The Lost Girls of Johnson's Bayou. Jana DeLeon

patterned materials in turquoise, pink, green and yellow. She handed the napkin to Ginny. “How perfect is that?”

       Ginny looked down at the splash of colorful fabrics and smiled. “It is perfect and totally you.” She handed the napkin back to Madelaine. “What about valances? That blue gingham with the sunflowers has been hanging there since I was a little girl.”

       “She’s coming by tomorrow to measure the windows. I’m also thinking it’s time for a fresh coat of paint, maybe a sunny yellow to match that color in the napkins. What do you think?”

       “I think it sounds like a lot of work…but nice.”

       Madelaine waved a hand in dismissal. “I’ll hire Saul Pritchard to do the painting. He finished up Carol’s bedroom last week, so I know he’s got the time. So I guess the almost-empty container means you had a good day.”

       “It was an excellent day. I sold everything but ten pieces, and a couple of buyers for bigger shops bought pieces and took pictures and business cards.”

       “Whoo! I’m telling you, one day you’re going to be famous and you’re going to buy me a nice beach house in the Bahamas, with one of those cute guys who bring you fancy drinks.”

       “A cabana boy?” Ginny laughed. “If I get rich and famous, it’s a deal.”

       “Carol said she saw a likely candidate at your booth today when she passed with her grandkids. From her description, I thought it might be that good-looking young man who was in the café this morning.”

       Ginny nodded, struggling not to frown. “He bought a necklace.”

       “That’s it?” The disappointment in Madelaine’s voice was clear.

       “Yes, that’s it. What was he supposed to do?”

       “Well, he said he had family that owned a store, but maybe he plans on taking the piece to them to see. And I thought…well…oh, never mind.”

       “You thought since he was over ten and under sixty, I should jump him at the festival?”

       “Of course not, but a nice lunch wouldn’t be out of line. Oh well, he said he was taking a bit of a vacation. Maybe you’ll see him again before the festival is over.”

       Ginny stopped in front of the café and pulled her keys from her purse to unlock the front door, trying not to think about what Madelaine had said. She’d bet everything she owned that Paul Stanton was not on vacation. He had far too much intensity for a man who was supposed to be relaxing. Ginny was certain he was in Johnson’s Bayou for a reason, but she didn’t even want to know what it was. She just wanted him to leave her alone.

       “You coming in?” Ginny asked.

       “No. I’m pooped. I’m gonna take a long shower and go to bed early.” She gave Ginny a kiss on the cheek. “Just leave my bags in the kitchen. I’ll deal with them tomorrow.”

       Ginny pulled the dolly into the kitchen and unloaded her mother’s bags on the desk in the back corner of the kitchen. She grabbed the almost-empty container and hauled it upstairs with her to refill for tomorrow’s display. She balanced the wide container on her hip and the wall to unlock her apartment, but the instant she stepped inside, she knew something was wrong.

       She stood stock-still just inside the front door and felt the hair on the back of her neck rise. She listened for sounds that would indicate anyone was there, but all she heard was the quiet ticking of the kitchen clock. Scanning every square inch of the room, she tried to find something out of place. Something that would explain her fear, but everything appeared as it had when she’d left that morning.

       She started to move, but then a scent wafted past her nose. The faint smell of musk, like a man’s aftershave. Without a sound, she placed the container on the floor next to the door and walked toward her bedroom, leaving the door to the apartment wide open in case she needed to make a run for it. She stopped just outside the bathroom and reached around the wall with her hand to flip on the lights. Light flooded the tiny room, and one quick look was all it took for her to know it was empty. The curtain was pulled back on the bathtub, just as she’d left it that morning, so no one could be hiding inside, and the tiny bathroom didn’t have a linen closet.

       Easing down the hall, she reached inside her bedroom and turned on the lights. The room appeared undisturbed, and she was glad she’d left in a hurry that morning and left her closet door open. It was so small that she could see every square inch from the doorway, and no one lurked inside. Her bed was platform style with drawers for storage underneath, so no one could be hiding there.

       Relief washed over her and she plopped down on the bed, chiding herself for scaring herself half to death over nothing. She needed to get a grip on her overactive imagination. It had been getting worse for some time, but ever since her trip into the woods and her run-in with Paul Stanton, it seemed to be in overdrive. She pulled open the drawer on her nightstand to retrieve lip balm she kept inside and froze.

       Her diary had been moved.

       She leaned over for a closer look, but she knew it wasn’t where she’d left it. It wasn’t off by much, but she was almost anal about fitting it exactly into the corner of the drawer. Now, it lay about an inch from the side. Lifting the journal from the drawer, she inspected the bookmark. Just as she suspected, it was off. The pink flower that she always left peeking out from the top of the journal was buried halfway in the book.

       Suddenly, she remembered that she’d left the front door wide open and she jumped up from the bed, dropping her journal on the bed as she dashed out of the room. She slammed the door and slid the dead bolt into place, then leaned back against it, trying to slow her racing heart.

       No one but Madelaine had a key to her apartment, or the café, for that matter. And she couldn’t think of any reason at all that someone would break into her apartment to read her journal. She didn’t have much of value, but she kept a stash of cash in the same nightstand as the journal, and it was still there. It didn’t make sense. Why would anyone go through the trouble of finding an undetected way into the café and her apartment just to read the ramblings of a waitress?

       Paul Stanton!

       Ever since he’d grabbed her in the woods last night, he’d shown up everywhere she was. Granted, it was a small town, so that wasn’t hard to do, but Ginny didn’t believe for a moment that he’d picked Johnson’s Bayou at random for a vacation and then went roaming around the woods at night carrying a gun for relaxation.

       Then there was that scene at the festival today. She’d seen his expression when he asked her about the necklace. He was surprised and agitated and afraid, all at the same time, just as he had been when he’d found her in the woods that night. But why?

       Ginny crossed the room to the kitchenette and pulled a bottle of wine out of the refrigerator. She had moved past scared to angry. A glass of wine and a hot bath were in order. It had been a long day of work between the café and the festival, and she had to do it all again tomorrow.

       She took a sip of the wine and stared out the kitchen window into the woods. If Paul Stanton had the nerve to show up at the café or the festival tomorrow, she was going to give him a piece of her mind.

       In fact, she was almost looking forward to it.

      PAUL TIMED HIS ENTRY into the café just after the locals had cleared out to set up for the festival. He’d barely slept, his mind rolling around every possibility associated with the jewelry he’d purchased from Ginny the day before. The jewelry laid out in the same swirl of circles that his sister used to draw on everything—her signature, she used to call it. Their mother had even helped her paint the design on her bedroom walls in bright pinks and blues.

       It wasn’t impossible that two people would have the same idea, but it was highly unlikely. And if Ginny was the girl who had wandered out of the woods the day the LeBlanc School had burned, then Lord only knew what might be locked in her memory. If her lost memories contained anything to do with his sister, he intended to figure out a