Blood Parish

by E. J. Findorff

  Angel leaned over the desk. “You know me, Izzy. I’ve never made threats to the family. Never. But if something bad happened to her, you will regret it, and it won’t be in prison.”

  “Noted. Thoughts on selling the house to me?”

  “You’re unbelievable. Not until Delilah is found. Produce Delilah, and the house is yours.”

  Izzy smiled. “Well, maybe I should get right on it.”

  Chapter 41

  Checking on the usual haunts didn’t turn up anything in the search for Delilah. Now that there were two, possibly three, factions to worry about, Angel didn’t know who to go after. She sped to the Bureau house in the next parish, making sure to stop on the shoulder and to take circuitous routes to avoid being followed.

  Once inside, she handed over Delilah’s cell to Ruby, having explained everything on the drive over.

  “Our tech team can remote into her phone.” She plugged in a USB cable, connecting it to a tower. “I’ve already put out a trace for any credit card activity or possible sightings.”

  “They won’t use her cards.” Angel fell into the sofa. She put her hand to her forehead. “She’s dead because of me.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  Angel looked at her for a long while. “You’re right. I don’t. But it’s likely. What do I do now?”

  “As much as I hate to say it, legally you can’t do anything regarding Delilah. You need to worry about Mark’s safety. He’s back in Brockton?”

  “Yeah, but you have access to the cameras. You must know he’s gone.”

  “I saw him leaving. I wish I had inside cameras and audio.” Ruby sat in an office chair by the desk.

  “I’m good with you not seeing my every move.”

  “Mm, I’ll bet.” Ruby smiled.

  “Yes, I’m going to cut off Mark. He needs to get somewhere safe. It’s possible I’ll bring him out here.”

  “It’s a temporary fix.”

  “So, Belcher called and told me about you guys using Mark Senn to watch me.”

  Ruby studied her. “Belcher did what?”

  “It’s okay. We’re all on the same page now. Belcher knew about the will. I know Mark’s an asset that Belcher enlisted.”

  She dipped her head, deflating. “I didn’t want to keep it from you.”

  “So, you did know?” Angel stood. “And you kept it from me.”

  She pointed with a gaping mouth. “You were bluffing. What happened to respect?”

  “Gotta give it to get it. What else does Belcher know? Tell me, or you and I aren’t Ice Cube and Mandy anymore.”

  Ruby folded her arms. “Our boss forced me, Angel. Mark Senn’s family used to be involved with the Blondeauxs in some way.”

  “What way?”

  “I don’t know, but I’m sure your Uncle Earl had something to do with it. That’s why I’ve been pushing for you to see him.”

  “I need to trust you.” Angel stared at her a moment.

  “You can trust me.”

  “You want to know what happened between me and Belcher?”

  “I do.”

  “He broke my trust. I broke his nose.”

  Her mouth opened for a few seconds before speaking. “Oh, wow. And you weren’t fired?”

  “I’m a Blondeaux.” Angel walked past her. “I should get back.”

  Angel drove sixty miles out of her way to enter Lemon Twig from the opposite direction. It gave her plenty of time to think. After arriving under the magnolia tree at the house, she had sufficiently calmed.

  Mark had painted over the graffiti on the door with white paint. The lawyer couldn’t hang around anymore. Although the family could get to him in Brockton just as easy. He needed federal protection.

  She confronted him in the kitchen. “You never left?”

  “I did leave. Just got back. Someone went through my house and office.” He closed the laptop, then looked at her.

  “Did they take anything? You tell anyone?” She sat by him.

  “Like the Blondeaux police?” He took her hands. “They didn’t disturb anything, but I could tell. Things were moved slightly. My keyboard’s angle wasn’t the same. My paperweight was rotated. Stuff like that. It wasn’t clumsy like the local law, but more refined.”

  “At least you’re safe.”

  “I had nothing of Lorna’s they’d want, so I don’t know what they found. It could be bugged. I’d rather not go back.”

  How convenient, Angel thought. Her gaze fell to the stitches under his shirt. “Okay. I suppose you can stay here. We need to go see my contact anyway.”

  “What’s wrong? You’re very… inside yourself.”

  She shook her head, taking a breath. “Delilah might be missing.”

  “Joe-Joe?”

  “At this point, anything is possible.”

  He rubbed her arm. “What if someone comes after you?”

  “Then, I’ll mess someone up.” Angel raised a fist.

  “I’m glad I’m on your side.” He opened his laptop again.

  “Actually, I think we should scale back your involvement.”

  He made a slow windmill with his arm. “How you mean?”

  “You’ve been shot,” Angel said lightly. “I told Belcher that Izzy is on to you. He doesn’t want you involved anymore,” she lied.

  Mark stared at the screen. “I know the danger. I understand a sniper can take me out whenever they want. Doesn’t matter if I do this with you or without you - I’m doing it.”

  “Doing what? What exactly are you doing?”

  “Same thing as you.” He shrugged.

  “You’re not. I’m not going to play this game. Lies peppered with the truth, making these layers of inconsistencies. Tell Belcher I’m done with you. I’m putting you under federal protection.”

  Mark grabbed her wrist as she backed away. He blurted, “Wait. Paulette’s brother Earl killed my grandfather.”

  “How do you know this?”

  “Because I do.”

  “Is that the reason you agreed to do this? Are you using me for revenge?”

  Mark ran his fingers through his hair. His eyes searched the ceiling. “Belcher knows about my grandfather. He’s been calling me over the years. That’s why I contacted him when Izzy threatened my life. My paw paw owed about twenty grand in gambling debt. When I was a kid, I found his body on our weekly visit. I ran into his garage to see him hanging from a vise. His head had been crushed.”

  “Oh, God. I’m so sorry, Mark.” She wiped a tear off his face.

  “The bastards kept turning the crank until they heard his skull crack. Monsters!” Mark used his shirt to dry his cheeks. “So, I’m in. I’m safer with you, right? Tell Belcher that.”

  They stayed silent for a moment. She asked, “What is this, our ninth or tenth date?”

  Mark almost smiled, but he didn’t. He kissed her lips, her neck, and her shoulder, before nestling into an embrace.

  Chapter 42

  Uncle Earl.

  This was the questioning Angel had wanted to avoid. Her Uncle Earl had always been volatile and calculating, so much so that his behavior couldn’t be predicted. His ruthlessness created unbelievable myths, and for that, the kingdom went to Paulette instead.

  Without any word on Delilah, Angel needed to expand the investigation. She already had a full day but made the drive to Brockton that late afternoon. It was an upper-middle-class neighborhood just two miles from Mark’s office. She liked having Bobby’s bear on the dash. It was a reminder of the challenge before her.

  Uncle Earl lived in a three thousand square foot ranch-style home with lots of outside decor, including statues, a fountain, and rows of neglected flowers. The driveway contained an unwashed black Audi.

  The heavy fleur-de-lis knocker on the door created a hollow metallic clank. Angel looked back at the car, misaligned with the driveway. Drunk parking? The hinged knocker dropped three more times. She pushed a doorbell that may or may not have worked.

 
Moments later, Earl answered with permanently narrow eyes. His hair gave the illusion of thickness, but in its current state, it resembled a clown wig. His beard was untrimmed. A wrinkled tee shirt and high-riding baggy shorts completed his attire.

  He used the door to hold himself upright. His voice had lost its power. “Paulette told me you were at Lorna’s house.”

  “Hi, Uncle Earl. Good to see you.” She took a step to the entrance. “Mind if I come in?”

  He attempted to pat down his hair. “You got a warrant?” He started to laugh but hacked instead. “I know you’re suspended.”

  “Can we just bullshit a little?”

  “Sure.” He backed up a step, sighing. “Nice to have company, even if it’s you.”

  Angel entered a very modern kitchen that was cleaner than she’d expect. Dishes were set out to dry, and the sink was clear of stains or debris. However, several bottles of alcohol eclipsed his coffee machine.

  “How you been feeling? You look like shit.” Angel tested his demeanor.

  He scratched at his hair. “I ain’t showered yet. At my age, it’s an event to get in and out of that tub, even with the seat.”

  “You have help come?”

  “A nurse comes by once a day. She’s running late. Drink?” Earl held out a bottle of Johnny Red, pouring himself a glass.

  “Sure, I’ll take two fingers.”

  Earl cracked a grin for the first time, pointing at her use of the lingo. “You mustn’t be here as an agent if you’re taking a drink. They can throw out whatever I say in court if I tell them you were drinking.”

  “Court?”

  “You’re trying to make those charges against you go away by getting something on us, right?” He enthusiastically pulled another glass from the cabinet and filled it about an inch, hands trembling. His movements were weak and slow. “At the very least, you hope to trade something to keep from serving prison time.”

  “Let’s just say nothing’s official.” She took the drink to raise in a toast.

  “Have a seat.” He plopped down at the dining room table, mostly covered with sports magazines, horse racing stats, and betting lines. “So, what’s the scoop in Lemon Twig? No one tells me the real shit.”

  “Lucy May and Bobby’s therapist was killed and left on the prison property.”

  He nodded. “That was in the paper.”

  “I shot Joe-Joe in the leg after he shot my friend Mark Senn. I believe you know the Senn family.”

  “I remember his grandfather back in the day. Big gambler.”

  “Someone killed his grandfather in a very vicious way.”

  “Someone?” He rocked a little, letting the word settle. “A horrible person did that. Back then, simple murder wasn’t enough. It had to be ugly.”

  “You think this person regrets it now?”

  “Regret is like quicksand.”

  She sipped her drink. “Lorna left me evidence in that bus mystery.”

  He laughed, glancing around. “There is no evidence. Not even a good bluff.”

  “I have a direct connection between one of the players and Aunt Lorna.”

  “A connection? How solid is it?” He paused to cough. It was a sickly one, with a breathy release.

  “Sounds like you still have a finger in the pie.”

  “I want nothing to do with them. But, they’re like a bad soap opera. You can’t help but watch. Like you, I’m not one of them.”

  “Tell me about Lucy May?”

  “Let’s move on.” He slammed his glass down, pouring more.

  She waved it off. “Have you ever talked to Reverend Trevor?”

  “Maybe I should ask you to leave.”

  “Make me.”

  His eyes widened, but he grabbed the bottle and poured a little more in her glass. “Trevor had a thing for Lorna. And then, he had a thing for Lucy May. Sick bastard.” His mood soured. He scratched his beard. “Makes sense, I guess, since he was there in that mess. I think he brainwashed both of them.”

  “Trevor’s close with your sister Paulette. How do you feel about that?”

  He sipped his drink, not answering.

  “Did you know anything of Doug before he was killed?”

  He wiped at his eyes with his thumbs, then finished his whiskey. “He was a pussy, excuse my Cajun, but not in the scared way. He might’ve been a Blondeaux, but he was not Blondeaux material. Psycho-freak.”

  “Not a fan?”

  “I’ve seen him grow up. It was exciting for some of the kids to be around him. He was evil – and this is coming from me. His being dead is like getting rid of a tumor.”

  “Give me an example.”

  “Ahh, he was pretty religious, right? He’d find ways to punish someone that wasn’t righteous enough. Like if a neighbor missed mass, he’d put dog shit under the car door handles.”

  Angel stared at him, unblinking. “You said he was a pussy.”

  He downed his whiskey. “He wasn’t a real man.”

  “Was he involved with the missing bus?”

  “Nice segue. Everyone knows that story, or their version of it.”

  “The Blondeauxs have a presence in every part of Moreau Parish. Hard to believe no one knew anything.”

  He glanced at Angel to say something but clamped his lips shut. His attention turned to the bottle, inspecting the label. “Lemme tell you something, Blondo. I heard stories about those baseball players. They had a reputation.”

  “Reputation for what?”

  He shrugged. “There were parties after their games. Sometimes, there’d be no parents at these parties. Sometimes, there would be police reports.”

  “Noise complaints? Things of that nature?”

  “Booze. Drugs. Unchaperoned high school girls.”

  “What are you trying to say, Uncle Earl?”

  “A group of girls came forward to their parents about being drugged and raped at one of these parties.”

  “Here in Brockton?”

  He nodded. “The parents reported it to me. What could I do?”

  “You were sheriff. You were the police.”

  “Ah, we had no proof. He said, she said. We’d see pictures of these girls hanging all over the same boys with drinks in their hands.”

  “Was a report filed?”

  “Filed and lost. No players were ever brought up on charges.”

  Angel had to absorb what her uncle was saying. “You think that bus was hijacked to get revenge on the players?”

  His hands rose in defense. “The town was divided. Most were on the players’ side – the pride of Brockton and all.”

  “But the Blondeaux clan would be the only ones capable of pulling it off without getting caught. They wouldn’t do this without you.”

  “That’s an assumption.”

  “Do you remember who any of these women are? Are they still living in the area?”

  “They had to move out of Brockton. Death threats and ridicule.” His voice seemed to grow weaker.

  “The bus disappeared between Lemon Twig and Brockton. Lots of ground to cover. Lots of forest.”

  “Lots of planning.”

  “Don’t you want to relieve yourself of this burden before you die? Lorna put me on the road. Now you can bring it all home.”

  “Fuck, no.” There was no malice in his voice. “I’m telling you this much because you’re the first family to visit me in five years. Five years! And I don’t even like you.” He poured a little more whiskey.

  “Did Trevor know about these parties?”

  “Trevor. You don’t want my real opinion on Trevor. Or maybe you do.”

  “Pussy?”

  “Exactly.”

  Angel felt the effects of the alcohol but poured herself a little more if it would keep him talking. “Did Trevor molest Lucy May?”

  “If you told me my life depended on my answer, then I’d choose yes in a second.” His glassy eyes searched her face. “Even at her young age, I could see past the charade. Their intera
ctions seemed more like a game of control, like some fucked-up marriage between two control freaks.”

  Chapter 43

  “While there were reports of victory parties,” Ruby said over the cell, “no one came forward accusing rape in any official record.”

  “My uncle covered it up.” Angel drank water to offset the alcohol.

  She could hear Ruby typing on the computer. “Their friends had nothing but good things to say in interviews after the bus went missing. They don’t remember any girls coming forward, much less moving away to avoid death threats.”

  “Think he was lying?”

  “He was playing with you. Most of the boys had girlfriends, and nothing ever surfaced. Wholesome, law-abiding citizens by all accounts.”

  “Okay. Do me a favor, though. Locate a yearbook for that year and see if you can’t track down any of the more popular girls and see if you can’t get anything.”

  “On it.”

  “News on Delilah?”

  “No. Sorry. It’s in your Aunt Izzy’s court.”

  “Well, I told Izzy I’d give her the house if she produced Delilah, so I’m pretty sure it’s not her. If Izzy had killed her, we’d have a body.”

  “I agree. I’m sorry, Angel. I tossed and turned all night. I shouldn’t have gone along with Belcher. It wasn’t fair to you.”

  “No damage was done. Don’t worry about it. Just tell me you got my back.”

  “I got your back. Good luck, Cube.”

  If Delilah’s vanishing was the patronne’s doing, then it was likely they were holding her at the mansion, waiting for a blackmail opportunity. Running around Lemon Twig searching like a psychopath wouldn’t help.

  Mark came into the kitchen from doing a load of laundry. She avoided conversation, trying to ease her headache from the booze with a pot of coffee. This late afternoon, however, there was more to do. “I’m catching my second wind. You want to take a ride to the pharmacy with me before it closes?”

  He lit up. “Are you kidding? Bored out of my mind.”