A Cajun Murder Mystery Series
L. SCOTT SILVERII
Laissez les bons temps rouler – Until somebody gets killed of course.
Chief of Police, Scott Silverii (2014)
– Sheriff James Walker –
Wish I could’ve said there were menacing morning clouds under which we laid Jackson Andrews to rest, but Mother Nature had another plan in mind. I saluted my deputies as they balanced their slow-rolling iron hogs past the metal gates. Another funeral escort well done and a showing of proper respect to the dearly departed.
“Buck, the family asked me to thank you for helping with the funeral procession, but they’d rather not see you at the church reception.” My cousin, Jennifer Adams’ watering eyes were glued to the perfectly manicured lawn at Memorial Estates Cemetery. Without waiting for a reply, she withdrew from my touch. I didn’t ask why and in the quiet, she repeatedly crossed and uncrossed her slender arms.
“I’ve been asked to do worse.” I ran the calendar through my mind. When was the funeral for Homeland Security Special Agent Howard Jones? Pretending to honor him as a fallen law enforcement officer will be the worst thing I’ve had to do.
Jenny spun away without making eye contact. I disappeared between the white washed mausoleums and turned my face to the sun. The grass crunched under my boots. It was just before noon, and the South’s summer was in full swing. The endless rows of above-ground grave sites and family mausoleums created an orchestrated maze. I soon found myself uncertain of which plot to avoid.
Nipping the tip of my nose to swish mosquitoes sent a shockwave through my skull. The bone-crushing blow from the back of Rougarou’s head only four nights ago had provided an alibi for visiting with Doc Lambert. She’d also been kind enough to not ask questions about that or my sliced open right palm.
My personal pain gave way to the sound of someone else’s tormented weeping. Instinctively, I ducked down a row to my left looking to make sure they were safe. I know it’s a graveyard and people come to cry, but this wailing was hauntingly familiar. I jogged, looking through the breaks in eternal cement housings.
I still wasn’t sure where or why I was now running to the sound of grief. Another piercing shrill like nails down my back – I spun right. The forward momentum in my arms caused them to flail out to the sides while both knees twisted into the spongy turf. Hunched into a fetal bead, I didn’t recognize her.
Then, I dropped, clutching my stomach. I vomited off to the side and drew my bandaged hand to wipe the residue. It was my only son’s tombstone. He would’ve been thirteen today. “I’m sorry,” and patted his mother across her shoulders.
Copyright © 2014 Louis Scott Silverii, Ph.D.
All rights reserved.
Geaux Tiger | Episode 3 Preview
Cajun Murder Mystery Series