Deliverance From Evil: Keller County Cops, #4

By Melanie Atkins

Tessa Doucet chose to go into mortuary science because the dead can't hurt her. Then a monster from her past turns up on her embalming table, and she's forced to confront the demon she thought she'd put to rest. Disturbed by the case Tessa stirs up, Detective Cash Starkey finds himself falling for her, even though he swore to keep his distance. He doesn't want a relationship, especially not with a woman running from her past. Yet when Tessa's life is threatened, he runs into the fray, and together they defeat her demons and put the past behind them.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Melanie Atkins
• Release date: Jun 24, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393754992

Book preview

Copyright © 2012 by Melanie Atkins

ISBN:

Published in the United States of America

1st Publication Date: June 1, 2012

2nd Publication Date: June 24, 2019

Content Editor: Gail R. Delaney

Cover Artist: Jenifer Ranieri

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, or by any information retrieval and storage system without permission of the publisher. Ebooks are not transferrable, either in whole or in part. As the purchaser or otherwise lawful recipient of this ebook, you have the right to enjoy the novel on your own computer or other device. Further distribution, copying, sharing, gifting, or uploading is illegal and violates US Copyright laws. Pirating of ebooks is illegal. Criminal Copyright Infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, may be investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to five years in federal prison and a fine of up to $250,000. Names, characters, and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used in a fictitious situation. Any resemblances to actual events, locations, organizations, incidents, or persons living or dead are coincidental and beyond the intent of the author.

New Orleans Detectives Series

Book One: Cherished Witness

Book Two: Prime Suspect

Book Three: Chosen Target

Book Four: Beloved Captive

Book Five: Unwilling Accomplice

Book Six: Perfect Partner

Keller County Cops Series

Book One: Marked for Murder

Book Two: Shield of Valor

Book Three: Quest for Justice

Book Four: Deliverance from Evil

Book Five: Written in Blood

Book Six: Trained to Kill

Book Seven: Code of Vengeance

Other Books by Melanie Atkins

Voodoo Bones

Emily's Nightmare

Haunted Memories

Valentine Vendetta

Blood Bound

Above Suspicion

Against All Odds

Skeleton Bayou

Blood Rite

Flash Bang

Dedication

To my friend Liz Lipperman aka Liz Roth...

You helped me get this story on the right track.

Couldn't have done it without you!

Chapter One

Dempsey Spencer. Just as ugly dead as alive.

Tessa Doucet reeled back a step and stared at the flabby, tattooed body stretched out on Maurice's embalming table. One minute she'd been talking to Maurice about avoiding covering up the snake tattoo on the man's neck when she applied makeup to his set features, and the next she had glimpsed his face.

Her stepfather. The vile scum who'd taken away her innocence and gone to prison because of it. He'd been out of Angola for only a month and had already knocked on her door claiming he wanted to apologize, but she'd turned him away. That sick son of a bitch.

And now he's dead.

Relief splashed over Tessa in an icy wave. She drew in a steadying breath and glanced up at Maurice, a tall, angular, mahogany-skinned man with dexterous hands and a gentle manner.

He cocked a brow. Is something wrong, Tessa?

Um... I-I don't think I can help you with this one.

Unfortunately, you do not have a choice, he said in his musical Jamaican lilt, his dark eyes gleaming. His funeral is tomorrow, and I must leave in a few minutes to meet Ella at the airport. So I will need your help to complete the embalming process.

Maurice—

What is the problem, child?

He's... he's... She let the word trail away. If she refused to help him with Dempsey, she'd have to say why, and she wasn't sure she could reveal what her stepfather had done all those years ago. Besides, she didn't want Maurice to be late picking up Ella.

The mortician wiped his hands on a cotton cloth and tossed it beside the sink. Go on.

No. N-never mind. She lifted her chin. I'll deal with it.

Thank you, dear one. He winked at her and undid Dempsey's belt. Ella will much appreciate my presence at baggage claim. She will have plenty of luggage to drag home.

You should definitely be there to help her, Tessa said, her stomach roiling as Maurice adjusted the sheet covering her stepfather. Is her mother feeling better?

Apparently, considering the amount of shopping they managed to do. Hopefully this will be Ella's last venture to Atlanta for a while.

I hope so, for your sake.

You do not think I make a good bachelor? He laughed, his dulcet tones warming her blood. He retrieved the instrument tray from the counter by the sink and rolled it over to the embalming table. Time to get started.

All right. Nausea swirled in her stomach as she sidled closer. Maurice would first suture her stepfather's mouth closed, and then insert a mouth former to make him look natural. Dempsey's mottled face mocked her. She waved her hand in his direction and fixed her eyes on Maurice. Wh-what happened to him? Why is his face so red?

I do not know. The coroner said he suffered a heart attack.

She nodded. Somehow, Dempsey dying of something as simple as a heart attack seemed wrong. He had lived a violent life... so didn't he deserve a violent death?

The warmth in her body disappeared the second Maurice turned away to wash his hands and don a pair of non-latex gloves. I will embalm him and leave you to wash the body and do his hair and makeup. Can you handle that?

Yes. She glanced back at her stepfather, the man who had caused her so much pain. She didn't want to touch him, but she had no choice if she were going to help Maurice. Once she had finished embalming Dempsey, she would roll him to get him back into his shirt, coat, and pants, and then slather makeup on his ugly face and comb his scruffy halo of gray hair.

A river of disgust cascaded down her spine. The embalming room had always been a welcoming workspace, but today it seemed incredibly cold and sterile. Frightening, even. And all because of the monster on the table.

The room was too quiet, even though Maurice had turned on the water. She punched a button on the iPod dock on the counter near the sink and filled the void with the pleading wail of a country song. Thanks to the plaintive tune, she was finally able to breathe—even with Dempsey awaiting their attention.

Maurice chuckled, pulled on his gloves, and turned back to the table with a curious smirk. You must tell me why you are so nervous.

Later, she said, her heart rising into her throat. Deflection would work only so long with Maurice. He would peck away at her until she revealed the truth if she wasn't careful. Clamping her mouth shut, she took down the roll of plastic tubing he would use to force embalming fluid into Dempsey's vascular system.

The mortician, ready to set her stepfather's features, picked up a large curved needle threaded with suture string and opened Dempsey's mouth. His laughter abruptly faded.

Oh, my. Eyes wide, he stepped back and dropped the needle back onto the sterile tray. I cannot embalm him. Not like this.

Why not? Tessa halted with the tubing in her hand.

He furrowed his brow. When he arrived, I assumed the discoloration of his skin had been caused by disease. Apparently, however, that is not the case.

Tessa edged up to the table. Her stepfather's fleshy face was a deep red. When she'd first seen him, he'd wondered if he might have been out in the sun too long—in Mississippi, even early November can bring eighty degree weather, as it had this year—but apparently not.

Why is he so red? I don't understand. Interested to see what the mortician had to say, she cocked her head.

Maurice bent, sniffed the area around her stepfather's nose and mouth, and then jerked back. A perplexed expression settled on his dark face. He met her eyes. The odor of bitter almonds is strong. I do not think he passed away from a heart ailment.

You mean... cyanide? Tessa gaped at her boss. Her hands shook as she hung the tubing back on its hook. He was poisoned?

Possibly. Maurice reached toward the instrument table. I will examine him more closely before I call the authorities.

You want to check his blood and tissues, she said, remembering that important detail from last semester's Descriptive Pathology course. At the time, she'd flirted with the idea of changing her major to Forensic Science, but had discovered she could graduate in half the time if she stayed in Mortuary Science—and she wanted to hurry and finish school.

With a brisk nod, Maurice rooted through the supply cabinet. He came out holding a surgical mask. If what I suspect is true, they will both be a bright cherry red.

You're saying he was murdered.

We do not know what happened. He donned the mask and reached toward the surgical tray. Step back. You do not want to breathe any gasses that might escape. I have heard of morticians being overcome when they did not take proper precautions.

Did he... Tessa's voice failed. She stepped away from the table as he had instructed, wet her lips, and tried again. Did he... suffer?

Yes. Maurice met her eyes. Cyanide shuts down the ability of cells to use oxygen. He would have been in agony during the ten minutes or so it took him to die.

And the coroner—

Is a florist. He is not qualified to determine cause of death. The mortician's nostrils flared. Focusing on Dempsey's upper chest, he made a deep L-shaped cut in the soft tissue near the heart, where he would normally insert the tube for the embalming fluid. Sure enough, the soft tissue, the artery, and the blood inside it were the rich crimson of maraschino cherries.

The faint odor of burned almonds met Tessa's nose. She edged back another step and looked at Maurice. "It is cyanide."

I believe so. He moved away from the body and dropped the scalpel onto the tray. I cannot embalm this man until the state medical examiner performs a full autopsy.

We have to call the police.

Exactly. And I must get to the airport. He sighed and glanced at the clock over the sink. Will you please call them for me?

Of course. Her stomach knotted at the thought of dealing with law enforcement after what had happened with Dempsey all those years ago, yet she had no choice but to help Maurice. They'll want to speak with you as well, though.

I know. He scowled. I'll pick up Ella, drop her off at home, and return to speak with them. Surely they will understand I cannot leave my wife at the airport.

Go on, she said, hiding her trepidation at being left by herself with her stepfather.

He walked back to the table and covered Dempsey's body, then hurried back to the sink. Giving the dead man one last pitying glance, he took off his gloves, mask, and apron, and tossed them into the trash. Thank you, Tessa. I suggest you leave the room.

I'll be right behind you, she said, gathering her purse and phone.

He nodded. I will return as soon as possible.

Good. Thank you. Her nerves thrummed as he hurried out, leaving her alone with Dempsey. She eyed the table and reminded herself that her stepfather was dead—possibly murdered. A shudder ripped through her. He had suffered an excruciating death, and yet she couldn't bring herself to care. Only one thought bounced around inside her head.

He can't hurt me anymore.

Still, just being in the same room with him made her stomach churn. She stepped out into the shadowy hallway, pulled out her cell phone, and punched the speed dial button for the Keller County Sheriff's Office. No time like the present to put the past to rest.

*****

Detective, I need you to go down to Hanson's Funeral Home and look at a body.

Wait... you're kidding, right? Cash Starkey eyed Sheriff Rick Blaylock, his boss, with curiosity. Hanson's? On Marguerite? All they've got is bodies down there.

That's kind of the point, Starkey, Mitch Ransom, one of his fellow detectives, said with a snicker. Jonah McKee laughed right along with him.

Cash sent them both shut-the-hell-up looks, sprang to his feet, and faced the sheriff. Seriously? The funeral home?

Yep. He glanced down at the note in his hand. See a Tessa Doucet. She called in the complaint.

Tessa Doucet. Why did that name ring a bell? He frowned and put on his suit jacket.

Jonah fired him a lopsided grin. You do know who that is, don't you?

No, who?

Their new mortician.

Blonde and pretty like Abby, from what I hear. Just your type, Mitch said with a smirk, no doubt throwing out the name of the lone female detective in their unit because Cash had followed her around like a lovesick puppy before she'd married C.J. Tessa's in Tiffany's yoga class down at Everyday Fitness.

Wonder if she always smells like formaldehyde? Jonah cocked his head.

Cash suppressed a smile. It's called Formalin, buddy.

Yeah, we know. Mitch threw a wadded paper ball at Jonah. Get your facts straight before you razz somebody.

Cut it out.

All right, you two clowns. Get back to work, Sheriff Blaylock snapped, the irritation in his voice warring with the grin on his face. He cleared his throat, then bobbed his head at Cash. Let me know what's up when you get back, okay? The girl didn't go through dispatch. She called me directly.

Yes, sir. Cash blew out a heavy sigh. They were three detectives short today, so even though funeral homes freaked him out, he had to go. Abby and C.J. were on their honeymoon, and Tripp Broussard was out with a stomach ailment. Cash was glad Tripp hadn't come in, to be honest. Vomit and dead bodies did not mix.

Dark clouds banked along the horizon threatened rain as he drove across town by rote, paying little attention to the landscape as he breezed by, just going through the motions. He'd wondered lately why he stayed in Hunter's Bayou when he was so used to moving as a military brat. His dad, an ex-Air Force colonel who'd died of a heart attack at sixty-nine, had never gotten the moving bug out of his blood and had lost his wife—Cash's mother—because of it. Cash quirked his lips. His mama was happy as a clam living the single life in Biloxi, and he now lived only thirty-five miles away, wondering why he suddenly wanted to put down roots, too.

He shook his head in disbelief as Hanson's Funeral Home loomed on a hill to his right. The hulking red brick structure looked down on Oak Forest Memorial Park, Hunter's Bayou's largest cemetery, a quiet, wooded expanse designed like the graveyards in New Orleans with crypts on top of the ground. If he'd been a kid, he would have thought the place was super creepy. Halloween 24-7.

The parking lot was empty except for a couple of late model sedans and a long white hearse waiting to haul its next passenger to his or her final resting place. The sight of it made him shiver. He might not be happy with his life, but he sure as hell wanted to live it.

Cash pulled his departmental ride to a halt in an empty space near the door, got out, and went inside. The interior of the funeral home was cool and quiet; the air, redolent with the too-sweet scent of gardenias. He wrinkled his nose.

A tall, lanky man in a pin-striped suit stepped out of the office and gave him a once-over. Hello, may I help you? He walked toward Cash. We don't have any services scheduled today, but if you're interested in planning ahead—

No, thanks, Cash said, a fresh shiver tip-toeing down his back. He was fine with crime scenes, but the cool formality of death unnerved him. He opened his jacket to reveal the gold shield parked on his belt. One of your employees called Sheriff Blaylock about a possible murder. Do you know—

Oh, for crying out loud. Again? The man scowled and held out his hand. Lucius McCloud, the Funeral Director.

Nice to meet you, sir. Cash shook his hand. He had a clammy grip. Detective Cash Starkey, Keller County Sheriff's Office. Sheriff Blaylock had a call from a Tessa—

Doucet, McCloud broke in. She has some nerve.

Sir? Cash lifted a brow.

McCloud wagged his head. I hate that you drove all the way down here, Detective. Ms. Doucet sometimes gets... carried away. She's new to the funeral business and extremely talented with hair and makeup, but if she keeps this up, I'll have to let her go.

She's called about a body before?

No, but she sure as hell wanted to. He turned and motioned for Cash to join him. I talked her out of it.

Mr. McCloud— Puzzled, he fell in step beside the gloomy man. Thunder rumbled in the distance, underscoring his unease.

The man cut him off with a brisk wave. "Let me explain. The second week Tessa was here—about two months ago, I believe—she swore she'd found something on some poor soul's body that suggested he'd died by suspicious means... after he'd been autopsied at the state crime lab. I'm starting to think she likes to cry wolf."

You mean, she likes the attention?

It's possible. He strode up to a lone elevator and punched the down button.

Cash frowned. The basement of a funeral home couldn't hold anything good. He met McCloud's steady, hawk like gaze. Hope that's not the case.

Me, too. She's one of the best makeup people we've ever used. I'd hate to lose her.

She's not a mortician?

Not yet. She's taking classes in mortuary science at the college in Long Beach. Hopes to move into that capacity once she's done, provided we have an opening.

I see. He rubbed his brow. Why anybody would want to work with the dead was beyond him.

A bump told him the elevator had reached the bottom floor, and the doors opened on a long, shadow-filled hallway. Cash's spine tingled as McCloud led him past two closed doors to a set of double doors propped wide. A bright rectangle of light spilled into the corridor, along with a wailing country ballad.

Music to calm the dead? Cash swallowed a laugh. He'd never listen to that song again without thinking of this gruesome venue.

McCloud stepped through the door ahead of him, nearly bowling over a pretty blonde blur in blue scrubs. The funeral director caught the girl's elbow and kept her upright. Tessa? Why are you standing in the doorway?

Mr. McCloud. The clatter of metal on the concrete floor temporarily drowned out the whiny ballad.

Cash stepped up beside them and stopped short. The woman staring up at the funeral director was drop dead gorgeous.

He eyed the embalming equipment. Oops. Wrong choice of words.

Her wavy, shoulder length blonde hair gleamed as she swung her purse onto her shoulder and ran her hands down her thighs. She had a slim build, a pretty oval face, and a pair of the most fascinating eyes he'd ever seen. Eyes so blue they took his breath away.

Maurice told me to leave the room, she said, locking those stunning baby blues on McCloud's disapproving countenance.

The funeral director nodded in Cash's direction. Detective Starkey is with the Keller County Sheriff's Office. Says you called the sheriff about Mr. Spencer.

I did. She glanced toward the body on the table and shivered visibly. Maurice and I aren't sure he died of natural causes.

Oh? And just where is Maurice? Mr. McCloud sent her an arched look.

She bit her lip. He had to pick up Ella at the airport. She looked at Cash. Ella is his wife. Said he'd drop her off and then come back to talk to you.

I see. Well, young lady... McCloud let the word die off as he stepped in front of Cash and jerked his arm toward the body under the sheet. Maurice embalms the unfortunate souls who land on this table, and your job is to make them look as normal as possible for their families. Neither of you do autopsies. I can't have you poking around—

Mr. McCloud? Cash broke in, fixing Tessa with a curious gaze. I'll take it from here.

Fine. The funeral director threw up his hands. I'll be upstairs if you need me.

Thank you, sir.

McCloud started for the door, and then abruptly turned back. Tessa, I want to see you in my office as soon as Detective Starkey leaves.

Yes, sir, she said, her defiant glare not lost on Cash.

Once the funeral director disappeared out the door, Tessa tucked her hands under her arms, effectively hugging herself, and stared after him. He's just angry because Maurice and I didn't tell him about Dempsey before we called the sheriff.

Dempsey? Cash turned toward the body.

Ms. Doucet gnawed her lip. The deceased. Dempsey Spencer.

Ah, he said, pulling out his pad and pen and jotting down the man's name. He looked up at her. I need your name and contact information, too. For the file.

She rattled off her address and cell phone number. I don't have a home phone right now. I only work part-time, so...

Mr. McCloud told me you're going to school, he said. He should stick to the case, but he wanted to know more about her. Why mortuary science?

She thought a minute, and then shrugged. I guess because... the dead can't hurt me.

That's an intriguing answer. An odd answer. Surprised by it, Cash simply stared at her.