Darkwater Truth

by Robin Caroll

  Beau nodded. “Look, we’re going to do our best to figure out what happened and to get the person or persons who did this, but you’ve got to let us do our job.”

  She nodded just as Tracey came back in. “Geoff understood.” She smiled as she sat on the other side of Addy. “He said to tell you that if you need anything, he’s available for whatever you need.”

  “Geoff’s a good guy.” Addy nodded.

  Tracey stopped smiling. “Look, Ads, I called my friend after I got off the phone with Geoff. He said that your dad’s house didn’t burn all the way down, but it has a lot of damage. Emphasis on lot. No way can your dad stay there tonight and probably not for a while. I don’t know how long it’ll take your dad’s homeowners insurance to send somebody out or anything, but you should probably make other arrangements. My friend said that because your dad said someone set the fire, it’s listed as a crime scene and the arson investigator won’t allow anyone to go into what’s left of the house until he clears it.”

  “He can stay with me,” Beau said.

  Addy shook her head. “Don’t be silly. He can take my bed and I’ll sleep on the couch tonight, then I’ll get him a suite tomorrow. I do happen to be general manager of a hotel, you know.”

  Beau kept his mouth shut. For once, he was very glad that Addy lived at the hotel because it sure appeared that she and Vincent were somebody’s targets. He didn’t know whose or for what, but he sure intended to find out.

  9

  — Dimitri

  “Good service this morning, Pastor.” Dimitri shook the preacher’s hand.

  “Glad you enjoyed it, Dimitri. How’re you doing?”

  Dimitri nodded. “I’m good. See you next week.” He headed out of the sanctuary and toward his car.

  The early March sun beat down on the asphalt parking lot. A gentle breeze kicked a few stray leaves across the lot.

  “Imagine running into Dimitri Pampalon here.” Zoey grinned as she held her toddler son on her hip. He held a wad of her dark red hair in his fist. “How’re you?”

  A tall, thin guy with a head full of dark, wavy hair stood awkwardly beside her car just behind her.

  “Hey, Zoey. I’m good. How’re you?” He reached out and tickled the toddler’s belly. “And how’re you, Mister Sam?”

  “He’s being quite the handful today. He gave the nursery workers quite the workout, I hear.” She took a step toward the man. “Dimitri, I’d like you to meet Solomon Youngblood. He’s the artist we’ll be featuring on Friday night.” She smiled at him brightly, like she used to smile at the men in the bar at the hotel. “Solomon, this is Dimitri Pampalon. He’ll be hosting your showing at the Darkwater Inn and also is the chef who’ll be cooking something scrumptious to serve.”

  Dimitri reached out and shook Solomon’s hand. “Nice to meet you.” The guy’s hand was so limp that it could hardly be called a “handshake.”

  “You, too.” Solomon’s gaze dropped to the church’s parking lot. Social graces apparently weren’t high on his skill set. It couldn’t be his age. While probably only a few years younger than Dimitri’s thirty-four, he acted more like an insecure teenager.

  Maybe it was that quirky artist thing.

  Zoey seemed to feel the awkwardness, too. She shifted Sam from one hip to the other. “Solomon’s a very gifted artist. His paintings will blow you away. They’re so moving. Emotional. Deep.” Her eyes plead with Dimitri to say something.

  He struggled to remember what she’d told him about the artist. “I understand all of your paintings have a religious tone?” He hoped he was remembering right.

  “Yes. That’s the only way I can exhibit my work.” He glanced at his watch, then looked at Zoey. “I must leave. Father won’t like it if I’m late.” He leaned over and gave her a kiss on the cheek, then ducked his head as he turned back to Dimitri. “It was nice to meet you. Thank you for hosting my show this weekend.”

  “Of course.” But before Dimitri could say any more, Solomon jogged off and turned the corner. He looked back to Zoey. “Are you sure a show is the best idea for him?”

  She opened her car door and lifted Sam into his car seat. The toddler wiggled and squirmed as she struggled to get his arms into the harness. “I know he’s a little awkward around people, but that’s just because of his family.”

  “What’s wrong with his family?” Dimitri made faces at Sam behind Zoey’s head.

  The toddler laughed and made waving motions to Dimitri.

  Zoey clicked the belts in place, handing Sam a plastic army man and a couple of superhero figurines. She shut the back door and turned to face Dimitri. “They’re just…strange. Best I can tell from what Solomon has said is they’re kind of religious freaks and his whole family lives together in like a commune or the like. Even his dad, who is like over a hundred years old.”

  Dimitri chuckled.

  “No, I’m serious. His dad is really at least a hundred years old.”

  “Wow.”

  She nodded as she played with her keys. “He’s quite overbearing, too, from what I understand. Most of Solomon’s brothers aren’t even allowed to leave their home. The only reason his dad lets Solomon out is because he says it would be a sin to keep his God-given talent from the world.”

  “Sounds a little nuts.” Actually, more than a little nuts, but to each his own. Dimitri wasn’t one to talk. His own father was overbearing and could be downright cruel on many occasions.

  Okay, on most occasions.

  “I haven’t met his dad. Haven’t met any of his family, to be honest.”

  “And you’re dating this guy?” Dimitri leaned against the front of Zoey’s car.

  She blushed, but smiled. “He’s sweet. Treats me with such respect. Never makes me feel like I’m a second-class citizen because of what I once did to support myself and Sam. And that’s something else—he’s nice to Sam and doesn’t make me question my choice to be a single mom.”

  “Sounds like he makes you happy.”

  “He does. It’s nice for a change to not have to guess his motives. For once, I’m the one who seems to have the upper hand in a relationship.”

  Dimitri just smiled. “I’m happy for you.”

  “Thanks. So, you can understand why I want the show to go well for Solomon. He really needs the boost of confidence, as well as proof to his father.”

  “I understand that all too well.”

  “I know you do.” She grabbed Dimitri’s hand and squeezed. “So thank you.”

  Sam began fussing in the back seat. Zoey opened the driver’s door and smiled at Dimitri. “It’s time for his morning nap. I better go before he starts wailing like there’s no tomorrow.”

  “Bye, Sam.” He waved at the toddler before patting Zoey’s arm. “I’ll see you Friday.”

  She smiled and nodded before slipping behind the steering wheel.

  Dimitri watched her drive off before heading to his own car. Maybe he should do a little checking up on Solomon Youngblood before his show at the restaurant. The guy’s behavior went beyond a little odd. Dimitri wanted to know what he was in store for.

  And, if he were being honest, to make sure Zoey was okay. There were a lot of crazies out there, and one could never be too careful.

  — Addy

  “Daddy, I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to go to the house.” Addy folded the blanket her father had used last night. She’d fought for him to take her bed, but he’d adamantly demanded to sleep on the couch. In the end, he’d gone into a coughing fit and she hadn’t wanted to stress him more, so she’d let him have the couch.

  He was getting a suite today, whether he liked it or not. But first, she had to talk him out of going to the house to see what was left.

  “Addy, it’s my home. I have to go see how much is salvageable.” He slipped on his sneakers, one of the few personal belongings he’d made it out of the fire with.

  She’d gotten him some sweat pants and tees from the gift shop last night, toiletries from
the hotel’s housekeeping department, and Beau had delivered a bag late with new undies and socks.

  “I understand, but the doctor told you to take it easy for a few days. That’s a big knot on your head under those stitches. You’re supposed to rest a lot. Put your feet up.”

  He finished putting on his shoes and stood. “I can’t rest not knowing. It’s not like I’m going to go do any lifting or anything. Besides, I need to get my truck.”

  “You definitely aren’t supposed to be driving, Daddy. Especially not while you’re taking the pain medication on top of the head injury. I’ll have one of the porters drive your truck over.”

  “Addy, I’m not an invalid. I have a bump on my head.” He grabbed the keys he’d had in his jeans pocket when he’d been dragged out of the burning house. Luckily his wallet had been in his back pocket. “I need to go get a new cell phone, too.”

  “Dad, you have a bump and a cut with eight stitches. I think you should lay around for at least a day.”

  “You can either drive me over, or I’ll get a ride. Either way, I’m going.” He stood with his hands on his hips, wearing the pinched look of a bulldog.

  She wasn’t going to win this argument either. Addy sighed. “Fine. I’ll take you to the house, but you aren’t driving your truck back. I’ll have someone get it for you. Deal?”

  He nodded. She held out her hand for his keys.

  “You’ll take me to the mobile store, too? I can’t be without my phone.”

  “Yes, I’ll take you there, too.” Which would be her excuse to get him away from the house. She grabbed his keys. “Let’s go.”

  She stopped at the valet stand on her way out and gave her father’s keys to one of the guys, giving them instructions to collect Vincent’s truck.

  Moments later, they were in her car, on the way to the house she’d called home all of her life.

  His knee jiggled the closer they got to the house.

  She didn’t know how to prepare for what she might see. If they’d been able to get in and get her dad out, surely the house hadn’t burned to the ground. If there was only a black pile of rubble where her home had once been…well, she didn’t know how she could take that.

  Her entire childhood and all her life milestones were wrapped up in the house. Baking cookies for Santa with her dad, who let her use as much frosting as she wanted. Dyeing Easter eggs and staining her fingers purple—and her dad’s pink. Sitting with Dad in the living room scribbling girlish stories in her journals and drinking chocolate milk while Dad wrote his professional books drinking strong coffee.

  She drove silently as she let more times flood her memory. Getting ready for her first date, and her dad scaring the snot out of Timmy Pepper when he came to pick her up…slumber parties with Tracey, who didn’t care that Addy’s mom was always drunk…she and Trace practicing “kissing” with their lipstick on the bathroom mirror.

  All the pictures and cherished mementos were in the house, like postcard collections from all the vacations and trips she took over the last three decades. She’d moved out, yes, but so many of her photographs had been left at the house. Her permanent home.

  Her heart ached to think that her special place—home—might be gone. Many of her fondest memories included Beau: sharing PB&Js on the back porch when they were no more than seven or eight, camping in her backyard with her dad when they were barely ten, countless holidays—Thanksgivings and Christmases and Easters…so many reminiscences.

  The house that had been her refuge when she’d been sexually attacked in college…it welcomed her home and gave her safety and comfort.

  She slowly made the turn onto their street. Addy reached out and took her dad’s hand. “No matter what we find, we know it’s going to be okay. We’ll get through it just like we do everything: together.”

  He squeezed her hand, then let it go. “You got that right, sweetheart.”

  She gripped the steering wheel until her hands cramped, but kept her eyes glued out the front windshield.

  Oh, merciful heavens!

  She eased the car to park beside a marked fire department’s car that sat alongside her father’s truck at the turn of the driveway. She remembered to actually put the car in park before she turned off the ignition and step outside.

  The stench of smoke still smoldered in the air. Addy’s heart lodged in the back of her throat as she took in the sight of the charred ruins. Her eyes lit on where the living room used to be. The metal springs from her father’s recliner were blackened and lying on top of piles of ash. There wasn’t even a frame of the chair he’d been sitting in when he’d been knocked unconscious. It was nothing short of a miracle that his neighbor had seen the flames so quickly after it’d been set, called 911, and that the fireman had been able to find and save Vincent before he’d been burned alive.

  “Oh, Daddy.”

  Addy sucked in air, closed her eyes, and sent up silent prayers of thanks for the hedge of protection that had clearly been around her father last night. Only that protection could have kept her father alive.

  She was grateful—would forever be filled with such gratitude that her father’s life had been spared. She couldn’t imagine not having her father in her life every day.

  “It’s okay, Addybear. We’re okay.” His voice cracked as he took hold of her hand and held it tightly.

  She turned and hugged him, tears burning her eyes as she clung to him.

  He kissed the crown of her head.

  “Who are you and what are you doing here?” The rough edge of the man’s voice pulled Addy away from her father toward the stranger.

  “This is my home.” Her father glanced at the rubble and shook his head. “Or it was.” He held out his hand to the man. “Vincent Fountaine, and this is my daughter, Adelaide.”

  The man shook her father’s hand. “Mel Watson, arson investigator. I understand you were the one who reported to the police that you believe the fire was set.”

  Vincent nodded, his hand going to the bandage on top of his head. “I don’t believe it, I know it. Have the bump up here and eight stitches to prove it.”

  Mr. Watson shook his head. “I did find that an accelerant was used. From my initial investigation, I’d say that a lot was used. Almost overkill, in my professional opinion.” He stared at Vincent. “Whoever set this fire meant to destroy the house and everything inside. Not just that, but they wanted quick results.”

  “Well, I’m gonna go out on a limb and say they wanted me dead, for whatever reason, since they knocked me out and left me in my chair.”

  Addy pressed her lips together. The intent was clear, and it made her want to vomit. Who would want to kill her father?

  “I’m sorry, sir.” Mr. Watson waved toward the house. “I’m also sorry for this. Although the front is pretty much a hundred percent destroyed, the back of the house has some damage, but there is much that is salvageable.”

  Addy glanced back at the house. Their bedrooms were in the back of the house, and that’s where many of their irreplaceable mementos had been. Maybe…

  “Could we go look back there? I mean, we just want to see what personal effects we can recover.” Addy took a tentative step toward Mr. Watson. “Please? We promise not to touch anything unless we get your permission first.”

  “Actually, ma’ am, I’ve finished my observations. I just have to go write up my report. I was about to tell the young officer there that he could release the scene. You’re free to go and touch anything you’d like, but I’ll warn you to be extremely careful. While most everything is cooled, there are glass shards and other items that can cut or hurt you.”

  “Oh. Okay. By the way you asked what we were doing here, I thought maybe we couldn’t be here.”

  Mr. Watson smiled at her. “It’s my experience that many times the arsonist will return to the scene so he can admire the results of his handiwork. I question everyone.”

  “I see.” That made sense, but it was kind of sick, too, to set a fire and then w
ant to go see the damage you caused. Well, the people who had done this clearly were sick, so this shouldn’t surprise her.

  “Have you contacted your home owners insurance yet?” Mr. Watson asked.

  “Not yet. Will their settlement be delayed because this will be ruled an arson?” Her father asked.

  As the two men talked, Addy cautiously headed around the property to the back of the house that still stood. She would have never guessed from where she’d stood at the front of the driveway that there was significantly less damage back here. She cautiously stepped over some debris as she walked into the room that had been her father’s bedroom. The large closet in the corner still stood, even the wood door.

  She stepped into the closet. Soot covered most all of the clothes that still hung on the rods. She pushed her father’s clothes to the very back of the closet and found a zipped, plastic protective bag hanging up. Addy gently pulled it forward and unzipped it with shaking hands.

  Inside was her grandmother’s white beaded-and-lace wedding dress, the one her father had kept all these years for Addy—as pristine white as the last time she had seen it. Fresh tears welled in her eyes as relief washed over her. Of all the materials items that could’ve been lost, she would have grieved losing her paternal grandmother’s wedding dress the most.

  “It’s okay?”

  She turned, gently holding the bag, and face her father. “It’s fine.”

  He smiled, and his eyes shimmered as well.

  They held each other’s gaze for a moment, then he sniffed. “I think I’m going to grab some of my clothes. Looks like most of my stuff is okay.”

  “I’m going to put this in the car.” She headed back to the driveway. Her day had started with such dismay over the destruction—now she was filled with such gratitude. Her father was alive and the one irreplaceable heirloom was safe.

  Thank You, Jesus.

  10

  — Beau

  “Have you seen Gene or Kenny?” Marcel stopped at Beau’s desk with coffee as soon as his partner had made it into the precinct. He passed one of the two paper cups to Beau, then perched on the edge of Beau’s desk.