Between Dusk and Dawn

by Lynn Emery

  “Historical research,” LaShaun replied and sneezed from the dust.

  “Well you better jump back to the present and pay attention.” Savannah marched past LaShaun down the hallway to the kitchen. She threw her leather purse down and glanced around for the radio.

  “You’ve either had too much coffee today or not enough.” LaShaun went to the sink and washed her hands.

  “Listen to this.” Savannah pressed the button on the radio until she found a station, then turned up the volume. A male voice rang through the speakers.

  “The good people of Beau Chene, and all of Vermillion Parish, need to unite against darkness that is spreading around us as I speak these words. Evil, dear Christian friends, is seeping into the very soil beneath our feet.”

  “Give me a break,” LaShaun muttered with a snort.

  “I know what some of you are thinking. Reverend Fletcher, you’re saying, don’t be so melodramatic.” He paused for effect. “But if you good people believe in angels and in the Holy Spirit, then you can’t deny that the Bible speaks of demons and evil. Turn to Genesis, and remember how the serpent told the first lie. And neighbors, he’s been lying and deceiving us ever since then. Why he even tried to tempt Jesus himself!”

  “The man has flair I must admit,” Savannah said.

  “So how can we dismiss the notion that evil and demonic influences walk among us right here in Beau Chene? Be careful, because this evil dresses itself in pretty faces, and nice clothes. This evil talks about history and culture, cloaking itself in academic pursuits and uses pretty language like secular humanism. But don’t be seduced or lulled into complacency by all these smoke screens. The devil is busy, and he’s looking for any opening into the lives of God’s children. We have to be vigilant, steadfast and brave. We must be willing to stand firm even when it’s not popular. Let’s take a couple of examples I talked about early in the show, friends. I’ve spoken to your town and our parish leaders about Halloween celebrations, a most ungodly celebration. Why, Reverend, I can hear some saying, what’s the harm in children dressing up and eating candy?Too many parents have been sucked into thinking this is a harmless night of fun, but look deeper. There are dark origins to these Halloween celebrations. The aldermen of this good town are being asked to stop having official trick or treating hours. Not only that, some have suggested that we use this unholy holiday as a tourist attraction, and discuss profit from evil. Shame, on you, Peter Kluger and Savannah Honorè. That’s right I’m naming names. We need to call out those trying to lead us to destruction.”

  “What did you do to yank his chain?” LaShaun looked at Savannah.

  “I wasn’t the only one,” Savannah blurted out. “A bunch of area businessmen said it would be great to have a town event. Some suggested we have a costume contest, and tell popular local ghost stories and legends. At least a dozen people, including two of the museum board members, were at that meeting at the mayor’s office.”

  “Let’s see if any of them step up to admit to it now,” LaShaun said in a grim tone.

  “We cannot condone these kinds of activities, or be idle while wickedness takes hold in high places. Yes, Mr. Mayor, I know you want to bring tourists and more businesses to Beau Chene. Be careful what else you bring in the process.” Reverend Fletcher’s voice dropped low giving the warning.

  “Whoa, this guy doesn’t play. He knows exactly which buttons to push. Mayor Savoie hates controversy.” LaShaun looked at Savannah who nodded back.

  “Finally, we have to be sure that those we elect to positions of authority are rooted in righteousness. We’re not just talking about the city hall. Right across from that seat of power sits another important office. Sheriff Triche has served this town well, and we must choose wisely when we replace him. Values, my friends, are reflected in behavior and who they associate themselves with. Isn’t that what we teach our children? That they should mind the company they keep? Of course. Then it stands to reason that we can do no less for those who are role models for us and our children.”

  “I’m surprised he didn’t just come out and say Chase’s name,” Savannah said with a grimace of distaste. “He’s a coward.”

  “No, he’s shrewd. Chase is popular with a lot of the younger residents and people from urban areas who have moved here. Also Sheriff Triche is behind him, and he’s even more popular.” LaShaun clenched both hands into fists. “Chase isn’t too happy about Miss Clo coming to see me. And now with Orin Young wanting me to help his grandson...”

  “What the hell?” Savannah started to go on but LaShaun waved her to silence.

  “Shush, let’s hear the rest.”

  “But take heart. We can and we will stand strong to make this a decent atmosphere for our families. Speak to our local officials. Spend your money at businesses that support Christian values. Trust me; we’re not just talking about these issues. We’re taking action. Let us pray for this town, this parish and this great state.”

  LaShaun snatched the satellite radio remote from a corner and hit the button. “I can’t stand hearing his voice another second. What a load of sanctimonious hypocrisy.”

  She wanted to laugh off his “holier than thou” diatribe, but couldn’t. If it only involved her, LaShaun wouldn’t mind. She and her grandmother had faced such animosity before. But now people she cared about were affected.

  “Amen,” Savannah chimed in. “Girl, I’m surprised he didn’t mention you and Chase since he was calling folks out.”

  “He didn’t have to. Reverend Fletcher knows that everyone got the message.” LaShaun managed to keep her voice from breaking.

  “Fletcher is on a religious bigot campaign, that’s the bad news. The good news is we have a sizeable population of folks who are more sophisticated, and they want a smart, capable professional like Chase in office” Savannah replied.

  “I can think of a few who are quietly rooting for Reverend Fletcher to keep stirring this particular pot.” LaShaun stood. “They’ll have a rich source of material to use against anyone who disagrees with them.”

  “I’ve got friends at the local radio and television stations. I can milk the media myself. They’ll love having voices raised against this bigot. I’m going to make some calls.” Savannah crossed her arms. “We’ll show him.”

  “Maybe that’s not the best idea. He wants a fight. Why not ignore him?” LaShaun said as she leaned against the counter.

  “I don’t think Reverend Fletcher will let up. He may have some more tricks up his sleeve. I say we need to speak up,” Savannah said.

  “Yeah, now if I can head off giving him more ammunition it might help,” LaShaun muttered.

  “So tell me about you and the Blood River Ripper,” Savannah said as she pulled out a stool and sat at the breakfast counter.

  “Don’t say it like we’re best buds or something,” LaShaun retorted and then heaved a sigh. “His grandfather came to see me. He swears Manny wasn’t responsible for what he did, that some kind of evil force possessed him.”

  “Orin Young hopes you can help him prove the devil made Manny rip people into bite-sized pieces? Oh please.” Savannah rolled her eyes.

  Hey, I’m not saying I believe him, or that I’m going to get involved.

  “Good. Trust me; the evidence that Manny killed those poor people was strong.” Savannah stood and helped herself to a tea cake from LaShaun’s cookie jar. “Now I better get back to the office. I had lunch with the kids at school. My butt still hurts from sitting on those tiny chairs in the cafeteria. Meeting at two. Bye-bye.”

  “Bye, and thanks for the heads up. I think,” LaShaun said.

  “Can’t believe I almost forgot more good news,” Savannah swung her purse over one shoulder. “They found two people beat up, and no it’s not Patsy and her boyfriend. Fletcher is gonna have a field day with that. I don’t know anymore because M.J. is keeping a tight lid on this one.”

  “And no wonder,” LaShaun replied.

  She walked her friend out and locked
the front door. Despite her best efforts, LaShaun couldn’t concentrate on the past anymore. The present kept jabbing into her thoughts like an insistent accusatory forefinger pointed at her. She had almost succeeded in time travel with another section of the journal written by a great-great aunt when her phone rang. LaShaun made plans to clean up and go to town before she even answered.

  *****

  Thirty minutes later LaShaun sat in M.J.’s office. The acting Sheriff took phone calls. More accurately LaShaun watched her avoid calls from the media. At thirty-seven, Myrtle Jean Arceneaux looked a good ten years younger. Her thick hair was pulled back into a ponytail. She wore tiny sterling silver stud earrings, a brown jacket with matching slacks and an animal print shirt beneath the jacket. LaShaun liked her style, business-like but with a touch of fashion. No bland white shirt for M.J. She also excelled at being a law officer. What she didn’t like was politics and reporters. Today she had to deal with both.

  At least six reporters, two with video cameras, stood outside on the grounds between city hall and the sheriff’s station. No doubt the local television newscasts would contain a combination of fact and speculation. LaShaun tried not to look, but she ended up glancing through the glass window. M.J.’s office looked out to the open station where deputies worked. Chase stood with his arms crossed talking to two of the two detectives he supervised. He wore an intense listening frown as one man gestured. When she’d walked in an hour earlier Chase had only given LaShaun a brief nod. Now she forced her gaze away from him. She felt no warmth reaching in the space between them. LaShaun turned to focus on M.J. just as the door to the office opened. The sheriff’s new administrative assistant came in. Darlene gave LaShaun a tiny wave then faced her boss.

  “Okay, Sheriff.” Darlene held a tablet computer. “I made notes on the statements you’ve made to the two reporters you talked to. What about I type this up and Deputy Naquin issue this as an official press release?” She handed the tablet to M.J.

  M.J., looking every bit in-charge, scanned the two paragraphs before handing it back to Darlene. “The smartest thing I did was to take you out of the clerical pool and make you my assistant. That’s perfect. Have Bobby deal with that hungry pack out on our lawn. You can give him the phone calls for the next three hours or so. I already told him. Bobby Naquin is our information officer,” she said to LaShaun.

  Darlene beamed at the compliment. “On it.”

  When she left on her mission M.J. looked across her desk at LaShaun. “We got ourselves a real situation here.”

  “I’d say so, another dead body and a second victim, still alive?” LaShaun agreed.

  “Only just. Xavier Marchand and his wife are understandably upset.” M.J. looked down at a folder lying on her desk. “Prelim notes from the scene say it looked pretty bizarre.”

  “So you thought of me. That’s not very flattering,” LaShaun said in dry tone.

  M.J. glanced up sharply. “They were actually found pretty close to your property line. Indications are they came from the direction of your woods.”

  “I haven’t noticed anything unusual,” LaShaun said. Monmon Odette would have been proud. Her grandmother had trained LaShaun to guard how much she shared with others.

  “I see.” M.J.’s neutral tone implied she would reserve judgment on the truth of that statement. “The man is hurt bad, but the doctor doesn’t think his injuries are life threatening at this point.”

  “Could be a mugging, or a domestic dispute that got out of hand.” LaShaun shrugged when M.J.’s eyebrows went up.

  The door opened again and the short, gruff man that came in brought a smile to LaShaun’s face. Recently retired Sheriff Triche looked much healthier than the last time she’d seen him. His silvery white hair was neatly cut, and the plaid flannel shirt tucked into his khaki pants made him look like a dapper retiree. LaShaun stood and gave him a hug.

  “You look good, cher.” LaShaun winked at him.

  “I manage to get some rest in between workin’ on a long honey-do list.” He grinned back at her, and then the amusement left his expression. “Hey, Myrtle. Heard you got a real mess on your hands,” Sheriff Triche said and let out a soft whistle.

  “Good thing I had the best lawman around to train me.” Myrtle stood and shook hands with him. All three sat down.

  “You’re top notch, and didn’t need a lot of hand holding from me.” He smiled like a proud parent. “The mayor called me. I told him in no uncertain terms that you’re the boss.”

  “Thanks, but I’m not surprised. He and Dave put their heads together before he left, too.” M.J. scowled as she glanced to her left and through the glass window.

  “Humph. Candidate Dave looking for something to punch up his campaign against Chase,” Sheriff Triche grumbled. Then he cast a sideways look at LaShaun and cleared his throat. “Don’t tell me you up to your neck in this. I thought you was supposed to stay out of trouble.”

  “She’s not connected,” M.J. said quickly. “I’m asking her if she noticed anything strange since the victims were found in the general area the of Rousselle land.”

  “Uh-huh.” The old sheriff grunted as he rose to his feet. “Well, I’ve had my share of chaos and dealing with weird crimes.” He gave LaShaun a pointed look then gazed at M.J. again. “I just stopped by to let you know I put the mayor in his place. Let me know if you need me.”

  “Thanks, sir. I appreciate the support.” M.J. stood as though in respect for her former boss. “Must be strange being in your old office.”

  “I don’t even think about this office now. Funny how fast I’m getting used to being out to pasture. Bye now.” The former Sheriff pointed a finger at LaShaun. “You don’t give Myrtle no problems.”

  “Of course not, no more than I gave you,” LaShaun shot and grinned his pained expression.

  “Lord have mercy,” he muttered and strolled out. Moments later they heard him exchanging hearty greetings with his former deputies and civilian staff.

  “I miss having him grumble and fuss his way through solving the most complicated cases. And speaking of complicated, that brings me back to these two victims.” M.J. sat down at her desk again and studied LaShaun. “We need to talk. I asked Chase to join us, but he’s delayed.”

  “Okay.” LaShaun hoped her expression was impassive at the mention of his name. But the way M.J. studied her made LaShaun fidget with the leather flap on her cross-body bag.

  “I guess he’ll wrap up with his detectives, but he doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to get in here,” M.J. said, probing more.

  “Right.” LaShaun sat straight and looked her in the eye. “So now you know I didn’t see or hear anything last night or yesterday evening.”

  “Orin Young visited you.” M.J. waited for an answer. When silence stretched a few moments she didn’t seem disturbed at all. She just settled back in her chair and waited.

  “He came to tell me that his grandson isn’t really responsible for killing all those people several years ago. Something about thinking he was possessed.” LaShaun shrugged again.

  “My grandmother has been talking to you, too.” M.J. frowned and sighed. “You want to tell me what’s going on?”

  “I don’t know. Honestly, I have no idea,” LaShaun said when M.J.’s expression darkened to one of annoyed disbelief. “Did Miss Clo tell you anything?”

  “Her and Miss Joyelle came to talk to you about Patsy before she ran off with Al. There’s nothing supernatural about a cheating wife. Or is there more?” M.J.’s grimace clearly showed she hoped not.

  “I’m not sure. It could be a couple of overactive Creole imaginations, seeing something spooky when it’s just same old story of a restless woman with hot pants.” LaShaun paused. “But what’s that got to do with this latest crime?”

  “Not sure yet,” M.J. said in a clipped tone. She gazed past LaShaun to the door of her office and nodded.

  LaShaun turned around in time to see Chase through the glass top of the office door. He came in without
knocking. “Hi.”

  “Hi.” Chase gave her a curt nod then walked across the room and placed a sheet of paper on M.J.’s desk.

  M.J. read the few lines then looked up at LaShaun. “The woman had a driver’s license in the pocket of her jeans. Her name is, was, Brenda Singleton, twenty-eight years old.”

  “Never heard of her,” LaShaun replied. “What about the guy?”

  “We didn’t find anything on him. His clothes were pretty torn up. Maybe he dropped his ID or it came out of his pockets.” Chase rubbed his jaw and looked at M.J. instead of LaShaun.

  “Well, I can’t help y’all with this one so I’ll be on my way.” LaShaun started to get up, but M.J. waved her back into her seat.

  “Hold on, there’s more.” M.J. looked at Chase then back to LaShaun. “The woman had a map in another pocket. Looks like a crude handwritten thing. It shows the woods around that small bayou off Vermillion Road and includes your land, with an arrow pointing to the old Rousselle family cemetery.”

  “I promise they weren’t coming to my house for dinner. I don’t know this Brenda whats-her-name or the guy.” LaShaun felt a flash of irritation at the way they both stood gazing at her. “What?”

  “You’d tell me if you were being threatened or anything, right?” Chase said quietly.

  M.J. looked at him sharply, and then at LaShaun. She didn’t say anything but leaned forward and concentrated on LaShaun’s every move. Seconds ticked by as LaShaun looked back at Chase. She felt his genuine concern, not just that he was questioning her as a detective with the Vermillion Parish Sheriff’s Office.

  “Yes, I would tell you,” LaShaun replied softly. She faced M.J. “Chase is talking about the occasional thrill seekers and oddballs who come out to get a look at the place with all the voodoo tales. For years Monmon Odette has had to deal with silly and just plain nutty characters showing up on our property around Halloween.”

  “I hadn’t thought about that.” M.J. stood. “It’s been awhile, but I remember kids sneaking out there looking for ghosts.” She gave a grunt. “Mostly to drink, smoke weed and get up to other no good.”