Avery smirked. “I knew you were gonna ask.”
“Am I that transparent?”
“Yes,” Avery said as he glared at her with a cocky smile. At least he was smiling.
“Well, are you going to spill the tea?”
Avery huffed. “So nosey. But yeah. Old lady Beulah has ‘visions,’ and said she had a vision from the past of a bunch of miscreants trashing Delphine’s House of Voodoo. She said they left the Bible open and underlined the same Exodus verse that was written on the walls.”
Ophelia looked at him in shock. “Hold up. Mrs. Beulah has ‘visions’?”
Avery gave her a look that saidGirl, please, were you born yesterday?Ophelia had only been their neighbor for a year. How was she supposed to know about Mrs. Beulah’s so-called “visions”?
“You’re so pure,” he joked, and Ophelia scoffed and threw her hands up in the air in offense. “Apparently, she can see things. No way to confirm if they’re real, to be honest, but she has a pretty good accuracy rate. Like one time she told me months in advance that we needed to stock up for a big freeze that would kill the power for a couple of days. I didn’t listen. Turned out she was right. She also told Serena down the street that her dog was possessed and would die an early death. Serena didn’t talk to Beulah for weeks; she was so upset with her. The dog was a menace, though, and Serena refused to admit it. It was always tearing up shit, biting other dogs, and then one day it ran out of the house and was hit by a car on Carrollton. So she’s two for two.”
“Damn, Mrs. Beulah,” Ophelia tsked. “I suddenly find her much cooler.”
Avery gave her the side-eye. She ignored him and asked, “So what did you think about the vision she had of Delphine’s shop?”
Avery rubbed his eyes. “I don’t know. I mean, that did happen, but it was over a decade ago. I don’t know about the Bible part. Could have been true, and Delphine just never told me. I firmly believe she was targeted for her religion back then. The real question here is why is she having a vision about Delphine now, and what is withthisExodus verse?”
Ophelia’s heart thumped. She had the same question.
“That is interesting timing. I wonder if that verse was found at the crime scene. Do you have any records from the break-in?”
“Nah, I was twenty years old back then. Too busy flitting around dance clubs to notice much.”
Ophelia snorted. “Fair. Any news from the police on the serial killer?”
“They don’t know nuthen. Seriously. They haven’t got a lead or a solid MO on it. I have told them about her past run-ins with prejudiced folks, but they said it was so long ago and people are more accepting now.”
“Um, that’s bullshit. Sounds like an excuse to not dig deeper.”
“Exactly.”
Ophelia hung her head. What was there to say? There was nothing. The world was cruel and unjust.
In the late afternoon,Jack pulled up to Ophelia’s cottage in his Prius. She tossed her weekend bag into the back and slid into the passenger seat. She gave him a smile as she scanned his appearance. Jack was a bit thin, but he was clean-shaven with a slight tan and combed ash-brown hair. Unfairly, she remembered him during his rough phase as a frail teenager with bloodshot eyes and anger written all over his face, but now he consistently looked better than she expected.
“You look good. How’s life?” asked Ophelia.
Jack chuckled. “It’s not me. It’s the Prius that makes me look this good.” Ophelia gave a fake chuckle. Jack loved his Prius probably as much as his own mother. “But I’m doing well. Work isn’t too tough right now. I’m ahead of schedule on a high-profile government project. Busy at my church.”
“That’s great,” said Ophelia, uncomfortable. She knew what was coming next.
“You know, you should come to church with me sometime. I know you’re Catholic and all, but this church is different. Non-denominational. Really amazing. Great music.Weactually read the Bible.”
Ophelia pasted on a fake smile of gratitude. “I appreciate the offer, but I’m not really into church anymore, Catholic or otherwise.”
Jack’s head snapped to her, and his arms tensed on the wheel. “Really? Huh. Tough way to live, Ophelia.”
“Yeah, maybe. We all have to find our own way, though.”
“Well, I hope your way is back to Jesus.”
She cringed at the sudden rush of intense judgment and the pitying look he gave her, as if he knew without a doubt that she would burn in hell.
To distract herself from the discomfort of the conversation, Ophelia pulled out her journal, where she had scribbled notes from a website about Traiteurs. She planned on using the car ride to research more about it on her phone. She honestly didn’t learn much more than what she already knew. So much of the Traiteurs’ traditions were kept orally only, never to be written down. She did learn, however, that not just anyone could become a Traiteur. It wasn’t as simple as learning the prayers. One really must possess the gift. She jotted down a couple of notes.
