said and placed her clean coffeepot on the counter next to her mother’s.

“I guess we’ll both be eating pot roast for a week then.” Madelaine stared at her for a moment, the uncertainty clear on her face, but finally, being a parent won out. “I worry about you spending so much time alone. You sure you’re all right? You’ve seemed on edge lately.”

“I’m fine, and I’m perfectly happy alone. I have a good library of books.” She smiled. “You ought to know, since you gave me most of them.”

Madelaine didn’t look convinced. “A book isn’t the same as having someone else around. Like a man. Then maybe I wouldn’t worry as much.”

“Really? I haven’t noticed that being a problem for you. In fact, in my years with you, I’ve never known you to even date.”

Madelaine waved a hand in dismissal. “That’s not the point. I made my choices long ago, and I’m happy with them. I had my run at that hill in my earlier years. Enough to know it wasn’t for me. But you haven’t so much as taken a step toward it.”

Ginny shook her head. “You know good and well that the only single men in Johnson’s Bayou are under ten or over sixty. Which would you prefer I take up with?”

“Ain’t no one saying you got to remain here the rest of your life. That university in New Orleans wanted to give you a scholarship before. I bet you could get one again.”

“And do what?”

“Leave. Leave all this behind and start a new life. A good life.”

Ginny placed a hand on Madelaine’s arm. “I have a good life. Maybe someday I’ll want something different, something else, but for now, this is what’s right for me.”

Madelaine sighed and kissed Ginny’s forehead. “All right then. I’ll see you tomorrow morning. Ought to be a busy one with everyone in town preparing for the Fall Festival.”

Ginny nodded then followed Madelaine to the front door of the café and locked it behind her. Ginny gave the café a final glance to make sure everything was in order, then hurried up the staircase at the back of the café kitchen to her apartment.

The apartment consisted of a small living area, an even smaller bedroom and a tiny kitchenette and bathroom. Madelaine had provided her with a worn couch that Ginny had recovered in coarse fabric with light blue and white stripes. An old nineteen-inch television sat across from the couch on a stand with peeling paint that Ginny had bought at a garage sale but hadn’t had time to refinish.

She’d taken her bedroom set with her when she’d moved out of her mother’s house, and the bed, dresser and nightstand left only a small walking area in the narrow bedroom. The kitchen had room in the corner for a tiny table and two chairs, but nothing else. Some people probably wouldn’t consider it much, but for Ginny, it was perfect.

What some would see as sparse, Ginny saw as uncomplicated.

Her life in Johnson’s Bayou certainly hadn’t started out that way, but Ginny had been determined to make it that way. She’d always found comfort in knowing that today was the same as yesterday and would be the same as tomorrow. But lately, complicated thoughts had roamed her mind, unbidden. Despite her attempts to ignore them or change her mode of thinking, the thoughts kept popping back up, unwanted and uncomfortable.

She laid her keys on the breakfast table and opened the blinds on the window behind the table. The sun had almost disappeared behind the swamp, but she could still see the roofline of the old mansion just above the top of the cypress trees. The LeBlanc School for Girls. Or at least it had been.

What had happened there sixteen years ago? And had she been a part of it? Is that why the house seemed to call to her in the night? All these years, she’d had no inkling of her past, as if her mind had been scrubbed clean of the first six years of her life. She had no answers to the bizarre questions that surrounded her arrival in Johnson’s Bayou, despite a significant amount of effort by the local police into searching for those answers.

Ginny had never searched for answers.

Sometimes she thought it was because she was afraid of what she’d find. Other days, she thought it was because nothing she found would change who she was today, and that’s all that mattered. Curiosity had never compelled Ginny to visit the LeBlanc School. The police said the fire had completely destroyed the room the resident records were housed in, so no answers were contained there now, even if they had been before.

But lately, she felt anxious…drawn to this window where she could see the top of the house, tucked away in the bayou. Drawn to seek answers to questions she’d never asked out loud. It was as if a giant weight was pressing on her, but for no particular reason that she could determine. Why now, after all these years?

She reached for a shipping box on her table and opened it up. She’d told Madelaine it was supplies for her beadwork. With the festival coming up, Madelaine hadn’t even blinked at her explanation of the heavy box. Ginny’s jewelry had become quite popular in Johnson’s Bayou, and she’d even had sales to some New Orleans shops. But the item that lay inside wasn’t the beads or wire or tools she’d claimed.

She pulled the spotlight out of the box and glanced once more at the woods that lay just beyond her apartment. Every night for a week, she’d taken the spotlight out of the box, determined to walk into the woods, even if only a couple of feet. Determined to prove that nothing was there. That her overactive imagination was playing tricks on her. And every night, she’d placed the spotlight back in the box, closed the blinds and drawn the curtains, trying to eliminate the feeling that she was being watched.

But tonight was going to be different.

She still wore her jeans and T-shirt with the café logo but didn’t bother changing. In the time it took to change clothes, she could come up with a million different reasons to delay her trip another night. Before she could change her mind, she hurried out of the apartment and slipped out the back door of the café.

She stood at the edge of the swamp, her strength wavering as she studied the wall of cypress trees and the dense growth beneath them. Dusk had settled over the town behind her, and not even a dim ray of light shone in the swamp.

That’s why you have the spotlight.

She took one step into the swamp and studied the brush in front of her, looking for any sign of a path. This was foolish. She should abandon this folly and come back in the daylight.

But in the daylight someone might see…and question.

It had taken years for the whispering about her to stop. Years for the residents of Johnson’s Bayou to feel comfortable in the same room as her. The last thing she wanted to do was spook a group of already superstitious people by fueling their original fears about her—about what she was.

The brush was less dense to the right, and when she directed her spotlight that way she could make out an open area about twenty feet away. She pointed her spotlight toward the clearing and stepped deeper into the swamp. The brush closed in around her, eliminating what was left of the natural light. The sharp branches scratched her bare arms, but she pushed forward until she reached the clearing.

It was small, maybe five feet square, and someone had taken the time to remove all the brush from the area. The ground was solid, dark dirt beneath her feet, not a sign of grass or weeds in sight. Kids, maybe? Although she couldn’t imagine kids wanting to play in this area of the swamp, nor their parents allowing it. On the backside of the clearing, a tiny path stretched into the dense brush. Ginny directed her spotlight to the path and pushed through the brush for several minutes until she reached another clearing.

This one was bigger than the last and circular, with charred wood in the center. Ginny frowned. Surely no one was camping out here. Even if one didn’t believe the old tales about spooks and haunts, the swamp was filled with plenty of dangers, many of them deadly. Those who’d lived near the swamp their entire lives still preferred to spend the night hours surrounded by four walls.

She studied the wood for a moment and realized it was completely rotted. A piece of it broke off easily in her hand. It had been a long time since someone placed it there and burned it, but that still didn’t explain why the brush had not taken the clearing back over. Why the dirt stood barren.

Her spine stiffened suddenly and she stood motionless in the clearing. Her hair stood up on the back of her neck, but she had no idea what had set her off. She listened for the sounds of a night creature on the prowl, but it was almost as if the swamp had gone silent. There wasn’t a breath of air, and even the bugs had stopped making noise. She could hear her heart beating in her chest and the sound of her breath as she raggedly drew it in and out.

Then the sound of a child’s scream ripped through the night air.

Terror washed over Ginny like rain and held her captive, unable to move. The overwhelming desire to run as fast as she could back to the café was overshadowed by guilt, knowing she needed to help whoever had screamed. She took a deep breath to steady herself and tried to determine which direction the scream had come from. Instinct told her it had been deeper in the swamp and to her right, but she couldn’t be sure.

Saying a silent prayer, she slipped into the brush at the far end of the circle and forged ahead. Several minutes later, she stepped out of the swamp and onto the estate grounds of the LeBlanc School. She drew up short and sucked in a breath as the house rose out of the swamp before her. All these years, as she’d studied the roofline from her kitchen window, she’d tried to convince herself that it was just a house. A thing made of stone and wood.

As she looked up at the dark stained-glass windows that seemed to stare back at her, she knew she’d been wrong. Something malevolent called this place home. Something that remained, even when everyone else had passed from its doors years ago.

A wave of nausea came over her and she took in a deep breath and blew it slowly out. The child. She had to focus on finding the child, and not even let her mind wander to what was happening to the child in this evil place. She took one hesitant step toward the house when someone grabbed her from behind. His arm encircled her neck, almost strangling her, and the rough skin of his palm pressed over her mouth, blocking her scream.

“Don’t make a sound,” he whispered.


Chapter Two

Ginny was overwhelmed with panic and her knees began to buckle. This was it. She was going to die. Her fear of the swamp had become a self-fulfilling prophecy. Then her captor loosened his grip and spun her around to face him.

He was young, with rugged features and a hard body that she knew was meant for action. The butt of a pistol peeked out of the top of his jeans, but he didn’t reach for it. Instead he stared, his eyes assessing every square inch of her.

“Who are you?” he asked.

She stared for a moment, unable to find her voice. “Gi…Ginny Bergeron. I live here.” Did he need to know her name if he was going to kill her?

He raised one eyebrow and stared at her a moment. “You live here—in this abandoned house?”

“No. I mean, I live in Johnson’s Bayou.”

“Do you always trespass on private property, Ms. Bergeron?”

Some of Ginny’s fear began to dissipate and was quickly replaced with agitation. Apparently, her attacker was interested only in harassing her, not hurting her, or he could have been done a long time ago. “The entire swamp is not private property, and I didn’t realize I was running toward the house. I was trying to help the child.”

His eyes narrowed. “What child?”

“I heard a scream. Right after I entered the swamp. It sounded like a child.”

“You’re sure? There are plenty of creatures out in this swamp that make noise. Maybe it was one of them that you heard?”

Ginny bristled. “Look, I’ve lived next to this swamp my entire life. I know what animals sound like, and none of them sound like a child screaming bloody murder. Why are you harassing me?”

The man pulled the gun from his waistband, and she took a step back.

“What direction did the scream come from?” he asked.

Ginny stared at the gun for a second before answering. “I thought it came from here. I mean, I came in the direction of the scream and ended up at the house.”

He nodded. “Do you know how to get back to town?”

“Yes. It’s due east. I have a great sense of direction.”

He didn’t look convinced. “You need to go home. Lock your doors and forget you ever saw me out here. Is that clear?”

“Crystal.” The reply had barely left her lips before he rushed off toward the front of the house.

Ginny watched his retreating back for a second then spun around and ran through the brush toward town. She didn’t stop running until she was upstairs in her apartment, with the doors closed, locked and dead-bolted and every blind and curtain in the apartment closed tight.



PAUL STANTON GRIPPED his pistol in one hand and shone his flashlight around the cavernous entryway of the old house. He strained to make out a sound, any indication there was life in the dilapidated structure, but all he heard was the night air whistling through the broken stained-glass window at the top of the vaulted ceiling.

Unbelievable! What in the world was she doing roaming around the swamp without a weapon? The blond-haired waif didn’t appear skilled enough to take on a box of kittens, much less any of the creatures she might run into in the swamp. Clearly, she was nuts. Sane people didn’t stroll through a swamp at night with nothing but a hundred-dollar spotlight. Which left him wondering whether or not she’d really heard a scream.

With all the tales surrounding the house, he was surprised someone from town would even venture to this area of the swamp, especially after dark. In fact, he’d been counting on that fear to keep from being caught himself. Perhaps curiosity had gotten the better of her, because she didn’t seem overly confident about being there. What bothered him more than anything was that a single woman with no weapon felt compelled to wander around these woods at night. She must have a darned good reason, and he couldn’t help but wonder what it was.

He took a cursory look at the areas of the home that were easily passable, but there weren’t many. The fire had destroyed a large section of the home, supposedly where the records on the girls had been held, but even the areas that hadn’t been touched by fire had obviously had visitors. All the cabinets in the kitchen were open, the drawers pulled completely out from the frames. Furniture had been upended so that not a single piece was left upright.

Shards of fabric hung from upholstered furniture, and piles of stuffing, covered with mold and dirt long ago, rested everywhere. Time alone would have destroyed the fabric, but it couldn’t have removed all the stuffing into neat piles. More likely, someone had slit the fabric and searched through the furniture after the fire. What were they looking for? Money? Jewels?

Or were they like him—looking for answers?

He couldn’t picture the spotlight waif tearing through furniture with a hunting knife, but maybe she was a good actress and had fooled him completely. Maybe she hadn’t been afraid or startled in the least and the story about the child had been designed to distract him from whatever she was doing at the house. The worst part was, it had worked.

He walked down a long hallway and shone his light into the rooms, looking for any sign of recent entry, but he found only the same mess as he’d seen in the front room. No little girl. No intruder. No bogeyman.

At the end of the hall, he looked out a huge picture window into the pitch-black swamp and blew out a breath. He had intended to make it to the house from the backside of the swamp during daylight. It would have been far easier to search, and no one lived anywhere near the back entrance into the swamp he’d planned to use. But work had delayed him and he’d arrived at sunset. Not willing to wait to get a first glance, he’d foolishly made the choice to approach the house entering the swamp in town, as the town was closer to the house than the back way he’d originally chosen. Now, he’d been caught by a local.

Tomorrow morning, he needed to find out what he could about the woman, Ginny Bergeron. Make sure she wasn’t going to be a problem. Because another problem was the last thing he needed.



GINNY PULLED HER LONG, straight hair through a ponytail holder and smoothed out the wrinkles in her café T-shirt. She’d overslept, which was rare, but then she usually didn’t spend part of her night scared out of her wits by a stranger in the swamp and then sit up for hours with every light in her apartment blazing. She’d even overcooked the roast and now had tough, leathery sandwiches to look forward to for days.

Her mind had raced last night, even after she’d finally drifted off to sleep, and plagued her with dreams so vivid that she felt she was there. The house and a child were in her dreams, but she couldn’t see the child’s face. Now, in the bright light of the bathroom mirror, she wondered if the child in her dreams had been her. In the bright light of the bathroom mirror, she almost wondered if she’d heard the scream.

She shook her head. No, she wasn’t crazy. The scream had been real, but many things had stopped her from picking up the phone last night and calling the police. No proof. Everyone in town looking at her strangely again. The list went on and on, and there was no time to cover it all now.

She locked the apartment door behind her and hurried down the stairs. Today was the first day of the town’s annual Fall Festival and the café would be crowded early so that everyone could get to the town square and set up their booths. If a little girl was missing, Ginny would be certain to hear about it during breakfast service. Then she’d go to the police. If no one was missing, she would have to admit that her imagination had played tricks on her and figure out how she felt about that.

In the meantime, she was almost late for work, and the last thing she needed was to give her mother any indication that her life was not calm and, if not perfect, at least boring. Madelaine looked up from her bowl of pancake mix as Ginny exited the stairwell into the kitchen. She gave her a critical once-over, then went back to mixing the batter.

“Thought maybe you were calling in sick,” Madelaine said.

“No, sorry. Just overslept. I stayed up too late working on jewelry,” Ginny lied.

The bit of worry in Madelaine’s face relaxed. Her mother knew better than anyone how time could escape Ginny when she was making jewelry. “I thought you had everything ready for the festival already?”

“I did…do…just a last-minute thought.” Ginny tied an apron around her waist and slipped an order pad into one of the front pockets. She glanced down at her watch. “Is the coffee on out front?”

Madelaine nodded. “Did it first thing. Turned on the two pots in here, as well. Gonna be busy this morning.”

“Praise God and bring the customers,” Ginny said, quoting one of Madelaine’s favorite sayings.

Madelaine grinned. “If business goes well this week, we might even close for a bit. Go up to New Orleans and have somebody paint our toenails pink.”

Ginny laughed, a feeling of normalcy returning to her in a rush. “That sounds wonderful.” She glanced at the front of the café, where a crowd was already gathering outside. “It’s a couple minutes till, but I think I’ll take pity and let them in.”

Madelaine nodded and Ginny opened the front door of the café at 5:49 a.m. to a happy roar of locals.

Two hours later, the last of the townspeople had completed the breakfast rush and Ginny slumped in a chair in the kitchen. Madelaine handed her a glass of iced tea and took a seat on a stool in front of the giant double sink teaming full of dishes.

“Busy one,” Madelaine said as Ginny took a huge drink of the cold tea.

“I think the good weather’s bringing everyone out.”

Madelaine nodded. “Should be a good turnout for the festival. Maybe some more New Orleans stores will see your jewelry and want to stock it.”

“I’ve got my fingers crossed. It’s doing well at Sarah’s shop, but I’d love to have more distribution.”

Madelaine opened her mouth to reply, but the dinging of the bell on the front door stopped her. She motioned to Ginny, who was already rising from her chair. “You take a break for a minute. I’ll get the order. You can deliver the food.”

Ginny sank back down, grateful for the reprieve, no matter how slight. A couple of minutes later, Madelaine hustled back into the kitchen, scooped a huge cinnamon roll onto a plate and handed it to Ginny.

“That’s it?”

“No. He wants an omelet but asked to have this out first. And he’ll likely need a coffee refill, the way he was downing the first cup.”

“Who is it?” Ginny asked as she started toward the kitchen door.

Madelaine shrugged as she cracked eggs on the skillet. “Probably here for the festival.”

This early? The thought flashed through Ginny’s mind and just as quickly, a second thought hit her and she sucked in a breath. Surely not.

She pushed open the kitchen door just enough to scan the café without being seen. It was empty except for one booth on the far end from the door occupied by the man who, unfortunately, had his back to Ginny. You’re being foolish. What are the odds?

She pushed the door completely open and stepped into the café. She was only a couple of feet from the man’s table when he turned slightly to look up at her.

It was him. The man from the swamp.

Her heart rate spiked and she dropped her gaze to her hands, clutching the plate so hard, she thought it would snap. It took every ounce of control for her to set the plate in front of him. She forced herself to raise her head and meet his gaze, and she was surprised to notice he seemed out of sorts as well. He was older than she’d originally thought, maybe early thirties, but then her eyes had been on his gun last night and not him. His dark brown hair was a little long and lay in natural waves. Green eyes studied her as she reached for the coffeepot on the counter station and refilled his empty cup.

“Your omelet will be ready in a couple of minutes,” she said, trying to keep her voice even. “Is there anything else I can get you?”

He shook his head, but Ginny got the impression there was something he wanted to say but didn’t. She took that as her cue to exit, but as she turned to walk away, he grabbed her arm. She looked down at his hand, wrapped around her wrist, and wondered why this man made her feel so nervous, so off-balance.

“I probably owe you an apology,” he said and drew his hand back from her arm. “I didn’t mean to scare you last night, but you surprised me. I didn’t expect to find anyone out in the swamp at that time of night.”

“Neither did I.”

He gave her an uneasy chuckle. “Yeah, I guess not. So anyway, sorry I grabbed you.”

“It’s okay.” Ginny was more than ready to end the uncomfortable conversation, but she took a breath then blurted out, “Did you find the child?”

He stared at her for a moment, the indecision in his eyes apparent. Finally, he shook his head. “No. I looked around, but I didn’t see any trace that someone else had been near the house, and I didn’t hear anything.”

She bit her lower lip, knowing she should just return to the kitchen and forget she’d ever been traipsing around the swamp. “Nothing at all?”

“I’m sorry,” he said and gave her a sympathetic look.

She gave him a brief nod and walked back toward the kitchen. Great, now he thinks I’m crazy and feels sorry for me.

Hell, who was she kidding? Despite her certainty last night, maybe she was crazy. There hadn’t been so much as a whisper about a missing child in the café all morning, and that kind of story would have been huge news in Johnson’s Bayou. Maybe she’d imagined the scream. That’s what she got for letting something build for so long without addressing it. She should have stalked straight to that house the first time her mind latched on it. Instead, she’d put it off for so long that her imagination had run wild.

Before she slipped into the kitchen, she glanced back at the man. She noticed he hadn’t bothered to explain what he’d been doing in the swamp at night, and she hadn’t wanted to ask. But she wondered. Now, he sat at an angle in the booth, talking on his cell phone, and from the look on his face, he didn’t like what he’d just heard.


Chapter Three

Paul gripped the phone, anxious for the information Mike, his partner at their New Orleans detective agency, was about to provide. “You’ve found something?”

“I may have a line on something, but I can’t be positive. The information on that case is so sketchy.”

“You thinking cover-up?”

“Not necessarily. It may have just been a case of inexperienced cops with a situation far beyond what they were qualified to handle. The whole thing is pretty weird. I mean, all those kids dying but no one coming to claim them. It reeks all the way around, Paul.”

“Yeah, I know, but it’s an avenue I have to check. So what did you find?”

“One student survived, for sure, but the bodies of one other student and the headmistress were never recovered. Then this is where it gets weird. The day after the fire, a girl walked out of the swamp and into town, but no one could identify her as a student. No one in the town, even the locals who worked at the home, had ever laid eyes on her.”

“Well, who did she say she was?”

“She didn’t know. Total amnesia.”

“Great. The best witness I might have and she doesn’t remember anything. Any idea where the girls are now?”

“I tracked the girl rescued from the house as far as a hospital in New Orleans, but the trail went cold after that. You’ll probably have to speak to people off the record. The hospital’s not likely to give you anything without a court order.”

Paul blew out a breath, knowing his partner was right, and that as things stood right now, he had no legal grounds to gain such a document. “And the other? The mystery girl?”

“That one’s a little trickier. There’s nothing in the police records. No follow-up at all, so the best I can do is a rumor from an old aunt of mine that lives down that way. She heard that the girl was adopted by someone in town. Thinks the woman who adopted her might own a restaurant or something.”

Paul clutched the phone and shot a glance toward the kitchen. Could it possibly be the café waif was looking for answers in the swamp, as well? “You’re sure?”

“No, I’m not sure about any of it, but my aunt is certain that’s what she heard. It may be something. It may not.”

“Okay, thanks. I’ll check out a few things here today and be in touch tonight.” Paul set the cell phone on the table and looked out the glass front of the café into the swamp. Ginny couldn’t be the child he was searching for. She was the right age, but the child he sought had brown eyes, something she’d always complained about. Ginny’s eyes were bright blue.

But if Ginny was the child who had wandered out of the swamp, maybe she remembered something. After all these years, surely some memory, even if seemingly insignificant, had returned. She was the only potential witness to a horrible crime, if you believed the rumors that the fire had been set. That might explain why she was out in the swamp after dark. Maybe her memory was returning.

“Here you go.” The older woman who’d taken his order slid a plate with an omelet and toast on the table in front of him. Paul looked up, momentarily disappointed that Ginny wasn’t delivering his food, but then, he could hardly force her to sit in the booth and tell all her secrets. She’d seemed nervous when he apologized earlier, and the last thing he wanted to do was alienate himself from the one lead he had. What he needed to do was find out more about Ginny, and then maybe he’d be able to design an approach.

“It looks great,” he said and glanced around the café. “Is it always so quiet in here?”

“Oh, no, not usually. But most of the locals have booths at the festival, so they’ve already been in and out. Is that what you’re here for?”

“Yes,” Paul lied, figuring the festival would make a good cover, at least for a couple of days. “I’d heard a bit about it and thought I’d check it out. Maybe get in some fishing afterward. I just didn’t realize it started this early.”

“The official kickoff is at noon, but setup takes a while for those with a lot of merchandise. I just sent my daughter off to set up her booth. I’ll likely close everything up once you’re done and head to the festival myself to help people out.”

“That sounds great. What does your daughter sell?”

“Handcrafted jewelry. She even fashions some of her own metal,” she said, her voice full of pride. “A store in New Orleans is selling some pieces already.”

Paul smiled. “My aunt has a boutique in Baton Rouge. I’ll take some pictures and maybe buy a few samples of your daughter’s work. She loves featuring items by Louisiana designers.”

The woman beamed. “That would be fantastic. Well, my name’s Madelaine, and my daughter’s Ginny. I’m gonna get out of here and let you finish your breakfast.”

She hustled back to the kitchen, and Paul turned his attention to the omelet. The festival was the perfect cover, and it provided an excellent reason for him to ask some questions about Ginny, both to Ginny and to others.

Less than one day in town and he already had a lead. Not bad at all.



THE MAN WATCHED HER from across the town square as she unpacked jewelry from cardboard boxes and arranged it on a folding table covered with black velvet draping. She didn’t appear different from what she did any other day, but he knew something was different. He’d noticed her staring out the window of the café lately, looking toward the abandoned school.

After all these years, she’d never seemed to care. Never wanted to talk about her past when people, even specialists like doctors and counselors, tried to bring it up. So why did it seem her curiosity was developing now? What had changed? Nothing in town or within her immediate family and friends. He was sure about that, as he knew everyone in Johnson’s Bayou.

Was she starting to remember?

He hoped not, because he liked Ginny. Liked the young woman she’d become. It would be a shame to have to kill her now.



GINNY TOOK THE CASH from another happy customer and handed her a bag of jewelry in exchange. The woman thanked her and hurried off to meet her husband, who’d waited almost patiently for the thirty minutes the woman had taken to pick out the perfect pair of earrings. Ginny tucked the cash into her apron and smiled at Mrs. Foster, who was giving her a thumbs-up from her table of baked goods across the brick walkway.

With her table empty of customers for the first time that day, Ginny decided to walk across to Mrs. Foster’s table and grab up something good before it was all gone. Mrs. Foster’s baking was famous in Johnson’s Bayou, and Ginny didn’t want to miss out.

“You been doing some good business today,” the silver-haired Mrs. Foster said as Ginny approached. “You might sell out before me.”

Ginny laughed. “That will be the day.” Ginny scanned the table of picked-over goodies. “No more coffee cake?” she asked, trying not to let her disappointment show in her voice.

Mrs. Foster reached beneath the table and brought up a coffee cake, a big grin on her face. “I saved one for you.”

“Bless you,” Ginny said and pulled some money out of her apron.

Mrs. Foster shook her head. “Your money’s no good here. Those earrings you made me are still the most coveted at bingo night.”

Ginny smiled. “Then we’re even, because I might have a matching necklace tucked under my table for you.”

Mrs. Foster’s face lit up and she clapped her hands. “That old biddy Adelaide will never get over it. You’ve made my day, Ginny.”

Mrs. Foster’s gaze shifted past Ginny and she pointed. “Got a new customer. Nice-looking one, too.”

Ginny looked back at her table, then froze. It was him.

She supposed Mrs. Foster was right. He was good-looking, when she could manage to separate the man standing at her booth from the man who’d scared her half to death the night before. He studied the jewelry with more interest than she would have expected from a guy, but she immediately chided herself for such a sexist thought. For all she knew, he may have a wife or girlfriend at home whom he was purchasing for. She knew she should go back to her table, but she hesitated. He made her uneasy in a way she’d never felt before.

Finally, she took a deep breath and began to cross the walkway. Suddenly, he stiffened, then reached for a custom metal necklace at the end of her table. He stared at the piece, his expression a mixture of surprise and confusion.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

He whirled around to face her and shoved the necklace at her. “Where did you get this design?”

Surprised by his obvious agitation, she took a step back. “I…I didn’t get it anywhere.”

He waved one hand at her table, his frustration apparent. “You used it in half of your jewelry. Why? What does it mean to you?”

Ginny stared, not certain what answer he was looking for, but clearly she didn’t have the right one. “It doesn’t mean anything to me. It’s just a design I thought of. It was popular with the customers, so I adopted it as a sort of signature.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “You just thought of the design? Just like that?”

Ginny bristled, done with his attitude. “Yes, that’s what artists do. They just think of things then create them. If you’re not interested in purchasing that necklace, please return it to the table and be on your way, Mr....” She trailed off, realizing that he’d never given her his name.

“Stanton. Paul Stanton.”

He studied her face with an intensity that was almost alarming. Ginny got the distinct impression he was trying to decide if she was lying, although about what she had absolutely no idea.

“I’ll take this necklace,” he said and pulled out his wallet. “How much?”

Ginny’s initial instinct was to refuse to sell him the necklace and demand that Paul Stanton leave her table, but she was afraid he wouldn’t be put off that easily. More than anything, she wanted this angry, suspicious man out of her personal space. “Twenty dollars.”

He pulled a twenty out of his wallet and handed it to her. “You’re certain you’ve never seen this design somewhere before?”

“What do you want me to say—that I stole the design from someone? Well, I didn’t. I had that image in my mind years before I began designing jewelry.” Since the day I walked out of the swamp and into Johnson’s Bayou.

“How long?”

Ginny frowned. “How long have I been designing jewelry?”

“No. How long have you had that image in your mind?”

“I don’t see—”

“Just tell me.”

His voice had a desperate edge to it, and Ginny began to see something behind the frustration in his expression. Fear?

“Sixteen years,” Ginny replied. As long as I can remember.

He stared at the swirl of metal that lay on his palm. “Sixteen years,” he whispered and clutched his hand around the necklace before he turned and walked away.

What in the world? Ginny stared at his retreating figure, at a complete loss over their exchange. She didn’t think the design was stolen. Surely, she’d have seen it before now if that was the case, but Paul Stanton had acted as if he’d seen the pattern before. Seeing the design on her jewelry had clearly bothered him.

But why?

She watched as he disappeared into the festival crowd, somehow knowing she hadn’t seen the last of him. Turning to her table, she looked at the rows of metal pieces, many fashioned in the same swirl of circles with one circle in the middle, giving the design a flower-like appearance. She’d never questioned where the design had come from. It had always been there.

Even though it was at least eighty degrees outside, she felt a chill run over her. Was the design part of her past? The single item she’d brought out of the woods with her?

And if so, what did it mean to Paul Stanton?


Chapter Four

Ginny placed what remained of her jewelry in the plastic storage container and strapped it on the dolly she’d borrowed from the café. It had been a good day for sales, and despite her somewhat unnerving run-in with Paul Stanton, she felt upbeat as she pulled her purse strap over her shoulder.

“Need any help?” Madelaine’s voice sounded behind her, and she turned to smile at her mother, who was laden down with bags.

“Looks like I should be asking you that question.” She pulled the top off her storage container and collected some of her mother’s shopping bags, dropping them inside. Her mother unwound more bags from her other arm and continued adding to the container until it was full. She was still clutching two more bags.

“Whew, that’s a relief,” Madelaine said, rubbing her forearm with her free hand.

Ginny secured the top on the container, shaking her head. “What in the world did you buy? You live here year-round with everyone selling their wares. You don’t have to buy everything at one time.”

“Carol’s aunt was here—the one I told you about, remember?”

“The seamstress?”

“That’s the one. When we chatted at Carol and Glenn’s anniversary party, I mentioned wanting new tablecloths and such for the café but not being able to find what I was looking for premade. I was going to call her to get some pricing, but one thing led to another, and well, you know how it is.”

Ginny swung the dolly around behind her and they started walking down Main Street toward the café. “You forgot.”

“Exactly.”

“So what’s with all the packages?”

“The aunt had an idea for the café based on what I’d described and made up some tablecloths and napkins, figuring if I wasn’t interested, she’d sell them at her shop in New Orleans.”

Madelaine dug in one of her bags and pulled out a napkin fashioned from patches of bright patterned materials in turquoise, pink, green and yellow. She handed the napkin to Ginny. “How perfect is that?”

Ginny looked down at the splash of colorful fabrics and smiled. “It is perfect and totally you.” She handed the napkin back to Madelaine. “What about valances? That blue gingham with the sunflowers has been hanging there since I was a little girl.”

“She’s coming by tomorrow to measure the windows. I’m also thinking it’s time for a fresh coat of paint, maybe a sunny yellow to match that color in the napkins. What do you think?”

“I think it sounds like a lot of work…but nice.”

Madelaine waved a hand in dismissal. “I’ll hire Saul Pritchard to do the painting. He finished up Carol’s bedroom last week, so I know he’s got the time. So I guess the almost-empty container means you had a good day.”

“It was an excellent day. I sold everything but ten pieces, and a couple of buyers for bigger shops bought pieces and took pictures and business cards.”

“Whoo! I’m telling you, one day you’re going to be famous and you’re going to buy me a nice beach house in the Bahamas, with one of those cute guys who bring you fancy drinks.”

“A cabana boy?” Ginny laughed. “If I get rich and famous, it’s a deal.”

“Carol said she saw a likely candidate at your booth today when she passed with her grandkids. From her description, I thought it might be that good-looking young man who was in the café this morning.”

Ginny nodded, struggling not to frown. “He bought a necklace.”

“That’s it?” The disappointment in Madelaine’s voice was clear.

“Yes, that’s it. What was he supposed to do?”

“Well, he said he had family that owned a store, but maybe he plans on taking the piece to them to see. And I thought…well…oh, never mind.”

“You thought since he was over ten and under sixty, I should jump him at the festival?”

“Of course not, but a nice lunch wouldn’t be out of line. Oh well, he said he was taking a bit of a vacation. Maybe you’ll see him again before the festival is over.”

Ginny stopped in front of the café and pulled her keys from her purse to unlock the front door, trying not to think about what Madelaine had said. She’d bet everything she owned that Paul Stanton was not on vacation. He had far too much intensity for a man who was supposed to be relaxing. Ginny was certain he was in Johnson’s Bayou for a reason, but she didn’t even want to know what it was. She just wanted him to leave her alone.

“You coming in?” Ginny asked.

“No. I’m pooped. I’m gonna take a long shower and go to bed early.” She gave Ginny a kiss on the cheek. “Just leave my bags in the kitchen. I’ll deal with them tomorrow.”

Ginny pulled the dolly into the kitchen and unloaded her mother’s bags on the desk in the back corner of the kitchen. She grabbed the almost-empty container and hauled it upstairs with her to refill for tomorrow’s display. She balanced the wide container on her hip and the wall to unlock her apartment, but the instant she stepped inside, she knew something was wrong.

She stood stock-still just inside the front door and felt the hair on the back of her neck rise. She listened for sounds that would indicate anyone was there, but all she heard was the quiet ticking of the kitchen clock. Scanning every square inch of the room, she tried to find something out of place. Something that would explain her fear, but everything appeared as it had when she’d left that morning.

She started to move, but then a scent wafted past her nose. The faint smell of musk, like a man’s aftershave. Without a sound, she placed the container on the floor next to the door and walked toward her bedroom, leaving the door to the apartment wide open in case she needed to make a run for it. She stopped just outside the bathroom and reached around the wall with her hand to flip on the lights. Light flooded the tiny room, and one quick look was all it took for her to know it was empty. The curtain was pulled back on the bathtub, just as she’d left it that morning, so no one could be hiding inside, and the tiny bathroom didn’t have a linen closet.

Easing down the hall, she reached inside her bedroom and turned on the lights. The room appeared undisturbed, and she was glad she’d left in a hurry that morning and left her closet door open. It was so small that she could see every square inch from the doorway, and no one lurked inside. Her bed was platform style with drawers for storage underneath, so no one could be hiding there.

Relief washed over her and she plopped down on the bed, chiding herself for scaring herself half to death over nothing. She needed to get a grip on her overactive imagination. It had been getting worse for some time, but ever since her trip into the woods and her run-in with Paul Stanton, it seemed to be in overdrive. She pulled open the drawer on her nightstand to retrieve lip balm she kept inside and froze.

Her diary had been moved.

She leaned over for a closer look, but she knew it wasn’t where she’d left it. It wasn’t off by much, but she was almost anal about fitting it exactly into the corner of the drawer. Now, it lay about an inch from the side. Lifting the journal from the drawer, she inspected the bookmark. Just as she suspected, it was off. The pink flower that she always left peeking out from the top of the journal was buried halfway in the book.

Suddenly, she remembered that she’d left the front door wide open and she jumped up from the bed, dropping her journal on the bed as she dashed out of the room. She slammed the door and slid the dead bolt into place, then leaned back against it, trying to slow her racing heart.

No one but Madelaine had a key to her apartment, or the café, for that matter. And she couldn’t think of any reason at all that someone would break into her apartment to read her journal. She didn’t have much of value, but she kept a stash of cash in the same nightstand as the journal, and it was still there. It didn’t make sense. Why would anyone go through the trouble of finding an undetected way into the café and her apartment just to read the ramblings of a waitress?

Paul Stanton!

Ever since he’d grabbed her in the woods last night, he’d shown up everywhere she was. Granted, it was a small town, so that wasn’t hard to do, but Ginny didn’t believe for a moment that he’d picked Johnson’s Bayou at random for a vacation and then went roaming around the woods at night carrying a gun for relaxation.

Then there was that scene at the festival today. She’d seen his expression when he asked her about the necklace. He was surprised and agitated and afraid, all at the same time, just as he had been when he’d found her in the woods that night. But why?

Ginny crossed the room to the kitchenette and pulled a bottle of wine out of the refrigerator. She had moved past scared to angry. A glass of wine and a hot bath were in order. It had been a long day of work between the café and the festival, and she had to do it all again tomorrow.

She took a sip of the wine and stared out the kitchen window into the woods. If Paul Stanton had the nerve to show up at the café or the festival tomorrow, she was going to give him a piece of her mind.

In fact, she was almost looking forward to it.



PAUL TIMED HIS ENTRY into the café just after the locals had cleared out to set up for the festival. He’d barely slept, his mind rolling around every possibility associated with the jewelry he’d purchased from Ginny the day before. The jewelry laid out in the same swirl of circles that his sister used to draw on everything—her signature, she used to call it. Their mother had even helped her paint the design on her bedroom walls in bright pinks and blues.

It wasn’t impossible that two people would have the same idea, but it was highly unlikely. And if Ginny was the girl who had wandered out of the woods the day the LeBlanc School had burned, then Lord only knew what might be locked in her memory. If her lost memories contained anything to do with his sister, he intended to figure out a way to access them. Surely, she would understand…would help, if he explained the situation. She’d seemed nice enough, despite his less-than-polite behavior, and her mother had definitely shown all the signs of Southern hospitality.

He slipped into an empty booth at the back of the café, as far away as possible from the few patrons who were still lingering. Until he had a better idea of exactly what had happened at that school all those years ago, it was best to keep his purpose in town hidden from the masses. Plus, if he asked Ginny personal questions and she got uncomfortable, locals would probably jump in to protect her. That was typical small-town behavior.

The couple sitting nearest to his booth rose right after he’d taken his seat and left some money on the table. Perfect timing. Now all he needed was for Ginny to come over with her order pad. He hadn’t seen her when he walked in, but she was probably in the back plating food or running dirty dishes through the wash.

The door to the kitchen swung open and he took a deep breath, mentally preparing the words he wanted to say. A second later, he let out the breath in a whoosh of disappointment as Madelaine approached his table, a big smile on her face.

“Morning,” she said. “You want coffee?”

“Yes, please,” he said, trying not to let his disappointment show.

Madelaine stopped at a pot on the counter to pour him a cup of coffee, then placed it on the table in front of him. “Guess the food didn’t kill you yesterday.”

“No. In fact, your omelet is one of the best I’ve ever had.”

Madelaine blushed a bit. “Oh, well, what a nice thing to say. Did you enjoy the festival yesterday?”

“Yes. I was impressed with the variety of the artists.”

“Ginny said you bought a necklace from her. Do you think your aunt might be interested in carrying some of her stuff?”

Paul’s mind went blank for a moment and then he remembered the lie that had rolled off his tongue the day before. “It’s certainly possible,” he said, suddenly realizing why Madelaine was steering the conversation to Ginny.

Which also gave him the perfect opportunity to inquire about her. “I didn’t get a chance to talk with her yesterday,” he said. “I was hoping to catch her this morning. Has she already left for the festival?”

Madelaine beamed. “No. She ran upstairs for a second. Just let me take your order so I can get it started and I’ll send her right out to chat with you.”

“Great,” Paul said and ordered the breakfast special.

Madelaine stuffed her pad in her apron and hurried into the kitchen, still smiling. Paul felt a momentary twinge of guilt for deliberately misleading the nice woman, but it passed quickly. A little white lie was a small price to pay if it led him to information about his sister.

A couple of minutes later, Ginny came through the kitchen door and into the café. She looked toward his booth and hesitated just a moment before continuing to make her way over. She did not look happy to see him.

“I don’t know who you think you are,” she said, glaring down at him, “but I want you to leave here before I call the police.”

Paul stared for a moment before launching into action. “Wait,” he said as she started to move away. “I’m sorry I offended you yesterday, but being rude isn’t an offense you need the police to deal with.”

“Breaking into my apartment is.”

“I didn’t.... Someone broke into your apartment? Look, I swear, it wasn’t me. I don’t even know where you live.”

She studied his face, and he waited for her to draw a conclusion. Surely, the shock he felt was clear in his expression. If not, then he was sunk. It was much harder to prove you hadn’t done something than proving you had. She bit her lower lip and rolled an end of her apron between her fingers.

“But you want something from me,” she said finally. “And I don’t believe for a minute it’s my jewelry.”

Paul ran one hand through his hair, not wanting to immediately launch into his reasons but knowing he needed to explain enough to keep her from running. “No. I’m not interested in your jewelry—at least, not as a buyer.”

“Are you still accusing me of stealing that design?” Ginny’s face flushed.

“No. That’s not it at all.” Paul saw the kitchen door open a crack and Madelaine peeked over at them. “Look, I need to talk to you. It’s personal and I don’t want anyone else to know what I’m doing here. Is there any way you can take a break?”

Ginny glanced back at the kitchen and Madelaine ducked back inside. “Let me get your breakfast and tell my mom I’m going to speak to you a bit before heading to the festival. We’re closing soon, anyway.”

Relief coursed through him. “Thank you. I promise I’ll explain everything.”

“You better,” Ginny said, then spun around and headed back into the kitchen.

Paul watched her walk through the door to the kitchen and tried to organize his thoughts. He’d hoped to get information from her without divulging the real reason behind his query, but if someone had broken into her apartment, that changed everything. The timing could be totally coincidental, but it would be one heck of a coincidence.

And one that Paul wasn’t ready to buy.


Chapter Five

Ginny hurried back into the kitchen, her emotions all over the place. She didn’t believe Paul was the person who’d broken into her apartment. The look of shock on his face was genuine, unless he was the best actor she’d ever met. But he was a man with secrets, and for some reason he seemed to think his secrets involved or included her. That unnerved her on many levels, especially as she’d never met the man before that night in the woods. What could he possibly want with her?

And if Paul Stanton hadn’t broken into her apartment, then who had?

She broke off her thoughts as she approached the grill, hoping the stress she felt didn’t show on her face. Madelaine turned from the grill with Paul’s breakfast order. “I saw you talking to Mr. Cutie.” She gave Ginny a big smile. “So is he interested in your jewelry, or something else?”

Ginny forced a smile. “He would like to talk to me some about my designs. I told him I could spare a few minutes while he ate, if that’s all right.”

“Of course. The café’s almost empty, and I’ve just got to clean this grill and rinse the coffeepots. Take all the time you need. I’m going to finish up in here then head out to the festival. You can lock up the front when you’re done.”

Ginny took the plate from Madelaine and slipped bottles of catsup and Tabasco in her apron. “Thanks,” Ginny said and hurried out of the kitchen with the food before Madelaine could clue in to how nervous she was. The woman could read her far too well for Ginny to fool her for long.

She placed the plate, catsup and Tabasco on the table in front of Paul, refilled his coffee and poured herself a cup before sliding into the booth across from him. The last of the patrons said goodbye as they stepped out of the café, and Ginny gave them a wave. “My mom is going to finish up in the back, but I don’t have very long before I have to get to the festival. Please tell me what this is about.”

Paul nodded and pulled out his wallet. He flipped it open and showed Ginny a license inside.

Ginny stared at the license in surprise. “A detective? What in the world…I mean, why would a detective need anything from me?”

“I’m looking for a missing child. She’d be a young woman now, but she went missing sixteen years ago.”

Ginny’s pulse began to race. “And you think I’m her?”

“No. You don’t have the right eye color. Her eyes were brown and I think she’s probably a little older than you, but not by much.”

“I don’t understand, Mr. Stanton. There are no other adopted women my age in Johnson’s Bayou, and if I’m not the girl you’re looking for, then I don’t know how I can help.”

“I thought the girl I’m looking for may have been at the school in the woods. You’re the girl who wandered out of the swamp the day after the school caught fire, aren’t you?”

Ginny froze. Of all the things that had ran through her mind, this wasn’t one of them, which was stupid since her first run-in with Paul Stanton had been at the LeBlanc School.

“I…yes, that was me. But I still don’t see what good that does you.”

“I hoped that you may remember something…anything that would help me find out if she was at the LeBlanc School.”

“But I don’t remember anything. I never have. I don’t even know if I was at the LeBlanc School. “

“Then why were you in the woods that night at the house?”

“I don’t know.”

He narrowed his eyes. “So you normally stroll through a swamp at night, carrying an expensive spotlight?” he asked. “And don’t tell me you were hunting. I won’t buy it.”

“I was, oh, I don’t know what I was doing. I guess I thought if I saw the house that maybe…”

Paul stared at her, clearly surprised. “You’ve never been to the house before that night? That’s hard to believe.”

“I never had a reason to go. Knowing what happened that night wasn’t going to change my life now. I don’t expect you to understand.”

Paul stirred his coffee, silent. After a couple of seconds, he spoke. “I understand. The truth of what happened that night must be horrid, or your mind wouldn’t have blocked it all this time. Remembering won’t add any value to your life now, and in fact it may only take away.”

Ginny stared. “You surprise me, Mr. Stanton.”

“Please call me Paul.” He gave her a sad smile. “I know what it’s like to live in the past. Part of you moves forward every day, but you’re not really existing in this point in time. You’re not really living because the part of you clinging to the past weighs you down—steals a part of you so that you can’t be whole.”

Ginny felt the weight of his sadness, and a thought flashed through her mind. “You knew her—the missing girl?”

“Her name is Kathy. She’s my sister.”

“Oh, no!” Ginny reached across the table and placed her hand on Paul’s. “I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine losing someone so close and never knowing what happened. You think she was at the LeBlanc School? But why didn’t your parents come claim her after the fire?”

“Our parents were killed in a car accident, and we had no other family. We were separated by the foster care system, and I stopped hearing from her sixteen years ago. When I was old enough to insist on tracking her down, I found out that she’d been ‘lost.’”

“How do you lose a child you’re being paid to protect?” The thought horrified Ginny.

“I’d love an answer to that, but her foster parents disappeared, as well. Their identities were fakes, and I’ve never been able to trace them any further.”

Ginny’s mind raced with all the possibilities of what could have happened to his sister, and none of them were good. “What made you think your sister might have been at the LeBlanc School?”

“I didn’t really, before I came here. Any more than I thought I would find her when I looked into a hundred other cases of dead girls who’d never been identified, but then I saw your jewelry…”

Ginny gasped. “The design?”

Paul nodded. “My sister used to draw that design all the time. It was on every school notebook…my mom even helped her paint it on her bedroom wall.”

“You think I saw that design at the LeBlanc School—that your sister drew it somewhere and it stuck in my mind.” Ginny took a deep breath then blew it slowly out. “I wish I could help you, but I swear I don’t remember anything, not even the design. It’s just always been in my mind.”

“But yet, you went into the woods at night. If you really don’t remember and don’t care to, why did you go?”

Ginny lowered her gaze to the tabletop. “You’d think it was crazy,” she said, almost angry with herself that she cared what he thought. She barely knew him. Why should his opinion of her matter?

This time Paul reached across the table to squeeze her hand. “I would never think you’re crazy. Please, talk to me.”

“I feel something. Like something’s out there watching. I look into the woods and I don’t see anything, but it’s almost like it silently calls to me. Like something alive.” She withdrew her hand from his and took a drink of her coffee. “I told you you’d think I was crazy.”

Paul stared at her for a couple of seconds, and Ginny could tell he was contemplating her words. “You’re wrong,” he said finally. “I still don’t think you’re crazy.”

“You don’t have to humor me.”

“I’m not humoring you. I think you’re sensing something. Some people are very intuitive. If things feel different to you now from how they did before, then something has changed. The fact that it’s not immediately visible is disconcerting, but hardly proof that you’re imagining it.”

He frowned. “And besides, you’re forgetting a huge point in your favor.”

“What’s that?”

“Someone broke into your apartment. Someone is watching.”

Ginny crossed her arms across her chest as a chill passed over her. “What do they want?”

“I think if we can figure out the why, we may be able to figure out the who.”

“We…?” Private detective, she reminded herself. “Oh, but I don’t have the money to pay you—”

“I don’t want any money,” he interrupted. “I just want to help.”

Ginny sighed. “You’re hoping I’ll remember something about your sister.”

“I’d be foolish not to hope, but I meant what I said about helping you. Even if your past doesn’t help me at all, I’m not going to leave you to deal with whatever is going on. I’ll help you find the truth, if you’re willing to work with me.”

“What would I have to do?”

“Involve me in your life, for starters. I can’t watch things closely if we’re polite strangers.”

“But how? Everyone knows the only family I have is Madelaine, and I don’t want her to know anything about this at all. She’d worry herself to death, and it might all be nothing.”

Paul nodded. “A family connection wasn’t exactly the kind I had in mind.”

Ginny felt a flush run up her neck and onto her face. “You want me to pretend we have a romantic relationship?” She shook her head. “I don’t think I can do that. I’m not the relationship kind.”

“That makes two of us, but all you have to do is pretend for a bit.”

Ginny’s mind screamed at her to say no. To walk away from the table and pretend she’d never laid eyes on Paul Stanton, but her body had responded to Paul’s suggestion in a completely different way—one that made Ginny’s mind scream even more. “What exactly would I have to do, to pretend, that is?”

“That we met at the café, chatted and enjoyed each other’s company. I already told your mother I was here on vacation. There’s nothing wrong with a little vacation romance.”

“I don’t think anyone will buy that.” Paul, with his toned body, wavy brown hair and supersexy green eyes, was the kind of man who could have anyone. No way would anyone believe he’d chosen her.

Paul looked at her, his confusion clear. “Are you gay?”

“No. I just…I don’t think I’m the kind of girl someone like you would be interested in.”

“Are you kidding me? You’re beautiful.” He stared at her for a minute, then shook his head. “You really don’t know that, do you?”

Ginny looked down at her watch, not saying a word.

He rose from the booth. “I better get out of here and let you get to the festival before your mother starts worrying. I know we still have a lot to talk about, but we can get to it later. I want you to act completely normal. I don’t want anyone to know that you are on to them.”

Ginny nodded, still stunned from Paul’s earlier declaration.

“I’ll drop by the booth when you’re not busy. In the meantime, I’ll be around, watching.” He pulled a card from his pocket and handed it to her. “That card has my cell number on it. If you see anything suspicious or get that feeling like you’re being watched, call me immediately.”

He pulled some money out of his wallet and handed it to her. “When you see your mother, please tell her the breakfast was great.” He exited the café and walked down the sidewalk toward the town square.

Ginny stared after him for a minute, then jumped up and locked the café door behind him.

He’d called her beautiful.

That almost scared her more than knowing someone was watching her.



PAUL WALKED AMONG THE booths of the festival, stopping occasionally to chat with townspeople about their wares and then making notes on his phone to go over with Ginny later on. Whoever was watching Ginny was probably someone local—someone she’d known her entire life, which was why they weren’t on her radar. Someone who knew the truth about the past had sensed a change in Ginny or perhaps misread an action and now feared her memory was returning.

And that could be very dangerous for Ginny, especially if something nefarious had gone down at the LeBlanc School all those years ago. Paul believed something was wrong with the entire situation, the school, the girls with no families to speak of, the fire—all of it reeked to high heaven. Someone was already watching her, had already risked getting caught in her apartment. They’d taken that risk for a good reason.

With any luck, he’d figure it out before Ginny’s watcher escalated to something worse than reading her journal.

He had to make sure that no one suspected his involvement in researching Ginny’s past. In small towns, people would notice everything, especially a stranger dating a local. He had to make sure people believed he was interested in Ginny in the dating sort of way, despite being as averse to relationships as Ginny claimed to be.

He’d meant it when he told her she was beautiful. She was, in fact, one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen outside of television or magazines. Even without the benefit of camera filters and Photoshop, her skin was flawless, her hair so silky it made him want to touch it. And the eyes. Her eyes were more than just brilliant pools of blue. They conveyed emotion without words.

Get a grip!

The words echoed through his mind. The last thing in the world he should be doing right now is running down a laundry list of Ginny Bergeron’s most attractive qualities. He needed to get as much information as he could from her, figure out what the threat to her was and eliminate it, then get out of Johnson’s Bayou and back on with his life.

He looked over at Ginny’s booth, which had been crowded the entire day. Two women who’d been deliberating over the selection for almost a half hour finally made their choices and left Ginny’s table with satisfied looks on their faces. It was the first time that day her booth had been empty, so he walked over to check in. Ginny looked up from her cash box as he approached and gave him a tentative smile.

“Busy today,” he said. There were more bare gaps on the table than jewelry.

“Definitely. I’m glad I made extra pieces earlier this week, or I’d run out before the festival is over.”

“How long does it last?”

“One more day.”

“Good. I can get a rundown on the locals from you tonight, and hopefully some of them will still be around tomorrow so I can get a feel for the ones that interest me.”

Ginny looked taken aback. “You think someone who lives here has been spying on me?”

“If it was a stranger, you would have already noticed him.”

“Yes, of course. I’m sorry. I must sound stupid, but all of this is so outside of my normal realm.”

“Don’t worry. It’s not outside of mine. I can explain to you how I work tonight.”

“What about tonight?” Madelaine’s voice sounded behind Paul.

He turned and gave her a smile as she stepped up to Ginny’s table. “I was just trying to convince Ginny to let me buy her dinner tonight.”

Madelaine beamed at Paul. “That’s so nice. Isn’t that nice, Ginny?” She poked Ginny, who looked remarkably guilty for a woman who hadn’t done anything wrong.




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