The Rosaries (Crossroads Series) (14 page)

He knew something was wrong from the moment he walked in, although everything seemed to be in place. He and Belinda shared a special bond, and if something was ever wrong with one, the other felt something that could be equated to a punch in the gut. Today, when he got home, Jim Allen felt as if Mike Tyson attacked him at the door.

He called her name from the entrance, and his anxiety grew by leaps and bounds each time his own voice echoed through the house. Knowing that she hadn’t been well, his main
concern was that she was still sick. He drove by the antique shop on his way home for lunch, and didn’t think she had been in at all in the morning, although she mentioned going after he left for work. He went straight to the bedroom.

“Belinda, Honey…are you in here?”

Belinda was there, on the bed and still in her nightgown, her honey blond hair loosely spread on the pillow; her eyes were fixed on the heavens above, as if to pray for the salvation of her assailant.

Jim stood frozen on the doorstep. Certainly he had fallen asleep and was having a nightmare. This doll here, with her neck twisted in a funny, oblique position couldn’t be his Belinda. Suddenly, all the sounds and smells of the moment became more intense, and he heard a faucet rhythmically dripping in the master bathroom. The window was slightly opened behind the white lace curtain, and from the sound of car doors closing he was fairly sure that their neighbors, the Smiths, a semi-retired couple, had gone home for lunch as well. The room had a strange smell lingering in, one Jim couldn’t quite identify.

He felt a sharp pain in his chest and barely made it to call 911, before his legs gave out. He didn’t see his wife being taken away, because by the time the emergency crews got there – alerted by the call he placed but couldn’t complete – he had already lost consciousness. As he swam in the peaceful waters of nothingness, Jim Allen was ready to follow his lovely wife on her journey.

Lakeisha
Jackson brought out the last few trays of food, and waited for the Sanders and their guests to arrive. With only a couple of caterers from “The Walking Fork,” a lot of food drop offs, and a single day of notice,
Lakeisha
barely made it to get everything ready on time.

She was exhausted – the last few days had been filled with more emotional ups and downs than
Lakeisha
was used to handle. Being an
empath
didn’t help, as it was extremely hard for her to be near so many raw emotions and not absorb them as her own. She planned to get everything set up and then pass the ball to the caterers to work their magic; for her own sake of mind, it was best if
Lakeisha
stayed up in her room during the event.

She heard the door open, and walked into the foyer to see who had arrived. Phillip and Angela Sanders came inside together, but Mrs. Sanders was acting as if her husband didn’t exist.
His saddened face confirmed something was up – one more reason,
Lakeisha
thought, to run up to her room and shut herself away from all the drama.

It wasn’t long before a steady stream of visitors arrived, and by the time
Lakeisha
went up, there were probably close to a hundred people in the house. Thankfully, two more hired bodies showed up as well, so she saw no reason to stick around. She went into her room and closed the door, drawing a breath of relief. She could hear voices and sounds downstairs, but at least their emotional baggage didn’t travel through her floor. That was until she heard sounds coming from the room adjacent to her own – Catherine’s room.

She listened carefully and heard someone move things, and she wondered if one of the Sanders had gone in to look for something specific. She was too tired to get up and look, and tried to focus on the book she was reading instead. She managed to keep her concentration for a while, until she heard Miss Catherine’s door open; that same moment something fell, and
Lakeisha
heard the voice of a man mutter profanities. She didn’t think it sounded like Mr. Sanders’ voice, but then one never knew – it was too low to properly discern.

She got up from her bed and went quickly to her door to see a man rushing down the stairs, but a little too late to see his face. He was tall, with black hair, around two hundred pounds, but she couldn’t be sure if he was Mr. Sanders or anyone she had seen hanging around the house before coming upstairs.

“Sir” she called out to him as he went down the stairs with the padded quietness and stealth of a sleek black cat, “is there anything I can help you with?”

The stranger didn’t stop or turn to look at her, nor did he reply.
Lakeisha
went down to the living room, where many of the guests were gathered, and looked around for a man that resembled the figure she had seen darting out of Catherine’s room. She could feel his emotions still lingering in the air, but they were so mixed up with the bouquet of other emotions everyone in the room felt that she couldn’t pinpoint the source. She saw the front door was open, and noticed that two of the guests were standing by it, talking. She walked right up to them.

“Excuse me, have you seen a man just going through? He is a little over six feet tall, with short black hair.”

The two people – a plump lady with ginger hair and a balding man in his mid-fifties – looked at each other, and then shook their head in unison. “No, sorry, we didn’t notice anyone by that description.”

“Thank you anyway, he just dropped his wallet and I trying to catch him before he left.”
Lakeisha
said, keeping a hand into her pocket to support her white lie.

She walked briskly outside, but all she saw were two older gentlemen talking about finances and sipping iced tea. She went back inside and up the stairs to Catherine’s room. Everything looked tidy; only the jewelry box was open, and the door of the closet was ajar. A small statue that Miss
Bouvier
had kept near the door was shattered, and
Lakeisha
quickly thought about the sound she had heard after the stranger opened the door; he probably accidentally knocked it down on his way out. In the closet, Catherine’s stuff was a bit shuffled but essentially in the same place she had seen it yesterday afternoon, when she went in there to pack a few items for the family. What could the man want in Catherine’s room? A quick image of the rosary flashed before her eyes, and
Lakeisha
instinctually began to pray.

He was running out of patience. He dabbed a cotton swab soaked with Peroxide on the cut on his foot. He could almost hear his mother’s voice admonish him for not wearing socks. Had he learned from her teachings, he wouldn’t have been injured when that blistered statue fell and shattered and one of the small pieces flew, quick as a bullet, to hit the naked skin between the hem of his trousers and the loafers he was wearing. He hoped there weren’t any blood spatters left behind to tie him to Catherine
Bouvier’s
house.

He already had enough to worry about, after the incident with Belinda Allen. Killing her had not been a part of his plan, and when he had driven in front of the shop, on his way to her house, he was positive he saw a woman inside that looked like her; of course, the glare from the window deceived him, and because of that fatal mistake, Belinda Allen was dead. By the time he got into her room looking for the rosary, and she was getting out of bed –looking groggy and confused at the sight of someone standing in her bedroom – he knew she had recognized him from the shop. He couldn’t take any chances, and his heart truly ached when he wrapped his hands around her pale throat and began to squeeze the life out of her.

He really didn’t dislike Belinda – in so many ways she reminded him of his own mother, sweet and unhurried in her daily affairs. He had a moment of weakness and almost let her go when her eyes locked with his, and silently begged him to let her live. He couldn’t do that; his mission was too serious to allow faulty human emotions to get in the way, but he made sure to
put her out of her misery fast, and with just one skilled move he snapped her neck. He watched her ease into his grasp, her body quickly giving away as her head bobbed pitifully on one side. He gently carried her back to her bed, and laid her down with the same care a mother would use tucking her precious child in for the night.

The rosary was not there, but he did find something – a file cabinet where Belinda Allen kept receipts of all her past sales. When he found one dated back to the previous year, which identified Catherine
Bouvier
as the buyer, he felt so overwhelmed by emotions that a quick shot of urine trickled down and soaked his underwear.

Getting into Catherine
Bouvier’s
house during the reception that was taking place there was a piece of cake. He had the opportunity to walk upstairs unobserved and felt quite certain that if the old lady had the rosary it would be in her room.

Thankfully, everyone was busy chatting and eating downstairs, so he could work undisturbed. Everything had gone quite well – aside from the fact that he saw no trace of the rosary – until he broke that silly statue, and heard a woman’s voice calling out to him as he fled. Did she see him? What was she doing upstairs? He hoped to not have to resort to violence once again – his hands had already been washed in enough innocent blood.

Chapter Nine

“It was kind of spooky, I must say, Melody; I don’t scare easily but this time I thought I was going to cry like a baby.” Paul said, emphatically enough to make Melody giggle like a little girl.

Melody totally understood what Paul was trying to explain - the same spirit already appeared to her, just a few years before, on her way back home to North Carolina, after she left Louisiana.

“You don’t have to tell me, Paul. I’ve had the pleasure to meet the very same gentleman before. When I drove home from the Basin, two years ago, I stopped at a diner on the way. Well…this very eccentric man just came up from behind me, and asked if we could have a cup of coffee together. I sat at a table with him, Paul, and I know I talked to him for a while; then, he said he had to use the restroom, and he excused himself. When I didn’t see him come back I got a little worried, and I knocked on the door of the men’s room. He didn’t answer, so I walked in and I found an old key resting on the chipped sink. Next to the key lay a red carnation, a black fedora - which he was wearing when I met him - and some empty sugar packets. Beneath the pedestal of the sink, he had drawn a large circle on the black linoleum floor with sugar. An equal-armed cross drawn inside the circle divided it into four equal sections. In the right half of the circle was a shape similar to the skeleton key. I took the items and brought them to the waitress who served us both coffee, and she told me that I was alone at the table the whole time. She never saw the man; I guess he only needed me to see him. I must have looked very smart sitting at that table apparently talking to myself and ordering two cups of coffee.” Melody
laughed, as the emotional charge still connected to that past event wrapped around her heart – it had indeed been a powerful moment in her life, one she would never forget.

“Wow…you never told me that, Melody!”

“Paul, I think it really took all this time to even explain the episode to myself. I have to say that it is kind of liberating to know that someone else has encountered him, that he’s not a figment of my imagination. I look at the key sometimes, and still can’t fully wrap my mind around it.”

Paul chuckled, “Melody, I was just thinking how funny it would have been if one the folks from around here walked in and saw me talking to myself. I still have the things he left here, too. The ring is a bit small for my fingers, so I keep it at home in the same box where I have all of my late wife’s precious belongings, but I do keep the twin strings of Mardi Gras beads here at the store. Every time I look at them, I can’t help shaking my head. I’ve seen some interesting things around here throughout the years, Melody, but this one takes the prize.”

“So, are you ready for
London
, Paul?”

“Oh yes, I’m glad you brought it up… you know, the man we were just talking about…he told me to ask you to bring a rosary to London.”

Melody’s voice registered surprise.

“Are you talking about the rosary
Grandmama
left me with Yvette’s diary?”

“That’s the one, I reckon. I didn’t even know you have a rosary.”

“Yes.
Grandmama
had it at the farm. I never told you before that I have it?”

“Not that I can recall, but he insisted that you should bring it along.”

“This little tidbit right here just sort of scares the shit out of me, Paul, excuse my French. The last time I was instructed to carry on a divine wish and related instructions, I found myself in the midst of a war. In the end, no matter how hard I tried to keep it safe, I lost The Book of Obeah and felt awful about it. It’s not every day that people from the Vatican and some crazy old swamp guy and his grandchildren are coming after me. I almost lost my skin in that deal, Paul, and I am not sure that I‘m eager to start on a new adventure.”