Where The Devil Won't Go: A Lucas Peyroux Novel (3 page)

Chapter 6

While sitting on her bed after
just waking, Cozy examined a black and white portrait of her parents on their
wedding day.
Her mother, Aponi Rainstorm-Robicheaux, bragged to
be a direct descendant of the Opelousas Indian Tribe.
Cozy’s father had
been pure bayou-mud Cajun. That combination instilled a fierce survival
instinct in their offspring; evident from the night she had been born to the
day she had murdered her father with a shotgun.

“Thought I heard you rustling.” Her
mother entered with a bowl of grits, butter melting on top, and a glass of
orange juice. Her Cajun accent and Native American features were an interesting
dichotomy.

“Tell me about when I was born.”

Her momma beamed, handing over the bowl
of grits. “Well, everyone involved tells it exaggerated flare, but I keep it
truthful.”

“I like your version best.”

She sat next to her with the arched back
of a British Royal. “I was playing
bourre
with Mr. Earl, his wife and Ms. Beverly and her sister when my water broke,
ending the card game right there. You were three weeks early. Everyone had come
in Mr. Earl’s flatboat, so we tried to take your daddy’s car, but it wouldn’t
start.”

“He was too drunk to figure out the cable
came off the battery.” Cozy looked to the floor.

“Yes. Everyone helped me into Mr. Earl’s
flatboat, but by then it was too late. You were on your way. I gave birth to
your right there.”

“Born on the bayou.”

“Born on the bayou.” Her momma kissed the
side of her head. “From your first breath, you were an indigenous creature of
Manchac.”

“Where you have to belong or move out.”

Her momma stood. “Let’s go into the
kitchen.”

She squinted. “You have coffee?”

“Coffee? You want to try coffee?” Her
mother paused in thought. “Let me make you a cup with sugar and milk so it’s
not so strong.”

“I like it black. I had it at Ash’s once.”

“Black? Don’t be silly.”

Cozy squeezed her eyes shut and stood
also. “Fine.” She carried her breakfast, following her mother like an imprinted
duckling while spying into the living room. Mr. Teeth’s head would go perfect
on the top shelf of the bookcase.

Her momma placed a cup of coffee on the
table as they both sat. The brown cabinets hung over
an ‘L’
shaped fake marble counter. Crawfish oven mitts hung from hooks along with
other utensils. At the right end of the counter was the refrigerator covered
with notes and magnets.

Cozy sipped the
bitter-sweet
,
hot brew. “I miss Haley.”

“I told you not to mention your sister in
this house.”

“But she’s all alone in New Orleans and
doesn’t have me to protect her anymore.” Her hands wrapped around the burning
cup.

“Her choice. Besides, no one knows where
she lives or works. So, until she contacts us, there’s nothing we can do, but
forget about her.” Her momma stared at the ceiling.

“Never.”

“Mr. Paul called me about the gator. I
can’t believe your therapist would let you do that.” Her disapproval came
through.

 
“I can’t believe I’m still seeing a therapist years after...”

“…
Years after killing your
father.
You don’t just get over that. But, I don’t know about hacking up
an alligator.”

“As far as Dr. Clair knows, I just work
at a seafood store. Besides, I killed and skinned lots of animals in the bayou
before saving
Haley.
. .” Her voice dropped.

“Cozy,” she blurted. “Stop it. We’ve gone
through this too many times already. I don’t want talk about it.”

“Momma, you saw the cuts and bruises on
Haley.”

“Your sister hung out with thugs.” Her
hand slapped the table.

“No, that was
me
hanging out with thugs.”

“I never once saw your daddy raise a hand
to either of you. How your wild, drug-induced imagination cooked up that kind
of sick scenario, I don’t know, but I did not marry that kind of man.”

“How come I didn’t go to jail then?”

“Because that liberal D.A. believed those
lies.” She quickly added, “Lies that you believe to be true.”

“Stop denying that he was a drunk.”

“Why can’t you act like a proper young
lady?”

Cozy stopped talking to take a spoonful
of grits. Her momma wouldn’t even be happy living in a mansion with two
daughters that attended Harvard. Dr. Clair had planted a seed that Cozy could
be
tamed
, and now it was an excuse to
keep her one remaining daughter under control.

Her momma had married young before learning
there was much more to life than spitting out kids and serving a perpetually
drunk Cajun husband. Her momma thought no one could hear from the bedroom, but
she often whispered to the Spirits about being left widowed in virtual squalor
in this remote part of the world.

But, that wasn’t Cozy’s problem to fix.
Her own life was challenge enough. From a mere tot, Cozy had never been afraid
of anything; teasing dogs just to provoke and avoid their bite, jumping higher
than any boy on her bike, or swimming in gator-infested waters. As she grew
bigger, she would explore the bayou a little farther, even more so when her
father had finished a bottle. But after the State’s Attorney ruled her father’s
homicide justifiable and after the court-appointed therapy sessions, her momma
tried to lock the clamps down.

Her momma topped off her coffee.
“Careful. Coffee can be addicting.”

“I’ve done worse.”

She placed the pot back on the burner. “I
know about the drugs and I certainly know about the sex.” Her momma cocked an eyebrow.

“You just want me to admit it.” Cozy took
a sip. “And you’re worried about coffee?”

“I’m your momma.” Aponi placed her hand
against her forehead in defeat.

“You’re Haley’s momma, too.”

“Not anymore. While you’re here, I’ll
always take care of you . . . Look out for you.”

“You spy on me. I know the neighbors
report to you.”

Aponi kept her gaze in the coffee cup.
“They’re scared of you, dear.”

“Scared? What, do they think I’m going to
go on a murder spree?”

“It’s just you’ve gotten so . . .
aggressive.”

“I want to talk about Haley. Will you
ever forgive her for leaving?”

Her Momma’s rigid expression twitched as
she inspected her fingernails. “Mr.
Paul’s bringing
some crabs by for us to boil.”

Cozy’s hands fell hard on the table.
“Momma . . . Shit.” She pretended to dig crust from her eyes and inwardly
screamed as her momma turned for the sink to wash a bowl while humming.

After they finished the coffee in
silence, Cozy changed into cut-off jeans and a Saint’s half-shirt. Her biceps
flexed in the mirror while twirling her hair into a ponytail. The scar on her
throat looked cool – a real gunshot wound to add to her collection of
battle wounds. They were better than tattoos; they told a
real
story.

She smiled inwardly, taking pride in her exotic
symmetry like her momma, having inherited dark Native American features, but
her eyes came from her father. They were a cool blue-gray metal color. Despite
that, she despised having his Cajun blood coursing through her veins. She even
considered changing her last name from Robicheaux to her mother’s spirit name,
Rainstorm.

Cozy
Rainstorm
. Cool and
absurd at the same time.

She walked back into the kitchen just in
time to hear the purring of a motor. “That’s Ash’s boat.”

“You’re going out?”

“Momma, I haven’t been with Ash in weeks.
I miss him.”

“Put sunscreen on. Every inch of your
skin is showing.
And no bra?
Honestly girl, you’re too
old for that now.”

“Bye, Mom.”

“Only ’cause it’s Ashton,” she warned.

The screen door slammed shut behind Cozy.
Her beat-up Sketchers slid across the creaky planks to the end of the dock
where Ash’s pirogue putted to a stop next to a ladder descending into the
water. When their eyes met, her feet halted well before the edge of the pier.
He appeared freshly showered, which made him look like a college student in her
eyes.
 

“You want to go to our spot and talk?” he
asked. “I know you’ve gotta be missing your big sister something fierce.”

She felt the sting of tears rise, and
swallowed them down. “You don’t have to crab?”

“Motor froze up. Padre told me to check
on you and I know you wanted to go to our spot. Speaking of gators, how’d the
fifteen footer go?”

She stepped to the edge of the planks and
smiled proudly. “I brought a filet home.”

“That gator’s old. Younger meat’s
better.”

“Still, you can tell people you ate a
piece of the biggest gator ever caught in Manchac.”

“Shit, I helped catch the biggest gator
in Manchac. They should make a reality show about me.” Ash’s long, wavy hair lay
flat in the heat. He had a couple of pimples, but on a handsome face, they
weren’t bad to look at. He was by far, the best thing she’d seen on this part
of the bayou.

Cozy stepped wide into the pirogue as the
bottom of her butt cheeks escaped her jean shorts. With a laugh, she tugged
them down and gave Ashton a full-planted kiss on his lips. They departed to the
center of the channel, wind flipping her hair as they passed each house built
on pylons. Occasionally, the vigilant neighbors waved until finally they
entered the tributary that had become their own private sanctuary. The
mosquitoes tried to find their skin as frogs croaked in the distance under
mossy Cypress trees. They motored to one huge Cypress that had fallen over.
After tying up, they climbed behind it where several wooden pallets were laid
out for dry flooring. Their two cans of bug spray were still there.

They kissed for several minutes while the
palate boards marked their skin. The surrounding weeds pushed to and fro in the
breeze and the sounds of bayou insects floated around them.

“How you feeling?” Ash asked after a
while.

“I’m still alive.” She ran her fingers
over the masculine bump in his nose onto his amazingly full lips.

He scowled. “Have you heard from Hales?”

“You know I haven’t.”

“How can she go two years without
calling?”

“Haley wants us to forget about her.”

“That doesn’t sound like her.”

“I know. It’s like she’s trying to erase
us.”

“That’s assed up.” His hand reached under
her half-shirt and cupped her breast like a warm bra cup. His thumb ran over
her nipple, pushing it left and right. It was his predictable first move, and
she had once found it endearing. Now she shifted while maintaining a pleasant
face.

The memory of that man holding a gun to
her head hit her like a brick. He had been strong and smelled like a sweaty
auto mechanic. She couldn’t help compare that psychopath to her father and how
he had groped Haley in their hugs. But the image of Detective Lucas always
washed that away. “I’m not in the mood. Not out here, anyway. I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s fine. It’s just been so long.”

“I know how you boys need your sex or
you’ll just
die
, like your balls will
explode or something.” She put her hand on his groin.

“Hey. Don’t get it started if nothin’s
gonna happen.”

“How about we smoke some weed?” She
mimicked a toke.

“No weed – got coke.”

“Then let’s do that and maybe I can do
something for
you
quick-like before
the mosquitoes attack it.” Odd that she would suddenly feel obligated instead
of interested.

Chapter 7

Since Forensics and the M.E.’s report
were in progress, Captain Dobson told me not to rush into the station. Heather
took advantage of my being home with Alicia by getting some shopping out of the
way. I sat in my sweatpants watching ESPN highlights and sucking down a third
cup of warm coffee while Alicia slept off a late night of movie watching. My
socked feet rested on the coffee table and my back pressed perfectly into a
groove between two pillows. The house still hinted of Heather’s perfume, a
light, uplifting fragrance.

I finally heard my daughter stir,
wondering what kind of day she had planned. I loved my quiet house, but I
couldn’t imagine it this way all the time. Alicia wandered into the living room
in jogging shorts and a large, baggy T-shirt, with her hair a terrible mess.
Her eyes were barely open as she fell into the recliner, legs outstretched.

“Morning.” I offered. “Summer must be so
nice for you.”

“You don’t have to work?”

“Going in late.”

“Where’s Mom?”

“Winn Dixie. You just missed her. What’s
on your plate today?”

“This and that.”

“Which is it? This or that?” I studied my
daughter as she inspected her belly button with her chin in her chest. Her
shoulders rose in an answer.

A knock on the front door disturbed our
non-conversation. Alicia barely took notice. Door- to-door charities and religious
nuts came to mind, and I wanted to deal with neither. I carefully moved the
curtains to the side, but saw a welcomed sight. I threw the door wide with a
grin.

“Mr. Mayor, what do I owe this honor?”

He looked me up and down. “Damn, I didn’t
bring my sweatpants.”

“I have an extra pair.”

“I only wear designer
sweatpants.” He laughed.

Dressed to impress, he turned to his
detail by the black Towncar and waved him away. Handsome as always with a spiky
brown tuft of hair, he flashed a set of perfect teeth. His thick, strong
eyebrows would be bushy if not trimmed, and his square jaw and Roman nose were a
perfect fit for a political career.

He stepped inside. “I miss you.”

“Aww.” We embraced in a brief man-hug.
“Want some coffee? Anything?” I noticed Alicia had disappeared from the chair.

“Nah, just came from a power Champagne
breakfast.”

“My tax dollars at waste.”

“Said the cop.”

“Ouch.”

“We haven’t talked in a while, so I
called Headquarters for you and found out you were still home. Thought I’d
swing by for second.”

We walked back to the living room, where I
turned down the sports highlights and returned to my cup of coffee. Chance sat
forward on the sofa, elbows on his thighs so as not to get any wrinkles or lint
on his suit.

“You home alone?”

“Heather’s at the store and Alicia’s in
the back. Got my first case, but I’m sure your sources are keeping you up to
date.”

“If you and I had dinner more often, I
wouldn’t have to call around.”

“It’s not like when we were kids, Chance.
We’ve become busy people.”

Chance glanced at the Saints football highlights
on the television and pointed. “Hey, there’s your brother. Brent‘s doing good,
right?”

“Brent got his payday in the NFL. That’s
all he wanted.”

Chance knew since the first day we met
that I hated talking about my brother, but he always chipped away. “Spoke to
him lately?”

“No, Fuck him.”

“Alrighty, then. I want to talk about the
girl in the river.”

“What about her?”

“What are you thinking?”

I hesitated. “The only time you ever ask
about a case is when it affects you in some way.”

“Seriously? I can’t be interested?” He
almost smiled.

“How does this dead girl affect you,
Chance?”

“My only concern is you.” He appeared
hurt.

“Do I have to go through the times you’ve
meddled?” I pulled back one of my fingers. “There was Darnell Brown…”

He stopped me. “A dead white female
doesn’t bode well for our tourism.”

I stressed my words. “The only time you
ever as about a case is when it affects
you
.”

“You’ve said that.”

“What’s your interest, Chance?”

“Never mind that I care about your first
day back, then.” He searched the
room,
aggravated he
wasn’t getting the information he wanted. “You visit Cozy yet?”

I let his inquiry go, figuring he would
come back at some point to reveal more. “Cozy came by the station yesterday,
but I avoided seeing her. Chicken-shit, I know.”

“You have to make a trip out to Manchac
and see the girl.”

“Heather keeps telling me to go see her,
too.”

“Then listen to those who love you.”

My eyes shifted on Chance. After a few
moments, Alicia skipped into the living room dressed in her nice summer clothes
with brushed hair and a coating of
lip gloss
.

She stopped in front of us with a huge
grin. “Mr. Chance. What a surprise. How are you?”

“Alicia, hi dawlin’. You’re looking
prettier than ever, a spittin’ image of your mother.” Chance reached out and my
daughter hugged him like he had just returned from war.

“You don’t come by enough.” Alicia
flipped her hair back. “Why don’t you come to one of my soccer games?”

“Being mayor is a busy job, but I promise
I’ll try.”

She giggled and fell to her knees,
dimples out in full force. “Are you staying a while? I can get you a Coke.”

“Who are you and what have you done to my
daughter?” Asked and ignored.

Chance leaned forward to palm my
daughter’s face and then kissed the top of her head. “You’re adorable, but I
can’t stay.” He exhaled and then stood, as any further adult conversation would
have to wait. “I’m going to make reservations at LaPlace on Bourbon for us,
you, me, my date – to be determined – and your wife.”

“That’s four of us,” I confirmed.

He threw his index finger at me. “I’ll
text you with the date and time.”

“Bye, Mr. Chance.” Alicia waved.

Once her crush shut the door, Alicia’s alter
ego vanished and my lips parted to say something, but I couldn’t find two words
to put together. The sulking resumed. Needing a distraction, I jumped in the
shower so I could go into the station when Heather got home. At least Captain
Dobson would be able to see my face and I could spend the rest of the day being
productive with my River Doe.