The Glue Trap.
An outsider might think these homes were independent, each with a family struggling toward the poverty line. However, they were networked, tied by blood, and none were truly destitute. The Blondeaux family roots spread under the ground like far-reaching tentacles, sharing one heartbeat.
The problem was not having any big score the FBI could hang its hat on. Instead of million-dollar deals, there were thousands of hundred-dollar deals, like so many drops in the ocean. The wealth was shared with everyone from the elderly to the ignorant, who all knew to be suspicious of outsiders.
It was generational crime that became a lifestyle, fine-tuned in the most hospitable environment. The children were raised and schooled in it. The bad ways were the right ways without the need for rationalization. Angel had been the exception to the rule.
She moved her lips to a Luke Bryan song as the Ford tooled along, ignoring the heated breeze whipping through the window. The attorney stayed behind a few lengths in his BMW. He had to be just a little nervous to be showcasing that fine automobile to residents that could very well be making crystal meth.
Angel braked after turning onto Central Road, which acted as the property line for Lorna’s acreage and also the north side of the Trap. She glanced in her rearview while at a standstill. The BMW didn’t know if it should pull on her side, or just wait. She glared forward through the windshield at the Victorian two-story house a half-block away. It had fallen into decline since she last remembered.
The amber bricks were brown with dirt, hidden by the overgrowth of weeds, shrubs, and flowering bushes as if trying to be swallowed by the earth. The house had been majestic once, built early in a subdivision expected to sprout with new residents. Its decay could be considered beautiful, lacking repairs over the years. Two magnolia trees and two gigantic oaks were close enough to climb onto the roof or into the second-story window.
Behind the solitary structure was an acre of cleared land and then a forest of sickly pines. The skyline was a combination of bare dying trees mixed with healthy ones and bushes in clumps, like a horrible haircut. And just beyond that, out of sight, was the ghostly prison.
From the front yard looking out, one could see four meager ranch-style houses in the distance, none of them closer than two hundred yards. Another block past the house, the road stopped abruptly, turning to gravel, then dirt, then weeds. The barricades were in ruins. Road repair on the property needed to be financed by the owner.
Angel took her foot off the brake to continue, telling herself Aunt Lorna had a plan. The truck vibrated into a smooth cruising speed, then decelerated just as fast, dropping a few inches onto the cracked and shifting concrete driveway.
She slid from the truck’s seat to the ground, then adjusted her sundress. The letter remained in her grasp. She heard a random podcast end as Mark turned off the engine.
“Pictures don’t do it justice.” Mark climbed out of his vehicle. He put his elbows on top of the car roof, scratching at his stubble. “And now it’s yours.”
“Won’t be mine for long.”
He nodded. “Right. You’re going to stay awhile, then deny the bequest.”
“So, you drove forty miles from Brockton just to see this?”
Mark stepped close to her. “Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
“I’m mysterious and unpredictable. It’s working, right?” Mark showed his perfect teeth again.
“Absolutely,” she said sarcastically.
“It’s none of my business, but why wouldn’t she leave the house to Lucy May or even one of her sisters?”
“Because she knew she’d be cremated,” Angel said softly.
“I don’t understand.”
“Talking to myself.” Angel stared at the tall weathered door. “Is that a security camera mounted on the right column?”
“I’m guessing it is. Miss Lorna told me she had surveillance set up at the front and back doors. Inside and out. Nothing that covers the main rooms inside, though.”
Angel studied it. “The outside camera just catches the stoop from the side, not anyone’s approach.”
“Looks that way. They weren’t operational the day your aunt died, according to the sheriff.”
“Of course.”
“When working, it records to a hard drive, but you can sync it to your phone Miss Lorna had said, but you’d have to find the manual.”
“I’m familiar with security systems.”
“Right.” He nodded, looking up at the house. “You can feel its energy, can’t you?”
She blew air through her lips. “Like the Twilight Zone.”
Chapter 12
Angel entered the house with Mark in tow. She put the envelope down on the nearest end table, trusting the lawyer not to mess with it. If he had wanted to read it or even deny its existence, he had every opportunity.
The air inside was stale and stifling. They each shimmied a window open, ignoring the dead flies and spiderwebs that had collected on the sills, probably having been there long before she died. Angel found the thermostat, turning on the air conditioning.
With a deep breath from the new air inlets, she turned to the living room, which was nothing like she remembered from her Uncle Doug’s murder. A mess of figurines and blown glass crowded the shelves. Framed pictures of her children, sisters, and cousins formed geometric patterns on different sections of the walls. Lorna loved her photos.
An old paisley sofa and plush chairs were haphazardly placed as if Lorna didn’t know what to look at while sitting. One worn recliner faced a television with a sheen of dust on the screen.
Mark lifted a stack of magazines that caused a few to slip onto the floor. A speckling of particles rose in the natural light. “So… where’s the room?” His voice and head dipped while still looking at her.
Angel pointed straight up.
He broke eye contact and bent over to pick up the magazines. Why did she agree to this? Because Mark Senn knew private things about Lorna and possibly other family members. Besides, he had her acting like she did in high school when she enjoyed the chase. When was her last meaningful relationship? If she had to think about it, it wasn’t a good answer.
“Follow me.” More details returned from the murder investigation. It had been a hot if not mysterious news story for a full week before the press realized absolutely no one would talk. It eventually became a footnote next to the missing bus of baseball players.
Of maw maw Paulette’s three daughters, Lorna had been the firstborn and only to die. Izzy was the middle child, born a year later. Angel’s mom Mable had been the baby, also delivered a year after Izzy.
As she approached the stairs with Mark on her heels, the layout of the house came back to her. On the first floor, there were two bedrooms and a full bath, along with a laundry room. The hallway had the worn, matted runner that felt mushy under her soles. While ascending the stairs, she recalled three bedrooms and another full bath.
Angel turned back to him. “Normally, my family would probably cover it up and hide the body. Not this time.”
“Is it safe for me to know?”
She smiled. “Yeah. When the arguing started, Lorna called in to 9-1-1 to see if dispatch could locate Izzy.”
“So, there was a record.”
Mark stopped when Angel did, just like when they were on the road. They stood near the master bedroom. A giant horribly painted ceramic Crucifix hung from the door like some kind of scarecrow. The straining hallway light revealed that a padlock secured the jamb.
She let out a breath. “Sorry.”
“Oh, well.”
She folded her arms and shifted her weight to one hip. “Oh, well?”
“I’m torn up, but I internalize, so others don’t see my pain.” He touched his heart.
“You have as much shit with you as I do.”
“Just seeing this… interpretation of Jesus here was worth the trip.” He attempted to straighten it.
“Talk about a
sin.” She glanced at the misshapen Savior.
“What about the cage? You can show me that.”
“Sure.”
He followed her back downstairs. “I heard it was never moved.”
“Lorna was a hoarder. She wanted to keep it. It’s just a large dog cage.” Angel opened the basement door to the dim abyss, flipping on the light.
Was he there for her, or was there another reason besides curiosity? A lawyer working for the Blondeauxs could have ulterior motives. An unplugged washing machine and dryer marked the corners of a pathway. They dodged boxes, hanging clothes, and cleaning products until reaching the cage, which was still covered.
“Amazing.” Mark rolled up the edge of the tarp from the floor like a cigar. He placed the bundle on top of the tall cage with effort. “It’s so sad. His stuffed bear is even there. I’m a big horror fan – Stephen King – Silence of the Lambs. This is the closest to the real thing I’ve come across.”
She glanced at the ragged bear. It was easy for her to imagine a boy sitting in the corner with his knees drawn up. When working in Violent Crimes, she had assisted on several cases involving child abuse. She shook those visuals from her mind. “No pictures or selfies?”
He pointed at his head. “Nah. I got it all up here.”
“Impressive. Did you know Bobby is an embalmer now?”
His eyes widened. “No, they never told me. I mean, Lucy May said he was working at the funeral home, but I thought he’d just be sweeping up or cleaning. He’s embalming?”
“Apparently, he’s pretty smart. He still doesn’t like being around people, but he’s in a good place from what I heard.”
The attorney moved away from the cage. “Funny how things work out.”
“Funny?”
His attention finally turned back to her. “Miss Lorna giving her house to a federal agent.”
“A head-scratcher.”
“No doubt your kin will eventually come by.”
“I’m expecting it. All I can offer you is water if you’re thirsty.” She moved toward the stairs. “Or we can go for coffee.”
He cell chimed. “Oh, shit. That’s a reminder. I actually have to run. I promised to do something for my mom and I forgot. Her hip’s acting up.”
“Oh, okay. You were barely here a half-hour.”
“Half-hour well spent.” They exited the basement, walking to the front door. He reached for her hand. She let him curl one of his fingers around one of hers. “As far as second dates go, this was a good one.”
“Second date, eh?”
He leaned in and kissed her on the cheek, just shy of her lips. “Can’t wait for the third.”
The peck was presumptuous but not unwelcome. “I’m going to the Frog tonight. I believe you’re a regular there?”
He smiled wide. “My favorite place. The scene of our first date. I should be done with my mom’s appointment by then.” He walked away, knowing when to leave before things got awkward.
Angel watched Mark Senn fall into his BMW, setting coordinates into his navigator, probably wanting the shortest, quickest route out of the Trap. Along with the tingles on her face from being kissed, she got a weird, nagging feeling that had nothing to do with Mark.
The letter.
Chapter 13
Angel stared at the sealed envelope in her hand. Ruby needed to see it at the Bureau house, but not for a while. She would have to collect her suitcases at some point anyway. However, that was an hour drive. Her presence in Lemon Twig needed to be maintained at the moment. It wouldn’t help if anyone doubted her intentions.
Opening the envelope without a witness meant recording a video because mishandled evidence of a crime could be disputed in court. If it ended up incriminating her parents, would she be good with that? She might’ve been building up the envelope needlessly.
She turned on the video and spoke into the camera while putting on a pair of latex gloves, stating her name and date. After the preliminaries, she continued. “This is a sealed envelope I received from Attorney Mark Senn at the reading of Lorna Blondeaux’s will. My instructions were to open in private.”
After ensuring the video recorded a close-up of each side of the envelope, she leaned the cell against a glass so she could use both hands. A long skinny knife from a kitchen drawer ran up the seam, careful not to damage anything within. Still in line with the camera, she spread it open.
“It’s a piece of paper,” she said for the video.
She turned the envelope upside down, allowing the thin, narrow strip of paper to flutter out. There was a sentence written out in shaky script along with three double-digit numbers divided by dashes.
Some people die for other people’s sins.
It’s just a matter of when.
04-07-30
Could that be a date? Who died in 1930? No, a combination for the upstairs lock was more likely.
She spoke to the cell. “Lorna left me a set of numbers, significance unknown.”
Once satisfied, she ended the video.
She pushed both hands into her hair, pulling it back and letting out a breath. Her very first thought was that Lorna left her a clue to something she couldn’t reveal outright. Was someone murdered because they knew about the bus? Her second thought was of her bosses jumping up and down with glee. Donald, John, and Ruby were all going say told you so in unison.
What are you waiting for?
The kitchen chair almost fell over when she stood. She snatched the paper and shot up the stairs until facing the ceramic Jesus. Her hand secured the lock as she spun the wheel. In the back of her mind, she noted that the numbers and sequence might have meaning because Lorna had to have known cutting the lock was always an option.
The combination lock popped open.; mystery of the numbers solved.
She turned the knob, bracing herself as memories flashed like lightning bugs. Mutilated flesh popped in her vision. Day-old congealed blood had coated everything as if someone had whipped buckets of crimson paint around the room. Witness statements placed Bobby in the corner, smeared as the floor. The knife lay by his side.
The chunks of drywall that remained wore a splotchy light green color. A single bare bulb hung from a wire where a ceiling fan used to be, taken down because it had caught spray from the rise and fall of the blade. Large sections of plywood covered the majority of the floor, leaving some joists exposed.
If Lorna had left something in the room for her to find, it wasn’t there anymore.
Chapter 14
“I’m telling you there’s nothing in here,” Angel told Gail Ruby and Donald Lester over a dedicated line as she walked the murder room. “The floor was stripped. Nothing on the walls – what’s left of the walls. No furniture. Nothing in the closet. The de-con team cleared it all out.”
“Why keep it locked?” Ruby asked.
“Ghosts,” she guessed. “Her husband died in this room. So, we got nothing.”
“That’s not nothing, Angel. I agree with your assumption that you could’ve had that lock removed any number of ways. That phrase and those numbers mean something. I would take it to mean that one Blondeaux died to protect another Blondeaux.”
“Maybe.”
“How do you want to proceed?”
“Let’s let things unfold a bit. If I go in too hard, the clan could shut down.”
“What about the prison?”
“Right, it should be abandoned, but I’ll check it out.”
Donald reassured, “Okay, you got this. Do me a favor, though. Install some video outside the house and change the locks.”
Angel walked to the neighboring spare room containing the surveillance control box. “She already has video cameras, but they’re not on right now, and no, they weren’t on when she died. It’s an old system. I found the hard drive it records to. I’ll get it going again, but I’m not going to change the locks.”
“Why not?” Agent Ruby asked.
“If someone is going to break in, I want to see wh
at they’re looking for. I’ll be by the house later to collect my things. We’ll talk more.”
After the threesome hung up, Angel returned to the first floor. She stepped over a wooden rocking horse on her way to turn down the thermostat. There was no bottled water or perishables of any kind in the fridge, so she attempted to clean a glass with hot water.
The tomato-patterned curtains waved in the breeze, shedding light on white linoleum marbled with gold. The deep brown cabinets with glass knobs were crooked and half-open. Aunt Lorna must’ve sat at this very table every morning, all alone with her thoughts… her regrets.
She returned to the living room and sat on the sofa. Normal people were likely to refuse to live in this nightmare, not that the twins were well-adjusted. According to Lucy May, Lorna had been forced to live there. As punishment? To protect the house or the land? Why else return to where her son brutally murdered his father?
Angel’s mom revealed that maw maw Paulette hadn’t spoken to Lorna much prior to her death. She never offered a reason, and Angel never pushed. Maw maw Paulette lived in a secluded mansion that Blondeaux money built about forty years ago. The eighty-year-old was pretty much a recluse herself. If Angel had to guess, the family had begun turning to Izzy for direction after Doug’s murder.
Once that investigation had concluded, Bobby received court-ordered psychiatric care. He lived in a nice facility in Brockton for a year. Maw maw Paulette probably urged the Wilkens Funeral Home to put him through mortuary school. Taking into account the forced imprisonment and lack of development, how could they charge the boy with the murder of his father?
Blood Parish Page 5
