Page 27 of The Bitter Heir and the Beauty

“Allen? I thought we were going to pay our respects to Hogan Tickle.”

Honey’s Cajun accent is thick and I find myself enjoying the rhythm and occasionally having to decipher her meaning like a puzzle ... or a riddle.

She repeats, “Allons.It’s Cajun or Franglais. Whatever you want to call it. It meansLet’s go.”

Clouds obscure the sun as it dips toward the west. It’s later in the day than I’d like when visiting a cemetery. The path is overgrown and the long grass tickles my ankles. Unlike the cemeteries at higher elevations, the above-ground burial sites here are marked with chipped and broken stones like the dead aren’t really at rest. A massive live oak hangs over one section like it’s given up. A gust of wind clears the swampy air, replacing it with a salty brine. In the distance a sheet of water gleams. Only now getting the lay of the land, I had no idea we were so close to the coast.

When we reach the back, Honey stops in front of a mausoleum with embellishments carved into the stone. The top comes to a peak and underneath reads the name,Hogan Darius Tickle,and the years:1890-1963.

“He was the finder of Hogwash Holler.”

Not sure I heard correctly, I ask, “Do you mean founder?”

“This isn’t a cream brool situation.”

“Flapjacks,” I say, catching the reference to different terms and pronunciations of words from earlier.

She scowls at me but even in the fading light of the day, I see a shimmer in her eyes. “Pancakes. But as I was saying ... Way back in the way back?—”

I point to the gravestone. “Sometime in the early 1900s?”

She nods. “Hogan Tickle’s adventures led him in search of pirate treasure. Some say he was a distinguished member of the Royal Navy and went rogue. Others, believe that he was a pirate himself. No one knows the truth, only that he had in his possession a map which brought him here. Well, there.” She points toward the fort.

“The Metairie Stronghold,” I say, recalling the plat I’d looked at earlier while with the lawyer.

“Along with two other guys?—”

“Friends or foes?”

“Both? Jeb Dubois, Roger Cahoot, and Tickle called themselves the Boot Beer Boys, ”

“Let me guess, this was during prohibition.”

She nods. “However, on account of the abundance of sassafras, Tickle brewed root beer. He also gambled. Anyway, they discovered what we call the Dubois Diamond and the Roger Cahoot Ruby.”

“That’s three guys. Two treasures. Was there a falling out?”

“It’s pure speculation, but supposedly there was a third stone or treasure. Again, no one knows for sure, but they’ll all claim they do.”

I lean in, rapt by Honey’s sweet yet smokey voice as if we’re gathered around a campfire and she’s telling old tales. “What do you think?”

“I figured you’d know considering you’re supposedly Tickle’s kin and all.” She clicks her tongue.

I shake my head. “No relation. As I said, I came into this inheritance in my divorce settlement.”

“What didsheend up with?”

My lips bunch up with a shameful amount of self-satisfaction. “Nothing. Not even an ounce of my regret. I won’t let myself remember so much as her name.”

“Never mind a woman scorned ...” Honey mutters.

“If withholding my forgiveness was worthwhile, trust me, I’d do it.”

“So you forgave her?”

I nod, just barely. However, I’ll never forget.

Honey golf claps. “Yet you’re here and you’re not the first person to come through, claiming the property. Though this approach is new. Well done. As it is, my sleep is spotty and you’d have had to get up mighty early in the morning to pull one over on me.”

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