Dark Paradise (26 page)

The sun beats down. Sweat pours down my face. It's stupid. I'll get sick if I don't stay hydrated, but I'm driven. I clear most of the row I want to plant my tomatoes in, but one stinking root refuses to budge. It taunts me. A large white lump nestled in the red-brown earth, like a baby in its mother's arms. I can almost hear it wail each time the hoe cuts into the bulbous bark that runs with a thick, red liquid—like blood.

It can't be.
My vision blurs. I blink salty sweat from my eyes, ignoring the burn. The root shimmers, twisting, and a tiny hand lifts, waving in the air. Eyes as blue as morning glory petals stare directly into mine.

The air grows cold, freezing the sweat to my skin. Mist forms before my eyes when I breathe. As the temperature drops, my body grows sluggish. I fall to my knees, unable to stand. My hands lift to cover my nose, trying to blot out the thick stench of roses and decomposition. Red rose petals float from the sky, landing in my hair and drifting down to cover the naked baby.

A dead baby. A boy, with Lainey's eyes.

“Lainey, stop,” I whimper, grabbing a handful of grass, dragging myself forward because I can't crawl. Icy fingers dig into my legs and hold on. The hand caresses my skin, and her heavy weight presses full-bodied on top of me. I shiver, and my nose runs. I wipe my upper lip, but instead of seeing mucus on my fingers, I see blood.

“Please, stop. Lainey, you're killing me. Let go!”

My outstretched hand closes around a small leather bag, and I bring it to my chest. Warmth floods outward. The hands holding my legs vanish. I collapse, shaking so hard I can barely catch my breath.

When I return to myself, I realize I fainted. I stand up, swaying a little from dizziness, and trudge into the house, only stopping off at the fridge to grab the pitcher of mint tea before I collapse at the kitchen table. The juju bag has been clutched inside my fist the whole time, and finally after quenching my thirst, I take a hard look at the thing that banished Lainey. Opening it up, I see the sage that I tossed disdainfully into the grass has been returned to mingle with all the strange ingredients inside the bag—a bag that magically found its way into my hand when I needed its protection the most.

“You did this, didn't you?” I feel a little silly to be addressing the protector spirit of some unknown ancestor, but somehow, I know it listens. “You saved me from her. Thank you.”

Warm wind blows back my hair.

I stuff the juju bag inside my pocket and head to the bathroom. I hope the protective charms around the house keep Lainey out, but even while showering, I hold the bag above the water so it won't get wet. The phone rings while I'm towel drying my hair, and I hear Landry's voice on the answering machine. I run into the living room, but he'd already hung up, and after listening to his message, I feel guilty.

I'd been so worried about my own problems that I forgot that today is Lainey's funeral. Not that this matters to her. She's too busy haunting me. Why would she show me a vision of a baby? She'd been pregnant, but I didn't think she'd been that far along. And Dr. Rathbone completed the autopsy; he'd know if Lainey delivered the baby. George never mentioned a baby was missing. Maybe it was one of the clues he'd been ordered to keep quiet. But if he didn't know…why did Rathbone cover up the birth? For my own peace of mind, I need to know the truth.

My mind tickles. Deep inside where my thoughts race and ideas form, a little tickle grows more annoying the more I mentally poke at it. The germ of an idea that sits just out of reach. Like most irritations, the prickle spreads, crawling down my tingling neck. When my hands start to burn, I scream in frustration. My hands tighten into fists, nails digging so deeply into the skin that blood wells up in the crescent marks on my palms.

I circle the room, moving from the living room to the kitchen, around the table, and back into the living room. My gaze darts to the television, to the King, across the porcelain curios Mama collected, unable to settle on any one object for too long.

The newspaper I bought at the hospital lies beside the door where I dropped it after I returned home this morning. It had fallen open, its pages scattered across the floor. I must've stepped on it several times while pacing and never noticed. A breeze lifts the straggles of damp hair falling loose around my shoulders, blowing into my eyes. The edge of one of the pages flutters like the wing of a baby bird. It spins in a slow circle, picking up speed like a dust devil. Then, with a
whoosh
, the paper flies into the air, brushes the ceiling, and drifts down into my outstretched hand.

I stare down at the obituary, into the dimpled face of the woman smiling at me from the black-and-white photo. Her hair curls around her face, beneath the edges of a scarf. Large hoop earrings brush her shoulders. She stands in front of her trailer, right in front of her sign, with her son perched on her hip. I can't tear my eyes from the hand holding an eyeball in the middle of its palm because, otherwise, I'd see Ruby.

“Oh, no. It's true…she's dead.” My heart pounds like it will explode out of my chest and spray the room with my blood. “Why are you showing me this?” I yell to the silent room, shaking the crumpled paper at the ceiling. The walls expand then contract, like the house sighs. “What do you want from me?”

I
was driven out of the house by an energy that set my hairs on end. But it fades the minute I step foot on hallowed ground, and I can think clearly again. In the distance, a large crowd of black-clothed mourners has gathered for Lainey's funeral. I feel too uncomfortable about intruding on their grief to join them, especially since my presence would be a reminder of how I found the body.

Sheriff Keyes, Dr. Rathbone, and Mr. Acker stand in the second row with their families. Landry is in front of the tomb with his folks. He has his arm wrapped around his dry-eyed mother. After her crazed behavior at the autopsy, I expected her to be broken up, but a more stoic and reserved facade I've never seen on a person. Clarice, wearing a wide-brimmed black hat, stands a little behind and to the right of Landry—the leech. She keeps touching him—patting him on the shoulder, rubbing his arm—I want to scratch her eyes out!

I'm carrying the small box containing Lainey's belongings under one arm as I climb up the stairs and sit down cross-legged on the concrete block holding Eulie LaCroix's remains above the waterline. The height of the tomb gives me a clear view of the service. The sun-bleached plaster feels cold through my light, black linen dress, and I shiver despite the heat of the day. I hadn't thought that Eulie would mind my company, but perhaps the chill settling into my bones is her way of expressing her disapproval over my not coming to visit more often.

Eulie is the first of my ancestors to be buried in the town cemetery. Her mother, Zouzoute, and her grandmère, Calixte, are buried in the Savoie cemetery. Calixte was Gerard Savoie's mistress, born somewhere on the Ivory Coast in Africa. I could've walked across her grave yesterday, and I never would've known since there aren't any tombstones. I'm a seventh-generation LaCroix—the seventh daughter.

Eulie was my grandmère Cora's grandmère. In fact, the tombs of my ancestors surround me: Great-grandmère Dahlia rests sandwiched between her children: Grandmère Cora and her twin brother, Gaston. Uncle Gaston died during the Vietnam War. He'd gotten blown up after stepping on a land mine. Dahlia's twin sister, Auntie Magnolia, will probably be buried with her mother, Eulie. Mama and I will be buried together someday 'cause, judging by the way the plots are laid out, the women in our family don't have a great track record of keeping a man longer than for procreation.

“Is dying alone the price the women in our family pay for our gifts?” I whisper, letting the wind blowing around my body take the words to whoever might be listening. “Are we cursed?”

No answer seems forthcoming. Either Grandmère Eulie doesn't know or she isn't willing to share the secret with me.

Across the field of stone crypts stand two men who hold pieces of my heart—Landry and George. Yet I can't touch either one. It's like I sit in a bubble, separated from the rest of humanity by a thin membrane that I can't pierce. I see the world through a filmy haze. But none of the emotions spilling over from the mourners touches me. Not directly, not here in my isolation. No grief, no joy, and especially, not love.

I lightly trace my fingertips over the stylized cross carved into the plaster of the tomb. It seems kind of prophetic that, after slavery, my ancestors who practiced hoodoo had named themselves after one of the loa, Baron LaCroix, the spirit of death, and carved his symbol into their resting places. This crumbling cross beneath my fingers symbolizes the LaCroix family line—death and resurrection. Did the women in my family always have an affinity for the dead, or did some unknown ancestor ask this god for the power? And if the power was given, could it be taken away? If I pray real hard, could I be freed to live out my life with the man I love and be buried with him and my children around me? Could I break this curse?

Someday I'll know the answer.

Surrounded by a long line of strong LaCroix grandmothers, I can't sit around and cry about my fate, or I'll insult the women who lived and died with the same questions. And these ancestors are strong. Their power fills me. I inhale their strength with each breath. Eulie, Dahlia, Cora, and Gaston LaCroix are powerful enough to keep Lainey's spirit from bugging me. For that gift alone, I sit upright in pride and relief and feel sorry for Landry as, every so often, he rubs his arms like he feels a chill.

“Hello,” a voice calls. “What are you doing up here?”

I turn around so fast I almost topple off the side of the tomb. “Oh, Georgie,” I say, hand to my heart. For the split second it took before I recognized his voice, I thought Eulie had finally decided to answer my questions. “You scared the spit out of me.”

George raises a copper eyebrow, and I flush.

“Sorry, you frightened me.”

He threads his way through the graves and settles on the step below me. He waves toward the dispersing crowd of mourners. “You shouldn't be here.”

“I know, but I had to come.”
Or go crazy.

“Everyone's heading over to the Princes' house after the service. Landry will be too busy with his family to talk to you.”

“Maybe I can catch him before he leaves.”

“Or you can stay with me,” he says with a smile.

I take a deep breath to clear the sudden fog from my brain.
Whoa, Georgie.
I squint, studying his face.
Why is he being so nice all of a sudden?

“Don't burn a hole in my forehead,” he says, tipping his chin upward. “We've got company. Try not to embarrass me.”

“As if…” I mutter beneath his laughter. We turn toward the footsteps heading in our direction. Ms. March and her brother, Georgie's father, George Sr., stroll toward us arm and arm. So sweet. Every time I see Mr. Dubois, I'm struck by how different he and his son are in appearance. Georgie takes after Ms. March. They're both all sunshine and light, while Mr. Dubois is a handsome older man who embodies darkness. Brown hair glitters with silver at the temples, and he stares at me without cracking a smile, like always.

George rises. “Service over so soon?”

Impatience settles across Mr. Dubois's familiar features. “Your absence at the end of the service was noticed.”

“I doubt it,” George says as if his mouth is full of rocks. His jaw flexes, and I stand so it doesn't feel as if Mr. Dubois looms over my head like a stone gargoyle.

Ms. March shoots me a sidelong glance with a slight roll of her eyes toward her brother and nephew, and I stifle a giggle. Silver curls bounce on her shoulders. She pats her brother's arm. “Leave the boy alone, G.D. I'm sure you've met Mala LaCroix. She helps me out around the house. I wouldn't know how to get along without her.”

Mr. Dubois nods but doesn't stick out his hand for me to shake. “Everyone's heading back to the church. I'll drive.” He half turns as if expecting George to follow.

“I have to go,” I say, resisting the urge to stick my tongue out at the man's back. “Ms. March, I'll be seeing you later this week. It was a pleasure seeing you again, Mr. Dubois.” I grab the box and start down the tomb stairs, hoping to catch Landry before he leaves so I can tell him about Lainey's baby.

“I'll walk with you,” Georgie offers, holding out his arm for me to take. I almost pass out in surprise.

Senior's brows draw downward. “Your mother's expecting you.”

“No, she isn't, Dad. I told her that I have to head back to work after the funeral. Come on, Mala.” Georgie takes my free hand and places it on his arm. Tension bunches the muscles beneath his suit jacket. Whew, his daddy has pissed him off good.

We walk away, leaving the Dubois siblings arguing. From their raised voices, Ms. March seems to be giving him hell for being such a rude prick.

George slants a glance down at me. “I can tell when you're upset. You get quiet and start chewing on your bottom lip.”

“Yeah, I'm predictable.” I wish I had the ability to hide my emotions. I want to tell him about the vision I had of the baby, but I can't think of a way to say “I see dead people” without sounding like a loon. Rational folk don't believe in ghosts.

I decide to take the cowardly route and leave my confession for a later time. Besides, I need to warn Landry first. I don't want him blindsided by the police about his nephew being murdered. He needs the truth from a friend. At least I finally figured out who the
him
was in FIND HIM. Lainey had been asking me to find her son. He should be buried with his mother here on hallowed ground, not in some unmarked grave somewhere.
Under red roses…

“I'm surprised you came today,” George says, interrupting my train of thought. “I thought you'd be at the hospital.”

I give his arm a little squeeze. “They kicked me out. 'Sides, Mama's drugged up on painkillers. She's not much company, and I felt like I needed to be here.”

“For Landry?” George raises an eyebrow. “Clarice seems to be quite capable of supporting him. She's been glued to his side all afternoon.”

“Are you trying to be nasty?”

“Trying to get you to recognize the obvious—Prince is using you.”

I pull my hand from his arm and take a giant step back before I smack him upside his fat head. My high heel digs into the soft ground, and my ankle twists to the right. My body falls to the left. George's arm wraps around my waist, and I end up with the box sandwiched between our chests.

“Whew, Georgie. Once again you've kept me from falling flat on my face.”

“When are you gonna give up on heels? You're dangerous on them.”

“I'm no quitter. Plus, heels are sexy. Don't you think?”

“I guess.” The doubt in his voice makes me cringe. I free myself from his arms with a wince. He bends over and runs his hand down my left leg. I try to hide the quiver that spreads up my leg and through my back. My knees wobble.

George picks me up and sits me on a tomb. “Does this hurt?” he asks, feeling my ankle.

“What do you think?”

“Gosh, you're testy when you're injured.”

“It hurts!”

“Look, you can't walk on this. Sit here while I go get my car and park it closer. I'll be back for you.”

“Promise?”

He taps the end of my nose with his finger. “Cross my heart.”

The last of the mourners file out of the cemetery in groups as the sun dips in the sky, creating deep shadows beneath the trees. The air cools and I shiver, rubbing my arms. Where in the world did George park, Outer Mongolia? Either he's stuck in traffic or he forgot and left me here—alone, in the dark, with the dead.

I sense Lainey's presence before I see who she shadows.

“Landry?”

“I saw you.” He stalks more than walks toward me. A wild energy fills him, and it kind of makes me nervous, especially since I can't run.

“Okay.” I force myself upright, placing my weight on my uninjured leg.

“It's good you stayed back. My parents would've freaked if you joined the service.”

“They're not a fan of my charm and good looks?”

Landry's eyes glitter. “They're not fond of you. Or your mother.”

Ouch, it's brutal honesty day. “Is it the fact that she's supposed to be a witch?”

“No, because she's a prostitute.”

My throat tightens around the words I force out. “I can see how they'd disapprove of my mama given they're Christians, but I've never done anything wrong.”

“Lainey died on your land.” He wraps his hand around my neck, threading his fingers into my upswept curls. His grip tightens, and a couple of bobby pins slip. “They're angry about that.”

“But she didn't. She was on Forest Service land. She just happened to float downstream.” I jerk my head free, wincing with pain as a couple of hairs remain in his grip. “What's the matter with you today? Why are you being so mean? I swear I'm sick of you and Lainey haunting me. I never should've dragged her from the water 'cause now I can't get rid of her.”

“She's here with us now.” He turns in a full circle. “I can feel her.”

“Landry, you're in full-crazy mode today.” I step away from him, but I forgot about my ankle. I let out a yelp of pain, arms spinning as I try to catch my balance.
Why do I always have to be the sane one?
“Damn it, Landry—”

He wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me tight. His heart pounds as fast as if he sprints toward the finish line in a marathon. He presses his nose into my hair. “God, you smell so good. I want to—”

“Don't say it! We're not doing anything in a cemetery.” I stare up into eyes so dilated they resemble a lunar eclipse—only a thin sliver of gray remains. I thump my fist into his chest. “What did you take? How much and how long ago did you take it?”

“It's all legal, Mala,” Landry says with a little laugh. “Doc Rathbone prescribed it for Mama's nerves, and she shared some. I'll be fine once I get through the rest of this night. I swear. I needed something to keep me from losing it on all those people going to my house giving out false sympathy. Nobody knew my sister. Least of all me.”

I press my palm against his chest. “Lainey did something scary today.”

He steps closer. “I'm going to pick you up now.”

“Say what?”

“I'm picking you up and carrying you to my truck.”

“Wait. You don't have to.” I scan the cemetery for George, not wanting him to catch me with Landry, but we're the only ones left in this section. It isn't like him not to keep his promise.

“It's getting dark, and you're alone. Do you really want to be in the cemetery when the sun sets, especially with your connection to the dead?”

“Not the dead. One dead person—Lainey.”

“She's trying to tell me something.” Landry slides his arms beneath my knees and behind my back. He lifts me like I weigh nothing. Shit. Why does crazy Landry seem hotter than normal? And why can't I stop noticing? He tosses his head, trying to move a lock of black hair away from his face.