Gunning For Angels (Fallen Angels Book 1) (12 page)

A casual stroll through the lunatic asylum shows that faith does not prove anything.

–Friedrich Nietzsche

The inside of the shotgun lady’s house made the front yard look normal. Every nook and crevice was filled with something religious. Suffering Jesus statues, mournful Mary’s and a multitude of religious quotes in everything from embroidery to cross-stitch to notebook paper tacked to the wall on a straight pin. 

“Jesus,” Jack muttered.

“What?” Maude paused at the door leading into the kitchen.

Jack felt a stab of guilt. The sharp gleam in her eyes reminded him of Sister Mary, the nun at the tiny Catholic Church on the reservation that his grandmother dragged him to for th
e two years he lived with her – after his mother died. He flinched at the memory of his mother and forced any thoughts of her out of his mind.

Jack stared at the curtains decorated with a repeating pattern of Christ in the bloody process of being crucified.

“Lovely home.” 

“I know,” Maude smiled. “I did it myself.”

“Oh.” Jack tried to look surprised.

Maude
motioned for them to sit at a weathered wooden table. Maude grabbed two Jesus glasses out of a cabinet and filled them with water from the tap.

Jack eyed a salt shaker in the shape of a cross. A suffering Jesus hung on it – an “S” written across his belly and one hole in the top of his head. The pepper
shaker was a Jesus, which had a “P” on his belly and multiple holes in the top of his head.

Jack concentrated on drinking the water she set in front of them as he tried to ignore the agonized Jesus face that gazed up at him from the glass.

“Private detective, huh?” Maude put a plate of what Jack could only describe as crucifixion sugar cookies in front of Enid. “I’m Maude Brisquet, but I guess you know that if you came all the way out here.” 

“Jack Fox.” He pulled out his wallet, showing his identification.

She glanced at it. “Is part of your job sneaking around like a thief in the night?”

“I’m sorry about that. I…”

Maude bit into a cookie, leaving teeth marks across Jesus’s face. “You here about
Ann
?” She said the name like she was chewing on dirt.

“Yes ma’am.”

Maude tapped a finger on a worn Bible that sat on the table. “Can’t tell me the Devil ain’t alive and well.”

“Thriving,” Jack said, stealing a glance at Enid. She was nibbling an ear off her Jesus cookie.

“Amen! Ann turned her back on the Lord and run out with that piece of white trash boyfriend – she thought I didn’t know but I knew. I drove down there myself –
The Sugar Shack
.” Maude spat the words in disdain.

“Serpents and sodomites,” Jack answered, feeling the skin under his right eye twitch like fishing wire was jerking on it.

“Little pitchers have big ears,” Maude nodded toward Enid.

“Honey,” Jack smiled at Enid, “Why don’t you take some cookies and wait for me in the car?”

“I’d rather stay with you,
Dad
.”

“Please do what I ask, Sweetheart.”

“Children don’t listen to their parents. It’s just the beginning. The devil lurks in all young girls, waiting to come out and fornicate.”

Enid pushed the chair back, “I think I
will
wait in the car.”

“Sit!” Maude said sternly.

With a gulp, Enid sat.

Hang in there, kid.

Maude pulled the Bible to her chest, eyes drifting toward the window. “I had a vision. Angel Gabriel himself came to me – told me that Ann’s baby – spawned in evil and that place of vice – the baby needed to die. The Angel Gabriel told me to leave the baby to die.”

Jack glanced nervously at Enid, who was staring in revulsion at Maude’s withered trance-like face. 

“Angel Gabriel told me the baby would be saved, once it was safe in the arms of Jesus – in heaven.”

Jack tried to sa
y “Amen,” but couldn’t.

“My Ann dying in that car accident was no accident – it was the righteous hand of The Lord.”

Jack hesitated. “And – the baby?”

Maude looked him straight in the eye. “With Jesus, praise be to the Lord.”

Jack tried to hide his disgust by dropping his eyes. He was surprised that Maude thought Ann’s baby, Jeni, had died.

Why did she think Jeni had died as a baby? Who told her that?

“You’re
glad
your own daughter’s baby
died
?” Enid exclaimed.

“Enid!” Jack shot her a warning look.

Enid stared at Maude, trembling with rage. “How would you like it if somebody who was supposed to love and protect you left
you
to die?”

Jack stood, acutely aware that Maude’s shotgun was leaning against the fridge, within her reach.

“Let’s go,” Jack said to Enid. 

E
nid stood, her fists clenched to her sides.

Maude turned on Enid, like she was the devil come to life in her kitchen. “Demon! Out! Out!”

Jack grabbed Enid and pushed her toward the door.

Enid shouted,
“If you’re happy a baby is dead -
you’re
the evil one!”

“Go to the car!” Jack shoved Enid
through the door and planted himself in the doorway, blocking Maude. He listened as Enid stumbled toward the car door.

Maude moved toward him with a menacing light in her eyes, “She’ll break your heart, you know.”

Jack heard the car door slam. He backed away from Maude, who followed him into the living room, the shotgun moving in herky-jerky motions with her words. “I saw the devil in
her
eyes and he was laughing at
you
.”

Jack backed through the front door, his feet making the porch boards groan. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Enid in the front seat, behind the wheel. Jack heard the roar of the engine and sprinted to the car.

Jack, hearing the unmistakable click of the shotgun trigger, dove into the car just as the shotgun exploded.

Enid stomped on the accelerator, which slung Jack sideways. He grabbed the seat and fought to keep from tumbling out as Enid careened up the driveway. He had the fleeting image of an anguished Jesus face in the brush that missed catching him in the face by a hair. 

The tires hit the asphalt of the road so violently that Jack hit his head and saw stars. Enid yanked the wheel in a hard right, followed by a left that sent the car screeching into the opposite lane.

Jack grabbed the wheel. “Slow down!”

Enid stomped on the brakes and Jack slammed into the dashboard.

“Don’t you know how to drive?” Jack yelled, rubbing his shoulder that was throbbing with pain.

“No! I don’t know how to drive! I’m too young. You
jerk!”

Before Jack could speak, Enid burst into hysterical crying.

Jack stared at her in horror. This wasn’t any crying like he’d ever seen. This was hiccupping, gulping for air, tomato-faced
wailing
.
He got out and came to the driver’s side, where he was able to push her into the passenger seat. Jack eased the car onto the dirt median and shut off the engine.

Her wailing was intensifying. He fought the urge to dump her on the side of the road and bolt.

“Are you okay?” He asked awkwardly.

“WAHHHHHHH!” She garbled out something incoherent. 

Jack remembered something his father used to do. He reached over, gave her a medium-powered punch on the arm.

“OW! That hurt!” Enid stopped crying and glared at him indignantly.

“Yeah,” Jack said enthusiastically, “But it took your mind off the crying.”

Why’s she looking at me like that?

“That’s the stupidest thing I ever heard!” Enid said.

“You stopped crying.”

Enid stared at him a long moment. “Can I have a hug?”

“Uh…” Jack recoiled in confusion.

Enid reached out to hug him and, grabbing a clump of his shirt, she blew her nose into it with a loud honk and used what was left of it to wipe her running nose. “Thanks.”

Jack stared down at his snot-covered shirt in horror.

You must look into people, as well as at them.

–Lord Chesterfield

“There’s no way Eve Hargrove murdered anyone – especially her own father,” Chip said. 

“You shadowing me was a bad idea,” Bud muttered as he drove toward Phoenix. 

“Gorgeous
and
rich. I can’t believe some people get that lucky,” Chip said wonderingly. 

“She didn’t get lucky. She did it the old-fashioned way and, by old-fashioned, I mean
medieval.
She murdered her father so she could get her grubby paws on his fortune.”

“No way. She looks like an angel.
”

“Your mother is right. If you want to stay here, you need a job. The sooner, the better.”

“I’m going to treat researching the book like a job. It’s not like I’ll be slacking off – I’ll be with you all day, so it’ll be like putting in a forty-hour week. At least until I start writing my novel.”

“You need to start looking for a job
today
– this shadowing me stuff is not going to work.”

“I don’t get it.
You agreed to it this morning. What changed?”

Bud kept quiet, recalling how Eve Hargrove had sized Chip up like a man-sized hors d’oeuvre
. Bud shifted uncomfortably when he remembered the touch of her fingertips on his neck. He always imagined her as ice-cold and was shocked to feel the warmth of her touch. Not in his wildest dreams did he ever imagine he’d be susceptible to her touch.

“We’re going home,
” Bud snapped, “You can borrow your mother’s car to look for a job.”

“You know, I
do have friends I can stay with,” Chip said defiantly. “It’s not like I’m a kid you can order around. I can stay with Joe Westley – don’t let it bother you that he’s still smoking crack. Or I can stay with Linda Mottle – I think she broke up with the baby daddy who is a gangbanger, so the way is all clear of
me.”

“Fine! You can stay with us - until you come to your senses and go back to school.”

“What’s next?” Chip said. “Interrogation? Stake out a suspect?”

Twenty minutes later, Bud had Chip in a tiny file room at the station, buried in files.

“It’s an important part of detective work, son.” Bud said to Chip’s disgruntled look. “One percent inspiration, ninety-nine percent perspiration.” Bud headed out the door.

“Where are you going?”

“I’ll be back before you get to the B’s.”

“That soon?” Chip said sarcastically, eyeing the stacks of files.

“I’ll bring back lunch,” Bud said, grinning his way down the hall. 

Twenty minutes later, Bud flashed his badge to a nervous cashier manning the front door of The Candy Store. “Can you have Jeni Hargrove meet me out front? Tell her it’s Detective Orlean. She knows me.”

Within five minutes, Jeni stood in front of him. She wore jeans and a loose tee that concealed her outfit – or lack thereof.

Bud told her about finding her stepfather’s body in the desert. “I’m sorry to break the news to you like this.”

Jeni said, “I didn’t figure he was alive. Not after all this time.”

Bud studied her. There was something different about Jeni, but he could never quite put his finger on it. During the original investigation into Daniel Hargrove’s disappearance, he had gotten to know the Hargrove family, and he quickly realized that Jeni was different – she was special. She reminded him of a dangerously ripe peach on a low-hanging branch. 

The peach that ripens first is the first to rot.

He wished that someone as fiercely protective as Bunnie could have been her mother – things might have been better for her. There was something in Jeni’s eyes that looked…

Breakable.

“How’s the baby?” Bud said
.

A shadow flitted across her face, followed by a forced smile. “Fine. Why’d you come down? You could have called and told me all this.”

“I wanted to touch base with you – find out if anything’s changed. Any new information that could help us?”

Jeni looked pensive.

Bud felt his pulse quicken.

“I did find out something,” she said haltingly, “but I don’t think it has anything to do with anything.”

“Try me.”

“Vivian Hargrove isn’t my real mother.”

Bud frowned, wondering why he hadn’t come up with that information during his investigation.

“I hired a detective to help me find my real mother.”

“Who’d you hire?”

“Jack Fox.”

Bud raised his eyebrows.

“You know him?” she asked.

Bud nodded.

“I heard he’s the best,” she said.

Bud gave a noncommittal smile.

Until that morning, the last time Bud had seen Jack Fox was over thirty years ago – at the funeral of Jack’s father. Jack was the illegitimate son who had been carefully hidden and quietly living with his mother “across the tracks”. Jack wasn’t even supposed to exist – much less show up for his father’s funeral. There wasn’t a police officer or detective in the city who could talk about the legendary Police Chief Harry Waterstone without recalling the stories of his funeral, which a teenage Jack Fox violently disrupted.

As a young recruit, Bud had been at the funeral. Even after all these years, the image of what Jack had done was seared in Bud’s memory. The story had taken on an urban legend quality and Bud expected the stories to diminish but, over the years, the stories intensified. In one stroke, the kid – Jack – had forever destroyed the sterling reputation of Police Chief Harry Waterstone.

“When did you find out you were adopted?” Bud asked Jeni.

“That’s just it. Vivian says I wasn’t. She swears I’m hers, but I got proof she’s lying.”

“What proof?”

Jeni described to him the photograph that she had found of her mother, looking slim and fabulous in a bathing suit, when she should have been eight months pregnant. Bud listened with interest.

Bud said,
“Has Jack had any luck with finding your mother?”

Jeni shook her head, wrapped her arms closer. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

Jeni looked down, miserable.

Bud said, “Is everything okay? Anything I can do to help?”

Tears sprang to Jeni’s eyes. After a moment, she shook her head and escaped into the club.

Bud watched the red door closed behind her, wondering how Jack fit into the picture. It was too big of a coincidence that Jack Fox knew both the sisters, Eve and Jeni. Was Jack really trying to find Jeni’s real mother like Jeni claimed or – was Jack Fox investigating Daniel Hargrove’s murder?