“Ma’am, we hope you don’t think we’re crazy but we weren’t lying about finding your daughter in the bayou. We were sad to see a young woman lying there but,” said Ben, “we also saw her standing on a small island just staring off into space. It was obviously the ghost of herself.”
The woman was quiet for a long time and then sat down on the small wooden desk chair. She nodded a few times and then looked up at them.
“I’ve had a feeling, here in my chest, that Edie has been trying to reach out to me, to tell me something. It’s like she comes in my dreams and she’s so sad. I chalked it up to her taking her own life but maybe there’s more.”
“We’ve asked a few, uh, experts,” said Cam, “and they believe that she had something unfinished. Something important. Was she working on anything special? Maybe writing a book or a piece of music?”
“No. No, her work was all numbers and data. She worked at the casino and then did contract work for folks, mostly companies in Europe because of the time difference. She always said it was the one gift she got from God. Numbers made sense to her. All of them. Me? I have trouble balancing my checkbook.”
“Everything here seems so normal,” said Adam. “It seems like a happy house, where she had a good life.”
“I thought so,” said the woman with tears in her eyes. “I can tell you this. If my Edie was so sad that she decided taking her own life was better than living it, I can’t hate her for that. I’m sad, I’m lonely, I’m confused, but I will never hate her for that. Maybe she needed me to say that.”
“Maybe,” said Cam.
Constance stood, touching each man’s arm and giving a small smile. At the bedroom door, she leaned on the small dresser, pulling out the top drawer. Inside was a worn shoebox filled with papers.
“This is everything we have from our medical bills. If you meant what you said, we’d be indebted to you. My mother and me both.”
“It’s our pleasure,” said Cam taking the box and tucking it beneath his arm.
“I’ll leave you to look around,” she said walking out and closing the door.
“Fuck me, this sucks,” said Ben. “This woman was smart, extremely smart. What would make her suddenly decide to take a nosedive, especially after learning that her mother was in remission.”
“I don’t know,” said Cam, shaking his head. “But we’re going to make sure that these two women are taken care of. Maybe then Edie can finally be at peace.”
When the three men stepped out onto the porch again, Constance was waiting with three plates full of food.
“I don’t want any arguments. You’re going to sit and enjoy some food with us. What you’re doing for us is not something I’ll ever forget. Join us. Listen to the stories about my Edie. Maybe it will help you.”
The three men did just that. They ate fried chicken, potato salad, gumbo, and so much more. Neighbors and friends, young and old, talked about the young woman and how smart she was, how pretty she was, how kind she was. Not one person said anything negative, nor did they paint a picture of someone that was depressed.
When they left, they promised to return to Constance should they have any news. The whole way back to Belle Fleur, none of the men said anything to one another. They all knew where they were going.
Dr. Shepherd Wilde.
“Shep? Thanks for taking some time to speak with us,” said Cam.
“Not a problem. What did you find out about the girl?”
“She was normal. Completely fucking normal. Happy, hard-working, laughed all the time, was the cheerleader for the entire neighborhood. She was brilliant, dedicated, and seemingly happy. What the hell are we missing?” asked Ben.
“Sometimes, people with depression are able to cover it up. I once had a professor that said to me he never worried too much about patients that claimed outwardly that they were going to take their own life. They were depressed, lethargic, no energy at all.
“The patients that he worried about were those that didn’t visibly show signs of depression unless you were a professional and could see it. People who have no energy, don’t usually have the energy to take their own lives. It’s the ones with high energy, bouncing off the walls that we should worry about. They’re covering up their pain.”
“Shit. Are you telling me she was putting on a brave face all these years just to keep her mother and grandmother happy?” asked Adam.
“That’s what it sounds like. She was obviously a good woman and a woman in pain. The problem was that she was hiding her pain from everyone, maybe even herself.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Mario Pucci was a small man with dark hair and a full, almost overwhelming beard. The mustache covered the top lip almost completely, surely interfering in the ability to chew food.
His two teenaged children were standing behind him at the front door. Both with their father’s dark hair and sad eyes.
“I’m sorry. Who are you again?” he asked.
