Death by the River (A St. Benedict Novel Book 1)

by Alexandrea Weis

  Dawn peered ahead to her waiting squad. The girls were standing around, talking. Not a good sign. She needed to get them to work.

  “Zoe, is there a point to this? Because, if you haven’t noticed, Beau isn’t my problem anymore.” She made a move to go to the field. “We gotta get to practice.”

  Zoe rushed in front of her, her brow etched with concern. “Today I caught Beau staring at your sister from behind some lockers. Leslie was telling me about her weekend at the river with Derek. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear he was listening in.”

  The chill in the air closed in around Dawn. Dread gripped her throat, tightening her airway, and making it hard to breathe.

  “What did he hear, Zoe? I need you to remember everything you two talked about.”

  Zoe’s brow furrowed. “What’s going on, Dawn?”

  Dawn dropped her pompoms and held her friend’s arm. “What did Leslie say?”

  Zoe shook her head, the maddening apprehension in her eyes persisting. “I don’t know. We talked about her sleeping with Derek. How she planned to make Saturday night special. You two going together early so she could go to the cells and how you weren’t happy—”

  “He heard that. The part about the cells?”

  “Yeah, I guess.” Zoe pried her fingers off her arm. “The way he was standing there was just plain freaky. He had this look in his eyes …”

  Dawn stepped back, her mind a blur. If he knew about Leslie’s plans, he might try and interfere, fight with Derek, or even Leslie. She had to find a way to stop anyone from getting hurt.

  “Is everything okay?”

  Zoe’s question brought her back. “Yeah. It’s fine.” Dawn took in the open field next to the gym where the football team was warming up. “Do me a favor, don’t mention this to Leslie. I don’t want her upset or ruin her night with Derek at the river. I hear you on Beau. He has been strange lately.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  Dawn bit her lower lip. “I’m going to find out what he’s up to.”

  “Be careful with that boy.” Zoe picked up Dawn’s pompoms and handed them to her. “Something’s not right about him.”

  Dawn gave her friend a reassuring smile. “Not to worry. Beau would never dare lay a finger on me.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  The glow from the security lights on the first floor of the plantation home filtered into Beau’s bedroom window. He admired the blank expression on his new Michael Myers mask and tossed it on top of the contents in the black duffel bag on his bed. All the goodies he planned to use on Leslie were ready. Beneath the mask, Andrea’s red scarf caught his eye. He touched the fabric, picturing it around Leslie’s long neck.

  A knock on his door startled him. Beau hurriedly zipped up the bag and shoved it under his bed.

  He wiped a bead of sweat from his upper lip and then said, “Come in.”

  Gage pushed the door open and boldly stepped into his room.

  He got a whiff of his father’s expensive cologne. “You going out?”

  “Business meeting in New Orleans.” His father tossed something at him.

  Beau caught the object in mid-air. He opened his hand. It was the keys to his car.

  “I need you to go to the brewery tonight and get out the Halloween decorations for the employee party this Saturday. They’re in the storage building. Have the security guard on duty help you load it into one of the brewery trucks and take them to the meeting room in the administration building.”

  He stared at his father, confused. “Why tonight?”

  Gage fiddled with the gold Rolex on his wrist. “Because tomorrow after school you will be decorating the meeting room.”

  Beau frowned. Decorating was a girl thing.

  “Anything else?”

  He didn’t bother to keep the cockiness from his voice, even though he knew it would anger his father.

  Gage eased closer, his mouth pinched shut as if holding back his irritation. “I know you haven’t been happy since being put on probation, but it’s not forever. When you’ve served your time, you can go back to hanging out with your friends.”

  “Served my time?” His hands closed around the keys, squeezing the metal into his flesh. “Prisoners get time off for good behavior.”

  His father’s sigh hung in the air. “What do you want?”

  Beau perked up, hungry to win back some of his freedom. “The Halloween party at the river Saturday night. I want to go.”

  “No. You’re going to the brewery party Saturday night with your mother. We’re going to put on a good show for the staff.”

  He clenched the keys harder, the pain giving his anger wings. “I won’t go for long. Just enough to be seen, say hello to the guys, and then I’ll head to the brewery. If I’m one minute longer, you can call the cops on me.”

  His father’s eyes crinkled at the corners. Something he did when considering a proposal.

  “Since the police will already be patrolling the river, there will be no need. Kent Davis is sending a man to the beach Saturday night to assure parents their kids will be safe, and no drinking will be taking place.”

  That will kill the party. Good thing I have other plans.

  “Then you have nothing to worry about. You can call Sheriff Davis and have his man arrest me if I’m not on my way to the brewery.”

  The cold indifference emanating from his father didn’t surprise Beau. It had been there all his life.

  “Okay. The party at the brewery starts at seven. By eight, your ass better be there or I will add another month to your punishment.”

  Beau’s enthusiasm returned. He would have all the time he needed with his girl.

  His grip eased up on the keys. “Yes, sir.”

  Gage looked him over. “Leah left roast for dinner. Make sure you eat it. You’re getting skinny.”

  He glanced down at his flat stomach and baggy pants. He hadn’t noticed the weight loss until then. His preoccupation with Leslie had kept him so busy, he’d forgotten about everything else. But who needed food? He would soon have her.

  “I guess not working out with the team, I lost my appetite.”

  Gage nodded at him. “You’ll start hitting the gym with me. You need to stay in shape. Otherwise, people will think you’re sick and ask questions.”

  Beau grinned. “And we can’t have that, can we?”

  His father’s cheeks reddened, and he arched menacingly over him. Gage had a good twenty pounds and two inches on Beau.

  “Let’s cut the crap, shall we?” His father’s voice took on the low growl of a dog ready to strike. “You’re my son and heir, which doesn’t mean a whole hell of a lot to you, but it does to me. I have stood by you, put up with your crap, and kept my mouth shut when your behavior has embarrassed me and this family. I sometimes wonder if you have a shred of responsibility in you, or if you plan on spending your entire life with your head up your ass. I’ve done everything I can to keep you under control, but I’m not sure it’s enough. I hope you prove me wrong and become a man people can rely on, but I have a feeling you may end up being their worst nightmare. If that day ever comes, I will cut all ties with you. You will be dead to me.”

  The admission wasn’t a shock, but a relief. Beau had been well aware of his father’s distaste for him ever since he was a kid, but after the incident, things had been rocky between them. Beau felt as if the last tether keeping him grounded to his life as Gage Devereaux’s son had finally snapped. He was free to be who he wanted, do what he wanted, his family name be damned.

  “I’m glad we cleared that up.” He unfurled his hand from around the keys.

  His palm was wet and stung like mad.

  “Your mother will be waiting up until you get home from the brewery. She’s going to call me as soon as you get in, so don’t think you can go out and fool around with your friends.”

  Beau shook his head at his father’s stupidity. “It’s Thursday. Nobody goes out on a school night.”

&n
bsp; “Yes, I know.” He turned for the door and strutted out of the room.

  He should have been livid, but a strange calm cruised through him. Fate was on his side, giving him the chance to be with Leslie. It was the only way to explain how everything seemed to be falling into place.

  The throaty roar of an engine called him to his bedroom window. Outside, he spotted the red McLaren leaving the garage.

  “Business meeting, my ass.”

  The car, the clothes, the cologne—he had a date. Probably a new woman. He always dressed up for the first few dates. Then, when he got bored, he went back to his casual attire.

  He’s so predictable.

  Beau remembered his hurting hand. He examined the keys. Flecks of blood showed up against the silver.

  His finger tracked through his blood. He wanted to paint the world in the ruby shade. To show his father, mother, everyone at school he wasn’t Gage’s son anymore. He was his own man—a man to be feared.

  Back at the bed, he retrieved the duffel bag and hoisted it over his shoulder. He had a stop to make before he went to the brewery.

  He patted the bag. “My party will be the talk of the town.”

  * * *

  The brush of tree limbs against his car was the only sound as he slipped into the gravel lot by the river. The beams from his headlights cut into the blackness, not landing on any other cars. Good. He was alone.

  He parked on the far side of the lot, safe from any police patrols happening by. Initially, he thought the patrols a nuisance, but suddenly, he was grateful. They would keep the partygoers from the river, ensuring the contents of his duffel bag would remain safe in his cell.

  He retrieved a flashlight from his back pocket and flung the bag over his shoulder, ready to set out for The Abbey.

  Rustling leaves to his right startled him. Beau stood still, holding his breath.

  After a few seconds, he shook his head and brushed off the noise. Who would be following him? No one knew he was there.

  He set out across the lot and when he came to the sloping path leading to the river, he ducked into the brush.

  Low-lying twigs scratched his hands and swiped his face as he moved through the dense foliage. When he stopped to adjust the heavy bag on his shoulder, a crash of something moving through the underbrush came from behind.

  His heart climbed in his throat. Was it the police? Had he been caught?

  He spun around, but no one was there.

  A patch of green leaves on a bush shook. He shined his flashlight at the bush, the leaves stilled.

  “Who’s there?”

  Nothing. Then black eyes, low to the ground, caught in the beam of his light. A round head covered in black fur moved out from the brush. A large, skinny dog, his fangs dripping with saliva moved in closer.

  What if there were more of them? What if the pack surrounded him like those velociraptors in that dinosaur movie?

  He spied a thick stick on the ground. He kept his eyes on the approaching dog and slowly picked up the stick. The animal’s growl got steadily louder.

  Determined not to be intimidated by the mangy creature, Beau remained calm. Right before it got too close, he hurled the stick at the dog’s head.

  A yelp pierced the air, but the mongrel did not back down. It glared at Beau with an intense, almost human hatred in its black eyes.

  This had become personal to Beau. He wasn’t going to let some stray push him around. Beau picked up another smaller stick and threw it, followed quickly by another.

  “Come on, you bastard.”

  He waited for the animal to charge. Instead, it turned and headed into the brush.

  Smug with his victory, he sucked in a deep breath and turned back toward The Abbey.

  “You got this, Devereaux.”

  At the iron gate, he raised his head to the night sky. The stars weren’t twinkling, and there was no moon. Perfect.

  He cut across the field of high grass, turning at the fountain.

  A few feet away from the cells, the lone howl of a dog fixed him to his spot.

  He waited to see if there was another. Seconds ticked by, but the only sounds around him were the chirp of the crickets and the occasional croak of frogs.

  What had Andrea said? When the dogs appear, death is near.

  He chuckled. Maybe the dogs knew what he had planned.

  Inside the abandoned ruins, he directed the beam of his flashlight to the floor. A rat dashed by, startling him.

  Beau kicked the defenseless creature. It landed a few feet away on a pile of leaves and dried twigs, stunned. He thought of things he could do to it, ways he’d like to torture it, but there wasn’t time. He needed to set up his room and head back to the brewery.

  The cell was in the same disarray after his encounter with Josh. Beau set his flashlight down and dumped his duffel bag on the cot.

  From the bag, he pulled out several new scented candles—rose and honeysuckle.

  She would appreciate their aroma. He tried to find one at the store that smelled like her—springtime clover—but none seemed to have her essence. After lighting a few candles, he set them around the room, on the floor and ice chest, eager to capture the right ambiance. Once satisfied, he collected the black garbage bag he’d brought along with a small broom.

  Beau took his time, sweeping up the wads of foam, broken glass, and torn fabric from the floor. He found the preparation for Leslie soothing. The way he felt before Christmas morning as a kid, knowing he would get what he wanted. He just had to wait.

  With the room freshly swept, he retrieved the new blanket and pillow from his bag and set them on the cot. The last thing he took out was Andrea’s red scarf. He gently laid it on the pipes jutting from the wall.

  He left the other toys he brought in the duffel bag and placed it under the cot, pushing the bag out of sight.

  The flickering light from the candles added to the eerie atmosphere in the room. Beau hoped Leslie would appreciate his attention to detail. Still, something was missing. It needed a homey touch, something to let her know how he felt.

  Flowers. Yes, of course. He would pick up a bouquet of flowers and set them up in a nice vase on his ice chest. Daises. Leslie loved daisies. He’d seen Derek bring her bouquets at school.

  Breathing in the musty odor of the room, Beau trembled with anticipation. He would act out every depraved fantasy, ending his obsession with Leslie. Then life would be perfect. The annihilation of Leslie Moore would be his greatest work of art, but not his last.

  Satisfied, he tied off the garbage bag, blew out the candles, and headed back outside.

  A glimpse of white slipping through the break in the wall caught his eye.

  The hair stood up on his arms. He had not been alone.

  He took off for the opening. Several precious seconds passed as he worked the garbage bag through the narrow crack. Once in the night air, he scanned the grounds.

  A strange mist had appeared since he’d entered the cells. It hovered beneath the grass. The tall blades rose from the dense fog and wiggled like fingers, beckoning him to follow. Beau dashed through the weeds, creeped out by the ghoulish atmosphere.

  Ahead, he saw something—a white cloak floating beneath the trees. His anger returned.

  “I’ll get you.”

  He reached the spot where he had seen the strange apparition and examined the ground with his flashlight. There were no footprints, no disturbance to the grass.

  A long, low howl sliced through the air.

  His heart pounding, he hurried in the direction of the gate, sweating under his long-sleeved shirt despite the chill in the air.

  I have to find out who’s following me!

  He headed into the brush, cutting off his flashlight, ready to annihilate the conniving little bitch playing head games with him.

  Beau carefully maneuvered through the brush and low hanging branches, not making a sound. But when he emerged in the parking lot, no one else was there. The pale light from the streetlig
ht filtered through the trees and across the gravel surface, revealing no other cars.

  He stood by a pine tree, attuned to every noise around him. He stayed still for several minutes, before his fear of being late to the brewery urged him to his car.

  He tossed the garbage bag in the back seat, planning to leave it in the brewery dumpster.

  He sat behind the wheel his aggravation gnawing at him. Someone had followed him. He ran through his list of suspects in his head.

  What if it’s the ghost?

  The childish notion brought a chuckle to his lips. He started the car.

  It was a person; it had to be. Any other explanation meant Beau’s grip on reality was slowly slipping away.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  “I can’t wear this, Leslie!”

  Derek stood over his phone from where he placed it on the rickety kitchen table, the smell of stale coffee lingering in the air. He secured the black mask around his head, debating how he would get through the evening wearing it and the large sombrero, without running into people.

  “These pants have one pocket. How am I supposed to carry my phone, wallet, and keys?”

  “Put them in your hat.” Her velvety warm chuckle careened through him.

  He loved her laugh. He loved everything about her. Her costuming skills, however, he was still iffy about.

  “You do realize I will run into everyone with this thing.” He picked up the hat and set it on his head. The comically oversized brim dipped to his chest. “Tell Dawn the hats are too big.”

  “Stop complaining.”

  The voice was higher, less throaty than Leslie’s. He figured Dawn had joined her sister in her room.

  “Is Dawn there?”

  “She’s here.” It was Leslie again. “Completely dressed and ready to go.” She sounded happier than he had heard her in months. “You’re right. Those sombreros are too big.”

  Before her break up with Beau, he’d thought Dawn bitchy due to her preoccupation with her popularity, cheerleading, and obliviousness to her boyfriend’s cruelty. But since then, she’d won Derek over with her sometimes flighty, always brash, optimistic viewpoint.