Dark Paradise

by Angie Sandro

  We climb the hill and enter the woods. Sodden leaves and thick mud cling to my boots once I move off the trail and into the deeper underbrush. The beaten-down area where the person hid so he could watch me climb onto the bus is easy to locate. “Check it out, Dena. I guess I wasn’t seeing things.” I pick up the stick I threw and point to scuffled boot prints in the drying mud. “From the raised sole, I think they’re men’s hiking boots. Shit!” What if the murderer is still lurking about?

  Dena glances around. “You should report this to the sheriff.”

  Not a bad idea. “What about you? Want to come over and have your daddy pick you up?”

  “Are you kidding? He’d rather shoot himself in the head then come onto your land. You know how he feels.”

  I roll my eyes. “I don’t know why he hates me so much.”

  “It’s not you. He still claims his great-something-great grandma should’ve inherited the LaCroix land. He’ll be perfectly happy to know some crazy stalker is out to get you—” Dena’s eyes widen. “I said that out loud, didn’t I. Sorry. I swear I’m adopted.”

  “Don’t say that. I like being related to you.” I bump her hip with mine.

  Her grin quickly fades. As much as she’d like to deny her Acker blood, her daddy’s DNA doesn’t need a test to be revealed. It’s obvious in the red hair and freckles his daughter inherited from him. Course, my hair also has the Savoie red highlights.

  “I’d better go,” she says. “I’ll call you once I get home. Be safe.”

  With a wave, Dena turns onto the path that winds around the pond and continues to the Acker homestead. Part of me wants to beg her to stay. I don’t want to be alone. Not because I’m scared for her safety but because I fear for mine. Which is totally selfish and wrong. Tears burn in my eyes. I try to hold them in, but they disobey me. I let out a loud sob. God, why didn’t I leave Lainey in the water? My head aches. My nose feels stuffy. Damn it. I feel terrible.

  Shivering, I wrap my arms around my waist seeking comfort that I can’t give myself. I sneeze four times in a row. Each one comes out louder and harder than the last. I blink quickly to clear my vision as a shadow moves across it, then yell, “Oh hell, no!”

  Landry rises from the porch steps. How did I miss seeing him sitting there in his red T-shirt? It’s not like he blends in against the dingy gray of the house. I turn to scamper back into the woods but stop. I’ll be damned if I ever run from him. I stride forward, shoving past him to climb the stairs. “Go away, Landry.”

  “Wait, I need to talk,” he says, slurring the words. The strong scent of alcohol fills the air.

  Panic spurts. “You’re drunk.”

  “I know.” He vibrates with barely leashed anger, and like our old washer, he looks about one rinse cycle away from shaking apart at the seams. He stalks me up the stairs and blocks the front door. He’s so big, so out of control. He scared me earlier, and he’d been sober at the time. I can’t begin to predict what he’ll do now that we are alone.

  “Leave me be, Landry. I know you only did that because you’re upset—”

  “I am upset. Tell me that wasn’t my sister’s spirit we felt.”

  “I can’t. I don’t know what we felt.”

  “You said ‘Lainey.’ I heard you.” He moves in front of me. His gray eyes squint with anguish. “She’s haunting you. Why? What do you know?”

  “I said I don’t know anything!” Why, oh, why did I think I wanted to talk to him about Lainey? The saying “Be careful what you wish for” echoes in my head.

  “Liar.” He stalks forward. “I felt her hand on my arm. So did you.”

  I hold my hands up, warding him off as I back across the porch. I don’t dare turn my back on him; I’m afraid he’ll grab me. “Please, leave me alone. You’re not thinking clearly.”

  “I am.” Landry matches my retreating steps. He shoves aside the rocking chair that I push in front of him with a swipe of his hand. I’m cornered quickly. I can only see one way to escape, but if I try to jump over the flimsy porch railing, I’ll probably land headfirst.

  Saints, Mala. What happened to not running from him? I straighten my shoulders and step forward. His chest brushes against mine when he draws in a ragged breath, but I don’t back off. “What more do you want from me, Landry?”

  His eyes lift to meet mine. I expect to see anger, but instead confusion swirls in the gray depths. “Ask my sister who killed her.”

  “What?”

  “She’d know, right?” His hands land on my shoulders, squeezing. “So ask her.”

  The boy’s lost his mind. “She’s dead. How am I supposed to ask her anything?”

  “You’re a witch. Talk to her spirit.”

  “That’s stupid talk. Let me be clear: I. Am. Not. A. Witch.” And even if I were one, I’d never admit it to him. To anyone, not even to myself, without them thinking I’ve lost my mind. “Okay, I get it now. This is some kind of twisted joke.” I shove him, and he stumbles a few steps back. I scan the empty yard. “Where are your friends hiding? Is that bitch Clarice out in the woods recording this to make me look like a fool?”

  The door slams open, and Mama runs out of the house. I’ve been so focused on Landry that I didn’t notice her truck parked in the driveway. I sag against the wall as she inserts her tiny body between us.

  “What’s goin’ on? Why’re you attackin’ my daughter?” Mama stands with her shoulders back and her head held high. In my eyes, she towers over Landry’s much larger form.

  “Mala knows how to find out who killed my sister. But she won’t help me,” Landry tattles, and then, to my surprise, he buries his face in his hands and begins to cry. Not something a manly guy like Landry would do if his friends plan on posting the video online for the world to watch. This will be reputation destroying if it goes public.

  Mama and I share the “look.” We each take one of Landry’s arms and maneuver him into one of the three rocking chairs sitting in the east corner of the porch. If Landry turns squirrely, I want to be able to move away quickly. But I doubt he’ll be capable of doing anything soon. A dam burst inside of him. He bawls, body shaking, snot dripping, crying as if his world has shattered. And maybe it has. I’ve never felt as helpless in my entire life as I do watching him.

  And Lainey, damn her restless soul, comes back to comfort him, which makes the situation worse.

  The air temperature around his body drops, and when he breathes out, a cloud of mist hovers in the air, catching his attention. He looks up in surprise. The tears on his face crystallize. I can’t help myself. I brush a finger across the frozen layer on his cheek, and the ice flakes away.

  Mama gasps, falling heavily into the other rocking chair. “Is that Lainey?”

  “Yes,” Landry and I say together. Our eyes lock. Heat rises in my chest then spreads through my body, and my breath catches. I tear my gaze free.

  “Well, I’ll be…And she’s been hauntin’ you since you found her body?”

  I squeeze into the rocker between Landry and Mama and trace my fingers over the smooth surface of the table, trying to decide how much I want to share with them. The words Lainey wrote on the mirror float in front of my eyes. Find him. Did she mean for me to find Landry? Should I tell them about Lainey trying to communicate with me in the bathroom?

  No way. They already stare at me as if I’ve grown a second head. If I tell them about the ghostly visitation, their suspicions will be confirmed. I’m not a freak.

  “I’ve had nightmares,” I say. “I couldn’t remember them after I woke up. Then today when Landry came to me at Munchies, it’s like she wanted us to stop fighting and talk. We both felt her, like now.”

  Mama rubs her arms against the chill. “Her spirit’s strong. Stronger than any ghost I’ve ever felt.”

  “She scares me, Mama. Landry asked me to talk to Lainey’s spirit. See if she’d tell me how she died. Do you…” Merciful heavens, I can’t believe these words are about to come out of my mouth. I draw in a deep brea
th and spit out the question in a rush. “Do you think you can do a séance or something?”

  Mama pinches my cheek. “My little skeptic. What a question. You’re serious, ain’t you?”

  My cheek stretches like Silly Putty as I pull it free of her talonlike fingers. “I’m not stupid. After what I’ve seen, denying the existence of ghosts is like saying chiggers don’t bite. They’re both crimes against nature and shouldn’t exist. But I’m scratching the bumps on my legs and Lainey’s still hovering over my shoulder.”

  “That’s a mighty fine argument you’ve wasted on me, Mala,” Mama says. “I’ve spent the last fifteen years drunk so I can’t hear the spirits. I don’t think they’ll talk to me now even if I put them on speakerphone. Sorry, cher. You got a better connection to Lainey’s spirit than I do.”

  “Is there any advice you can give me?”

  “Nope.”

  “Thanks a lot, Mama. That’s so helpful.”

  Landry tenses beside me when Mama rocks forward in the chair, hands fisting on her lap. I wonder if he thinks he should protect me. What would he do if she lashed out?

  Mama catches his movement. Her eyes narrow, but she leans back. “Don’t sass me, girl. You asked. I answered. Did you want me to lie? Say it’d all work out? Well, I can’t do that. Your grandmère Cora tried to teach me how to control my abilities ’fore she died, but I was just as stubborn as you. I thought she was crazy and pushed her away so I could do my own thin’—hangin’ out with older men, drinkin’, and gettin’ pregnant with you. After she died, I inherited her powers, and those she’d gotten from her mother, and so on. I couldn’t control the spirits. They swept over me like a hurricane. Bashed me up somethin’ terrible, and I never fully recovered. That’s what I worry will happen to you, cher. I don’t know what it takes to be able to control these gifts.”

  “Well, maybe there’s someone out there who can help—a medium or medicine man.”

  “There’s that psychic, Madame Rubine.” Mama’s lips pucker as if she sucks on something sour. “Course, she’s paid by the hour. Think you can afford her prices only to find out she’s full of shit?”

  “Depends on how desperate I am, I guess.”

  Landry rubs his face with his hands. “We’re wasting time. None of this helps. There has to be a reason why Lainey’s drawn to Mala. One of you knows something or she wouldn’t be telling me to come to you.”

  I rub my hands on my jeans. “I’m sorry. I wish I did. I’d never seen her before I pulled her from the water, but it scares me to think someone killed her out here…” I trail off with a choked cry and take a deep breath, trying to calm down.

  “I did,” Mama says softly.

  Landry rocks forward. “What did you say?”

  I put a hand on Landry’s shoulder and press him back in the rocker. The fact that he lets me raises my eyebrows a notch. “Mama, what do you mean? Did what?”

  “You stayed over at Maggie’s house some months ago. Lainey came to me that night. Poor girl was desperate. She begged for my help. Said she’d heard I knew spells.”

  I cross my arms and snort. “Bah…spells? That’s crazy.”

  “Any crazier than ghosts, Mala?”

  “Yeah, okay, maybe ghosts exist. They’re made of energy, right…and Einstein said ‘Energy never dies, it just transforms.’ I remember that from my physics class. But magic spells, there’s no proof. It’s all smoke and mirrors.” I lean toward her trying to get a whiff, but with Landry smelling like a bar, I can’t tell if Mama’s been spending time with her good friends, Jim Beam and Johnnie Walker.

  “A spell is just an old-timey way of sayin’ medicine.” Mama rocks back in the chair. Her gaze settles briefly on Landry then skitters to the roof. “It’s just a concoction based on herbal remedies and years of tamperin’ by the women in our family. Lainey wanted somethin’ to knock loose the baby growin’ in her belly.”

  Landry groans like a cow being slaughtered. “A baby…oh God, Lainey.” His head drops into his trembling hands. “I had no idea.”

  I want to hug the boy so bad my palms tingle. That’s what you do when someone’s in pain, but I’m not sure if he’d be open to being comforted by me. I pop my knuckles, processing what I’ve been told. “This doesn’t make any sense. Why go to a ‘witch doctor’ for an unwanted pregnancy? This isn’t the Middle Ages.”

  “Because our dad would’ve killed her if he ever found out,” Landry says. “And if she went to a clinic, he would’ve heard about it. His congregation pays close attention to those places.”

  I chew on my lip, trying to figure out a delicate way of asking the question, before I finally just spit it out. “Did you do it, Mama? Give her something?”

  “I did, but I don’t know if she took it.”

  Chapter 13

  Mala

  Ghost Talker

  Enough! I can’t do this.” Landry pushes out of the chair. He stumbles down the stairs, heading for his truck.

  I run after him. “Wait, you’re drunk. You’ll kill yourself if you drive like this.” He fumbles, dropping his keys, and I grab them from off the ground. He spins and snatches for them, but I dance back.

  “Don’t. I’ll call George Dubois to pick you up. You’ve got two choices: Wait here for him to take you home or have him arrest you on the road and cart your ass to jail. What’s it gonna be?”

  His fists clench. I rise on the balls of my toes, ready to dodge again.

  “Fine, I’ll wait. But keep away from me. I can’t take any more.”

  “You’re the one who came for answers.”

  “How can someone so pretty be so heartless? Can’t you see this is killing me?” He turns and stalks off to the side of the house, leaving me staring after him as the word—pretty—flashes through my mind. I shake my head. Landry thinks I’m pretty.

  And heartless. Ouch.

  A few chickens dodge his heels. I start to call out a warning about the rooster, but I’m afraid it might startle him. If he accidentally falls and breaks his neck, I’ll have to explain how another dead Prince ended up on our property.

  Landry walks far enough into the trees bordering the edge of our yard that he is out of earshot, but I can still keep an eye on him from the porch.

  Mama comes back outside. “I called Dixie. George isn’t far. He’ll be here in about ten minutes.”

  I cross my arms, feeling cold, and this has nothing to do with a spirit floating around me. This has to do with the lies my mother tells and me believing them. “I asked you the day I found Lainey’s body if you’d ever seen her. You didn’t answer.”

  “Weren’t none of your business. What she came to me for was private.”

  I throw my hands in the air. “What if coming to you got her killed? Don’t you get it? If anyone finds out what you did—”

  “I didn’t do anythin’ wrong. Told the girl to go find the baby daddy and get money to take care of her problem. That’s all.”

  “But you said…”

  “Said what? I didn’t say that I gave her a potion. Just that I knew how to make one. I’m not stupid. Those spells are from back when women didn’t have a choice but to go to a witch doctor to take care of an unwanted pregnancy. Half the time, the girls died from infection or blood loss. You think I’d wish that on some innocent girl or have her death on my hands?”

  Guilt burns in my belly. “Oh, Mama, I’m sorry. I assumed when you said you gave her something…I’m stupid. I didn’t think it would be advice.” We sit on the step, shoulder to shoulder. “Still, how would a preacher’s kid know to ask you for help in the first place?”

  “The girls told Lainey I can work mojo. They come begging for spells to help with protection, love, and luck.” Mama laughs and rolls her dark eyes when speaking of the other prostitutes who work out of the same motel she does. “They’re pretty gullible, and I can’t say no to making a dollar off of their stupidity.”

  “How do you even know how to cast a spell?”

  “Ever
hear of Google? Lots of companies sellin’ made-to-order hoodoo products, so I buy in bulk. Protection and luck oils and cleansin’ crystals are my top sellers. I also make a mean mojo hand, but it ain’t got no magic juice.” She sniffs. “Don’t act all holier than thou. My side business helps to pay your college tuition.”

  “So you’re swindling a bunch of ignorant women with fake hoodoo products, and Lainey learned about you from the ‘girls’?” I frown. “Oh hell, Lainey was a prostitute?”

  Mama laughs. “No baby, the girl wasn’t no angel, but she didn’t go in for my line of business. At least, she kept her clientele to one. Her Richie Rich boyfriend kept her a room at the motel so they had a private hookup spot. She didn’t want her daddy finding out she wasn’t as pure as he thought she was. ’Sides, he wouldn’t of approved of her affair.”

  I lean forward, trembling. “You know who the baby’s daddy is? Don’t you?” I grab onto her elbow and squeeze. “What’s his name?”

  “Why should I tell you?”

  “Come on, Mama. This guy might’ve killed Lainey. You’ve got to tell me, or would you rather George do the questioning?”

  Mama jerks her arm free of my grasp. “Don’t threaten to sic Georgie Porgie on me, girl. We’re already neck deep in this shit, thanks to you dippin’ your nose into somethin’ that’s none of your business. Lainey’s man doesn’t know I know who he is, and I plan on keepin’ it that way. We don’t need any more problems showin’ up on our doorstep. You hear me?”

  “But, Mama—”

  “I ain’t sayin’ another word on the matter, and neither will you.”

  I glance at Landry. He still remains upright. I’m not sure how he hasn’t passed out yet. I finally have a clue to help him figure out who killed Lainey, but it’s not enough. Mama won’t budge on telling me the name. Even if it comes to a choice between jail and snitching on someone, she’ll choose jail. She has before.

  The crunch of wheels on gravel fills the air, and I stand. Mama beats a hasty retreat into the house, not wanting to be around when George arrives. I wait in the driveway, shuffling from foot to foot. It’s been three days since I’ve seen him. When he steps out of the car, my breath sucks in. He looks exhausted. The shirt that had been snug at the beginning of the week hangs loose. Dark circles surround his cheerful green eyes.