The Lost Girls of Johnson's Bayou

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

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.

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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

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Epilogue

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.