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"I'm not looking for the Tates. Listen," I said with a deep, impatient sigh, "I lived there once." I realized if I didn't give them more information, I might not get any out of them. "But I'm not related to the Tates."

"Lived there?" He looked at the woman. "Don't say?"

She narrowed her eyes, too.

"You related to the old traiteur lady?" she asked. "She's too young to be Catherine Landry's granddaughter," Jimbo said shaking his head.

"You her great-granddaughter?"

"Yes, ma'am, I am," I said.

"Well,I'll be. Yeah, she looks somethin' like a Landry would, don't you think, Jimbo?"

"That she does. They was good-looking people. Buster be happy to hear about this. He's been bulling aroun

d about it for years now."

"Do you know how I can get to Cypress Woods?" I asked, not hiding my impatience now.

"Sure. You go down here about hundred yards, see, and then you make a left turn, hear? Then you follow the road to the first fork. Turn left and follow that. It will take you to Cypress Woods, hear?"

"Yes, monsieur. Thank you."

"Buster ain't gonna believe this," the woman said. "She looks like her mother, don't she?"

"Buster ain't gonna believe this," Jimbo agreed, nodding. They all just stared at me with big eyes, making me feel like a ghost.

"Thank you," I said and hurried back to the car. When I looked back, I saw they were all still standing there gaping out at me. I hoped their directions were accurate. I drove slowly. These side roads were even darker than the road that took me close to Houma. The cypress trees loomed tall and thick, their branches twisted and turned above me. The reflected

illumination of my car headlights made some of them look like skeletons. Something furry ran across the road, and when I made the last turn, an owl swooped in front of me, its wingspan so large it took my breath away. With my heart pounding, I finally turned up the driveway toward Cypress Woods and the oil wells. It had been more than three and a half hours since I had spoken to Jack Clovis. I wondered if he was still here.

The great house rose out of the night as I drew closer and closer. Its windows were dark, but some of them were like mirrors reflecting the movement of trees and bushes. The building radiated its emptiness in the silence that surrounded it. Only the wind stirred the loose shutters and brushed the tops of the weeds and tall grasses that grew unchecked along the sides. It looked much more abandoned and forsaken without the sunlight glittering around it. Now it was a house occupied only by shadows. As the clouds passed over the stars, those shadows shifted and twisted behind the windows and over the gallery.

I had an empty feeling in my chest as I gazed at the great mansion that had once been filled with song and laughter, good food and good friends, a place of joy and life in which my mother had created wonderful works of art. Now it was a grand tomb without a body, all the voices long gone, their echoes absorbed by the vast space.

And all of my childhood fears suddenly swept over me. I was afraid to turn my head and look at the oil rigs. My heart skipped a beat and then raced. Something luminous in the darkness radiated in waves over the field between the house and the swamps, going in and out of focus. Maybe it was just a reflection, but to me, for the moment, it looked like the face in my nightmares. I gasped as it seemed to draw closer and closer, floating toward me. A flutter of panic made my heart skip.

"No!" I cried, shaking my head. I accelerated up the driveway and turned left toward the office trailer. A tiny light burned on the door, and I saw some dull illumination through the window. I pulled up quickly and got out, hugging myself. It was far from cold. If anything, the humid, hot air should have made me sweat, but I had a chill in my spine that put icicles over my heart. I hurried up the steps to the door and knocked. There was no answer.

Oh, no, I thought. Jack gave up on me. I'm out here all alone. Something croaked in the grass to my right. I heard scurrying along the gravel. When I looked back toward the house, I thought I saw a thin veil float down from the upstairs gallery. Whatever it was, it disappeared in moments. I knocked again, harder. When no one responded, I tried the doorknob and discovered it was unlocked.

I stepped into the trailer. There was a desk to the right covered with blueprints and other papers, a telephone, and a copy machine. Behind it was a small kitchen. To the left was the living area and there, sprawled out on the sofa, his feet dangling over the arm of it, was Jack Clovis, sound asleep. I closed the trailer door and stood there for a moment, embarrassed, not sure what I should do next. Fortunately, he finally sensed my presence. His eyelids fluttered and then opened. The moment he saw me, he shot into a sitting position and brushed back his hair.

"Oh, sorry," he said, rubbing his cheeks vigorously. "I guess I fell asleep."

"I'm the one who should be sorry," I said. "I took so long to get here, but I got into an accident just outside New Orleans, and then I got lost for a while."

"Accident? Are you all right?" He stood up and buttoned his shirt.

"Yes, I'm fine. I just slid off the road into a ditch, but a truck driver helped me."

"Oh. Good." He looked behind me. "Isn't your father here too?"

"No," I said. "I came by myself."

"Yourself? Oh," he said without asking any more questions.

"Have you seen anything since we spoke?" I asked quickly.