Angel Watch at Blacknest: A Supernatural Mystery Read online

  Crack! Crack! Lightning thunders and flashes, a sudden downpour finalizes Dilly’s decision to go inside. She hurriedly gathers up her yarn, fiber, spinning wheel and what not’s and rushes into the house. “Oh, sorry kitty’s, I didn't forget you two.” She opens the screen door and lets in Belly and Gene Gene. They wander to the living room and find soft spots to take a nap; their faces, eyes now shut are a picture of contentment Dilly thinks. Oh the simplicity of a cat’s life. Meatloaf sandwich in hand, Dilly sits down at the table and works on her jigsaw puzzle. Munching happily on her sandwich, she searches for pieces and looks at the box cover every so often. A silly maybe childish hobby but one she enjoys. She has always liked solving puzzles of all types. Unfortunately, the cats enjoy the puzzles too; so when she is done, she rolls it up into a puzzle keeper. It completely covers the puzzle that she has been working on. It's pretty handy and it keeps the puzzle pieces away from curious little paws. Thankfully, the cats haven't figured it out yet. She giggles to herself and sits down on the couch and takes up her knitting. She is working on a small baby sweater and cap. She is using a light pink and yellow variegated yarn and adding white and yellow duplicate stitch daises on the front of the sweater to add a little interest. Dilly enjoyed knitting for charity. She almost has a full box of items to donate to an orphanage in Kentucky. The local thrift store often gives her free yarn because they know of her charity work. Dilly always says she doesn't have a lot of talents but what she has she will use for the Lord.

  Dilly and Emily at the Barbecue House

  Dilly and Emily walk into Fix'ins Barbecue House. It is noisy and hopping. Literally! Over in the back by the bar area is a dance floor filled with people line dancing or a least they are trying to learn the steps. It looks like a lot of beginners; stomping and kicking in their new cowboy boots. It is hilarious to watch. There is no table service. Everyone just lines up and orders and then carries their food to a table. The floors are brick and the tables are covered with red and white checkered plastic table cloths. Emily and I loved it! We get in line, it moves pretty quickly. Emily gets the barbecued chicken and I get the brisket; of course, we share by dividing our plates with each other. It is always better to have a sampler plate.

  We visit with two elderly couples seated at the same very long table. They are very friendly and are here on vacation from Florida. They have been traveling all over the New England area in motor homes and enjoying the cooler temperatures. Most of the conversation is conducted by shouting. Soon, we give up and go back to our meals. After the meal Emily and I decided to leave and find a quiet cafe to have some coffee and quiet conversation.

  Silas looks up from the barbecue pit where he is working and sees Dilly with her friend. He knows the group wants rid of her. As the pit master he has been on shift since five A.M. It is now one P.M., time to clock out. He throws his apron in the laundry basket on his way out of the kitchen and gets into his van (now freshly painted navy blue because the police might be looking for his old white van). He decides to follow Dilly for a while and maybe, figure out how she could have an “accident.” Xander may appreciate his initiative and allow him to join the groups meetings and ceremonies.

  Emily and I stop at a little coffee shop and order coffee and apple pie. We laugh and visit, enjoying the quiet. Emily reassures me that she has been keeping busy and not wallowing in the “poor me’s.” Her daughter, Amy now has a new baby. They have been sewing for her and spending lots of time with baby Lisa. She’s the best dressed three months old in town! What a tremendous blessing Lisa has been. I tell Emily about my latest spinning project. The afternoon passes with good conversation.

  Meet Mercy May

  Down in the bayou there is a flurry of activity going on at Silas's great uncle's place.

  "Mercy May, where you been?" shouts her brother, Jeb.

  Old Mercy May is wincing with tears in her eyes caused by the smoke from the smoke house and sadness seeing the pig killed. She is at Jeb's place today helping "put up" the pig. The slaughter part just makes her plain sad; all the squealing and blood. Give her the carcass, she can deal with that but the killing, she'd rather be someplace else. She knew the pig was an unclean lowly creature in God's eyes but a moment ago it was alive, albeit ugly with a nasty disposition.

  "Yes, brother, I'm here just sharpening the knives." says Mercy May.

  I'll be darned if I lets old Jeb know just how sad this all makes me. I've grown up around this stuff. As an old Cajun I've lived down in this bayou all my life; this day is pretty much like any other day. Death and life up so close, you can smell them. Now standing beside Jeb and my grandson, Zeke we all busily cut the pig into the proper cuts; some off to brine, some to the smoke house and the rest packaged and put in the freezer. At a later day, I will pressure can some of the meat and also, make some sausage. The smoke house already has quite a few hams hanging and some slabs of bacon; all necessary provisions to get through the winter.

  My mama taught me the ways of the swamp. As a young child I learned how to put up meat for the year and also, how to make shine (for medicinal purpose only). As a praying Christian woman and someone who fears God, I have no patience for drunkenness. As a remedy, I do drink a little with some honey, when I feel poorly or at times, when sleep eludes me. But that is it. I take no part in pleasure drinking.

  My house is on stilts, like everyone else around here. It sits slightly back from the swamp. I live just around the bend from Jeb, my brother. The path between our houses is well traveled. Every year the flooding comes; it is a rare year when it doesn't come. The hurricanes also, come roaring up from the gulf. I have been through many, many storms. They bring destruction and tears. I asked the Lord many, many times why he lets it happen. So, many innocents harmed. I lost my husband, Maurice in one. The roof timbers crashed down on him. I don't want to think about that and what I saw. He thankfully, died fast. As a widow I get by because my kin and my church help me. I am a longtime member of Purlee Pentecostal Church. I believe it is the largest Pentecostal church in Purlee Parrish, Louisiana. If not, surely it is the liveliest. Lately, we have been praying for my grandson, Silas. Jeb and I pretty much raised Silas and his brother, Zeke after my dear son Henry and his wife Eva died. Henry was the only child that Maurice and I had but sadly he died in a car accident while up in Atlanta a year after his wife passed. Jeb and I did our best but Silas has gone to the dark side. He has taken after his long past mother, Eva. She had practiced the local folk magic, Hoodoo. Eva had been the local Root Woman, a type of Cajun witchdoctor, of sorts. She made potions and conjured. The superstitious locals would come to her, asking for her remedies, potions and the like. She died in the swamp; that’s all I’m going to say. The swamp took her. She died when Silas was 10 years old, but she had influenced him despite his young age.

  The few letters Silas has sent to me have been full of grand ideas that northern group has been feeding him. They are wicked and are using my grandson. He’s in my constant thoughts and prayers. Please, Lord help him and don’t let any harm come to him.

  Snapped out of my deep thoughts, Zeke hands me the pigs head. I carry it to the outdoor kitchen. I wash it thoroughly and place it in my largest kettle. It will simmer for a few hours. The meat will be used to make head cheese, always a favorite with my family. Because of the terrible heat and humidity most of us have outdoor kitchens. After washing up I look through all of Jeb's cupboards. It all looks in order to me; nothing has been disturbed since last time. I shrugged out of my plastic butcher apron and give it a good wash and hang it up to dry. Good grief, what a morning! I wearily walk the path back to my little house. It is a pretty afternoon and I surely enjoy the summer smells in the air and the wild flowers growing along the path. I love nature. I often wondered how people can stand living in the cities. Maybe, if that is all you have ever known it would be bearable. I guess you can’t miss what you don’t know about. I spent the rest of the afternoon curled up with a book and a cup of chicory coffee in my favorite chai
r on the porch.

  Mercy goes to Purlee Pentecostal Church

  It is good to get cleaned up later that afternoon and go over to the church for their weekly potluck and prayer meeting. This morning was so much work over at Jebs and I am just getting too old for all of that. As I approached the church I see my best friends at the door, Louise and Mary Tully. I am tired from walking and so glad I am almost there. I really need to sit and take a rest. You see I only live maybe one hundred yards from the church all you do is follow the path; simple but so tiring for someone my age. Last spring I turned sixty nine years old. I smile and wave at the girls. They are twins and both old maids; bless their hearts. Their daddy is the Pastor here. He and his wife, Marie have been here for maybe thirty years. He’s a real fire and brimstone preacher. There is no sleeping through his services. He calls it “calling down the glory” and with the loud praising and prayers, I worry about the roof coming down sometimes for real! I have found him to be a tremendous blessing. I think he has God's anointing on him, for sure. He does not take the easy road and I respect that.

  “I brought a macaroni and beef casserole and homemade gingersnaps. It is the best I could do with the morning I just had.” I tell the girls.

  Louise grabs the casserole out of my little wagon I am pulling and gives me a hug with her free arm. We walk inside to the kitchen and small dining room located in the basement. The stairs going down to the kitchen are steep and I think, rather treacherous. I remind myself to count my blessings and to be thankful I’m not carrying the casserole. There is a long counter that opens to the kitchen much like a lunchroom in a school. It is now almost totally covered with hot dishes, salads, breads and other treats. All the tables are bustling with people chatting and laughing. I mingle and catch up on the latest news at our end of the swamp. They are all common people, good people; the type that show up and help when things go bad. The talking soon dies down a little and people wander over and start filling their plates. The kids are darting in and out between the tables; just being kids. The food is delicious. We certainly have some good cooks in our congregation. My favorite is Miss Polly’s scalloped potato and sausage casserole; I also, pile on some assorted salads and homemade rolls. Pastor Tully says a loud prayer over the food, thanking the Almighty for it and for all our blessings. We all say amen and dig in. The desserts are still in the kitchen and I take a look. There is a large variety of homemade pies. I hope there’s some ice cream in the freezer. After the meal I could have immediately ate a nice piece of peach pie but I tell myself to mind my manners and wait till they are properly served after the prayer meeting.

  We begin to pray; one would start then another would continue. All our worries we voiced; from needing a job, to loved ones being saved, others praying for healing. All prayed in different styles with only the same reverence in common. These people are true believers. They believe what it said in the Bible and that Jesus is right here listening with His arms around us. Old Moses prays for his ailing wife, Lenadean. She is terribly stricken with arthritis in her knees and feet. She couldn't make the meeting tonight. He is a retired shrimper and had owned a fleet of boats called The Pretty Ladies. His sons now run the business, which has been very slow since the oil spill. It is a joy to listen to him pray. Bent over with his dark tan weathered skin, he always kneels when he prays. It is humbling to watch. He doesn't cry but his prayers are so honest and transparent, many you can see reaching for tissues. It humbles us and reminds us all to be more respectful and contrite before our King. Inwardly, I call his prayers, “Heart prayers.”

  I pray for Silas and also, for Jeb and Zeke’s conversion. The praying goes on for another hour and then people trickled out of the church and head home. We all agreed to continue praying for each other throughout the week. I am so grateful for the fellowship with these good people. I don’t feel so alone. Thank you, Jesus I mumble under my breath.

  I spend an extra hour at the church cleaning tables and doing dishes with Mary. We giggle over soap bubbles and talk about our lives. Mary is full of past regrets. She had once been engaged but had gotten cold feet; something she regrets to this day. The young man now has a wife and four kids and they live up in Pennsylvania. She thinks that could have been her. I counsel her to forget about the past. There’s not a thing you can do about it. What’s done is done and to look to the future. We both then try to focus on the positive things in our lives. We have much to be thankful for because many, many people in this country and around the world have huge struggles they are enduring daily; surely, much worse than our little problems. As simple as going to a prayer meeting is next to impossible or could get you killed in many places. After a long talk we agreed that often depression is caused by being too self absorbed and that we should start thinking and praying for the less fortunate and quit wasting time feeling sorry for ourselves. We both laughed and agreed we are wise old ladies, if only we took our own advice.

  Elise

  Elise descends the grand staircase accompanied by her live-in nurse, Nonie. Elise is dressed elegantly in a blue velvet dress with a silver sash and jewels around her neck. She often dresses lavishly as if she is going to a party. She suffers from dementia among her other problems. Her stare is rather vacant. She has taken her morning medication; a necessary precaution because she is dangerous. You see, she likes to poison people. Xander's father was her most recent victim; also, her twin sister, Mia when they were teenagers on a ski trip to Switzerland. Strangely, there had been little investigation by the Swiss. Recently, in one of his mother's more lucid moments she told Xander she had no remorse. She snickered and laughed, boasting no one ever knew.

  But his father's poisoning was a different matter. Kendrick had collapsed and died after downing his usual after supper drink. Elise forgot to get rid of the evidence; the decanter and the glass. But in her insane state she eagerly admitted her guilt to the detectives. They said in court, "That her eyes seemed to twinkle when she told them, that she likes poisoning." And when questioned further for clarification, she admitted killing with poison more than once and "would love to do it again!" She was convicted and sentenced to serve her time at Treadmore, a mental institute up north. After a few years, her condition became more manageable as long as she was in a constant medicated state. Through much bribery and a few favors called in, Xander had her moved to an apartment on the top floor of Blacknest Manor, east wing. He did not like involving strangers in the family's affairs and that included Elise. She was his mother, after all. He knew how to handle her and he hadn't cared much for his father, anyway.

  Blacknest has 18,000 square feet, more of a castle than a house; plenty of room for his mother and her nurse, Nonie. A Filipino woman with no family in this country and she speaks and understands very little English but seems to be devoted to his mother, to his amazement. Elise is restricted to the house by court order. She is usually in a dreamy state and very frail at seventy years old. So, Xander didn't give much thought to her climbing out of a window. But despite her heavily drugged condition, she occasionally gets that clever, mischievous look in her eyes. Xander smiles thinking, I would never accept a drink from her, my wicked, wicked mother.

  Elise sees Xander and says, "Good morning, dear. I'm so excited your sister, Zara is coming home today."

  "Yes, very exciting mother." Xander agrees, knowing her real reason for her trip from Amsterdam today. For the past year, she has been managing Sam Grayson's club The Pendulum, a very private magicians club, in the heart of Amsterdam. She has some news about the jewels, perhaps she can retrieve them. She is a very skilled thief. He had listened to her describe many adventures working for Sam and Jack. She loved the hunt and the danger he thought. He admired her.

  Zara

  Zara slightly reclines in the back seat of the limo. She is exhausted. Snide picked her up at the airport. Twenty hour have passed, since she left Amsterdam. The layovers and connections are always a bother although, she had enjoyed her short visit with friends during her London
layover.

  Dressed all in black and with her long raven black hair she is stunningly beautiful. Today she is wearing black over the knee stiletto boots, leggings, a silk blouse with a leather bustier. She has a black and silver cashmere shawl draped around her shoulders. The stiff ribbing in the bustier pinches slightly but it is a necessary wardrobe selection for this trip. Her figure is slender and nearly perfect. She always enjoyed the looks from strangers; she did not possess one ounce of modesty. She thinks, go ahead and look peasants!

  Xander had informed her about the stolen necklace but what he didn't’t know was that she has recently retrieved it. A quick knife to the throat in the bathroom at the Club was all it took. She had found herself alone with the visiting magician’s wife Madame Nore who had openly worn the necklace to the Club that night. Her husband was on stage doing his show. With the knife at her throat, Zara whispered in her ear that she knew where in Paris they lived and all about them and their family. That there was no running from her coven. The magician’s wife was a fat woman, full of arrogance and self importance but at that moment she turned as white as the bathroom tile wall. She was shaking and quickly handed over the necklace to Zara and then fainted.

  She has yet to find out how they got the necklace. But Xander will be pleased with her news. She had to admit that she enjoyed scaring that fat hog of a woman in the bathroom at the club. Zara knew her mother preferred poison but she has always preferred the knife. It gave her more satisfaction she smiled to herself with twinkling eyes.

  Supper at Blacknest

  The long driveway to the manor house is bordered by a spectacular flower garden and a lush green lawn. Zara thinks to herself, Old Blithe must still be around. He has a magic touch with plants. The sweet fragrance brought her back to her childhood, for a moment. Her memories weren't all bad. She had always loved roaming the gardens and Old Blithe had helped her plant a little garden when she was a child. The staff had always been kind to her and Xander. She wondered why.