Blood Parish Page 9

  “I am actually. But we should talk first.” They faced each other in the center of the kitchen.

  “You want to tell me more about the girl you stalked in high school?”

  He didn’t want to smile, but a tiny one appeared. “No.”

  “Why do you need to initiate contact?” She opened the refrigerator, pulling out a container of food.

  He eased to her side. “I’m afraid it’s a long story.”

  “Oh?” She was very interested but didn’t want to appear so. She opened the lid. “You know, I can’t eat this again.”

  He took a look. “We can go somewhere.”

  “Are you in trouble?”

  He paced a moment before facing her. “Not in trouble, per se, just conflicted.”

  She was losing him. “You up for a cheeseburger? Give your stomach time to settle as you work through this long story?”

  “Sounds perfect.” He led the way outside.

  “Drive your Beamer round back to the garage so no one will mess with it. We’ll get it out of sight.” She headed to her truck feeling that Mr. Senn was about to advance her investigation or propose marriage.

  Chapter 25

  They occupied the farthest booth from the door in The Southern Diner. The humble establishment had a soda-jerk feel, with eight chrome-trimmed tables and several red vinyl booths, complete with a working jukebox. Framed posters of old movies like Rebel Without A Cause and King Kong hung on the walls.

  The two servers huddled near the counter, throwing second looks at them, but not with malice… not yet. A distinctly pale young redhead took their order but kept a curious eye on the pair.

  Angel allowed Mark the space to work on his courage. There was small talk and opinions about Lemon Twig and Brockton. It was more of a way to gauge each other and to get more comfortable. She had three quick bites of her cheeseburger to satisfy her hunger. A pink mixture of mayo and ketchup clung to her fingers.

  The diner was half-full, mostly with residents who worked nearby. Mark waited for her to swallow. “Are the locals okay with Bobby embalming? I didn’t think anyone would want him near their departed loved ones.”

  “My Aunt Lorna told me he’s a draw. Locals see him as a victim, a hero even. He’s climbed out of the shit he grew up in. Good for him, you know?”

  “No, that’s great. He’s alone with dead bodies all day. I’m sure he’s well-adjusted.”

  “You’ve deemed him maladjusted without meeting him?”

  He looked at his food. “I’ve been briefed.”

  Briefed? Angel paused. “Okay. Why don’t we air it out? What’s going on?”

  He looked around, then leaned in with a small voice. “I like you, Angel. And I assume you like me.” He waited for a response, but she stayed silent. “I guess that’s not a denial. Before we go any further, I need to tell you something.”

  “Okay.”

  “I’m working with… the FBI.” His eyes scanned the place again. “I’m like an asset.”

  “You’re what?” Angel remained calm. “Start from the beginning.”

  He fell back in the booth. A worried expression crossed his face. “I’m not supposed to tell you because of your suspension and all. When Miss Lorna first came to me with the will, everything was fine until she actually died.”

  “Did the FBI contact you?”

  “Not exactly.” He lowered his voice to almost nothing. “Sheriff Blondeaux came to my office. She knew about the will and wanted to know what changed with the will.”

  “You told her?”

  “Angel… she put her gun to my head. I told her about the secret envelope, and she made me open it. I sealed it in a new envelope when she left. I thought she’d kill me.”

  “Did she take anything from the envelope?”

  “No. Nothing. It was just the numbers.”

  “You did the right thing.”

  “Anyway, she said she’d be around as if I worked for her. I called the FBI. John Belcher got in touch with me mighty quick.”

  “So, you told him about the will and the numbers.”

  “I did. Once a will goes through probate, anyone can see who the beneficiaries are if they just show up at the courthouse and request it. He told me you were coming and to make friends with you.”

  “Is that what this is?”

  He fell forward again. “No. I like you—a lot. I’m not going to spy on you. Actually, I’ll tell him whatever you want me to. You need to know the truth about my intentions.”

  “I appreciate it,” Angel admitted, having nothing else to say.

  “Your boss also wants me to report back when I speak to any of the Blondeauxs. Izzy already cornered me the day I was driving out of town after checking out the house.”

  “You have no idea what she’s capable of. She’s dangerous.”

  He closed his eyes. “Mr. Belcher was very convincing. He told me any information I gave would save lives.”

  “Have you spoken to a Donald Lester?”

  He shook his head. “Just Agent Belcher. Honestly, I’m not a fan of the Blondeauxs. I despise what they do.” His courage returned. “I’m no hero, but I’d like nothing more than to help take them down. When I told you before that I wanted to be an agent, that wasn’t a lie.”

  “I’m not here to take them down, Mark. I’m suspended. Your involvement ends right here. I can’t have you out there risking your life and honestly, it’s pretty irresponsible of Belcher to enlist you in this.”

  “I know the risks, and I want to see you while you’re here. My only concern is what this means for us?”

  “All you have to tell him is that no one is talking to me, and I’m keeping you at an arm’s distance. I don’t have my FBI powers, and I don’t know if I can protect you.” Angel hated lying, but the deception had to be solid.

  “I’m not asking for protection.”

  “I know you mean that.” She drank some Coke, never letting her eyes leave his. Mark couldn’t be left to his own devices at this point. To ease his mind, she reached out, running her fingers across his arm. “If I catch you in a lie, we’re done.”

  “I won’t lie to you.”

  They sat in silence for a long moment. “This tat-sleeve is interesting. Is that a page from a novel next to those bull horns?”

  He was caught off guard. “Yeah, it’s from Hemingway’s The Sun Also Rises. The artist did an excellent job on the text.” Something behind her caught his attention. “Oh, shit.”

  Without turning to see, she felt dark energy fill the diner like a damp fog.

  “Angel, funny seeing you here.” A well-known voice said.

  She twisted to face him. “Joe-Joe, hey.”

  He wore shorts and a light hoodie. His lip had a small butterfly bandage on it. “I stopped by your new house to apologize for the other night, but you weren’t there. I saw the Rock parked here on my way home.”

  “Yeah, that was a nice scene you caused.”

  “Too much to drink.” He fixed on Mark. “We didn’t get a chance to meet the other night. Why don’t you introduce me to your friend?”

  She presented her companion. “This is Mark Senn. He was my aunt’s lawyer.”

  “Good to meet you, Joe-Joe.” Mark stood and offered his hand.

  Joe-Joe took it, like a gladiator ready to battle. “You don’t look like no lawyer.”

  Angel waved at the door. “You apologized, so if you’re going to be an asshole, you can leave.”

  He sneered. “Are you fucking?”

  “Damn it.” Angel closed her eyes with patience. “Time for you to go.”

  Joe-Joe ran the back of his hand across his mouth. “Lawyers are scum.”

  “My mom’s a lawyer.”

  “Man-lawyers are scum.”

  Angel finally stood. “Joe-Joe… please. Go home. We’ll talk later.”

  He took her in with a grin. “See you around, lawyer.” He strolled from the diner with attitude.

  Angel scanned the establis
hment before settling on Mark. She took a drink of water to cool her face. “He’s changed so much.”

  “I see. He’s got it bad.”

  She shoved the last bite of cold hamburger in her mouth, chewed a few times and spoke again. “We played doctor when we were ten. My biggest mistake was kissing him one night when we were sixteen. I was drunk. I gave him a handy.”

  “Wow. That’s… a lot of personal information.”

  “It’s life, right? I’m not embarrassed. He became relentless after that, but always under my feet. Harmless.” She let her words settle.

  “You keep describing him as harmless. Convincing yourself?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Crushes are normal, but that doesn’t seem healthy. I’ll bet he relives those moments over and over.”

  “He still lives next-door. His parents moved out of state almost a decade ago, leaving him there. My parents treat him like a son.”

  “Why’d he stay? For you?”

  “Well. He’s a Blondeaux. It’s so hard being tied to the land for generations.” She pushed her trash off to the side.

  “I have a theory on that bus.” His body hunched a little, turning serious.

  “Wow, going way back into a cold case. You really did want to be FBI.”

  “Just thought I’d pick your brain while you’re here. So, the Wilkens Funeral Home…”

  “They checked,” she cut him off. “There was no evidence they were cremated. I even went over the police files during the Doug investigation. A forensics team sifted through their refrigerated storage and chemical disposal containers.”

  “There wouldn’t be records. Your family mastered hiding and concealing.” He sat silent for a moment.

  “John Belcher’s words or yours?”

  “We share the same opinion. They knew to search the prison first and eliminate it before actually bringing the boys there.”

  “Anything’s possible. Nothing’s there, now.”

  “Curious about it?” He smiled.

  “You want to go see it.”

  “Not because of Belcher, okay. I really do want to see it. And what a great place for the sixth date.” He put his hand on hers.

  Angel slapped his fingers. “Talking to Belcher set you back two dates.”

  “I’ll make it up to you. I thought maybe we’d take a gander.”

  “A gander?”

  “Don’t us backwoods folk say that?” He fought back a grin.

  “I reckon,” she drawled. “Thanks for being honest about Belcher. I do appreciate it. And I realize your bus question is more less coming from him than you.”

  Angel let their fingers entwine. He had come clean, whereas she was still lying. On top of all his good qualities, she liked his decency most of all. She had given in to her attraction to Mark at the funeral when she knew it would be a one-off. Now, things were getting a little more complicated.

  Chapter 26

  Mark bounced along in the passenger seat as Angel drove to the prison, which was just over half a mile from the house. Angel used the crumbling asphalt access road into the forest of pines. The branches smacked her Ford while its tires flattened weeds and tiny budding trees that sprouted through the crevices.

  They came upon the clearing that would become a megachurch, albeit overgrown and unkempt. A tall rusty chain-link fence topped with barbed wire surrounded the compound. Weeds intertwined at the base. Set in the center of the ten-acre field was the idle prison.

  Angel pulled to the gate, looking around for random adventure seekers. She dropped from the driver’s side of the truck.

  Mark asked, “You ever wonder how rich your family really is?”

  “I imagine they’re mob rich. They have it but don’t show it, and no one can find it.” They walked toward the gate. “I think each family boss has access to an unimaginable fund.”

  He asked, “Why amass it, then? What would that money be used for? Succession?”

  “Don’t joke. The parish is their own private country. A lot of politicians are in their pockets. The clan is all about the parish. They don’t venture outside of it.”

  “Ironic that your family builds a prison.”

  “What would be better than controlling prisoners that could be recruited once released?”

  He pointed. “Someone’s been here.”

  “The land was surveyed recently.”

  They stood in front of the chained gate with a giant padlock that had been cut. Pushing on one side of the warped gate while pulling on the other allowed enough room to squeeze through easily.

  “Ladies first,” Mark offered.

  Angel was going first anyway. She eased between the gap, taking care of getting through without scraping herself. Mark followed with a bit more aggression. They kicked through the brush on the way to the guardhouse that led through another rusting fence to the inner perimeter.

  Up close, the fading brick held no charm, looking as if it belonged in another era. Two chimney stacks rose on each side of the three-story structure. In the distance, a watchtower jetted into the sky. It could house two thousand prisoners.

  They entered with ease as the main entrance wasn’t locked. The damp lobby echoed without furnishings that would typically break up sound waves. Gray paint had flaked off the top of the concrete walls, while mold grew in the low corners. The sun filtered through the broken skylight. No one was there to give them a lanyard.

  “You smell that?” Angel’s nose crinkled.

  “Probably a dead animal.”

  “Yeah. If this place has been abandoned for decades, it would be more…” Angel looked up at the ceiling tiles.

  “Old, dusty, and cobwebby,” Mark finished.

  “Right. There’s no debris. The floor isn’t very dirty.”

  Mark agreed. “Did the survey team clean up? Could just be kids and explorers going through the place. Look at the litter - Coke cans. Kids probably come in here to do drugs.”

  “Maybe.”

  They activated the flashlight app on their cells and walked through the hallway leading to a visitor’s room. Three rats scurried into hiding. The tables were still bolted down, but there were no vending machines.

  As they continued farther into the bowels of the prison, Angel observed that all the doors had been removed to prevent anyone from accidentally getting trapped.

  The rotten smell grew exponentially. An immense threshold opened to a long hallway of prisoners’ cells; only one still had iron bars. At least six birds scattered toward the high ceiling, veering off to the barred window where they vanished.

  “Izzy told me they sold all the iron for recycling. Don’t know if I believe her. Why leave the one cell with bars?”

  “Wouldn’t there be a large invoice?”

  Angel peeked in the cell, only seeing a sawed-off pipe where a toilet had been. “Who would still have that paperwork?”

  “Maybe they installed them, and then someone came in and stole them for the metal. It would make sense they put up the fence after that, or maybe that’s why the lock’s been cut.”

  “They’d need equipment to move them. You realize how heavy these prison bars are?” Angel faced Mark. They didn’t need the flashlight app as ceiling-high windows allowed ample illumination. She gazed at his face, taking in his blue eyes and the curve of his lips. Before committing to their first kiss, she leaned back. “I can’t. Not with that smell.”

  He pinched his nostrils. “Me, neither.”

  “Wait.” She leaned forward onto the balls of her feet. “I think that’s a body.”

  Mark turned to see where she was looking. A lump came into view. They each tentatively made their way closer. He said, “Can’t be a body. It’s a deer.”

  “Don’t go any closer. It’s a body. You need to stay right here.”

  “Oh, God.”

  “This is a crime scene.” Angel kneeled over the black male who had at least three bullet holes in his chest. Insects surrounded his body. The birds and rats had ni
bbled on him. The man’s watch and wedding ring were still present. Also, a quick pat of his pants revealed his wallet.

  Angel pulled latex gloves from her left pocket, where she always kept a pair. His identification read Clint Johnson. He had to be Lucy May and Bobby’s therapist. How many black men named Clint were there in Moreau Parish?

  “We should call your Aunt Izzy,” he said.

  “Go outside and do that. I want to assess the scene.” She stared at him until he finally left.

  Chapter 27

  Sheriff Izzy looked around the prison as if she’d never been. Angel figured her aunt knew the place inside and out. One of the deputies stood by the front entrance making a call to their forensics team while the other deputy kept Mark company in the visitor lounge.

  Izzy said, “I’m surprised you called me and not your team of G-men.”

  Angel stood just feet away from Clint Johnson’s body. “Why wouldn’t I call you? It’s not a federal crime scene. I have no jurisdiction.” She finished by mumbling, “Not that they’d listen to me anyway.”

  “Why wouldn’t they listen to you?” Izzy repeated.

  “Nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

  Izzy gave Angel a sideways glance. “For shits and grins, what are you thinking here?”

  “Asking my advice? I’m honored.”

  “We’re just talking.” She frowned, cracking each knuckle one at a time.

  Angel needlessly inspected the scene again. “Given the amount of blood, he was shot here. Was he lured? I don’t know. Defensive wounds might tell you. You need to start looking for motive. I would assume he knew a lot of secrets about our family.”

  Izzy kept a safe distance, careful not to add to the footprints. “You go straight to the Blondeauxs, right?”

  “Go to his office. I’ll bet it’s trashed. But you might already know that, right? Having broken in already.”

  “It’s the first place I’ll go after this. Track his GPS.”

  “If Lucy May or Bobby confessed any crimes, he’d be obligated to report it. If this was by order of the patronne, then he was killed for nothing. On the other hand, leaving a random corpse on the property is just enough of a warning to motivate me.”