CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

As the team met to discuss next steps, Amy sat to the side at a picnic table, staring out over the bayou. She remembered Marcel's words about the beauty the bayou held, and she smiled, feeling its warmth. She'd lived here her entire life and never thought much about what was surrounding her. That all changed when Marcel spoke in bright colors and flowery illusions about the bayou, their home.

When her phone vibrated, she jumped, unsure of who would be texting her.

"Tina?" she whispered to herself. Staring at the phone, she saw the message that she'd dreaded.

Amy, not sure if you've heard, but Mr. Sheffield was murdered sometime this past weekend. His funeral will be held tomorrow at St. Anne's.

"Why the sad face?" asked Trak, staring at the young woman. She jumped, slightly startled by the sudden intrusion of her thoughts. The dark man gave a smirk, realizing that he needed to proceed with caution.

"My former boss, Mr. Sheffield, he was murdered this past weekend. I ignored all those calls of his."

"It's not your fault," said Trak. "Let me see what the boys can find out." While Trak went to find out what Code could discover, Amy dug in a bit by searching the internet. What she found made her skin crawl.

"Mr. Paz Sheffield was found in his home late Sunday evening. There was no evidence of a break-in, nor was there anything apparent missing from the home. He was shot three times with an automatic weapon believed to be fixed with a silencer."

"Talking to yourself now?" smirked Tailor. She shook her head, holding up the phone. Tailor scrolled through, then waved a big hand above his head, signing to the other men.

"What's up?" asked Gabe. Turning the phone, Gabe read it, then the next man.

"I should have called him back. What if the man was there, making him call me? I ignored it, and now he's dead. This is my fault."

"That's not on you," said Tailor. "If you had gone, something might have happened to you. I'm not sure even Alec and me could control Marcel if that were to happen."

"This man knows that something was inside that painting," said Amy. "He's systematically stealing from these foundations, hoping that he hits one owned by all of you. Or he's just a horrible person and stealing because he enjoys it, praying one might be owned by you. That's a serious grudge for a man.

"You know, sometimes, when I would call on businesses to see if they would help out the foundation, I would encounter someone who was so anti-giving. It always amazed me."

"What do you mean?" asked Tailor.

"What I found over the years is that many people who were poor, down on their luck, or maybe their parents had a difficult time, were bitter if they never received help from someone or if they'd received help and were made to feel less because of it. I mean, think about it. We have all these foundations and societies and groups that help others, but if you're one of the outliers and no one sees you or hears your cries, so to speak, that would make you bitter."

"That's a great point, little one," said Trak. "I wonder if our man was destitute at some point. I'll check with Marcel and then see what we can find in his background."

"What about the shelter downtown? What if he goes back there and causes trouble?" asked Amy.

"Another great point," smiled Tailor. "I'll see if we can get a few of the Voodoo Guardian boys to head down there and take some shifts."

While everyone was doing their thing, Amy just sat and observed but was feeling very left out and very useless. When Marcel came over and gave her a kiss, she held onto his t-shirt, holding him close.

"I need something to do, Marcel. I don't sit still very well, and I want to be of help to everyone."

"You are being of great help by remaining safe," he frowned. "I will not risk your life because this man has a grudge with me."

"If we're married, he has a grudge with me as well, husband." The men all smiled in her direction, Marcel at a loss for words. He opened his mouth a few times, then shook his head.

"Of course, we're married," he smiled. "Forgive me for being an old man in a young man's body. I only wish to ensure your safety and that of our children."

"Let me do some research on Couvillion's family. I may be able to find something. What about the treasure?" she asked. "Shouldn't we send someone out to the island to retrieve it? I mean, if he wants what's in there so desperately, maybe we dig it up and entice him a little."

"That's actually not a bad idea," said Gabe. "Let me get Antoine, Baptiste, Luc, and Rafe, and we'll head out there. We know that island well."

"Can I come as well?" she asked excitedly.

"Uh, well," paused Gabe, looking at Marcel.

"She will be safe in your care," smirked the man. "Please do not perform any physical labor. Let the men dig for it."

"How will we know where to dig?" asked Amy. Marcel frowned.

"Perhaps I should go with you. Arturo's note was not clear, only that he hid it on the island. He said my mother told him where to place it, so I may have an idea."

As the humidity rose and the clouds rolled in, they all knew they were going to get rained on once again. But business didn't stop in Louisiana because of the weather. Like all things, you just rolled with it and enjoyed it.

However, at this moment, Amy wasn't enjoying the rocking and motion of the boat. She hung her head over the side, emptying the contents of her stomach.

"Are you alright?" asked Marcel.

"I will be once we're on solid ground again," she smiled.

Stepping out of the boat onto the newly created dock, Amy did not get a warm fuzzy feeling of the surroundings on the island. It seemed dark and mysterious, yet also, in some ways, exactly like the other islands.

"Why was this called Devil's Island?" she asked.

"In my day," started Marcel, "it was used for special religious services. My family, our family, thought the same. We did not like the idea of taking people from their own lands and forcing them to work, become enslaved here. My parents paid anyone who worked on this land. Many of the people wanted a place to practice their own religion."

"Voodoo," she whispered.

"Voodoo. Witchcraft. Wicken. Call it what you like, but it was different, and that made others nervous. Sometimes, you could hear the drums and see the fires from the island. The locals stayed clear, which was fine by my family. We knew it was safe."

"Well, that clears up a helluva lot for us," smirked Rafe. "I don't think I'll be quite as scared to come on the island in the future."

"Where would your mother have told Arturo to bury it?" asked Amy.

"Everything is different from when I was here last," said Marcel. "It's been two centuries of floods, storms, and people traipsing across the land."

"What about markings?" asked Antoine. "Specific trees or maybe a path. We can't just start digging up the entire island."

"There was a small grouping of cypress trees in the center of the island with a pond in the center. But it appears that those have taken over the entire space. I'm not sure any longer."

"Well, let's start with the big group of cypresses, and maybe there are smaller ones in the center," said Gabe. "I'm going to bet that these are older than the trees you're talking about."

Walking into the group of trees, Marcel held tightly to his wife's hand, fearful that she could fall and harm herself. Each man was carrying a shovel, pick, and axe, hoping to be able to find what they were looking for.

"Stop," said Luc, staring ahead.

"Do you see something?" asked Baptiste.

"I see something that only proves Robicheaux women have been fooling men for years. Look," he said, pointing ahead.

Beneath a group of cypress trees, sitting on top of a stone base, was a large grave marker with a skull and cross bones on it. The inscription read ‘The Devil Himself.'

"My mother," smiled Marcel. "She always was a clever woman."

"She damn sure made it easy for us," said Antoine. He brought his pick and axe down on the top stone, watching as it crumbled, little by little. The brothers took turns chipping away at the fine marble until it fell apart, revealing the top stone below. It had a carved lid that could be removed. Every man pushed on the lid until they could see the contents beneath. Inside was a chest with metal bindings and an old lock, easily removed with the axe.

The men stood on the rock, struggling to lift it out. Finally, they were able to set it on the ground. The brothers waved their ancestor forward, allowing him the honor of revealing what was in the mysterious box.

"I guess this one is on me, as you say."

"It's your chest, brother," smirked Luc. "I'm kind of anxious to see what's in it. We spent a lot of time as kids playing pirate on these islands, but we damn sure never came across anything like this."

"You don't have to open it," said Amy. He turned, staring at her. "We could simply take it back to Belle Fleur and give it to Adele, Ro, and Ellie. They can determine where the objects should go, and you won't have to see it. It's up to you."

"I believe I should like to see what was saved," he said, kissing his wife. He looked at the other men, nodded, then lifted the lid. All eyes leaned over the chest, whistles and sharp intakes of breath echoing in the small grove.

"Ho-lee shit."