by Beth Moore
Jillian was speechless. All this time she’d been at Saint Sans, she’d stayed in Rafe’s room? Pictures of him were in the closet where her clothes were hanging. He’d slept in that bed. Her stomach rolled. She leaned over and stared closely at the knife, studying the sterling silver and mother-of-pearl handle. For a few seconds, Jillian imagined him about eleven or twelve. Maybe he’d gotten the knife for his birthday or maybe it was a spontaneous gift. He’d admired it and his father simply handed it to him. She tried to shove the picture out of her mind. She’d never let herself think of Rafe in personal terms. Even since she’d met Olivia, she’d refused to imagine Rafe as anyone’s son. A terrible father had to be a terrible son, she’d thought. Rafe was a loser. A bum. A skeleton in a closet. But for the first time, the skeleton had some meat on it. She pulled out a chair and sat down with a thud, her mind spinning.
“Could he have pawned the knife, Mrs. Fontaine?” David asked. Olivia didn’t answer, but Jillian saw her jaw tighten.
“That’s a fair enough question,” Sergeant DaCosta responded. He pulled out a third chair at the table and nodded at David to sit down in it and he did so with the third thud in the course of five minutes. “But of all the residences in New Orleans, it just happens to turn up on this back porch? What is the likelihood of that? Nope, I’d say someone’s messing with y’all. We don’t have much to go on, but it’s a far sight more than we did. We know we’re looking for a male over six feet tall and maybe substantially so. That helps. Now, why did he have your son’s pocketknife, Mrs. Fontaine, and why is he trying to—at the very least—harass you?”
The words of the 911 operator replayed in Jillian’s mind like a padlock on her brain had been broken. She blurted out toward Olivia, “You gave me Rafe’s phone! You gave me a dead man’s phone!”
CHAPTER 28
“WHAT ON GOD’S GREEN EARTH is going on in here? A slumber party?” Adella had come into Saint Sans and found Caryn and Jillian sound asleep on the Snapdragon with their heads at opposite ends. Jillian was wearing the pajamas Adella had given her, and Caryn was in scrubs. Their hair looked like they’d both stuck their fingers in light sockets. Before she could get a coherent explanation out of either of them, David walked into the great room sporting a shiner the size of a saucer. Seconds later, Olivia emerged in her bathrobe from the wrong end of the house.
“Vida had a spell last night,” Olivia said dryly. “I gave her some medicine and put her to bed in my room and I slept in hers.”
“With Mr. Winsee, or did he join her in your room?”
“Adella, I’m not in the mood for any extra mouth this morning.”
“I’m just trying to make out the fruit-basket turnover is all. Somebody better start talking. The sight of David in this condition is working me into a hot flash. Have you taken up gambling? What have I said, over and over, about these casinos coming to Louisiana? From the very pit of hell. Yep, I said it and I meant it.”
Olivia opened a cabinet door in the kitchen. “No one is saying another word until I’ve made some coffee. I mean no one.”
It took three carafes and a half pint of whipping cream before Adella got the full story. “A Peeping Tom?” She was aghast.
“This was no run-of-the-mill Peeping Tom, Adella. Unless this is the biggest coincidence this side of the river, we think he’s the one pulling all the shenanigans on the back porch,” Olivia continued, glancing across the table at Jillian. “And the front porch. That doll on the front porch recently, Jillian? It has to be tied up in all of this insanity somehow, though God alone knows how. Or why.” She looked back at Adella. “Last night he left us another little trinket.”
Adella sat mesmerized as Olivia recounted the discovery of the open pocketknife. Caryn propped Jillian’s bandaged foot up on the table as proof of collateral damage. If they were to have any luck putting the pieces together, the time had come to spill the beans. After last night, every resident at Saint Sans had the right to know. Starting with the ominous card on the flowers at Rafe’s burial, Adella began recounting every strange discovery she and Olivia had made over the last several months. The torn snapshot of Rafe appeared to be the clincher: Olivia was the obvious target. Reminders of her deceased son were being used to make sure the arrows made it past the surface to lodge in her heart. This was personal. The haunting question was why.
The air felt thick. Everybody around the table knew that Olivia despised the spotlight. The only thing she could have hated more was standing in the brightness of it with her vulnerability showing. As Adella spoke, Olivia maintained an ironclad veneer, staring into her coffee cup and running her index finger slowly around the rim.
The floodgates opened at the table, and the others all shared things they’d felt were out of the ordinary around Saint Sans recently. None of their stories involved concrete evidence, but it was clear that everyone had the sense that something had been off. The only time Olivia looked up was when Caryn used the word foreboding to describe the sense she’d had around there recently. The word carried weight because Caryn was the scientific kind, not the sort to be superstitious.
Jillian blurted out, “Maybe the house is haunted!”
Adella tried to nip that thought in the bud. “Jillian, take a good look at David. Does it look like he’s been punched in the face by a ghost? Or would you say that whatever hit him had knuckles? What you saw last night was flesh and blood.”
“How do we know that? He was wearing a mask! Or what if it wasn’t a mask? What if that was his real face?” Jillian looked panic-stricken.
Adella got her by the hand and tugged her back into the chair. “I think everybody at this table has had too much caffeine. You’re all scaring each other half to death. Now, let’s quit feeding fire sticks to one another’s imaginations here and try to keep to the facts.” She said it to herself as much as to them.
When a knock came at the front door, everybody froze affright like twelve-year-olds telling spooky stories who’d just heard a bump in the night. There was only one man at the table—and him with only one good eye. When he got up to answer the door, Caryn called out, “Whatever you do, David, do not turn the other cheek!”
Officer La Bauve walked through the entryway with a mile-wide smile on his face and a white cardboard box in his hands. “Top of the morning to you! Just coming to check on y’all before work.”
Adella glanced at Caryn and whispered, “I’ll swear to goodness, this house is too weird for reality TV. It’s like a passel of cartoon characters under the same roof.”
Officer La Bauve set the box down on the kitchen bar and opened the lid to reveal a dozen plain glazed donuts.
“True enough, Adella, but this character is having one.” Caryn pulled a donut out of the box and took a bite. David followed suit.
If they hadn’t been hot and steamy, Adella might have been able to resist. “Well, I did leave the house this morning too early for my shredded wheat. I guess one wouldn’t hurt.”
Olivia put her hand up to indicate that she’d pass. When Jillian started to reach into the box, the officer stopped her.
“I thought you might like this one,” he said sheepishly, handing Jillian a small white paper bag. She opened it and pulled out a cake donut with pink frosting and multicolored sprinkles. “That’s my favorite. Well, I usually get the blue, but it’s the same flavor.”
The whole table went silent. Adella swallowed hard and tried to think of something awful to keep her from getting tickled because once she got started, she wasn’t liable to soon quit. All eyes were on Jillian, who was clearly flummoxed. “Well, thank you, Officer. I don’t usually eat donuts, but since you went to all this trouble, I guess I’ll go ahead—”
“Y’all can just call me Billy. Or Bully, if you want. That’s what they call me on the force. I don’t mind.”
Caryn broke the silence. “Thank you, Billy La Bauve. They’re wonderful. Best thing I’ve eaten in ages. It’s nice to officially meet you.” She stuck out her hand and he sho
ok it enthusiastically. The contrast of their skin color was matched by the color of his flushed face against his blond hair.
“Officer La Bauve,” Olivia interjected impatiently, “was this just a donut delivery or do you have something for us?”
“Oh no, ma’am. I’m just the donut man this morning, but we hope to have something for you soon. Sarge was pretty heated about it last night. From the sound of things, he intended to give it personal attention. I heard him say that he’ll have a squad car sticking pretty close around here for a few nights.”
“Perfect,” Olivia retorted with a sarcasm that went right over Bully’s head.
“Well, I guess I better get on my way to work then.” His words said go but his body language definitely said stay. “Well, there is one more thing. I’m turning thirty Sunday week, and we’re having a crawfish boil at my house that evening. A lot of people are coming. Ask anybody in this town how my mama cooks and you’ll know why. You won’t want to miss it. You’ll know a few people there because of your friends on the force.”
Olivia rolled her eyes.
“All of you are invited. I brought this so you could stick it on your fridge with a magnet.” Bully reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a bent-up party invitation with a bright-red crawfish on it with his smiling face photoshopped right into it. “The directions are on the back. See?” He turned it to the other side to show them a small map.
Olivia looked at him incredulously, as if she’d sooner skin a pig than stick something to her fridge.
The awkwardness of Bully holding out an invitation and nobody budging to take it from him was more than Caryn could bear. “Sounds like fun, Billy. I’ll see how my schedule is going to turn out. When do you need to know? Do we need to RSVP?”
“You can. There’s the number right there, but it’s not necessary. It’s my mama’s way to have enough food for everybody on the invitation list and a few that ain’t. She says it’s the ain’ts that eat the most.”
David piped up, taking the invitation from Caryn’s hand. “I just don’t think I can pass this up. You might have to count me in, too, if Caryn’s coming. How about you, Jillian?”
Jillian swallowed a big bite and said, “Who, me? Oh, I think I have to work. All I do these days is work.”
Bully was undeterred. “I bet you could switch shifts with somebody this far in advance. Anyway, my mama’s is only about ten minutes from your café. Fifteen minutes max, depending on the traffic. I could swing by and get you.”
“No, no! No need!” Jillian eyed everybody at the table for help. The next words must have flown out of her mouth before she could think what she was saying. “I’ll ride with David and Caryn!”
“You sure?” Bully asked.
“Absolutely positive.”
“Okay, then!” He was so happy every tooth in his head gleamed like they’d been silver polished. A text came in on his phone. “That’s Sanchez. I better get going before she puts out an APB on me.”
Olivia cleared her throat. “I can only imagine how distracting all the birthday plans will be, but if you and your colleagues end up with any news about our perpetrator, do try to work in a call.”
“Oh yes, ma’am. We will let you know first thing.” Bully patted Olivia on the back, causing her posture to freeze up like a Popsicle.
Adella couldn’t resist. “Jillian, why don’t you see our kind keeper of the peace to his car?”
Jillian had her back to Bully and shot Adella a look that could have curdled the whipping cream. “I’m in my pajamas.”
Adella answered, “They’re plenty decent. I ought to know. I’ve raked leaves in them in my own front yard without raising an eyebrow.”
Jillian scooted out the dining room chair, got to her feet, brushed the crumbs off her pajama bottoms, and feigning some fine Southern manners, said, “Right this way, Officer La Bauve.”
As if on cue, David, Caryn, and Adella corrected her. “Bully!”
CHAPTER 29
SEPTEMBER 1918
SIX AND A HALF MONTHS after the cornerstone celebration, the new bell applauded a finished work and the heavy double doors, arched like praying hands, swung wide and embraced every comer for the inaugural service. Believer, beleaguered, or bedeviled, all were welcomed.
Evelyn Ann Brashear and her daughter, Brianna, took their proper places on the front row, dressed in their finest. The elder wore a wide-brimmed hat, the younger a bonnet. Both were beaming, Evelyn Ann uncharacteristically so.
The pews, dark and shiny, could accommodate one hundred and fifty. The chapel was two-thirds full that first Sunday, and during the opening hymn, few eyes were dry and fewer chins failed to quiver.
Come, ye thankful people, come,
Raise the song of harvest home;
All is safely gathered in,
Ere the winter storms begin;
God, our Maker, doth provide
For our wants to be supplied;
Come to God’s own temple, come,
Raise the song of harvest home.
All the world is God’s own field,
Fruit unto His praise to yield;
Wheat and tares together sown,
Unto joy or sorrow grown. . . .
Joys grew, and so did the small congregation, until backsides of parishioners slid together on quickly shrinking pews.
Couples were wed.
Infants were blessed.
Repentance was preached, the backslidden reached.
Then everything changed.
Where once was joy, sorrow grew. Brother turned against brother, sister against sister, until the only song was discord.
CHAPTER 30
“WHY WOULD YOU WANT to stay there? After all that, it would be the last place I’d spend the night.”
Jillian had only a fifteen-minute break and she had no idea how to explain something to Stella that she didn’t understand herself. “I want to move out, and I’m going to soon. I just feel kinda bad about leaving everybody at Saint Sans right now.”
Stella responded sarcastically. “The way you’ve described being treated around there, I can certainly see why you’re drawn to it. Sounds irresistible.”
“Nobody’s really been ugly to me but Mrs. Fontaine.”
“Yeah, but doesn’t she rule the place?”
“Yes, it’s hers, but she isn’t mean all the time. She’s just—”
“A witch, I recall you saying.”
Jillian laughed. “I did say that, and I still think that most of the time. I don’t know how to explain it. I just feel like I’d be bailing on David. And even on Caryn. Everybody’s spooked. I guess there’s something about being spooked together.”
“Sounds like a blast.”
Jillian could tell Stella was annoyed. And she couldn’t really blame her. Here she’d practically been begging Stella to take her in, and now that Stella had agreed, Jillian had changed her mind, at least temporarily. “Remember the old woman I told you about?”
“The crazy one?”
Jillian started to correct her, but she thought back on all the times she’d said the same thing to David. “Mrs. Winsee. She’s hardly said a word since it happened. It’s been three days. Mrs. Fontaine’s taken her to the doctor twice already. He’s recommending hospitalization followed by . . . I think she said assisted living.”
Stella checked her phone with an expression of boredom.
Jillian pressed through. “Mrs. Fontaine says she knows her better than the doctor and that the move from Saint Sans could make her condition irreversible. Clementine’s the only one she’s responding to, and it would be a mistake to separate them.”
“Clementine? Now, which one is that? I thought there were only five of you in that house and the black woman who runs it.”
The tone of the last part of that statement irritated Jillian, but Stella was in such a contentious mood, Jillian decided to keep her mouth shut about it. She’d stick with simply answering the question. “Clementine’s
the cat.”
Stella threw her head back with a laugh and cursed. “Listen, if you want to stay in that madhouse, you go right ahead. I’m not looking for houseguests. My place is small. If you want to stay with a blood grandmother you call Mrs. Fontaine, have at it. Last I heard, she’d accused you and your mother of killing her son.”
The reminder slammed into Jillian’s heart like a sledgehammer. “Yeah. She did.”
“You’re the one who said you needed somewhere to stay for a few weeks.”
“I do! I just need a few more days to see if any of this gets sorted out. If the invitation’s no longer open, I understand.”
“I didn’t say it’s no longer open. I’m just saying I don’t get it. Seems like a no-brainer to me.”
Jillian ran out of time before they could settle anything. Instead, she spent the rest of the evening wiping down tables in total frustration. She couldn’t decide whether she was madder at herself or Stella. Or Olivia, for that matter. She was the cause of the whole mess.
Stella came by again just as Jillian got off work. “Sorry I was short earlier. It wasn’t you. I’ve got a money problem, that’s all. Short on cash for a few weeks, and I was counting on you sharing expenses for a while. The square’s a great location for what I do, but it’s not cheap. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. I apologize. Do whatever you need to do.”
The apology should have made Jillian feel better, but it only made her feel more torn. Now she was going to feel guilty if she didn’t move in with Stella and help with expenses. She wished she could wind back time to six months ago and find herself working at Sigmund’s and living with Vince like everything was normal. She wished Adella had never called in the first place.
When she let herself into Saint Sans that night after work, she found a note from Caryn propped on the kitchen island: