The Devil's Daughter Complete Box Set, page 31
part #1 of The Devil's Daughter Series
That’s a bullshit answer if there ever was one. Sere stopped pacing in front of the painting of a forest in fall and sat on the orange fabric bench. Her heart caught in her throat when she saw the three women push their way through the wood-paneled swinging doors.
“Sit here, you two. I’ll go find out what’s happening.”
Sere’s legs were wobbly as she stood. “Annabelle?” Fuck, she goes by Ann now!
“I’m Ann Fisher.”
Fisher was wrong about one thing: it isn’t just men who fall for her eyes when she locks her gaze on them. “I’m Sere Mal-Laurette. I work with your husband.”
The strained lines around the woman’s eyes and mouth quivered as if she were about to break down. “Can you tell me what happened?”
Sere wondered how much Ann Fisher could handle. “It’s a long story, but it ends with me being too slow to stop the asshole from pushing Mr. Fisher backward onto the concrete floor.” Sere caught the look of the two late-teenage girls behind their mother. “Sorry about my language.”
“It’s okay,” Ann said. “I’d have used a lot worse. What was he doing in an abandoned warehouse?”
So she knew about the warehouse already. The paramedics must have called in a report. Damn people and their rapid communications.
“That’s the long part of the story. Your husband is very brave but a little overly chivalrous.” Sere hoped she had read Fisher’s insight correctly. Part of what had swept Ann into Montgomery’s arms was his old-fashioned ideas about looking after the woman he loved.
Ann’s eyes closed only partially as they swept Sere from head to toe. “What is your relationship to Montgomery?”
I saved his life but am responsible for him being possessed by a demon. Yeah, that should go over well. “He helped me with a particularly vexing life-or-death problem,” Sere said.
Ann shook her head. “Everyone says that. He’s an accountant, for pity’s sake. From the way his clients go on about how relieved they are for his help, you’d think he was some kind of superhero.”
If you only knew. “I’m still not sure why he agreed to let me work with him.”
By raising two daughters, Ann Fisher had further developed her penetrating stare. What had begun as the strobe-light attraction Montgomery first noticed had been refined into a laser able to cut away falsehood. Damn. I’ll bet those girls never pull anything over on her.
“That still doesn’t explain what you two were doing in a dirty warehouse in the middle of the night, fighting off some hoodlum.”
“Not all of my clients are good, upstanding citizens.” Now, there’s an understatement. “Mr. Fisher wasn’t willing to let me face this one alone. Unfortunately, he got to the meeting before I did.” Might have helped if he’d clued me in to what he was up to.
“Sounds like my husband.” Ann finally took a seat. “I assume no one’s come out yet?”
Sere gratefully sat next to the woman. “Not yet. The paramedics just brought him in a little while ago. He was semiconscious before they got to us.” She hoped a change of topic would take some of the edge off. “Please tell me to bug off if my question is too personal”—Sere caught herself at the last minute from using her usual expletive—“but why Gummy?”
Ann’s softly feminine laugh was nearly as captivating as her eyes. “When we first started dating, he was so sweet it was nearly sickening, so I started calling him my gummy bear. He hated it. Later in our relationship, there was a period when I wasn’t the most faithful. I didn’t cheat on him, but being a singer in nightclubs, I let my flirting get the better of me. He clung to me like a gummy bear stuck in my teeth. He simply wouldn’t let go. I realized at that point how good he truly was. He’d never leave me.”
The younger of the two daughters leaned over her mother. “Only Mom gets to call him that, but we each buy him a bag of gummy bears for his birthday. It’s our family’s little inside joke.” The daughter didn’t have her mother’s sophisticated stare, but with her direct eye contact, soft voice, and attentive listening style, she had a similarly captivating demeanor.
Sere turned back to Ann. “He’s madly in love with you and always has been.”
The woman’s eyes glistened. “I know. He’s one of the good ones, and there aren’t many of his kind left.”
A man in scrubs came down the hall to the nearly deserted waiting room. “Mrs. Fisher?”
“I’m Ann.” She stood up and tensed her body as if bracing for a storm surge.
“Your husband is going to be just fine. He has a concussion, but by all indications, he won’t suffer any long-term damage. I’d like to keep him here for twenty-four hours, though, just to keep an eye on him.”
Sere wanted to talk with Fisher. She needed to find out how he’d located Thomas, what he’d discovered about the four doppelgängers headed her way, and what the hell he was thinking going out on his own. The tears the three Fisher women were no longer able to control, however, convinced Sere that now wasn’t the time.
She put her hand on Ann’s shoulder. “He should have his family with him. I’ll head to the office and let Linda know he won’t be in today. Tell him not to worry about anything.” Thomas and the other four fuckers are mine.
As Ann and her daughters headed down the hall to see Fisher, Sere turned to Polly. “I’ve got things I need to do.”
Polly smiled and nodded. “Yes, you do. Kendell texted that she dropped off your motorcycle, but they couldn’t wait around. I’ll stay here in case there’s an update on Fisher’s condition.”
And to be sure he doesn’t go all demony. Of the available support group, Polly would be the best able to handle any possibility.
Sere pulled out one of the CPA’s business cards from her bustier. “Call the office if there’s any news, but if it’s bad, don’t tell Linda, the receptionist.”
“Got it.” Polly pocketed the card.
Outside the hospital, Sere took a deep breath of the fresh, humid, unfiltered air. At first, she was relieved to see her motorcycle parked in front with her saddlebags draped over the back. But where are my fucking knife and gun? She hopped on and kicked the engine over. Probably Kendell’s way of getting me to stop by for a chat. I guess now’s as good a time as any. She checked her watch. 8:23 a.m. I’ll swing by the office to let Linda know Fisher won’t be in then head over to Kendell and Myles’s condo.
Kendell would have a zillion questions—she always did—and answering them to the woman’s satisfaction usually took way more time than Sere could afford. Maybe if I start asking questions, we can wrap this up quickly.
“What’s the damage-control update?”
Kendell sat on the couch with her ancient dog on her lap. “Joe is in contact with the police down here. He thinks he can squash any report that might spring up. A person being knocked unconscious during a fight in New Orleans isn’t exactly big news.”
“Did he have anything to say about the demons up north?” Those bastards must be getting a little soggy out in the swamp for so long.
“Nothing yet. It’s only been two days since you were up there.”
Fuck. Is that all? Time flies when you’re hunting demons. Seeing those green flashes seems like a lifetime ago.
“He did ask if we’d talked about your theory of one dead to one demon,” Kendell added.
“It’s not really a theory—more of an observation. Monty killed seven people before I was able to catch him. Then seven doppelgängers escaped hell. Joe taught me to be suspicious of coincidences.”
“And rightly so.” Kendell’s eyes glazed over the way Polly’s did when she was considering some bit of evidence she’d just as soon ignore. “If a demon from our hell dimension left that reality and killed someone here, I wonder what would happen to the real person’s soul. You haven’t had any whiff of the loas of the dead, have you?”
“Thankfully, no.” Shit. You’re wondering if they even know about the deaths. “Please tell me you don’t suspect those souls are ending up in hell.”
Kendell smiled as if she were trying to calm a frightened child. “I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about. Capturing your father was no easy feat. Souls don’t just fall into the hellmouth on their own.”
Sere was completely sure that it was something to worry about, but the last thing she wanted to do was attract the attention of the loas of the dead. “Even if there is a correlation, if I can stop the remaining four doppelgängers before they start killing, I might be able to stem the tide.”
“While you’re doing that, I’ll check with my sources on the situation of these misplaced souls.” Kendell bit her lip and hesitated then asked, “Any word from Sanguine?”
Sanguine was probably the only one who would know for sure if Larry, Kelly, and the rest were among the damned. If so, Sere hoped she was looking out for them. But relying on the guardian angel who’d raised her yet somehow failed to prevent the demons escaping hell seemed like a pipe dream.
“I tried sending a message, but we don’t exactly have an interdimensional communication network.”
Kendell petted her old dog and nodded. “Reopening the gates we created could alert the loas. Sanguine never was one for accepting a call unless it suited her needs, anyway.”
For a change, Sere found herself in the position of comfort giver. “I trust Sanguine completely. If she were in trouble, she’d get word to me.”
Kendell smiled but refrained from responding.
No more questions? Fuck yeah! Sere got up and grabbed her knife and shotgun off the coffee table. “I’ll be hanging close to Fisher’s offices until he gets back on his feet. Linda’s sweet but not very good when it comes to making up excuses.”
22
Chapter 10
“Miss Sere, your four o’clock appointment is here.” The voice from the intercom made Sere drop the shotgun shell she was loading, spilling the small metal pellets all over the desk.
That woman can’t possibly be this senile. She squeezed her eyes shut in an attempt at tapping down her irritation and pressed the brittle plastic bar. “I don’t have a four o’clock appointment, Linda. I’m not a real CPA.”
She knew she should cut the receptionist a break. After all, her boss was laid up in the hospital. Since Sere had only worked there for less than two days, it was understandable that the woman would assume she was just another temp.
“I know that, dear. He says you were recommended to him.”
Sere swept the metal pellets into the top drawer of her desk. I suppose I don’t need a normal shotgun shell just yet. It’s not like Thomas is going to show his ugly face so soon after his last whooping. I could use the distraction.
“Fine. Send him in.” Sere checked the handle of the knife in her boot to be sure it was conveniently within reach.
She got up as a man roughly her age—at least the age she projected—entered her office, looking as uncomfortable as a schoolboy called to the principal’s office. She was reminded of Fisher’s description of meeting a new client. Many had a look of floundering desperation combined with a longing for someone to understand their plight.
“Evert Thibodaux,” he said, reaching out his hand.
She gave him the firm single-pump handshake of a professional businessperson. “I’m not sure what I can do for you, but let’s start with the basics. How did you hear about me and the firm?”
He took the brown vinyl-cushioned metal chair opposite her without it being offered. You’re used to being the one in charge, aren’t you? She engaged her combat training. Something about the guy didn’t fit the frightened-customer persona he’d used to get past the receptionist and gain access to her office.
“Rampart said I should look for the CPA’s office when I got down here.”
Sere hadn’t met so many people in life that she would forget a name like that. “I don’t know anyone by that name.”
“Sorry. He said you’d know him as Bart.”
That’s his fucking name? It fits. Stalwart bulkhead or macho prick? Rambart, more like it. Ramming his Bart into every woman he meets.
She tried to pull it together and keep her tone light. “If Bart sent you, I’m guessing this isn’t in regard to your taxes.”
“It’s not,” the man said, not cracking a smile. “I’m Ram’s cousin. He might have mentioned me.”
Shit—the cop. “Do you mind if I continue to call him Bart?”
“You can call him Asshole for all I care. We may be kin, but every time I see him, bad things seem to follow.”
Sere didn’t see any point in delaying the obvious. “Is this about Larry and Kelly’s murders?”
“Not directly, but if you return to Opelousas Parish, I’m sure the sheriff would like to have a chat. Sheriff Newton doesn’t know I’m here.”
Sere fingered the butt of her knife. “Then why are you here?”
“Desperation. After you left our parish, a dozen hunters ventured into the deep swamp, and only three returned. We’re conducting a search, of course, but that’s mostly a formality to pacify the lost men’s families.”
Who took them—Lefty and his alligators or the demons I haven’t found yet?
“What makes you think I’d know anything about the goings-on of a bunch of gator hunters?” she asked.
“I’m just following up on Ram’s recommendation. He said you were raised by a swamp witch and knew the area better than anyone else. Do you have any idea why the hunters would risk losing their licenses by venturing so far from their established grounds in the middle of the night?”
Sere hoped her shrug of disinterest was convincing. “There have always been tales of monster-sized gators lurking where the hunters can’t reach them.”
“This doesn’t seem like greed. Nearly all of the hunters tag out every season. Though there is a pride aspect in bringing home the biggest catch, they’ve never so wantonly risked their necks when easier prey is within their grasp.”
If those assholes had run across the four missing demons, at least the dumb fucks were providing enough entertainment to distract hell’s army from heading into town. But damn, she thought, that’s a lot of new openings for future doppelgängers.
“You said the official answer is they got lost,” she said. “Sounds plausible to me.”
He pulled three police files from his briefcase and tossed them onto her desk. “According to the three survivors, the other nine men are dead.”
Shit. She nodded at the files. “I’m sure whoever took their statements was either a friend or relative. So tell me what I won’t find in those pages.”
“Ram said you were a smart cookie. I interviewed the men myself, and I’ve known each of them since high school—not that they attended. All three were in varying states of shock. That’s pretty unusual for men who spend their lives out on the water. I’ve seen a guy get his hand bitten off and still land the gator like nothing happened. Their initial explanation of a band of alligators working in unison against the hunters wasn’t that strange. There always seems to be some monster who’s lived so long that he gets good at avoiding being caught. Expanding that legend to make it about a group of gators who can coordinate their efforts wouldn’t take much imagination. The animal’s thirty-foot leader, however, crosses from swamp lore to tall tale.”
More like long tail. Sere did her best to suppress her giggle, but from the deputy’s grimace, she could tell she hadn’t been completely successful.
“I’m guessing you’re familiar with the next part of my story,” he continued. “The hunters talked of a short, squirrelly, redheaded swamp witch who commanded the thirty-foot gator like a pet puppy. Between their story and some rumors of bar brawls, I’m beginning to wonder if I should have shown up to this meeting with my gun and a search warrant.”
Sere took her hand off her knife and settled back into her chair. The fact that Deputy Thibodaux had shown up unarmed indicated that he was open to having a cooperative relationship, despite all of his misgivings about her. “There’s no need for that. I did confront the hunters and warn them against going too deep into the swamp.” Sere was never any good at lying, so she simply left out the part about her riding on Lefty’s back.
“Ram said I could trust you, so I’m not going to go into interrogation mode, but you have to see how my boss is eventually going to come looking for you. Most of what the three men had to say about you was conveniently left out of the official reports, but keeping your story quiet wasn’t easy. The files on your desk are my original unedited notes.”
Bart must have pulled some strings awfully hard to keep her out of the spotlight. Fuck. Now I owe that Ramp bastard.
“So far,” she said, “the hunters’ stories sound like they could be discounted to dehydration and too long of a day in the swamp.”
“Maybe so, but I’m also still looking for answers regarding these two individuals who passed through town a couple of months ago.” He pulled out two folded police sketches from his pocket and spread them out on her desk.
She immediately recognized the drawings and inwardly cursed.
He held up the one resembling her. “I’m no expert, but this looks a hell of a lot like you. And this other one resembles the picture of this establishment’s head CPA that’s hanging in the lobby. Mind explaining the resemblances?”
“I thought they solved the Swamp Strangler case.” By intercepting communications between the parish sheriff’s office and the New Orleans police department, Joe had been able to convince each that the other had solved the case. The flimsy resolution only held up so long as no one from one force checked in with someone from the other.
The deputy looked at the drawings as if he expected to find something new. “Supposedly, some body parts were found in the Lafitte preserve down here that matched DNA found at Kelly’s Diner.”
“You still have your doubts?” Sere silently willed the man to be as simpleminded as his Northshore brethren.
“I worked that crime scene. It was messy. The serial killer made a hack job of it, so finding his DNA wouldn’t have been a surprise. Our lab in Opelousas Parish isn’t the fanciest, but it does the job. The only DNA they could find, other than Larry’s, wasn’t discovered until the samples were sent down here. The whole thing just feels a little too convenient.”
