The Devil in Canaan Parish (15 page)

“You knew about this, didn’t you!” I hissed through my teeth.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sally answered, clearly trying to avoid meeting my eyes.

“Like hell!” I growled.
 
At that moment a cannon went off inside me.
 
Everything after that happened very fast. With three quick leaps I bounded down the steps and grabbed a fist full of Sally’s hair.
 
She screamed and then covered her mouth with her hands.

“Goddammit, Sally, this time you’ve gone too far!” I bellowed.

I pulled her by the hair back up the steps, through the kitchen and into our bedroom and threw her down on the floor next to the bed.
 
She was panting, trying desperately to keep from screaming again, to keep the neighbors from hearing us.

“Bram, what are you doing?!” she gasped. She looked up at me with tears streaking her face, the mascara running down in rivers toward her mouth.
 
I honestly couldn’t answer her question.
 
I had never struck Sally -- never even raised my voice to her -- but at that moment I wasn’t in control of my body. It was controlling me.

I walked around the room, shutting the windows and pulling the curtains closed.
 
I shut and locked the French doors, and then I returned to Sally.
 
I slapped her hard across the face and then picked her up and threw her face down on the bed.
 
Now she was really sobbing.
 
I jerked her arm up behind her and placed my knee on her back, leaning over to whisper in her ear.

“You just couldn’t stand not having your way, could you?”
 
I spit.
 
“Could you?!”

She whimpered unintelligibly into the quilt.

“Had to get your old boyfriend involved, huh?
 
It isn’t enough that you’ve made me miserable in every way possible, is it, Sally?
 
Now you have to try to humiliate me in front of those two goons.
 
What did you do?
 
What did you tell them to make them come here?” I was shouting again.

She didn’t answer.
 
Instead she began wailing, her cries muffled by the quilt.
 
I threw her onto her back and straddled her.
 
Pulling her arms above her head, I screamed into her face.

“Answer me!”

Sally was really frightened now.
 
Her eyes stared at me in horror.

“I, I told them I thought Melee had stolen that necklace from M- Meyer’s,” she stuttered.

I stared at her, my mouth opening, trying to process what she had said.

“What?
 
Why?”
 
I yelled.
 
“How could you?!”

“Sh-she had a s-silver necklace on,” she choked out, “it was like what Warren had described.”

“So you decided to turn her in, did you?” I glared at her.
 
“Went to Daddy and pouted about it.
 
Asked good ol’ Blanchard if he could come riding in his shiny armor and rescue you, huh?
 
God, you make me sick!”
 
I pushed myself off her and walked a few steps back from the bed.

“You’d better be wrong, Sally,” I snarled, “because if anything happens to that girl, I will slap that pout off your face – permanently!”

I marched over to my dresser and grabbed the car keys.
 
Sally sat up on the bed, wiping her face with the back of her hand.

“Wh-where are you going?” she whimpered.

“To town, Sally. To see what I can do about this mess you’ve made.
 
I’m leaving and you’re staying right here, you hear me?
 
You stay right here in this room and don’t you step foot out of it!
 
If I find out you’ve left this room, or called your momma, you will be sorry!” I was yelling at the top of my lungs, shot one last glance at Sally’s tear-streaked face, and then slammed the door behind me.
 
The force rattled the walls.
 
I sailed through the kitchen out the back door, jumped into my car and was on the road to town in less than a minute.
 

As I drove, my feelings flashed between rage and terror.
 
The panic seemed to be boiling through my veins, burning my lungs, raging through my head.
 
The blood pounded in my ears, drowning out the sound of my car’s engine as I roared into town.
 
I slowed down as I neared the main square, and pulled my car in behind the Sheriff’s cruiser, parked across the street from the drugstore,
 
in front of Meyer’s Jewelers.
 
I jumped out of my car, and stood panting for a moment, trying to regain my composure before I entered the store.
 
It was still early – not even nine o’clock yet.
 
Meyer’s would not open until ten, but Blanchard and the Sheriff were inside, talking to Ira. I pulled out my handkerchief from my pocket and wiped the sweat that was pouring off my head and down the back of my neck, then I pushed the door open and walked in.

“Bram! Welcome!” beamed Ira.
 
I was surprised to see him so cheerful.
 
“Please, join us, we were just talking to your lovely new house guest.”

Ira, always kind and warm, seemed angelic, a halo of white hair floated above his balding head. He was standing behind the display case, his elbows propped up on the glass countertop.
 
He peered at me through the round spectacles perched at the end of his nose.
 
To his right stood Blanchard, leaning against the counter with his left elbow. On the opposite stood Melee, her head still slightly bowed.
 
Boyle had removed her handcuffs, but was still holding her elbow.
 
Seeing him standing so near her made my stomach lurch again.

Blanchard eyed me with distaste. “Well, Bram, true to form, you continue to meddle in things that don’t concern you.
 
I declare, I don’t think I’ve seen a man so interested in the domestic help in all my life,” he snickered and Boyle smiled, shaking his head.

I froze in my steps.
 
Could Blanchard read me that well?
 
I hoped that he did not have a deeper meaning behind his comment.
 
Ira perceived my uneasiness and, always the good host, attempted to make me comfortable.

“Do come in, Bram,” he smiled.
 
“Now gentlemen,” he turned to Blanchard, “what can I do for you this morning?”

Blanchard cleared his throat and straightened up to his full height, taking the posture he usually had in front of the jury in court.
 

“Ira, we believe that we may have caught the person who took that necklace from here on Friday night,”

“Oh?” responded Ira.
 
He also stood up straight, folding his hands in front of him.

“Show him the necklace,” prompted Boyle, giving Melee a nudge with his elbow.

Melee slowly turned her face toward me.
 
I could see the fear rising.
 
Her eyes were tearing up and she was struggling to stay calm.
 
She reached up behind her neck with shaking hands and slowly unclasped the silver chain around her neck. Holding the pendant gently in one hand and the chain in the other, she placed the necklace on the counter.

Ira hummed.
 
“Interesting.”
 
He pulled his magnifying glass from a drawer and bent over to examine the necklace more closely.
 
After a few long minutes, he stood back up, a wide smile on his face.

“It’s a beautiful necklace, that’s for certain, but it isn’t the one that was stolen from here.”

Blanchard and Boyle both stiffened with surprise.
 
I felt my knees begin to give way from relief.

“Are you sure about that Ira?” accused Boyle, “It is St. Anne on there, right?”

“Yes, yes indeed,” agreed Ira.
 
“But the necklace that was stolen was platinum.
 
This is sterling silver.
 
Lovely and durable, but not platinum.
 
Also the inscription.
 
The pendant that was stolen had ‘St. Anne, Pray for Us,’ written in English.
 
This has an inscription in French.
 
I’m afraid I don’t speak French so I’m not sure what it says,” he smiled again, and then handed the necklace back to Melee.

“Where did you get such a pretty necklace?” Ira asked Melee.
 
She was fumbling again with the clasp, trying to place the necklace back around her neck.

“My mother,” answered Melee, her head raising just a little, “when she died.”

“Well that was a beautiful gift,” said Ira. He smiled kindly at her and then turned to Blanchard.

“So, Mr. Blanchard, I’m afraid we have not yet caught the thief.
 
Perhaps we should let Bram take the girl home now.
 
I’m sure she’s had a difficult morning.”

Blanchard scowled over Melee’s head at Boyle, and then squeezed his eyes shut.

“Alright,” he sighed.
 
“Sorry to trouble you this morning, Miss Melee, you’re free to go.”

Melee nodded and then walked toward me.
 
I held the door open for her, and tossed a glare back at Blanchard and Boyle.

“I’d appreciate it if you refrain from invading my home again, gentlemen,” I grumbled.
 
“Ira, thank you kindly.”
 
I gave him a quick smile and then followed Melee out.

She walked like a ghost, floating along and staring vacantly.
 
I began to worry, wondering what she was thinking.
 
Would she leave now?
 
I would not blame her.
 
I hurried to open the car door for her and helped her inside.
 
She averted her eyes from me as she slipped into the front seat, folding her hands in her lap and bowing her head.

I started up the car, and then began a slow drive out of town.
 
Melee was silent.
 
I was screaming in my head, wondering what I could say to comfort her.
 
I didn’t want to drive back to my house, thinking that seeing Sally would just upset Melee more, but I didn’t exactly know where to go, so I drove East, crossing over the Bayou Teche bridge and heading out on the winding road toward New Orleans.
 
After about twenty minutes of driving, the landscape turned marshy, murky swamp water stretching out on either side of the road. The Cypress trees laden with Spanish moss shaded the car from the sun’s glare.
 
We drove on the raised road over the swamp and then emerged into rice country.
 
I pulled off the road onto a gravel drive and parked under a massive oak tree.
 
A squirrel chattered overhead.

“Melee, I’m so sorry,” I broke the silence, “I . . . I don’t know what to say.”
 
She didn’t answer.

“Would you like for me to take you home?
 
I mean, back to your father’s house?”

Her eyes darted at me quickly, full of shock and fear.
 
Her face suddenly crumpled up, and she began to cry.

“You don’t want me anymore?” she sobbed, covering her face with her hands.

“No, no, that’s not what I meant!”
 

I turned my body toward her, my hands shaking, I rested my arm on the back of the seat and inched closer to her.
 
She glanced at me, agony in her face.

“Please don’t send me back dere. I can’t go back.
 
I can never go back!” she pleaded.

“You don’t have to!
 
You don’t ever have to.
 
Melee, I promise you, I will never let anything hurt you again.” My hand moved toward her and slowly, softly rested on her back.

With a heavy sigh, she leaned toward me, and I closed the space between us, wrapping my arms around her and pulling her toward me.
 
She didn’t resist.
 
Instead, she buried her face into my chest, soaking my shirt with her tears.
 
I held her close to me for a long while, stroking her back and running my fingertips through her black hair. I could smell her hair – feel its silky smoothness.
 
I leaned forward and kissed the top of her head.

She looked up at me, and I pulled back, worried that I had gone too far, but her eyes were soft, a tear clinging to the end of her long lashes.
 
She seemed to be waiting for me.
 
I gently placed my hands on the sides of her face, brushing the tears away with my thumbs.
 
She sighed, and leaning her head back, closed her eyes – and then my lips were on hers.

She didn’t pull away.
 
Her lips responded to mine, pulling me into her.
 
I felt her wrapping her arms around my neck, her mouth opening to the pressure of my tongue.
 
I gave in to my hunger for her, kissing her mouth, the edge of her jaw, her neck.
 
Her breath came in soft gasps and she twined her fingers into my hair.
 

At the sound of a car coming down the road,
 
she pushed me away and scooted back over the seat.
 
I turned and gripped the steering wheel, willing my breath to calm down, trying to clear my head of the rush of blood. For a moment I was blinded, as if I’d stared at the sun too long.
 

I looked in my side mirror and saw a truck moving toward us. It slowed down as it neared my car and came to a stop at the edge of a road.
 
An old man in a straw hat leaned across his passenger seat and shouted to us through the open window.

“You folks alright?” he asked, eyeing me, and then glancing across me at Melee.

“Yes,” I smiled.
 
“Just fine, thank you.”