Late morning, Renaud made a difficult decision. He placed his clerical collar and clothing in a plastic storage bag and put them away. Dressed in sweats, he left the rectory and walked down the sidewalks of Main Street to the Pink Pelican Bar and Grill. He had taken on a final mission that, if successful, secure his otherwise mediocre legacy.
“I’ve come to speak to your cook,” Renaud told the waitress. This time he did not whisper. “Will you let him know? ”
The young woman’s fake lashes blinked rapidly, and her brow wrinkled in puzzlement. “Wow. I didn't recognize you without your garb. What a difference it makes.”
“On the contrary, it makes no difference whatsoever. Outward appearance signifies nothing. I am the ordinary man you see before you.”
A handful of customers attempted to listen in, and some who were parishioners looked in his direction with stunned expressions. They looked away when Renaud met their gazes with a dismissive glare.
The waitress turned toward the kitchen. “Hey Cookie, that priest is here again!”
Alex finished preparing a burger before coming out of the kitchen and hissed at Renaud between clenched teeth. “I thought I asked you not to come here. What do you want?”
Renaud leaned toward him and lowered his voice. “I want to stop a tragedy in the making. I believe it was your father who came to me as the messenger. He grows stronger in spirit! I believe you may considering revenge. I’ve come to determine exactly what your intentions are.”
Alex spread his hands against the tabletop and brought his face within inches of his adversary. “Let me get this straight. My dead father visited you? Are you delusional?”
“No, but you are.”
“If I have anything planned, do you think you could stop me? Go to the police, and tell them what you told me. See what they do. They'll snicker behind your back. You'll be the joke of the year. You think you're God’s divine crusader?”
Renaud grabbed Alex’s wrists. “I come to you as a mere man who will take you out, if you cause any harm to anyone. I’ll ask for forgiveness and take my chances against Hell.” The priest rose slowly, eyes never leaving Alex’s face. “I have one last thing to say. Rid yourself of this hatred, before the floodgates of Heaven open to bring you down.”
The diners looked from one man to the other and then watched as the priest walked out with more energy to his step than they had seen in years.
When out of sight, Renaud stopped to catch his breath against the outer wall of a vacant building. The adrenaline had left his feeble body, turning his legs to rubber. A shooting pain ran through his left arm. He fumbled in the pocket of his sweat pants, retrieved his cell phone and found Gabriel Martin’s number in his contacts.
On his way to the courthouse deep in the heart of Texas, Gabe saw the priest’s name come up on display. “Father Renaud?”
“Yes, it is I.”
“Is anything wrong. Is Eva alright?”
“Everyone’s alright for now, but I need you here. Eva will need your help...though she doesn't know it. Where are you now?”
“I’m in Austin. I’ll be home before the sugar cane harvest. What’s going on there?”
“Come before the Blessing of the Fleet.”
“What has that to do…”
“Just get here. If something should happen to me or anyone connected to Winderlee, tell the authorities to find Alex Lejeune. He works at the Pink Pelican.”
“I was told he disappeared twenty years ago. Didn’t his sister declare him dead?”
“Regardless, he’s very much alive and back in Vermilion Bay, but he hides for a reason.”
“What has he done?”
“It’s more about what he will do. Just get here as soon as you wrap things up there.”
Renaud knew it was time to tell the Lejeune family about Alex’s return, but he struggled to overcome the fear of retaliation. He was weary in the battle against evil. Even so, what was one life compared to many? The time had come. He would not wait for Gabriel Martin.
That night, Alex Lejeune climbed over the fence to a small demolition company outside of town and slipped past a guard dozing peacefully in a chair propped against the wall. Retribution had become an attainable goal.
15
Breakfast at Winderlee morning of the festival: Nadine Broussard shook out the Morning Courier to the schedule of the Blessing of the Fleet Gala. She read for awhile, then peered at her niece over the top of her reading glasses.
“So, Your Royal Highness, I have to read about your coronation in the paper?”
Eva stirred the cream into her coffee while staring through the patio door to the deck. Gabe had promised he would be back from Austin for the festivities, and she wanted to believe that more than anything in the world—just that he would return sometime, any time.
“I've had other things to think about—like harvestime and whether or not my manager will be here to oversee things. Surely he’ll come back for Rambo, if no other reason.”
At the mention of his name, the big pup wagged his tail and rolled at Eva’s feet in a bid for attention. She patted his head absentmindedly.
Nadine recognized Eva’s symptoms and was quick to diagnose. “The problem with you is that you fight the cure for your ailment. You don’t trust men, because you don’t want to get hurt. Even when you decide to try, you don’t know how to hold a real man. I could give you lessons on that subject.”
“You mean...like the way you trapped the roughneck before he made his escape to the Gulf of Mexico? News flash, Auntie. That one got away.”
“No, I don’t mean him.”
That figurative door had been opened, and Eva dove in. “Is there something between you and Jasper?”
Taken by surprise, Nadine’s eyes widened, but the next moment she recovered with a Cheshire cat grin. “Don’t be silly. The man is hired help, for goodness sakes. Whatever gave you the idea he’s anything more?”
“I’d have to be deaf, dumb and blind. Besides, it explains why you desperately wanted Colette out of the way. You want to believe she was the cause of the fire, because it would suit your purpose.”
When Nadine was cornered, she always resorted to huffiness. “I won’t dignify your snide remarks with an answer.”
“No need. It’s written all over your face.”
Nadine breathed a sigh of relief when Eva’s phone rang. On the other end was a weary sounding Renaud. “Eva, is that you?”
“Yes. Good morning. Last minute instructions before the ceremony, Father?”
“No, but I need to visit with you sometime today…maybe back at your house later in the afternoon.”
“Of course. What’s up?”
“We’ll talk.”
Why did everyone postpone telling her anything of significance? First Gabe, then her mother and now Renaud. Eva felt more like a mushroom than Queen of the Fleet.
***
At the same time that morning, Malcolm Bertrand arrived at work early to catch up his paperwork before the Blessing of the Fleet. He kept one eye on Deville Place across the street, and would occasionally train his binoculars on room 112. A fading, small town attorney had found himself a divine mission. There was something going on. Vermilion Bay had more than enough excitement lately, and he was giddy from it all.
At eight o’clock he called Renaud. “I must tell you. I saw a peculiar thing. A floral delivery showed up at Alex’s room at a gosh awful early hour and delivered a large urn of yellow carnations to Alex Lejeune. I’ve never seen yellow carnations. Had to be a special order and at such an early time. There’s something odd about it.”
Renaud took in a deep breath before stating his opinion. If nothing else, he was expected to be reasonable and objective. “It’s not unusual for floral deliveries to schedule early to accommodate last minute deliveries on special occasions. It it a regular service or a local shop? Know where the flowers came from?”
“‘Mai’s Old Saigon Flower Shop. Her van was there.”
“Maybe he wants to give tribute for Destiny, like lots of other people, for lots of other boats. There’s no proof there’s anything sinister...just out of character for him. He doesn’t seem to be a thoughtful person. It’s only flowers, Malcolm.”
“My Lord. Are we just going to sit around and hope for the best? I tried to talk to local yokel law enforcement about things Alex had said to us both. Since I had nothing concrete, the most they will do is a drive by once in awhile. Those guys don’t take me seriously. They think I’m an imbecile.”
“Alex Lejeune does have more than one ax to grind. You can attest to that after his visit to your office. He has lots of reasons to dislike Jace. Still, it’s hard to think he’s done anything more than run his mouth.”
“One of us needs to let the family know he’s in town.”
“Yes, Malcolm. I’m meeting with Eva this afternoon. Alex is just a big mouth and always has been. There’s no sign of violence in his past.”
“Why not have a heart to heart talk with him? ”
“I’ve talked to him twice. Do you really think he admitted anything?”
“Maybe you went about it the wrong way. Use your position as his former priest and confidant, instead of man to man. As I remember, you had a good rapport with him once. If anyone can dissuade him from bad behavior, it would be you. Go to see him, but this time in the privacy of his room, away from the Pink Pelican.”
***
So it came to be that Renaud decided to see Alex Lejeune one last time. He wasn’t really up to the confrontation or his duties at the festival later. The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak. Nonetheless, he took his his collar and clerical garb out of the storage bag. One last call to arms, one last grab for worthiness.
Marcela stopped him at the front door. “Father, won’t you stay in and call an associate to bless the boats? I can see you’re unwell. I would drive you where you need to go, but I'm heading out to pick up my sister in Lafayette. I’m afraid I’ll be a bit late with city traffic over that way. Let me call someone to drive you.”
He reached out his hand to touch that sweet, simple face and then remembered the honor he had sworn to uphold. “Marcela, don’t fuss over me. Where I must go right now and what I must do, is for me alone. Go about your business, and I’ll see you later at the pier.”
At nine o’clock, he pulled up to the front of Deville Place and room 112. Alex Lejeune had just finished writing out the card and attaching it to the flowers when he heard a tap on his door. He crammed the bottom of the urn with dried moss and slid it into the corner.
“Who’s there?”
“It is I, Father Renaud.”
Alex hesitated, then unlocked and opened the door. He was curious as to what Renaud had on his mind. He had worked too hard to have anyone spoil the biggest surprise to ever hit the Vermilion Bay waterfront.
Renaud felt weak and out of breath but remained standing. “Alex, I’ve come to say I’ve thought things through, and I’ve decided to have faith in you. You’ve acted in a threatening manner, because your heart is broken, but I’d like to believe you’re incapable of a truly evil deed. I’ve known you since the day I christened you.”
Alex took his cue and hung his head, causing Renaud to remember that long ago altar boy at St. Luke.
“Forgive me for the way I’ve talked to you, Father. I must’ve been outta my gourd.”
“I’ve already forgiven you, Alex, but you haven’t forgiven others. The only person you can be angry with is dead and gone. It was Lucien who changed his will, but he did what he thought was best.”
“I have one other to forgive—that sneaky Vietnamese fisherman! Have you forgotten? He stole my wife, and now he’s taking my boat.” Alex paused and returned to a well acted role in a one man show. “Ah well. You know me. I always cool down.”
Renaud should have felt relieved but felt, instead, as if he were suffocating. What was that bothersome noise? Was it in his head, or was it something in the room? The soft sound was maddeningly magnified by his muddled mind. He glanced about, and saw an unpacked suitcase. Behind it was the beautiful urn of yellow carnations, just as Bertrand had described it. He focused on the suitcase rather than the flowers. “You’ve not yet unpacked your alarm clock, Alex. I can hear it, but I cannot see it.”
tick, tick, tick
“Ah yes, I knew I was missing something.”
“Decent of you to buy flowers for Destiny, feeling the way you do about the new owner? That goes beyond simple forgiveness.”
“Is it so unusual? I am still a Lejeune. I've had a change of heart about my family, about the loss of Destiny, everything. The flowers are my way of sending good wishes, announcing my presence yet still remaining out of the way. Fact is, I may leave town this evening.”
“Maybe that’s best, Alex. I have one last question. Why did you not have Mai deliver the flowers directly to the pier?”
“I wanted to see them, make sure they are to my liking and attach a handwritten note. It’s all quite simple, you see? I’m slipping out incognito to deliver them within the next thirty minutes. Sorry to rush you.”
tick, tick, tick.
Seeing the pensive look on Renaud’s face, Alex was quick to reassure. “Don’t worry about anything, Father. If I ever had evil intent, I’ve seen the light. I’ve had an epiphany, a spiritual awakening!”
“There are very few miracles, Alex, and there’s no call for such over-the top declarations. Good luck to you wherever you go from here. I must be on my way to the pier. The boats await my blessing at ten o’clock, sharp.”
“Goodbye then. Wish I could watch the procession, but it’s best I stay away. By the way, don’t be frightened by what lives in my truck. I call him ‘Rider’. You may have noticed him when you drove up.” Alex smiled at the priest’s perplexed expression. “You’re a man of God. What harm can come to you, right?”
A dumbfounded Renaud stared at Alex for one last moment, then closed the door behind him. He felt a rush of cool, clear air, so welcoming after the cloying stuffiness inside the room. Strange new feelings began to surround him—whether good or evil, he could not say, as if the two had become indistinguishable. He gave in to the urge to peer into the cab of Alex’s pickup, but as he suspected, there was nothing there. Renaud crossed himself. Was Alex out of his mind, or were there really personal bogeymen that no one but the haunted could see? What strange things occurred in that sleepy little fishing village ever since Lucien’s death.
9:22 am: Renaud was halfway down the road to the canal when he realized he would not make it. He had no choice but to pull over into the parking lot of a grocery store. His chest was gripped by excruciating pain, as his mind struggled to function. He had been given an omen, and in that moment, he knew the ticking sound had come from within the pot of carnations. The clock and attached explosives were concealed therein. Without a doubt, the device would be set to go off aboard a fully packed boat.
Ten o’clock came a whisper from somewhere within or outside of his being. Then came the clincher. Marcela had once told him about carnations: the color yellow represented not love, not friendship but disappointment and rejection. God help them all.
Struggling through spasms of pain, Renaud managed to answer his cell phone on the third ring-tone. As fate would have it, Gabe was calling to let him know he was flying over Vermilion Bay and was due to land any minute. “Will you let Eva know I am trying to make it for the Grand Procession?” Gabe asked. “I can’t reach her. She’s gone off without her phone. Father Renaud? What’s wrong? I can’t hear you. Are you still there?”
Renaud struggled to block the “tick, tick, tick” in his oxygen starved brain. Ten o'clock. In one last act of desperation, he managed to choke out a garbled warning.
“Flower pot...bomb...Destiny...twenty-five minutes!”
“Got it. Tell me where you are! I’ll send help for you.”
The phone went dead, and Gabe swore at the irony. Renaud was so desperately trying
to save others, he put his own dire situation aside, and Gabe was bound to honor that wish. On his rush to the pier, he alerted 911 that Renaud was in trouble possibly somewhere between the rectory and the canal.
Within those costly minutes, Renaud had lost his ability to speak. He tried to raise his head to the window to flag a woman loading her groceries but slumped down into the seat. “Father, forgive Alex. Forgive me for my failures. Hasten Gabriel, Eva’s guardian angel.”
***
Back at Deville Place, Alex Lejeune muffled the sound of the alarm clock by wrapping thick bath towels just underneath the cover of moss. Then, disguised in dark glasses and visor cap, he set about delivering his dynamic surprise, handing it off to the fishermen who were loading the boats. His bag of clothing was in the back of the truck for his return to the Yukon, as his job in Vermilion Bay was finished. Twenty-two miles out of town, he began to relax to “The Eagles’ Greatest Hits” one last time. “You can’t hide your lyin’ eyes.”
“Don’t give me that look, Rider. What’s done is done. I know you think you’re getting stronger lately, but you still can’t change fate. Time to get out of my truck. You can’t handle the Canadian wilderness.” He laughed with glee, thinking the disastrous deed was complete. “I’ll be the talk of the town for decades, and like before, I’ll be long gone down the line, ol’ boy.”
Was someone following him? He shielded his eyes from bright sunlight and squinted into the rear view mirror. Behind him was that same phantom patrol car—appearing from nowhere, like before, with the same rookie cop riding his tail, pushing him to speeds that made the ancient pickup shake and rattle.
If that were not enough, someone was in the middle of the road ahead of him. “I’ll run him down if he doesn’t move! What’s one more, right?” Alex looked to the passenger side and found it empty. Rider had gotten out. He jerked his head back toward the road. There he was, now fully formed for the first time, features finally visible. Alex Lejeune screamed one word before swerving and rolling the truck. “Papa!”
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