Darkest Journey (Krewe of Hunters #20)(51)
Why had he lied to her? He’d said he’d barely known the victims.
“So here’s the set list,” Alexi said, breaking into Charlie’s thoughts. “We’re doing a mix of Confederate and Union songs. We’ll do the old standbys, of course, ‘Dixie’ and ‘The Battle Hymn of the Republic,’ and then ‘Bonnie Blue Flag,’ ‘Lorena,’ ‘The Yellow Rose of Texas,’ ‘Just Before the Battle,’ ‘When Johnny Comes Marching Home,’ ‘All the Pretty Little Horses,’ ‘The Southern Wagon’...probably a few more. You know all those, right? Clara and I had a chance to run through them, and we want to throw in some more harmonies, maybe create a medley of some lesser-known songs. Here’s the thing. We pretty much came up with this whole thing on the spot, so we have to sound good without much of a chance to rehearse. You’re good to go, right?”
“Remember who my dad is. I can do them in my sleep,” Charlie assured her. She tried to smile and listen and nod at appropriate moments as Alexi went on to explain more of the logistics as the three men got up and wandered off to talk near the front door.
She wasn’t really listening, though; she was too worried about her father.
What she wanted to know wasn’t what songs they were going to sing in what order. She wanted to know what Ethan, Jude and Clara’s boyfriend, Thor, were talking about. If they had something on her dad and Ethan wasn’t sharing that information, she was going to be furious. She knew she was being hypocritical, since she was withholding information herself, but she didn’t care. This was about her father, for heaven’s sake.
Suddenly she realized that, despite the late hour, Ethan was about to leave.
She stopped pretending she was paying attention to Alexi and Clara, excused herself and walked over to join the men.
“Where are you going?” she asked Ethan, letting suspicion creep into her tone, though she hadn’t meant to.
He smiled. “I’m not plotting anything,” he said, but the look he gave her made it clear that he hadn’t forgotten she’d done some plotting of her own. “I’m just going to see my great-grandmother before we plunge into all of this tomorrow. And not to worry—she’s a night owl, and I’ve let her know I’m on my way.”
“I can go with you.”
“That’s all right, you’ll be fine here. Jude and Thor will keep you safe.”
“Like a pair of rottweilers,” Jude said.
“Oh, no, I’m not worried,” she said. “I’d just like to see your Tante Terese,” she told Ethan, using the name all the children had called her. Afraid that wasn’t going to be enough, she added, “Plus, my apartment is near her place in Treme, and I realized I wouldn’t mind grabbing a few things.”
He was hesitant, and she wondered if he was angrier than she’d realized. Then he shrugged.
“Sure. Let’s go.” He looked at the other two men, and they nodded. Without a word being said, she knew they’d just agreed to lock up and stay vigilant.
Ethan continued to be distant, politely opening the car door for her but driving in silence. Charlie broke that silence. “How is Tante Terese?” she asked. Ethan’s great-grandmother had been like a strange goddess when she came to visit St. Francisville. Her mother had been the granddaughter of a slave. Her father had been a sailor who had swept through New Orleans, then been killed at the tail end of World War I. Tante Terese would reach her hundredth birthday at the end of the year. She was a natural-born storyteller, and the kind of babysitter who never had to raise her voice, and yet every child obeyed her. Word was Tante Terese was a voodoo priestess and could see what they were doing when she wasn’t even looking at them.
“Remarkable,” Ethan said. He glanced her way and smiled. “She still doesn’t look a day over sixty.”
They arrived at her Treme neighborhood, just the other side of the French Quarter, off Rampart. Her home was a little whitewashed cottage built in the late 1800s. Her backyard was huge, and since one of her late husband’s nieces owned a carriage company, she kept and cared for some of the aging mules when they retired from taking tourists around the city.
It was nearly midnight, but when they arrived, they heard her call to them from the back. They walked around to the stables, where Terese was patting the neck of a mule whose halter bore a nameplate that said Lafayette.
She quickly hugged her great-grandson, then turned to Charlie.
“Why, child, you’ve grown up just as beautiful as I knew you would. Still sweet as can be, too, I imagine. You were a lovely child, and so polite every time I’d visit your mama and papa. I’m so happy you’ve come to see me. I was just asking Ethan about you. I heard about the bad things happening up your way. Will it never end? Anyway, I’ve finished saying good-night to Lafayette here, so come on in. I have tea ready to go.” Terese slipped an arm around Charlie’s shoulders and said, “I had to have one of the kids show me how to watch you on that YouTube thing, but my, my, I loved it when I did. Always knew you were going to be a performer, Charlie. I remember how you used to tap-dance all around the kitchen when you were just a wee thing.”
Charlie smiled, glancing over at Ethan. It was almost impossible to believe Terese’s age. She was still straight as a stick and nearly six feet tall, making Charlie feel short, though she was a respectable five-ten herself.