Between Dusk and Dawn

by Lynn Emery

  “I’m used to being on my own. It can get lonely, but on the other hand it’s...” LaShaun hesitated before saying the word “freedom”.

  “What?” Chase wiped his mouth with a corner of the cloth napkin.

  “Having to attend family gatherings and talk about personal stuff is going to be tough for me.” LaShaun knew she’d stick out like a sore thumb in a crowd of chattering people blurting out their business and getting into hers.

  “Small talk with people you hardly know doesn’t come easy to you. I get it.” Chase tilted his head to one side and studied her for a few moments. “Which is why we’ll take it slow.”

  “Thanks,” LaShaun murmured.

  What if she was never ready for the “meet the family” event? When she tried to look on the bright side point of view it didn’t work. She was about to be more open with him, but the ringing of his cell phone interrupted. Chase’s expression became serious when he looked at the call ID display.

  “Hello, boss.”

  He signaled to LaShaun that he was going outside. He walked through the glass doors that led outside to the patio and found a corner away from the few diners out there. LaShaun didn’t need her psychic gifts to tell her that call couldn’t be good news. M.J. would only interrupt his day off for serious business. Chase walked farther away until he crossed the wooden bridge over a strip of water. Soon he was on the grass of a high bank overlooking the river, well away from anyone. LaShaun felt a familiar warm tingle along her spine, up her neck and across her shoulders. The news Chase was hearing involved death, specifically the dead woman they’d found that turned out not to be Patsy Boutin. As Chase strode back toward the patio doors, LaShaun waved to their waiter.

  “We need the check and two boxes for our food, please,” LaShaun said.

  “Sure thing, ma’am.” The tall thin young man left.

  Chase sat down. “Sorry, but M.J. needs me to come in for a couple of hours.”

  “I’ve already sent for the check and to-go boxes.” LaShaun nodded toward the approaching waiter.

  “That ‘seeing the future’ thing throws me off every time,” Chase said low so the family of four sitting at the next table wouldn’t hear.

  “You’re a deputy. Lawmen have emergencies, and they’re subject to be called in at any time. Common sense deduction, babe.” LaShaun decided not to mention the rest of what she knew.

  He smiled as he leaned closer. “I keep forgetting you’re as smart a detective as Miss Marple, and a helluva lot sexier.”

  “I’m guessing I won’t get to show you just how sexy a sleuth I can be tonight?” LaShaun made a soft kissing sound.

  “Rain check,” Chase said and winked at her.

  The waiter returned and Chase sat back in his chair. He scowled when LaShaun insisted it was her turn to pay, but gave in. They put the remains of their dinner in the containers and left. On the ride back, Chase seemed distracted. He turned on the radio and tried to make small talk, but lapsed into long silences.

  “Anything you can tell me? I won’t gossip,” LaShaun quipped.

  He put a hand on her thigh and smiled at her. “I didn’t want to spoil the last few minutes we have of our weekend.”

  “Last few minutes, huh? Must be bad.”

  LaShaun put her hand on his. There was danger, but LaShaun couldn’t see if the threat was to Chase. When she noticed he wasn’t wearing the necklace she’d given him, LaShaun started to ask. Then she saw the pendant hanging from a leather braided strap holding his keys. She sighed with relief. The sterling silver wolf’s head set in onyx with a lapis lazuli stone beneath it had been given to her by her grandmother. Monmon Odette said the wolf was a symbol of power, and the onyx provided protection. Their Choctaw ancestors had handed down this wisdom. LaShaun touched the silver as she said a prayer of protection for him.

  “Bad enough. We identified the dead woman. She disappeared from Baton Rouge about three years ago. She had a history of drug use and running off with men.” Chase watched traffic as they turned onto Highway 14 and back into Vermillion Parish.

  “Sad, but common. Her family got in touch when they saw her picture, huh?” LaShaun remembered in time to make that a question. She already knew the answer.

  “Yes, and you’re not fooling me.” Chase squeezed her thigh then put his hand back on the steering wheel.

  “Okay, so maybe I sense a few things. But don’t forget I know just like everyone else that y’all spread that drawing far and wide.” LaShaun sometimes wished she didn’t see things ahead.

  “Your gift doesn’t bother me, honey,” Chase said and smiled at her reassuringly.

  LaShaun moved closer to him until their hips touched. “I sense that call had to do with the dead woman.”

  He nodded and his jaw set into his “on duty” look. “It sure does.”

  “What?”

  “She’s a member of a rich old Baton Rouge family. The kind of people that have a lot of money passed down from three generations back. These folks don’t want to be in the news, not even the fancy society pages,” Chase said.

  “Okay, but... oh-oh.” LaShaun let out a low whistle.

  “Exactly. The media is swarming because someone has been spreading rumors about a supernatural serial killer.” Chase glanced sideways at her then back at the road ahead.

  “Well don’t look at me. I’ve been with you.” LaShaun poked his big bicep.

  “What about your two buddies, Miss Clo and her sidekick?” Chase turned down the tiny highway that was a back route connecting to Rougon Road that would take them to Rousselle Lane eventually.

  LaShaun shook her head. “No way. Joyelle had to be convinced to come see me, and she could barely talk about Manny Young. Miss Clo wouldn’t gossip. She’s worried about the backlash against her friend.”

  “Well somebody has been talking. I’ll get the details when I meet M.J. at the station,” Chase said.

  “But why do they need you back? You’ve been working so hard,” LaShaun protested. “They’ve got that other ambitious detective, Dave Gouchaux. “

  “Yep, he’s sharp. But M.J. wants me there, too. Dave can be a little too take charge sometimes,” Chase said.

  “I’ve seen him talk down to M.J.” LaShaun gave a snort. “She’s got more patience than me. I’d put that snot in his place quick. She’s in charge, and you’re going to be elected Sheriff.”

  “There’s a little thing called an election, honey. Besides, M.J. can handle herself. She’ll know when the time is right to check Dave.” Chase smiled. “M.J. might decide to run for Sheriff. It’s not too late for her to fill out the papers.”

  “Oh, no. I don’t want to choose, but of course I’d vote for you,” LaShaun added quickly when he glanced at her. “I would!”

  “Don’t pretend that M.J. wouldn’t make a fine Sheriff, and you like her a lot.” Chase chuckled when LaShaun slapped his arm.

  “I’m solidly in your corner, Deputy Broussard. Stop teasing. Besides, I happen to have it on good authority that M.J. doesn’t want to run for Sheriff. She hates politics even more than you do. She told me being Sheriff is seventy percent dealing with asshole public officials.” LaShaun laughed at the memory of the sour look on M.J.’s face when she said it.

  “Gee, thanks for giving me something to shoot for. I really want the job now,” Chase quipped.

  “You’ll do fine dealing with the people and police side of it,” LaShaun said with certainty. “I just want you to be safe doing both.”

  “I’ll be fine,” he said. “If I even get elected remember.”

  “The folks in Vermillion Parish with any sense will run to the polls and press that button next to your name.” LaShaun smiled at him, but it faded as they got closer to Beau Chene. The vibrations of trouble came to her in waves.

  Fifteen minutes later they arrived at LaShaun’s house. The outside security light at the end of her driveway and the one in her backyard had come on at dusk. It was only four thirty in the afternoon and alrea
dy it was growing dark fast. LaShaun got out of Chase’s truck and walked around to the driver’s side. She leaned in the open window and kissed his mouth hard.

  “You owe me, Deputy Broussard.”

  “I always pay my debts, ma’am.”

  Chase claimed his own gentle kiss. He waited until LaShaun opened her front door and started to go in. She turned back and came out on the porch again.

  “Hey you! Call me,” LaShaun yelled after him as he turned around and drove away. He blew his horn in reply.

  She watched the red glow from his truck taillights vanish as he turned the corner of her driveway and onto the road. LaShaun sighed. Even their shortened weekend had been wonderful. She breathed in the crisp night air. A huge October full moon glowed like a giant firefly in the night sky. Chase would admonish her about lingering outside at night, but the darkness and shadows once the sun disappeared had never frightened LaShaun. Leaning against the porch railing that ran the length of it, she gazed up at the sky. Her ancestors had been able to see a ceiling of stars. Even living far from a large city, it was hard to get the same view in these modern days. She looked at the lovely way shadows laced the woods in folds, a soft velvet midnight blue and black like a woman’s cape. Suddenly a movement in her peripheral vision caused LaShaun to go still. Her senses kicked in. She calculated how fast she could get inside, slam the door and lock it. Plenty of time, she thought calmly. Even if this being, human or not, made it to her she could crash the carved oak rocker in that direction, and move quickly.

  “Evenin’, ma’am,” the voice rumbled like a heavy rock rolling across the ground toward her. “I need to talk to you ‘bout my boy.”

  Her breathing slowed down as LaShaun turned to face the figure standing on the edge of her driveway. He seemed to have come from a break between a huge swamp cottonwood tree and an oak, both planted over a hundred years ago. Was this another spirit stirred up by her ancestors in these woods? Her grandmother had taught her to fight back. She fingered the silver cross that hung from a chain around her neck.

  “Who are you?” she asked, trying to project a fear she didn’t feel.

  Demons grew bold and proudly gave their names when humans cowered. Having his name would give LaShaun some power to strike out. The being didn’t move. Waves of hopelessness buffeted her. She faced a man, not a specter.

  “Step into the light, please,” LaShaun said.

  The man walked slowly across the driveway making gravel crunch beneath his shoes. He moved into the glare of the security lamp overhead. “I hope you don’t mind me comin’ out here unannounced. I thought maybe you’d find it harder to say no if I didn’t call first.”

  “You still haven’t told me your name, and why you’re hiding. “ LaShaun stood ready to either fight like a wildcat, or rush inside for her single barrel shotgun in the hall closet.

  Headlights lit up the tree trunks suddenly as an all terrain vehicle rumbled through the brush east of LaShaun’s property. The dark green camouflage buggy stopped, but the engine grumbled. “Hey neighbor, you all right?”

  “Hi Mr. Marchand. I’m fine,” LaShaun called back to her neighbor.

  “I seen a truck head this way moving slow and swing onto your property. Didn’t see it come back. Knew you weren’t home.” Xavier Marchand, Sr. jumped from the driver’s side while his youngest son, Xavier, Jr. sat watching. “Kinda late for you to be out visiting strangers, fella.”

  “I got my cell phone ready to dial the sheriff’s station, daddy,” the seventeen year said.

  “No need for that. Miss Rousselle ain’t in no danger from me,” the man said. No trace of alarm was in his tone.

  Mr. Marchand took a few steps closer. He wore a surprised expression. “That you, Orin? Orin Young?”

  “How you and the family been doin’, Xavier? Haven’t seen you in a while.” Mr. Young nodded to the man.

  “Yeah, since you stopped coming to the Men’s Fellowship meetings at St. Anthony’s,” Mr. Marchand replied. “I’m good, and same for the family. How are you, Orin?”

  “Can’t say the same, Xavier. Can’t say the same at all.” Mr. Young replied. “I just want to talk to Miss Rousselle.”

  “I’m okay, Mr. Marchand.” LaShaun knew the man was no threat.

  “This is a bad thing,” Mr. Marchand said low, as if speaking to himself. He backed up and got into the all terrain buggy again.

  “Are you sure we should leave her? That dude showing up out here at night...” the younger Marchand spoke quietly, but LaShaun could hear him. Xavier, Jr. shifted to hold the rifle in his hands so that it was visible, as a warning apparently.

  “Let’s get on home,” his father said. He frowned at Mr. Young and then glanced briefly at LaShaun before shifting into reverse.

  “We’ll keep an eye out, Miss LaShaun,” his son shouted over the noise of the vehicle’s engine. His father did not look back, as though he was eager to be gone.

  “Sorry, I tried to avoid anybody knowing I come out here. The whole town gonna know by tomorrow night. Guess I better leave.” Mr. Young heaved a deep sigh. More waves of despair flowed from him.

  “No point now. They’re going to know anyway, so you might as well come in and say what you have to say.” LaShaun looked at him.

  “You ain’t scared to talk to me by yourself?”

  “I’m not scared. You can come in for some tea or coffee.” LaShaun could feel that Mr. Young was wavering. His uncertainty warred with his desire to speak to her. “You’ve come this far.”

  “Yes.” Mr. Young walked to the porch steps, but then hesitated again. One foot was on the first step. “Being seen with me won’t be good for your reputation.”

  LaShaun’s laughter startled him. “Mr. Young, you can’t do my reputation any harm.”

  “What about your deputy? He wants to be sheriff I hear,” Mr. Young replied.

  Her smile faded and she looked at him with interest. “You better come on in then before anybody else sees you.”

  She opened the door and beckoned for him to go in first. After a few more seconds Mr. Young walked ahead of her into the house. LaShaun turned on the porch light and followed him into the formal parlor for visitors. Once he was seated on the edge of a chair, LaShaun went down the hallway to the kitchen. Fortunately she’d left the electric coffee maker prepared so all she had to do was flip the on switch. After setting up cups on a tray she went back to the parlor. Mr. Young stood staring at wood carvings on a side table. Then he gazed up at the landscape painting of one portion of LaShaun’s family acres around the house. She’d taken down the portrait of Monmon Odette. The painting had a tendency to unsettle visitors. Instead she loaned it to the local museum, to the curator’s great delight.

  “The coffee will be ready in a few minutes. I have some homemade tea cakes to go with them.” LaShaun smiled at the somber man.

  “Don’t go to no trouble for me.” Mr. Young seemed accustomed to being shunned instead of welcomed.

  “I didn’t, Mr. Young. The tea cakes are waiting for guests, and the coffee was easy.” LaShaun sat down knowing he waited for her to sit first. “How can I help you?”

  “Lotta times folks just ask that outta habit. Don’t really want to help. They just tryin’ to get rid of somebody fast.” Mr. Young sighed again.

  LaShaun now had time and more light to study him. Mr. Young’s thick hair was a silvery white. A long lock fell across his high forehead. Deep frown lines cut into both sides of his mouth, as though smiling was something he rarely did. He looked about seventy years old. His shoulders sloped down as though he was weighted with heavy burdens. She thought of the scripture in the Bible; he appeared to be a man of sorrows, acquainted with grief. << Isaiah 53:3>> And yet she sensed something else beneath a shield to keep others out.

  “I know you’re Manny Young’s granddaddy,” LaShaun said, answering his unasked question.

  Orin Young’s shoulders slumped lower. The weight of acknowledging his kinship with a serial killer seemed
to press him down even more. He nodded. “Most folks don’t know he was a twin. His baby sister died, something called placenta failure. His mama always said Manny sucked all the life outta his twin.”

  His first victim? LaShaun felt a lump settle into her mid-section at the thought. “But you said he was a happy boy, so his childhood was normal. Right?”

  “His mama wasn’t right in the head. She took off, ended up living on the streets in New Orleans. My son, well he had problems with drinking. Me and my wife raised Manny. We’d go fishin’ and huntin’. He loved to hunt.” Mr. Young stopped and looked at LaShaun. “It ain’t what you’re thinkin’. He didn’t take pleasure in killin’ just for the sake of it. Lots of reporters said that, but they lied.”

  LaShaun wondered if Mr. Young’s love for Manny made him blind to early signs of violence. Yet there were stories of killers who seemed no different from others; no horrible childhood to explain the burst of brutality later in life.

  “I see. So his childhood was normal, even happy,” LaShaun said.

  “We did our best,” Mr. Young said with strength. A light flared in his watery gray-green eyes.

  “I’m sure you did, sir.” LaShaun meant it. She felt his fierce love for the boy as he remembered him.

  “Still he missed his mama, like any child would. Never could understand why she was gone. My son wasn’t around, and when he did show up most times he was drunk and draggin’ some bar fly floozy with him.” Mr. Young scowled as though his son had walked into the room. “Manny had his problems when he got older, but he wasn’t no killer.”

  “The state police had strong evidence that Manny murdered at least seven of the twelve victims.”

  Mr. Young blinked hard for several seconds and then rubbed his eyes with the back of one hand. He looked at LaShaun. “I don’t think it was him. Oh, I know they had evidence he did it. I’ve never been one for superstition, all that hoodoo hocus pocus crap. But I seen his eyes, and it wasn’t him.”