He stares at me but says nothing. Only clenches his jaw.
“It was Célestine Duncan, wasn’t it? You stole it from her.”
“Célestine?” my mother echoes. “Killian’s wife?”
“She was a witch,” he spits out. “Her whole family were witches. That’s why they hid in the swamp. They were an abomination.”
“And yet you took from them.” I push aside his hypocrisy to focus onthe more urgent question. “Why did you think you needed protecting from a beast that hunts wicked men, Dad?”
He clutches the top of the armchair and glares. And it’s this stony silence that I’ve been waiting for. After twenty-three years listening to him preach, it’s my turn to talk.
45
NOW
“I pieced it all together.” I stand directly in front of his armchair, not giving him an inch. “Fred’s secret dock. The sheriff turning a blind eye to the Sons of Liberty. Why you’re inheriting the Blanchard empire.”
“What’s she talking about?” my mother asks.
I refuse to drop his gaze. “You holy men are the real drug kingpins of south Louisiana.”
“Excuseme?” She takes a step forward and lifts her hand as if to slap me but wavers when she glances at my father, still as a statue, red as murder.
“All these years,” I say, ignoring her and giving voice to what had finally occurred to me the moment John Abraham shared his suspicions. “All the money that flowed to us and Holy Fire. Our home improvements, the church renovations, our new cars, Mom’s dresses. The hospital’s growth. The wild success of the Fortenot Fishing Company. None of that came from God’s blessing, did it? It came from good old earthly crime.”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” my mother snipes. “Tithing’s up, thanks to your father.”
He’s kept her in the dark.
“This slander is dangerous.” My father’s voice is a snarl, low and vicious. “Think about what you’re doing, who you’re betraying. What does God say righteous men should do to liars and traitors?”
A threat already. He’s feeling cornered.
I stand taller. “Idoknow what I’m doing. Maybe you never saw it, Dad, but I have a brain. Or maybe you did see it, and that’s why you and Mom tried so hard to make me think I couldn’t trust my own mind.” The accusations of hysteria, the doctors, the pills—I’d almost fallen for it. “I know Blanchard Hospital supplies opioids to the Sons. I found proof of the connection in Jebediah Ray’s basement.”
My father startles at the mention of Jebediah.
“And your old friend John Abraham told me he’d suspected it before he got run out of town. Only,” I say, brushing the leather of his armchair, “he didn’t know who Augustus had struck a deal with. But I do. Blanchard supplied the painkillers. Then Killian and his drug runners in the Sons of Liberty sold them all over Louisiana.”
“Tell her she’s insane.” My mother’s eyes are round and disbelieving. “Tell her she’s hallucinating.”
“You’re insane,” my father agrees.
I shake my head. “Fred was a runner, too. He brought the drugs across state lines in his boats, disguised as Fortenot Fishing cargo. The sheriff covered things up when you needed him to, and everyone got their cut. The perfect plan. A whole drug empire down here in little ol’ Bottom Springs, where no one would suspect. How long has it been working for you, Dad?”
“Stop it!” He sweeps his massive arm and knocks the lamp off the side table, shattering it, in warning. My mother jumps back.
“It explains everything,” I press, walking around the armchair, stepping over the sharp pieces. “That’s why Gerard Theriot took over Fred’s business. You needed to keep those ships running or the Sons wouldn’t havebeen happy. They were already looking to switch suppliers, weren’t they? Augustus was getting old and you probably kept the Sons on a tight leash. They’ve been shopping for new alliances.” Hence that rival gang from up north at Jebediah’s compound—a fruitless attempt to strike a truce.
My father looks at me incredulously. “How could you possibly know that?”
“James,” my mother breathes, “it isn’t true.”
“Who better to take over the Fishing Company than the sheriff’s nephew? He was already complaining about having to run Fred’s illegal cargo. You let him in on your secret and solved two problems in one—no more employee mutiny and the drugs kept flowing. Same as Herman Blanchard—you let him have free rein in your church because you needed to keep his father happy.”
My mother squares her shoulders. “We had no idea about Herman’s sickness. We never would’ve allowed that poison in our church.”
My father’s look is murderous.
