Page 3 of Scammed

“Looks like we have our next case.”

CHAPTER TWO

Marcel stared out at the bayou, his happy place. It was unlike anywhere else in the world, and he’d traveled the world. At least in his time, he traveled the world as it was then. By sea, but it was still travel. When he tried to explain to others about the beauty of his bayou, most didn’t understand. They questioned why anyone would want to live in a swamp with strange, deadly creatures and foul smells. Why live in a place where you must raise your floors off the ground for fear of flooding?

He would take his time explaining the differences between a swamp and a bayou, especially his family’s bayou.

“It’s just a swamp, Marcel,” said the harbormaster in Boston.

“No, mon ami, it’s not. A swamp doesn’t move. It’s there because of rain or overrun from a lake. It can smell and get nasty. My bayou, she’s different. She moves like the curves of a woman, sleek and special. It constantly flows with wide and shallow sections both. She has streams, rivers, and coastal areas. My bayou has plants, wildlife, saltwater and freshwater fish. No, mon ami, my bayou is important.”

He remembered that conversation so well. Many times, he tried to explain to others the beauty of his bayou. But how do you tell someone about the way the sun glows off the smooth water, her colors reflected like a prism, when they are colorblind to her beauty?

No, he never got the chance to tell the whole world about his special bayou, but he tried. Instead, his life was cut short by greed.

Marcel Robicheaux was an entrepreneur who sailed the oceans, bringing riches to and from his homeland in Louisiana. One thing he refused to touch was human flesh. He would not be a part of transporting slaves, nor would he take part in the buying or selling of flesh. He put his foot down on that and wouldn’t budge for anyone or for any amount of money.

Women were definitely trying to capture his attention and his fortune. But even for entertainment purposes, he refused to pay a woman for her time. There were plenty of women willing to spend time with him for free. He wasn’t about to pay a whore to have sex with him. If she were starving, in need, or had children who were starving, he always gave her some coin and tried to help. But he would not pay for flesh.

He also knew that with his family’s name and fortune, many young women were willing to have sex with him in the hopes of having a child by the infamous sailor.

But Marcel wasn’t stupid. There were ways to prevent such things from happening, and he made sure he followed the side of caution.

On his last voyage home, he was caught in a storm, in spite of his best efforts, then hit broadside by a rival ship. His only thought was to get his men off safely. And he did, at the expense of his own life. He didn’t know it then. In fact, he wasn’t sure he’d actually died. He seemed suspended in time, in place for decades. He could wander his family’s land, see the strange changes that time was bringing to Belle Fleur, but it seemed no one knew anything about him.

Then, one day, it was as if he were awakened. A tiny white-haired woman spoke to him, and he was keenly aware that she could actually see him, and he could see her. They could speak, they could have long conversations. She was a fascinating woman, and as he soon discovered, she was not the only one.

Yes, his bayou was magical and mystical, and the future generations of his family had done well in securing the beauty and expansion of the family lands. They’d created something beyond his wildest dreams.

Although happy to have some small part in it, he missed the human contact of flesh on flesh. Not just the flesh of a woman beneath him but just the contact of being able to shake a man’s hand. Being able to eat the vast array of delicious foods that those alive could devour. He missed it all so much.

“Ah, but you are a beauty,” he whispered, staring at the water.

There was a sharp stab in his chest, and he frowned. He hadn’t felt pain in more than two hundred years. He felt it again, like a warning of something to come. It was over his left breast, where his heart was once beating furiously with adrenaline, now with the slow beat of a drip from a faucet. How was this possible? Was it his time to leave this place?

Standing, he looked around the water, then behind him, but saw nothing. Unsure of what to make of it, he thought he’d ask Irene what it could be. Suddenly, he saw a small bateau coming around the curve. This was Robicheaux land, but that was not a Robicheaux boat.

He couldn’t see anyone in the vessel. One of his great abilities was to be able to float across the water. He couldn’t walk on the water, not exactly. But he could move across the water and to the other islands of his land. It had been a big solace to him before coming to all the others and making himself known.

Suddenly, a woman sat up in the boat, her soft sobs and cries tearing at his heart. She was alive, at least for the time being. She raised a small pistol, pointing it directly at herself. Marcel wanted to scream. But those in the living world generally were unable to hear him or see him. They only could if Irene or Matthew gave them permission, or will, or something.

He wanted, needed to do something. Gathering his energy and courage, he spoke.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” said the deep, rich voice. “A beautiful woman such as yourself deserves to live.”

Amy Fontenot had lived in the New Orleans area her entire life. She’d grown up in the parochial school system, attended the University of New Orleans, got a master’s degree from Tulane, and struck out on her own.

She’d buried her parents at twenty-five, heartbroken by their senseless car accident, then moved back in with her grandmother. Two years later, she passed as well. Deciding to leave the business world, Amy wanted to do something different. She wanted to make a difference in her city.

“Amy, your resume is impressive, but you’ve never done fundraising before,” said the man.

“I know. And I appreciate that you even agreed to interview me, but I know that I can be good at this. I’m from the city, I know a lot of people and business owners, I understand the culture, all things you’re going to need if we want to raise the awareness of the organization.”

“Well, I’ll give you this; you’re very convincing,” he laughed.

She held her breath for three days, waiting to hear if she would be given a chance. When the phone call came, there was a sudden feeling of dread, then elation.

“Welcome to the team, Amy. We’ll see you next Monday morning at nine.”

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