“Did he say anything about their return? Did they sell any valuables upon their return?” Schulz asked.
“He said nothing about them selling valuables,” Amelie said. “They worked hard to rebuild their lives.”
Gisele Gautier, owner of the Mamba Wamba Art and Gifts shop, entered the bakery in one of her colorful, flowing skirts, her dark, curly hair hanging in waves down to her waist. With her mocha-colored skin, warm like sunlit earth, and golden eyes, she stood with her arms crossed over her chest, exuding the confidence of a voodoo queen like her infamous grandmother. The air practically crackled around her.
Maurice smiled, knowing his buddy, Rafael, had his hands full with the petite powerhouse.
Amelie caught sight of her friend and seemed to gather strength from her. Her back straightened, and her chin rose. “Mr. Schulz, that’s all I know,” she said with a tight smile. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a business to run.”
Schulz wasn’t done. “Ms. Aubert, unlike my countrymen who stole art, I wish to protect it and see that others can view and appreciate works of great masters.” He pulled a business card out of his blazer pocket and handed it to her. “If you remember anything else, please contact me. Others might not be as willing to share great works with all of humanity. Thank you for your time.” He gave Maurice a curt nod, performed an about-face and left the bakery.
Gisele waited until the door closed behind the man before she cocked an eyebrow in Amelie and Maurice’s direction. “Did I detect a foreign accent?”
Amelie let go of a long, slow breath and read the name on the business card. “Yes. Fredrick Schulz. European Art Historian, based out of Frankfurt, Germany.”
Gisele’s brow wrinkled. “What’s he doing in Bayou Mambaloa?”
“He wanted information about my former mentor and friend, Armand Benoît.”
“What’s an art historian want with a Parisian chef?” Gisele rounded the counter and hugged Amelie. “And why didn’t you call me to come help you clean up after the break-in?”
Amelie held her friend for a long moment before glancing up to meet Maurice’s gaze. “I had all the support I needed.”
Gisele stepped back, glancing toward Maurice. “Shelby told me you’d taken on the assignment to protect our girl, Amelie. She didn’t say you’d be helping her run the bakery.” Her gaze switched to Amelie. “I’m sure he’s been more than helpful. Rafael’s team has been the best thing to happen to Bayou Mambaloa.” Her brow dipped before she turned back to Maurice. “You’d better do right by our sweet baker, you hear?”
“Or what? You’ll put a voodoo spell on him?” Amelie laughed.
Gisele’s eyes narrowed. “I might. There are perks to being the granddaughter of Bayou Mambaloa’s voodoo queen.”
Maurice held up his hands. “I’ll do my best.”
Gisele nodded. “And don’t go breakin’ her heart. If she leaves town because you hurt her, I won’t have to put a spell on you. The community will feed you to the alligators.”
Maurice didn’t know whether to laugh or be afraid. The petite granddaughter of the voodoo queen was known to be a formidable opponent. And her grandmother...? Well, no one crossed her. “I’m here to protect Amelie, not break her heart or anyone else’s.”
“Mon cher, let’s see what da spirits got waitin’ for you two.” Gisele took one of Amelie’s hands and one of Maurice’s, closed her eyes and tipped her head back. For a long moment, she said nothing, her face relaxing, her body swaying slightly.
Maurice wanted to laugh at Gisele’s theatrics, but the room went so still he couldn’t push air through his lungs. It was as if time stood still and froze him to the spot.
Gisele’s eyelids twitched, and a soft moan rose from her throat. In a low voice barely above a whisper, her Cajun accent more pronounced, she half-spoke, half-sang.
* * *
“Spirits be stirrin’,
Dark waters will rise.
Dance once with death
To reach the far side.
Through the dark night,
Let hope be your guide.
Trust your heart, cher?—
For love will survive.”
