Blood Parish

by E. J. Findorff

  Angel held her breath while descending the basement steps. She had heard about hoarders dying from cave-ins. Halfway through the labyrinth, she came upon the cage. The front was still exposed. The thick beige tarp covered the sides and back like a magician’s trick.

  It was apparent where Mark had disturbed the dust. The lawyer was undoubtedly engaging and patient. Starting a relationship could be considered reckless during a criminal operation, but he might reveal something. Joe-Joe had commented that she would rationalize falling for a cousin. This was much different.

  Partitioned light caught the mess of particles whirling around, forcing a quick sneeze. She reached for Bobby’s bear sitting dead center in the encasement. Would Bobby want her to visit him? Would her questions be upsetting? Was becoming an embalmer a good thing?

  She almost felt a survivor’s guilt, leading the life she wanted in New Orleans while her family remained small-town. Self-contained would be better phrasing, but they were hardly the cliché. Her degree would only be wasted in Lemon Twig. If she had come back, what would she have done? Beat out Izzy as sheriff? Go into practice with her mom, defending the parish scum? Not likely.

  Lorna may have known her own demise was coming. She had a reason for making a new will - for leaving her the combination. Everyone in the parish had full access to the empty house for ransacking. Could Lucy May have come by in the last month to take whatever was there?

  Why wouldn’t Lorna just spell it out?

  Chapter 15

  Moreau Parish Sheriff Izzy Blondeaux parked on the shoulder of the road. A military war game on her cell phone emitted synthetic explosions as the text bubble suddenly appeared. Mark Senn had left Lorna’s house. The brainiac had let her sister Lorna hand over the estate to a federal agent.

  She stayed vigilant of the deserted road until seeing the daytime running lights. The war game paused. Izzy stepped from the comfortable cruiser into the hot, heavy air. She made her way to the bumper, standing at ease as if in military formation. The sunglasses did little against the afternoon glare. Izzy waved him over.

  The BMW slowed, pulling directly in front of her. Sheriff Blondeaux watched the young man put his hand over his eyes while getting out of his BMW. “You got what you wanted. I don’t like being bullied.”

  “I don’t care what you like.” She slowly paced. “Good job being invited back to the house.”

  He stood straight, inhaling as if annoyed. “I’m not your spy.”

  Izzy stopped short, spinning to face him. “I thought we had an understanding.”

  “Understanding? My part is done.”

  Fucking lawyer. Izzy pulled her gun from its holster, folding her arms with it in her hand. “What’d she say?”

  He stared at her weapon as it rested near her shoulder. “She’s going to give the estate back to Lucy May, eventually. She’s a fed. She’s suspicious of the whole thing.”

  “Oh, you got a bead on her?” She shook her head. “All Lorna had to do was keep the land in the family - her real family.”

  “Miss Lorna seemed mistrustful – paranoid even. Maybe Miss Paulette should have patched things up before Miss Lorna killed herself.”

  “Accidental overdose. Watch yourself, counselor.” The gun dropped to her thigh. Izzy had to be careful. Mark wasn’t family, and he was smarter than most in the parish. She could only push him so far.

  Senn’s fingers pulled at his shirt. “Angel wouldn’t even go into the room. And when we went to the basement, she was antsy. You’ll get the house. Lucy May will. One of you, anyway.”

  “Did Angel open the envelope?”

  “Not while I was there.”

  “Leaving her the combination and that sinner line is an odd thing to do.” Izzy placed the gun back in her holster.

  “Look at this as an opportunity,” he added.

  “How do you mean?”

  “Wouldn’t you rather be in control of the land instead of Lucy May? Maybe Angel would be receptive to a cash offer.”

  Izzy thought about it. “You may have something, counselor. But money wouldn’t be enough. She’d consider giving the house to Lucy May the right thing to do. I might have to convince her it would be the wrong thing to do.”

  They kept silent as a lone car passed. Izzy recognized the green Wrangler and the bearded enforcer behind the wheel. He was one of the patronne’s foot soldiers. Izzy caught his gaze for a split second. Paulette would learn of this roadside meeting in the next minute.

  “Did she give a time frame?”

  “No.” He shifted on his feet. “I’d say a week, maybe two. This Glue Trap is the last place she wants to be.”

  “Folks around here don’t appreciate outsiders saying shit like that.” Izzy clenched her jaw. “You talk pretty brave for being out of your element.”

  “A literal gun to your head makes you re-evaluate your life.”

  Izzy shook her head. “Oh, don’t be a baby. I wasn’t going to kill you.”

  Chapter 16

  The Bureau had selected a quiet neighborhood outside the scope of the Blondeaux clan. The family operated within the parish, and no one would know Agent Gail Ruby. Many black families lived in the area, and the new neighbor wouldn’t draw suspicion. The memorization of their backstory was the only annoyance. It would be more conspicuous if Ruby weren’t friendly with everyone surrounding her.

  Angel rang the bell as if she was a friend, waving at the man hosing his lawn. Once inside, she placed the strip of paper containing the combination on the table, along with the envelope. Ruby stared at it like a digger that discovered an Egyptian artifact.

  “Just give us a name… damn.” Ruby sighed.

  The agent had set up two laptops and a printer and had started pinning photos to the most expansive wall. Being alone, Ruby wouldn’t be much in the form of cavalry if Angel needed it, but she was close enough to be her tether.

  “The field office can’t pair the combination to anything pertaining to the Blondeaux history on the date in 1930 – not in official records, anyway.” Ruby sighed. “Maybe you could dig a little deeper into Lorna’s mental health.”

  “Like she might’ve been losing it?”

  “Explains the secrecy in leaving you the combination to a rinky-dink lock with this riddle.”

  “I can’t ask questions.” Angel hesitated. “Not yet.”

  “I’m an optimist.” Ruby glanced at her. “If the boys were sold as sex slaves or slave labor, they would’ve only been useful for a handful of years. They could be homeless or in psychiatric care. Once broken and brainwashed, they wouldn’t know how to ask for help.”

  “That’s sad.” Angel checked the information wall. The left side contained pertinent information about the baseball players, the bus, and the adults involved that day.

  The middle section was a breakdown of the essential cogs and gears in the Blondeaux chain of command. She bristled at her mom and dad’s photo, along with her own. At the top, Paulette’s picture was the point of the pyramid.

  The right portion offered strategic locations around the area, including the house, the prison, the Indian Mounds, and the mansion, which was guarded like a cult compound.

  “It’s so fortunate you have a place to stay in the heart of it all.”

  “So much easier to get around.” Angel sat in a chair. “When I get the security cameras going, you can tie into it. At least give you something to monitor.”

  “Sooner than later, yeah?” She made a note on a pad, speaking casually. “Is your family racist?”

  Angel spun to face her. “My immediate family? I’d say no. There might be levels of discrimination, but nothing Klan-related. Great question, though.”

  “Just a knee-jerk reaction, I guess. South. Rednecks. All the ingredients.”

  “Wow.” Angel’s eyes squinted. “My parents didn’t raise me to be racist, and I never witnessed it, so I’d say no.”

  “Good. Not everyone in the FBI got the memo. I have to be leery.”

&n
bsp; “You’re right about that. Would it help if I rap some old school NWA?”

  She reared back in a laugh. “And I’ll sing some Barry Manilow.” She threw a pen at her leg.

  “That’s assault.” Angel grinned. “Sorry you had it rough with the Bureau - Mandy.” She tossed the pen back in her lap. “Nothing but respect, okay?”

  “Okay, Ice Cube. What’s the plan?”

  “The immediate plan is to go to a local hang with a friend from high school. Check things out on the social scene.”

  “Who’s this friend?” She looked at the wall of pictures.

  “Delilah Forester. The one I met up with the night of the memorial. She’s not a part of anything. We were a two-person clique in school. We texted from time to time a few years out of school, but we lost touch. I want to reconnect.” Angel watched her write it in her notes. “The lawyer Mark Senn might meet me there, too.”

  “Really?”

  “Seems he fancies me.” She held her heart and swayed playfully. “You going to be able to keep busy with nothing to do?”

  Agent Ruby made a face. “This isn’t the only case I have. I’ll be working the phones and the wall while you do your thing. Now, what’s the big thing that happened between you and John Belcher?”

  “Nope. Those documents are sealed.”

  “Fine. I’ll break you down. Now, you said something about rapping some NWA?”

  Chapter 17

  At the Frog, Angel and Mark snagged the same booth they had before. Randy and the Rippers played their brand of soul-country-pop on the corner stage, having a diverse mix of band members. Half of the tables were occupied, and a few couples danced on the partitioned black-tiled floor. A full display of locals bellied up to the bar, most with beer or hard liquor.

  Delilah set down her tray on their table. She sat hip-to-hip with Angel, facing her guest. Delilah sported cut-off jeans, which weren’t quite Daisy Dukes but still grabbed attention. Her tee-shirt hugged her waist, with some faded emblem accentuating a great set of boobs that she’d been showing off since freshman year. Long auburn hair fell half-way down her back, smooth and heavy. Her makeup looked professionally done.

  “I’m taking my break,” Delilah announced.

  Mark handed a beer to Angel before taking one himself. The threesome toasted.

  “Had to have the conversation with Joe-Joe again,” Angel said to Delilah, leaning over a cold Coors Light. “I told Mark the gist of it all.”

  “And I will not voice an opinion on the subject.” He drank his beer emphatically.

  “I like him already.” Delilah took an aggressive drink from her own bottle.

  “Thing is, I’ve been gone seven years, and he still hasn’t let go.”

  “That’s crazy-Joe for ya.”

  Angel shrugged. “He’s harmless in a guard dog kind of way.”

  “He’s here.” Delilah pointed at the entrance with barely a glance.

  “Oh, God, of course he’s here.” She leaned back uncomfortably. “He hasn’t seen us yet.”

  “We can leave if he’s going to start something,” Mark said.

  “No, screw that,” Angel retorted. “He won’t dictate my life.”

  Joe-Joe saw them as he crossed the room but didn’t react. He was wearing a black tank and baggy jeans. Ink spread across both shoulders, disappearing into his shirt. He dodged patrons until squeezing in between two couples at the bar with a bill in his hand.

  “I’ll be back.” Delilah crossed the dance floor to the opposite end of the bar, waving at Edward. She said something in the bartender’s ear. His mutton chops were huge.

  Edward smiled, revealing a gap in his front teeth. He went straight to Joe-Joe, leaning in to take his order. Now, Angel had to be uncomfortable for the next few hours until Joe-Joe got bored and left, or got drunk and thrown out.

  Mark took her hand. “Why don’t we go to another bar where we can talk without the distraction?”

  “There’s too much history to avoid him like that.”

  Delilah sat back down. “Eddie’s going to keep him busy. Sometimes Joe-Joe comes in and cries on his shoulder.”

  “Remind me to give Eddie a good tip.”

  “Is it safe to go to the bathroom?” Mark asked.

  Angel said, “Yeah, he won’t approach you. Go ahead.”

  “I mean safe to leave you.”

  “That’s sweet to say to a trained FBI agent.” Delilah was deadpan. She pointed at the bright glowing neon sign that spelled Tadpoles.

  “Tadpoles. Cute. Don’t make a scene without me.” Mark slid from the booth.

  Angel groaned, “I’m going to start going through my aunt’s things.”

  Delilah shook her head. “You won’t catch me anywhere near that house.”

  “I figure I’ll stay there two weeks max.”

  She exaggerated a shudder. “Do you even have Internet out there?”

  “My laptop has secure wifi. I have my gun. I’ll be fine.”

  “You might need it.” Delilah shot Joe-Joe with a finger-gun. “I like Mark. He seems unaffected by it all. You know, the stresses of life.”

  “Like a real country lawyer.”

  When Mark returned, Delilah went back to taking drink orders, occasionally stopping back for short stints of conversation. Angel and Mark enjoyed speaking about her time at the Bureau and his time in law school. Two hours passed without so much as a glance from Joe-Joe. She almost forgot he was at the bar.

  Delilah briefly danced with a mechanic she’d been dating. Joe-Joe put down several rum and Cokes, having gotten up twice to use the bathroom. Her training kept her hyper-aware. Angel could hear his proclamations over the music. Clipped words and phrases carried to her.

  “I don’t get it,” he asked Edward. “What’s her problem?”

  Angel couldn’t make out all of Edward’s calming responses. Sporadic sentences flew from Joe-Joe’s mouth one after the other.

  “I love her, man.”

  “I don’t know what to do anymore.”

  “She’s such a bitch.”

  “No, I don’t think I’ve had too much to drink.”

  The surrounding patrons noticed him. Some of the regulars knew the situation, having attended high school together, but it was hard to look away from Joe-Joe’s escalation. Edward’s patient eyes kept darting at Angel while attempting to reason with him. A bouncer would soon be summoned.

  “Let’s sneak out,” Mark offered.

  “Maybe we should.”

  Joe-Joe slipped backward off the stool. He squirmed and bumped into the crowd, making his way across the dance floor toward them. Delilah glided to Angel’s side.

  “This isn’t good.” Angel wiped her forehead with the back of her hand as they stood near the booth.

  Joe-Joe stopped several feet away and pointed at Mark. “You rubbing this dick in my face?”

  Delilah did a spit-take before laughing into a napkin. Mark kept a straight face.

  “You’re drunk, Joe-Joe,” Angel said calmly.

  “You want me to move on? To be with another woman? I can do that. What about you, honey?”

  Delilah’s face contorted. “In your dreams, D-bag.”

  The closest patrons nervously laughed while holding up phones.

  Joe-Joe moved quickly enough to grab Delilah before Angel or Mark could react. He kissed her hard, and she tried to dodge him, but their lips connected. In that same second, he reared back with a bloody mouth when Delilah bit down. Angel and Mark jumped in front of Delilah, but a three-hundred-pound bouncer was already in action.

  The larger man twisted Joe-Joe away in a bear hug as blood dripped down his chin. However, Joe-Joe thrust his head back into the bouncer’s nose, sending him reeling. Joe-Joe followed the thick bouncer, wailing with rapid-fire fists, but was unable to bring the dazed man down. Mark and another patron eventually pinned Joe-Joe to the sticky floor.

  While Eddie and another bouncer took over controlling Joe-Joe, Angel and Mark migrated t
oward the exit. Mark smoothed out a lock of Angel’s hair. “Hell of a third date.”

  “Date’s over, I’m afraid.” She took his hands. They stared into each other’s eyes. “I’m going to stay to make sure Delilah’s alright and this gets sorted out.”

  “Got it. You’ll be okay?” He shook his head. “Of course, you will.”

  “You’re a real gentleman.”

  “I’ll call you soon?”

  “Yeah, call me soon.”

  They briefly embraced, and then he walked out the door.

  Chapter 18

  The water continued to fill the bathtub. Lucy May swallowed a muscle relaxer, despite Reverend Trevor scolding her not to have drugs or alcohol. She had just hung up with Bobby. Her brother was too sensible for his own good, playing devil’s advocate on this inheritance thing. It had taken him a long time to stop being agreeable to every opinion. He needed to question people’s motives before blindly doing their bidding. Her brother was cock strong as the folk liked to say, and he didn’t have to bow to anyone.

  She had been such a bitch at the reading of the will. But the patronne scolded her for mingling with the enemy at the memorial. Her therapist Clint explained that children without proper role models randomly choose people to emulate or idolize for no particular rhyme or reason. That didn’t take much insight. Growing up, Angel was the cool cousin. During her father’s murder investigation, she represented stability when her world was upside-down. Clint had said nothing was wrong with it, as long as it didn’t become an obsession.

  Her therapist was an older handsome black man. She often thought about dating a black boy she liked in high school and regretted not acting on it. It was a stupid idea to flirt with Clint; to kiss him, knowing it wouldn’t go any further than his office. She ended their relationship abruptly when he sent her a dick-pic. Sure, she instigated the relationship, but that was too big a leap. People like him just couldn’t help escalating.

  The hot chocolate on the floor steamed from the Saints mug before her. There was a decent-sized closet, a dresser with a television, and a bed with two nightstands. It didn’t feel as welcoming as Angel’s room in her Aunt Mable’s house, but the smallness was comforting. Too much space made her anxious.