Dark Paradise

by Angie Sandro

  “Damn right you should be ashamed.” I step forward. “If not for you, Lainey would still be alive.”

  Dad lurches to a halt. His shoulders heave. “What did you say, son?”

  I can’t believe the words coming out of my mouth, but I can’t stop them even if I want to. “I said it’s your fault, Father. Lainey dying. It’s all because of you and your rigid beliefs. She needed her family’s support, and instead she went to Jasmine LaCroix for a hoodoo potion to abort her baby. How tragic is that?”

  “Baby…” Dad slowly turns. “Did you say…”

  “Lainey was pregnant. Imagine how terrified she must’ve been. How alone. She didn’t have anyone to talk to. Nobody to confide in who wouldn’t judge her. You’ve always preached about the sanctity of life, but Lainey’s life is over. She died.”

  “Jasmine LaCroix…”

  “Lainey went to her for help because she couldn’t come to us.”

  The study door opens, and Uncle Jay steps out. He stands in the doorway, clutching the frame with both hands. Dad and I turn to him. He raises his hands. “No, I didn’t keep a pregnancy from you, I swear.”

  “Then why didn’t I know about it?” Dad’s voice booms through the corridor.

  The bedroom door upstairs squeaks, and Mom races down the stairs. Her white cotton nightgown flaps around her bare knees. “What are you saying? What’s going on?”

  Silence fills the room.

  I swallow hard and say, “Lainey was pregnant.”

  Mom cries out. She falls forward. Dad catches her before she hits the ground and hoists her into his arms like she weighs less than nothing. She’s lost too much weight over the last few days. Her eyes are ringed with dark circles. He carries her upstairs in silence while she sobs into his shoulder.

  I turn to Uncle Jay who stares after them. Emotions flicker through his heavy eyes too quickly for me to read. “How could you not know?” I demand. “You did the autopsy.”

  Uncle Jay shakes his head. “There were no signs of her giving birth recently nor was her uterus enlarged at the time of death. I didn’t think to look further.”

  “Then the whole pregnancy thing could be a lie?”

  “I don’t know, but I intend to find out if Lainey had a pregnancy terminated.” A hard glitter turns his eyes to slate. “But more important, I intend to discover how it was accomplished.”

  * * *

  I thought maybe I’d get some rest by sleeping in my old bedroom, but the implications of Uncle Jay’s statement stick with me through the long night. Lainey went to Jasmine LaCroix for a magic fix. I heard it from the woman’s mouth. She admitted to giving Lainey what she wanted. Women died from abortions before they became legal. What if Lainey’s went horribly wrong and she died as a result? Would Mala even know about it? She seemed surprised when her mom mentioned Lainey went to her. Could she really be innocent?

  If so, why does Lainey keep shoving me in her direction? Why can’t I yank the guilt and suspicion out of my mind? I’d rather feel the agony of an unrequited crush than this churning pain. The last of Lainey’s whisky calls to me around four a.m., but I pour it down the toilet and flush it. I scared Mala yesterday. If I don’t go to her sober, she’ll never let her guard down enough to trust me. And I have an idea I want to try out. It might not be the brightest plan—okay, it’s more like shooting daisies—but I’m desperate.

  I catch the bus at an ungodly hour. The ride up to Mala’s place gives me time to work out what I’ll say. I want to believe in her innocence. Until I have proof otherwise, I can’t lie to her. Even if lying might get me farther to my goal. I wait by my truck until she comes out of the house. Mala stops short when she sees me and takes a step backward.

  Crap! She’s gonna run.

  I raise my hand—Vulcan style. “I come in peace.”

  Mala bites down on her bottom lip.

  Okay, good. The joke disarms her enough that she doesn’t scream and run back into the house, but she flicks a nervous glance over her shoulder.

  Mala hugs herself after a tiny shiver, but her expression remains calm. “I think you mean ‘Live long and prosper.’”

  Point one: Mala’s a Trekkie. Who knew?

  I can play it cool too. I shrug, sticking my hands in my pockets so I look nonthreatening. “That too.”

  “What’re you doing here?”

  “I came to collect my truck.”

  She raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, so why are you still here?”

  “Figured you could use a lift to town. Don’t you work today?”

  She walks down the stairs and edges around me. She’s careful not to come within grabbing distance. The lack of trust hurts, but it’s not unexpected. “My shift doesn’t start until twelve. I’m going early to buy groceries, but I can catch the bus.”

  “It’ll be faster if I drive you.” I fall in beside her.

  She stretches her legs and walks faster.

  Finally I can’t take the silence. “Malaise, this is the best I can do for an apology.”

  “The best you can do?” She spins around, and I fall back. Damn she’s scary when pissed. Her nostrils flare as she stalks toward me. “What about saying ‘Hey, Mala, sorry I scared the snot out of you when I accused you of murder. Sorry I came to your house drunk and killed your favorite plant.’ How about that, Landry Prince?”

  I stand my ground. “I am sorry, Mala. For all that—and more.”

  “More? There’s more?”

  Time to fall on my sword. I glance toward the trees, then force my gaze to meet hers. I dredge up all the sincerity I can into my eyes and hope it’ll be enough for a last-minute save. I can’t believe I’m telling her this. I heave a heavy sigh and spill my dirty secret.

  “Yeah, yesterday…in the woods, I’m the person who followed you to the bus stop.” Her face reddens with each word, but I force myself to continue. “I’m sorry. I wanted to talk to you about Lainey, b-but I didn’t have the courage. Then you heard me and got scared.”

  A choked gasp comes from her. Her trembling hands ball into fists. I take a quick step back ’cause she’s gonna punch me. I know it. I deserve to get hit, so I won’t defend myself. But damn, it’ll hurt. She’s not like Clarice. Mala’s got muscles. With each second that passes, the tightness in my chest grows. She won’t forgive me. I’ve blown it.

  “Please, forgive me.” I lift my hand, and she jerks.

  “Why? Why should I?” Mala presses her palms against her eyes, then lets her hands drop. Her eyes shine like ebony piano keys. I hurt her. I’m such an ass.

  I stare at a fire ant hill. I should throw myself on her mercy and let her drizzle chocolate over my body for the ants. I bite my tongue, seconds away from suggesting the idea when I catch the kinky implications. Besides, if chocolate’s involved in any form of makeup negotiations, it’d be more fun if I poured it all over her.

  I tear my gaze from her heaving breasts. It’s like my eyes have a mind of their own. Thank God she’s avoiding looking at me and didn’t see. Was I this goddamn stupid before Lainey died, or have my brain cells deteriorated from alcohol poisoning and lack of sleep? How am I supposed to come up with a decent plan to find my sister’s killer when I can’t focus long enough to manage an apology?

  I should fall to my knees and beg. “I really am sorry, Mala.” Pain flares in my right knee when I hit the ground. Crap, I fell on a rock. “I haven’t been thinking straight since Lainey was killed. Something kept whispering your name in my ear. All I could think about was getting to you.”

  Mala stares down into my eyes. “Do you think Lainey’s spirit has been telling you to find me? That somehow you sensed her desire and acted on it but didn’t understand what she wants?” She sighs, breaking the connection between us by looking away. “Hell, why am I even surprised, Landry? I don’t know what she wants from me either, and it’s driving me crazy too.”

  “Maybe if we talk, we can figure it out.” I stand, holding out my hand. She gives my outstretched fingers a suspi
cious grimace like I’ve been playing in the dirt making mud pies but turns to head toward my truck. My shoulders lighten as if a huge weight has been lifted.

  Mala stands in place when I open the door, then glances up at me with a tiny sigh. “Uh…I ran from a crazy stalker and rolled down a hill yesterday. I’m a little sore. Can I get a lift?”

  My cheeks heat. I get to touch her! Play it cool. “Yeah, okay.” My palms tingle when my hands wrap around her narrow waist. When I lift her up, she lets out a small squeal, and I chuckle. “You weigh nothing but a minute.”

  “Maybe compared to you,” Mala huffs, sliding across the seat.

  I walk around to the other side and get in. We ride in silence for a couple of miles. I don’t think either of us knows how to begin. Finally she asks, “What do you know about how Lainey died?”

  “Dr. Rathbone’s like family. He and my father grew up together, and they’re still pretty tight. Anyway, Uncle Jay told us that Lainey had been murdered. He also said that her body had been found out here.”

  Mala snorts. It’s not at all ladylike, but it works for her. She catches my sideways glance and scowls. “Your uncle’s not my favorite person. I’m sorry if that offends you, but he has the ethics of a night crawler. Figures he’d be the one to blab. Sheriff Keyes ordered his deputies to keep quiet about the case. So what else did he say? Did he have any ideas about how someone coerced a grown woman into the woods and cut her wrists without her putting up a fight? The wounds were perfect. No hesitation marks like she changed her mind like in a real suicide. I should’ve caught that myself when I found her.” She sounds grumpy about that. Like missing a clue is a major offense.

  Okay, go careful. Don’t give out too much. “He said she’d been drugged.”

  She gives a sharp nod. “That makes sense. What kind?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What kind of drug did the person use? If it was some kind of prescription medication or an exotic poison, the police might be able to trace who purchased it through the pharmacy or shipping company. Narrow down the suspects a bit. How long had the drug been in her system? Long enough to knock her unconscious at another location so the person had to physically carry her to the spot where he threw her in the water? Or did the drugging take place later, once they’d already reached…”

  God, she’s intense. I’m not handling her questions well. I keep picturing my big sis on the autopsy table. My stomach twists, and I pinch my lips tight. Please don’t vomit again.

  Mala catches my puckered, prune-faced expression. “Oh, I’m sorry.” Her hand lightly touches my tense arm. The heat from her palm warms my skin for a few seconds. Then she must remember I’m the crazed stalker and snatches it back. “This is your sister I’m talking about. I’m an idiot.”

  I swallow hard. “No, don’t say that. I asked for your help.”

  “But my speculations aren’t helping. They’re just wild guesses with no evidence to justify them.”

  I glance at her. Her voice trembles. Sincerity shines on her face. I tear my gaze away and turn onto the main road leading to town. “There’s one thing,” I begin then finish in a rush, “I’ve been wondering how you found her. What did she look like? Did she look scared?”

  Mala sighs, twisting her fingers together. “No, she appeared peaceful.”

  My hands tighten on the steering wheel. “But we both know that’s a lie. If she was peaceful, we wouldn’t still be seeing her.”

  “No, I guess not.”

  “I had an idea. Your mom mentioned that psychic, Madame Rubine, channels the dead. I thought maybe we’d go see her.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Did you also hear she’s pretty pricey? I can’t really afford to do something like that. Plus I don’t really believe in all that mumbo jumbo.”

  “You’ve seen Lainey, Mala. How can you not believe?”

  “Easy. How often do I see her? Not very. So how can this Madame Rubine call up the spirits of every grieving person who throws their hard-earned cash at her? That’d be a lot of undead running around.”

  “Come on, what would it hurt to try? I called her this morning. She has an opening at nine. Will you come with me? I guarantee it’ll be more fun than grocery shopping.”

  I pull out my sad-puppy look.

  Mala studies my face for a long moment and sighs. “Okay.”

  Chapter 15

  Mala

  Fake Madame

  The mobile home looks like all the others in the Golden Garden Mobile Home Park, except for the fact that it’s painted blue and white and boasts a large sign on the roof with a hand holding an eyeball in the middle of its palm. A robed woman stands in the front yard surrounded by a lush garden. She’s youngish and wears her dirty blond hair pulled up in a scarf. Loose tendrils straggle around her chubby cheeks. Her large eyes have been lined with thick mascara and liner, but the rest of her face is free of makeup. A tow-headed toddler, wearing only his diaper, runs around her legs, avoiding her frantic attempts to corral him.

  She waves to us when we pull in her driveway. “Hi there, ya’ll are fifteen minutes early. I still need to get my boy next door to the sitter, but ya’ll come on in.” She lunges for the baby, grabbing him about the waist. He squeals with glee as he’s hoisted into her arms. She gives us a harried grin and heads toward the neighboring home.

  I don’t move from the seat when Landry comes around to open my door. Instead, I lean my head close to his and whisper, “This is stupid.”

  “You’ve made your feelings clear on the matter,” Landry drawls, his raven-wing brows drawing inward.

  I ignore the hand that settles around my waist. “Did you tell her why we need her advice?”

  “Nope.” He gives a little tug, and I fall out of the truck into his arms. I inhale the spicy scent of his aftershave and catch my breath. Our eyes meet, and I try to read the emotions swirling in the smoky depths.

  “Don’t worry, I’ve got you,” he says with a small smile.

  My hands flex on his broad shoulders. For the life of me, I can’t think of anything to say in response. His silky hair brushes the side of my cheek as he slowly lowers my feet to the ground. I lean against the side of the truck, expecting to be released, but rather than moving back, he keeps his arms wrapped around me for a long beat.

  Flustered, I take a small step to the side, breaking the connection. “Good. Okay, then. Let’s go see what the spirits tell her about us,” I say, tone heavy with sarcasm, but my heart races like it has a mind of its own.

  Landry gives me a breath-stealing smile. I let him walk in front of me and do a quick underarm sniff to make sure I put on deodorant this morning—yep, fresh as an orchid, but not for long. We await Madame Rubine’s return in her front yard. Sunlight reflects off the white house paint. After five minutes, perspiration dots my forehead and soaks into my shirt. I fan myself with one hand, wishing for some shade and trying to sort through the confusing mix of emotions filling my mind about Landry. It doesn’t help that my eyes keep returning to his firm backside, and my thoughts get wonky again. Stupid brain.

  Madame Rubine returns like a mini-hurricane. Frenetic energy crackles off her body as she dashes over to us. The riotous colors of the plants jumbled together in tiny garden beds mimic the patterns in her paisley satin robe. She looks like she imitated the wardrobe of a clichéd gypsy queen from an old movie. Everything about her screams fake, money-grubbing con artist. She’ll play on our emotions and tell us exactly what she thinks we want to hear. I have to catch her in her web of lies so Landry, in his desperation, doesn’t get hooked.

  Ruby, for that’s what she asks us to call her, leads us into her lair. The room doesn’t give off the exotic psychic mojo I imagined. I guess the poor woman can’t afford the heavy velvet drapes, brass chandelier, and ornate crystal ball to really impress. Instead, she has a trunk full of toys stuffed in a corner and lots of plants. The warm air holds the scent of fresh earth and thick moisture like a hothouse. Sconces holding a multitud
e of burning candles hang from the walls throughout the room. Their scents mix together to form their own special, stinky blend. Tears fill my burning eyes, and I scrunch up my nose to hold back the threatening sneeze.

  “I’m so sorry, I must look a sight.” Ruby graces us with a sheepish smile that reveals deep dimples. She pulls the scarf off her head and fluffs up her blond curls. She reminds me of that little girl from those black-and-white movies. They even named a drink after her—Shirley Temple. Man, she’s a cutie pie. Five minutes and she’s already charming me into letting down my guard.

  “Charlie, that’s my little heathen, his daddy fed him doughnuts for breakfast. The sugar went to his head. He wouldn’t settle down in front the TV long enough for me to get dressed this morning,” she says, and I catch Landry averting his eyes to the ceiling. Wonder what just passed through his head to make him blush like that?

  Time to leave. I step closer to Landry, ready to make up some excuse.

  Ruby flutters her hands in the air. “I could go throw on some sweats…but ya’ll didn’t come for my looks, did ya? Sit down.” She waves toward the table against the far wall, separated from the rest of the living room by a baby gate. She picks up a kettle. “Would ya’ll like some tea?”

  I hide my shudder, afraid to ask what sort of weird, psychedelic tea a medium might give her clients. I can totally see her tricking us into thinking our drug-induced hallucinations of dancing teddy bears are visions of the spiritual realm. I give Landry a warning shake of my head. “No, thank you, Ruby. Uh, I’m embarrassed to ask, but would you mind putting out the candles? I’m allergic to sage, and I think I smell that mixed in with the others.”

  Ruby’s cheeks turn bright red. “Oh, Goddess, I’m so sorry.”

  Landry frowns and gives me a hard stare.

  I shrug back, grab a tissue from the box on the table, and blow my nose loudly. “No, I’m sorry to be such a pest. I appreciate it though.”