by Angie Sandro
“Oh, I see. You’re planning on locking me back up in the psych ward. Well, I’m not going without a fight. So you might as well arrest me now for assault on a peace officer.”
“Mala Jean! I’m concerned.”
“No, you’re in denial and trying to find excuses. You know I’m telling the truth, but you’re scared to admit it. What do you need? More proof?”
“Yes.” Bessie glances at Sheriff Keyes, who nods. Why is he letting her do all the talking?
“Fine, if that’s what it takes. But I warn you”—I step forward, holding the gaze of her onyx eyes—“if you make me do this, you’re the one who will suffer. And I’m sorry.”
“Why are you apologizing?” Her voice hitches on the question, and her eyes widen. Part of me wants to spare her the coming heartache, but it’s too late for regrets. For either of us.
I let the protective shield in my mind drop. Not a lot. Just enough to encompass this office. Whatever magic that draws spirits to me like iron to a magnet engages.
An icy draft flows through the room. Bessie shivers, fingers fumbling with the cuffs of her rolled-up sleeves. “Why is it so cold?” she whispers, and vapor forms in the air in front of her. “Did the air conditioner kick on?”
Sheriff Keyes rises from his seat and waves a hand in front of the air vent. “No. Are you responsible for this, Deputy Dubois?”
My brother raises his hands. The tips of his fingers have turned blue. “Mala…”
I grit my teeth so they don’t chatter. I want to appear to be in control of my powers. Sure, I still suck at controlling spirits, but to show my fear would undo whatever trust I gain from this situation.
A blurred figure appears behind Bessie’s shoulder. I focus on drawing it from the other side. When he solidifies, I walk over to her bookshelf and pull the picture of the young, uniformed man from the shelf and hold it out to her. “Your husband has something to say.”
Bessie stiffens. “What did you say?”
“Daniel’s here.” I cock my head, listening. His voice sounds distant, as if the wind blows it away. “He has a message for you.”
Her hands slap the desk. “This isn’t funny.” She pushes up from her seat. The chair rolls back to slam against the wall. Bessie’s deceased husband steps closer, and a full-body shudder wracks her body. “Stop this, please,” she begs.
And I want to. I really do, but I can’t. It’s too late.
The spirit’s voice drops directly into my brain, and I speak for him. “Daniel says he’s been watching out for you and Maggie. He’s so proud of his daughter. And happy she found Tommy. You raised her right. But it’s time for you to find a man and move on.”
Bessie hisses. “I can’t believe you’d use my interest in Ferdinand against me.”
My shoulders hunch in pain at the hurtful accusation. But I understand why she’s lashing out. “Daniel says he’s tired, but you won’t let him move on. You’ve got to stop holding on to him—talking to him.” I lay the picture face down on her desk. “You got to let him go.”
“Mala…”
“You kept his badge. And the last note he wrote to you before he went out on patrol the day he died. They’re in the top right desk drawer.”
“How did you k-know?”
“Same way I know you’ve got a dress in that dry cleaning bag behind the door for the date you were thinking about canceling. He says to stop feeling guilty about being alive. Go and have fun.”
Tears stream down Bessie’s cheeks. I’ve never seen her cry. It rocks the very foundation of my world. She stares into space, which happens to be where her husband stands, gazing into her eyes, as if she senses his presence. “Have I been selfish holding you here?”
His outstretched hand caresses her cheek.
She shudders, whispering, “Daniel…”
He gives one last sad smile, then fades. “He’s gone.”
“No, call him back!” Bessie yells. “There’s more I need to say to him.”
“He’s heard everything you’ve ever said to him, but he’s gone now. For good this time. This is what I do. I help the dead pass over to the other side.” My head’s killing me. Every time I drop the barrier I get a wicked headache. This time it’s worse. The overhead lights create a pulsing throb behind my eyeballs, and I squint. “Do you believe me now?” Please don’t make me call up your dead mama or something. Please.
She folds her arms on the desk and presses her face into the crease of her elbow.
Sheriff Keyes watches Bessie with an intensity that sets my heart thumping. How did I never notice before? The man’s in love with Bessie. Does she know? Damn…
When she doesn’t answer, Sheriff Keyes waves his hand in a shooing motion. “Do what you’ve got to do. We won’t stop you. But remember this: You’re a consultant. Nothing more. No peace officer powers. No gun. Deputy Dubois, you’re responsible for keeping her from getting herself killed.”
“I won’t put her in harm’s way,” my big bro promises, taking my elbow and steering me from the room. Sheriff Keyes’ voice follows us into the hallway, nothing more than a dull rumble.
“Come on, Mala. Let’s get the knife to the techs.”
“Why didn’t you mention it to Bessie?”
He shrugs. “We’ve got no way to prove this knife was used to kill the kids. The chain of evidence won’t hold up in court. And I don’t particularly want to answer questions about how it came to be in your possession. They were suspicious enough without producing the murder weapon.”
My phone vibrates, sending a thrill through my ass. I slip it out of my pocket. “It’s Landry.”
“He’s probably calling to bitch you out about letting the kids go. You’ll have to call him after we finish with Ernesto. Reception’s nonexistent once we enter the dungeon.”
The evidence room is like an underground bunker, with concrete block walls and rows upon rows of shelving and boxes. Ernesto Diaz, the evidence technician, sits at his desk with his feet propped up on a chair. His computer monitor displays a game of Spider Solitaire. When he sees us, he sits up with a groan and clicks the minimize button. “What’s up, Dubois? Catch a new case for me to process?”
“Need to see about lifting some prints.” George pulls the baggie with the knife from his pocket and hands it over. “What do you think?”
Ernesto holds the bag up to the light. “Whoa, man, where’d you find this?”
“Don’t ask. Let’s just say I’m calling in that favor you owe me.”
Chapter 18
Landry
Cranky Pants
The house is empty when Sophia, Ferdinand, and I arrive. Mala left a note saying she’s taking off with George but doesn’t say why or where she’s going.
I shove my phone into my jean pocket. “She won’t answer.”
Ferdinand drops onto the sofa and picks up the remote. “Magnolia won’t be arriving until late afternoon anyway, and fuck if I feel like dealing with it now. I slept wrong, and I want to rest up for the ritual.”
Sophia glances at me, and I shrug. I can’t blame him for being pissy. Still, I’ve got to ask. “But don’t we need to do this ASAP?”
“If Mala doesn’t care, why should I? ’Sides, we can’t do shit without the queen,” Ferdinand says with no inflection. The big guy’s already got CNN on the screen, and he lounges with his legs crossed and arms folded in front of him.
Sophia motions toward the door. “Ferdinand can stay and wait for Queen Magnolia if you’ll give me a ride to my motel. I need to get some supplies.”
“Yeah, whatever.” Better than sticking around here with Mr. Cranky Pants. Plus, I have a few places in town I can check for my runaway girlfriend. “Let’s go.”
Once we’re in the truck, I ask, “Where exactly are you staying?”
“Robicheaux’s B and B. Until that obnoxious woman brought her brats over this morning and interrupted my complimentary breakfast, it was a nice, quiet stay.”
I shoot her a quick look
.
“Your boys threw a fit the moment they got dropped off. They didn’t take the reunion well, and they’re giving their mom hell. As deserved.” Sophia laughs, buckling her seat belt. “I’ve been meaning to apologize for what happened in the graveyard.”
Did I just hear her right? I’m half blind, not half deaf. Maybe a bit crazy ’cause the sincerity in her tone has me questioning everything, like the whole nature of the universe—Big Bang versus seven days and nights—the totality of it all. If the woman who puts the capital B in Bitch could apologize, then perhaps my demon rider really is an angel. And I’m not going to hell in a hand basket. “Sophia…are you seriously sorry about molesting me?”
She gives a haughty sniff and waves her manicured hand. “Not like you’re a virgin.”
Ah yes, order in the universe restored. “Doesn’t matter…” I shake my head. “You know, if you’re so twisted you can’t recognize that what you did was wrong, nothing I say matters.”
“I apologized, didn’t I?” She stares out the window. “I knew it was immoral, but I didn’t have a choice. When Magnolia gives the order, I obey.”
“What happened to free will?”
She chuckles. “I chose beauty over freedom. The only time I regret it is when I see Gaston. Except he still desires my body. I doubt he would be as interested if he saw the sagging skin of a sixty-year-old hag.”
“Harsh. I guess the saying ‘beauty’s only skin deep’ doesn’t apply to you. So, what happened? It’s pretty obvious the two of you still have feelings for each other.”
“I was apprenticed to Magnolia at birth, as payment for some service she provided to my mother. I never saw my birth family again. Not that I care. Magnolia provided all I ever needed and more.” She pauses with a sigh, and I wonder what she’s thinking. Is she really okay with being sold? Or not knowing her family origins…who and where she comes from?
Her shiny emerald eyes turn in my direction. “Would you be happy knowing your only value to your mother was as something she could barter? Why would I want to meet someone like that?”
“Sorry…” I let the apology trail off.
The bushes up ahead part, and I press the brakes. A buck steps cautiously onto the road and glances in my direction, then makes a run for it, followed by the rest of the herd of deer. I watch them in silence, hyper aware of the woman sitting next to me. I’m not sure what more I can say to help ease the pain she obviously still feels but doesn’t want to acknowledge. Her willingness to open up this much shocks me.
Sophia stares at the creatures bounding across the road with a slight smile. “Gaston and I met as children, before his mother and her sister parted ways. We grew up together out here, roaming these woods. It was a beautiful, magical childhood spent with my first and only love.” Her sigh hums with longing and regret. “He promised to marry me when he returned from Vietnam, and I vowed to wait for him. And I did. When Magnolia and Cora had their falling out, I had no choice but to follow my mistress to New Orleans. Even there, I remained faithful to Gaston. He’s the one who broke his promise to come back to me.”
“He died, Sophia.”
“We both know death is not an excuse.” The corner of her lip curls with the raw, bitterness in her voice. “He chose to remain on the LaCroix property despite knowing I was forbidden to return.”
My gut clenches in sympathy. Not only for her losing the man she loved, but also at the thought that this could be my fate. How did Gaston find the strength to leave her? Did he think he was doing her a favor by setting her free to live her life? What I do know is that I couldn’t do it. No way. If given a choice after I die, I’ll tie myself to Mala and the baby. No matter how difficult it might be for her to see me when I’m dead or how much it hurts me to be unable to touch them. Even if I’ve got to watch her move on with another man, I won’t abandon them.
* * *
The Robicheaux’s Bed and Breakfast is a converted two-story Victorian painted the same color blue as my dead sister’s eyes, with white trim around the windows. It’s a pretty place. My mom and the owner, May, were childhood friends. We used to visit after church on Sundays. Lainey and I would play hide-and-go-seek in the garden while May and Mom sat on the porch swing and gossiped.
Those memories of happier days fill me with pain, and I shove them into the back of my mind. I hope, someday, I’ll be able to revisit them without the heavy sadness choking off my breath. I help Sophia out of the truck in silence. She still hasn’t come out of herself. It’s a day for dark reflection.
“Dark reflection,” Sophia says, sighing out the last word. “My, Landry, you’re quite the poet.”
I grunt, waving for her to take the lead. Sure, we seem to have struck a truce, but I still don’t trust her at my back. Or walking on my blind side.
As soon as I reach the bottom of the front staircase, a kid screams bloody murder and blurs across the porch. A tiny body launches itself from the front step. My arms open, and I don’t even have time to pray I don’t miss, what with my depth perception being all screwed up, before Axle slams into my arms. “Landry, did you come to take us home?”
I hug him tight, breathing deeply to calm my pounding heart. I force myself to set him on his feet and run my fingers through his baby-fine hair with a trembling hand. “Why aren’t you in school?”
“Pepper said she wanted to spend the day getting to know us better. If she cared so much, she wouldn’t have ’bandoned us, right? It’s bullsh”—his eyes widen—“poop.”
“Where did you hear that, ’cause I know you didn’t come up with it yourself?”
His gaze drops, and he shrugs.
I squat down until I’m at eye level. “Where’s Jonjovi?”
“He ran off, but don’t tell.”
“Axle…”
“Said ‘This is bull…poop’ and he’s going home, but he wouldn’t let me come ’cause I’d tell Pepper-mama. But I can keep a secret.”
Shit! This just gets better and better. I knew this would happen. “Where’s your mom?”
“Probably doing the nasty with ol’ Judd the Stud. They kicked me out of the room.”
Instant rage flares at hearing Judd’s with Pepper, but I force myself to remain calm so I don’t scare the kiddo into thinking he’s the source. “Axle, where do you get this stuff?”
He rolls his eyes, reminding me of Carl. “Dad gave me the sex talk when I was seven. I’m not a kid.”
My head’s about to explode. TMI overload. “And Daryl?”
“Said he’s going to Playtown Park. He wouldn’t let me come either. Dena would’ve made them take me.”
Damn it, Daryl might be the smarter twin, but when it comes to family, he doesn’t have the sense God gave a toad. Selfish little bastard left his baby brothers to fend for themselves after swearing to Carl that he’d watch over them. Soon as I find him, his ass is gonna get up close and personal with the toe of my boot.
“Let’s go find your mom.” I grab Axle by the back of the shirt when he tries to make a break for it and steer him into the B and B. “Where’s your room?”
He points down the long hallway past the dining room. “Number three, but I’m not going in there. Judd said he’d smack me into next week if I disturbed them.”
I’d like to see him try that with me. “I’ll take care of him.”
Axle punches his fist into the air. “Yeah! Take his a-a…butt out. One-two punch.”
A throb of pain pulses behind my dead eye.
I don’t want him to witness what happens, especially if his mama’s really doing the nasty. “Go get some pie while I talk to your mom,” I say, waiting until he takes the ten-dollar bill I hold out and heads into the dining room.
Sophia took off the minute the kid played Superman and launched himself into my arms.
I pound on Pepper’s door, then press my ear against the wood. Filtered whispers and rustles come from the other side. The door flies open before my twentieth knock connects, and I pull my fist back
so I don’t accidentally punch her in the face.
She stares at me with wide eyes through an untamed mop of red curls and pulls the gaping top of her robe closed. “What do you want? Ms. Moulton told—”
“Told me what? That you said you’d take care of the boys. Keep your boyfriend away from them? Next you’re gonna tell me you were playing with yourself just now.”
She gasps. “That’s disgusting.”
“How do you think I feel saying it?” I shove open the door, forcing her backward so I can see into the room. The bed’s empty, but a breeze ruffles the curtains hanging in front of the open window and blows the ripe stink of cologne through the room. “Where is he?”
“I don’t know.”
“When are you going to learn, Pepper? Like Carl said, ‘Respect is earned.’ Your sons won’t forgive your crap just because they love you. You’ve got to earn their trust, and this isn’t the way to do it.”
“Wow, Landry. Didn’t think you’d grow up all holier than thou, but I guess I should’ve expected it given your daddy. Course, he’s a big ol’ hypocrite too, talking about turning the other cheek. Guess he meant that literally, since he never did anything about my husband beating me even when he saw the bruises. Maybe that’s why your mama turned out nuttier than Ida Jean’s fruitcake.”
It takes all my strength not to lash out at her words. Dad wouldn’t condone domestic abuse. I won’t let her manipulate me into feeling sorry for her. Judd’s her choice. “Ida Jean’s dead, Pepper. She died two months ago. No more nuts in the fruitcake. Or cake period, but then, you’d know that if you’d stuck around.”
Her cheeks turn as red as her hair. “Fine, rub my face in my bad decisions. Think I don’t know how badly I’ve screwed up my family. All I have to do is go to the hospital and look at my dying daughter.” Tears well up in her eyes, and my heart constricts. Not sure if it’s sympathy or heartburn, ’cause I’m pretty sure those tears are fake. Damn! I’m getting cynical in my old age.
“Just do right by the kids you’ve got left. Don’t leave them to wander around alone. There’s a killer on the loose.” I pinch my lips together. Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything about the case George is working, but…fuck him. “I’ll give you twenty minutes to get dressed, and then we’re going out to gather your troops and bring them back together. After you apologize for being a shitty parent, take them to Munchies for pizza. No pepperoni, just cheese.”
