“I see.” The PI rested the cigarette in between his thin lips, nearly catching his moustache on fire, and pushed his hand inside the pocket a second time. This time he produced a small notepad. Then went back in. “Rats. I’ve lost my pen somewhere. Sweetheart, you mind if I—” He reached for the pen clipped to the legal pad I was holding. “Now then.” He flipped the notepad open. “Grandmother. St. Franc—how do you spell that? Is it Franc—”
“Francisville,” Judah and I both said in unison.
“—isville,” the investigator finished writing, then glanced up with a shrewd smile. “Y'all are in sync, I see.”
“We work together,” Judah said smoothly. His fingers pressed slightly firmer against my back — a warning or reassurance, I couldn't tell which.
“Right. Now, about when you last saw the girl...” Hall tapped the pen against his notepad, and removed the cigarette from his mouth to blow out a proper grey cloud.
“I believe it was about three weeks ago at Sunday service,” Judah said. “Though I can be mistaken. After a time, they all start to blur together.”
“I bet.” The investigator nodded. “Spreading the good lord’s name from dawn to dusk must take a toll on the old noggin’. Sunday service, Easter Service, Fourth of July service — all the same after a while, ain’t it?”
Judah said nothing to that.
The PI didn’t mind; by then, his attention was on me. “And you, Miss…?”
“Evangeline,” I said. “Mercy Evangeline.”
The investigator’s eyebrows shot up. “Would you look at that. Daddy of the religious folk, too?”
“A pastor,” I said. “But not here,” I added quickly. “Mississippi.”
“Ah,” the investigator nodded, taking another drag of his cigarette. “And you haven't seen the girl either, I take it?”
I felt Judah's hand press more firmly against my back, his fingers splaying slightly wider.
“Just the flyer. Like I said.”
The PI studied me for a moment too long, his eyes narrowing slightly before he smiled again. “Well, that's a shame. Fresh eyes and all.” He flicked ash from his cigarette onto the church steps. “Terrible business, a missing girl. Family's beside themselves, naturally.”
“Naturally,” Judah echoed. “We've been praying for her safe return.”
“Prayer's good,” Hall said, tapping his notepad with my pen. “But information's better. If either of you happen to recall anything — even something that seems insignificant — I left my card.”
“With Miss Evangeline,” Judah confirmed, his tone cordial but dismissive.
The cicadas filled the air, giving life to an otherwise quiet evening. And Judah’s hand was still on my back, well past the moment Gerald Hall had said his goodbyes.
A week later, Judah knocked on my apartment door. It was seven-fifteen. Which was earlier than he'd said, and I wasn't ready, which he'd probably anticipated.
I'd been ready at seven. Then I'd looked at myself in the bathroom mirror and taken my hair down and started over, which cost me ten minutes I didn't have. And now I was standingin the kitchen with one earring in and the other between my teeth when the knock came, and I saidone secondloud enough that he'd hear it through the door and then immediately regretted the intimacy of that. Of him knowing I was in here, not ready, doing the things women did before they went somewhere with a man.
I wondered why it bothered me. Was it a Christian thing? Was it how my father had been with my mama?
I couldn’t tell you — I’d have to sleep on it to figure it out.
I put the second earring in. Took a breath.
Opened the door.
Judah was in a white linen shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbow — the ink on his forearms catching the evening light; I wondered for a second whether he would leave them like that. Whether he would let others see the tattoos. But I didn’t dwell on it too long. I noticed the dark trousers, no tie, and realized the only word to describe him right now was… bespoke. Louisiana old money, but with a twist.
His eyes moved over me.
“You're early,” I said.
“Hmm,” he hummed, eyes going down my body.
