by Sable Hunter
“Sure, thanks, Saxon. For everything.”
When she was seated, he leaned in and kissed her gently. “Sleep well. I’ll dream about you tonight.”
“Goodnight.”
Alivia drove away, noticing he stood and watched her until she was out of sight.
* * *
“What’s wrong?” Saxon covered Alivia’s hand with hers. “Don’t you like to fly?”
“Not much.” She turned her hand palm up and threaded their fingers together. “I had a good time last night.”
“Me too. I found myself daydreaming about you this morning. I probably forgot half my stuff when I packed.” He stared at her pretty face. “I like your hair. I miss the blue streak, though.”
“Thanks, I curled it a little, to give it some bounce.” She cleared her throat, his attention making her a little nervous. “I gave blood for myself yesterday, thanks for reminding me.”
“Good, that makes me feel better.” He raised their hands high enough, so he could kiss hers. “I like knowing you’re safe.”
His obvious concern warmed her, but she also felt a bit panicky. Alivia loved their time together too, but she just couldn’t bring herself to trust her feelings. The mistakes she’d made with Clark were still too fresh, and the memory of how abusive Bruce had been to both her and her mother was never far from Alivia’s mind. She liked Saxon more than anyone, ever. But for now, she needed to keep things casual. “I can take care of myself, Saxon. I’m a big girl.” She pulled her hand from his, and he let her, the smile fading on his face.
Once the plane landed in the piney woods of East Texas, they were met by a local Miss Texas representative who welcomed Alivia and drove them to the event at the Lufkin Convention Center. After being introduced to the people behind the local pageant, Alivia gave her condolences to the group for the loss of their friend. This was Alivia’s first time playing a role she hadn’t asked for, but Saxon needn’t have worried, she charmed them all. He wondered what it would feel like if she ever turned all that charm on him.
They mixed and mingled until the program began, then Alivia moved to the stage. Saxon found himself seated on the front row between a deaf, elderly man who kept asking him for the time and a little kid who was incessantly blowing bubbles with his gum. After listening to a boring speech by the mayor, and dozing off during a video presentation featuring the biggest local employer, he found himself wanting to mimic his young seating companion by putting his fingers in his ears, especially during a performance by the local high school band. The last and best thing on the program was a word from their Miss Texas contestant. Alivia gave a heartfelt speech, thanking everyone for the privilege of representing a part of the world where neighbors were friends, and the beauty of the land was a reflection of the spirit of the folks who lived there.
Her short speech was met by a round of applause, and as soon as the benediction was offered, Alivia was inundated by admirers and well-wishers. He hung back, giving her space, biding his time, and checking his watch. He knew there were a few more stops on her tour before they could leave Lufkin. Once they finished in town, he’d already made arrangements for a rental car they would use to drive to Port Arthur. Saxon hoped to get on the road before four. The detective who’d worked Delores Fisher’s case had agreed to meet them for a drink at six.
“Uh, excuse me, are you Mr. Abbott?” Saxon turned to find a man in a policeman’s uniform.
“Yes, I am.”
“Hello.” He shook Saxon’s hand. “I’m Miguel Sanchez, Lufkin’s police chief. I’d love to speak to you for a moment if I may.” The chief lowered his voice. “I’m aware of who you are.”
“Of course.” Keeping an eye on Alivia, he followed the chief into a quiet corner.
“I just wanted to let you know that we’re no closer to identifying the killer than we were the first day. There were no fingerprints, no eyewitnesses, and after speaking to everyone in the complex where she lived, the only person they can agree on seeing was some young, bearded priest in a clerical collar.” The policeman laughed. “He certainly wasn’t our killer.”
“No, I wouldn’t think so.” Saxon brought out his card. “Here’s my direct line. If you need anything or find a lead, please call me.”
“Will do, Mr. Abbott.”
Saxon didn’t have to wait too much longer until Alivia joined him. “Who were you talking to?”
“The police chief, he offered his help, but he didn’t have anything new to offer.” Placing a protective hand on the small of her back, he gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Are you ready to commence our journey, Miss Lufkin?”
“Oh, yes, please.” She laughed as they followed her guides out of the convention center and into a waiting SUV. A pageant representative, Kay Turner, and a local journalist, Roy Fleur, were anxious to show her the sights and record some photo ops for future promotions. Saxon held her hand as they traveled to a museum dedicated to the Columbia Shuttle Disaster.
Once they were inside the building, Alivia posed for some pictures with the museum curator and Ms. Turner. After taking the requisite number of photos, their escorts excused themselves to fetch a cup of coffee from the museum kitchen. Saxon and Alivia were left alone to explore on their own for a few minutes.
“February 1, 2003,” Saxon mused as they studied a display depicting the sad crash of the space shuttle over deep East Texas and Louisiana, “I was sixteen years old.”
Alivia clutched his hand. “So sad, I remember being glued to the television, and thinking how brave those astronauts were.” She closed her eyes tightly, trying to shut out the memories of another tragedy, one that happened at the same time and much closer to home.
Saxon rubbed her back. “What are you thinking about? You’re chilled and trembling?”
“My mother died the next day, February 2, 2003.”
“God, baby, I’m so sorry.” He drew her close.
She buried her face in the curve of his shoulder. “I’m all right. It was a long time ago.”
Saxon kissed her neck. “Tell me what happened.”
Alivia shook her head as if to dispel the thought. “She’d gone out with this man she’d been dating. They’d been to a club. They had a fight.” Her words were short and clipped. “She demanded they leave because he was flirting with another woman. On the ride home, he put her out of the car.”
“What? Why would he do that?”
“I don’t know,” she stifled a sob. “I never got to ask her. She was killed by a hit and run driver as she walked down the side of the road.”
“God, Alivia, sugar, I’m so sorry.” Saxon held her close, wishing he could help.
“She trusted him, and he left her!” Alivia’s whisper was filled with anguish. “I trusted him, and he betrayed me.”
“What? Who? The same guy?” Saxon stroked her hair, pulling her to the side and away from the prying eyes of the people who’d brought them here.
“No, not the same guy.” Alivia pulled away from his arms, embarrassed. She wiped her eyes and laughed sadly. “Like my mother, I’m capable of making my own mistakes.”
“Just tell me who he was, and I’ll see to it that he never hurts you or anyone else again,” Saxon growled.
“No, it was all my fault,” she protested, not wanting to remember how she was betrayed by someone she thought she could trust. “I never should’ve let myself be vulnerable.” She backed up from Saxon and put a smile on her face as the others joined them.
Saxon didn’t get a chance to ask any more questions as they were herded back to the SUV and driven to a local sawmill for another photo op in front of a huge piece of equipment that was spitting out sawdust so heavily they were required to wear a breathing apparatus. After touring the mill, they stopped in at another museum dedicated to the forestry industry, the lifeblood of the region.
“Here is a photo of one of the largest trees ever harvested in the area,” Ms. Turner announced, pointing at a photo of three grizzled men with long beards seat
ed near the trunk of a huge pine tree.
“How big was it?” Saxon asked, turning his head to cough in his hand. He’d breathed a little too much sawdust into his lungs.
“Thirty-three feet in diameter,” Ms. Turner said proudly.
“Are there any trees like that left?” Alivia’s question seemed to strike a wrong cord.
The three local residents glanced at one another, and the museum director gave her a brief answer. “No, our forests are strictly maintained to grow the maximum amount of lumber needed to secure a profitable harvest in a timely manner.”
Saxon didn’t say anything, but he realized the explanation was a sad one. Nothing remained of the original forests of the region. The once vast virgin forests of East Texas were scalped, and nothing was left unless it was planted like a crop of corn for harvest.
Soon after that, Alivia said her goodbyes and they were deposited back at the convention center near their rental car. “Well, I’m glad that’s over with. I’m ready to get out of here, how about you?” she asked, climbing into the driver’s seat. “I’ll take first turn behind the wheel. You don’t look like you feel well.”
Saxon nodded, coughing again. The pine pollen from the mill had hit Saxon like a ton of bricks. “I’ll be fine, I just need a little air.” He rolled down the window a few inches, and laid his head against the back of the seat.
Alivia took the road south, leaving the town of Lufkin behind, finding even smaller villages and communities along the way. “This area is pretty rural, isn’t it?”
“Yea, it is. I don’t think there’s a Walmart within fifty miles.” He coughed again, his breathing becoming labored. Saxon tried to ignore it, but every second, every mile that passed, things became worse. “I gotta stop,” he panted.
“What’s wrong?” Alivia asked with concern as she hit the brakes, and pulled over to the side.
“I need some medicine.” He got out, and Alivia opened the trunk. Saxon dug in his duffle, realizing to his dismay that he didn’t have any with him. He’d been in too big of a rush to make sure he brought an EpiPen. “Fuck me,” he gasped.
“Saxon, you’re scaring me.” Alivia came around to where he was standing.
“Just allergies.”
Allergies. The word sounded simple enough, but the look on his face and the desperate sound as he gasped for air told Alivia the seriousness of the situation. “Get back in, I’ll find help. What do you need?”
“Epinephrine, but I’m not sure which way to tell you to go,” he managed to say as he settled in the front seat and tried to focus on his breathing.
“I’ll call 9-1-1.” Alivia got on her phone, telling a dispatcher the problem and their location. “We’re at mile marker 72 on Highway 69, headed south.” She paused, listening. “All right, I’ll watch for you, meet us on the road. This is a dire emergency,” she reiterated glancing at Saxon who was leaning on the opposite window. “He’s having problems breathing, and we don’t have time to get to a hospital, even by ambulance.”
Saxon closed his eyes as Alivia gunned the sedan. Within minutes, an EMT unit met them at an intersection with the medicine he needed. As a tech administered an injection, she took his wallet and used his insurance card to fill out the necessary forms. Saxon sat on the bumper of the ambulance and watched her deftly manage the situation, making sure they were able to take additional medication with them. Once he could breathe, their angels of mercy left, and Alivia helped him to the car. “Feeling better?”
“Yea, thanks.” He was a tad embarrassed for her to see him vulnerable. “It was my fault; I should have had the medicine with me. I got in too big of a hurry this morning.”
“You scared me.” She wrapped an arm around his neck and kissed him until he was oxygen deprived for a whole different reason.
“I wasn’t scared,” Saxon admitted, surprised at his own thought.
“Why?” Alivia knew people died from such attacks, especially when they were in the middle of nowhere.
“I trust you,” he said quietly, speaking a simple truth.
The weight of his admission settled around Alivia’s heart like a warm blanket. “Well, don’t do it again.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Saxon dozed as Alivia drove with one eye on him and one eye on the road. Seeing him struggle to breathe had shifted something in Alivia’s mental make-up. Knowing his airway was closing, and there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it had been scary as hell. She held her hand out and verified the fact that she was still shaking. Not since her mother was alive had she felt protective of another person. What did this mean? She didn’t have a clue. All she knew was that she’d be damn well carrying an EpiPen or two in her purse from now on.
The next time he opened his eyes they were in Port Arthur, pulling up to a dilapidated beer joint called The Blue Fly. The small one-story building with the wire front screen door was painted an appropriate gray-blue, and there were, indeed, dead flies caught in the webbing of the screen. “Wow, this place is a dive.”
Rubbing his face, Saxon blinked, trying to get his bearings. “Looks appropriate to me, a fine place to discuss a murder.” Patsy Cline’s Crazy was playing on an old-fashioned jukebox, and a warped ceiling fan turned lazily overhead.
“I feel like I’ve stepped back in time,” she muttered, glancing around to see if she could identify Detective Arceneaux from among the bleary-eyed patrons.
“Over there.” Saxon nudged her toward a middle-aged man who was waving his straw hat in the air.
By the time they moved across the sparsely occupied barroom, the detective was on his feet and pulling a chair out for Alivia. “Miss Hart, Mr. Abbott, how was your drive?”
“Just fine,” Saxon muttered, even as he was thinking his answer should be ‘could’ve been better’, considering his asthma attack.
“Thanks for meeting us. I appreciate it,” Alivia said graciously, placing her purse down on the vacant wooden chair next to Saxon.
“You’re very welcome.” He held up his hand to summon the waitress. “So, you’re here to talk about Delores Fisher? That case is ancient history.”
Saxon pulled his chair closer to the table. “Hope you don’t mind taking a trip down memory lane.”
“Not at all. Delores’s death is one that’s haunted me over the years.” When the waitress arrived at the table, he slapped the scarred surface with the palm of his hand. “I’m buying. What would you two like to drink?”
“I’ll have a cup of coffee,” Saxon muttered, fully aware he needed one to stay awake.
“Diet Coke,” Alivia requested, earning herself a questioning look from Saxon.
“You don’t need to diet.”
She gave him a wink. “I’m a beauty queen. I have to watch my figure.”
“Leave that to me. I’ll watch it for you,” Saxon told her as she blushed, cutting her eyes toward the detective.
Arceneaux chuckled, giving the young woman with braces a wink, and his order for a double Scotch. When she walked away, he paused a good thirty seconds to watch her leave before turning his attention to Alivia. “A beauty queen, huh? Don’t tell me; you’re going undercover to catch this killer I’ve been hearing about.”
“Yes, I’m going to stick out like a sore thumb, I’m afraid,” Alivia told him. “I’ve spent my life trying to join the boy’s club, not parade in front of them.”
“You’ll do great.” The old detective gave her an appreciative once-over. “So, you think my cold case might be connected to these current murders?”
“We’re not sure.” Alivia was honest. “We’re hoping you can give us more information than we can find in the databases.”
“Sure. I’ll be glad to get it off my chest, to tell you the truth.”
They sat back silently, just waiting for him to speak. When he began, Alivia realized how much pain this case brought him, even after all these years.
“She was beautiful. Twenty years old. Miss Southeast Texas.” He paused, leaning back to
make room for the waitress to set their drinks down. This time, he ignored the young girl when she left. “We found Delores lifeless, face down in a rice canal. She’d disappeared the day before Mother’s Day.” Arceneaux stopped to take a sip of Scotch, then licked his lips before speaking. “An autopsy determined that she’d been raped while unconscious and then died from suffocation. Near the body, investigators found items belonging to the local church, namely a statue of St. Nicholas.”
“Santa Claus?” Saxon asked, confused with the imagery.
“The piece might’ve had some significance to the killer, but I never understood it. Some think she stole the statue since she’d been to confession a couple of times in the days leading up to her death.”
Alivia was making notes. “Where did she go to church, for confession?”
“Sacred Sisters Catholic Church.”
“Who were the suspects?” Saxon asked, signaling for the waitress to bring Alivia a refill.
The old detective loosened his tie. “Well, they questioned everyone – neighbors, ex-boyfriends, her stepfather. Personally, I was always suspicious of a visiting parish priest, a young one, but his alibi checked out. A senior priest of the church verified the younger guy was busy with him at the time of the murder.” Arceneaux rubbed his chin. “Funny thing though, the young priest had been under suspicion of assaulting another woman in a town about twenty miles north. The church paid the fine to make that story go away.”
“That does sound suspicious,” Alivia agreed. “What did the priest say when you questioned him?”
Pondering a moment, Arceneaux answered carefully, “He did admit to hearing her confession, but swore the last time he saw her, she was leaving the church. What made it worse for me, was the inability of any of my cohorts or superiors even to suspect the young Father. Even though the murder rocked our small town, most of the people are devout Catholics and couldn’t conceive the priest committed the crime. Of course, this was before all the sex scandals broke out, and people realized that some of the priests were just imperfect men.”
