Dark Paradise

by Angie Sandro

  The next morning, I pull on my big-girl panties and return to the hospital to visit Mama. I get lucky. The spiritual attacks aren’t as bothersome during the day. Or maybe I’m getting used to their goose bump–raising touch on my skin. A nurse finally kicks me out after lunchtime, saying Mama needs her rest, not that she knows I’m there. She’s using a heavy hand on the morphine drip. I’m kind of envious. My bumps and bruises still ache, but the pain becomes manageable once I take the pain meds I bought at the gift shop.

  A cab drops me off at the Super Delight Motel. I took Mama’s keys before leaving the hospital so I can pick up her truck before someone jacks it. It’s parked in front of room 105. I stare at the red door with the yellow police tape crisscrossing it while considering my options. We didn’t get to search Lainey’s room last night because of the attack, but the plan’s still good. Nothing has changed except that I’ve added another psychopath to my list. Now, not only do I need to find Lainey’s murderer, I also have to figure out which of Mama’s clients attacked her.

  Key in hand, I go inside. It looks like a normal bedroom. Mama rents by the month, and she’s had this room for as long as I’ve been alive. It’s totally trashed, and I don’t think by the Sheriff’s Office either. The mattress has been shoved off the frame. Clothes and shoes cover the floor. Boxes of oils, candles, and cleansing crystals are stacked in her closet. She even has a crystal skull, and I roll my eyes—the hoodoo supplies Mom buys off the Internet to sell to the girls. I dab a dollop of Fast Luck oil on my wrists and sniff. Mmm, cinnamony. Hopefully it’ll work. I could use some good luck.

  Seeing the room so disorganized makes me jittery. What in the world was this guy searching for that would make him resort to attempted murder?

  I spend half an hour straightening up. When I’m finished, her bed is made and candles rest on the bedside table. I hang Mama’s work clothes in the closet—I don’t find anything made with leather or holes that would scar my psyche, which makes me immensely grateful. I have a hard enough time accepting this part of Mama’s life. I didn’t need or want firsthand knowledge, but now, whenever I think of her at work, I’ll picture her lying on this bed with the fuchsia and yellow tropical flowers reading The Color Purple.

  I don’t find any clues as to what happened last night. Maybe the police had better luck. I pocket the wad of money I find hidden in her shoe. I also decide at the last minute to take the book. Mama might like something to read while she’s recuperating. After locking up the room, I walk over to the fence surrounding the algae-coated swimming pool. A dark blotch stains the concrete by the ladder. I assume the blood belongs to Mama, but it certainly could’ve come from some other poor soul. The gate looks rickety, but when I give it a jerk, it won’t open. I contemplate how much pain and effort it will take to climb the fence. I want to get a closer look at the crime scene.

  I’ve just thrown my leg over the metal railing when Mr. Khan opens the door to the recreation room and steps out. He wears a black turban, a blue silk shirt, and slacks. Coppery brown skin, slightly wrinkled with age, highlights dark eyes. Wire-rimmed glasses attached to a gold chain hang around his neck.

  “Who are you?” he asks, squinting in my direction. “What do you do here? The pool is closed.”

  “Mr. Khan?” I jerk on my foot, which has gotten stuck in the fencing. “Don’t you recognize me? I’m Jasmine’s daughter. I heard that you helped pull Mama from the pool. You saved her life. Thank you.”

  Mr. Khan slips his glasses on his nose and shakes his head. “That was a very bad thing that happened to my good friend Jasmine. Very bad. I am only happy that I came in time.”

  He turns to go back inside.

  I pull my foot out of my tennis shoe. The wire mesh shakes, and I half fall, half jump off the fence, landing a few feet from the man. “Mr. Khan, please. Wait.”

  “The pool is a dangerous place to play games. Go now.”

  “This isn’t a game. Not to me.” I limp toward him, talking fast. “I’ve got to ask. Did you see anything last night? The guy who attacked her…did you recognize him? Maybe something you didn’t tell the police. If you did, you can tell me. I’ll keep it quiet, I promise, but I’ve got to know if my mama’s still in danger. Who do I protect her from?”

  “Did she not tell you?” Khan’s head tilts to the side. A furtive expression creases the corners of his eyes as he glances around to see if we are alone. “She would be quite upset if she found out that I spoke of her big meeting. We have an understanding. She pays me to keep quiet, so I keep quiet. But she did not pay me for last night.”

  “So you don’t have to keep her secret?”

  Khan sighs. “You will pay for this information? A hundred dollars.”

  “Hundred—” I choke on the word. “I’ll give you twenty.”

  He shakes his head. “Now you insult me.”

  “Damn it, fifty. I can’t go any higher.”

  “Seventy-five or no deal. What price do you put on your mother’s life?”

  I dig into the pocket of my jeans and pull out three of the eight twenty-dollar bills I found in Mama’s room and hold it out to him. “Sixty. Take it or leave it. This is all I’ve got to spare, you cold-hearted old pimp.”

  He snatches the twenties from my hand and waves them under his nose. His eyes close as he smells the money, and I get an icky feeling inside. Finally satisfied, he smiles. “You drive a hard bargain. Jasmine would be proud.”

  “Save the compliments. Tell me what I just paid for.”

  “Jasmine told me she was meeting with a very important man last night—a very rich and powerful man—who has much influence in the community. She said she knows something about him that he would pay a lot of money to keep quiet.”

  “Blackmail?” Shocked, my hands ball into fists. “You’d better not be lying to me.”

  Khan raises a silver eyebrow, eyeing me wearily. “Oh, no. Jasmine was quite proud of her news. She said she has proof, written in blood. She asked me to pay close attention when he came. She didn’t trust him. That he’d kill to keep his secret quiet. She feared for her life. I think this was very wise and unwise.”

  “I’d say unwise since the guy almost murdered her.”

  Khan shrugs. “Some risks are worth taking. Ten thousand dollars is what she asked for. Maybe the amount was too insulting. That’s when he tried to kill her.” He laughs, and I want to sock him right in his jelly-filled gut.

  I take a deep breath instead, trying to calm down. “Did you get a look at him?”

  “He wore a black mask. I could not see his face.”

  “That’s it? You’re the lookout and you couldn’t even get a decent description of this guy?”

  “He owns a large truck.”

  “Great, that’s just fan-fuckin’-tastic. A truck. In Paradise Pointe, Louisiana. Wow, I’ll get right on that clue. Hell, you’ve broken the case wide open. You’re a hero, Mr. Khan. A regular Sherlock Holmes.”

  “What did you expect for sixty bucks? You get what you pay for.” Khan waves the money in the air, kisses it, and turns to walk back inside to do whatever a lowlife scum bucket does when not bilking schmucks. What the hell am I…I pause, one foot raised to climb the fence, then let it drop. A large truck…Khan said he owns a truck, but the guy didn’t drive away. He ran off on foot. So how does Khan know he owns a truck?

  “Mr. Khan, wait.” I hold the rest of the money I found in Mama’s “office” in the air. “One more question.”

  The man turns with a sly grin and rubs his lips with two fingers. “Ah, it appears this question is worth more than your mother’s life?”

  “I think the answer may save her life…and mine.” Calm down. Don’t spook Khan. He’s the sort who uses your weaknesses to his advantage. I breathe out a slow breath. “The man you saw. Ever seen him before without the mask?”

  “I don’t know who he is or his name, but yes, he frequently visits.”

  My heart skips a beat. “Which is why you don’t know his id
entity, right? Because he pays you not to know?”

  Mr. Khan shrugs.

  “But the woman he visited is dead. So you no longer have to keep quiet about her.”

  His smile grows wider. “What do you want to know?”

  Bingo! I hold the money out. He reaches to take it, but I snatch my hand back. “I want everything you found in Lainey Prince’s room when you cleaned it out, Mr. Khan. No tricks. You give me Lainey’s belongings, and you get the money. If you hold out on me, I’ll know. My mama’s not the only witch in town. I’ll do worse than twist a curse. I’ll go to the police and tell them you held back information about her murderer.”

  “How do you know I didn’t give her belongings to the man who tried to kill your mother?”

  Lucky guess. I mimic his conniving grin. “You’re a businessman, Mr. Khan. And you’re more cunning than my mama. You probably came up with the plan to blackmail him together. Now that your brilliant plan has failed, I think you should be more concerned about getting rid of this property before he comes back and tries to kill you for knowing too much.”

  The man gives me an elegant bow. “Jasmine pawned the jewelry, but she kept the rest of the girl’s belongings. She planned to trade the box to the man last night. He must have taken it with him after he attacked her because it was missing when I found her in the pool.”

  I flash back to the night before when I chased after the guy. He had been holding something in his arms while he ran. It dropped and slid beneath a car after I tackled him. Could it still be in there? I don’t bother to say good-bye to Mr. Khan, just sprint into the parking lot.

  I find the small cardboard box holding what is left of Lainey’s possessions beneath a purple Cadillac. It contains a bunch of toiletry items and clothes. Nothing worth murdering someone over. Another fucking dead end.

  “Damn it, Mama!” I kick the box halfway across the parking lot.

  Mama tried to blackmail her attacker, knowing he likely killed Lainey. No wonder she won’t talk to the police. Either she fears she’ll get arrested along with the guy she threatened or she figures, once she gets out of the hospital, she’ll give another go at getting the money. But what does she have that he wants? He had the box, but he still trashed Mama’s room. He was looking for something specific, and I don’t think he found it. What does Mama have over him?

  I gather Lainey’s belongings. The whole drive home the puzzle of whys form and re-form in random, shifting patterns in my mind. I’m close to figuring out the mystery. I know it. I try to stop obsessing over what I’ve learned by applying myself to my chores. I feed the chickens, clean house, and, afterward, reapply my protective salt and brick dust. Then I start working on the vegetable garden. Hoeing works muscles in places I’ve forgotten exist.

  The ground has dried out from the rain. I dig with a vengeance, chopping up roots and pulling out a gazillion rocks that seem to multiply like gremlins every spring. The monotonous work keeps me from worrying about Mama. Every time I picture her bruised face, I swing the hoe with all my strength, imagining the faceless man who hurt her and feeling angry at her for deliberately creating the situation that caused the attack.

  The sun beats down. Sweat pours down my face. It’s stupid. I’ll get sick if I don’t stay hydrated, but I’m driven. I clear most of the row I want to plant my tomatoes in, but one stinking root refuses to budge. It taunts me. A large white lump nestled in the red-brown earth, like a baby in its mother’s arms. I can almost hear it wail each time the hoe cuts into the bulbous bark that runs with a thick, red liquid—like blood.

  It can’t be. My vision blurs. I blink salty sweat from my eyes, ignoring the burn. The root shimmers, twisting, and a tiny hand lifts, waving in the air. Eyes as blue as morning glory petals stare directly into mine.

  The air grows cold, freezing the sweat to my skin. Mist forms before my eyes when I breathe. As the temperature drops, my body grows sluggish. I fall to my knees, unable to stand. My hands lift to cover my nose, trying to blot out the thick stench of roses and decomposition. Red rose petals float from the sky, landing in my hair and drifting down to cover the naked baby.

  A dead baby. A boy, with Lainey’s eyes.

  “Lainey, stop,” I whimper, grabbing a handful of grass, dragging myself forward because I can’t crawl. Icy fingers dig into my legs and hold on. The hand caresses my skin, and her heavy weight presses full-bodied on top of me. I shiver, and my nose runs. I wipe my upper lip, but instead of seeing mucus on my fingers, I see blood.

  “Please, stop. Lainey, you’re killing me. Let go!”

  My outstretched hand closes around a small leather bag, and I bring it to my chest. Warmth floods outward. The hands holding my legs vanish. I collapse, shaking so hard I can barely catch my breath.

  When I return to myself, I realize I fainted. I stand up, swaying a little from dizziness, and trudge into the house, only stopping off at the fridge to grab the pitcher of mint tea before I collapse at the kitchen table. The juju bag has been clutched inside my fist the whole time, and finally after quenching my thirst, I take a hard look at the thing that banished Lainey. Opening it up, I see the sage that I tossed disdainfully into the grass has been returned to mingle with all the strange ingredients inside the bag—a bag that magically found its way into my hand when I needed its protection the most.

  “You did this, didn’t you?” I feel a little silly to be addressing the protector spirit of some unknown ancestor, but somehow, I know it listens. “You saved me from her. Thank you.”

  Warm wind blows back my hair.

  I stuff the juju bag inside my pocket and head to the bathroom. I hope the protective charms around the house keep Lainey out, but even while showering, I hold the bag above the water so it won’t get wet. The phone rings while I’m towel drying my hair, and I hear Landry’s voice on the answering machine. I run into the living room, but he’d already hung up, and after listening to his message, I feel guilty.

  I’d been so worried about my own problems that I forgot that today is Lainey’s funeral. Not that this matters to her. She’s too busy haunting me. Why would she show me a vision of a baby? She’d been pregnant, but I didn’t think she’d been that far along. And Dr. Rathbone completed the autopsy; he’d know if Lainey delivered the baby. George never mentioned a baby was missing. Maybe it was one of the clues he’d been ordered to keep quiet. But if he didn’t know…why did Rathbone cover up the birth? For my own peace of mind, I need to know the truth.

  My mind tickles. Deep inside where my thoughts race and ideas form, a little tickle grows more annoying the more I mentally poke at it. The germ of an idea that sits just out of reach. Like most irritations, the prickle spreads, crawling down my tingling neck. When my hands start to burn, I scream in frustration. My hands tighten into fists, nails digging so deeply into the skin that blood wells up in the crescent marks on my palms.

  I circle the room, moving from the living room to the kitchen, around the table, and back into the living room. My gaze darts to the television, to the King, across the porcelain curios Mama collected, unable to settle on any one object for too long.

  The newspaper I bought at the hospital lies beside the door where I dropped it after I returned home this morning. It had fallen open, its pages scattered across the floor. I must’ve stepped on it several times while pacing and never noticed. A breeze lifts the straggles of damp hair falling loose around my shoulders, blowing into my eyes. The edge of one of the pages flutters like the wing of a baby bird. It spins in a slow circle, picking up speed like a dust devil. Then, with a whoosh, the paper flies into the air, brushes the ceiling, and drifts down into my outstretched hand.

  I stare down at the obituary, into the dimpled face of the woman smiling at me from the black-and-white photo. Her hair curls around her face, beneath the edges of a scarf. Large hoop earrings brush her shoulders. She stands in front of her trailer, right in front of her sign, with her son perched on her hip. I can’t tear my eyes from the hand holding an eyeball
in the middle of its palm because, otherwise, I’d see Ruby.

  “Oh, no. It’s true…she’s dead.” My heart pounds like it will explode out of my chest and spray the room with my blood. “Why are you showing me this?” I yell to the silent room, shaking the crumpled paper at the ceiling. The walls expand then contract, like the house sighs. “What do you want from me?”

  Chapter 26

  Mala

  Funeral

  I was driven out of the house by an energy that set my hairs on end. But it fades the minute I step foot on hallowed ground, and I can think clearly again. In the distance, a large crowd of black-clothed mourners has gathered for Lainey’s funeral. I feel too uncomfortable about intruding on their grief to join them, especially since my presence would be a reminder of how I found the body.

  Sheriff Keyes, Dr. Rathbone, and Mr. Acker stand in the second row with their families. Landry is in front of the tomb with his folks. He has his arm wrapped around his dry-eyed mother. After her crazed behavior at the autopsy, I expected her to be broken up, but a more stoic and reserved facade I’ve never seen on a person. Clarice, wearing a wide-brimmed black hat, stands a little behind and to the right of Landry—the leech. She keeps touching him—patting him on the shoulder, rubbing his arm—I want to scratch her eyes out!

  I’m carrying the small box containing Lainey’s belongings under one arm as I climb up the stairs and sit down cross-legged on the concrete block holding Eulie LaCroix’s remains above the waterline. The height of the tomb gives me a clear view of the service. The sun-bleached plaster feels cold through my light, black linen dress, and I shiver despite the heat of the day. I hadn’t thought that Eulie would mind my company, but perhaps the chill settling into my bones is her way of expressing her disapproval over my not coming to visit more often.