by Angie Sandro
I tap my head. “The one up here is concerned we don’t have enough information, and the only ones who have a clue about what’s going on are Magnolia and crew. But who’s to say they’re being truthful with us? They’ve got their own agenda. And they’re not sharing.”
Gaston stares at me like I’ve lost my mind. And hell, maybe I’m not wrapped tight. The skin around his mouth puckers. At least he appears to be thinking about what I’m saying. “What do you need me to do?” he asks.
“We need their help, but we also can’t blindly go along with what they tell us.”
Gaston turns his head. “They’re coming.”
I turn to see two shadowed forms on the path leading from the crossroads. Ferdinand favors one leg when he enters the clearing. Sophia’s face lights up, and a smile forms on her pouty lips, but her amorous expression isn’t for me. Her eyes drink in Gaston like he’s a tall glass of water. And I know she’s seeing him as he appeared before his death. He knows it too. And he’s not as unaffected as he would like to portray.
For a brief second, his image shimmers to reflect his unburned appearance. Like he can’t control it. Maybe he doesn’t want to. For all his big talk, Sophia still gets to him. Guess it’s true what they say about never really getting over your first love.
“Landry, you look lovely,” Sophia calls. Today she’s dressed more appropriately. Instead of a skirt and high heels, she’s in tan khakis and flat leather boots. A wide-brimmed, Curious George–type jungle hat rests on top of her silky, black hair. All she needs is an elephant gun and she’ll be ready to go on a wild-game safari. She saunters over and, before I can pull away, plants a kiss on my cheek.
Revulsion flows at the touch of her moist lips, and I pull back, rubbing her red lipstick off with the back of my hand. “Don’t touch me!” The words spring from deep in my gut.
Her lips form a pout. “I thought we got over our feud when you begged for my help yesterday.”
“Today is a new day.”
“Indeed it is.” She brushes dried blood off the altar stone with her bare hand and sits down, crossing her legs. “Where is your baby mama? I seem to recall telling her to meet us here today. We need to purify her.”
Ferdinand throws his backpack to the ground, then turns. “Fuck this! I have better things to do with my time than stay in this town, twiddling my thumbs while waiting on the two of you. I told you the side effect of not ridding the body of the pollutants. Yesterday should have taught you how much you have left to learn about controlling your gifts.”
I share a quick look with Gaston. “Damn, Ferdinand, tell me how you really feel.”
“Don’t mind him. He slept poorly last night,” Sophia says, waving her hand in his direction. “One downside to getting old is waking up with random aches and pains and not knowing how you injured yourself in your sleep.”
I forgot that Sophia is a lot older than she appears. If she and Gaston were hanging out before his death, she’s got to be at least sixty, yet she looks half that age. “I know it’s not polite to ask a lady her age, but…”
“You’ve seen my true appearance. And while I’ve aged well, without the glamour, I don’t appear quite this beautiful. Nor does my body feel as youthful as I’d like. The sort of spells for immortality come with a high cost.”
Ferdinand snorts. “Not that you’re not vain enough to contemplate casting one.”
Sophia’s face flames. “Contrary to popular belief, I have no desire to damn my soul simply to live forever.”
“Whoa, come on. Let’s not fight,” I say. “There’s something I need to talk to you both about.”
Sophia rolls her green eyes. “Why? Will you trust what I say or continue to look upon me with suspicion?”
“Stop acting like an enfant,” Ferdinand says.
This whole situation is ridiculous.
“They endeavor to keep you distracted from the real issue, host. Listen to the hidden.”
“Can you please stop speaking in riddles?”
“That is not my nature.”
The weight of eyes on me brings me to the present. “Something happened to Mala this morning,” I say, and proceed to lay out everything I’ve learned. Well, I leave out the parts about her bringing the knife out of her dream, my suspicions about them, and the demon not being a demon in the biblical sense. So basically, they get the mega-edited version.
Ferdinand and Sophia share a long meaningful look.
“It’s as predicted,” Ferdinand says.
Sophia nods like a lovely puppet on a string. “We may be too late. We should have performed the cleansing ritual yesterday. All the drama.” She sighs. “I thought it would be fine to wait. Now that he’s connected to her, it will be tougher to pry him free. Where is she?”
“At home.”
“Then let’s go get her before it’s too late,” Ferdinand says.
Chapter 17
Mala
Professional Courtesy
As much as I long to drop-kick my brother’s ass off my property, I can’t. It’s a sad fact that no matter how angry he makes me, I always end up forgiving him. ’Cause I’m stupid loyal to my friends and family, and while it pains me to admit it right now, Georgie’s both. Though he sure as shit doesn’t deserve the benefit of the doubt half the time. It’s usually only when I look back on his actions that I can see he isn’t a self-serving jackass and has my best interests at heart. It’s just how he goes about making his point that I hate.
Same with this situation. He knows about the demon. He knows about the murderer. He knows, and I know, that the kids are in danger. No matter how much I would like to deny it, I’d be an idiot to risk their lives to thumb my nose at George. I just wish Landry could put aside his anger long enough to trust me and acknowledge the pitiful reality of our situation. It would make my life simpler, ’cause I get tired of always being the bad guy in our relationship.
I lead the way up the stairs and ease myself into one of the rocking chairs, careful not to bump my injured arm. George sits across from me as I say, “I’m not happy with this situation or you right now. Just promise you’ll find Judd.”
He drums his fingers on the table. “Don’t worry. We’re searching for him. Pepper said he hasn’t contacted her since he fled the scene yesterday, but she’ll notify me if he does. She’ll remain at Robicheaux’s tonight, then move back home while she packs up their stuff and sells the place.”
“She’s also planning on pulling the plug on Dena.” My eyes meet George’s. “Did she mention that?”
He focuses on the table. “Yeah. It’s time, don’t you think?”
I contemplate telling him my plan to raise her. But it’s only something else he can use against me whenever he wants. Forget that. “Dena’s strong, and as long as she’s still breathing, there’s hope she’ll make it back to us. Pepper pulling the plug is taking away that chance.”
“So you’d rather she suffer.”
Tears fill my eyes. Even without knowing Dee’s trapped in limbo with Redford, he hits the nail on the head. I need to change the subject quick, but I can’t speak around the emotion clogging my throat.
George nods toward my arm. “So what really happened? And don’t say you tripped and fell. Did Landry hurt you?”
My mouth tightens at the suspicion. “He would never hurt me. Neither would the creature in his head, but I don’t suppose you’ll believe that without proof.” I lean forward. “Last night, I had a nightmare that wasn’t. I dreamed about the murderer. He picked up another boy.”
He breathes in with a hiss. “What did you see?”
“Nothing helpful in figuring out who is he is. But the kid’s dead, and I think…” I could have saved him. But I can’t admit that out loud. “He has another trophy spot. It’s a field full of bones. Those damn blue butterflies and a sky on fire. I’m not sure which of the details are real. But that guy knew I was there. And he cut my arm.”
“How the hell did he hurt you in a dream?�
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My head bobs. “Don’t know, but I’ve got the knife he used.”
“What?”
I give him a tight smile. “He dropped it when he fought with the demon possessing Landry.”
“Girl,” he says, blowing out the word with a snorted breath, “you’re not making a lick of sense.”
“Tell me about it. I’m totally freaked.” I push out of the chair. “Come on. I’ll show you.”
George follows on my heels, literally, and I jab my elbow toward his stomach. He skips back a step with a muttered “Brat.”
The knife’s still wrapped in the sheet on the bed, right where Landry left it. Part of me had worried it would have vanished like the misty details of my dream, but I’m not so lucky. Its cold presence is a reminder of how deadly my situation is. A residual fire races up my palm, and I’m careful not to touch the bone hilt. “This is it. Do you think we can get prints?”
“Did you touch it?”
“Hell, yeah. He tried to kill me, and I was unarmed. Picked it up as soon as he dropped it. Landry touched it too. Can you dust for prints anyway? We can give you ours for elimination.”
“Yeah, it’s possible to get prints off skeletal material. Probably should use a silicone rubber compound to lift the print. We also might be able to get some DNA, if there’s any left in the marrow. Determine if it’s human or animal. Let’s take it to the station.”
My nose scrunches. “I think it’s a ceremonial knife.”
“Would your aunt know anything?”
I grimace at the thought of Auntie Magnolia, but he’s got a point. “Let’s run this by the professionals first.”
“There’s someone else I want you to meet while we’re in town.”
I raise an eyebrow.
“Remember I told you a professor found the boy’s remains. Well, Deputy Winters said she called and requested a meeting with you this afternoon. Says she has some information and it’s pretty important, but it has to be in private. You up for it?”
“Sounds weird. I don’t know why she’d want to talk to me, but I’m game if you are.”
I try to call Landry to tell him where I’m going, but his phone’s in the living room on the charger. He stormed off without it. And I’ve got no idea when he’ll be back. I write him a note and stick it to the TV.
“Where to first?” I ask.
“The station. Bessie wants to talk to you, and we can ask the tech what he thinks about the knife.” He dons latex gloves and pulls a plastic Ziploc bag from one of his cargo pants’ pockets, then removes the knife from the sheet and drops it into the bag.
* * *
When we reach the crossroad, I feel a spike of guilt when I see Ferdinand’s car parked by the side of the road. I’d forgotten we were supposed to meet this morning. But before I have a chance to ask George if he’d mind stopping, we’re turning onto the road to town. The Bertrand Parish sheriff’s office and fire department are located in the same brick building off Main Street. We pull in through the gated back parking lot, and I draw in a deep breath. Giddiness fills me. My gaze travels over the parked patrol cars and the fenced-in shed that houses confiscated property that won’t fit inside the evidence room. Unlike yesterday, when I went in through the front like every other private citizen of Bertrand Parish, entering though the restricted access feels like coming home.
The firefighters have an engine parked out back and are busy scrubbing it with long-handled brushes. Pete Lemaster, who was a total tool in high school but pulled his head out of his butt to become a productive member of society, turns the water hose in my direction.
“Hey!” I yell, skirting the puddle.
He laughs, lifting the hose again. “Mala Jean, missed ya, girl. Let me show my appreciation for those fine legs of yours. Dance for me, baby.”
“You’re the only thing I don’t miss about working here. And I guarantee, if I ever come back to work here, you’d better duck and cover.” I mime shoving a pole up where the sun don’t shine.
He blows a kiss in my direction.
George raises his hand, palm up. That’s it. He doesn’t say a word, but Pete lowers the hose with a chagrined expression. When George looks away, he rolls his eyes, and I shrug. My brother’s lost his sense of humor today. Not that I blame him, given what we’re here to find out. I’m upset too, but I also can’t stifle my excitement about being here. I finally get the chance to be of use. No more helpless, silent witness. I’m gonna hunt this creep down before he turns the tables and finds me.
George enters his password into the keypad, and I follow him into the building. I breathe in, loving the smell of burned coffee wafting through the air. It’s been too long since I graced these halls, but nothing has changed. When we file past the interview room, I peek through the window to see Andy inside with a handcuffed man. Rex lies in front of the door. His tail thumps on the ground when I pass, but he doesn’t move.
“Do you want to say hi to Dixie?” George asks.
“Oh? She wasn’t on duty when I stopped by yesterday.” I glance toward the dispatch center down the hall. Dixie sits in front of a large computer screen with her headset on and microphone down. Her fingers fly across the keyboard. I shake my head. “I’ll talk to her later. Is Bessie in her office? What do you think she’ll say? I really think I can help with this case.”
“Best way to find out is to ask.”
I square my shoulders and head toward her office. Her voice filters down the hallway, and I also recognize the sheriff’s voice coming from the room. And my name. Oh crap, they’re talking about me.
I freeze outside the door, not sure if I should go in or turn around and run for the swamp. Instead I peek inside. Sheriff Keyes lounges in a chair in front of Bessie’s desk with his hands folded over his round belly, while Bessie paces in front of her bookshelf. They don’t look happy. Maybe it’s best if I come back later. I step backward and bump into a solid chest.
George reaches around and knocks on the partially open door. “Mala’s here to talk with you.”
I throw a dirty expression over my shoulder. He shrugs and hip bumps me through the doorway. I stumble forward and mumble “Hi” around the lump in my throat. “Sorry I had to leave so quickly yesterday. I know you both have questions. I’ll do my best to answer them, but the thing is, I may not know the answer. This is all pretty new to me too.”
I wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans. Silence fills the room. I clear my throat. “I was telling George earlier that I think the guy killed another kid yesterday. In my vision the boy looked to be about sixteen, with brown hair and a fair complexion. Maybe about five-nine, but I’m not sure since he was lying down. I don’t know where the suspect killed him. The crime scene seemed familiar, but I can’t place where it could be.”
Bessie shares a sharp look with Sheriff Keyes before she steps over to her desk and picks up a manila folder and pulls out a picture. “Is this the boy you saw?”
Biting my lip, I take the picture with a trembling hand. My breath catches when I see the boy smiling from the school photograph. “Yeah, it’s him. What was his name?”
“His name is Marcus Wright. His parents reported him missing last night. The boy’s from one parish over. Sixteen. Someone saw a white sedan pick him up off the side of Route 23 and called it in.”
“Any identifiers on the vehicle?” I ask, reverting to language I learned while working in dispatch with Dixie. Back then, instead of calling the deputies by their name, I used their radio call signs. Instead of calling a fight a fight, I called it by the criminal code designation. Such an easy habit to fall back into. Comforting. And I need it right now, because I’m all kinds of shook up. For some reason, seeing the boy in the dream, even getting cut by the killer, didn’t make him feel as real as seeing his picture.
“We’ve got a partial Louisiana plate number. We’re running variations of it now to see what we can come up with in this area.”
“The murderer was driving a white car in my vision yest
erday.” I stare down at the boy’s face one last time as I gently place the photograph on the desk. “Pepper’s boyfriend Judd also drives a car identical to the one I saw.”
“And you’re only just mentioning this?” George says.
I bite my lip, ashamed. “Thought you might think I was being prejudiced since he’s an ass. Plus, the probability of him being the killer is so low. But he’s someone we should definitely question, if only to rule him out. Don’t you think?”
“Mala, how do you know all of this?” Bessie drops into her seat and steeples her hands on the desk. “It’s so hard to believe.”
“Then trust me. When have I ever lied to you, Bessie? Do you think I’d make this up? That I’m sadistic enough to go around murdering boys so I can pretend to solve their case, because that’s the only other explanation for how I knew where to find those bodies. Or that this boy’s missing.”
Sheriff Keyes still hasn’t spoken a word. This scares me more than Bessie’s question. He studies me with expressionless eyes, so unlike his usual twinkle. He used to like me. Now I’m not so sure. And that hurts worse than anything.
Tears well up, but I blink them away. “I guess I’ve wasted your time. Let’s go, George. I doubt they want me walking unescorted through the halls.”
“This is nuts!” George bursts out.
“Deputy Dubois,” Bessie says, “get ahold of yourself.”
“No, this is bullshit. Are you seriously letting her leave like this? Even if you think she’s a suspect, then you should at least interrogate her to find out what she knows.”
“George—” I back away from him. Is he saying to stick me in that tiny room where that homeless guy sat, stinking up the chair, and question me for hours on end? “I’ve already told you what I know. You don’t have to treat me like a criminal.”
“We’re not saying you’re a suspect,” Bessie says. “We think you’re confused. I called Dr. Rhys, and he said you could be delusional if you’re off your medication.”
