To Murder a Saint (Saints Mystery Series Book 1)

by Nicole Loughan

  “Did you notice that change in the smell?” I asked Banyan.

  “I don’t smell anything,” he said.

  “Exactly. That’s the swamp. It doesn’t have a smell. It’s living water. Most people expect it to smell, but it doesn’t. It’s more balanced in nature than city water.”

  Before we reached the bayou there was a stretch of dead trees we called the barren land. I told Banyan how the trees died during the Katrina flooding. They had shriveled and turned black without their leaves to protect them. They were surrounded by mist that was once tamed by the flora. I knew we were getting close when we passed the barrens. We were almost to “the fishing boat,” a landmark signaling that we were almost home. It was an old boat situated in the middle of a cotton field with no earthly reason for it to be there. The boat had long rusted out and vines sprouted around it.

  “That boat washed up during Katrina,” I told Banyan. “The clean-up crews from the floods took their sweet time getting to the outer banks.”

  Beau pointed out the boat as we passed it. “That boat been sittin’ in that field for commin’ on six years now, right. Took their sweet time getting out here right, cher?”

  That boat was the last landmark before our turn. Beau pulled his truck off the road into the weeds alongside the river and slowed as we traversed an unpaved path. It was a road with no signs, unknown to GPS. Beau parked in a thick of trees on a piece of un-owned land with enough cover to hide a car. Beau’s boat was waiting for us, rested half in the water and half on the bank.

  We stepped onto the boat, and I sat cross-legged on the aluminum floor and let the men take the two seats at the rear, by the engine. As soon as we were boarded Banyan started swatting at his leg. Beau and I smiled at each other knowing Banyan was getting his first taste of “no see ums.”

  “Damn,” he said. “Something feels like it’s pinching me. What the hell is that?”

  Beau and I shrugged in unison and let him take a few more bites before I took pity and let him in on the joke. “It’s a no see um. They are bugs so tiny you can’t see them, but their bites itch terrible later, worse than any mosquito bite.”

  “Why aren’t you getting bit?” he asked swatting at the air.

  Beau gave him an honest answer. “We get bit, but there bigger shit to get bit by on the water than no see ums. I don’t waste my time battin’ at dem.”

  The ride to Josephine’s family home was quiet, except for the whir of the engine. All the wildlife was out to watch us: wrens and herons dotted the landscape, along with enough sunbathing alligators to satisfy any curious tourist. When we reached Josephine’s house I could tell Banyan was uneasy. It was a long clapboard wooden building with a tin roof, rusted to a dark red. The wooden shingles were in disrepair with bits of beige paint flaking off all around. It was built over the water with a wrap around porch as big as the house. The patio was decorated with the dried heads of hundreds of alligators.

  We pulled up to the deck, and Beau hitched his boat to a banister with a thick rope already anchored around it for just this purpose. The home looked desolate, uninviting, and that was by design.

  “I have to warn you, Banyan. Her father does not trust anybody he thinks is working with the government,” I said looking at the house. “And be careful not to upset him.”

  “I’ll do my best to appease them, but this is an investigation, Fanchon. With all due respect, they have to talk to me,” Banyan replied.

  Beau snorted. “Look around, police man. Ain’t nobody come out here to back you up. You talk to us folk on our terms or you don’t talk.”

  Banyan’s eyes swept around the swamp. I thought in that moment he realized that nobody knew where he was. I don’t think he even knew where he was. He held his hands to his heart and said, “I’ll be on my best behavior, scouts honor.”

  When we walked in Clem was pacing around the living room at the hearth of his makeshift fireplace. His red hair was untamed and his eyes wild. He was holding a picture of Josephine, one from high school with the generic green backdrop that matched her eyes. She had unnaturally black hair in the photo, which dated it around our freshman year of high school. That hair color was something she and I accomplished with cheap dime store dye. She was smiling in the photo. She was always smiling. I don’t know that she ever had a serious look a day in her life. Clem was rubbing the photo around the edges, wearing it away the corners. When he saw me he ran to hug me and shouted, “Sha.”

  Banyan stayed back as instructed, leaving Clem to ask in French about the dark quiet man.

  “Officer,” I replied. With that Clem inhaled deeply through his nose, letting his nostrils flare and narrowed his eyes at Banyan.

  I interrupted the stare. “They need your help, Clem.”

  He replied, “Of course they do.”

  “C’est important for ennemi.” I said telling him they needed to know about enemies.

  “Oui, ennemi, Sorciere Du’Ponde,” he responded.

  Josephine’s mother, Abolina, walked through the door that led to the kitchen and greeted me with a hug and kisses on the cheek. Banyan interrupted. “I heard you ask about an enemy, and he said yes. Who?”

  “We will talk later,” I told him.

  Abolina chimed in. “No. The police man is a guest, and we should speak plain to him. Clem thinks that voodoo woman Claire Du’Ponde has been out to get him for years. But she don’t give a lick what he’s doing.”

  Clem went to his seat in the corner, angry that Abolina doubted him.

  “Do you know who he is talking about?” Banyan asked me.

  “I do, but I really doubt it, Banyan. She is very old and not a likely to have traveled to New York to kill Josephine.”

  Clem leapt to his feet and shouted, “You know the witch keeps her hands clean. She does it wit the curse. She does it wit her damn alligators. How you get some city police man to investigate voodoo?”

  Abolina jumped up and shouted back, “There are no alligators in New York City, Clem! You sound like a damn hillbilly when you talk like that.”

  “Everybody knows fools bring gators to New York and they grow fat in the sewer there. Those giant gators can do dat witch’s bidding.”

  Banyan asked, “Have you heard of somebody specifically bringing an alligator to New York?”

  I did not like Banyan asking about that, encouraging Clem to sound crazy and said, “Don’t worry about it Clem. I’ll take the police to La Sorciere.”

  “I want to talk more about the alligators,” Banyan said taking me by surprise.

  I whipped around to face him, “Why?”

  He gritted his teeth at me. “Because it’s important.”

  He shifted his gaze to Clem. “Do you think Josephine would try to rescue an alligator if she saw it in the city?”

  “Why you ask? I know it, I know it. Dat witch did it.” Clem jumped up and started punching the wall then ran for the door. Abolina and I reached forward to grab his arms. I yelled for Beau to get him. He swooped in, picked Clem up and sat him in his chair.

  Beau advised, “Not too many questions, cher. His mind worse then it’s ever been.”

  I pushed Banyan out onto the porch. “Why are you going on about alligators?” I shouted at him.

  Banyan replied, “He’s not wrong. There are some alligators in the sewers.”

  “Are you making fun of him?”

  “No. There was an eight-foot alligator in the sewers in the 1930s and just a few weeks ago a wild one was caught in Central Park. We have been looking into it because we found reptile teeth at the scene, though we can’t tell for sure if that’s what...” he trailed off. “I am not supposed to talk about it.”

  Clem’s shouting grew loud again and turned my attention back to the house. “I’m going in. You just sit on the porch and stay out of trouble, please.” When I got back Clem was hopping up and down. Beau and Abolina were standing in front of him making calming gestures with their hands.

  “I told you she send alligato
rs to my Josephine. One of my kin was not enough for her, now she killed two.”

  I shouted over the screaming. “I have to help Banyan, ma pere. I come back tonight if you calm down, Clem, and bring a moon pie to boot if you settle.”

  With that, he sat, slumped over, and called for Abolina to give him back his picture of Josephine. After Clem was calm, Beau told me he would take us up and down the bayou to talk to some other people. We drove for at least an hour and made a few stops but doors were closed and nobody was answering. Everybody knew there was a stranger on the boat.

  “I can talk to them for you when I am alone,” I told him. “People will stop by the house when they know you’re gone.”

  “We will put together some questions then. Is there anybody you know that I should talk to? Anybody else good with alligators?” he asked.

  I rolled my eyes and answered, “Everybody is good with alligators. In high school half the kids we knew worked at a tourist trap called the Alligator Sanctuary. It wasn’t much of a sanctuary though. The gators do tricks and stuff for tourists. The workers feed them raw chicken or jump on their backs and pretend to wrestle them.”

  “Where is that?” Banyan asked.

  “Just outside of New Orleans,” I said. “If you want to go we can stop by on our way to visit Du’Ponde. She reads fortunes in the city at

  Jackson Square.” “Let’s do that tomorrow. I want to meet Du’Ponde while we still have daylight,” he said. “Do you remember anybody from the Alligator Sanctuary taking a particular interest in Josephine?”

  “Remember Terry Thibodeaux who I was telling you about? He worked there,” I reminded him.

  Beau checked back in to the conversation. “Why you talking about Thibodeaux? You heard from him?”

  “I was just telling him he used to work at the sanctuary.”

  Beau said, “He still workin' there. Lost all his hair and has a gut to boot. Do you think he did this?”

  “I doubt it, but he did follow her around. He was always interested in her,” I told Beau.

  “He was real interested in her, cher, but he fat as a cat last I saw. I don’t think he could get the better of Josephine. She is strong as hell. Well, was strong as hell,” said Beau looking to the ground.

  “I have to check everything. Like this Lady Claire Du’Ponde,” Banyan said scribbling in his notebook. “And by the way could you spell these names for me?”

  When we arrived in the city Beau took us straight to

  Jackson Square. He told me to call him when I wanted to go back. He was going to sit in the casino and waste some money while he waited for me. I assured him I would call when I was ready. He made a point not to make any offer of a ride to Banyan. Lady or Madame Claire Du’Ponde, depending on how you knew her, had prime fortune telling real estate facing the cathedral, opposite the water of the Mississippi. She had a reputation for being a good reader so there was a line of people waiting for her services. When I reached the front of it, she smiled, recognizing me.

  “Bonjou, Fanchon,” Claire said. “I heard about your friend. I am so sorry for your loss. Of course Clement thinks I had a hand in it. He cursed me up and down the swamp, you know. I don’t give two wits what that man does. I just told him not to hunt gators on my property and now the man thinks I put a curse on him.”

  “I know, Claire, but do you know who might have done it?” I asked.

  “Well, cher as soon as I heard I called on the spirits to ask what might have happened to her. I was given a vision of her remains that might shed some light on your search.”

  Banyan jumped forward. “Who do you think it was?”

  “I don’t know you. If you want an answer you have to pay like any other tourist,” Claire said.

  Her sign said $20 for readings. Banyan pulled out $20 and slapped it on the table. She asked him to sit, and she closed her eyes and started humming.

  “We don’t need the show, Claire. Give it straight,” I said.

  “All right. What I saw was an alligator.”

  “What?” Banyan said incredulously.

  “Listen, so I don’t have to repeat myself. I saw an alligator eating her remains. But it’s not my alligator. I have no idea why there would be an alligator eating Josephine’s remains in New York, but there you go. I tell you what I see. But don’t tell Clem. He’s likely to show up at my house with a shotgun.”

  “So you think an alligator did it?” I asked her.

  “I did not say an alligator did it. I am saying when I asked the spirits all they told me was that she was in the belly of an alligator. That alligator is somewhere dark, cher. Somewhere very dark,” said Du’Ponde. “There was one more thing the spirits tell me about you, my Fanchon.” She leaned closer. “They beg you not to go back to that city. They say something is waiting for you. They say it is coiled like a snake waiting to bite at you.”

  I left Du’Ponde with an uneasy feeling.

  “Do you believe what she said?” Banyan asked.

  “No. I don’t know anybody well enough in New York for them to want to kill me,” I said.

  “I meant about Josephine. Do you think she was really eaten by an alligator?”

  “Oh, that. No. You saw her room Banyan. That room looked like rage. Can you stop with the gator crap already?” I replied.

  “Well, my suspect list is short, Fanchon. Let me get real with you,” he took a step closer to me and in quiet tones continued. “You were our number one suspect until a few hours ago. The joint bank account was a great motive. Your access to the home and a lack of forced entry weren’t in your favor. We found journal entries in your room showing that you were jealous of her. It was really looking like you, Fanchon. They would have taken you into custody that first night, but I…” he took a breath. “It doesn’t matter. After the plane landed I received a call. You had been cleared. Much thanks to the surveillance tapes at both the restaurant and the bar, the two together made a timeline that put you too far away from Josephine to have done it. I am telling you this because I need a suspect, Fanchon. So far I have an ancient woman who looks like she weighs one hundred pounds soaking wet and Beau, the only person in this place that I know for sure knows where the airport is. I need somewhere else to go, Fanchon, or the focus will continue to be on a connection to you, Beau and grandma witch woman Du’Ponde.”

  I was hurt that they thought I could do this and now to know that Banyan had read my diary. I felt so betrayed. I was stupid really. Of course, he read my diary. He wasn’t my friend, he was an investigator. I was trotting him around, taking him to my people when the whole time he was sizing me up and making sure I didn’t run. I replied curtly, “I don’t know what more to tell you, Banyan. You are the detective. Why don’t you know more?” I turned and started walking briskly down the sidewalk.

  He followed behind me. “Fanchon this is a murder investigation. Everybody is a suspect. I never thought it was you.”

  I slowed and turned to him. I wanted him to see the tears running down my cheeks. “My best friend is gone and her head and arm are gone. How could you ever think I could have done that?”

  “I never thought you did, Fanchon. Really, I could tell by your feet,” he said.

  “My feet?”

  “Yes, your feet were absolutely filthy. There was more filth on those feet than I had seen on any pair of feet in my lifetime. I could tell the rest of you was clean but not your feet. The footage from the bar showed you walking around with no shoes, which is disgusting, but it paints a clear picture of what you had or had not done that night. There was no way you could have committed a murder, in flip flops, washed up and still had feet that dirty.”

  “And that’s it. Not that I wasn’t the type of person who could kill my best friend?”

  “There was that too, but I am a detective. I don’t get to take you off the suspect list because you seem funny or sweet or pretty. I have to take you off for good reasons.”

  “Did you say you think I am pretty?” I asked.
r />   He rolled his eyes. “It’s beside the point. The point is I need you to remember something, Fanchon. You might know more than you think. They know she had not been dead long when you found her. A few hours at most, minutes at the least and there were strange lacerations on her body around her arm and neck. We had trouble identifying it, but we have narrowed it to some sort of teeth, large non-human, reptilian teeth. And there was no sign of forced entry. Everybody from the department tried to get on your fire escape and nobody was tall enough to do it, but there was blood on it. Can you give me anything from that?”

  “Josephine never locks the door. I told you. So, maybe they didn’t go up the fire escape. Maybe the killer left by it. They could have walked right in the front door, but then when my neighbor died and the paramedics were there they couldn’t walk out.” I said calming my voice again. “Oh my goodness, what happened to my neighbor? I completely forgot about him.”

  “Heart attack. He died,” Banyan said. “Focus, though. Keep thinking. Did you see anything unusual that night, before you left?”

  “I left early, around six. I was back by nine maybe 9:30. I saw my neighbor Jay walking up the stairs before I left. I thought that was unusual because he lives on the first floor. I saw the older guy from the Italian bakery walking up my street when I left. He always flirted with Josephine, gave her free pastries. Those were the only familiar people I can remember.”

  “Jay. Is he the one who’s a little,” he held out his hand and made a not very nice gesture to indicate Jay’s sexual orientation.

  “Yes Banyan. Grow up. He is gay,” I said.

  “I’ll look into both of them. Let’s meet at the Alligator Sanctuary tomorrow, around eleven. Should I come get you?”

  “No, Beau can give me a ride,” I said.

  “What if he has to work?”

  I laughed. “Beau never works.”

  Life in the dead rooms

  Beau drove me back to Josephine’s house that night. By the time we arrived the sun was on its way down. Abolina greeted me at the porch with a hug and told me Clem had worn himself out.

  I went back to Josephine’s room, which we shared for a short period of time in high school. My memories of that room betrayed me. I remembered it as bright, tranquil and full of welcoming movement. If you were to have asked me the color I would have said yellow. I could see now it was dull lavender, so dull it looked gray. It matched the lavender and cream floral quilt, which had been washed too much and faded to a patchy gray. I realized only in her absence that Josephine was the reason for the warmth. She always had scented candles lit, the curtains were pulled back letting in the sun or she would have lights on draped with colorful scarves. She loved music and would have something on the radio all day. She would break into spontaneous singing and dancing at unpredictable intervals. The room was never lonely with her or her sister Lisette coming or going. Lisette would pop in wanting her nails painted, her hair braided or to talk about boys. Lisette’s room was even duller than Josephine’s. The once white walls had tarnished to a light brown. The dresser and glass and brass vanity were covered in a blanket of white dust. There were wisps of spider webs hanging from the corners of the comforter from her still-made bed. Without Josephine and Lisette the rooms were dead. I left the curtains and lights alone. I knew I had no business trying to change the reality of what those rooms were, dead rooms containing the last earthly possessions of two young women gone from the world too soon. I climbed on the bed atop the blanket and fell asleep.