Dead End (37 page)

Zeb Dalcour, who managed the ice plant, walked toward the door, saw Cyrus, and stopped. He was built like a small bull, and his big neck turned red above the open neck of his check shirt. “We goin’ to the dogs, Father Cyrus,” he said. “It’s all over town that Doctor Reb is staying out at that house with Girard. He’s a bad man, him. People around here don’t forget. When he was a boy he was a troublemaker.”

“I don’t think so,” Cyrus said, disturbed that the gossip mill had turned to complete fabrication. “I’ve never heard anything about that before.”

Zeb squashed a bag of pastries into one of the pockets in his loose overalls. “Cletus knows.”

Cyrus looked past Zeb at the slightly steamed-up glass cases of baked goodies. The bright yellow walls inside the shop were shiny, filmed with warm moisture. “Cletus?” Cyrus said when he trusted himself to be careful of what he said. “Cletus who’s worked for the Girards for years and who lives at Clouds End? I didn’t know the two of you were close friends.”

Zeb shook his big head. “He don’t tell me, but he talks to all them workmen out there, and they talk to everyone else. Whole town knows those two are as good as shacking up. And Reb the town doc. Carryin’ on around that place ‘cause they think Cletus is nothin’ and they all on their own.”

“That’ll do,” Cyrus said, doing up the top button on the black suit jacket that already felt like a straightjacket and would soon be too hot.

“It’s a rightful thing to see the priest in his collar,” Zeb said, apparently deciding to cover whatever displeased him all at once. “There’s not enough respect for tradition anymore.”

Cyrus looked the man in the eye and said, “About Marc. I’m sure you forgot you were talking about things you don’t know for sure, things that you wouldn’t want to spread around in any case.”

“That man’s a bad influence on Doctor Reb. Before he arrived she never had a wicked thought.”

“And what sort of wicked thoughts is she having now?”

Zeb puckered up plump lips and frowned. He wouldn’t meet Cyrus’s eyes. “You know,” he said. “Carnal stuff. That girl didn’t know about any of that. It’s him curruptin’ her.”

“Zeb,” Cyrus said. “Reb is not being corrupted by anyone. She’s also a medical doctor and she knows
all
of that stuff. That reminds me. I don’t think I’ve seen you at Mass for a few weeks. Wouldn’t want you to miss the posters in the hall about this being prostate health month. Make sure you get yourself to Reb for an exam. Hey, Madge and Marc,” he said with a nod to Zeb before he left him to sputter alone.

He sat beside Madge. “Stirring up trouble again,” he said to Marc. “You are one mean man. Pickin’ on all the nice people of Toussaint. How much are you raising the rents, anyway?”

“An early-morning clown,” Marc said, grimacing. “Just what we need around here.”

“You need something around here,” Cyrus said. “How many tenants have you evicted so far?”

“Stop it,” Madge said, sticking an elbow into his side. “Sometimes you aren’t very priestly.”

“It’s my job to look after my flock, and that includes making sure they’re in good spirits.”

“I don’t recall seeing you in here,” Marc said. “Not that I’ve been in more than a couple of times.”

“Madge and I arranged to meet here,” he said, raising a brow at her. “I come in from time to time. Wally likes it if we visit Jilly and Joe.”

“She’s something,” Marc said, indicating Jilly. “I don’t remember her from before, but she’s younger. She looks…I don’t know.”

“Quadroon,” Cyrus told him. “Exotic. She and Joe have the same white father, but Jilly’s mom was part white and part African American. Joe complains because he says Jilly gets all the admiring stares.”

“Yeah.” Marc lost interest. “What was the guy from the ice plant saying to you?”

“Nothing I can share,” Cyrus told him.

“Coffee for you, Cyrus?” Jilly shouted from behind the counter.

“Yes, please. And one of these muffins.” He pointed to the ones Madge and Marc had. “How come you’re in town so early, Marc? Does Reb have early clinic?”

Marc picked up his mug and slopped coffee. “Shit,” he said. “I mean, darn. Reb’s got her own wheels. For the moment.”

Cyrus looked at Madge, who raised her eyes toward a star-shaped paper lantern hanging over the table.

“Chauncey Depew showed up with one of those Beetles, or Bugs. Like Jilly’s, only red. Said Reb’s bike was brought to him and while it was being fixed she should use the car. That bike can’t be fixed. It needs to be scrapped.”

“Nice of Chauncey, though,” Cyrus said. Marc had every reason to despise Precious’s husband, but some things were better relegated to the past.

“He made sure to say how public-spirited he was being,” Marc said. “Reb’s the local doctor, so lending her a car is doing something good for the town.”

“Well, it is.” Cyrus smiled at Jilly when she brought the coffee and muffin.

“She doesn’t need anything from him,” Marc said, catching Cyrus’s knowing eye. “Mainly I don’t want her driving around on her own. Not until—” He glanced at Madge and down into his coffee.

Cyrus dropped his voice. “Madge doesn’t want to be babied. And she already knows what’s going on—don’t forget what she’s just been through. You were going to say you don’t want Reb driving around on her own until we’re sure we don’t have a murderer on the loose.”

“But we do,” Madge said, her face giving nothing of her feelings away. “You know it. I know it. Spike knows it, and so does Reb. Most of the people in this town are on edge. I wasn’t grabbed outside Reb’s house for nothing.”

Cyrus caught hold of her hand.

“Don’t say it,” Marc said softly. “I know what you’re thinking, Cyrus. The only explanation I can come up with for his not going through with it is that when he found out he had the wrong woman, he decided killing and disposing of her was too much trouble.”

“But I wasn’t to say that, hm?” Cyrus said. The thought that Madge might have been killed sickened him. So did the idea that if it had been Reb who was snatched outside her house that night, she would be dead. “Madge, you wanted to talk to me? Do we need privacy?”

“No. I didn’t think we should do it at the rectory is all. I’m worried about Oribel. I think she knows the Fuglies aren’t bringing everyone quite the joy she expected. She’s unhappy—probably depressed. You said that thing wasn’t cheap, Marc. She must have saved for it for years.”

Cyrus took a knife to his muffin and carefully dissected it into soft squares. “I told her I appreciated the gift.”

“She’s sensitive,” Madge told him.

“And she’s got horrible taste,” Marc said.

Cyrus shot him a reproachful look. “Sometimes we have to tolerate things we don’t like. I’ll be subtle, but I’ll find a way to make her happy about it.”

Madge sighed. “Of course you will, but that’s only part of it. Oribel and William are spending time together.”

Cyrus felt disoriented. “Oribel and William? Our William?”

“I should have said William hangs around Oribel, and she doesn’t tell him to go back to work. He watches her all the time, and she goes all flustery. I think he’s fallen for her and she may be falling for him.”

“That’s not possible,” Cyrus said. He pointed to Madge’s coffee. “Drink some more of that. You’re not fully awake.”

“Unusual match,” Marc said. “But she did send for him the night Reb and I had our brush with the mad driver. Seemed as if he was the first one she thought of.”

“William’s reliable,” Madge said. “Whatever he does, he does well. But what worries me is that Oribel may be turning to him because she’s lonely. I know I shouldn’t make judgments, but it couldn’t work, could it?”

There were times, many of them, when carrying the burden of expectations others placed upon a priest became too heavy. “We don’t know everything about either of them. Oribel has a lot to give—even if she does like to pretend she doesn’t need anyone. And William, well, William is strong.”

Marc chuckled. “Yeah, maybe Oribel’s responding to the animal magnetism.”

“That’s not funny,” Madge told him. “Oribel’s spent her life looking after other people. And some of them let her down badly. Maybe now she wants someone to look after her, and she’s turning to the first person who comes along.”

“Change the subject,” Cyrus murmured. Oribel coasted her bike to a stop outside and leaned it against the shop window.

Wearing a sweatsuit, she bustled in, her face glowing.

“Must have been at the gym again,” Madge said. “She makes me feel guilty.”

Oribel saw them and smiled. “I’ve come for the rectory order,” she told Jilly, and marched over to stand beside Cyrus. “This is good for you, Father. I’ve been telling you for years to get out in the morning and breathe the good air before it gets too warm. It’ll do wonders for you.” She nodded cheerfully at Madge, and even at Marc. “Guess we’re expecting a roasting for a couple of days.”

“You’re right,” Cyrus told her. Why did he feel anxious because Oribel didn’t seem herself? Love made people different, everyone knew that. But William lived in a decrepit house on stilts in a swampy area of the bayou and had two lazy brothers and a wild daughter—and they all ate whatever they caught, in the water or elsewhere.

Cyrus cleared his throat and said, “We were just talking about your generous gift to the parish. I must thank you again. It’s becoming an institution already.”

He caught sight of Reb getting out of a red car and walking toward All Tarted Up and was glad to change the subject quickly. “This is a popular place this morning,” he said.

Marc turned around and saw Reb, and the transformation of his expression to frank pleasure wasn’t subtle. The man had a bad case. When she came in, she walked directly to him as if he were alone in the shop, pausing only to plant a kiss on Cyrus’s cheek in passing.

“Your order,” Jilly said, plopping a large pastry box on the table in front of Oribel. “Joe’s going to be furious he missed being here with all of you.”

“We are pretty irresistible,” Madge commented.

Oribel checked the goodies inside her box and asked Jilly for tape to seal it down again. “Better get back,” she said.

“Won’t you have some coffee?” Jilly asked.

Oribel allowed herself to be persuaded, and Marc helped Cyrus push two tables together.

“What’s the matter with you, Doctor Reb?” Oribel asked when she was settled. “You don’t look so hot.”

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not. How would you like it if I came to see you with a long face and told you I was fine?”

Reb smiled faintly. “That would be different.” She looked from face to face. “Okay, it wouldn’t be that different. I’ll tell you why I’m not my usual chirpy self. I’m starting to wonder if we’ll ever get to the bottom of what’s going on in this town. And I worry something awful will happen again if we don’t.”

Marc put an arm around her shoulders, and she didn’t resist when he pulled her head against his shoulder.

“Do you think if we tried to forget the whole thing it would go away?” Madge asked.

“It might seem to,” Marc said. “But it wouldn’t really. And it wouldn’t be fair, anyway.”

“Why?” Oribel asked.

Cyrus looked around the circle of people he liked and trusted and said, “Because it could be that someone is suffering for something they didn’t do.”

All eyes were upon him, and he quickly added, “We shouldn’t say anything more. It could be dangerous.” The shop was almost empty, but curiosity was an art form in Toussaint.

Reb straightened away from Marc. “We need a break. We need someone to open up and be honest with us.”

She meant Pepper Leach, Cyrus decided, and he agreed with her. Then there was May Lynn, who was not saying everything she knew.

From a side pocket in her bag, Reb removed a folded sheet and flattened it on the table. “I’m not supposed to have this, but for some reason I wanted to make it—and keep it.”

A photocopy, not good quality, showed what appeared to be a man facing away from a camera with a baby in his arms and peeking over his shoulder. The picture was too dark, and there was a grid of jagged white lines on it, as if the original photograph had been torn up and taped together again. Cyrus turned the paper so he could see the picture. He ran a fingernail along one of the tear lines. He felt the shadow of violence, and it chilled him. There was something familiar about the shot, yet he didn’t recall seeing it before.

“Bonnie had the photo in her pocket when she died,” Reb said. “She’d stuck it back into one piece with tape. Or someone had. I felt it was very important to her. I wish it gave a clue to her story.”

Marc leaned over the table to look, but shook his head.

Oribel made a choking sound and hid her face.

“It just wasn’t fair,” Madge said. “What happened to Bonnie. She was getting on her feet and then that. Not fair.”

“You took a copy of the photo,” Marc said to Reb. “Not something I’d do, but I’m not sentimental.” If he saw Reb’s annoyed glance, he ignored it.

Cyrus had the thought that Reb ought to figure a man who had to deny feelings was protesting too much.

“Where’s the real photo?” Oribel said through tears. “Is it with her?”

“Wherever she may be,” Marc said, staring as if at nothing.

Cyrus read his thoughts. Each time Bonnie was mentioned, Marc would wonder about his sister. As much as he insisted he believed it was Amy’s body that was missing, he must long to be proved wrong.

“It’s with her things,” Reb said. “The ones the investigators took. I’m glad I kept this. I think…this man could be someone special to her, and the child. The child could be hers.”

“Stop it,” Oribel said, her voice muffled. “Some of us are too soft to deal with these things.”

The atmosphere got heavier.

Another jingle at the door broke their thoughtful stillness.

“Come one, come all,” Jilly said, walking into the shop from the kitchens. “I might have known you wouldn’t be far behind, Wally. Where’s Nolan?”

Wally, his hair on end as if he hadn’t combed it yet this morning, said, “He’s not feeling so good. I’m keeping him quiet.” And he sidled closer until he could stand near Cyrus.

“Morning, Wally,” Reb said. She had a way of putting people at ease. “Can you help me out with this muffin. It’s too much for me.”