Blood Parish Page 15

  She patted his chest. “Easy, boy.”

  “Don’t think I don’t know you’ve been spoon-feeding me parts of the investigation. Let’s get an early dinner, and you can catch me up.” He gave her a quick kiss. “Any Michelin star places out here?”

  They climbed into the Rock, leaving the windows down for the cool breeze. She noticed Mark taking a second look at the bear on her side of the dash, but didn’t comment on it.

  Bobby couldn’t humanize a little stuffed toy that gave him years of comfort and there she was treating her truck like a friend. She had learned in psychology class there was a word for showing affection to an inanimate object. Maybe it was personification or anthro-pormor-phism? She had to bone up on her behavioral sciences.

  The Rock roared onto the road.

  A wave of comfort surprised her, the kind that came with familiarity. It wasn’t the Rock, and it wasn’t Mark. This had been her stomping ground, where all her childhood experiences shaped and molded her. With that comfort came an unease, also. Like if she stayed too long in the Trap, she wouldn’t be able to pull her foot free.

  They entered downtown Lemon Twig and stopped at the Main Street Pharmacy. The locals milling about on the pathway didn’t seem to be in a rush to get anywhere.

  “Wait here. I want to question the pharmacist, and your presence won’t help.”

  He smelled under his armpit. “I showered.”

  “Don’t pout. Try not to get into trouble.” She slid out of the truck. “These locals will have no problem approaching you.”

  “No worries.”

  She stepped onto the sidewalk. A couple of women quickly turned to each other as their mouths started flapping. Dismissing them, she entered the brisk store, heading down the cosmetics aisle to the pharmacy in the rear. Two teenaged girls and a boy stopped talking and pointed. They laughed. One boy put his hands around his neck and faked choking. This was life in a small town.

  Arnie Frank, an elderly, pudgy man with round glasses and a flat nose, came to the raised counter, wearing a white smock. His hair had grayed but was still full. “Little Blondo. How are you this afternoon? I was just about to close shop.”

  “Fine as sunshine, Arnie. I’m just picking up some ibuprofen.”

  “I heard you’re in Lorna’s house. A man was killed on the property. And you shot your ex-boyfriend. Word is, your high school friend Delilah is missing. The whole town is talking.”

  He was direct, as usual. She expected as much. “Delilah isn’t officially missing yet. But, yeah.”

  He nodded. “I pray for her.”

  “Can I ask you about my aunt?”

  “Of course. I miss Miss Lorna.”

  “She probably talked to you a lot while getting her medication. Was she sharp the last few times you saw her?”

  “Mostly, although truth be told, Reverend Trevor came and got her medication. He cared for her dearly.” He rested his elbow on a well-worn spot on the counter.

  “Any out of the ordinary medication? Like for mental wellbeing?”

  He shook his head. “Normal pills for blood pressure and such. But she used to tell me how she was abandoned by ingrates. Her words.”

  “You ever deal with Doug?”

  His face grew dark. “Of course. Miss Lorna always walked behind Doug like an indentured servant.”

  “Was there anything strange that came to mind after you heard the news of Doug’s murder? Something you thought might’ve made sense when you learned they used to cage Bobby?”

  “No, nothing stands out.” He rubbed his bottom lip.

  “Do you believe Bobby and Lucy May were Doug’s offspring?” Angel waited for his reaction, however subtle.

  “I never doubted it. Thing is, Lorna was fine before their birth – a happy teen. Then, something happened where she retreated into a shell. In her final years, I’d see her doing funny things to the stuff on the shelves. Placing them in a different order and sometimes talking to herself.” He bowed his head. “It just… seemed strange.”

  “Don’t worry. This is between us. I had another question about drugs.”

  He clasped his hands. “Shoot.”

  “How easy would it have been for high school boys to get date-rape drugs thirty years ago?”

  “Thirty years? The baseball players?”

  “I’m not investigating anything. Just having some hypotheticals coming to me being back in town and all.”

  “Oh, I’ve heard all the townies’ theories over the years. Unless the drug was prescribed, it would be pretty hard. Date rape drugs entered the national media about twenty years ago. Rohypnol wasn’t a corner drug, but who knows if any of those boys had a connection and a devious mind.”

  “I guess that answers my question. Thanks, Arnie.” She backed away with a courtesy nod.

  At the front of the store, Angel purchased her items from the staring cashier. She got into the truck with a smile. “We need to go to my dad’s hardware store. Get some supplies.”

  “Sure, I’ll keep my head ducked down.”

  “Why?”

  “Your dad scares me. It’s like he’s a cougar watching his prey.”

  “He doesn’t blame you for Joe-Joe.” She touched his arm.

  “Yeah, but he knows what we’re doing.”

  “What are we doing?”

  “Sinful things.” He playfully wrung his hands.

  “We… are not the sinners.” She started the truck.

  “Small towns develop a personality, some good, some bad.”

  “Well, the word is out. Get used to it if you’re going to stay with me.” The truck sped past the police station as a deputy stood out front with his arms folded, watching them go by.

  Chapter 44

  Rob’s Hardware smelled fresh with disinfectant. The linoleum shined. Angel’s dad housed the newest items and special ordered whenever possible. The building was about the size of a small department store, very organized and professional.

  There had always been a steady business as most residents were do-it-yourselfers, but the store made the real money in two different ways. One was random gun shipments in and out of the back warehouse. There were no schedules and at least three different exchange points. The other was laundering money by selling his contracting services marked up at ridiculous prices. The funny thing was; they always did the work.

  “My dad around?” Angel put her items on the counter for the cashier to ring up.

  “Here somewhere.” She was a pleasant middle-aged lady with a menacing scar on her neck. The lady knew which individuals received special prices, and who received the discounts. Her scar was a reminder of how people had interesting lives of their own.

  Before she could ring up the power drill, Angel’s father appeared. “I got this.” He helped the lady away from the register. “Take a break, darlin’.”

  “Thank the Lord. I’m so overworked,” she said, scooting away.

  Her father’s intense eyes took her in. “What’s this for?”

  “A project.”

  “At your new house that you’re not keeping?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Where you’re messin’ with that lawyer-boy?”

  “You’re sounding like Joe-Joe.”

  His tongue cleaned his teeth. “Joe-Joe didn’t show up at your house with a gun because he was worried about you.”

  She eyed him. “Oh? You’re saying he wanted to shoot Mark?”

  “Turn off your blinders, baby girl. That lawyer might’ve saved your virtue.”

  “What are you saying?”

  His eyes grew sad, if that were possible. “Joe-Joe’s been waiting for you his whole life. I think he’s tired of waiting.”

  “Dad, c’mon. He’s never forced himself on me.” She thought of their last walk when he tried to kiss her.

  “Ask yourself what scenario makes more sense. I’d take care of Joe-Joe myself, but the boy is protected by Mable and your maw maw. You knew from an early age who was bo
ss in our family.”

  “Okay... I really need to know where my friend Delilah is.”

  He answered earnestly, “I don’t know where she is. But word is she insulted Joe-Joe pretty good.”

  “I thought about it, but Joe-Joe wouldn’t do that without the family’s blessing. Right?” They looked at each other uncomfortably. She shifted her weight. “While I got you, how close were you and Doug?”

  “All these questions you throwin’ at me.” He smirked. “You looking to drag me into this Spanish In-qui-si-tion?” His twang didn’t lend itself well to four-syllable words.

  “We’ve never talked about him.”

  “I stayed away from your Uncle Doug after we married the sisters. Wasn’t right in the head.” He leaned into her, ignoring all the items on the counter. “Let me tell you something, baby girl. You keep asking dangerous questions and they will keep coming.”

  “They?”

  “You know what they I mean. You’re my daughter, Mable’s daughter, but that don’t mean shit. Paulette knows you’re true to the family, but your little personal quest here is casting doubt.”

  “Dad, is there a life for me here if I leave the FBI?”

  “Of course there is. If you let the bus go.”

  “You’re practically telling me to stop asking questions or I’ll get hurt. What kills me is how normal all this is to you people.”

  “Your people.” His hunch straightened off the counter and proceeded to place all the items in a small cart without ringing them up. “Come by and say hi to your momma sometime, but don’t ever bring that lawyer by.”

  Chapter 45

  Angel and Mark reclined on the sofa with comfy pillows and a blanket as the radio played softly. She was tired, but the caffeine kept her eyes from closing. Moments of relaxation were few and far between. She hadn’t watched television in days and felt slightly isolated, as if cut off from society. Usually when traveling, she watched the local news to get the pulse of the locals. Lemon Twig, however…

  Agent Ruby had no updates on Delilah. The cell was no help, but she stayed optimistic. Angel caught up Mark with the redacted minutes from the meeting with Uncle Earl.

  He tested the perimeter of his stitches. “So, you didn’t mention my grandfather to the bastard.”

  “I did. He basically said he needed to forget the things he’s done, or he’d end up killing himself. He says he’s sorry it happened, but he doesn’t dwell on it.”

  Mark closed his eyes and took a breath. “He didn’t outright admit it?”

  “No. He was a little drunk and said more opinion than anything. Thing is, he was holding back.”

  “On what?”

  Angel moaned. “Not sure. He’s starved for communication. I didn’t think he would talk about the clan before. I do now.”

  “It’s funny that you call it a ‘clan.’ Sounds racist.”

  “Sounds Irish to me. Of course people are going to confuse one with the other.”

  “Can’t believe the word clan hasn’t been banned. Have you noticed the absence of the Confederate flag? I mean, it’s around, but not as prevalent.”

  “People do the right thing for the most part.”

  “Do you believe you can have pride in the Confederate flag and not be racist?”

  “You can’t be against the Klu Klux Klan and wear the white sheets because you like the way they fit.”

  He laughed lazily. “That would be a tough sell.”

  “I mean, would you expect Jews not to be offended if Germany displayed Nazi monuments around town in the name of history?”

  “Good point. Just like keeping an infamous last name and continually convincing your bosses you aren’t dirty.”

  Angel pulled away from him. “Damn, dude. Wait - does Belcher think I’m going to flip to the dark side?”

  Mark held up his hands. “I got the impression the man doesn’t trust you.”

  “I want you to go someplace safe. Your sister’s, your mom’s, or a friend outside of the parish.”

  “What? Where is this coming from?”

  She spoke seriously. “If I don’t leave, you’re next. And I’m not leaving.”

  He stared at her. “I’m not going anywhere, either.”

  “You have a vendetta, and I understand that. Until they put a bullet in your head or hang you from the tree out front. What would your hindsight tell you in the seconds leading up to that? Uh, maybe I should have listened to Angel?”

  Mark reared back. “That’s so dark. But if I’m not here and something happens to you, then I’ll never forgive myself.”

  “You’d be alive to try.” She held her stare.

  “I’m a big boy.” He pulled her close. “My mom said so.”

  Angel wasn’t going to argue. She’d take him to meet Agent Ruby under the guise of a debriefing and subdue him… just not until tomorrow. “You’re right. I can’t force you.”

  “Damn straight. Let’s go over what we know.”

  Angel humored him. “Have you figured out what the combination numbers mean?”

  “No. I would have told you.”

  “Lorna had schizophrenia, which means she was paranoid and suspicious, and she knows her family. Those numbers are more than just the combination to the lock. You can set those numbers yourself. You don’t have to go with the combination they give you.”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  “Lorna knew the Blondeauxs would get to you. They’d search her mail coming in and out. Any messages, phone calls, packages. This set of numbers is something Izzy could never figure out, but she thought I could.”

  “What about longitude - latitude?”

  “I thought of that. These numbers only go up to forty, and the east-west lines for Louisiana are in the nineties. We’d need a second set of numbers to have longitude and latitude.”

  “What about the drywall that was torn out? Who was looking for what? Doesn’t seem like it would be Bobby.”

  “Or Lucy May, or Lorna. Trevor would’ve been the only outsider.”

  “That you know.” He glanced toward the truck even though he couldn’t see it. “Ah, that’s why we stopped at the hardware store. That toolbox you threw in the bed has a screwdriver or power drill? Saw?”

  “I got a few hardware necessities. Basic carpentry stuff, electric drill.”

  “I can’t tell you how turned on I am right now.”

  “I need you not to be an adolescent.”

  Mark pulled his smile into a frown with his hand. “Sorry, can’t help it.” He eased off the couch. “Let’s go check it out.”

  With the power drill in hand, Angel and Mark climbed to the second floor. Without the lock to impede progress, she reached for the knob and squeezed perhaps a bit too tight while entering. The room seemed to let out a held breath as the door opened. She flicked on the light switch.

  Angel handed him her cell. “Take video of this.”

  “Sure.” He accepted the job.

  She plugged in the drill, hitting the trigger a couple of times. “Let’s rock.”

  With a loud strain from the drill, Angel unscrewed the plywood from the floor joists as Mark aimed the cell. It took a mighty tug, but the first board revealed nothing underneath. The drill bit screamed while attempting to grab hold of a stripped screw. She pushed down until it gained purchase.

  “These screws in this board are worn.” She looked up at him. “Like it’s been removed several times.”

  “Could be.” He knelt beside her.

  Angel finished with the three other screws and tugged the second board off the joists. “Damn.”

  “You think someone took whatever was there?”

  “Like they moved it?” Her eyes wandered. “If there ever was something here.”

  “You’d make a fine carpenter, like Jesus over there.” Mark pointed the cell toward the door, but the Crucifix was hanging on the other side.

  “Jesus.” Angel perked up. “He died for our sins.”

  “Tha
t’s what they say.”

  “Some people die for other people’s sins.” She closed her eyes. “Look up the book Paul by Rainer on Google. Type in crucifixion. Look for dates.”

  Mark’s fingers worked the screen. “Lots of sites.” Angel waited a good five minutes while he scrolled. “Oh, here’s one that says Rainer believes Jesus was crucified on April 7th, 30 A.D. Holy shit.”

  “04-07-30. The combination.” She moved to the hallway side of the door. Her palms pressed under each arm of the foot-tall Jesus, pushing up until it raised off the mount. Mark filmed her lowering it to the ground. Upon checking the front and back, they could see nothing out of the ordinary.

  “We need to bust it,” she said.

  “No rubber cork on the bottom?” He moved to see.

  “Like a piggy bank? No, too obvious. Look here.” Her finger traced a seam. “You see where his body meets the cross? Two separate pieces. Someone had made this for her. I need the hammer.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “You’re going to smash Jesus with a hammer? Really?”

  “I’m smashing badly painted ceramic. Jesus would want this likeness destroyed.” She retrieved the hammer and returned to Mark’s side. “Turn away if you have to.”

  Mark made the sign of the cross. “Go ahead, Dark Angel.”

  “Funny.” Angel choked up on the hammer, taking a light tap at the body. It cracked but didn’t break. A couple of small hits separated the top half of Jesus with the bottom. She moved the pieces away. “Something’s there.”

  “A plastic bag?” Mark hovered above her while pointing the cell.

  “Yeah.” She took the time to put on latex gloves from her pocket. “Lorna put this in ceramic, which would survive a fire.”

  “You’re like a magician with those gloves.”

  Her head tilted with regard. “Gotta be prepared.” She pulled the item out.

  “I feel like Nicholas Cage, or that Da Vinci guy. So exciting.” Mark pushed the phone for a close-up.

  Angel opened the airtight seam of the plastic bag, pulling out the rolled-up material inside. “Aunt Lorna’s got a secret.”

  Chapter 46