Blood Parish Read online

  BLOOD PARISH

  E.J. Findorff

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Chapter 69

  Chapter 70

  Chapter 71

  Chapter 72

  Chapter 73

  Chapter 74

  Chapter 75

  Chapter 76

  Chapter 77

  Chapter 78

  Chapter 79

  Chapter 80

  Chapter 81

  Chapter 82

  Chapter 83

  Chapter 84

  Chapter 85

  Chapter 86

  Chapter 87

  Chapter 88

  Chapter 89

  Chapter 90

  Epilogue

  THE ALPHA - Chapter One

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Also by E.J. Findorff

  Copyright © 2021 by E.J. Findorff.

  * * *

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Printing, 2021

  www.ejfindorff.com

  Created with Vellum

  To Dana, Mark, Jodi, and Freddie

  Prologue

  Thirty years ago

  The grimy white school bus headed out of Moreau Parish under the weight of a crushing defeat. The teenaged baseball players onboard were sullen. Extra innings had exhausted the team, and night fell hard. David, the driver, observed the collective yawning in the giant rearview mirror above his head. Route 22 had no lights, no traffic, and many curves. David knew the highway out of the parish but was always careful.

  While most of the Walker Wildcats players could have traveled home with their parents, the coach insisted they stay together for team bonding. Brothers win together and lose together. The weekly pizza party back in Brockton had been canceled, due to the hour they would arrive. That didn’t matter. A house party would soften the blow the following night, as those were legendary. David only drove the team, but he was part of the staff and a part of the family. If anything, those young men would learn good sportsmanship.

  David used high beams while driving under the speed limit. The wind whipped through the open windows. A few times, a hidden police car surprised them; however he knew Sheriff Blondeaux and his deputies. Sometimes an animal attempted to cross the road, and the last thing he needed was to kill a stray dog on top of the loss.

  The coaches had stayed behind, citing team business, but a last-minute team booster chaperoned the return trip. He was a supposed religious fellow that David had seen speaking with the parents. The man attempted to cheer up the team when they first boarded. He enthusiastically told them they battled with dignity, and that God was proud of them. He mentioned the Almighty a bunch.

  As they came to a bend in the road, a parked squad car blocked both lanes, just fifty yards ahead. A flare burned orange on the centerline. David slowed to a stop. The boys paid attention as the chaperone casually moved to the front.

  “Let me out,” the booster said.

  David hesitated, then opened the door. “Sure, mister.”

  “It’s reverend. Make your peace with God.”

  The strange young man exited the bus. He walked past two figures as they approached in silhouette. David figured they were troopers, and their squad car might’ve broken down or had an accident. He saw their faces, their clothes, and their firearms. The bus had happened upon something very odd. The two men stopped in front of the giant grill, each aiming his weapon. David slowly raised his hands.

  Chapter 1

  A serious vibe hung in the air as if circulating from the vents. Special Agent Angel Blondeaux strode with purpose along the New Orleans FBI field office's main hall, ignoring the pain in her toes from breaking in a new pair of short-heeled pumps.

  Donald Lester had summoned Angel to the important conference room. Many of the state's most significant operations were born and strategized from the table in that room. Just the NOPD alone had been the target of concurrent investigations for decades. Those chairs launched many careers.

  Angel straightened her fitted blue jacket over a shoulder holster. Her fingers reconfigured a loose ponytail. Someone must have complained, or a bad decision came to light. This meeting was probably about a misstep coming back to bite her in the ass. It wouldn’t be her first suspension.

  Two men and a lady saw her approach from inside the encased glass box. Each had water within reach. Donald Lester stopped speaking mid-sentence, waving Angel in. The three agents were positioned on the same side of the square lacquered table, which was large enough for twenty. Next to Donald was John Belcher, the Executive Assistant Director, or EAD, from Quantico.

  Angel kept her eyes on the third person, a serious black woman with a light touch of makeup. The way her thumbnail flicked under her manicured fingernails betrayed her calm, reserved appearance. The name badge was too small to read.

  “I was told there’d be cake.” Angel stood across from Donald, her case handler.

  Donald pressed a button on the table’s embedded control panel, and the glass walls instantly frosted over so no one could see inside. He looked at his watch. “Thanks for coming on short notice. This is Special Agent Gail Ruby.”

  “Okay.” Angel waited.

  “Just left White Collar Crime to join Human Trafficking.” She stood, reaching to shake her hand.

  Angel reciprocated. “Trafficking, Donald? I told you…”

  “Just hear us out,” he cut in.

  Angel stemmed her concern. She accepted a seat opposite this tribunal, near a pen, paper, and water. Her feet immediately slipped from their patent leather bindings.

  “Is someone bringing the cake?” Angel looked around.

  John’s posture turned rigid. “Don’t mind her,
Agent Ruby. She’s actually behaving.”

  “I’ve heard you can be a handful.” Ruby’s chair swiveled left and right. She hadn’t learned to hide her nervous tells yet.

  “Just a handful? Guess I’m not trying hard enough.” Angel’s eyes darted between each of them. “This feels like the principal’s office.”

  John waved his hand. “This has nothing to do with any of your current operations.”

  “Then, it’s about my family and that damn bus. You know they hate me, John.”

  Ruby said, “We were hoping to get another shot before your grandmother’s secrets are lost forever.”

  “You mean before she dies. And you want me to ask her what happened? Hey, maw maw, did you sell those boys on the black market? Can I see your receipts?”

  “Look,” Ruby continued, “We know it’s a long shot. But if any of those boys were sold into slavery, there’s a slim chance we can track at least one of them down if we get a name. A location. Anything. What about your grandmother’s brother, Earl Blondeaux? He was sheriff at the time. He moved away from the family like you did. Lives in Brockton now.”

  "I've talked to him on three separate occasions, and he's told me to screw off every time. They let him retire, which means he's keeping his mouth shut."

  Ruby still pushed. "He's old and living alone. At some point, he's going to want to unload."

  Angel squinted. “Thirty years, Agent Ruby. Considering a case goes cold after forty-eight hours, you’re a real optimist.”

  “You’re always so quick to refuse.” John’s jaw muscle twitched.

  “My relatives won’t crack. How do you think they manage to launder money for the past hundred years?” Angel fiddled with the pad of paper. “Remember my Uncle Doug Blondeaux’s murder investigation seven years ago?”

  “Of course,” John admitted. “We had high hopes during that time.”

  “I was talked into going then, too. I accomplished nothing. They froze me out. The Blondeauxs are literarily the law out there.”

  “You obviously haven’t heard the news from home yet.” Donald leaned forward.

  “My home?” Angel’s hand touched her chest. “Lemon Twig?”

  Donald soothed his tone. “We received word that your Aunt Lorna passed from an apparent overdose.”

  Chapter 2

  Angel blinked several times. She forced her hands to stay below the table. “You received word my aunt died? I don’t understand.”

  “It pinged on our radar,” Donald dismissed the oversight as unimportant. “You told me you kept in contact with your Aunt Lorna.”

  “From time to time, I talked to her on the phone. Just to check up because I don’t want to talk to anyone else. She’s the heir to the queendom, so I try to engage her. Tried to engage her.”

  “Sounds like you’re homesick,” Agent Ruby said.

  “Not homesick. I miss my childhood – big difference.”

  “Is there?” Ruby grew confident. “Your mom was practically a child herself when she had you at seventeen.”

  “Oh, she was never a child. Even at seventeen, she was a thirty-year-old, believe me.”

  “So, no one has contacted you?” John asked.

  “No.” Angel scooted the chair forward, letting her toes curl and pull at the thin carpet. Her hand flipped through the blank pad of paper. She pushed it to the side. “The only one that might contact me would be my cousin Lucy May.”

  Ruby’s voice deepened. “The child of a crime family grows up to become a fed – friction is to be expected. I’m aware of your history.”

  “Oh, good. We can skip kissing and go right to second base.” Angel adjusted her ponytail again. “I’m sorry. My aunt is dead. My feet are throbbing.”

  John set his pen down. “The death of your aunt could be the perfect opportunity to bridge that chasm. This is an in. An opening. It’s your clan, right? Your kin?”

  John inched closer to his real thoughts of the southern states. He would eventually trespass into an insult. Angel pulled the pad and pen into her lap as if to take notes. “Bottom line, gentlemen - and lady, they will never, ever tell me anything.”

  Donald kept urging her. “Let’s use this, Angel.”

  “We’ve known each other a long time, Don. You know I can barely look my parents in the eye.”

  Donald nodded, silently glossing over lasers sitting in front of him.

  “We need you to do this, Agent Blondeaux.” John loosened his tie. “Your reluctance practically allows them to commit federal crimes. You’re complicit.”

  “I’m a detriment, not an advantage, and I’ll be damned if you call me complicit.”

  “You’ve witnessed things before you moved to New Orleans,” Donald said. “You’ve told me as much over the years.”

  John’s voice rose. “Your ancestors built a prison that still sits abandoned on your aunt’s land, for Christ’s sake. The entire parish is related to each other. Are you with the inbreeds, or with us?”

  There it was. Angel held the tablet up to see. She had drawn a closed fist with the middle finger extended. No one spoke for a moment.

  “Your convict family owns a prison?” Agent Ruby pretended to scribble in her pad with a slight smile. Angel liked her, despite her naïve intentions.

  Donald put his hand on John’s shoulder. “Let’s not have a repeat of last time.”

  Agent Ruby swiveled to face the pair. “What happened last time?”

  John touched the bump on his nose that hadn’t always been there. “Of course, I didn’t mean the inbreed comment.”

  Angel tore the page out, balling up the doodle.

  “We’ve tried without you.” John turned on the charm. “Every attempt has failed over the years because the one requirement is to be related.”

  “I don’t have a choice this time, do I?”

  “Thank you.” John exhaled in relief. “There’s something else. Your racketeering operation with the NOPD…”

  “What about it?”

  “We’re going to taint your involvement.”

  Angel reared back. “What does that mean?”

  “We’re going to launch an internal investigation into your pseudo mishandling of evidence. Officially, you’re suspended pending investigation as far as anyone is concerned.”

  “My colleagues are going to think I tampered with evidence?”

  “Temporary. They’ll suspect something, but we won’t release details.” John presented a folder. “The Director is on board. We have paperwork to make it all appear official. A closed investigation. After the funeral, we’ll suspend you, and you can return with a chip on your shoulder against us.”

  “Their paid politicians will look into it, so everything has to line up.” Angel rubbed at both temples.

  “Yes. Plant the seed. We’ll find a way to use it.”

  Angel’s cell phone chimed. She stared at the name, not having seen that particular caller ID for three years. “Are you kidding me?” A hot wave passed through her body.

  “Who is it?” Donald asked.

  “It’s my mom.” A tingle of sweat started on her brow. She tensed to keep from shaking.

  “Answer it,” Donald suggested after two more rings.

  “She probably doesn’t expect me to answer.” Her finger pressed the green button. “Hi, mom.” No one spoke on the other end. “Mom? You there?”

  “Angel? I’m surprised you picked up.” Her southern accent was as strong as ever.

  “Me, too.” The emotional distance came back like a reflex. “So, who died?” She put the phone on speaker and set it down.

  “Your Aunt Lorna.” Her mom didn’t miss a beat.

  Angel feigned surprise. “Aunt Lorna’s dead?”

  “Two days ago. I wasn’t sure to call you, but…”

  “Who killed her?”

  “I swear to God, Blondo…” She used Angel’s childhood nickname, which actually had been acquired because of her hair color. “It looks like an accidental overdose
of her medication.”

  “Accidental, huh?”

  “Are you working?”

  "I'm at the field office, and my cell is tapped, so you know. Got seven agents listening in, and a drone is over your house."

  “Should we expect you at the services?”

  “If I won’t get hog-tied, I’ll be there.”

  “Bye, dear.” The call dropped.

  In the Blondeaux clan, no one ever died from natural causes.

  Chapter 3

  Lemon Twig, Louisiana

  A mature magnolia tree spread shade just outside the Wilkens Funeral Home's back entrance. Sheriff Izzy Blondeaux was loitering outside when Angel parked next to the squad car. Her Aunt Izzy waved her over, stepping on the bench of a weathered picnic table so she could sit her sturdy frame on the eating surface.