Blood Parish Page 11

  “After this…” She waved at the house. “… I don’t think I want to be here anymore. It’s cursed.”

  Izzy seemed to perk up. She put the pen and pad away after taking no notes. “So, Joe-Joe is obsessed with you. He came here and saw you with Mark Senn and…”

  “… And hilarity ensued.”

  “You used the registered Glock I now have in evidence.”

  “Yeah. It didn’t look like Joe-Joe wanted to shoot. It just went off in mid-rant.”

  “You shot his leg in self-defense. More cops should aim low.”

  She wiped her face. “In the state he was in, he could have easily pointed it at me next.”

  “You might have prevented a second catastrophe in the same house.” She shook her head. “I’ll be talking to Mr. Senn next… again. If his account matches yours, you should be in the clear.”

  “Anything with the Clint Johnson investigation?”

  Izzy pursed her lips. “Nothing yet. Too soon to tell. Anything can change with lab and toxicology results. No casings at the scene, and the bullets were junk. I’m going to expand the circle.”

  “What about his phone and computer?”

  Izzy raised an eyebrow. “We’re hopeful we don’t have to send it to the feds for help cracking it.”

  “I see. What’s going to happen to Joe-Joe?”

  “File a restraining order. I need to talk to Judge Baldwin about charges, if any are worth pursuing. I’ll try to squash it, so you won’t get in more trouble.”

  “Appreciate it.”

  “You can’t go back in the house tonight. I need to know where to find you.”

  She glanced at her parents. “I can’t get through a night of interrogation with my folks. I’ll give you Delilah’s address.”

  Izzy placed a caring hand on her shoulder. “Pack a bag. We’ll process the scene. Tomorrow, call Commanders to have the living room professionally cleaned. If they give you shit about doing it same day, give me a call.” She headed to confer with the deputies.

  Down the road, the first news van had arrived. It pulled up on the other side of the road, just beyond the milling residents. The little town of Lemon Twig seemed to have a lot going on these days.

  Chapter 31

  The two Louisiana State Police Crime Lab technicians out of Lafayette were still inside the house. Not surprising, Sheriff Izzy avoided addressing the media. Angel watched from a distance as Izzy spoke individually to her parents and Delilah since they were readily available on the scene.

  Izzy’s starched uniform matched her personality. She came off as hard-core, which made sense considering her dream of joining the Marines, something the patronne hadn’t allowed. Law enforcement in a small town was a poor setting for someone with a military fantasy. When Izzy wrapped up at the house, she drove away to the hospital.

  Angel wanted to allow her aunt enough time to take Mark’s statement at the emergency room before she left to pick him up. In the meantime, she explained an abbreviated version of the morning’s events to her parents. They didn’t seem too concerned that shots had been fired, just the circumstances surrounding them.

  “I wouldn’t blame Joe-Joe if he never talks to you again.” Her mom kept her arms folded with a stern glare.

  “Mom, he’s the one that came in with a loaded gun and shot Mark. Stop defending him.”

  Rob migrated closer to Angel. “She did the right thing, Mable. That numbskull could have killed our daughter.”

  “Thanks, Dad.” Angel didn’t expect that.

  “Would it have made a difference in our lives if he did?”

  “Mable!” Rob stepped to her. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “She abandoned us, Rob.” Her arms flailed. “No Blondeaux ever moves away from family. What’s that say about us?”

  “Says you’re good parents.” Angel felt her eyes itch with tears.

  “It just hurts still.” Her mom’s hesitancy to speak meant she was holding her tongue. Finally, she said. “You’re having sex with the lawyer.”

  “I like the lawyer.” Angel straightened, folding her arms.

  “Tell us what’s going on with you and the FBI,” Rob suggested.

  After an hour of deflecting questions, she left her agitated parents to go to Brockton to collect Mark, who had a very deep gash that would undoubtedly require stitches. She updated Agent Ruby on the drive, assuring her everything was fine. Angel parked in the visitor lot just as Izzy’s squad car pulled away.

  Angel entered the adequate hospital funded by Blondeaux money holding one of her larger androgynous tee shirts. She checked in at the reception desk decorated with pictures and symbols of Louisiana. Soon after inquiring about the GSW, she entered the emergency room where Mark waited behind a drawn curtain. “Knock, knock.”

  Sitting on the edge of a bed with his legs dangling, Mark turned his head with a comfortable smile. He was without a shirt but had a bandage on his arm. “I’d say our relationship is pretty damn exciting.”

  “To say the least.”

  “Doctors want someone to drive me home.” His eyebrows jumped up and down like Groucho Marx.

  She threw the folded tee shirt at his chest. “You lost enough blood where you don’t need to be redirecting it anyplace else.”

  He pouted, unfolding the shirt with one hand. “Got eleven stitches. Nurse is getting me a sling just to keep it still for a day or two.”

  “Good.”

  “Is this considered our seventh date, or...”

  Her voice caught in her throat. “Someone could have died.”

  “You can feel horrible, but don’t you dare feel guilty. Everything is on him. Joe-Joe’s upstairs. Not sure if they’re keeping him overnight.”

  “Izzy said they will.” She remained silent for a few seconds. “Yeah,” she muttered.

  He checked his shoulder. “It’ll leave a nice scar. Chicks dig scars. Sorry. My first instinct is to diffuse a tense situation.”

  She wiped her bloodshot eyes. “He wasn’t always like that.”

  “Not so harmless.” He took her hand. “He’s not the first… unbalanced person I’ve come across. You either, I imagine. Things escalate.”

  She eased between his legs. “I’m going to drive you back to Brockton. I’m staying with my friend Delilah tonight. You’ll be okay on your own, right?”

  “I called my sister. She’s going to the house. She wants to talk about our mom.”

  “She okay?”

  “Yeah. Health issues. Her hip, mainly.” He handed her the shirt back. “Help me get this on.”

  “It’s the biggest I had.”

  He tugged it down with a snug fit. “You just missed Sheriff Izzy. Such a ray of sunshine. She acts as if her threatening me didn’t even happen.”

  “I’m sure.” Angel smiled, reassuringly. “This is the most excitement Lemon Twig has seen since, well, Doug’s murder. Thanks for trying to keep it light. Let’s go.” Angel led the way, looking up at a television mounted from the ceiling. A local affiliate news station was reporting from outside Lorna’s house. Years of rejection hadn’t worked on Joe-Joe. She hoped shooting him would.

  Chapter 32

  Every door in Delilah’s complex faced the pool. The Grove Apartments simulated a boomerang with an inside balcony that allowed one to walk around the inner perimeter. Its tenants could stand outside their door chatting with drinks, and the second-floor occupants could look down at the sunbathers or keep an eye on their children doing cannonballs.

  The inside of her place was a missmatch of styles but still feminine. Old sectionals lined the wall with tough, enduring fabric. A flat screen sat in a compartmentalized entertainment system from IKEA, left there by the previous tenant. The dining cubby had a small round table with two chairs, and the antiquated kitchen was reasonably large. The theme of horses, concert posters, figurines, and Mardi Gras memorabilia failed to tie it all together.

  “You don’t have to apologize, Mom,” Angel said over the phone as D
elilah placed a beer in her hand.

  Her mom continued, “You’re all over the news. People are calling me, asking what’s wrong with you.”

  “It’s not your friends you’re worried about. You just don’t want me bringing media attention to the parish.” She rolled her eyes for Delilah’s benefit.

  “Oh, honey. The family is bulletproof. I know that Joe-Joe started the whole mess. I was just upset. Is he going to be a problem? You know he started working for your maw maw Paulette? She isn’t going to be pleased about what he did.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “Joe-Joe knows family business, Angel. And he’s not making himself look good.”

  “Mom, Joe-Joe has serious problems. But, above everything, he’s loyal, and he admires you and dad.”

  “That’s true. Rob has been taking him under his wing the past few years.”

  “You had Lucy May to replace me, and dad had Joe-Joe.”

  “We gave you the luxury to leave. I guess that makes us good parents, like you said.”

  Angel didn’t respond. She wiped her nose, and Delilah reached out to her shoulder.

  Her mom asked, “You going back to that awful house?”

  “Yes. I am.”

  “Why don’t you just sell it to Izzy?” Her voice pitched.

  “You two in cahoots?”

  “We can’t let Trevor get that land.” Her mom’s voice dipped. “Your grandmother would be giving the IRS a huge target.”

  “We? I have something you want, and I’m part of the family again?”

  “If the Bureau fires you, maybe you can be part of the family again.” A muffled whispering exchange took place on the other end. She came back. “Talk to your father.”

  “Mom.”

  A male voice came on, slow and dark like tar. “You doing okay?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Look. I’ll be blunt. You’re tolerated because the family isn’t worried you’ll pull any shit. You had every opportunity to come back with badges, but you stayed true.”

  “I’m just trying to figure out my life outside the FBI, Dad.”

  “You might not know this, but the patronne ordered Lorna to give her the land before she died.” Angel heard her mom protest about this new information in the background. He continued, “If you give that land to Lucy May, something bad could happen to her. To Trevor. You understand me? Sell to Izzy.”

  “Good advice, Dad. How was I ever not a daddy’s girl?”

  “You always had your own moral code - didn’t take to mine.” He actually had an answer.

  “I always told myself you were a good person, deep down.”

  His drawl became deeper. “You’re the only good I ever did, baby girl. Take care now.”

  Angel hung up without saying goodbye.

  Delilah bounced a few inches closer on the same sectional, adjusting her gold LSU sweatpants and a gray UNO tank top. “I won’t pretend to know what all that was about.”

  “Sorry about that.”

  “I’m aware of your fam.”

  “Seems I’m ruffling a lot of feathers.” She chugged at her beer.

  “Your mom’s right. The town’s folk are discussing you vigorously. You are our local star, infamous as you may be.”

  “Infamous?”

  Delilah put on a smile. “Well, scandalous, maybe.”

  “I just can’t believe Joe-Joe shot Mark.”

  Delilah grabbed her free hand. “Just be lucky it wasn’t you.”

  They each finished their beer. Delilah retrieved two more.

  Angel put the new beer to her forehead. “Let’s talk about something else. Any other gossip? How’s the mechanic?”

  “Stalled.” Delilah sat cross-legged. “How about related gossip? Talk is that Lucy May threw a tantrum.”

  “Really? Where?”

  “Dairy Queen. You know how word travels.”

  Angel pushed herself into some sofa pillows. “What’d she do?”

  “Someone told her she was getting fat. She cursed up a storm and threw a Blizzard at their head.”

  Angel blinked hard. “Really? Reserved Lucy May? That info had to process through at least three sources before your ears heard it.”

  “I suppose.” She flipped her hair back.

  “If there is even a shred of truth to that… at the heart of the exaggeration, she was upset. People blow up stories, especially in small towns.” Angel tapped her fingers on her lips. “However, it’s still interesting.”

  Chapter 33

  The CTS decontamination van eased next to the Rock where Angel and Mark had been sitting on the tailgate. Hitched to the company van was a small flatbed to carry away any unsalvageable debris to the dump.

  “How’s your mom?” Angel asked.

  “Needs a hip replacement. My sister’s going to arrange things.” He shrugged.

  Mark wore a solid blue sling. He didn’t have to make the trip out, but he had canceled his appointments due to being shot. He insisted he was fine, enjoying the visceral experience - or at least anticipating the scar.

  “Sucks, but that operation is pretty common.”

  The men in the truck discussed something before getting out. Angel knew Commander Cleaners to be the same company that had mopped up the Douglass Blondeaux murder, but she had no idea it would be the same two men. It made perfect sense considering the limited job skills in the area. They climbed out of their van, approaching with a tablet in hand.

  The big one with the goatee spoke with a deep baritone, “Howdy, there. I’m Peter. That’s Charlie.”

  “Howdy, back. I’m Angel. That’s Mark.”

  Mark waved with his good hand.

  “Angel? I remember that name.” Goatee Peter said.

  “From right here. Seven years ago.”

  “Right. Sorry to hear about the owner’s death. I ended up selling the widow a book from my garage sale, oddly enough.”

  “The Paul book?” Angel sat up. “You’re that Peter?”

  He nodded. “Yeah. I was in my yard selling my stuff. She was driving by and recognized me from the de-con. She went on for twenty minutes defending her husband before buying that Paul book and a rocking horse. I’ll never forget her, or this place.”

  “When you say you won’t forget this place - anything in particular?” Angel inquired. “Did something stand out?”

  He pulled at his facial hair. “Oh, just how messy it was. Brutal.”

  “What about the drywall?” his partner reminded him.

  The memory seemed to return. “Oh, yeah. I know the forensics team went through the room and all, but they tore out a lot of the drywall.”

  “Forensics did?”

  “Someone did. They tore that room down to the studs. Not that we cared. It made our work a little easier.”

  “You didn’t mention this to Sheriff Izzy or anyone?”

  “Why would we?” He shook his head, appraising the house. “You two didn’t stay there last night, did you?”

  She shook her head. “Nope.”

  Charlie, the smaller man with red hair, said, “We’ve never had to clean up the same house twice.”

  They opened the back door to the van. Goatee Peter pulled a barrel out with a large biohazard sticker on it. They each retrieved a decontamination suit and proceeded to put them on. Lastly, jugs and paraphernalia were carried to the house where they disappeared inside. Each window opened one by one.

  “Someone was looking for something after Doug’s murder,” Angel commented.

  “Did they find it is the question.”

  “I need to get my gun back from Izzy. Feels weird not having it.”

  “No spare?”

  “I have one in the glove compartment.”

  As late morning arrived, the cleaning crew packed up and left. They had only a small portion of the living room to cover, something she probably could have done herself, but it was better to be safe. The Persian rug had a helpful liner to keep the floor dry, which she didn
’t realize. The blankets were tossed, and splatter was cleaned off nearby furniture, but nothing had soaked through. That entire section of hardwood could have needed replacing, otherwise.

  “You’re not getting rid of me that easily,” Angel announced to the house.

  “Me, either,” Mark added. “At some point, I think the house is going to be swallowed up by the ground or something.”

  With her Aunt Izzy still holding her registered Glock that shot Joe-Joe, she retrieved her Springfield XDm from the glove compartment. It would have to do for the time being.

  They entered the well-lit living room, catching the pungent disinfectant dissipating through the windows. The floor where she and Mark shared their intimate night was bare, as if erased. She retrieved a fan from a closet and set it up facing the window.

  Her eyes shot to the ceiling, more so to the second-story floor above. The drywall comment from the cleaning crew stuck in her mind. Since this was a crime scene, Izzy would have checked out every room in the house again. Maybe they needed to take a peek, just in case.

  “You want to see the room? Let’s go,” she said, not waiting for his response.

  They bounded up the stairs to the master bedroom. The lock was still intact, as well as ceramic Jesus. Angel put in the combination, then swung the door wide open. Nothing seemed different since the last time she looked. Perhaps Izzy was right that the house held no secrets.

  “Sorry to disappoint you,” she told him.

  He stepped inside, spinning to get a full view of an empty room. “Eh - it’s what I expected.”

  “Have you been talking to Belcher?” Angel asked.

  “I told him no one’s talking to you. There’s nothing to report.” He curled his bottom lip. “Sorry.”

  “Thanks.”

  The rest of their evening was spent next to an open window with a new bottle of wine and a pizza delivery. She told Mark about some of the good times with Joe-Joe before hormones ruined everything. At some point, he became more of a loyal pet than a friend.

  Angel felt a bit more at ease since she set up the surveillance to sync with her phone. Next time she got an unwanted visitor, she’d have more than Agent Ruby’s call as an early warning. They tapped into a second bottle, having gotten quite tipsy. When it was made clear to Mark there would be no undressing, he lost all energy and yawned incessantly.