Daniel watched as her blond hair gleamed in the sunlight and felt something inside of him change. It was not a monumental blow that he felt, but a gentle tug at the deepest reaches of his soul that seemed to instantly shift his entire perspective. She had attached herself to some place deep inside of his heart, a place he had not dared to visit for a very long time. He knew from that moment on his life would never be the same.
* * * *
It was well after twelve when Daniel pulled up in front of Pamela’s cottage. The dogs came out to greet them, tails wagging, as they stepped from the Jeep.
“The biscuits must have worked,” Daniel speculated as he patted the dogs gathering about his legs.
“They will love anyone who brings them food,” Pamela admitted. “They used to attack Bob like crazy until he started bringing them ham bones. Now they greet him as if he is their long lost friend.”
“Why didn’t you tell me that?” Daniel asked, frowning at Pamela.
She grinned. “Couldn’t make it that easy for you, now could I?”
Daniel laughed and took Pamela’s hand. They walked hand in hand to the front door.
Before they had even reached the last step, the front door flew open. A panic-stricken Carol came running out the door and grabbed Pamela.
“Thank God, you’re back! She started going downhill about an hour ago,” she cried out breathlessly as she dragged Pamela inside.
Alarm shot through Pamela’s body. “Who? Who started going bad?” she asked.
Pamela and Carol were halfway into the living room when Pamela saw Ian on the couch, clinging to one of the plastic containers on his lap.
“The little flying squirrel,” Carol answered.
“She started rollin’ around in her container and now she is just lyin’ there. She looks like she is havin’ some kind of seizure,” Ian reported.
Pamela immediately ran over to the couch.
“Is that my flying squirrel?” Daniel asked as he entered the room.
Carol nodded.
All eyes watched as Pamela took the creature out of her container. She inspected the small face and eyes. Then she felt along the animal’s stomach.
“Her belly is tight,” she said.
Suddenly, Pamela felt the animal’s stomach clench in a hard contraction. She checked between the squirrel’s back legs to find that a small pink head was emerging. She immediately replaced the animal back in the container and put the top back on.
She turned to see all of the worried faces staring at her. “It’s not a seizure. It’s a contraction. Seems little Pamela is in labor.”
Daniel let out a relieved breath. Carol smiled, and Ian looked just as confused as the moment Pamela walked into the house.
“Should we boil water or somethin’?” Ian asked.
Pamela tried not to laugh. “No, Ian. We will just let her handle everything. She’ll know what to do.”
Daniel walked up to Pamela, put his arms around her and lifted her off the floor. “So I’m gonna’ be a grandpa!”
“Looks like somebody had a good time last night,” Carol commented.
Daniel laughed as he put Pamela down.
“Carol, you would not believe how wonderful Daniel was last night at the party,” Pamela happily told her.
“Only at the party?” Carol asked, raising her eyebrows teasingly.
Pamela blushed and looked down at the floor.
Carol nodded to Daniel. “Wow, you rendered her speechless. You must be a real animal in bed.”
Daniel smiled at her. “I have my moments.”
Pamela punched Daniel in the arm.
“Please tell me there is a videotape,” Carol begged.
“Carol!” Pamela yelled.
“And she’s back,” Carol teased. She folded her arms over her chest and stared at Pamela. “So how wonderful was he at the party?” she asked.
“Well, we have three new monthly patrons, thanks to Daniel. Two of which have committed to five hundred a month.”
“A thousand a month!” Carol exclaimed. “That’s the same amount Bob gives us now.”
“And there’s an older couple Daniel introduced me to who will have their accountant contact us on Monday to talk about more funding. Can you believe this? We’ve been struggling for years and Daniel comes along and in one night does more than you and I could ever have done.”
Carol grinned at Daniel. “I, ah, hope she was real grateful.”
“I don’t kiss and tell, Carol.” He walked over to Pamela and took her hand. He led her back to the front door. “I need to get back to the city. I have to work this afternoon.”
Pamela opened the door and followed him outside.
“I’ve been thinking about what you said this morning,” he stated as they walked down the porch steps.
“I said a lot this morning,” she replied.
He stopped beside his Jeep and glanced back to the dogs resting on the porch. “Maybe I should phone my father and tell him he is a great-grandfather to flying squirrels.”
Pamela nodded. “I think he might like hearing from you.”
He wrapped his arms about her. “I’ll call you later tonight when I’m on break.”
She placed her arms about his neck. “Fine.”
He kissed her lips. “Now comes the hard part.”
“Hard part?” She gave him an awkward glance.
“I’ve got to cover the next four days to make up for taking off last night,” he said to her. “So I won’t be able to get up here for a while.”
“I’ll be here when you come back,” she told him. “I’m not going anywhere, Daniel.”
He kissed her forehead. “Neither am I.”
Chapter 12
Over the next four days, the accountants for the Robillards, Val Easterling, and Lance Beauvoir all called with questions and instructions for Pamela. Her small office became inundated with paperwork, and Pamela had to spend a great deal of time faxing forms back and forth and even taking phone calls from other potential patrons Val Easterling had referred to her. The mother flying squirrel and her three new babies were moved from the kitchen to her bedroom to allow them a quiet place away from the constant phone calls and noise of Pamela’s busy office. She tried not to notice that none of the calls on her cell phone were from Daniel. He had not called that first night like he promised, but Pamela had been so busy with her animals she had not given the missed phone call much thought. However, when five days had passed, Pamela began to worry when she had not heard a word from him. Almost a week after her night with Daniel, Pamela finally voiced her concern to Carol.
“Maybe he got in a car accident heading home from here and is lying in a hospital bed unconscious,” Carol proposed to Pamela as they were feeding animals in the outside cages.
Pamela frowned at Carol as she placed a food bowl inside a cage filled with baby skunks. “How on earth do you think up such things?”
“Soap operas,” Carol answered with a shrug. “I watch them all the time at my office.”
Pamela nodded. “That would explain a lot.”
“Maybe you should just call him,” Carol suggested as she moved on to the next cage.
“I did call his cell phone, several times. All I got was his voicemail.” She turned away from Carol and walked over to the next cage and opened the door.
Three large opossums scurried to get out of her way.
Carol followed Pamela inside of the cage. “Then you should just go to that bar where he works and ask him what is going on,” Carol instructed as she filled a large bowl with a mix of dried cat food and chopped vegetables.
“And what do I say to him? Ask him why he is blowing me off? Tell him I thought our night together meant something?” she questioned as she picked up the water bowl.
“Did it mean something to you?” Carol softly asked.
Pamela took in a deep breath and tried to force back the tears in her eyes. She just nodded to Carol and said nothing.
Carol
came up to her side and rubbed her hand encouragingly up and down Pamela’s arm. “Don’t do this,” she begged. “Don’t give up on him. I know he cares for you, Pamie. There’s got to be a very good explanation for why he hasn’t called you.”
Pamela felt her resolve strengthening. “Maybe I should go into the city and try to find him.”
“Absolutely. Why don’t you go today? I’ve got the whole day off and I can cover everything here for a couple of hours,” Carol assured her. “You need to get to the bottom of this.”
“You’re right. I’ll go today,” Pamela pronounced as she stepped out of the cage and went to the faucet to refill the water bowl.
Carol closed her eyes and silently prayed for any explanation other than the one she feared Pamela would discover.
* * * *
Two hours later, Pamela stood outside of the entrance to Port of Call. Located on Esplanade Avenue and famous for their pizzas, hamburgers, and a specialty drink called the Monsoon, Port of Call was a familiar hang out for college students across the city. Pamela was well acquainted with the establishment from her days of working as an EMT. She had spent many a night huddled over intoxicated college students who had passed out, or fallen, inside the famous eatery. Getting wasted at Port of Call’s was considered a right of passage in New Orleans, like sneaking into Pat O’Brien’s with a fake ID, or spending a night sampling the various exotic drinks at Joe’s Bar. Pamela never understood many of the bizarre traditions embraced by the inhabitants of this city. But like so many before her, she had learned to love the Big Easy, despite its many decadent faults.
For a Thursday night, the popular eatery was pretty crowded. Pamela had to stop and remind herself that in New Orleans, weekends tended to start on Thursdays. She walked into the small dining area and surveyed the tables filled with young diners eagerly munching on their food. To the right of the dimly lit, paneled room, she saw a small bar with a blond-haired, older man standing behind it.
“Excuse me,” she shouted to the bartender to be heard over the mix of conversation and music. “I’m looking for Daniel Phillips. Is he in tonight?”
The older man gave Pamela a stern going over with his blue eyes. “You a friend of his?”
Pamela nodded.
“Well, if you see the son of a bitch, tell him he’s fired. I’ve had to fill in his last four shifts since he stopped showing up for work three days ago.”
“What do you mean he didn’t show up for work?” Pamela’s heart trembled with worry.
“I mean no one has heard from him since he left here late Monday night. I called his cell phone, but he’s not answering. You know I got him this gig, and then he goes and shits all over me. If you see him, you tell that son of a bitch never to ask me for another favor again.”
Pamela really didn’t hear anything else the disgruntled man had to say. She quickly backed away from the bar and raced out the door.
She got back in her old white pick-up truck and headed across the Quarter to Dauphine Street. She drove down the street until she found the green door that she had entered a few nights ago with Daniel, then had to drive around for over thirty minutes until she found an empty parking meter.
By the time she arrived at the entrance, the thick green door was no longer closed to the street, but open. She walked through the doorway and down the dark alleyway until she emerged into the bright courtyard. She felt herself almost running to Daniel’s carriage house. When she got to the french doors that served as the main entrance to his home, she started knocking on the glass. At first she softly tapped on the glass, but then her knocking started growing louder and louder.
“Knock any harder on that glass, honey, and you’ll break it,” a woman’s voice said from the side of the patio.
Pamela turned in the direction of the voice to find an older woman wearing blue overalls with a straw hat on her head, gardening gloves on her hands, and a warm smile on her lovely wrinkled face.
“You lookin’ for Danny boy?” she asked in a coarse voice that belied her sweet grandmotherly looks.
“Yes, I just came from the bar where he worked and they told me—”
“He’s gone, honey,” she said, silencing Pamela. “Packed up all his stuff, day before yesterday. He gave me three months’ additional rent and left in that blue Jeep of his.”
“Gone?” Pamela’s heart sank. “Gone where?”
“He never said and I never asked.” The woman looked down at a potted pink azalea by her feet. She started to pull at the weeds at the base of the plant.
Pamela remembered something Daniel had told her about the potted plants around his carriage house. “You’re his landlady,” Pamela said in a soft voice.
The woman looked up at her with a bright pair of gray eyes. “Yes that’s me. I own the place. Name’s T.J. Powell,” she said, holding out her gloved hand.
Pamela shook the woman’s dirty glove. “So he never said anything to you about where he was going, Mrs. Powell?” she persisted.
“Call me T.J., and nope he never said nothin’ except that he had changed his mind. Last week he said he was goin’ to be stayin’ on in New Orleans for a while. I figured he had met a girl.” She paused and peered into Pamela’s face. “Kinda’ was hopin’ that boy would settle down. I saw the women he had comin’ and goin’ at all hours of the night around here for a while and then it all stopped.” She shrugged. “Until I saw you with him last Saturday.”
“You saw us?”
T.J. nodded and pointed back to the main house across the courtyard. “Apartment A is mine. I can see all the happenin’s in the courtyard through my windows.” She paused for a moment and stared at Pamela. “Was he in some kind of trouble?”
Pamela shook her head. “Why do you ask?”
“There was a man here last Sunday. He was a real fancy dresser. He came knockin’ on my door askin’ where Daniel lived, so I told him. Next I heard a lot of shoutin’ comin’ from the courtyard. Daniel and that attorney were having a real—”
“Attorney?” Pamela edged in.
T J. laughed. “Yeah, the guy that has got his face plastered all over town. He’s an ambulance chaser; even seen a few of his commercials on television.”
“Did this attorney tell you his name?”
“Didn’t have to ask him. I recognized him right away. It was Robert Patrick.”
* * * *
The R.A. Patrick Law Firm was located in the P&L building on Poydras Avenue in the Central Business District of the city. Bob had moved into his luxury offices right after he and Pamela married. She had thought him crazy for spending so much money on offices for a practice he had barely gotten off the ground. But Bob had considered the opulent accommodations a necessity for attracting high-end clientele. And as the elevator opened on the twentieth floor of the high-rise office building, Pamela couldn’t help but think that Bob had been right.
The vast reception area was lined in deep mahogany paneling and decorated with luxurious burgundy leather furniture. The long desk where a perky blond was seated was also made of mahogany and sat atop a plush gold and burgundy Oriental rug. On the walls were assorted posters of famous Louisiana festivals, such as The Jazz and Heritage Festival, the Breaux Bridge Seafood Festival, and the Ponchatoula Strawberry Festival.
Pamela marched right up to the blond at the front desk and smiled sweetly. “I need to see Bob,” she said through gritted teeth.
“It’s after office hours but I’m sure if you would—”
“Tell him it’s Pamela,” she barked, cutting the girl off.
“I’m sorry but if you would come back tomorrow—”
“Go get him!” Pamela yelled. “He never leaves the office before six.”
The girl frowned and tried to look impervious to Pamela’s outburst. “I’m sorry ma’am—”
“Tell him it’s his goddamn ex-wife and that I want to see the worthless bastard right now!” she shouted, losing all control.
The girl stood up from her desk an
d backed away. “I’ll go and get him,” she said nervously, and then disappeared into the entrance to the back offices.
Less than a minute later, Bob emerged from behind the company doors.
“Jesus, Pamela, I could hear you all the way back in my office. What is it?” Bob asked as he came up to her with a worried expression on his face.
“What did you say to him?” she cried out.
Bob put a concerned hand on her shoulder. “What did I say to who, honey?”
Pamela threw off his hand. “To Daniel. His landlady told me you went to his place and had an argument with him.”
“Pamela why don’t we go back to my office and discuss this,” he urged as he looked around the empty reception area.
“No, Bob. Tell me right now. What did you say to Daniel?” she insisted.
Bob took in a deep breath and cast his eyes to the Oriental rug beneath his feet. “I wasn’t going to mention any of this to you, but I had that man checked out after the party. Fortunately, the private investigator I hired was able to get back to me right away. I went over to his house to confront him about what I had found and he started threatening me.”
“Oh, please, Bob. You expect me to believe that horse shit!”
“He’s a con artist, Pamela. He has been chased out of several other states for swindling people out of money, property, jewelry, anything he could get his hands on. He uses some phony story about serving as a soldier in Iraq to lure people in and then he tells them that he needs money for surgeries or treatments for his PTSD.”
“You’re lying!” Pamela roared. “He had PTSD. I know the symptoms.”
“His name is not even Daniel Phillips, Pamela. It’s Alex Weston.”
Pamela stared into Bob’s pale green eyes. She could never tell when he was lying to her. He had long ago mastered the art of hiding the truth from her.
“I don’t believe you,” she declared and turned toward the elevator.
“Did he promise to help you get money for your organization? Did he introduce you to some of his rich friends at the party?” Bob asked behind her.
She slowly turned back to him. “Yes, but he asked them for money to help me. He never asked for any money for himself.”
Broken Wings Page 16
