Where The Devil Won't Go: A Lucas Peyroux Novel Read online

“I decided to come back. Funny, you roll up on me like this.”

  “Quarter’s a small place and everyone walks. We know most of the residents by sight.”

  “Like Manchac.”

  The car shifted into park, but they stayed inside. “Your cheek’s red. Did someone hit you?”

  “No.” She touched her face. “I had this crazy idea that maybe Haley had used her secret hiding place for the alligator pendant, so I came back. When I looked under the sink, I slipped and hit my face on the toilet.” She laughed with fake embarrassment. “It was late, so I ended up staying the night. Don’t worry, I called my momma.”

  “I see you found it.”

  She held it up from just above her cleavage. “Yeah, sure enough it was taped under the sink where she’s hid lots of things… joints, money and whatnot. This must’ve been the last thing from home she had.”

  Lucas scratched his chin. “Under the sink. I’ll have to tell that to boys at CSU, embarrass them a little. You mind if we come back up since we’re right here? Maybe there’s other hiding places we missed?”

  She glanced down at her shoes. “There aren’t any. I looked in every corner.”

  “No doubt, but you’re also not a cop. We missed that, we might’ve missed something else.”

  Cozy looked back at the apartment building. “I, uh… I was uh… trying to get the deposit back from the landlord, so I cleaned the place. I wiped down everything and even bleached, so it smells up there. Unbearable, really. I’ve had to stay out all day.”

  The engine shut off and they both climbed out of the car. “Let’s just take a quick look around anyway.”

  Cozy swallowed hard as she walked toward the steps with the two police officers. She fought her wobbly knees to continue going up the stairs and into the apartment. Once the door opened, she waved for the cops to go in first in case she had to run.

  “Oh, Jesus, you weren’t kidding.” Detective Gray held her nose.

  “I left the windows open.”

  “You went ape shit with the bleach.” Lucas coughed. “Couldn’t just use window cleaner?”

  “My momma always says bleach works best.” Her forehead turned red hot and she pressed her fingers against it, trying to cool it quickly before they could notice.

  The cops walked into the bathroom and Cozy perched tensely just outside the door, watching. Lucas went straight for the sink, bending to get a good look under it and searching with his fingers. “Wish there was a diary somewhere.”

  Detective Gray looked up at the shower curtain that hung from a rod and reached up, about to expose the tub.

  “Detective Tara,” Cozy shouted. “Can I talk to you?”

  “Just Tara.” The detective ran her hand down the length of the curtain, but didn’t let go. “What is it?”

  “What are the odds of finding out who really did this?”

  “There’s no answer to that. Let us do our job and you focus on grieving and honoring your sister’s life, okay?” Tara tugged the shower curtain to one side, exposing a clean, empty tub.

  Cozy felt the world flicker darkly for a second as she almost passed out. What the fuck? What had happened here?

  “I love these old tubs,” Tara commented. “So much character.”

  It took all Cozy had to close her jaw and look away from the tub. What the hell? She nodded at Tara as Lucas searched the seam behind the medicine cabinet with a tiny flashlight and then behind the spindly white Ikea cabinet that held the towels.

  They left the bathroom and Tara said to her, “We did catch a lead… Maybe. You alright? You look like a ghost.”

  “Just trying not to breathe.”

  “We think Haley might’ve associated with a drug dealer named Titus. We’re looking to pick him up – see what he knows.”

  “T-T-Titus?” She cleared her throat. “Weird name.”

  “Jeez, my eyes are watering.” Lucas came out of the bathroom to join them. “Let’s check the kitchen and get out of here. Look inside the oven under the grease pan and the freezer’s ice cube trays. The nooks and crannies.”

  Tara nodded and continued speaking. “There was also a visit by a young, brown haired, boy according to her landlord. Ring any bells?”

  “I don’t know anyone she knew out here.” Cozy felt her strength come back.

  Tara’s cell phone jangled, forcing her to stop opening and shutting cabinets. She answered it. “Gray. Really? Damn, I thought I was going home.” She ended the call. “We got a possible Titus sighting, let’s roll.”

  “You okay here?” Lucas asked as they headed for the door.

  Cozy nodded.

  “I’ll call you soon and keep you updated. If the landlord gives you any trouble, call me.”

  The door clicked shut and Cozy grabbed onto back of the sofa and finally unclenched, running to the open window to close her eyes and gulped a breath of air. Her wet underarms felt as if she had run a marathon.

  The landlord.

  It had to be.

  #

  Cozy rushed to Bourbon Street to get a grip on the situation. Stumpy, thick metal pillars rising from holes in the crosswalks kept cars from turning onto the crowded street. Tourists laughed and drank, and trashcans were already overflowing. People on balconies dangled colorful beads and thankfully, no one paid any attention as she sat in a corner bar.

  She assumed the only other person with a key to Haley’s place would be Porter, the landlord. But, why on earth would he dispose of Titus and clean the tub instead of calling the police? No, that didn’t make any sane sense. Haley could have given the key to someone else, but again, who would want to clean up that mess? Why? And could do it in half a day for that matter? Maybe someone was protecting her? That would mean she had been followed and this same person might know Haley, too – if not loved her enough to clean up her little sister’s mess.

  After several hours of getting nowhere and watching an old man nurse a drink, she headed back to the aired-out apartment to wait for this person to be exposed. Her limbs and back protested free-range movement. Her leg muscles wanted to lock with each step, but at least she would be able to rest in a Titus-free apartment. Without seeing Porter in the window, she entered the gate, slowly ascending the stairs. She stopped at the top: her suitcase sat outside the front door. That middle-aged balding man came from inside Haley’s place, wearing shorts and a football jersey. He stared cross-eyed at her.

  She didn’t know if she’d be able to run very fast. “What are you doing?”

  “Kicking you out.” He pointed at her stuff like she was in trouble.

  “You went through my shit?”

  “This apartment needs to be vacant so I can show it.”

  A bell sounded in Cozy’s head. “Do I know you?”

  “You waved at me that time in my window. I’m the landlord.”

  “No, that’s not it.” Cozy let it go.

  “You bleached the fuck out of the bathroom. You got the windows open and I can still smell it.”

  Is he messing with me? “I want to make sure I get the deposit back. I guess I used too much. But this was my sister’s apartment. She just died.”

  “I know that. You don’t think I know that?” He spoke fast and hard.

  “What’s your problem?”

  The whites of his eyes glowed. “You can’t stay here. Her lease is void, including the deposit.”

  “You can’t do that.”

  “Fuck, I can’t. Do you want to take over her rent?”

  “C’mon, mister. What happened to Southern hospitality?”

  His eyes tilted back as he gazed down at her for several seconds. She thought his head might start spinning. “You want it or what?”

  “How much?”

  “First and last month’s and security deposit. Twenty-five hundred dollars.”

  “I know for a fact that you can’t keep her security deposit.”

  “It’s in the contract she signed. She signed it.” He blinked hard. “She signed it.”<
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  Past arguing, there was nothing else she could do. “I can give you five hundred for the next week. Let me get it.” She bowed in order to snag the bag and pulled a few feet away. With one eye on Porter, she fell to her knees and opened the bag, pulling out a pair of jeans. She dug into the pocket, but came up empty. She swore under her breath. “I had five hundred dollars in that pocket.”

  “I wouldn’t know anything about that.”

  “It was there.” She shoved her hand in the bag, feeling around.

  He huffed. “All I did was carry all your stuff out here instead of throwing it away ’cause I’m nice like that. I don’t know nothin’ ’bout five hundred dollars.”

  Liar. “Empty your pockets.”

  His face turned red and his fingers tapped at his thighs. “No.”

  “I had a policeman’s permission to be in there. He’s not going to like hearing this.”

  “Call him. I’m sure they’d like to hear about that gun in your bag. Call him. Call him.”

  Titus’ gun. She stared the twitchy man down. Her eyes found a small circular scar on his forearm and she fell onto her butt, still staring. “What’d you do with Titus?”

  “What?” Porter followed her eyes to the red mark at the widest part of his forearm and he covered it up with his hand. His brow furrowed. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.” But she wasn’t. Her eyes finally shot up to his.

  “Then why are you staring at me like that?” He dropped his arms and clenched his fists.

  “You cut your long hair. You have a beard now. It was you. It was you.”

  “Are you on drugs?”

  “I know who you are. You killed Haley and you tried to kill me, you fucking scumbag.”

  “That’s crazy.” The kidnapper’s act wasn’t convincing.

  “I recognize your voice. It’s you.” She snagged the gym bag, scrambled to her feet and shot down the stairs as she yelled. “I’m calling the cops.”

  “Stop,” he commanded from the summit of the staircase. “You call the cops and I’ll give them Titus. You’re a murderer.” She heard him taking huge steps down the stairs, then the thud of tumbling bumps. He had fallen.

  Cozy made it out the gate and down the street without anyone on her tail. She had done it. She found Haley’s killer.

  Chapter 15

  With all her possessions hanging in the bag over her shoulder, Cozy ducked back into the corner tavern where she had just been sitting moments ago. The old man had a fresh drink. She consciously controlled her breathing and wiped the sweat from under her hair on her neck. No one had followed her, and from here she had a nice view of the street. Should she call Lucas or just kill Porter herself? She knew the answer.

  Once calm, she got change and called her momma on an ancient payphone. “No, I’m not coming home tonight, Momma.”

  “Why on earth not? Haley is dead, Cozy. There is nothing there for you. Come home now.”

  “I can’t Momma. I have some things to take care of.” Her eyes scanned the bar.

  “You are coming home, now. Now, girl.” Her momma’s voice boomed, vibrating the receiver.

  Cozy felt the tears return. She almost screamed. “I’m not coming home, Momma. I don’t know if I’m ever coming home.”

  “Where are you? Tell me where you are!”

  Cozy put the phone down on the little shelf as her momma’s muffled voice lost strength. With wet eyes and an awkward smile at the bartender, she sat on a backless barstool.

  “She still yelling at you?” The bartender motioned to the receiver still off the hook.

  “I can’t hang up on my momma. Better to just let her ramble. Tequila and Abita Amber, please.” Her voice shook.

  “I.D.”

  The old man spoke up, “Aw, Jesus. Give her a drink. You ain’t gettin’ raided.”

  The bartender nodded like he lost a debate. “Never going home again, huh?” He repeated from Cozy’s call. “This is on the house.”

  “Thanks.”

  With a quick flip, the Tequila fell down her throat and she swished the beer afterward like mouthwash. The old man with a cane turned toward her several times, just two stools over, seemingly admiring her drinking style. It took a minute, but he eventually found his own drink again.

  Moments passed while some familiar Zydeco music eased from the speakers.

  “I’ll have what she’s having,” the old man said, leaning with a leer. “I overheard that fight with your momma.”

  “Sorry about that.”

  He waved it off. “Ah, parents don’t always know best. You Cajun?”

  “Straight from the bayou.”

  “Boyfriend hit you?” He pointed.

  Cozy looked away as if ashamed.

  “You just getting here or just leaving?” He waved at her bag.

  “It looks like I might need a place to stay for a few days, actually.”

  The man smiled and slapped the bar with his palm. “You may be in luck. I’m Sal.”

  “Cozy.” She squinted at this character as he held onto the bar while his other hand extended in greeting. He looked like he just won a scratch-off ticket. “What do you mean? You have a place?”

  “I got a room for rent. Better than any damn hotel.”

  She called the bartender over. “You know this guy?”

  The bartender nodded without any subtle warnings. “Oh, yeah. That’s Sal.”

  “Good guy? Not a rapist or anything?”

  “He used to be a cop. Comes in here most days. Never causes trouble.”

  She spun on the barstool, trying to contain her anxiety. “How much per day?”

  “Let me think.”

  “I’d be interested if you can wait a few days until I get my paycheck from the place I just quit.”

  “How you gonna get your check if you don’t have an address?”

  What was it with cops trying to figure everything out? “A friend is going to pick it up for me and bring it here. It’s just a two-hour drive from my hometown. Once I cash it, I can pay you. If it’s cheap enough.”

  “That is an exquisite diamond pendant you got.”

  “Not a shot in hell.” She put her hand over it.

  “Just admiring it, dahlin’. So, you quit your job and just up and moved to New Orleans? Oh, to be young.”

  “Like you said, sometimes parents don’t know best.”

  “So, I’m being nice and all, but how can I trust you not to rob me blind?” His question seemed irrelevant, as she had him hooked.

  “How can you trust me? Two-way street, mister.”

  “Shit, look at me. You could whip my ass no problem.”

  “True, Sal. Very true. I’ll take the room if the price is right.”

  “Cozy is it? That’s nice. Cozy, I think you should hold on to your money ’cause you’re going to need it. I have an idea for a barter.” His voice gained vitality.

  “What?”

  “Not everyone in the world is infatuated with money.”

  Something in his eyes made her cringe. “I got nothing to trade.”

  “Don’t be so sure. How familiar are you with the Mardi Gras custom of getting beads?”

  Chapter 18

  No curtains allowed any of the morning’s light entry into the old man’s spare bedroom. A crack in the window meandered up from the bottom left corner, its origin hidden behind wood with a spotty paint job. After staring at the abandoned spider webs hanging raggedly off the sill, Cozy wiped goo from her eyes, her mind paralyzed with uncertainty. Did she expect to go kill Porter today? Just walk right up to him and blow his brains out?

  Why not?

  Surrounded by Sal’s ancient, beat-to-hell boxes, she peeked into a few hoping to find something of value, however musty old clothes and magazines weren’t worth the effort to steal. In one box was a stack of photos taken during Mardi Gras. Each picture had Sal in full uniform posing with different females showing their boobs and beads. She flipped through hundreds of photos li
ke a deck of cards, eliciting a full body shake. Some of the pictures dated back to the seventies.

  She closed the box and surveyed the cramped room. On the walls hung dusty plaques, award certificates and portraits of a young, odd-looking cop with his entire life still ahead of him. He had a triangle face with straight black lines for eyebrows and thin lips. Sal definitely wasn’t ugly, but his looks had to match a woman’s particular tastes. He had a huge grin in all the pictures, proving that Sal once seen far better times.

  Cozy fingered her eyes again, brushing the residue off her face. Her rims burned and she had to piss something fierce. The old man hadn’t imposed on her last night as she’d imagined he would. Seeing her boobs for a few seconds apparently merited enough for a free overnight stay. Maybe letting him take a picture to add to his collection would be enough to get two days. She let a single laugh escape… It wasn’t like the locals had never seen boobs before.

  Sal had gone on most of the night about how New Orleans’ glory days had long since passed and now it was nothing but crime and tacky tourist shops and delusional residents. They had gotten drunk; the scrapes on her hands and forearms from falling off the curb was testimony to that. Thankfully, Sal was old and couldn’t walk that far, especially intoxicated, so his favorite bar was right down the street from his house.

  Now she stood in wrinkled clothes that stunk of alcohol. Her shoes by the door were caked with Bourbon Street filth. In her bag between the dilapidated boxes, she found a clean pair of Haley’s shorts and a tank top, tucking them under her arm. When she stood, something fluttered to the floor from the shorts. A business card. She picked it up, seeing in bright red letters: Molly’s Girls. It was a gentlemen’s club.

  Titus, you asshole.

  She put the card back in the pocket of the shorts. She opened the door, and it creaked on rusted hinges.

  “Good morning, Sunshine,” a gravelly voice said from the front room.

  Cozy detoured to the entrance of the den, spotting the old man in his recliner still wearing pajamas. He was just elderly enough to be non-threatening and just virile enough to be annoying. She was certainly surprised to find him awake. “You’re up early.”