Blood Parish

by E. J. Findorff

  If the patronne went by the Blondeaux intimidation playbook, there would be a few days before any follow-up threats, letting this one simmer for a while. Angel’s soles kicked up dirt in her haste. She thought about cutting a straight line through the pines as she was still on her property, but it would be too easy to get turned around in the dark.

  Her vision concentrated mainly on the uneven path. The most pressing question occupying her mind was if her biological father was one of the baseball players - and her parent’s involvement in the bus disappearance. Had her mom been drugged and raped?

  After a stretch of wilderness, she stepped on the black asphalt of Central Road, searching for oncoming cars. No one would be this far out in the Trap on the edge of her property, at least anyone she’d want to stop. She started along the shoulder.

  Mark was probably worried, but at least he was safe. Instead of calling him to pick her up, she sent a quick text saying she was fine and would be back soon.

  Contrary to her expectations, a set of headlights appeared from a bend about a half-mile ahead. They were coming back for her, she thought. Was it Mark? That notion dissipated when he texted back that he was okay, too. Whomever it was had to be heading out of the parish.

  She stepped off the road a safe distance. The car slowed, which meant the driver was paying close attention. Her hand reached behind her back to the grip of her gun, but it wasn’t there. Damn. Braced to run, she could see that it was an SUV, the one she had seen parked outside the funeral home.

  The vehicle stopped on her side. Without the headlights in her vision, she could just make out Bobby’s outline in the driver’s seat. Was he searching her out, or just traveling somewhere? The window rolled down.

  “I just left your house.” His eyes squinted in confusion.

  “Was my friend Mark still there?” She asked.

  “No one greeted me. I saw Aunt Izzy heading back to town.” His thumb shot behind him.

  “You just saw Izzy?”

  “I did. Alone in her squad car. Your face is marked. What happened?”

  “Spider bite.” Angel took a step to the vehicle. “You heading out somewhere?”

  “I am. Join me. You said we could have coffee sometime, right?”

  “Kind of late for coffee.” Angel leaned into the passenger side window. Her welt throbbed with her heartbeat.

  “Where I’m headed has more than coffee from which to choose. You have grass in your hair.”

  Angel used her fingers as a comb. “Thanks. Um, I guess we can grab one cup. Sure, let’s do it.”

  I cheated death once tonight, anyway.

  Angel voluntarily got into the passenger seat of a confessed murderer’s car in the middle of nowhere. She imagined this scene being recreated on Dateline Mysteries. The vehicle smelled like cleaning products, and classical music drifted from the speakers. They headed in the opposite direction of Main Street, out of the parish.

  Angel texted Mark not to wait up, but everything was fine. At the same time, another text came in from Agent Ruby, but the contact name was Doctor Mandy. It was a coded message. Appointment reminder.

  She texted back. Ice Cube will reschedule.

  Chapter 54

  Bobby tooled toward the neighboring parish with the attentiveness of a straitlaced 1950s driver. “There’s a place over in Peace Lake by the college called Bizz Buzz. No one knows who I am over there.”

  “We should all have a place like that.” Angel noticed his button-down shirt and slacks. “You look nice.”

  “I don’t care about my appearance as much as not wanting to stand out.” Bobby glanced at her. “Were you out by the mound?” He hesitated. “Sorry, if that was intrusive.”

  “Best not to ask, because I can’t answer you.”

  He exhaled as if sad. “Sacrifice Hill.”

  “Sacrifice Hill?” She faced him on the seat.

  He shrugged. “A rumor that the boys from the missing bus were brought to the hill and killed in a ritual. It was just one of many legends. I just sort of liked the sacrifice story best. Like the Incas.”

  “That’s how legends are built, I guess.”

  The yellow line hypnotized Angel as it whipped by. It seemed the darkness extended forever. Her eyelids began to fall. She breathed more comfortably when they came out of the abyss into a populated area. After a few minutes, she saw the sign of the bar protruding from the building.

  He parked in a nearby spot on the street. Angel followed him to the entrance recessed in a red-brick building. The windowsills had colorful flowered planters on them. The chalkboard outside the door advertised open mic night in swirling script. Bobby held the door for Angel.

  Inside the establishment, the smell of the coffee beans transported her to Columbia or at least her idea of the country. Unlike Lemon Twig, no one cared who they were.

  An alert woman in her early thirties with a tablet smiled at his presence. “Bobby. How are ya’ hon?”

  “Very well, Hope. I brought a guest tonight. This is my cousin Angel.”

  Angel waved. “Hi.”

  “Nice to meet you.” Hope lingered on Angel’s welt, then consulted her tablet. “How’s ten? I know it’s late, but you don’t have long to wait.”

  Angel glanced at the stage. Is Bobby going to perform?

  “Ten is good,” he whispered.

  The hostess touched his shoulder with a warm expression. “You’ll do great, Bobby, like always. Have a seat. Decaf latte?”

  “Yes.” Bobby nodded and looked at Angel. “I have a tab.”

  “I’ll take regular leaded,” she said. “I’ll be back, Bobby. I need a mirror.”

  When Angel returned from the ladies room from fixing herself, she saw that about half of the fifteen mismatched tables were occupied, marked by flickering candles.

  Bobby had found a small round table near the back, next to an expansive bookcase housing various books and board games of all shapes and sizes.

  “This place is cozy.” Angel sat facing the stage.

  Bobby scooted next to her to get the same view. “Hope purchased this place when it was a fledgling bookstore and converted it to this coffee house showcasing local talent, such as it is.”

  “She seems busy.”

  “Steady. As the years passed, she found selling alcohol would keep the lights on. Thankfully, the connoisseurs weren’t the rambunctious frat types seeking a location to vomit, but mild types expecting a pleasant experience.”

  “You like her.”

  He blushed. “I don’t dislike her.”

  “That’s nice. So, am I to understand that you’re going on stage?”

  “You understand correctly.”

  Hope appeared, placing the drinks on the table. She lit the candle to indicate occupancy and leaned over its illumination. “Want a scone or muffin to settle your stomach?”

  “No, thanks.”

  She looked at Angel. “Poor dear passed out his first time, but he got right back up and finished and won the audience.” Hope imitated applause.

  “I still get nervous.”

  “What about you, dear? Scone?”

  Angel declined, also. Hope straightened, leaving for the next table.

  “What’s your talent?”

  He didn’t seem to hear her. “The performers range from comedians to folk singers. Basically, if one has a talent or an urge to express oneself, this would be one’s audience.”

  “Singer?”

  “There is no required time limit, as often a drought falls upon the stage, but dreadful is better than no entertainment at all. Gauging the attention span of the room is easy. Extract yourself from the stage if you must.”

  “You’re not going to answer me,” she concluded.

  Ten o’clock drew near. Angel watched Bobby fidget through their conversation, which didn’t include family business. His hairline gripped a sheen of sweat. It was hard to believe this refined, intelligent man had killed his father one fateful night.

  Hope an
nounced Bobby’s name. He stood and dug into his back pocket. With a creased and crinkled paper in hand, he weaved through tables. A smattering of applause started while stepping into the weak spotlight in front of the microphone. Angel clapped louder than the rest of the customers.

  His hand covered his mouth while clearing his throat. “This poem is entitled Transcendent Gift.” He read slowly, making sure each line was coherent and digested.

  You breathe, I’m quiet, with nothing to say

  You do not breathe, I riot, damning the day

  You see me, I shrink, with nowhere to hide

  You see nigh, I blink, and am by your side

  You reach out, I freeze, cold to the skin

  You don’t move, oh please, where have you been

  Your heart beats, as the world, go now

  Your heart stops, and remember always, I vow

  Angel waited for the rotten tomatoes, but none came. The audience rewarded his courage with a smattering of applause, which seemed to be appropriate no matter the talent. Several congratulated him on the way back to the table.

  He sat silent.

  “That was beautiful.” Angel touched his forearm.

  He sipped his latte. “I’m glad I invited you.”

  “Why did you invite me?”

  He leaned into her. “You treated me the same from day one. You speak to me like a human being. In Lemon Twig, I still feel like I’m in a cage.”

  “The curse of small towns.”

  “I’m a tree. Yes, I have a place to grow, but I’ll never go anywhere.”

  Hope came to the table, placing a fresh cup of coffee down. “That was so good. You doing okay, sweetie?” She asked his new guest.

  “I’m good.”

  He enjoyed a sip of fresh coffee. “Izzy threatened you at the mound, didn’t she?”

  “Why would you say that?”

  “Where I found you. Your welt. The grass in your hair. Aunt Izzy leaving the area. And your popularity.”

  “Excellent deduction, sir.” Angel ran her fingers in her hair again for no reason. “But Izzy wasn’t there.”

  “There or not, this isn’t a court of law. You’re allowed to speculate.”

  “I can speculate that my friend Delilah is being held captive somewhere.”

  “Delilah?” He put his hand over his mouth. “Oh, no.”

  Chapter 55

  Bobby’s eyes had gone vacant.

  Angel moved closer. “You know something about Delilah.”

  His movements were abbreviated and fidgety. “I can’t say. It’s not something that can be fixed.”

  She put her hand on his arm. “I already fear the worst, Bobby. Don’t be worried. What if we trade information? What if I can tell you who your real father is?”

  “That information wouldn’t help me now.”

  “Can you tell me without actually saying the words?”

  He struggled to speak. “You know as well as I, for generations, that land has been a killing ground.”

  “Oh… I see.”

  Bobby’s expression contorted. “I will never be put in a cage again.”

  “I’m on your side.”

  “Breathe – 10-9-8-7-6-5-4-3-2-1 – breathe.” He blew out air. “I will tell you what I know, but I’ll deny we ever had this conversation.” He expelled another breath.

  “You can trust me.” Angel had to be careful about what she promised. “Tell me.”

  He frowned. “The day you came to visit, I was talking to her.”

  “She was alive at the home?” Angel watched his eyes drop to his lap. “Oh, I see. You like to talk to the dead.”

  “I was not a witness to her death, but Joe-Joe had brought her to the home. She was dropped off to be cremated.” He wrung his hands and rocked. “There. I said it. I said it. It’s out there.”

  “It’s fine, Bobby. Fine. Joe-Joe brought her, but he didn’t admit to killing her?”

  “Correct.”

  Angel used a tissue to wipe the beginning of tears. “How’d she die?”

  He touched his fingers to his own throat. “I gave her a dignified send-off. She is now ash.”

  Angel gripped the side of the table. “You can just cremate murder victims without so much as a second thought?”

  He cringed, almost shrinking back. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

  She reached out, noticing that Hope’s interest had perked from across the room. “No, I’m the one that’s sorry. I won’t do that again.”

  He shook his head. “I have never questioned anything before.” Bobby sipped his latte to clear his throat. “It has been made very clear my place. However, it is a place where I’m no longer comfortable.”

  “It’s good that you see that’s it’s wrong.”

  “I thought she deserved more respect.” He dabbed his mouth with a napkin.

  “Joe-Joe gave no details?”

  “None, but said it was family business.”

  She inched intimately closer, seeing an opening while Bobby was raw. “Can I ask you something rather bluntly?”

  “Okay.”

  “Did you murder your father?”

  Bobby seemed to freeze. Background noise faded to nothing. Slowly, his hand reached for his latte, but he stopped short of grabbing it. “I did not.”

  “You confessed.”

  “They didn’t care about my conviction to that statement, only that it was recorded.”

  “That’s why I find it hard to believe. You were timid - non-aggressive.”

  “You haven’t put together the meaning of our names yet, have you?”

  “Meaning? No.”

  “Doug named me Bobby. A form of Beelzebub. Lucy May is a form of Lucifer.”

  She fell back. “And my parents name me Angel?”

  “Telling how our parents see us. Does a rose by any other name apply here? That man used to constantly tell me we were born of the devil, and he was going to reveal it to the world.”

  “We have your DNA on file at the Bureau. I want to do a comparison to Doug.”

  “That is your choice.” As his face flooded with blood, another giant breath released, and his eyes squeezed shut. No tears fell as he settled. “Imagine the chaos if no one cared how they appeared to anyone else. By all accounts, you should be railing upon hearing news of your friend’s demise. For myself, society dictates that I remain calm, so I shall.”

  “Yeah, creating a scene wouldn’t be good. Would you speak freely to me if I was lying dead in your morgue?”

  “Once you’re dead, you’ll have access to the truth. Delilah knows the truth.” Bobby bit his lip. He looked up at the ceiling. “I would be profoundly affected if you meet that fate, however.”

  Angel believed Paulette had nothing to do with Delilah’s death, or she would have revealed that at the mound. Delilah would be avenged, eventually. But she was the tip of the iceberg. Trust needed to be built with Bobby and Lucy May. Having each other to lean on, they might do the right thing.

  Chapter 56

  Angel slept like the dead. She opened her eyes to the brightness of the room, indicating the morning was well underway. The previous evening with Bobby seemed like a dream. The warmth of Mark next to her was the only indication he was still alive.

  Before entering the house the night before, Angel had given Ruby a full account while fighting off sleep in the Rock. She confessed everything from the kidnapping to Bobby’s poem, only omitting the most significant piece to the puzzle – the hidden pictures. Ruby updated Delilah’s murder on the wall with a question mark as there was no actual proof, except Bobby’s word. Angel also stressed that Mark needed to be extracted from the situation.

  Mark confirmed that Izzy and Bobby had both stopped by after the kidnapping, about five minutes apart. Neither attempted to enter the house. She hadn’t the energy to recount the night’s events again, nor did she want to tell Mark about Delilah’s death just yet. Instead, she had nestled beside him and fell into a deep sleep.

&
nbsp; While bathed in the morning light, Mark’s phone chimed with an alert. He moaned, opening one eye. “That seems to be the only thing that wakes me these days,” he whispered, shirtless. His stitches were about ready to come out.

  “It’s a trigger.” Angel pushed herself into a sitting position.

  “So, what happened last night?” Mark looked at who called but didn’t answer it. He propped his head up.

  She finally explained the abbreviated version of the night’s events, ending with Bobby’s stage performance. Mark reacted with anger at the kidnapping, and it reinforced that she had to get him away from there.

  He trekked across the hall to the bathroom as the doorbell rang. It was the first time she actually heard it ringing. The high-pitched melody wasn’t anything she recognized.

  “Expecting someone?” Mark asked.

  “It’s Izzy.” Angel saw from the window. She put on a pair of sweatpants before making her way to the front door. Through the window, she could see the Moreau Parish Sheriff’s vehicle. Her body froze for a second. Izzy wouldn’t gun her down outright on her doorstep. Probably not.

  She opened the door without a greeting.

  Izzy stood planted like a drill sergeant. Reflective sunglasses rested on her nose, even though the brim of the hat would do the trick. Her hand appeared from behind her back, holding a fat, heavy envelope.

  “Figured you’d want this back,” Izzy said.

  Angel took the weapon. “Appreciate it.”

  “Who did that?” She pointed at Angel’s face.

  “One of your deputies.”

  She narrowed her eyes but accepted it as a possible joke.

  “And who did that?” She pointed at the destroyed mounted camera.

  “A deputy with good aim, I’d imagine.”

  She looked pensive. “I tried to bring your piece by yesterday evening, but you weren’t here.”

  “Kidnapped.”

  “You’re not just being a smart-ass, are you? My deputy did this? Angel, you can’t keep having these things happen to you and not report them.”