A Masquerade of Saints (Saints Mystery Series Book 3) Page 11

  “I don’t like this place,” I whispered. “MawMaw Deveroux used to warn me about places like this. She said it was bad gris gris.”

  “Ain’t no such thing as spells and witchcraft. You’re the only one who believes in that junk and wastes money on psychics.”

  I felt air on the back of my neck, reached up to see if it was a breeze and nearly jumped out of my skin when I heard someone say, “Ahem” only inches from my ear. The slender man from the front room had joined us.

  “What you need, Beauregard?” he asked, his voice was deeper than his thin frame suggested. It reminded me of Rivet and sent a shiver down my spine.

  “I need you to hold this package for us. A man will come by to pick it up. Simple as that,” Beau said and slid the letter, now in a folded paper bag, across the table to him.

  “Who’s the man?” he asked.

  “How much first?” Beau said.

  “Two hundred, but I want to know what I’m passing along,” the man replied.

  “What’s the price for no questions asked?” Beau countered.

  “Five hundred.”

  “Done. The man’s name is Banyan. Only give it to him.”

  “Will other people be asking about it?”

  Beau said, “If anybody else asks about it you play dumb. You’ll know Banyan when you see him. He’s a tall, dark haired Yankee.”

  Beau reached down and pulled five crisp one hundred dollar bills from the bag.

  “Is this money on the up and up?” the man asked, turning the pristine bills over.

  “It’s my money,” I said. “And we are paying for a question-free transaction.”

  The man stood to let us know it was time to leave. I was happy to oblige him. I was about to walk through the beaded curtains when I turned to the man and asked, “Are you clairvoyant?”

  He smiled and the curve of his lips hinted at something sinister. He said, “I dabble.”

  “Ever hear of Madame Du’Ponde?”

  He tipped his head forward and said, “We travel in similar circles.”

  “Does she have any real talent?”

  He twirled his fingers through his beard as he thought through his response, “She has one sure talent. She keeps her ears open.”

  “I was starting to suspect that about her.”

  “Told you,” Beau said. “Now let’s scoot.”

  “Not all of us are charlatans,” he said looking from me to Beau. “For instance the spirits tell me something about you, Fanchon.”

  “I never gave you my name.”

  He leaned back and said, “You didn’t have to. The spirits have been talking about you from the moment you walked in.”

  “That’s what Madame Du’Ponde used to say. She was hearing from the spirits.”

  “I suspect Du’Ponde told you mumbo jumbo about lost loved ones and vague clues that could be interpreted any number of ways. I have something real to tell you, something particular to you. The spirits say you are and always will be safe on the water. The spirits said if you don’t believe me to remember that the bayou kept you safe. Whenever you are in doubt, Fanchon, turn to the water.”

  Beau said, “That’s vague as hell.”

  The man’s deep voice grew loud and he looked to me with widened eyes and said, “A bayou gator kept you safe in New York. The bayou gave you safe passage away from the man with the hook hand when he tried to kidnap you. And Fanchon, listen to this because it’s the most important message of all: believe in the water because you are about to need it to save you again very soon. Is that specific enough?”

  I opened my mouth to say something, but no words came. He was pretty damn specific and pretty damn right.

  We walked back to the street, and Beau escorted me to a park that was less populated than the main street. Once there we pulled out one of our phones and I dialed detective Banyan, who picked up on the second ring. I nodded to Beau who started counting.

  Without giving him a chance to talk I said, “I was framed, and I can prove it. Madame Du’Ponde was paid to make me look guilty. Whoever did it wrote a letter offering her the money. It will prove why she won’t admit that she gave me advice. I took it from her house. If you confront her with it, she might tell you the truth. It's waiting for you at Downtown Voodoo.”

  “Where are you?” he said.

  “I’m not telling you until I can find out who framed me.”

  “Things are serious now and the police need to talk to you, Fanchon. George might die.”

  “I’m sorry. Tell Marlene I want to be there with her, but I just can’t yet.”

  Beau tapped my shoulder showing me I had two fingers left.

  “Tell me where you are? I will come get you and make sure you get to tell your side of the story.”

  “I can’t. I don’t know who is trying to frame me yet.”

  “I will do all I can to find out,” he replied. “Running from the police makes you look guilty. You have to come in.”

  Beau held up one finger.

  I said, “I’m not doing it until I know who did this to me. Did they find any other clues?”

  “It’s looking worse every minute. Everything is pointing to you. There was fertilizer all over your car. Your prints were in Curly's garage, all the way up to the rafters and on the can of poison. Can’t you just tell me why?”

  Beau held up all of his fingers and started to countdown from ten. “Give me one more day, Banyan, and I'll come in. I’ll explain everything. Please believe me and go get the letter. Downtown Voodoo. They will only give it to you.”

  I heard him say, “Why don’t you trust me?” just before I hit the end button.

  An unexpected visit

  We walked towards Curly's house looking for Remy, but when we were a block away we saw the street lined with police cruisers.

  We changed our plan and headed back to the car. We devised a plan to contact Maurice and have him help us draw Remy to the storage units. But that plan would have to wait until morning. In the meantime we drove around looking for a place to park and get some sleep. We passed a few parking lots that looked promising, but Beau pointed out no trespassing signs. A police cruiser passed us while we were eyeing a parking lot and I finally had an idea. I looked at Beau and said, "Let's stay with friends. It’s always quiet at the cemetery with Josephine and Lisette.”

  We parked next to the Chabert tomb, under a willow tree. We were so exhausted by the time we got there that neither of us said a thing. We intertwined our fingers, looked up at the full moon through the swaying branches, and drifted off to sleep.

  Josephine and Lisette came to me as I slept.

  The two of them were running barefoot in the tall grass by the water of the bayou. The sun was shining brightly as if it were midday. They ran, completely engrossed in each other like in the carefree days of our youth. It occurred to me now how the injustice of Lisette's young death was the catalyst of every death since. It had led to Josephine’s demise, Rivet’s and Paulina’s, brought about the truth of my origins and led to the mess George was in now. Then, as if they could hear my thoughts, the girls came to me, embracing me in a way that made me feel warm all over. I thought of how much I missed the,m and Josephine touched her heart and nodded her head. Though I could not speak, in my dream I thought that I was sorry for all that had happened. I thought of how appreciative I was for the good times and thanked Josephine for saving me. She shook her head and stepped aside, exposing a little girl in a yellow sundress and pigtails. I could not mistake the face of the little girl. It was the real Fanchon, the maid’s daughter with whom I used to climb trees. I reached down to hug her, and the girl smiled at me, pointing to her missing front tooth. I laughed and thought I was glad to think of her safe with my old friends. Then I looked to Josephine and thought, she is an angel but she did not save me. Josephine looked me square in the face and raised an eyebrow. Did she save my life? I wondered. Josephine grabbed me by my cheeks to make me look at her then tapped her head imploring me
to think.

  I woke up immediately from the dream and looked at the sky. It was still dark and I could hear Beau snoring next to me. I reached over and slugged him on the arm.

  He woke up punching the air in front of him, shouting.

  “I got it. I know what’s happening,” I said.

  “What was happening with what?”

  “When I met my real mom, Marlene, she told me that Mr. Baxter was not my biological father. Then Remy told me Mr. Baxter was happy that Helene was dead.”

  “What does that mean?” he asked.

  “I think it means if I hadn't been kidnapped I would be dead. I think somebody sent the tweed man to find me all those years ago and kill me.”

  “Everybody’s been saying that forever. You just ain’t been listening.”

  “No, there’s more to it than that. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that Jason Stepwald tried to kill me. And I don’t think it was a coincidence that he got his alligator from my hometown.”

  Beau nodded and said, “Why do you think they want you dead though? If everybody knows you ain’t Mr. Baxter’s daughter then I don’t reckon that’s a secret worth killing over.”

  “Maybe it would be worth it to my sister. She will inherit everything if George is dead and if I’m in prison for his murder. Or Mr. Baxter might want his own kids to inherit the money.”

  “Your sister got poisoned, too,” he said.

  “Not enough to die. Maybe she was just poisoned enough to make her look innocent.”

  “How you gonna prove any of that?”

  “I have to talk to the only person who ever tried to kill me and lived, Jason Stepwald.”

  Neither of us could get back to sleep. We settled instead on finding the nearest Waffle House and ate our fill until the sun came up. Then we went to the Wal-Mart and bought new clothing and splashed ourselves clean in the bathroom sinks. I threw my tourist shop tank top in the trash and traded it in for a printed blue and white sundress with a straw hat and oversized sunglasses. Beau went for long basketball shorts and a Duck Dynasty T-shirt, which he said was going to be his new “nice” shirt.

  We went to the hospital and sauntered in as if we were expected. I left my glasses on as I spoke to the woman at the information desk and asked for the room number for Jason Stepwald. The woman gave me dirty look and said, “No visitors allowed for that particular guest.”

  “I’m not his visitor. I am one of his victims,” I told her.

  Her face softened. Then she said, "I'm really sorry, but I can't tell you anything about that one. Feel free to look around though. Maybe on the second floor."

  I thanked her, and Beau and I took the elevator up to the second floor and walked past the nurse's station as if we had been there a million times. I walked down the first hallway and when I reached the intersection I looked to my right and saw a police officer sitting at the end of it. His head was down with his cap over his face and his feet were propped up on the windowsill. There was a waiting area in the hall, and I asked Beau to sit there and wait for me.

  I made my way down the hall and quietly opened the door by the police officer. When I turned to look at Jason his eyes were closed and there was an I.V. line running from his wrist. His once muscular arms were reduced to skin stretched over bone. The hand he had lost to the alligator no longer had a hook, just a stump. At the foot of his bed was a nearly full bag of urine, attached to him under his blanket by a clear tube.

  It was apparent why the police officer was sleeping. Jason’s right leg was gone, and he looked so withered and small, there was no threat of an escape.

  I saw bright red scars around his eyes and stitched lacerations all over his chest.

  I took two steps closer to the bed and his toe twitched. It was enough to make me startle. I remembered him pushing me down the stairs, and the popping sound I heard in my leg when I fell. I turned away from him to collect myself, and I heard his voice behind me whisper, “Fanchon?”

  I looked back at him. His eyes were still closed. I took a step forward not afraid of him anymore. I knew I was the stronger of the two of us.

  “How did you know?”

  “Unforgettable scent,” was his reply.

  I looked at his still unopened eyes and on closer inspection saw that lids had been sewn shut.

  “Looking at your face I think I gave you something to remember me by.”

  He laughed. “Ain’t that the truth.”

  “You’re going to need those memories, Jason, because I think your killing days are over.”

  He moved his head swiftly to the right, and I jumped away from the bed. He laughed. “You’re probably right, my little hillbilly, but you will never have me out of your head. Of that I’m sure.”

  His smile unnerved me, and I said, “I know you think calling me a hillbilly might bother me, but it doesn’t. Some of my best friends are hillbillies.”

  He said nothing and continued to smirk.

  “I think you already know that I am not a hillbilly at all. I was born into a family with money. If I hadn’t met you, and you hadn’t killed Josephine, I might never have found out.”

  The smirk on his face changed.

  “That must have been a big surprise for you,” he said. “Too surprising in fact. I always wondered how it all fit together.”

  “All what?” I asked.

  He didn't answer, and I pushed again. “Did somebody hire you to kill me?”

  “Somebody did, but I didn’t need to be paid to kill you. It would have been my pleasure. But my mother always told me if you’re good at something you should never do it for free.”

  "If you were paid to kill me why did you murder Josephine?" I asked, raising my voice.

  "Shh," he said. "You'll wake the oaf the in the hallway. I told you a long time ago that I killed Josephine because I wanted to. I didn't plan on it. Sometimes these things just happen."

  "Murder doesn't just happen."

  "With Josephine it did."

  "Who paid you to kill me?"

  His smirk returned and he started talking to himself. “Should I tell her? Or should I let it all play out? She always comes out on top, this one. She’ll figure it out.”

  He murmured to himself for almost a minute when I finally said, “Are you losing your mind?”

  He snapped out of his conversation with himself.

  “A little,” he replied. “Of all the things that happened, Fanchon, and all the questions you have asked, why haven’t you asked the one question that really mattered? If you had I might just have told you.”

  “What question?” I asked.

  “You should have asked me who it was that I called after you left me at the restaurant back in New York. Who was it that knew how to find you so quickly?”

  I felt a knot in my stomach. I always thought he called information or a utility company. But that never did sit right. He didn’t know my last name.

  “Awfully quiet, Fanchon,” he said smiling. “That person really didn't want me to meet Josephine, but you ran out and changed the plan. Kinda makes you wonder, doesn’t it?”

  “I don’t suppose you would just tell me who it was?”

  He shook his head.

  “You probably don't even know.”

  "Oh, I didn't always know. But I do now. And it's good."

  "If I guessed who it was would you tell me?"

  “What time is it?” he asked.

  “Why?”

  “I hear a cart coming down the hall, and if it’s eight o’clock it means my breakfast is due to arrive and they will wake the oaf in the hallway to spit in my food.”

  I glanced at the clock and saw that it was eight. I walked to the door and looked out the small viewing window and saw an orderly pushing a cart towards the door. I did not have time to get out into the hallway without him seeing me. I heard him wake the police officer and as Jason said, he spit in his food. I jumped to the backside of the door and whispered, “Was it Terry, the guy who killed Lisette?”<
br />
  He smiled and shook his head. “Go fish.”

  The door swung open, hiding me behind it. The officer and orderly walked into the room towards the bed. Stepwald started coughing violently, which I imagined he did to cover me so I could leave. I took the opportunity and padded quietly around the door and out of the room.

  I walked back to Beau. He was sitting in the waiting room at the end of the hall. It was the kind lined with windows so guests had a view of the hallway. It was encircled with shiny vinyl chairs and little wooden tables. The room was littered with tattered magazines. The highlight of the room was a wall mounted TV. Beau was watching a morning talk show when I walked in. He turned his attention to me as I sat across from him. "I was right. Somebody paid him to kill me."

  Beau looked lost in thought a few minutes, and then his expression changed to a look of surprise and he said, “Don’t turn around.”

  "What?" I asked.

  “The cop is standing behind you watching the TV. Pretend to laugh or something.”

  I did.

  Beau kept looking beyond me, and his expression changed from a fake smile to a furrowed brow.

  “What?” I said.

  “A man in a trench coat and sunglasses just walked behind the cop."

  I sat still for a moment. Then Beau nodded his head to me and said, “The cop’s gone.”

  I jumped out of my chair turned and pressed my face to the glass, looking down the hall for the man in the trench coat. I was just in time to see the tail of his coat go through the door.

  "That's suspicious," I said.

  Beau agreed, and we decided we should leave before the man came back.

  What Remy knew

  We went back to the city and visited Maurice's storage garage. We passed him a few bucks to put word out that he had a shipment of scuffed mowers and weed whackers. Maurice gladly took part in the scheme and asked no questions.

  Beau and I spent the rest of the morning sitting on a bench outside of the storage office, waiting for any sign of Remy.

  Just before the rumbling of our stomachs got the better of us we finally saw a Ford F-150 pull through the gates of the storage facility. In the driver’s seat I saw Remy wearing mirrored sunglasses too big for his face. He did not see me and kept driving towards Maurice’s open storage unit.