Where The Devil Won't Go: A Lucas Peyroux Novel by E.J. Findorff Page A

never
faltered.
    Cozy’s arm shot out like a Cobra strike
and peeked into the folder. Quickly, she ran out the back door with her hand
covering her mouth. Aponi’s entire face folded into an exhausted, disappointed look while following her daughter. I watched through the screen
while she held Cozy’s hair as she threw up into the bayou. Steam rose from the
boiling pot behind them. After several minutes, they came back inside and Cozy
disappeared into another room.
    Aponi continued, “Haley don’t have any
dental records. She hadn’t seen a dentist in over five years.”
    “I guess we’ll just have to wait on
results from the hairbrush we found at her apartment.”
    “Anything you find you can just throw
away.”
    I made an effort to keep my voice even.
“Is there anything you can tell me about what she may have been into in New
Orleans?”
    “It’s been over two years since she
left.”
    “I know this must be really difficult for
you, but…”
    She pushed the folder of pictures toward
me. “Haley made her choice and it wasn’t us.”
    “Aponi.” I reached out to touch her arm
as Tara ventured back from the bathroom.
    “I have to prepare supper. You’re welcome
to stay for the crab boil, Cozy would like that, but there will be no further talk
of Haley. Otherwise, please see yourself out.” She left quickly.
    Tara leaned to me. “Stay for the boil?”
    I collected the pictures, watching as she
returned to a large pot outside with a face of stone. The fact that she wasn’t
comforting her one remaining daughter shocked and saddened me.
    “Go out to the car for a minute. Let me
check in on Cozy, see if she can offer anything else we can use without her
momma around,” I said.
    Tara smiled and lightly slapped my face
with a squeeze. “I don’t know why Dobson was worried. You’re going to be
alright.”
    “Tara.” I held her hands and leaned into
her ear. “I think I hear banjos.”
    “Bitch.” She backed away to leave. “Good
luck with her.”
    Watched by several gator heads, I entered
a short, dark hallway decorated with oil paintings and portraits. Soft crying
emanated from the back room, so I approached the doorway slowly. Cozy was lying
in the fetal position, her face wet.
    “Cozy.” I waited a minute while she
sniffled and straightened herself. “That’s an interesting name. I wanted to ask
you about that at the hospital.”
    She dabbed under her eyes and sat
upright, cross-legged on the bed. “My mom’s Native American. She said when I
was born; I looked cozy in the blanket. They went with it.”
    “Are you okay? Your mom…”
    “She may seem cold, but she doesn’t show
emotions…” Her blue-gray eyes found mine. “… she thinks
you swallow it down and continue on no matter how bad you’re hurting.”
    “You sure she’s not Irish?” I took an
unobtrusive look around the room.
    “I know, right? My father used to drink
like an Irishman.”
    “I could tell from the pictures on your
wall that you and your sister loved each other.”
    “Momma wanted to throw those pictures
out, but that was the last straw for me. I told her I’d leave if she did. I
threaten to leave a lot.” Cozy laughed through her tears. “Haley was all I had.
I feel so alone here. Everyone in town already calls me snut behind my back.”
    “Snut?”
    “Nut and slut. A couple years ago, I got
drunk at a party and was raped by three guys. I don’t remember it. Hell, if
they had dressed me and kept their mouths shut, I probably wouldn’t have been
sure about it. But the traumatic part for me was that they told everyone.”
    “You know them?”
    “Yeah, Tray, Joe, and Eric.” She rolled
her eyes.
    “Are there pictures or video?” I sat on
her bed with a few feet between us.
    “Not that I know of, and believe me, I’d
know. They’re too stupid to keep that under wraps.”
    “If you can prove anything, get any witnesses,
the statute of limitations hasn’t ended on it yet.”
    “I can’t prove