Not Dead Enough

by J. M. Redmann

  “That sounds like a large family. You the only queer member?”

  “It is large. No, Andrea also. Identical twins. Some of the boys, but they disappear—San Francisco if they’re smart. A beating in the back street and a bus as far as they can go if they’re not. A niece—cousin really, but her mother is my age, so she calls me Aunt. But she’s young and knows how to flatter the men, and at the moment, she’s useful to them, so she gets away with it. At least for now.”

  “All here in Atlanta? Living in the compound?”

  “No, some spread out in the area. We have operations through most of Georgia, into Birmingham and Huntsville, the Gulf Coast. Ellis sends out the sons he wants to test. Or punish.”

  “Sons only?”

  “Their wives and families.”

  “The women suffer with the men?”

  She took another sip. “The women suffer. Sometimes with the men. Sometimes alone.”

  Her phone rang. She frowned, looking at the number. But answered it. A pause, then she said, “No, I’m here in Atlanta. Downtown. Meeting a friend for a drink.” Another pause. “Why? Is something the matter?”

  I took a sip of my martini, looking at my phone screen to pretend I wasn’t listening in.

  She put the phone down. “That was odd.”

  I cocked an eyebrow at her.

  “Checking up on where I am. That hasn’t happened in a while.”

  “They don’t follow the GPS on your phone?”

  She looked at her phone, then shrugged. “Probably. But if they do, they’ll see I’m where I said I am.” She again picked up her drink, but paused. “Maybe she got away. If she’s dead they wouldn’t worry about where I am.” The lines in her face deepened, sorrow and longing. She finished her drink.

  “But that would mean she’s alive,” I said.

  “Yes. And she left me behind.” She lifted the glass, but there was nothing in it. She looked at me, the pain still there as if she was tired of hiding it. “I know. Crazy. I don’t want her dead, but at least I’d know she hadn’t left me behind, made her escape without me. When we were young, that’s what we plotted to do; wild adventures to faraway places.”

  “What happened?”

  “We got older. The dreams got lost.” She signaled for another round, although I’d barely touched mine. “I just thought…no matter what happened, we’d be in this life together.”

  I had what I needed—enough to identify the body. And more than I wanted—a glimpse into Anna-Marie Brande’s soul.

  “Did she contact you? Tell you anything before she left?”

  “Breezy, told me she was going away for a few days. Made it seem like—well, like this. Met someone, was going to spend a few days, maybe a week in carnal pursuits. Nothing different than other times.”

  “And how long has she been gone?”

  “Just over a week now. Long enough I should have heard. She never goes more than a few days without at least texting me.”

  “You’ve tried to contact her?”

  “Every day. Nothing. No response.”

  “Maybe she’s worried they could trace her through your phone,” I suggested.

  Anmar looked at her device. “I didn’t think of that. Maybe. Ellis owns a phone store. He gives us all the latest and greatest, a new phone every year. Whether we want it or not.”

  “If it’s his plan, he’s in control. He can read your text messages,” I told her.

  She picked up her phone and put it down again in disgust. What might have been in some of those text messages flitted across her face. “You think I’m an idiot, don’t you?”

  “I think you’ve lived here long enough you’ve forgotten to ask hard questions.”

  “Questions can get a girl killed.”

  “Or they can let her escape.” I wasn’t arguing for Andrea Brande—she was likely in a morgue. But Anna-Marie Brande didn’t need to live this way.

  Once the name Andrea Brande was attached to that body, the wheels of law would grind into action. Turning a blind eye to criminal acts—she was guilty of that at the least—would take her down with them. Unless she was somewhere far away.

  “Okay, so how do I get a safe phone?”

  “There have to be half a dozen stores within ten blocks of here,” I said.

  “And buy it with my father’s credit card?”

  “Cash still buys things,” I pointed out.

  “I don’t have enough.”

  “Take a few advances on those credit cards, say you needed to buy makeup or cover your half of dinner with a friend. Get enough cash to buy a cheap phone for a month.”

  She shook her head but was listening.

  “Or is that too much work to try to contact your sister?”

  The eyes flashed at me. “It’s not too much damn work,” she retorted. “It’s just—if I get caught.”

  “Bat your eyelashes at them and say you get tired of the idea of Junior Boy reading your text messages.”

  She laughed. Almost a real laugh.

  Our next round of drinks arrived. Anna-Marie pulled out a credit card and handed it to the waiter. She took a long gulp of hers. “Liquid courage.”

  I took a sip.

  She reached over, grabbed my hand, and squeezed it. “Let’s do this,” she said. Then smiled.

  I got a glimpse of someone Anna-Marie Brande could have been.

  Should have been. Happy, not looking over her shoulder as if someone was always there to drag her back with a blow or disparaging cut.

  “Planning,” I said, pulling up the map on my phone. It wasn’t as smart as my real phone, but it would do. I found the closest store still open. “This isn’t one of Ellis’s, is it?” I showed her the location.

  She looked at it. “No.”

  I took another sip of my drink.

  She finished hers.

  I didn’t finish mine.

  The waiter returned her credit card.

  We stopped at two ATMs on the way.

  In the store I told the male clerk we were just looking. I waited for the woman. I hinted that Anmar needed to use cash to avoid a crazy ex. The woman nodded, like she’d had enough crazy men in her life. She didn’t blink an eye at the anonymous bills.

  Half an hour later, Anna-Marie had a brand-new phone, one no one in the Brande family knew about.

  Once outside the store, she immediately sent a text message to a number she clearly knew by heart.

  I finally put a hand on her shoulder as she stared at the phone. “It may be a while,” I said gently. “She may have turned that phone off and only occasionally checks it.”

  Anmar nodded, then reluctantly put the phone away in her purse.

  “I’ve waited this long, I can wait a little longer,” she said. Then her phone rang—the other one. “Damn, do you think they were watching?”

  “No, I don’t,” I said. I had checked, especially while Anmar was finishing the phone purchase, no one watching the store, no cars slowly passing by and returning for another slow pass. No, I’m not perfect, but the Brande men aren’t that smart either.

  She answered it. “What? I’m still downtown.” A pause. “Now?” Another pause. “Why?” A long pause and she put the phone away without saying good-bye, a line of worry on her face.

  “What’s up?” I asked.

  “This is getting weird. Ellis wants everyone back at the house. Now. Donnie is going to come pick me up. You need to disappear. We shouldn’t be seen together.”

  “Will you be safe?”

  She looked at me as if no one had ever asked her that question before. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. They know where I am; they know what I’ve been doing,” then the ghost of a smile, “at least, mostly. Downtown, having drinks with a friend. Coming home when I’m called.” She leaned forward and brushed her lips against mine, the barest hint of rebellion, but her lips were tense and hard.

  “Call me,” I said, pointing to her purse and her hidden phone. I turned and walked away. I didn’t know ho
w close Donnie—or his appointed goon—was and I didn’t want to be seen. Especially if the goon was Junior Boy. I walked briskly away, the wrong direction for my hotel, but I planned to take a while getting back there. A block away, crossing the street, I looked back at her. The smile was gone, the worry lines that aged her in place.

  The light changed. I walked across the street, past a building, and she was gone.

  Chapter Eleven

  If it weren’t for planes and their schedules, I’d have left Atlanta right then. But I had a plane already scheduled and needed to act as if everything was all right and going as planned.

  I occasionally checked my phone, but not obsessively, and rambled through the usual Atlanta tourist things. The aquarium—who doesn’t love fish? A stroll in Olympic Park, but it was too hot for more than a slow stroll, then ducking into the air-conditioning at CNN.

  I did look over my shoulder, trying not to be obsessive about it. But the Brandes stayed away in their suburban compound and I was left with the deflated August tourists.

  Anmar didn’t call.

  Be patient, I told myself, the same advice I had given her.

  The time passed. I was finally in the airport, finally heading home.

  Checkout had come long before it was time to leave for the airport, but I had come here anyway. It was a concrete step on the journey home. Plus, I have learned the trick of dealing with the Atlanta airport. Hang out in the international terminal. Any of the trains will take you there after you’ve passed through security. It’s much less crowded than the other terminals. I got through a couple of chapters of the latest Sara Paretsky book in peace and quiet, and had lunch without fighting for a table.

  The time again passed and I headed to the gate for my plane.

  I watched the people as I walked, no longer constantly looking over my shoulder. This was an airport. Even if Junior Boy saw me here, I was a traveler. Not to mention they don’t mess with security in airports. Now I could watch the faces go by, people in a hurry or confused or both, people not aware they were being watched and how much I was amusing myself with my unsaid snarky comments. “Really, that outfit? No one even looks good in lime green leggings.” “How long can you dither about what kind of water you want to buy? Oh, that long. Let me find another line.” “Your suit isn’t expensive enough for you to be that much of an asshole. Actually, no suit is.”

  She didn’t register at first. Not after our one brief meeting. A very attractive woman coming my way. Jeans, a baggy T-shirt that didn’t really hide her curvy body, but enough to proclaim she wasn’t seeking male attention.

  Holly Farmer, Karen’s social worker girlfriend. She looked like she was getting off a plane, heading in the direction of the connecting trains. We were heading right at each other; she couldn’t miss me.

  “Hey, Holly,” I said as I got near.

  She looked up abruptly, surprised to see me. Then annoyed. Finally a smile, but it traveled a crooked line on her face, not reaching her eyes.

  I didn’t like this woman. I didn’t know why. Maybe I thought she was taking advantage of Karen. Although I had no proof of that, nor did Karen seem to mind.

  “Oh, hi,” she said.

  “Odd place to meet,” I said.

  She shrugged.

  “How’s Karen?” I asked.

  “She’s fine.”

  “You’re not traveling together?”

  “No, just a quick trip.”

  “Business or pleasure?” She seemed to not want to talk to me. Which made me ask more questions that I otherwise would have.

  “Neither.” Then again the crooked smile, not touching her eyes. “A bit of both. Visiting a sick aunt. Just a quick trip.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. I hope she gets better.”

  “Karen? She’s fine.”

  “Your aunt. Your sick aunt.”

  “Oh, yes. She’ll be fine.”

  “Safe travels,” I said, stepping aside so we each could pass.

  “You, too,” she answered, plunging into the crowd.

  She doesn’t like you, either, I thought as I got to the gate. I wondered why she lied about the aunt. Cheating on Karen? Or just wanted to shut me down and get on with it? Maybe she was jealous. Karen had carried a crush on me for a long time. Unrequited. Well, save for our very, very early acquaintance.

  It didn’t matter. Everyone who lives in New Orleans eventually ends up in the Atlanta airport. Maybe it was just Holly’s turn. Who names their kid Holly Farmer?

  My plane was on time.

  I was happy to be home, pulling up in front of my house. The comfort of familiar. I officially gave myself the evening off. It was technically still early enough that, had I been diligent, I could have headed to my office, made case notes on the progress. I didn’t know who Aimee Smyth or Sally Brand were—if they existed, but I had been hired to find a sister. The money was in my bank account—although if I expensed the Atlanta trip, that would take a chunk from it. I’d look for a sister, but a real one, and one I suspected I knew where to find.

  But I didn’t want to deal with that today. Didn’t want to think about what to say to Joanne, didn’t want to think about Anmar Brande, if I had helped her with encouraging her rebellion. Or hurt her by giving hope that was all too likely to be false. I would give myself a night of thinking without really thinking about it all.

  But the night didn’t last very long, and I was soon staring at the morning sun.

  I was too much of a coward to head directly to Joanne, instead went down to my office.

  Decent coffee, I told myself. I hadn’t had enough of it in the last few days.

  Of course I had to check all my email, even though I had checked it on the road via the wonders of modern technology. Then had to make a grocery list since I needed to make a food run sometime today.

  It’s cruel to delay a blow that must fall.

  Andrea Brande wasn’t going to reply to Anmar’s text message.

  I called Joanne. Maybe I could do this over the phone. It would be harder for her to ask pesky questions than in person. She was out. I left a message.

  She called back a few minutes later. “I’m in your neighborhood. I’ll stop by your office.”

  No! “I’m not in my office,” I said.

  “Then why am I talking to on your office line?”

  “Call forwarding.”

  “I need to pee. I’ll be there in about ten minutes.” She hung up.

  Damn. The last thing I wanted was for her to trap me here. She could ask all the questions she wanted. I couldn’t stalk out of my own office.

  I busied myself by tidying up. At least the place could be clean even if my thoughts were jumbled.

  All too soon I heard her at my door. She didn’t bother to knock, came in and headed straight to the bathroom.

  After fortifying myself with another cup of coffee, I ensconced myself behind my desk, the only barricade in the room.

  She came out, found a paper towel by my coffee stuff, and dried her hands, taking her time.

  “So what’s up?” I said, unable to let the silence build too long.

  She threw the towel away, then sat down on the other side of the desk, pulling the chair so it was at the corner and less directly across from me.

  “I wanted to apologize about Saturday night,” she said.

  Saturday seemed so long ago. My unplanned attendance at the Brande party.

  “Torbin’s show,” she added. Then said, “How can you drink coffee on a day as hot as this?”

  “I stay in air-conditioning,” I answered. Then to her real point, “I was out of town. Otherwise I would have been there.” We both knew I was lying.

  “It’s not fair,” she said.

  “It’s not your fault,” I answered.

  “No, but I could have…done more to tamp it down.”

  I really hated it when Joanne decided to have an honest talk with me. Oh, yeah, good for the soul, but not so much for my current mental health.
Yes, there were issues here that involved our friends and I was doing my utmost to avoid them. This would be a much better conversation to have in the evening when I’d mellowed myself with a nice snifter of Scotch, instead of a caffeinated morning.

  “It doesn’t matter,” I said briskly.

  “Yes, it does. The last thing I want to do is take sides.”

  “I hadn’t noticed.” Sarcasm font.

  Joanne sighed. “I’ll be the first to admit I haven’t been perfect about it. It’s been…too easy to just let things flow. Like everyone talking about Torbin’s show and Nancy and Cordelia deciding to go to it. I could have shut it down.”

  “How? It’s a public place. They can go where they please.” I didn’t look at her, staring into my coffee as if its black depths might have answers.

  “That’s it. They go where they please. You conveniently find work to be absent.”

  “We make our choices,” I said tersely. I was so focused on how to tell Joanne who the body was, I’d forgotten about the mess in my personal life. I wasn’t happy to be shoved back into it.

  “They’re the couple; they’re two, almost like they have two votes to your one. I don’t feel I’ve been a great friend.”

  “It’s not like I want you to choose.”

  She ignored my sarcasm. “But that’s just it. We are choosing. We’re doing it by default. Nancy says she’d like to see Torbin perform and no one says no. No one points out that he’s your cousin, you were planning to go and if you both go—”

  “All eyes on the awkward exes,” I finished for her. “Do you sit with me or with them? Do we put a bunch of tables together with me on one end and them on the other? And we each wonder about who sits where? Look, Joanne, I get it. But New Orleans is a small town. At some point we run into each other.”

  “Yes, you do, but it should be neutral ground. Saturday needed to be about Torbin’s performance and us having a good time…”

  “Not watching the two exes meet for the first time,” I said for her.

  “Well, it’s not fair to put us all in that position, especially you. You should have been there. I could tell Torbin was upset you weren’t.”