Father Mike looked at his watch and continued to pace inside the rectory. His cell phone chimed and he pulled it out of his pocket. On the screen, the text message read, “Meet you in the car. Relax.”
He shook his head and put the phone back in his pocket. He grabbed his prayer book and a big black umbrella and headed out into the light rain to the Caddy. It was parked in the driveway, not the garage, so he jogged the few feet without opening the umbrella. Despite the gray dusk, the car’s vivid pink color didn’t lose its luster.
He hopped in and tossed the umbrella onto the back seat. The car was warm and smelled of leather. Once he got the car started and the wipers on, he switched on the radio to listen to the weather. No big surprise, it was all about Tammy, on its way to Louisiana and now a powerful category 3 hurricane. Landfall expected tomorrow night. 24 hours. And already the weather was turning to crap.
The passenger door burst open and Joanie jumped in and slammed it shut in one fluid movement.
“Nice,” he said.
“Shut up.”
She had her full nun’s habit on. Water droplets made the black habit shimmer in the fading light.
“No umbrella?”
“Couldn’t find it.” She brushed some of the water off of herself and checked her face in the mirror.
Mike noticed that despite the habit, Joanie still had her face made up. She looked good, even in the uniform. He continued to stare at her.
“What?” she said.
“You. You look pretty good.”
She gave him a smirk, but there was a smile in the look, just the same. “Are you being facetious?”
He shook his head. “No, no. Wasn’t talking about the habit. Just your face.”
“Right. Ain’t much else to see. Does this habit make my butt look big?”
Mike laughed. “What butt?”
“Exactly. I’m doing this for you, you know.”
Mike put the car in gear and backed out of the rectory’s gravel driveway. He continued to smile.
Once on the road, he turned off the radio and settled in for the drive to the funeral home. Joanie folded her hands in her lap and stared out her window into the gloomy dusk.
“See many people out earlier?” he finally said.
She sighed. “Some. Most have bugged out. Hope there’s a good turnout for the wake.”
“Yeah. From what I hear, it’ll mostly be Floyd’s old and new girlfriends. That’ll make it a crowd.”
Joanie smiled. “Heard he was quite the horn dog.”
“Tell me he didn’t hit on you,” Mike said. “That’d be stepping way over the line.”
Joanie didn’t say anything. She just stared out the window.
“Really?” he said.
“No, he never hit on me,” she said. “C’mon, if I was gonna cross that line, I’d probably do it with you. You being on the same team, so to speak.”
“I’m so relieved,” Mike said. He was. And very happy, too. His heart raced a bit, and there was some stirring down below. He hit the speed dial for St. Michael, but no one was home.
“Does it make you uncomfortable when I flirt with you?” Joanie said.
“Does it make you uncomfortable when I flirt with you?” he shot back.
“Unfair question. And you don’t flirt with me,” she said.
“I do. I’m just more subtle than you are.”
“Huh,” she said. “Whatever. Answer my question.”
A flash of distant lightning illuminated the car interior. “No, it doesn’t make me uncomfortable. To be honest, I like it. I shouldn’t, but I do.”
“You’re a man,” she said. “You’re supposed to like it.”
Silence for a moment. Finally he said, “But are we playing with fire? I mean, we’ve both been around, so to speak. We know where talk like that leads. It’s how relationships start. It’s fun, provocative. It’s meant to…lead somewhere.”
“And where would you like it to lead?” she said.
Mike shook his head. “Joanie, I swear. You’re something else. If we weren’t all vowed up, I’d be all over you. I like you a lot.”
She smiled. “See. That’s what a woman wants to hear. I like you too, Mike.”
“We’re looking at some big-time sinning here, Joanie. The vows, the out-of-wedlock thing. We could do some serious time for what we’re thinking about.”
She put her hand on his right hand, which was resting on his thigh. Her touch sent a jolt of electricity through him. “But what if it’s meant to be? We wouldn’t be the first.”
He let her hand stay on his, and he moved his fingers so they intertwined with hers. “Let’s stay focused on the wake. For now.”
“Okay,” she said.
They rode to the funeral home in silence. But their hands stayed together.
Lexie cruised the parish road, watching the wipers on her patrol brush the rain from her windshield. It was nearly full dark now. She had the wipers set on “slow.” The rain wasn’t that bad. Tomorrow, though, they’d be on “fast.” Or “hurricane,” if there was such a setting.
There wasn’t much traffic on the highway. Most people had left, or were in their homes enjoying supper. She wasn’t hungry yet, but she would be soon. She’d make the loop around this part of the parish, then head over to the funeral home and pay her respects to Felice. She couldn’t stay long, what with the storm moving in, and Roland running around. After that, she’d stop by her place and re-heat some lasagna she had in the fridge. She tried to remember if she had some garlic bread, too. That would be great. A beer with that would be even better, but she was on permanent duty for the time being, so no booze, and she would have to leave the house after she had a quick bite and get back to work.
She mentally checked off some other stops she’d make through the night. Most of the closed businesses. Some of the outlying neighborhoods and camps. The church. And certainly she’d stop by The Fort to see Cam. She smiled at that thought. She was definitely feeling it for him. She thought it funny how timing was so crucial in a relationship. For months she’d seen Cam, but there was nothing there. Or if there was, she couldn’t see it. Then wham, a certain look from him and she was toast – in a good way.
She sighed and filed away those good thoughts. There were other things to think about. She looked into the dark swamps and thought about M’Lou Marchand. The poor girl was probably dead. Eaten by whatever got Floyd. Probably nothing left of her, either. But still. Lexie had a funny feeling. A cop feeling. Maybe M’Lou got out. Got away. Maybe she was still alive. The thought of her lost back up in there with a storm coming kicked her in the gut. There would be no way to send people back there until the storm passed.
And then there was the thought that something much scarier than the storm was out there. Something out of the ordinary. That was as far as Lexie was willing to go with that theory. She had long dismissed the hungry hippo theory. And the bullshit bullshark theory. It creeped her out so much she hit the roof lights on the patrol car and immediately the red and blue strobes bathed the cypress and willow with otherworldly light. That creeped her out even more and she switched them off.
She rode at a slow, steady pace, so she wouldn’t miss anything. Or hit anything. The rain eased off and eventually stopped, leaving a steamy haze over the formerly hot roadway. She suspected that wouldn’t last long. This wasn’t really the hurricane yet, but it was weather being created by the storm as Tammy pumped thick humid air off the Gulf and over land. The real fun wouldn’t start until tomorrow.
She put her mind on idle for a while and listened to the dispatcher on the radio. It was Tricia Laurent, a petite, fifty-something bottle redhead who’d been with the sheriff’s department for almost 30 years. She was a chain smoker whose gravelly voice and Cajun accent made for an interesting combination over the airwaves. She was chatting it up with the roving patrol cars around the parish, sending them here and there, mostly for minor stuff, but there was one pickup that had slid off the road into a ditch near Catahoula. Probably some asshole starting to get liquored up early for the weekend who took a curve too fast. Didn’t sound serious. Her part of the world was running pretty smooth, if you could discount Floyd Guidry, the idiot kayaker, M’Lou Marchand, Roland Avant and something weird roaming around the bayou. On second thought, maybe her world wasn’t running smooth at all. It was running way too hot for her.
She turned around at the parish line at a wide part of the road and headed back in to Alcide. The rain continued to hold off and she made good time. There was more traffic here, mostly people getting off work and heading home. These would be the ones staying for the storm. She couldn’t see their faces in the dark, but she knew them by their cars and trucks. Some she had grown up with, some were the parents of people she had grown up with. There was a bit of comfort for her in seeing those cars and people. It was home.
Lexie slowed down along the main drag of Alcide. All of the businesses were closed. A video rental store, the one with the room in the front with all the best sellers, and the room in the back that sold the best-selling porn. Which were all pretty much best sellers. A little jewelry store. The city offices, empty with the mayor out of town. The blowhard was probably feeling guilty about not being with his people during their crisis. Probably not. A feed and hardware store, a semi-competitor of Cam’s. The local burger joint – not a chain. Just a walk-up window. Pretty good, too. The popular clothing shop, small – but saved some folks a trip into Lafayette for certain things. A craft store that got a lot of business from brave tourists who ventured way off of I-10 and spent a quiet drive through the swamps. The local CPA/lawyer office -- run solely by the slick Wayne Babineaux, who really had his main office in Lafayette, but made a few trips to his Alcide office during the week to soak up some cash from the locals. Finally, there was Paran’s Country Store, which stocked more groceries than Cam, since that’s what it was really. The light was still on, and Paran himself could be seen taking a couple of bags out to a woman’s car.
All in all, a nice little smattering of commerce for the little hamlet of Alcide. Some towns needed their own businesses. And sometimes, a couple of towns shared a few, like the funeral home.
She passed Troy’s Garage. The garage itself looked closed, but the little office that served the gas pumps was manned by Troy’s helper, Odell Landry. No sign of Troy. Probably banging Carla somewhere, Lexie thought.
Next there was the Church. Looked closed up. She glanced at her watch and figured Father Mike and Sister Joanie were already on their way to the funeral home. It was really closer to Butte La Rose than Alcide, and pretty much handled the earthly departures of people in this part of St. Martin Parish. Again, a shared business.
Finally, on the edge of town, and on the edge of the bayou, was Fort St. Jesus Bait and Tackle. Only one truck graced the parking lot. Looked like Troy’s tow truck. She knew Cam kept his around the side. She pulled in next to Troy and shut her down. She got out of the car and breathed the heavy humid air filled with the smell of the salty Gulf and the earthy swamp. She suddenly had a craving for some good hot coffee.
Inside, she found Cam and Troy shootin’ the shit. Cam was behind the counter sitting on a stool. Troy was on the other side, also on a stool and slamming down a canned beer. No customers were around.
She didn’t like the look on their faces.
“What’s up, boys?”
Cam and Troy gave each other a look. They both looked a little pale and a lot distracted.
Troy coughed and spoke first. “Oh, you know. A hurricane blowing in. A fucking mutant monster tearing up the swamp. And my tow truck.”
Lexie held up her hand. “Whoa. What?”
Cam said, “I think we’ve ID’ed whatever’s eating the townsfolk. And cattle.”