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Before he could reply, a plump brown-haired woman approached their booth. Everyone in the swamp knew Nola Fontenot. She’d been one of Mystique’s closest friends, and she was also one of the town’s biggest gossipers.

“Darling Monique, it’s always nice to see you out and enjoying life,” Nola said. “I know that’s what your dear mother would want for you.” She turned her attention to Jacque. “Mr. LeBlanc, even though we haven’t officially met, I know Mystique thought quite highly of you after the two of you met.”

“And I know from talking to her that she thought very highly of you, too,” Jacque replied, aware of Monique’s curious gaze on him.

“We all miss her so much, and I don’t ever think we’ll get over it until her killer is identified and thrown in jail where he belongs,” Nola replied.

“Hopefully that person is going to be identified sooner rather than later,” Monique said.

An obvious sadness filled Nola’s eyes. “I don’t know how that’s going to happen since the police don’t even have a suspect in mind.”

“There are some of us who are not leaving it up to the police,” Monique replied.

Nola stared at her for a long moment. “I hope you aren’t doing anything to get yourself in trouble, Monique.”

Monique laughed. It was a pleasant, melodious sound. “Oh, you know me, Nola. I’m not the type to get myself into any trouble. I leave that up to my sisters.”

Nola smiled at her. “You’re right. Oh, and now your drinks have arrived,” she said as Sunny stepped up next to the booth. “I’ll just leave you two to get on with your dinner.”

Sunny set their drinks down and then took their food orders. Monique ordered the seafood platter, and Jacque got the meatloaf special.

“You never told me you personally knew my mother,” Monique said the moment Sunny left. Her big brown eyes gazed at him intently. The dark grief was back. It stole the sparkle from her beautiful eyes.

“I only met her one time,” he replied. “It was late one night…around midnight, and I was fishing at the spot I have near my shanty. She was out looking for a special flower that only bloomed at night. She surprised me by sitting down on the bank next to me, and we began to chat.”

“What did you talk about?” she asked, as if hungry for any nugget of information about the mother she had tragically lost to a killer’s hand.

He took a drink of his tea. “At first, she asked me if the fishing was good, and I told her I wasn’t catching anything. I was really just out enjoying the peace and quiet of the night. She told me about the flower she was trying to find. It was mostly just small talk. However, she did tell me how much she loved you and your sisters and how proud she was of all of you.”

“Thank you,” Monique said softly. “That’s so nice to hear.”

“That was pretty much the end of our time together. She got up and wandered back into the swamp, and eventually I went back to my shanty.”

By that time Sunny had arrived with their meals. The meatloaf special included thick slices of meat, a mound of mashed potatoes and gravy and seasoned green beans.

The food on Monique’s plate looked just as appetizing. There were several pieces of golden fried fish and shrimp with sides of macaroni and cheese, cole slaw and cornbread.

“You sure can’t complain about the portion sizes here,” he said as he picked up his fork.

“That’s definitely true. They’re more than generous,” she agreed. She picked up her fork and speared a shrimp. “Since you cook for yourself most nights, you must be a real talented chef.”

Once again, an unexpected small laugh escaped him. “Not hardly,” he replied as she popped the shrimp into her mouth. “Most nights I just fry up a panful of fish, and that’s dinner. What about you?”

“I enjoy cooking most of the time,” she replied. “But only if I’m cooking for somebody.”

“Do you have a specialty?”

“My sisters say I make a good chicken and rice with wine sauce,” she replied.

“That sounds good,” he replied.

For the next few minutes, they fell silent as they focused on eating. However, it wasn’t long before they began to talk again.

They talked about music, and she confessed that she loved to go to the Voodoo Lounge and dance. He told her he couldn’t remember the last time he’d danced. Small talk. Jacque had nearly forgotten how to do it, but Monique made it easy. They moved on from music to her work at the dress shop. She regaled him with several funny stories about her clients and their clothing choices.

The more they talked, the more uncomfortable he became. He didn’t want to get to know her better. He would help her in her search for her mother’s book, but that was the beginning and the end of it. He didn’t need a new friend, especially not one as attractive as Monique.

“Where are you from, Jacque?” she asked. “I know you aren’t swamp born and raised.”