Forty-Four Book Twelve (44 series 12)

by Jools Sinclair

  “Have you been spying on me?”

  I shook my head.

  I’m just trying to save your life, fool. But she wasn’t going to make it easy.

  “All right, whatever,” she said. “It’s not your concern.”

  Then she took off running across the grass.

  CHAPTER 53

  I didn’t really care what Anna thought about me. What was important was helping her, whether she wanted that help or not. I took a long walk through the grounds as the sun went down, trying to clear my mind. By the time I got back, I finally felt more at peace. I knew what I had to do.

  I walked over to Father Carmichael’s cabin. Crickets chirped and the night air was heavy, like it was ready to shed a thousand tears.

  Again, it came to me that I had to be wrong about him. My gut just didn’t believe that he was capable of such terrible things. I had come across quite a few killers in my time and Father Carmichael wasn’t one of them. He seemed a little troubled and carried around his share of darkness, but that didn’t mean that… But a moment later two words formed in my mind. Charlie Modine. I had thought the same exact thing about Charlie Modine.

  As I walked up the steps, I thought I heard voices coming from the other side of the door. When I knocked it suddenly got quiet.

  “Hello, Elizabeth,” he said, stepping outside quickly and shutting the door behind him.

  “Hi, Father.”

  His eyes were watery and his face was serious, but hard to read.

  “I hope I wasn’t distur—” I said.

  He waved me off with his hand.

  “What’s up?”

  “I came to ask a favor.”

  He paused as he gazed at me, his energy dark.

  “What is it?”

  “I was hoping you could give me a ride into the city tomorrow morning,” I said.

  “I thought you were going in with the monks.”

  “Well, yeah. I could do that, but I think it would help riding in with you.”

  He rubbed his chin and squinted.

  “I know it sounds stupid,” I said. “But I haven’t been out of the abbey in months. And I thought if I went with you, it might be easier. I heard you were dropping off Anna anyway, so…”

  “No, it’s not stupid in the least. I understand,” he said, nodding. “No problem.”

  “Great. I appreciate it.”

  The words were right, but something was off about him. He stood there, like he was trying to read my real motivation and plotting out his next move. He was studying me, the same way he looked up at the sky in the mornings. Looking for something that others couldn’t see.

  “Hey, let’s get a late lunch afterwards,” he said after a while. “I’ll pick you up in the afternoon and we’ll go to Bayona. My treat. It’ll be a goodbye lunch.”

  The way he said it made it sound so final. I hoped he didn’t see me shiver.

  “Yeah, sounds good,” I said. “And thanks.”

  “See you in the morning then. We leave at six or thereabouts.”

  “I’ll be here.”

  He was staring at me with those dark, dark eyes.

  And as I turned to leave, I hoped that they weren’t a reflection of his heart.

  CHAPTER 54

  Was he changing his plans? Letting Anna go and substituting me instead? The more I thought about it, the more I worried. All those things that I had been thinking about Anna could just as easily be applied to me. No one even knew where I was. Where would they begin looking for me when I stopped calling Kate? Not that it would even matter by then because I’d be dead. And who would even really care besides my sister and a few others if a murderer’s remains were one day found in some swamp? A lot more people would probably cheer than cry.

  It was easy to be ready by six because I had never quite made it to bed.

  I had pulled out a trash bag and filled it with my guilt and doubts like Jesse had said to. I smiled as I named each negative thing before dropping it inside. When I was finished, I tied it off and took it out to one of the dumpsters.

  At five-thirty I ran over to the garden looking for Brother Jerome. But he wasn’t there. A couple of other monks were loading produce and I asked them to pass along the message that I would meet them in the city.

  But as I ran back and glanced over at Father Carmichael’s bungalow, I stopped in my tracks, gasping.

  I had been right. In fact, I was dead right.

  Standing there on his porch were the ghosts.

  All seven of them.

  CHAPTER 55

  I stepped closer and hid behind a tree, watching.

  There they were, the same tortured women I had seen in the graveyard, with those dark eyes and gruesome expressions, consumed with rage and out for blood.

  Hannah Jorgensen was near the steps, her face pale, her lips black. I heard the door open and out came Father Carmichael. He didn’t see them. He walked right past the ghosts and onto the lawn, tilting his head toward the sky.

  I could hear him speaking and at first I thought that maybe he was talking to them, but then I realized he was praying. His eyes were closed and when he finished, he pulled out a cross from underneath his shirt and kissed it before blessing himself.

  The ghosts didn’t move. They just stood there watching him. But as the sunlight streaked across the retreat, they began fading, and by the time Father Carmichael went back inside, they were completely gone.

  I took off toward my room.

  I grabbed my phone, ID, credit card, and some cash. Then I slid the small canister of pepper spray in my front pocket. I hadn’t carried it in a long time and I realized then just how safe I felt here. Had felt here.

  I headed outside and nearly bumped into Anna. We walked across the grass, saying nothing until she realized where I was going.

  “You’ve got to be kidding?” she said.

  I shrugged.

  “Good morning,” Father Carmichael said.

  He was carrying a tool belt in his hands along with a large roll of duct tape.

  “How’s the roof coming along?” I asked.

  “Finish one job and there’s eight more things that need doing. Old buildings are a lot of work. You two ready?”

  We walked over to his pickup truck, which was parked in the lot closest to the front gate. He put the tools in the bed and unlocked the door for us. I got in first and took a seat in the back, letting Anna sit up front.

  We drove out past the entrance of the monastery and down the country road. It reminded me of all the time that had slipped by somehow. Everything looked different than I remembered. I was different, too, from that day when Samael and I walked up to the gates and I had peered inside, wondering what the hell I was doing there. I just hoped I was different enough to do what I needed to do.

  The landscape along the way was swampy and lush with vegetation. We drove for a long time before hooking up to a highway and then to a freeway that took us into the city. It was a quiet ride. Father Carmichael finally turned on a sports talk show, and I caught a glance of Anna in the truck’s side mirror and saw that she was still mad. She was staring out straight ahead, angry lines creasing her forehead.

  I didn’t care. I didn’t mean to ruin her date, but she was clueless. She didn’t understand what she was doing here.

  That she was dancing with death.

  CHAPTER 56

  The city was still sleepy, until we turned into the French Quarter. There, it was wide awake. Maybe it had never gone to bed. Vendors were busy putting together booths, vans clogging the alleys and streets. Workers were lugging crates around in their arms and over their shoulders or stacking them on dollies. A five-man band was setting up on the sidewalk with trumpets and drums and trombones. Dogs slept or sniffed around for something to eat.

  Father Carmichael drove slowly down the street. He stopped at the Crescent City Farmers Market in front of a large booth with a sign that read, Monks’ Choice. I saw Brother Jerome and the others piling up sweet potatoes
on a platform. They were in their robes and again I wondered how they could stand it. The air was already brutal out here and it was barely seven o’clock. Maybe they felt it was their edge. That people were more inclined to buy something from a monk over a guy in a T-shirt and jeans.

  “Well, hope you two have a good day,” Father Carmichael said.

  We slid out of the truck.

  “Thanks for the ride,” Anna grumbled as she stormed off toward the produce stand.

  I looked over at him and shrugged.

  “I thought you two got along,” he said.

  “Me too.”

  “Well, the market closes at three and it’ll take about an hour to pack up. How about I meet you here at four?”

  “Okay,” I said.

  “I’m glad we’re going. There’s something that’s been on my mind that I want to talk to you about.”

  “Sure,” I said. “See you later.”

  I didn’t see how I had a choice. If I tried to get out of going with him, he would probably invite Anna. And I couldn’t let that happen.

  I shut the door and watched as he drove off into the hazy, moist morning, trying to swallow down the bile.

  CHAPTER 57

  Brother Jerome shook his head when he saw me.

  “Grab a crate from the van,” he said coldly. I saw that Anna was already on it. She was bringing back carrots. “And put the produce on display up front.”

  “Sure,” I said.

  We worked hard for the next hour, bringing everything out of the van, arranging the contents on the tables, and then attaching signs. One of the monks brought over a large scale and another set up the cash register.

  When we were finished, Brother Jerome came over to me.

  “We could have used at least one of you earlier back at the abbey to help load,” he said.

  “Sorry,” I said. “I’ll help this afternoon.”

  “We don’t bring any of it back,” he said. “We sell most of it and whatever is left we donate to St. Patrick’s. If you do this again, make sure to come with us in the morning.”

  I nodded.

  When the market opened, a flood of people came through. The monks did brisk business from the start, with a constant line snaking out into the street. I spotted a few local chefs, dressed in their coats and checkered pants, loading up on parsnips and turnips and the fresh herbs.

  As the morning wore on, it felt like one giant party up and down the street. The band played their music the entire time, full of jazz horns with a fast tempo and people roamed from stand to stand, their arms full of bags and flowers. They were happy. I even saw a smile or two cross the monks’ lips.

  It took me a while to adjust to all the noise and so many people, but after an hour or so I fell into the rhythm of it.

  “Miss, how much?” a man said with a thick Cajun accent wearing reflective sunglasses.

  In one of his hands was a plastic cup and in the other a bag of mint. I turned to check the sign.

  “A dollar,” I said.

  “Can I just give it to you?” He let out a long boozy-smelling burp. “I don’t want to wait in line.”

  I looked over at the long line. I couldn’t blame the guy.

  “Sure.”

  I took his dollar and he smiled at me. It was the kind of smile with something behind it, the kind that makes your skin crawl like a spider across the floor. He walked off, stumbling a bit, leaving the strong whiskey smell lingering in the air. I gave one of the brothers the bill. I noticed other people carrying plastic cups.

  I saw Anna and decided to make the effort.

  “So all this drinking like this is legal here?” I said.

  “There’s legal and then there’s New Orleans. Hell, down the street, you can get your morning smoothie with wheatgrass and a couple of shots of tequila, if you want. It’s that kind of place.”

  “Hmmm,” I said, thinking of David. “I know somebody who would love it here.”

  “Don’t we all.”

  She took her break at about noon and when she got back it was my turn. I headed up the street, the smells calling to me. I was starving.

  I passed another small band and there was a couple in the street dancing to the music. People were standing in a circle, watching, and some of them were taping the scene on their phones. I watched for a moment as the man took the woman and swung her up high, catching her and dipping her down low. The crowd cheered.

  I saw Bayona. I stopped to read the menu posted in the window, but as I looked it over, I saw that the place would be closed between three and six. Father Carmichael must have known that because he had told me before that it was one of his favorite restaurants.

  I took in a long breath.

  At some point I turned down Decatur Street and found Café Du Monde. I ordered a bag of beignets and a coffee and chicory au lait. Everything was delicious. The pastries were so light and airy and sweet that that I bought another bag for later. I thought of my lunch date with Father Carmichael again and hoped there was a later.

  A light drizzle started to fall.

  CHAPTER 58

  Anna and I took apart the large awning that covered the booth. She seemed fine now, almost friendly. I still didn’t care. But I would have to try and talk to her again about Father Carmichael. I was only staying another week at most at the abbey. At the very least, I could show her the stories about the murders and let her decide on her own about the priest.

  She came up to me when we had finished.

  “Listen,” she said. “I’m sorry about earlier. It’s just that ever since I got to St. Mark’s, everyone seems to be up in my business. I think that Sister Ruth is behind it all. Anyway, when we were talking last night, I thought that maybe she had assigned you babysitting duties or something. It hit me the wrong way. No hard feelings?”

  “No hard feelings,” I said. “So, you’re not interested in Father Carmichael?”

  She laughed a little.

  “I know a lot of women go in for that troubled priest thing but, I don’t know, it just doesn’t do it for me. He’s been helping me with some of my issues. That’s all.”

  I was glad to hear it. It would make it easier to talk to her about him later.

  Anna left with the two older monks to help them with the drop off at St. Patrick’s. Father Carmichael drove up five minutes later.

  I sighed and got in the truck.

  He sneezed and a cloud of chalky dust cascaded out of his hair and flew everywhere. He waved it away.

  “I was up in the attic,” he said. “How did things go here?”

  “Good,” I said.

  ‘You about ready?”

  “Yeah.”

  I took another deep breath, trying to calm down.

  A minute later he eased the truck out into the fast lane, darting quickly through the city streets in the heavy traffic. As we drove the light drizzle turned into a hard rain. The windshield wipers were on high but were having trouble keeping up. I closed my eyes and it came on quick, like the storm.

  Another flash.

  Hannah Jorgensen, black liquid gushing from her neck as she slumped to the ground. Father Carmichael standing over her.

  His hands covered in her blood.

  CHAPTER 59

  I fingered the Mace in my pocket as we drove through the downpour.

  “Where are we going?” I asked. “Wasn’t that restaurant just around the corner from the farmers market?”

  He didn’t answer right away and merged onto the freeway, the city getting farther behind us.

  “I had another idea,” he said, looking over at me, his eyes flat.

  He turned on the radio. My heart was roaring now, like I was in an all-out sprint instead of sitting in a car. I needed a plan and I needed it now.

  “I thought you should get a taste of the real local stuff. There’s a food truck on the outskirts of town.”

  The outskirts, I thought. Not as busy there. A good place to attend to business. The kind of business
that requires a little quiet, a little alone time.

  “Okay,” I said, trying not to let the fear leak out in my voice.

  I had the pepper spray, but I wasn’t going to use it. When we stopped I was going to take off. I was going to pour every ounce of my training into a run for freedom. I would run fast and hard and I would run twenty-six point two miles if I had to. No way was he going to catch me. No way in Hell. And when I was sure I had gotten away I would place an anonymous call to the police about one Father Joseph Xavier Carmichael from St. Paul, Minnesota, who was hiding in an abbey in the middle of nowhere.

  The rain continued to fall in great, angry sheets as if the entire Gulf of Mexico had been flipped upside down and was now where the sky should have been. Even though it was mid-afternoon, it had turned as black as night.

  We drove quietly for a few more minutes, his energy as dark as the clouds.

  I sat there trying to plan my escape just right, trying to think of exactly what to say to distract him, when he pulled off the highway. After a few blocks, it came into view. The food truck. I wasn’t sure what he was thinking. A condemned woman’s last meal? If that was it, I wasn’t having it. I didn’t care how good the food was, my stomach was in no mood.

  He parked on the side of the road about a hundred feet away from the truck. When the wipers went off, the world outside became a wet blur. “Tell It Like It Is,” began playing on the radio. I could almost see the mole on Aaron Neville’s forehead.

  “Hold on,” he said. “I think one of the rear tires is flat.”

  A second later he stepped out into the downpour. I turned in the seat and saw his distorted shape heading for the back of the truck. He stood there for a long moment and I wondered if I should make my break now. I might not get a better chance. Yes, this was the moment. It was now or never. But just as I reached for the door handle, he knocked on my window.

  Shit!

  “I need to grab the flashlight,” he said after I cracked the window.