TREACHERY ON THE BAYOU

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Author’s Note

“Treachery On The Bayou” was originally published in 2005, however, it’s storyline has aged well… with its various depictions of lively and eccentric characters down on the bayou, a bit of voodoo and the supernatural, a dog named Applesauce with great devotion to her owner, and, an elegant mystery about a missing Butterfly Brooch.

At first glance, Treachery On The Bayou appears to be a gloriously rich and provocative tale about the lives of ordinary men and women living in a small, southern town. But as the pages turn, the ordinary dissolves into the extraordinary. And the extraordinary boldly leaps into the bizarre.

The town of HoneySuckle Basin has characters a-plenty and all of them different. These li’l ole boys and girls, lie, cheat and suck-up, whenever the spirit moves them. And lately, the spirit has been moving them a whole lot! My, my, my. They’re a lively bunch of down home folk, who dare to be different.

What makes this tale such a fascinating story? I suppose it could be the mystery which surrounds the butterfly brooch. Or the teeny, tiny sprinkling of voodoo here and there. Or the many odd characters who inhabit the town. Or maybe it could be a combination of all the above – coupled with an author who writes with vivid imagination and creativity. 

Elsaida Peltier is just such an author. Elsaida is willing to push the envelope and bend the rules, because that’s what makes good entertainment. She possesses the wonderful ability to imagine the unimaginable … to think the unthinkable.

Treachery On The Bayou is a story that leaves you breathless with anticipation. It thrills. It chills. It bedazzles. It bewilders and confounds. But mostly, it entertains and leaves the reader begging for more. And that, ladies and gentlemen, as the youngsters say – is a story to die for!

Elmo Collier’s blood curdling screams and shouts of profanities came too late. His mad rush to escape, gained him nothing but severe, crushing blows to the head and groin. Elmo bled, squealed and hollered – like a hog being butchered alive. I saw it. I saw it all. 

Ever since that day those FBI agents kicked down Elmo Collier’s door and dragged him and his cocaine dealing flunkies to jail, I knew. I was only eight years old, but I knew. Elmo Collier was an evil man. A drug dealer. He sold drugs to everybody. Man, woman, child, it didn’t matter to him. Elmo even extended credit. When the time came to pay, if you didn’t have the money … Elmo would snap your arm in half or break your leg in three different places. And sometimes … sometimes … he did ‘worse things’. 

As a little boy growing up on the bayou, I knew first-hand about those ‘worse things’. I was almost a victim. Had it not been for the FBI agent, I would have become a victim. He saved me. The FBI man saved me from the pit of hell!

I remember the day I went to Elmo Collier’s house. My mama sent me. Thanks to Elmo, she was hooked big time on cocaine. Mama told me to go to Elmo’s house. He had something for her and for me. I didn’t want to go. I protested mightily. Mama slapped my face. 

My mama … she … she was a good woman, but she was a cocaine addict. In the beginning, cocaine was her exhilarating drug of choice. In the end, it became her dehumanizing drug of self-destruction. Cocaine was my dear mama’s master and she, its resolute slave. There was absolutely, positively nothing, my mama would not do for that white devil powder. She was overwhelmed and beat down by her addiction.