Chapter Six
The media frenzy around the serial killer seemed to die down quickly.
With no new crimes committed and no new information about Delphine’s murder, reporters lost interest and moved to the next hot story, and Ophelia went back to her regular routine on Panola Street.
She was still a bit nervous to sleep by herself at home, but with time and lack of information from the police or news, she had convinced herself she was safe.
It was an early Friday morning in August, and her sunrise jog was lengthier than usual as the heat and humidity slowed her stride.
She strategically sought shade throughout her jog, crossing the street toward a stretch of trees and back to the other side, where buildings blocked the early sun.
If anyone were watching, it would appear as if she were playing a weird game of zigzag.
Runs were always good for her. A way to clear her mind of all the noise and anxiety.
She had a full Friday ahead of her—working till noon, then pivoting to Prytania Botanica to help Avery for a bit, then Jack was picking her up from her house around five to make a late drive to Mawmaw’s.
Thankfully, her workday passed smoothly, and as she walked into the Prytania Botanica, the first thing she saw was Avery, her gentle giant, standing tall behind the counter.
She hadn’t seen him since the funeral last weekend, and his spark was still absent.
He was grieving, not to mention that he was probably nervous about a serial killer coming back to his home.
But here he was, trying to resume his regular life. Her heart ached for him.
“Hey, love,” she said gently as she walked behind the counter to put away her purse. “I’ve missed you.” She leaned into his large frame for a friendly hug.
Avery sighed deeply. “Hey, girl. I’ve missed you, too.”
“Wanna take a break? I can take over while you get off your feet.”
“Nah. Staying busy is good for me. I’m actually going to kick Mister Spills-A-Lot out from the juice bar and take over so he can take a break.”
Ophelia chuckled, watching Avery’s latest hire place oranges on top of each other in a basket. Just as he had them all arranged, one would tumble down. “Lord, he’s green.”
“Don’t I know it,” said Avery, shaking his head.
Several hours and many love attraction candles sold later, Mrs. Beulah walked in the store, startling Ophelia.
Ophelia immediately noticed that Mrs. Beulah’s normal nosey and excitable disposition was gone, replaced with fidgety hands and shifty eyes. “Mrs. Beulah, hi!” she exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”
“Hi, dear,” she said. “I need to speak to Avery right now.”
“Oh, okay, everything all right?”
“Yes, yes. Where’s Avery, dear?”
“He’s around. Let me grab him for you.” Ophelia went to find him, and Avery emerged moments later to a still-frazzled Mrs. Beulah.
Avery took one look at Mrs. Beulah, and it was like he knew what she wanted to discuss.
He quickly ushered her into his office and closed the door.
Ophelia was left behind the counter, utterly befuddled.
She knew it was none of her business, but her gut told her they were discussing the murder, and she was desperate for information on it to restore her sense of safety and sanity.
Thirty minutes or so passed before the two emerged, and Mrs. Beulah cordially left without an explanation or talking Ophelia’s ear off.
Once Avery and Ophelia were alone, Ophelia’s curiosity got the best of her.
“Sooooo…” she drawled out. “What was that about with Mrs. Beulah?”
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 said Girl, 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 with this Exodus 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. We actually 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.
Passed down in Cajun families.
Person inherits abilities with age.
Each Traiteur is very skilled at healing one specialty. Can heal other ailments, but usually treats one specific illness repeatedly with success.
Never accepts any form of payment.
The last note intrigued Ophelia. Mawmaw’s specialty was migraines. Ophelia wondered what she might gravitate toward…If she was even able to treat.
Jack interrupted her thoughts. “So what are you going to Oakdale for? Just visiting the crazy old lady?”
Ophelia narrowed her eyes, but she chose to ignore the comment. “Mawmaw? Yeah, you know, I’ve been meaning to ask what you know about Mawmaw being a Traiteur.”
“Oh God,” Jack said with an exasperated sigh. “Why?”
Based on his reaction, Ophelia decided to refrain from telling him about Mawmaw wanting to pass the Traiteur gift on to her.
“Just been thinking a lot about our childhood and how she used to teach us things during the summer. I feel like it’s a part of her I don’t really know that well, and it’s so fascinating. ”
“It is not fascinating. It’s embarrassing.”
Ophelia recoiled at his words. “Why do you say that?”
“It’s just so humiliating—our grandmother thinking she can heal people with magic. It’s just…I don’t know, Ophelia. It makes me ashamed.” Jack shook his head while he stared at the road.
“Wow.” Ophelia shook her head in disbelief. “I was not expecting you to say that. You know it’s not magic. She says Catholic prayers to heal people. What’s so wrong with that?”
“Trust me, it’s magic. There is nothing godly about it. People around town think she’s crazy,” Jack said with the conviction of someone who had conducted their own personal survey with a sample size of one. His grip tightened around the steering wheel.
She had always thought her Mawmaw’s gift was unique and that being a Traiteur was admirable.
Had things changed over the years? Her memories of her Mawmaw treating members of her community were all from her younger years when Ophelia and her sisters stayed at their grandmother’s house for a couple weeks in the summers.
Those weeks were some of her happiest memories—building houses out of fallen pine needles, learning to make biscuits, trying to peek inside Mawmaw’s healing room.
She never thought Mawmaw was crazy—just wonderfully odd.
But Jack had lived in Oakdale from twelve until eighteen. He’d know more about people’s perceptions there than she. Perhaps there was something to what he was saying.
Breaking the silence, Ophelia said, “Well, while I’m visiting her, I’ll check in on her mental state.”
“Good.” Jack nodded, and his grip loosened slightly. The rest of the car ride was spent discussing pleasantries between songs on the radio.