Dark Paradise

by Angie Sandro

  I step around him. “I fight my own battles, Landry.”

  He stares hard into my eyes.

  “He’s mine,” Clarice whispers.

  I don’t break eye contact with Landry as I tell her, “I don’t want him.”

  Landry winces. The hurt darkening his eyes almost makes me call him back when he turns and walks out the door, but I bite down on the impulse. Once he’s gone, I glance back at Clarice and say, “Like I said, I don’t want him. But if I change my mind, there’s nothing you can say or do to stop me from getting him.”

  “This isn’t over.” She runs her hand through her hair. Her eyes widen when she sees the strands sticking to her fingers.

  “No, it isn’t.” I pluck a hair from her palm. She watches the strand float to the ground with wide eyes. “It’s just begun, Clarice. You should’ve kept your hand to yourself.”

  Part of me feels sorry for the girl who continues to run her fingers through her hair and whimpers slightly under her breath every time a strand clings to her fingers. That’s the problem with believing in superstitious nonsense. Once an idea gets stuck in your head, you make it come true through your belief. You start seeing shadows that aren’t there or, in Clarice’s case, a normal shedding of hair as a curse. I wonder how long it will take before she breaks out in nervous hives.

  Clarice gathers her friends and leaves. She’s probably chasing after Landry. The fool. She can have the lying ass. I catch Tabitha staring at me from behind the counter. She’ll report this to the manager. I’m so busted. I want to hide in the bathroom. Instead, I slink through the crowd to find Maggie, Tommy, and Dena seated in our usual booth. Maggie jumps up and makes me squeeze in between them. Surrounded by my friends, the knots in my neck loosen as I drop my guard. I slump sideways and lay my head on Maggie’s shoulder. “I only have ten minutes before my shift starts,” I say with a sigh. “I suppose you saw what happened.”

  Dena wriggles in her seat, shooting looks at Maggie. “Everyone saw you fix that curse on Clarice.”

  Maggie snaps, “How many times do I have to say that curses are a bunch of superstitious nonsense?”

  Dena remains focused on me. “You told her that her hair would fall out.”

  “I said I wish it would fall out.” I shrug defensively. “I was angry. She slapped me.”

  “After you cursed her,” Tommy says around a bite of his foot-long hot dog.

  My stomach growls. I haven’t eaten all day. Maybe that’s why it takes a while for his statement to sink in. “Geesh, Tommy. She slapped me before I said it. And it’s not a curse.”

  Tommy finishes chewing. “’Cause I also heard you put Landry Prince under a love spell.”

  “Who’ve you been listening to?” I turn to Maggie. “Seriously, you need to limit who Tommy’s allowed to talk to. His friends are corrupting his mind.”

  “It’s not just his loser friends, Mala,” Maggie says softly. “Everyone’s been talking about it since yesterday. This blow-up only made the rumors worse. Tim just texted me that Clarice’s friends plan on jumping you after work.” She pats my thigh. “Don’t worry, I’ll call Mom. She’ll pick you up after your shift.”

  I nod, feeling icky inside. My life sucks.

  * * *

  After my shift ends, I run for my locker. Bessie will arrive soon, and I’m ready to get the hell out of Munchies. A strange smell comes through the vent, like I’ve forgotten to take my lunch out and it’s gone rotten, but when I open the door, I learn it is so much worse than a moldy sandwich.

  The stench hits me first. I gag then scream at the sight of the bloated possum carcass hanging from the hook by a shoelace wrapped around its flattened neck. Entrails dangle, and maggots crawl through the holes where the possum’s eyes used to be.

  The night shift manager, Annabel Jenkins, runs into the break room. When she reaches my locker, she backs up, covering her nose. Her pale face turns blotchy. “Merciful Jesus, why would you do such a thing?”

  W-what? I stare at her, breathing hard.

  Annabel slams the locker closed. “Go get something to clean up this mess. I’m telling Ms. March.”

  My stomach curdles. “Are you crazy? I didn’t do this!” I swallow the mouthful of saliva filling my mouth and grimace at the taste. This smells worse than the autopsy. Probably because this is up close and oh so personal. And the way Annabel stares at me… “How could you accuse me of defiling my own locker, Anna? I thought we were friends.”

  Her face twists with a savage glee. “All of the employees put up with you working here because you’re Ms. March’s favorite, but we know what kind of person you are and where you come from. Trash! Just like your mama.”

  Bitch lost her mind. My hand lashes out.

  “Mala, no!” a voice yells.

  I pull the punch inches from connecting with her cheek, spinning around. Our boss, Ms. Marcheline Dubois, walks toward us. Her wide eyes focus first on my hands and then circle from Annabel to the locker, then back to me. I shove my hands into my pockets and step away from Annabel, breathing hard. Shit! I’m getting fired for this.

  “Did you see?” Annabel cries. “Did you see her almost hit me?”

  Ms. March’s pale face has turned blotchy. “I saw and heard everything.” She faces me. “Are you okay?”

  Surprised, I nod.

  “Annabel, go call the Sheriff’s Office to come take a report. Let them know they’ll need to contact animal control.”

  “But, Ms. March, she—”

  “I said call them. Then meet me in my office.”

  Annabel’s lips tighten. She gives a jerky nod and stalks out of the room. She’s going to make my life hell if one of us doesn’t get fired or quit. I’m rooting for her to get the boot. It’s been a long time since I’ve struck someone in anger. Not even being slapped by Clarice pushed me over the edge. I think it’s because Annabel and I have worked together for three years. We never hung out or anything, but I never saw any indication from her that her smile hid such a spiteful hatred. It hurts.

  Ms. March fluffs her silver curls, a nervous habit she falls into whenever stressed. “Mala Jean Marie, what exactly is going on? Do you know how many calls I received this afternoon about you? I had to come in early, now this…Honey, this is my business…” She blows out a puff of air. “Take this weekend off, okay?”

  I shiver and hug myself. Does she hate me too? “Why? Am I being punished? I didn’t do anything wrong.”

  Her dark eyes study my face, and her shoulders slump. “I know, but people do insane things when they’re afraid, and half the town seems to be terrified of you right now.” She gives me a quick hug, and I inhale her baby powder scent. “You’re not safe here. Go on home, sweetheart.”

  I’m shaky, almost sick, and every time my hair swings across my face, I inhale the stench of decomposition. I walk to the front doors and press my forehead against the cool glass for a minute to catch my breath. The heat radiating off my skin fogs up the glass. I can barely see the patrol car parked out front when I run outside, so it takes a second to register it’s not Bessie climbing out of the car but George. I slow my pace to a quick walk while taking a couple of deep breaths. I can handle this. I’m not freaked out.

  “Mala, you okay?”

  I give a jerky nod. My voice only shakes a little when I say, “I’m fine. Are you here to take the police report?”

  “No, Bessie put me on protection duty. Between the threats to jump you and the roadkill in your locker, you’ll be safer with a police escort.”

  I frown up at him. “Then who’s taking the case? Andy? Don’t I need to stick around to give him my statement?”

  “Aunt March said she’ll take care of it.”

  I nod again. My legs feel wobbly. If I had to go back inside and smell…Ugh, thinking about it makes me want to vomit.

  George studies my face for a moment. “Damn it. You’re not all right, are you? Why do you always play the tough girl?” Before I have a chance to protest, he pulls
me into a hug. He pats my back, trying to comfort me. Which scares me more than a dead possum ever could.

  My arms hang stiffly at my sides. What should I do with them? Hug him back? Pull away? Friends comfort one another when upset, but this is so…public. It’s not professional behavior. At all.

  George squeezes tighter. “You’ll be okay, Mala Jean. Andy will find out who vandalized your locker, and I won’t let anyone hurt you. I swear.”

  “I believe you,” I mumble into his shirt, but I’m lying as much to myself as I am to him. No matter how hard I try, nothing changes. Not in Paradise Pointe. The faster I accept the fact that I’ll always be known as the witch’s daughter, the better off I’ll be.

  George stares into my eyes for a long minute. I can’t read the emotions flickering in the emerald depths, but whatever he feels grows more intense until he radiates an icy calm that makes him seem unpredictable.

  I keep glancing at the people walking past, staring. If we stay like this much longer, people will get all kinds of crazy ideas about us. Should I break free of his hug? I wiggle a bit, but his muscles flex until I’m locked in a steel cage of his embrace. I glance back to his immobile face. With each minute that passes, my nerves shoot up a notch until I quiver with tension.

  “Is something else bothering you, Georgie?” I ask hesitantly.

  “Why did you get in a truck with that guy after what happened yesterday?” he asks, not breaking eye contact.

  “Oh, uh…” He means Landry. Hell, Maggie and her big mouth. She told Bessie about him too. No wonder George is upset.

  His arms drop, and I step back, twisting my fingers together. “It’s no big deal. He offered me a ride, and I felt sorry for him. He seemed so sad. I know it was stupid.”

  The ice drains, replaced by heat as he glares at me. “It really was.”

  “Fine, I agree with you.”

  “We still don’t know who killed Lainey. We haven’t ruled out the family as suspects, and Landry doesn’t have an alibi.”

  My eyebrows shoot upward. “Are you saying that you think he killed his sister? No way! He wouldn’t do that.”

  “There’s no proof he didn’t do it, Mala,” George says in a solemn tone that raises the hairs on the back of my neck. He believes what he’s telling me. Could I be wrong? My gut tells me Landry’s grief is too raw to be faked, but he’s fooled me before. I’d hate to think he’s that good of an actor or that I’m gullible enough to fall for his lies twice.

  I lean against the hot hood of the car. “What about the guy that Lainey was seeing? Have you figured out who he is yet?”

  George’s mouth tightens. “You haven’t said anything to anyone about that, have you?”

  “No, I promised, didn’t I? I keep my promises.” And I protect my friends. I think on Landry’s confession about stalking me. If I tell George, he’ll arrest Landry for sure. I can’t do that to him, no matter how scared and angry he makes me. I know, deep down, Landry is a good person, just confused.

  “Lainey’s friends all agreed that the guy had money. He bought her expensive gifts—a diamond heart necklace, clothes—took her out in Lafayette. They even rented a seedy room at the Super Delight Motel, but it had been cleared out before we got the search warrant. Their whole relationship was secretive.”

  “Sounds like Lainey had a sugar daddy. Some guy she used for his money. He’s probably married with kids.” I bite my lip. Mama told Lainey to go to the baby’s father for money…did she listen? Did taking Mama’s advice get her killed? “If Lainey threatened to tell his wife about the baby, it would be the perfect motive for murder.”

  “I thought so too.” We share a look. A meeting of the minds.

  Heat floods through me. I’ve impressed him, for sure. “Oh, I almost forgot. Landry said that Dr. Rathbone’s real close to Reverend Prince. He slipped them the autopsy results about Lainey. Did you track down where the drug came from?”

  “She had trazodone in her system. Not enough to kill, but it probably knocked her out. It’s an antidepressant, but some people use it as a sleep aid.”

  “Oh?” I say, softly. “So she might have been taking the drug to deal with depression and finding it in her system might not have anything to do with the killer.”

  George sits on the hood next to me. “Exactly! I’m at a dead end until we get a court order for Lainey’s medical records. I do have some good news…” His voice trails off, and he looks at me expectantly.

  “Spill it, Georgie.”

  “Well, this should set your mind at ease. Andy and his dog found the spot where Lainey was thrown in the bayou. It’s about a half mile from where you found her. Forest Service land. Unfortunately, there are dozens of side roads into the park. That’s another dead end.”

  “At least she didn’t die on our property.” Thank God.

  George’s grin makes his eyes sparkle with golden flecks amid the green. “You know, it’s funny. Before I took this job, I never realized that most folks don’t want to hear the gory details of my cases. I enjoy talking to you. It helps to work things out with someone else. You’ve got me thinking of taking the investigation in a different direction.”

  I’m so stuffed full of pride that I bet I’m glowing. “I’m glad I could help.”

  George stiffens, rising to his feet. “What does he want?”

  I look over my shoulder and groan. Landry stands five feet from the car with his hands shoved in his pockets. Wind blows his hair back and a strange, unreadable expression fills his handsome face. Oh God, did he overhear our conversation about Lainey?

  Chapter 17

  Landry

  Unmitigated Stupidity

  Stay calm. Don’t do or say anything you’ll regret.

  My gaze meets Mala’s. She hates me. It flares in her eyes. I royally fucked up at Ruby’s. Then made things worse in Munchies with Clarice, but she didn’t have to go all dark side on me. Her words still echo in my head: “I don’t want him…” Did she say it knowing how much it would hurt? Was it her way of getting even with me for accusing her of murder? Is she deliberately throwing her relationship with George in my face to make a point…to see me squirm like a worm on a hook?

  No, she’s not like Clarice. She doesn’t toy with guys for shits and giggles. Focus. Don’t lose control.

  I have to keep reminding myself of this. I watched them from across the street. How George held her in his arms. The jealousy almost made me lose my mind. I wanted to ram my truck into the patrol car, damn the consequences.

  I take a deep breath and step toward them. “Mala, I—”

  George pulls Mala behind him, blocking her from view. “What the devil’s going on, Prince?”

  My jaw clenches when he lays hands on her. I pause a second, then say, “I came to see if Mala’s okay.”

  “What’s it to you?”

  “She’s my friend, George.”

  Mala sticks her head around George’s back. Her eyes spark, like an obsidian arrowhead, sharp and cutting. “We’re not friends, Landry. Friends don’t accuse friends of…” She trails off with a hiss. I fill in the blank: Murder.

  George picks up on her distress. “What did he accuse you of?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” she says. “I told him earlier to leave me alone.”

  “I can’t do that, Mala,” I say. “I can’t let you think…I’d never hurt you.”

  “But you already did. And Clarice, you hurt her too.”

  God, that girl! “What does Clarice have to do with us? She doesn’t decide who I choose to spend time with.”

  “Tell her that.”

  George’s head swivels back and forth between us. His face grows redder and redder with each word we speak. “Enough! I don’t have time for your lovers’ quarrel.”

  “We are so not lovers, Georgie. You of all people should know that,” Mala snaps. The disgust in her voice punches a hole in my gut. Not lovers. Why should George know? Is he her lover? Oh, hell! Mom’s friends gossip about George. How
he’s on track to becoming the youngest detective at BPSO. How he’s handsome and well mannered. And his dad’s rich and influential. Perfect. I don’t stand a chance against him.

  “Get in the car, Mala,” George says firmly. “Landry, get out of here.”

  I frown. “Is that an order, Deputy Dawg?”

  “Yeah.”

  I’m done taking orders. I pull my hands from my pockets and ball them into fists. My body visibly vibrates with tension. “You think because you have a badge and gun you can tell me what to do?”

  George steps forward, his hand resting on the butt of his Taser. “If you’re harassing her, then you’re damn right I’m ordering you. I told you yesterday to keep your distance. You should’ve listened.” George’s voice has gone gunslinger low, and his normally cheerful green eyes are flat, hard as bottle glass. This is the face he wears when doing a traffic stop on a criminal or breaking up a domestic abuse disturbance. It chills me to the bone.

  Reminds me not to be a fool.

  “Fine, you win.” I bend down and reach behind the wheel of the patrol car where I’d set Mala’s purse. The Taser clears George’s holster so fast that I barely see him draw. “Hands where I can see them, Prince!”

  “Oh shit,” I whisper, shaking. My hands rise into the air, and the purse dangles over the street. “Whoa, don’t shoot, buddy.”

  “Georgie, it’s okay,” Mala says, laying her hand on his tense arm. He’s already replaced the Taser, but he still holds himself as if prepared for a fight.

  “Mala left her purse in my truck this morning,” I say, voice hoarse.

  “Hand it to me,” George orders, holding out his hand.

  “No.” I clear my throat and move the purse out of reach. “It’s hers. I’ll give it to her, not you.”

  She steps around George and strides over. “I’ll take it.”