Between Dusk and Dawn

by Lynn Emery

“And he confessed,” LaShaun added.

  “He’d told me about these dreams he had” Joyelle gripped Miss Clo’s hand. “I don’t think I can say them horrible things.”

  “You go sit out on the porch in the sunshine for a bit,” Miss Clo said. Joyelle nodded and left. Moments later they heard the sound of the front screen door shut as she went out.

  “She’s really shaken up.” LaShaun didn’t feel any amusement now.

  “Manny told her about several dreams. In one he was with a pretty girl, and they was having fun, of a sexual nature. He didn’t know how much time passed, but he woke up in the woods with blood all over him. The girl was gone. Another one, he dreamed he was eating raw meat.” Miss Clo put a hand to her chest before she went on. “That was six months after they found parts of a dead woman in St. Mary Parish. After Manny was convicted Joyelle saw pictures of some of the victims in the local paper during Manny’s trial.”

  LaShaun’s entire body hummed with a kind of electricity. She sat straight. “One of the victims fit the description of the pretty girl Manny saw in his dream.”

  “Yes,” Miss Clo said, her voice shaking.

  “Joyelle didn’t go to the police?” LaShaun now had the sensation of a rock sitting in her stomach.

  “She didn’t know all the details until long after the trial was over.” Miss Clo spoke with force in defense of her friend. “He was convicted anyway.”

  “I’m not judging her, Miss Clo, not at all,” LaShaun replied quickly.

  Joyelle came back inside. She looked somewhat revived. “Fresh air and sunshine did me good. Sorry for getting so nervy on you, Clo.”

  “Any normal person would get spooked by all these strange goings-on.” Miss Clo patted her friend on the back when Miss Joyelle sat down next to her again.

  “Anyway, I didn’t see nothing strange when the first case came to me. But then after a third person wanted prayer and talked about bad dreams.” Joyelle shook her head slowly. “Now Patsy is missing, and her husband is being accused of doing something awful to her.”

  “And they find a dead body?” Miss Clo gazed at LaShaun. “You tell me this is all just normal stuff.”

  “Does seem strange.” LaShaun gazed out one of the windows. The scene beyond seemed peaceful and lovely. She was finding it hard to imagine a sinister undercurrent in Vermillion Parish.

  “Thank the good Lord, you’re gonna find out what’s happening,” Miss Clo said with a wide smile.

  “Oh now wait a minute,” LaShaun replied. The two women gazed at her in dismay. “I’m not even sure where to start.”

  “Manny’s granddaddy says you can go with him on his next visit to the Forensic Unit,” Joyelle blurted out.

  “I’m not going to a secure facility full of violent men found to be criminally insane. No thank you very much.” LaShaun looked at Joyelle as though she’d lost her mind.

  Miss Clo put a restraining hand on her friend’s arm. “That might not be necessary just yet, Joy. I happen to have a few things you can start reading.”

  “Really?” LaShaun blinked at her in surprise.

  Miss Clo reached into her large quilted handbag. She pulled out a folder with a large rubber band around it. “I’ve got copies of clippings about Manny’s case, the trial and all. I made notes on what Joyelle told me.”

  LaShaun took the folder. “You been listening to M.J. talk about work, or did she get her investigative skills from you?”

  “A little of both,” Miss Clo replied with a grin.

  The two women waited as LaShaun looked through the packet of material Miss Clo had given her. Newspaper stories were organized in date order beginning with the discovery of the bodies, then with Manny’s arrest, trial and conviction. A year later a psychiatrist wrote a scholarly article on cultural beliefs and crime. Though he didn’t identify Manny, it didn’t take a reporter much digging to figure out the “Louisiana case” was the Blood River Ripper. A year later the reporter did a follow-up story which included an interview with Manny’s grandfather, relatives of the victims and the assistant district attorney who handled the case. Miss Clo had carefully typed up notes of Joyelle’s account of how she met Manny and what she remembered.

  LaShaun looked up at the two women. “I’m speechless. You’ve put a lot of effort into this.”

  “My daughter bought me a lap top and one of those fancy wireless printers.” Miss Clo shrugged as if it was no big deal.

  “Clo was always real organized, even in high school,” Joyelle put in.

  LaShaun closed the folder. When Miss Clo and Joyelle continued to gaze at her, LaShaun cleared her throat. “I’ll call you in a day or so, maybe three. I want to read it thoroughly, and maybe do a little of my own digging.”

  “Well, that sounds reasonable. So we’ll let you get back to your quiet Friday. We’re in for a beautiful weekend.” Miss Clo and Joyelle, taking her cue, stood as well.

  “We thank you for helping us figure this out, LaShaun.” Joyelle seemed relieved to hand over at least part of the burden to someone else.

  “I can’t make any promises. So I don’t want you two to get your hopes up,” LaShaun said as she walked them toward the front door.

  “We have faith in you, don’t we Joy?” Miss Clo said.

  “Yes we do,” Joyelle replied.

  “Thanks, but folks staying out late and getting into mischief may be a coincidence.” LaShaun tried to manage their expectations.

  Joyelle’s round pleasant face wore a sad expression. “It’s not.”

  “Have a wonderful weekend, cher.”

  Miss Clo patted LaShaun’s shoulder and the two friends left. As they walked away they spoke softly to each other. Once in Miss Clo’s small car they waved one last time before they drove away. LaShaun watched the car disappear. She looked around at the land surrounding her house. No wave of danger or anything abnormal came to her. She saw beech, oak and magnolia trees. Green grass carpeted the ground that was her front yard. The wooded land she now owned, thanks to Monmon Odette, surrounded the house to the west for six acres. Her nearest neighbors were a good two miles away in that direction. To the east she could barely make out Xavier Marchand’s horse barn. Their family home was three quarters of a mile to the east past the barn. Not even a whiff of anything sinister came to LaShaun on the slight autumn breeze.

  She carried the folder into the house and put it on the antique desk where she did bills, and where her lap top sat. Determined not to think about stranger wanderings at night and serial killers, LaShaun did housework. She dusted around the folder, stared at it but kept going. She went into the kitchen and prepared the batter for homemade hushpuppies. All the while her mind kept going back to folder. What she wanted was to prepare for the days she’d spend with Chase. But she rushed through her preparations, finally filling up her grandmother’s huge pot with gumbo ingredients so that it could simmer. Then she retrieved the folder and settled on the bench. For two hours she absentmindedly stirred the pot and read. When there was a knock on the door she jumped and looked out of the bay window. Chase stood waving at her.

  “You plan to let me in sometime before it gets dark out here?” he called, his deep voice muffled by the glass between them. He was dressed in a red checkered flannel shirt. The sleeves were rolled back to reveal his muscled forearms. He wore blue jeans and a dark red cap covered his curly black hair.

  “Sorry.” LaShaun put the folder down, careful not to lose her place, and then went to the back door to let him in. “I got so involved in reading I didn’t hear you.”

  Chase kissed her lips lightly. Then he walked in and tossed a small travel bag on the wooden bench near the back door. “That must be some good book. Smells good in here. I hope dinner’s almost ready. I barely had half my sandwich at lunch before I had to get back to work.”

  “Long day with all the excitement, huh?” LaShaun took the cap from his head and hung it on a rack above the bench.

  “Pooh, I don’t wanna even talk about it. Crazy
stuff. I just wish Patsy and her latest fling would let somebody know where they ran off to, and this circus can be over.” Chase sat down on the small sofa in the seating area LaShaun had added to the kitchen. He turned on the flat screen television. Flipping the channels he found a sports network. “I’m just glad to have a few days off.”

  “I’ll bet.” LaShaun sat next to him and smiled when he took her hand in his without taking his eyes off the sports news. She tapped her foot for a few seconds. “Did anybody identify the dead woman y’all found?”

  “No, we’re circulating a drawing. I figure we’ll get something sooner or later.” Chase stretched out his long legs and settled back against the cushion. After a few moments he laughed at a joke one of the sports reporters made. “That guy’s a real wise ass.”

  “Yeah, funny.” LaShaun waited a few more moments. “So what’s the cause of death?”

  “Prelim says blunt force trauma, but there was some decomp so...” Chase looked at her sideways. “Hey, we’re not talking dead bodies, murder and grim reaper stuff. For two days we’re going to discuss nothing heavier than the weather or what we’re going to eat.”

  “I know. You want to get away from crime and punishment. I don’t blame you.” LaShaun patted his hard thigh.

  “Good.” Chase kicked off his leather cowboy boots and stood up. He stretched, and then went to the stove. He lifted the pot and sniffed. “Is it ready?”

  “Sure. I mostly cooked it the other day. The seasonings should be well into the shrimp and chicken by now. I’m going to drop a few oysters in, the way you like it, and let them simmer for about ten minutes,” LaShaun said.

  She got the covered bowl of oysters from the refrigerator. Chase went to the window and looked out as LaShaun dropped the oysters in and set the kitchen timer. He picked up the folder LaShaun has been so engrossed with.

  “So this is what had you so hypnotized you couldn’t hear anything.” His voice trailed off as he flipped the pages. “Honey?”

  “Yes, babe.” LaShaun stirred the pot then covered it back up. She took out the electric fryer and filled it with oil.

  “Why are you reading about a serial killer on the eve of our quiet weekend, the days we planned to love on each other and think nice thoughts?” Chase asked as he continued to scan the pages in the folder.

  LaShaun watched the oil heat up quickly. She took out the hushpuppies, but waited longer for the oil to get to the right temperature. “I was just looking over information Miss Clo brought me.”

  “Sweet Miss Clo is riding around the country side with a serial killer scrap book,” Chase said. He walked over to stand in front of LaShaun. “M.J. would be more than a little disturbed to hear this.”

  “You don’t want to discuss this stuff on our special weekend.” LaShaun reached for the folder.

  Chase moved it just beyond her reach. “Maybe just a little bit.”

  LaShaun turned around and dropped six hush puppies into the oil. They started to sizzle immediately. “Miss Clo and her friend Joyelle came to see me this afternoon. According to them, strange things are going on in Vermillion Parish, and... Joyelle said prayers over Manny Young about a year before he was arrested.”

  “And?” Chase prompted when she paid more attention to the cooking rather than telling him more.

  “Joyelle says Manny was acting strange like Patsy Boutin and a few of her other patients, for lack of a better word. You know Joyelle is a traiteur.” LaShaun took two ceramic gumbo bowls and plates to set dinner on out of the cabinet.

  “Yes, I but I don’t get the connection.” Chase let out a sharp hiss. “Oh wait a minute, they’re saying something supernatural is going on.”

  “Not really in so many words,” LaShaun said calmly. She used a slotted metal spoon to remove the now golden brown hushpuppies. She put them on a small serving plate lined with a paper towel to soak up excess oil. Then she faced him and crossed her arms.

  “If Miss Clo or Joyelle thinks there is a connection to a known crime, talking to law enforcement is what they need to do,” Chase said, wearing his professional lawman expression.

  LaShaun sighed. “Joyelle doesn’t have anything more substantial than her experience and a gut feeling. You want to interview Joyelle about her intuition?”

  “So they come to the local paranormal detective.” Chase raised an eyebrow at her.

  “Coming from anyone else I’d say you were mocking me,” LaShaun shot back, and grabbed the folder from his hands. She put it on the small desk in a corner of the kitchen.

  “You know better. The last time things got dangerous. Now we’re talking a psycho serial killer.” Chase grabbed her by both shoulders. “Yes, I know you can handle yourself in most situations, but why take chances?”

  “So I guess you don’t think visiting the Blood River Ripper is a great idea either, huh?”

  “What the hell?” Chase stared at her with a stunned expression.

  “I’m joking, ha-ha, a joke. Had you going there for a minute.”

  LaShaun wrapped her arms around his waist and smiled up at him. No need to mention that Joyelle brought it up. In fact, LaShaun was intrigued by the possibility of looking into the killer’s eyes. She wondered what she’d see, and sense, from him.

  “Visiting Manny Young maybe the worst idea of all possible ideas.” Chase gazed at her pointedly. “You agree, right?”

  “I can see the downside of visiting a vicious murderer,” LaShaun replied. She gave him a peck on the chin then stepped away. “Let’s eat.”

  “No more talk about murders, murderers, and cheating wives on the run. I’m going to wash up.”

  Chase padded on sock covered feet to the master bathroom. When he came back they feasted on hot gumbo, hush puppies and cold root beer from a local soft drink company. Chase steered the conversation firmly away from his work. Even when they settled in front of the television, he turned off a popular crime show and found a pirate movie instead. The sweet comfort of being with him wrapped around LaShaun like one of her favorite quilts. Later in bed his kisses and the touch of his long fingers banished any other thought outside their own little world. Hours into the early morning, Chase snored softly next to her. LaShaun’s eyes popped open to see the glowing digital clock show her the time. A strange howl echoed from a distance. Or had she been dreaming? She closed her eyes and tried not to think of Manny Young.

  Chapter 4

  LaShaun and Chase spent Sunday fishing in a pond only a few miles away from Chase’s house. They took their time getting back to his house. There they showered and changed, and drove down river to a charming seafood restaurant. LaShaun suggested The Cafe Long Vue because of the delicious food; and because it was far away from Beau Chene in St. Mary Parish. She was still worried about Chase’s election chances. The view of the water and boats motoring by outside wide the windows served as lovely a backdrop. Chase seemed totally relaxed as he talked about his nieces and nephews. His eyes sparkled as he recounted what made each one uniquely wonderful. Then he glanced up, and LaShaun knew what was coming.

  “Too bad you couldn’t come to our family barbecue Labor Day weekend,” he said in a casual tone.

  “We agreed that it would have been awkward,” said LaShaun as she speared a plump grilled shrimp and dipped it in sauce before eating it.

  “No, I agreed that you would feel awkward. My family would have welcomed you.” Chase tilted his head to one side. “My daddy can put anybody at ease in any situation. The man is a born diplomat, and big teddy bear.”

  “We’ve only been dating a few months. Why don’t we give them a little while longer to get used to having their son involved with the voodoo priestess of Vermillion Parish,” LaShaun quipped, and then glanced out of the window. “Hey, there’s my dream boat.”

  Chase reached across the table and grabbed her right hand. “I’m not going to push you on meeting the family. Just know that I’ll issue the invitation every once in a while.”

  “Okay.” LaShaun relaxed
beneath his touch.

  “Like right now. My brother and his wife always have a big blow out Halloween party, and it’s Jessi’s birthday,” Chase said quietly, still holding her hand. “You’ve got a good three weeks to think it over.”

  “I’m sure I’ll make a fabulous addition to the spooky festivities. The place will be packed to see if I stir up any real goblins.” LaShaun once again felt the old sense of isolation in the midst of a crowd, the staring eyes directed at her as though she were an exhibit in a freak show. She attempted to pull her hand away, but Chase held on.

  “The party is all about the kids. We have more princesses and comic book hero costumes than any ghostly kind of thing. We play old fashion games, but we also have some fun video games, too,” Chase grinned. When LaShaun gave him a pointed look he sighed. “Okay sure, they decorate with fake spider webs and rubber spiders, a few old sheets made up like ghosts and maybe a scarecrow.”

  “Right.” LaShaun freed her hand and crossed her arms.

  “My sister is usually dressed as something goofy, like a lady bug. It’s not what you’re thinking at all. Good, clean harmless fun. They’re not inviting you because of any kind of hidden agenda.” Chase grew serious. “I wouldn’t stand for it even if my family was like that, but they’re not. They’re caring, open-hearted people.”

  “Which is where you get it,” LaShaun said softly. “Sorry for being so paranoid. I’m used to it being me and my grandmother against the world. She’s gone now and...”

  “You’re not alone. Besides, you’ve got people who care about you. But I want you to feel completely fine with it when it happens.”

  “Thanks for understanding,” LaShaun said.

  She tried to sound hopeful. When he smiled and went back to his plate of baked trout, LaShaun felt a stab of guilt. Chase kept talking about his family, including uncles and aunts. Deep down she wasn’t sure she could be the woman he needed. The thought left her cold. Although LaShaun had dreamed of having a sister she could confide in, or a big brother to stand up for her, the reality of an adopted family made her feel jittery. She tried to imagine having expectations and frequent questions directed at her. What Chase thought of as family closeness and caring made LaShaun feel claustrophobic.