“Where you have to belong or move out.”
Her momma stood. “Let’s go into the kitchen.”
She squinted. “You have coffee?”
“Coffee? You want to try coffee?” Her mother paused in thought. “Let me make you a cup with sugar and milk so it’s not so strong.”
“I like it black. I had it at Ash’s once.”
“Black? Don’t be silly.”
Cozy squeezed her eyes shut and stood also. “Fine.” She carried her breakfast, following her mother like an imprinted duckling while spying into the living room. Mr. Teeth’s head would go perfect on the top shelf of the bookcase.
Her momma placed a cup of coffee on the table as they both sat. The brown cabinets hung over an ‘L’ shaped fake marble counter. Crawfish oven mitts hung from hooks along with other utensils. At the right end of the counter was the refrigerator covered with notes and magnets.
Cozy sipped the bitter-sweet, hot brew. “I miss Haley.”
“I told you not to mention your sister in this house.”
“But she’s all alone in New Orleans and doesn’t have me to protect her anymore.” Her hands wrapped around the burning cup.
“Her choice. Besides, no one knows where she lives or works. So, until she contacts us, there’s nothing we can do, but forget about her.” Her momma stared at the ceiling.
“Never.”
“Mr. Paul called me about the gator. I can’t believe your therapist would let you do that.” Her disapproval came through.
“I can’t believe I’m still seeing a therapist years after...”
“… Years after killing your father. You don’t just get over that. But, I don’t know about hacking up an alligator.”
“As far as Dr. Clair knows, I just work at a seafood store. Besides, I killed and skinned lots of animals in the bayou before saving Haley. . .” Her voice dropped.
“Cozy,” she blurted. “Stop it. We’ve gone through this too many times already. I don’t want talk about it.”
“Momma, you saw the cuts and bruises on Haley.”
“Your sister hung out with thugs.” Her hand slapped the table.
“No, that was me hanging out with thugs.”
“I never once saw your daddy raise a hand to either of you. How your wild, drug-induced imagination cooked up that kind of sick scenario, I don’t know, but I did not marry that kind of man.”
“How come I didn’t go to jail then?”
“Because that liberal D.A. believed those lies.” She quickly added, “Lies that you believe to be true.”
“Stop denying that he was a drunk.”
“Why can’t you act like a proper young lady?”
Cozy stopped talking to take a spoonful of grits. Her momma wouldn’t even be happy living in a mansion with two daughters that attended Harvard. Dr. Clair had planted a seed that Cozy could be tamed, and now it was an excuse to keep her one remaining daughter under control.
Her momma had married young before learning there was much more to life than spitting out kids and serving a perpetually drunk Cajun husband. Her momma thought no one could hear from the bedroom, but she often whispered to the Spirits about being left widowed in virtual squalor in this remote part of the world.
But, that wasn’t Cozy’s problem to fix. Her own life was challenge enough. From a mere tot, Cozy had never been afraid of anything; teasing dogs just to provoke and avoid their bite, jumping higher than any boy on her bike, or swimming in gator-infested waters. As she grew bigger, she would explore the bayou a little farther, even more so when her father had finished a bottle. But after the State’s Attorney ruled her father’s homicide justifiable and after the court-appointed therapy sessions, her momma tried to lock the clamps down.
Her momma topped off her coffee. “Careful. Coffee can be addicting.”
“I’ve done worse.”
She placed the pot back on the burner. “I know about the drugs and I certainly know about the sex.” Her momma cocked an eyebrow.
“You just want me to admit it.” Cozy took a sip. “And you’re worried about coffee?”
“I’m your momma.” Aponi placed her hand against her forehead in defeat.
“You’re Haley’s momma, too.”
“Not anymore. While you’re here, I’ll always take care of you . . . Look out for you.”
“You spy on me. I know the neighbors report to you.”
Aponi kept her gaze in the coffee cup. “They’re scared of you, dear.”
“Scared? What, do they think I’m going to go on a murder spree?”
“It’s just you’ve gotten so . . . aggressive.”
“I want to talk about Haley. Will you ever forgive her for leaving?”
Her Momma’s rigid expression twitched as she inspected her fingernails. “Mr. Paul’s bringing some crabs by for us to boil.”
Cozy’s hands fell hard on the table. “Momma . . . Shit.” She pretended to dig crust from her eyes and inwardly screamed as her momma turned for the sink to wash a bowl while humming.
After they finished the coffee in silence, Cozy changed into cut-off jeans and a Saint’s half-shirt. Her biceps flexed in the mirror while twirling her hair into a ponytail. The scar on her throat looked cool – a real gunshot wound to add to her collection of battle wounds. They were better than tattoos; they told a real story.
She smiled inwardly, taking pride in her exotic symmetry like her momma, having inherited dark Native American features, but her eyes came from her father. They were a cool blue-gray metal color. Despite that, she despised having his Cajun blood coursing through her veins. She even considered changing her last name from Robicheaux to her mother’s spirit name, Rainstorm.
Cozy Rainstorm. Cool and absurd at the same time.
She walked back into the kitchen just in time to hear the purring of a motor. “That’s Ash’s boat.”
“You’re going out?”
“Momma, I haven’t been with Ash in weeks. I miss him.”
“Put sunscreen on. Every inch of your skin is showing. And no bra? Honestly girl, you’re too old for that now.”
“Bye, Mom.”
“Only ’cause it’s Ashton,” she warned.
The screen door slammed shut behind Cozy. Her beat-up Sketchers slid across the creaky planks to the end of the dock where Ash’s pirogue putted to a stop next to a ladder descending into the water. When their eyes met, her feet halted well before the edge of the pier. He appeared freshly showered, which made him look like a college student in her eyes.
“You want to go to our spot and talk?” he asked. “I know you’ve gotta be missing your big sister something fierce.”
She felt the sting of tears rise, and swallowed them down. “You don’t have to crab?”
“Motor froze up. Padre told me to check on you and I know you wanted to go to our spot. Speaking of gators, how’d the fifteen footer go?”
She stepped to the edge of the planks and smiled proudly. “I brought a filet home.”
“That gator’s old. Younger meat’s better.”
“Still, you can tell people you ate a piece of the biggest gator ever caught in Manchac.”
“Shit, I helped catch the biggest gator in Manchac. They should make a reality show about me.” Ash’s long, wavy hair lay flat in the heat. He had a couple of pimples, but on a handsome face, they weren’t bad to look at. He was by far, the best thing she’d seen on this part of the bayou.
Cozy stepped wide into the pirogue as the bottom of her butt cheeks escaped her jean shorts. With a laugh, she tugged them down and gave Ashton a full-planted kiss on his lips. They departed to the center of the channel, wind flipping her hair as they passed each house built on pylons. Occasionally, the vigilant neighbors waved until finally they entered the tributary that had become their own private sanctuary. The mosquitoes tried to find their skin as frogs croaked in the distance under mossy Cypress trees. They motored to one huge Cypress that had fallen over. After tying up, they climbed
behind it where several wooden pallets were laid out for dry flooring. Their two cans of bug spray were still there.
They kissed for several minutes while the palate boards marked their skin. The surrounding weeds pushed to and fro in the breeze and the sounds of bayou insects floated around them.
“How you feeling?” Ash asked after a while.
“I’m still alive.” She ran her fingers over the masculine bump in his nose onto his amazingly full lips.
He scowled. “Have you heard from Hales?”
“You know I haven’t.”
“How can she go two years without calling?”
“Haley wants us to forget about her.”
“That doesn’t sound like her.”
“I know. It’s like she’s trying to erase us.”
“That’s assed up.” His hand reached under her half-shirt and cupped her breast like a warm bra cup. His thumb ran over her nipple, pushing it left and right. It was his predictable first move, and she had once found it endearing. Now she shifted while maintaining a pleasant face.
The memory of that man holding a gun to her head hit her like a brick. He had been strong and smelled like a sweaty auto mechanic. She couldn’t help compare that psychopath to her father and how he had groped Haley in their hugs. But the image of Detective Lucas always washed that away. “I’m not in the mood. Not out here, anyway. I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s fine. It’s just been so long.”
“I know how you boys need your sex or you’ll just die, like your balls will explode or something.” She put her hand on his groin.
“Hey. Don’t get it started if nothin’s gonna happen.”
“How about we smoke some weed?” She mimicked a toke.
“No weed – got coke.”
“Then let’s do that and maybe I can do something for you quick-like before the mosquitoes attack it.” Odd that she would suddenly feel obligated instead of interested.
Chapter 7
Since Forensics and the M.E.’s report were in progress, Captain Dobson told me not to rush into the station. Heather took advantage of my being home with Alicia by getting some shopping out of the way. I sat in my sweatpants watching ESPN highlights and sucking down a third cup of warm coffee while Alicia slept off a late night of movie watching. My socked feet rested on the coffee table and my back pressed perfectly into a groove between two pillows. The house still hinted of Heather’s perfume, a light, uplifting fragrance.
I finally heard my daughter stir, wondering what kind of day she had planned. I loved my quiet house, but I couldn’t imagine it this way all the time. Alicia wandered into the living room in jogging shorts and a large, baggy T-shirt, with her hair a terrible mess. Her eyes were barely open as she fell into the recliner, legs outstretched.
“Morning.” I offered. “Summer must be so nice for you.”
“You don’t have to work?”
“Going in late.”
“Where’s Mom?”
“Winn Dixie. You just missed her. What’s on your plate today?”
“This and that.”
“Which is it? This or that?” I studied my daughter as she inspected her belly button with her chin in her chest. Her shoulders rose in an answer.
A knock on the front door disturbed our non-conversation. Alicia barely took notice. Door- to-door charities and religious nuts came to mind, and I wanted to deal with neither. I carefully moved the curtains to the side, but saw a welcomed sight. I threw the door wide with a grin.
“Mr. Mayor, what do I owe this honor?”
He looked me up and down. “Damn, I didn’t bring my sweatpants.”
“I have an extra pair.”
“I only wear designer sweatpants.” He laughed.
Dressed to impress, he turned to his detail by the black Towncar and waved him away. Handsome as always with a spiky brown tuft of hair, he flashed a set of perfect teeth. His thick, strong eyebrows would be bushy if not trimmed, and his square jaw and Roman nose were a perfect fit for a political career.
He stepped inside. “I miss you.”
“Aww.” We embraced in a brief man-hug. “Want some coffee? Anything?” I noticed Alicia had disappeared from the chair.
“Nah, just came from a power Champagne breakfast.”
“My tax dollars at waste.”
“Said the cop.”
“Ouch.”
“We haven’t talked in a while, so I called Headquarters for you and found out you were still home. Thought I’d swing by for second.”
We walked back to the living room, where I turned down the sports highlights and returned to my cup of coffee. Chance sat forward on the sofa, elbows on his thighs so as not to get any wrinkles or lint on his suit.
“You home alone?”
“Heather’s at the store and Alicia’s in the back. Got my first case, but I’m sure your sources are keeping you up to date.”
“If you and I had dinner more often, I wouldn’t have to call around.”
“It’s not like when we were kids, Chance. We’ve become busy people.”
Chance glanced at the Saints football highlights on the television and pointed. “Hey, there’s your brother. Brent‘s doing good, right?”
“Brent got his payday in the NFL. That’s all he wanted.”
Chance knew since the first day we met that I hated talking about my brother, but he always chipped away. “Spoke to him lately?”
“No, Fuck him.”
“Alrighty, then. I want to talk about the girl in the river.”
“What about her?”
“What are you thinking?”
I hesitated. “The only time you ever ask about a case is when it affects you in some way.”
“Seriously? I can’t be interested?” He almost smiled.
“How does this dead girl affect you, Chance?”
“My only concern is you.” He appeared hurt.
“Do I have to go through the times you’ve meddled?” I pulled back one of my fingers. “There was Darnell Brown…”
He stopped me. “A dead white female doesn’t bode well for our tourism.”
I stressed my words. “The only time you ever as about a case is when it affects you.”
“You’ve said that.”
“What’s your interest, Chance?”
“Never mind that I care about your first day back, then.” He searched the room, aggravated he wasn’t getting the information he wanted. “You visit Cozy yet?”
I let his inquiry go, figuring he would come back at some point to reveal more. “Cozy came by the station yesterday, but I avoided seeing her. Chicken-shit, I know.”
“You have to make a trip out to Manchac and see the girl.”
“Heather keeps telling me to go see her, too.”
“Then listen to those who love you.”
My eyes shifted on Chance. After a few moments, Alicia skipped into the living room dressed in her nice summer clothes with brushed hair and a coating of lip gloss.
She stopped in front of us with a huge grin. “Mr. Chance. What a surprise. How are you?”
“Alicia, hi dawlin’. You’re looking prettier than ever, a spittin’ image of your mother.” Chance reached out and my daughter hugged him like he had just returned from war.
“You don’t come by enough.” Alicia flipped her hair back. “Why don’t you come to one of my soccer games?”
“Being mayor is a busy job, but I promise I’ll try.”
She giggled and fell to her knees, dimples out in full force. “Are you staying a while? I can get you a Coke.”
“Who are you and what have you done to my daughter?” Asked and ignored.
Chance leaned forward to palm my daughter’s face and then kissed the top of her head. “You’re adorable, but I can’t stay.” He exhaled and then stood, as any further adult conversation would have to wait. “I’m going to make reservations at LaPlace on Bourbon for us, you, me, my date – to be determined – and your wife.”
&nb
sp; “That’s four of us,” I confirmed.
He threw his index finger at me. “I’ll text you with the date and time.”
“Bye, Mr. Chance.” Alicia waved.
Once her crush shut the door, Alicia’s alter ego vanished and my lips parted to say something, but I couldn’t find two words to put together. The sulking resumed. Needing a distraction, I jumped in the shower so I could go into the station when Heather got home. At least Captain Dobson would be able to see my face and I could spend the rest of the day being productive with my River Doe.
Chapter 8
After Sunday brunch with Heather, I showed my face at the station. For the most part, I twiddled my thumbs, occasionally watching the station television. The news reports had moved on to a bar shooting near Tulane, where two college students were killed. This meant the desperate, misled, and weirdo callers would move on and River Doe’s real family was still in the dark or sadder yet, no one missed her.
Tara had been scarce lately, working on other cases and informing me that my main job was to update her as the weekend cops went on about their business around me. No one had ever approached me about my little skirmish with Frank Harvin, so I could only assume he hadn’t told anyone due to embarrassment.
Captain Dobson orbited my desk. Her polo shirt was crisp, tucked into her pleated slacks with a physique like a starving fashion model. She was once an overweight rookie, but had lost the pounds over years of intense dieting and taking several leaves of absence to have her excess skin removed. The stories of her throwing suspects around as a heavy beat cop were legend.
Her thin eyebrows arched. “It’s Sunday. Why don’t you go home if you’re bored?”
“I’ve been sitting home for two months. Besides, Heather’s doing some gardening and I don’t feel like working in the yard today. If the M.E. wasn’t so backed up, maybe I could make some progress.”
“He’s getting to it.” Her shoulders slumped. “Two more autopsies with the shooting Uptown.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I’m overdue on lots of reports and I tend to snack on anything I can find when I hang out at the house. It’s good for me to be distracted.” She smirked.
Where The Devil Won't Go: A Lucas Peyroux Novel Page 3