Blood Parish Read online

  “Son of a bitch.” She ran down the stairs and sprinted outside with her weapon at the ready. Circling the truck, she could see that the driver’s side window and the front windshield had fallen victim.

  A warning, she thought. Could it have been Izzy? Lucy May? Or any one of a hundred Bubbas they could have commissioned. She peeked inside, but nothing had been left behind. No snakes slithered, or dead possum hung from the rearview.

  She screamed toward the street, “Is that all you got? I’m terrified now! Cowards!” Her voice pierced the night without a response, but at least it allowed a release.

  She walked back to the house with more resolve but saw a message spray-painted on the door just below the muted video camera. She laughed at the banality of the threat.

  Go home.

  Chapter 22

  Despite the amateur attempt at intimidation, it was still a violent display. Angel had placed her Glock under the sofa cushion before going back to bed, but the vandals hadn’t returned.

  Even in her troubled sleep, her body knew the cushion wasn’t a mattress. Every turn or stretch on the sofa gave her that alien feeling of a fish out of water. She had managed slumber, however, with frequent waking. At first light, she opened her eyes and let herself lie there for a while before an early morning assessment of the damage.

  Bang - echoed in her mind.

  Despite the early hour, Angel called Delilah, who had been on the date with the mechanic. He was the owner of Bonnie and Clyde’s Auto Shop. Angel heard the man’s voice in the background. Apparently, there was a sleepover. Delilah handed him the cell instead of trying to relay secondhand info.

  She gave the mechanic named Teddy the year, make and model, and hung up with his promise to get right on it. Five minutes later, Delilah texted back that Teddy would be there in an hour or two. These were the perks of living in a small town.

  The refrigerator and cabinets were empty, but she had known to bring a few bare necessities. Without breakfast supplies, she consumed another small portion of red beans and rice. A small pot of coffee washed it down. They weren’t a great combination, but her choices were limited.

  In the early light, without all the crap blocking the view, she could see the house’s charm. The crown molding was exquisite. The trim had intricate lines with beautiful corner caps, and the archways were a bit larger than typical homes. It had character. Shame.

  Still sluggish and grimy, she undressed for a shower with caution. No one is in the house, she told herself. But if they would break the Rock’s windows, then an escalation to a home invasion wasn’t out of the question. She almost locked the bathroom door but brought her cell and gun instead.

  After an uneventful hot shower in an old-time tub with clawed feet, she blow-dried her hair, then dressed in a pair of shorts and an old Pearl Jam tee shirt. She applied just enough makeup to be respectable and stepped outside. A utility van with a bright logo on the side pulled into her driveway.

  A ruggedly handsome man with a mustache dropped out of the cab. “Hey, Angel. How are you?”

  “Fine as sunshine.” It came out sarcastic. “We didn’t officially meet at the Frog the other night.”

  “That was something else. Was this the same guy?” He indicated the windows.

  “Doubt it. See the door? That guy doesn’t want me to go home.”

  “You’re a lucky lady. My friend’s junkyard had the same model truck on his lot. I can replace your windows, lickety-split. You get the Delilah discount - a hundred dollars.”

  “Then, I am lucky. Delilah didn’t want to come?”

  He laughed. “I was leaving for work. She’s still in bed.”

  “You want coffee? Red beans and rice?”

  He gave the entire house a skeptical once-over, then opened the back of the van. “No thanks. Just put in a good word with Delilah.”

  “If she thought enough of you to help, then you have nothing to worry about.”

  “If you don’t care about the door’s finish, I have some paint thinner in the truck for that graffiti.” He scrounged in the bed of his pickup.

  “I’ll just paint over it,” She said. “The new owners can worry about it.”

  He nodded as he arranged his tools and equipment. “You call the sheriff to report this?”

  “Nope.”

  He left it there. There was no one in sight; only the four houses Angel could see from her vantage point. On the way back to the threshold, she realized how cut off from the outside world she really was.

  While Teddy worked, Angel rechecked the recorder box. Turned out, it was just unplugged. She slapped her forehead like an idiot. It only took a minute to bring it online. The monitor powered on and picked its screen resolution. The drive had no recorded files. Whether they were erased or deleted was for the tech team to determine.

  The outside cameras pointed at the door entrances while the inside camera captured only the foyer. The front yard wasn’t covered. A test proved it recorded just fine.

  By the time she finished an hour later, so had Teddy. He secured the inside door panel and tested the window with a nod. Angel gave him a hundred and fifty dollars, and he was on his way.

  “Sorry about that, Rock,” she whispered. Angel noticed Teddy had even vacuumed out the glass bits. With her cell phone in the cradle mounted on the dash, she began her journey to the church. Her shoulders burned and ached from moving piles of stuff around. Perhaps the truck was the only place she could relax.

  Cold Play accompanied her on the ride. Lemon Twig had four houses of worship in all, but this Protestant church had been the first and the largest. It mimicked the St. Louis Cathedral in New Orleans. No expense had been spared.

  Love Road had a no-exit sign. You traveled three blocks to the church, or you had to turn around. The first thing Angel saw when she drove up was the triple spires, with the large cross on top of the middle one, framed with the cloud-free sky as a backdrop.

  A giant sign on the lawn, much like a tombstone, advertised the weekly sermon. Angel remembered when kids would rearrange the letters to form curse words. No cars were in the asphalt lot, but the reverend used a two-car garage attached to the modest little house behind the church.

  She parked on a mix of grass and pebble near the rectory and knocked on the cute 1960s-style door with three vertical diamonds. After a few moments, Reverend Trevor answered, wearing a Saints shirt and shorts, holding a cup of coffee. His graying hair was slicked back, and his eyebrows almost covered his eyes.

  “Angel Blondo Blondeaux,” he said with folded arms. “The devil herself.”

  Chapter 23

  “I’m rarely called Blondo anymore,” Angel said to the reverend. “Or little devil, either.”

  “I remember how Lorna used to call you little devil. ‘What’s that little devil up to?’ she’d say. How are you, dear?” He leaned in to give her a peck on the cheek. “Fine as sunshine?”

  “I guess. How about yourself?”

  “Good. Everything is good.” His voice trailed. “We didn’t get a chance to talk at the memorial service. And then you didn’t stay for the boil.”

  “Yeah, they’d be throwing me in the boiling pot, you kidding? I’m sure you heard why I’m here.”

  “Small town,” he agreed.

  “Lucy May not around?”

  “Working. She’s over at Blondeaux Landscaping.”

  “Can’t avoid nepotism in this place. Well, I got some of my aunt’s stuff I want to donate.”

  “Okay. The donation bin is right over there.” He pointed over her shoulder at a container that resembled a dumpster. A huge childlike sign indicated donations.

  “Yeah, I saw it. Just wanted to say hi. Make the rounds to those who still talk to me, you know.”

  “Oh, where are my manners? Come in, please. Would you like some coffee?” He pointed at his cup.

  “Some coffee would be nice.”

  Angel walked into an empty square of a living room with a relatively tasteful Saints thro
w rug in front of the couch. The furniture seemed cheap, all straight lines and dull. A tall mirror leaned on one wall, and dignified portraits of unknown historical men and women hung on the opposite wall.

  “Cream and sugar?” He turned off the television as he crossed the living room.

  She trailed him a few feet to the kitchen. “Yes, please.”

  He presented a Saints mug with both hands, handle out. The kitchen had a small simple refrigerator, a dishwasher, and a microwave - all matching white. The counters were clear of any dirty dishes.

  “Never been here before. Very un-churchy. Very cozy.”

  “Yes, nothing churchy here.” He sighed, offering a path back to the living room. “The extravagance of the blessed God’s Light is meant to inspire. People need a show. I don’t believe God is in the details. God is in the wear and tear.”

  “Interesting.” She sat on the sofa.

  “The congregation is dedicated and proud to have the grandest church in these parts. Don’t get me wrong. God is very much within these walls, but without all the frills. I don’t need much.”

  Except for a megachurch. “Live like Jesus, right? Football fan?”

  “Gotta love the Saints… for more reasons than one.” He winked, easing into a recliner. “Lucy May told me about the reading.”

  “I’ll give the land back to her, eventually. I want to spend some time there and go through my Aunt Lorna’s things.”

  “Lucy May wasn’t prepared for this eventuality.”

  “I’ll bet.”

  “I think your mother and Lucy May had differences while under the same roof, to be polite, and she asked if she could move here. She’s doing well.”

  “Until the will happened.”

  He nodded. “This snub was a jolt to her system.”

  “Is it true that Lucy May is giving you some land to build your new church you announced at the memorial?”

  “Yes. A generous donation. Your grandmother is backing the project.” The reverend straightened a lamp just within reach, although it was fine the way it was.

  “The patronne hasn’t summoned me for a meeting yet.”

  A slight grin flashed. “Like you said, you’ll give the land to Lucy May, and things will be back on track.”

  “How much land does a megachurch take up? It’s like a stadium, right?”

  He held back a reaction. “Not much land, relative to what she’ll have to give. It’ll be a thirty thousand-seat facility in the spot where the prison is. Adequate parking. A picnic area. One day I’ll show you the plans.”

  “And my maw maw is funding this project? You can’t possibly have the capital.”

  “God works in mysterious ways.”

  “Ah, the catch-all phrase.” She patted a sofa pillow. “Do you get along with my Aunt Izzy?”

  “Usually. She isn’t too keen on Lucy May’s plans.” Annoyance carried in his tone. “Neither is Miss Mable, your mom. We’re a signature away from sending in demolition, and they’re nervous.”

  “Pardon me for saying, reverend, but Lucy May seems suggestible.”

  “That’s how people underestimate her.”

  Angel picked at a long brunette hair on the cushion, letting it drop to the carpet. “Besides Bobby, Lucy May, and Lorna, you were the last person to see Doug alive.”

  “Are you questioning me again?”

  “No. Any mention of Lucy May and my mind goes there.”

  “I’m not saying Doug’s family wasn’t troubled, but they were far beyond my counseling.” He made a quick sign of a cross. “I usually won’t speak ill of the dead, but you know what I mean.”

  “Right.”

  “Lucy May had no direction until Miss Mable took her in.”

  “Your taking her in could look scandalous.”

  “No one thinks that.” He sipped his coffee. “Miss Paulette offered to put her up in a furnished house, even to stay at the mansion, but Lucy May refused.” He put down the cup.

  “Why do you think?”

  “She was being smothered. I was there without judgment and only offered support.” He paused in thought. “Lorna was in no condition to make any calls that night from what I saw. She was quite distraught. I can’t imagine having your mother right there and not being able to turn to her.”

  “I’m sure. I’m uncomfortable in that house. Seems evil.”

  Reverend Trevor exerted effort to rise, pointing to her coffee. She waved her hand to decline. Still in view in the kitchen, he proceeded to pour himself more. “There’s been great debate on whether location, architecture, and structures in general can affect evil. After all, it’s only soil, wood, brick, and mortar. What power would they have to hold a soul earthbound? Never understood these horror movies and the motivation of the evil ghosts. Is it that important to terrorize young people when they have the option to do anything they want? What passes for entertainment…” He shook it off with an eye roll.

  “Horror movies are good for religion, I would think.”

  “Indeed.” His eyes settled on her.

  “Not to change the subject, but what do you know about Rainer Reisner? Ever hear of him?”

  He nodded. “Yes, German theologian. Don’t know much about him. You must have found Lorna’s book – about Paul if I remember right.”

  “I did. It was sticking out of her bookcase as if she’d just read it. Just curious why she’d have it.”

  “Lorna’s interests in religion were all over the place. I remember she bought that Paul book from a garage sale. Funny story, the man who sold it to her was named Peter. She was amused that she had to pay Peter to get Paul.”

  “Funny.”

  “She read everything she could on Jesus. Rainer was her latest interest.”

  “Well, I’m not one for religious debate.”

  “She was probably just searching for answers.” He waited for her to respond, but she stayed silent. “How’re your parents? How’s Rob and Mable? It’s been a while since you last saw them.”

  “Maybe I should be asking you that.” Angel stood, consuming the last bit of coffee.

  “I didn’t mean…”

  “No, they’re good. Nothing changes. Stop in the store sometime. My dad loves debating religion.”

  “I’m afraid your father debates just to get under my skin.”

  “Yeah, he’s like that.”

  He gave a final nod. “So, you want me to take all of Lorna’s belongings?”

  “Bless each truckload. Launder her items, so to speak.”

  “Nice analogy. Yes, of course. Whatever won’t fit in the container, just leave next to it. Volunteers will sort everything out. I’d help, but my back still locks up since…”

  “Right. Your back went out just after the murder. Had to see a specialist.”

  He appeared ashamed. “I’m not as strong as I’d like to be.”

  “There’s many different kinds of strength, Reverend.”

  “Amen to that.”

  She walked the cup to the counter, placing it next to the other dirty one with a touch of lipstick on it.

  Chapter 24

  Angel informed Agent Ruby about the early morning vandalism. She gave the IP address of the surveillance box, allowing her partner to make a secure connection. The problem would be forgetting Ruby was watching, and absently picking her nose while entering the house.

  With one truckload of Lorna’s horde-pile completed, she wasn’t any closer to knowing her aunt’s intentions. She had sorted through items like game boards, toys, a broken foot massager, and numerous birdhouses. Bobby had Autism and his mom seemed to have some form of OCD. Doubt about her sanity came to mind.

  She even read some of the highlighted passages from Reisner’s book about Paul, but they made no sense in regard to the family or the missing players.

  Each subsequent trip with Lorna’s collectibles would offer another chance to pester the reverend about the clan and anything he may have heard about the missing players. Getting him to tal
k about Doug’s murder was a good start.

  According to Trevor’s statement to Izzy on that fateful night, Lucy May had been standing just inside the doorway, staring at the carnage. Bobby was sitting in his father’s blood. Lorna was against the headboard of the bed, curled up with her face in her hands.

  Once Trevor moved past his shock, he pulled Lucy May from the room and walked her downstairs, where he slipped on the last step, and that’s where he claimed his back locked up.

  Reverend Trevor had changed since the murder, according to gossip from her parents and townsfolk. Before the crime, he was all about the glorious journey to Heaven. After the crime, he obsessively lectured about avoiding temptations and casting away evil. His sermons grew fiery, animated, and very popular. She imagined that birthed the idea of the megachurch.

  Angel planned to eat the rest of the red beans and rice for lunch. Her stomach groaned as she approached her cursed abode, energy waning, nearing empty just like her gas tank. No melted energy bars were left in the glove compartment to hold her over.

  On approach to the house, she noticed a sleek, shiny car parked under the magnolia tree. A man sitting on her front step came into view - a very familiar man. Mark Senn stood, then waved. He was wearing a white Polo and shorts, exposing decent legs. She stared curiously, knowing Mark was the kind of person to call first.

  His wavy hair took every direction, reminding her of the untamed 1970s styles. Sunglasses hid his eyes. He casually walked toward her, seeing he had shaved. His left arm almost had a complete sleeve of tattoos, not typical for a lawyer. “Good to see you.”

  “Am I late for our fourth date?” She shut the car door, glancing at the video camera. Agent Ruby probably knew he had been sitting there.

  He seemed embarrassed. “Yeah, I know I’m not supposed to initiate contact, but we need to talk.”

  Initiate contact? “Okay.”

  His head turned to the door. “What happened here?”

  “I’m not too popular. Let’s go inside.” She walked into the living room, and he followed. “You hungry?”