It would be her first night in Lucy May’s old bedroom, but at least she would have company. She turned off all the lights, brushed her teeth, and washed her face. Nothing appeared in the mirror behind her. There was no figure passing so fast that she barely registered it. No blood poured from the faucet, or chains rattled.
It would be nice to just fall asleep while in someone else’s arms, but Mark was in that gray area of being something more than a fling. Cuddling was an intimate act to be sure. She crossed the hall and eased into the room. Mark already had his eyes closed. She said his name, but he didn’t respond. Men could fall asleep so quickly.
She was okay with that.
Chapter 34
Joe-Joe swished the beer in the last can of the six-pack before downing it through the side of his mouth. He threw the empty on the floorboard of his car. He tooled along just blocks from Delilah Forester’s apartment. Eddie from the Frog had mentioned in passing where she stayed. The bitch had split his lip when he tried to kiss her. She called him a D-bag. His hands wrung the steering wheel as his tongue rolled over the healing scab. Who did that cunt think she was?
Just as he pulled into the parking lot of the complex, he saw the town whore walking to her car in her slut outfit. Angel’s ugly truck was nowhere to be seen. He pulled behind Delilah’s back bumper, blocking her in just as she shut her door.
Joe-Joe belched. He liked that the area lacked lighting. He eased from his seat, limping several feet with his new Ruger revolver in his waistband. She was on her phone and hadn’t noticed him yet.
He opened her door. “Can we talk a second?”
She reared back with surprise. “Joe-Joe! Angel’s not here.”
You’re dead. “You know where she is?” He leaned on the door to look inside.
She reached for the door handle, but he didn’t let her close it. “She’s at the house, maybe? You can’t possibly want a repeat of the other night.”
He looked around the lot. Be calm. No one was around. “Listen, about the other night when I kissed you…”
“It’s fine. I need to go. Can you move your car?” She looked behind her. “I’m late for work. Should’ve been there for nine.”
No apology? He needed to act before she screamed or blew her horn. He knelt between her and the car door sending a sharp pain where he had been shot. “Look, we have our differences, but we both care for Angel, right? I need your help. I think her grandmother wants her killed. Can we please work together?”
She fidgeted. “What do you mean?”
“Her grandmother put a hit out on her. I can’t find her nowhere.”
“You’re making that up.” Her fingers fumbled for her cell. “You don’t leave, I’m calling the cops.”
“Like that matters.” He reached for her neck like a striking Cobra and proceeded to squeeze with all his might. She flopped spastically trying to break loose.
Choking her out took longer than he thought as the bitch scratched at his arms. When that didn’t work, her hands smashed at the horn, but she couldn’t get any strength behind them. Just when he thought he’d have to shoot her, she went limp.
He checked the lot, panting. The bitch asked for it.
Chapter 35
Besides waking in the middle of the night, it had been a peaceful sleep. The unease came back in the morning. Her thoughts immediately jumped to Joe-Joe going off the deep end. Mark didn’t stir, laying on his side to favor his arm. Five hours wasn’t near enough for him.
Angel pulled the blanket to her chin. She switched her focus to Mark, his mannerisms, his wit that complimented hers, and those moments he made her blush. He was a good guy, even with the occasional immaturity.
She pushed the covers off without disturbing him. Angel bypassed making coffee and traveled directly to the basement, to the foot of Bobby’s cage. She picked up the stuffed bear and gave it an examination; however, she detected no malice from the object.
The bear accompanied her to the kitchen where she placed him on the table, too unbalanced to stand upright. The coffee brewed while she pulled out a bowl for cereal, half-expecting the bear to be gone when she turned back around.
Bobby had spent a lot of time in the cage with his bear, and yet, he left it behind. Did he not want it? Maybe she could throw it out, along with the enclosure. No, that would be someone else’s decision. Aunt Lorna had protested that there was no reason to disassemble the cage, just in case Bobby had a setback and maybe wanted to return to a place he felt safe.
Angel swallowed the last two ibuprofens from the pill bottle. Stepping back in the doorway of the bedroom, she watched Mark stir, but not wake. Part of her wanted to crawl on top of him. Part of her wanted a hot shower. A loud comical snort from his face helped make up her mind.
After a quick few minutes under the hot blast of water, she dressed in a pair of jeans and a raggedly chic tee shirt. A baseball cap covered her hair that she wrangled into a ponytail. She left a note saying she’d be back shortly.
With the bear in one hand and her keys in the other, she jumped into the Rock, musing that maybe the bear needed a seatbelt. She placed him on the dash instead, positioned against the windshield to face her.
It was time for a long-awaited reunion with a confessed murderer.
Chapter 36
Bobby Blondeaux heard the racket originating from the cremator room. They wouldn’t be open for another hour. There was nothing on the schedule. He jiggled the handle, but the double-doors were locked. A string of swear words emanated from the door’s crease.
He knocked. “Hello? Joe-Joe, is that you?”
An answer came a few seconds later. “You alone, Bobby?”
“I am.”
One door opened. Joe-Joe pulled him in the room, then locked it again. The air smelled like day-old stale beer. He looked as if he had been up all night then bathed in fermented swill. There was a body on the gurney under a draped sheet.
“What are you doing? There isn’t a cremation today.” Bobby understood the unpredictability of dealing with family business but would allow an explanation.
“Never mind what I’m doing. Why ain’t the cremator working?”
“It was fine before.” He walked to the panel, putting his hand near the opening. “You’re in charge of the machine. You don’t know?” He faced the body.” Did you do this?”
“Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to.”
“I will not be a part of this.”
Joe-Joe moved him aside, trying to get the incinerator to fire up by pushing buttons. “What’s wrong with it?”
“Could be short. The power-supply. I don’t know until I check.”
Joe-Joe smacked his own head with closed fists. His forearms were scratched to hell. “Just get the thing working, and I’ll take care of her in a couple of hours when I come back. Can you keep this under your hat, cage-boy?”
“Yes.” Bobby looked at the outline of the deceased. “Of course.”
Joe-Joe exited with a pronounced limp.
Bobby lifted the sheet from her face. He didn’t recognize this pale, beautiful woman with the bruised neck. To be killed by strangulation wasn’t a pleasant way to go. This was an act of passion. He wondered if the patronne sanctioned her end, or if Joe-Joe did this alone.
The last shirt she’d ever wear was a white tank top. The scripted text on her shoulder labeled her Delilah. Another family would never have closure. It was another brick of guilt, building a wall of regret. He was an enabler.
Rhett, the funeral director, was playing golf in Brockton for the weekend. He wouldn’t want to know about this. The peaceful girl lay tranquil on the gurney, albeit with a crushed trachea. Bobby lit several aromatic candles, and he dimmed the lights. The room was bathed in soft luminance. He opened the electrical panel and found the offending breaker, flipping the switch home. Her physical form would take its last journey into the incinerator, but Bobby was hesitant and didn’t understand why.
The woman’s b
runette locks streamed onto the stainless steel like an abstract halo. He felt the loss because she was pretty. Even though her life wasn’t any more valuable than that of someone unattractive. It was just that after such an ugly upbringing, beauty was inspiring. If he couldn’t be or feel beautiful, he would surround himself with art, music, and prose. That was how he found poetry.
His fingers brushed her cheek, cool to the touch. It was ridiculous to imagine she felt the cold, but did the soul completely detach? He theorized ghosts were energy that held memories. This energy repeated previous acts performed when it had a host, such as hearing the creaks of one walking up and down stairs.
His phone buzzed, indicating motion at the door. The Echo Show also alerted him. The ringing doorbell tensed his muscles.
“Alexa, show me the front door.”
The little monitor functioned as told, but the person wasn’t facing the doorbell. Bobby hadn’t expected anyone, and uncommon distractions left him anxious, as his interaction with Joe-Joe proved.
That had to be a person unaware of their hours or a glad-handing politician. Perhaps a neighbor had an emergency. A few houses in the subdivision knew of his employment, and sometimes people would pretend to want the parlor’s services just to see the cage-boy who had savagely murdered his father.
A light bulb went off in his head. Agent Angel Blondeaux.
Bobby secured the doors to the cremator room. Dear Delilah would have to exercise patience for his return. With haste, he shuffled to the main entrance and cracked the door for a narrow view. Events flooded back from his early twenties. This had been the cousin to whom he had made his confession.
He spoke through the sliver. “I heard you were in town. How can I help you, Agent Blondeaux?”
“Angel, please. We are related. I hope you don’t mind me dropping by.” Her hands were behind her back as if clasped, or hiding something. She was still thin, but now with strength in her gait. Her jeans hugged her pelvis, curving around her waist, blending into a form-fitting tee shirt. She was quite attractive, also, especially with little makeup and a no-nonsense ponytail.
He opened the door for a better view. “So pleasant to see you after all this time.”
Her smile was bright. “Sorry it took so long for me to visit.”
“Please, no need for that.”
Angel nodded. “I know it’s real early. You got a minute?”
“A minute is all.” The door opened a few more inches.
“May I come inside?”
“At the risk of sounding rude, no. I’m busy, you understand.”
“That’s fine. This won’t take long. First, let me congratulate you on graduating in Mortuary Sciences, and I understand you aced the literature courses.”
He gave a slight nod. “Once paired with adequate tutors, I excelled. I had a lot of catching up to do.”
“You turned out to be smarter than a lot of people would have thought.”
“After my unorthodox upbringing, you mean.”
“Yeah.” Angel kept her hands behind her back, looking suddenly so disappointed. “I wanted to stop by and check on you.”
“What is it you have there?” He pointed.
She waited a moment before her face flushed. “It’s your bear.”
“But I didn’t request it.”
She held it by her waist. “I remember you loved it.”
“I didn’t love it. I needed it.”
“I guess I didn’t think this through. Maybe I wanted an excuse to see you.” She held it out.
“You assumed this would endear you to me?”
“You cut through the shit, don’t you?”
“That stitched material and fluffy stuffing was my only friend for many years.” His eyes grew misty. “Lucy May gave it to me for...” He swallowed the remainder of that sentence. “Told me to talk to it when I was lonely.”
“Lucy May loves you.”
“You seem to have made an impression on her.”
“I hope I’m a good influence.”
“Time will tell.” He felt he should stop there, or else betray his sister’s confidence.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come.”
“You’re trying to be kind. I thank you for that, but maybe you should keep it.” He kept his eyes on the bear. “A reminder of why you should never come back to Lemon Twig.”
“Are you seeing a new therapist?” She put her hand to her forehead. “Sorry, I can’t help it.”
“Since my last one has turned up deceased? No, I’m quite content. What did you expect to find?”
“I’m not sure what I expected. I guess someone with emotional problems.”
“Emotions are only a problem if you don’t have them.”
She appeared surprised. “A philosopher, too.”
“I like working with the deceased more than the living. I tell them how I’m feeling, and they don’t judge.” A grin appeared despite himself. “I’ve talked more to you than everyone else combined this week… except Lucy May.”
Her arms fell to her sides. The bear rested against her thigh. “If you ever want someone outside of your customers to talk to, call me. I don’t judge, either. We could get coffee. Like normal people.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
She tilted her head, reaching in her back pocket. “Here’s my card. My personal cell is on there.”
He spun the card between his dexterous fingers. With a nod, the door closed, but not so hard to offend. He put the card against his nostrils, smelling the pulp for a pleasant scent, but there was nothing so silly.
After witnessing her vehicle depart, he took a moment to contemplate her intentions. Had he sensed guilt in her accepting the house, something that wasn’t rightfully hers? He returned to Delilah, such a poem amongst the flowers and candles. He hated Joe-Joe more than ever for extinguishing her light.
“Sorry for the interruption.”
This should have been his and Delilah’s moment, but Angel stimulated the inner recesses of his mind. Bobby bent over Delilah. “That was my cousin. She came under the guise of wanting to see how I was. Surely, it was pity.” He waved his hand broadly. “She wanted to give me the bear. Do you believe that? How could I ever forget my upbringing with constant reminders all around me? May I come inside,” he mocked, pacing near her head. “Inviting yourself inside is presumptuous, correct, Delilah? I’m afraid I have to decline your inclination, Angel. No, no, no. My cuts healed. My bruises yellowed and disappeared. My fear… subsided. I’m scarred where I cannot be healed. Salve your own wounds.” He brought his breathing under control and wiped at his brow. His therapist Clint had warned against escalation. He performed a breathing exercise. “On the other hand, Delilah… methinks I doth protest too much.”
He turned on the cremator, gently placing her on the conveyor. “I consider the incinerator a time machine of sorts. The least I can do is give you a proper send-off, instead of the vile human garbage that did this to you. This world – this plane of existence is no longer for you.”
While all evidence of Joe-Joe’s violation and disregard burned away, Bobby called Lucy May.
Chapter 37
Lucy May had arrived at the funeral home quickly. She sat on the edge of her chair in the kitchen. Bobby put out a box of donuts and two glasses of milk. Their best talks came over tasty treats warmed in the microwave. His sister had yet to take one. That was curious. They had shared many as contraband while in the cage. He consumed another, hoping she would join him.
“I almost don’t recognize you anymore,” Bobby said.
Her eyes gained life. “Is that good?”
“You should talk to Angel. Open up. Let her in.”
She glared at him. “You mean confide in someone other than Trevor?” she said, sucking in air.
“Trevor doesn’t have your best interests at heart.”
“You’re smart, but you don’t know everything.”
“I know Angel uses less eyeliner,” Bobby fin
ished.
“So? Are you giving makeup tips now? I’m not a corpse.” She gave in to a long blink. “Sorry.”
He pushed the glass of milk a little closer. She covered her mouth to belch, then, hurried to the garbage can to throw up.
Bobby watched as she heaved. “Why are you vomiting?”
“Bad crawfish. I’m fine.” Her hand waved him away, but he hadn’t moved. Was he supposed to rush to her side?
“Crawfish for breakfast?” He took a bite of his donut, then gulped down some milk.
“Yeah.” She stood straight. Moisture coated her face.
“You didn’t eat a dead one, did you?” A boiled crawfish with a straight tail meant it was already dead when it entered the boiling water.
“Forget about the crawfish.” She eased back into the seat, using a napkin to wipe her mouth. “All Angel wants is information. Don’t tell her anything. We don’t want our maw maw angry with you.”
“You’re hardly an unbiased opinion.”
She sipped some milk. “I wish we could leave this place with her. Live in New Orleans.”
Before he could offer a rebuttal, a commotion in the back of the funeral home disturbed them.
“It’s probably Joe-Joe.”
“You were expecting him?”
However, Reverend Trevor traipsed in under a cloud of exhaustion. When he saw Lucy May and Bobby, he brightened. “Oh, hello, Lucy May. I thought that was your car.”
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
Trevor didn’t answer. He opened the refrigerator door, guzzling a mini-bottle of water. He let out a breath of relief. “I have business that’s none of yours. Lucy May, you mind leaving us?”
“Man business?” she quipped.
Trevor appeared disappointed, as usual. “You used to listen to me.”
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