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newspaper reporters. None would reveal his or her
sources, but it seemed obvious to both Beau and me
that Gladys Tate's thirst for vengeance was insatiable
and she had deliberately had the story leaked to the
press. It made headlines.
TWIN CLAIMS SISTER BURIED IN HER
GRAVE! CUSTODY BATTLE LOOMS.
Aubrey was given instructions to say we were
unavailable to anyone who called. We would see no
visitors, answer no questions. Until the court hearing,
I was a virtual prisoner in my own home.
On that day, my legs trembling, I clung to
Beau's arm as we descended the stairway to get into
our car and drive to the Terrebone Parish courthouse.
It was one of those mostly cloudy days when the sun
plays peekaboo, teasing us with a few bright rays and
then sliding behind a wall of clouds to leave the world
dark and dreary. It reflected my mood swings, which went from hopeful and optimistic to depressed and
pessimistic.
Monsieur Polk was already at the courthouse,
waiting, when we arrived. The story had stirred the
curious in the bayou as well as in New Orleans. I
gazed quickly at the crowd of observers and saw some
of Grandmere Catherine's friends. I smiled at them,
but they were confused and unsure and afraid to smile
back. I felt like a stranger. How would I ever explain
to them why I had switched identities with Gisselle?
How would they ever understand?
We took our seats first, and then, with obvious
fanfare, milking the situation as much as she could,
