“Reed, where’s Reed?”
“He’s already onboard. So is our villainess, trussed up just like you said. Reed does a mean knot. Come on, darling, try to stand. Help me out here.” He raised me up to a standing position.
“How did you manage to get here? Did you hire the helicopter?”
“Better than that. I have friends in high places. I pulled in the last of my markers from some buddies from the Persian Gulf. And then some.” He wrapped a strong arm around my waist. I leaned into him.
“And then some?”
“Let’s just say in exchange for their services, I’ve agreed to name my next cat Rodriguez, Miller, Kowalski, and Littman, or Romikowli for short. But you’re worth it.” He half lifted, half carried me to a shallow but long metal basket with straps.
“I guess it’s a good thing Baba is only a year old.”
“Yeah, I’m going to have to take real good care of her.”
He laid me down, strapped me in, waved and yelled. I reached up and stroked his cheek. The roar of the helicopter drowned out any more words, but his lopsided smile reassured me all would be okay. The basket rose into the sky. Gurn climbed the rope ladder at the same pace as I did. I felt two people grab the basket and lift me out into the helicopter.
Shortly after, a man took my pulse and temperature. Reed, my little hero, hugged me before he was shifted aside by someone else, this time a woman. She cut away the rubber sleeve of my wetsuit and swabbed at my wounded arm with something that burned like crazy, thank you so much.
Then I saw the face of a man looking vaguely familiar. Fear stabbed through me like a knife. It was the same man who burned the files; the one I chased, and saw leaving Laura’s Folly. One of Manning’s henchmen! Did the men aboard the HMS Piddley-Squat know about him? I pulled back and began to thrash about, trying to free myself. When I found it was useless, I pointed a weak finger at him.
“You, you.”
“It’s all right Lee,” said Gurn, coming out of nowhere. “This is Special Agent Jeremiah Grovner. He’s one of the good guys.”
“Yes, ma’am. You can call me Jerry.”
“But I chased you earlier. Over a wall.” By now, my voice was hoarse.
“What?” He couldn’t hear me over the drone of the blades, and turned to Gurn standing next to him. I noticed small microphones over each one’s mouth.
“She says she chased you over a wall,” Gurn said to him.
“Oh! Yes, ma’am. Sorry about that. I wasn’t quite sure who you were and couldn’t let you catch me. I was undercover. But you gave me a helluva run.” He grinned down at me.
“But what were you doing at the marina?” I was confused.
“What?” He tapped his helmet at his ear and shook his head, indicating he couldn’t hear me.
“She says she saw you at the marina,” Gurn repeated.
Given the constant din, I wished I’d known sign language. Jerry leaned over me and shouted.
“Yes, ma’am. Manning thought I was there to get last minute instructions, but I attached a tracer to the hull of the boat when he wasn’t looking. That’s when I saw the boy inside the boat. I was going for reinforcements when Manning took off, you with him. I would have tried to save you from going with him, Ms. Alvarez, told you who I was, if I had only seen you.”
“Now you tell me.”
“What?” He looked from me to Gurn.
“She said…never mind.” Gurn shook his head, gave me a quick kiss, and stepped back. He turned to Reed, hovering nearby, and shouted to him. “Come on, son, we need to sit down, and prepare for what’s ahead.”
They moved away. I heard a deafening roar as the copter lifted into the air, its blades beating an even stronger rhythm.
“What’s ahead?” I didn’t like the sound of those words. “What does that mean, ‘prepare for what’s ahead’?”
The two paramedics on either side of me began throwing straps across my body, pulling them tight, and securing them. Even my head was put into a vise-like contraption and I couldn’t move it. I had read about the dungeon of the Tower of London, and this seemed to me this was step one of the kingly torture. I guess I struggled, because one of the paramedics put a hand on mine in a reassuring manner, before shouting in my face.
“It’s all right, ma’am. We just need to tie you in for the ride ahead.”
“Ride ahead?” I whimpered, so I’m not sure he heard my words.
“It’ll be a little bumpy, but you’ll be fine. Your vitals are good, so you just relax, okay?” He patted my strapped in hand.
“Bumpy?”
“It’s nothing to worry about.” He smiled into my vise-gripped face. “We have to take a little trip again through the hurricane to get back to New Orleans.”
“What? You mean we’re going back into the eff-ing hurricane I worked so hard to get out of? Oh, no. Let me off this chopper. Noooooooo!”
Chapter Thirty
Celebrations Are in Order
“Just how many cocktails do I get for a quarter?”
“The ordinary person gets up to three drinks during lunch for twenty-five cents each. You, however, get none.” Gurn smiled at me, grey-green eyes sparkling.
“I knew that.” I flipped the long fringes of the white embroidered shawl I was wearing in his direction. “Just fanaticizing.”
I’d draped the shawl over the left shoulder of the turquoise and lime green silk outfit Mom had given me. The heavier silk of the shawl and the pure white complimented the three-piece turquoise pantsuit, also silk, and hid my slinged arm from sight. I liked that.
Five days after the ordeal of La Boot, I was raring to go. I felt marvelous, glad to be alive – which had been questionable there for a while – and loving the Big Easy. True, I had my left arm in a sling and still hadn’t had a Sazerac Cocktail or any other cocktail for that matter. I was half way through taking mega antibiotics. Booze was off the table during the duration, but one must adjust. I can adjust really well, especially when I’m given a gorgeous vintage silk shawl to cover my boo-boo. Gurn is so thoughtful. His mother trained him well.
After being patched up during an overnight stay at the hospital, I was released and told to take it easy. I saw the silver lining at the end of that particular soggy cloud right away.
The family and Gurn spent the next several days knocking themselves out decorating, unpacking, sorting, hiring staff, distributing flyers, and doing a myriad of last minute things getting Vicki’s hat shop ready for the grand opening. But under doctor’s orders I couldn’t participate. Aw, gee.
We no longer had to stay in the safe house, and returned to our luxury digs at the Mariage Frères Chateau. I spent the first day lounging by the pool in the company of two leashed but affectionate cats. I had bonbons; they had liver treats. I may have been the one who was shot, but their story was they had suffered, too.
On days two and three, I took rides on the sightseeing buses back in operation after the hurricane. Tour busses are the first to know when a street opens up for business. Fortunately, Harold had done a minimum of damage and most major streets were open within twenty-four hours.
Putting aside that a knowledgeable guide fills your head with local history, facts, and figures, it’s a great way to see the Big Easy, while sitting on your duff with your finger in your ear. In that regard, I tried to be very compliant with doctor’s orders.
Day four found me sitting on a stool in a corner of The Obsessive Chapeau on opening day. I got to watch the controlled chaos of Vicki’s booming business from a catbird seat, once again, with my finger in my ear. There’s something to be said for this walking wounded stuff.
The big hit was Vicki’s Panama hat line. Made in the classic fedora style, and woven especially for her shop in the small town of Pilé in Ecuador. The town is considered to make the best Panama hats in the world. They sure cost enough.
Vicki’s twist was that hers were woven in pastel colors instead of white. The ice-cream colors dubbed pistachio crea
m, lemon sun, strawberry swirl, grape froth, and orange crush were softer than soft hues of their namesakes.
The women’s hats had wider brims and higher crowns, but every hat was finished off with a black suede band. At three hundred a pop, I marveled at just how many hats could fly out the door in a single day. Ka-ching, ka-ching.
On the fifth day, Gurn followed me down the hall of the Commodore’s Palace to the lectern, behind which stood the host, a good-looking lad in his mid-twenties. I couldn’t help but notice the streaks of man-made sun running throughout his thick brunette locks, made even more notable by one of those every strand in place haircuts. Here was not a Supercuts kind of guy.
It reminded me I was long overdue for a conditioning and trim, currently forced to wear my frizz ball in a topknot, this time to hide the split ends. Salt air, seawater, and being shot can be murder on a hair-do.
The host found our name in the computer before him, and handed us off to a young lady dressed in the society matron’s ubiquitous uniform i.e. basic black dress, pearls, hose and three-inch black heels. We followed her bouncing ponytail – the only indication she was barely out of her teens - through a large and airy old-fashioned dining room.
Tables were already half-filled with diners, ladies decked out in their finery, and gentlemen in their well-fitted suits. It was like watching a re-run of Mad Men on TV. Or given Lila Hamilton Alvarez’s dress code, our own offices at Discretionary Inquiries back home. I felt a sudden rush of homesickness for Palo Alto and everything California. It was time to go home.
I’d read that the Commodore’s Palace had once been a private home. Hard to believe. It’s almost the size of a palace, although the feel is less formal. Smothered in old-world southern charm, it seems to be an ode to an era gone by.
Ponytail paused for a moment, and stood to one side, letting a large group of well-dressed, older men pass by. We followed her lead. While we waited, a thought occurred to me. I took the opportunity to pull Gurn aside and ask a question on the QT.
“Gurn, you never told me and I keep forgetting to ask, did you ever find out whose gun it was Tugger found under the floorboards?”
He looked around, drew me into a tight corner, keeping his voice low. “Believe it or not, the only person it could have been was Dennis Manning.”
“What?”
“Yes, when the Feds were negotiating with him a few months back, they brought him to the safe house for a couple of days until they hammered out a deal. They took him to a firing range once, where they say he used a Smith and Wesson. Why he would stash it under the floorboards is anybody’s guess - maybe his idea of protection - but he was an odd man.”
I felt the color drain from my face. “You mean, I killed him with his own gun?”
“You had no choice.”
“No.”
“You did what you had to do.”
“Yes.”
I thought for a moment. “I would do it again if I had to, but it’s hard to live with.”
“We all do things that are hard to live with.” Gurn gave me a quick hug. “I’m sorry the gun your father gave you went down in the briny deep, but I’m glad you didn’t go along with it.” He smiled and kissed me on the nose.
“Me, too.” I grinned up at him. “You always know how to make me feel better.”
“I’ll get you a better gun.”
“Thanks, but no thanks. I don’t want somebody I love to give me anything like that again. It’s not good to get sentimental over a weapon the way I did with Lady Blue.”
“Just tools of the trade from now on?”
We both laughed.
Ponytail cleared her throat from a short distance away, not wanting to interrupt but indicating the passageway was clear and we should continue our journey. We followed her through French doors and into a private dining room.
It was a lovely room, light and airy, swathed in sunlight, with a mantled fireplace at one end. Instead of flames, lit candles filled the air with the faint scent of vanilla. The outside wall gave a spectacular view of the gardens through floor-to-ceiling windows.
Below the chandelier, a beautifully decorated round table was set for formal dining. Silverware and porcelain china sparkled at each place setting and a low flower arrangement of lavender and pink flowers – Vicki’s business theme colors - was centered on the white damask cloth.
Reading from left to right was the family, Mom, Tío, Richard, and Vicki. Added to the lineup were Reed and Mama Biggs. Mom told me later that after the ordeal of Reed’s kidnapping, she’d invited the Biggs to join us, hoping to create happier memories of the Alvarez Family for them. The group was laughing and chatting, half-hidden behind balloons and ribbons.
“Hi, everyone,” I said pushing aside a set of pink balloons only to have them snap back and smack me in the face.
Given the plethora of balloons and ribbons, it was little wonder no one saw us enter until I spoke. Surprised, the table turned in our direction and began to applaud. I wasn’t sure what was going on. Hadn’t I just seen the family the night before?
Then they began to sing, “For She’s a Jolly Good Fellow,” with Reed leaping up and playing along on his clarinet. After the song, everyone broke into applause again, while I stood there, embarrassed and speechless.
Gurn sat down at one of the two empty chairs, grabbed my right hand, and pulled me into the remaining chair. To my left sat my mother, who beamed at me with rarely given pride.
Dressed in a beige linen sleeveless dress, she managed to make what I purport to be the most boring color in the world work. She always does. Blonde hair sleeked back, she wore her usual pearl button earrings. Near the top of the collarless dress was a small gold and pearl broach in the design of a fleur de lys. Other than her diamond engagement and wedding rings and a gold watch, she wore no other adornments. Mom is from the ‘less is more’ school of thought, while I am from the ‘pile it on, what the hey, you only live once’ school of thought.
Two servers came in with opened bottles of champagne and began to fill the fluted glasses in front of nearly everyone. Tío pulled a chilling bottle of sparkling cider from a silver bucket on the table and poured some into the glasses in front of Vicki, Reed, and me.
After the bubbly and apple juice were dispensed, a smiling Vicki stood, looking sensational in that Vogue, yet kooky way of hers. And this is with the addition of her pregnancy bump.
Standing atop her usual platform heels to make up for being only five foot one, she wore a long bias cut sleeveless dress of sewn together earth-tone squares of tie-dyed fabric. Vicki finished the look off with a hand-hammered copper necklace dangling half-way down to her waist, and one of her own beaded berets in soft bronze and orange colors set to one side of her curly, auburn hair.
My darling sister-in-law has what the French call je ne sais quoi, which roughly translated means, I haven’t a clue why that should work but it does.
Vicki lifted her glass of sparkling cider and looked at me.
“’Lee, this toast is to you. A toast to the best --”
She suddenly stopped talking. While the initial words came out strong, she seemed near the point of tears. I wondered why. Yes, we’d found her sister’s rapist, but there appeared to be more.
Vicki wiped her face, took a deep breath, and started over again. “A toast to the best sister-in-law a girl could have. It’s not many people who would risk their lives for someone else. Lee, I think you know how grateful I am for all you’ve done for me.” She fought for composure. “And for Robin.”
Her eyes filled with tears, as did mine. She paused before going on.
“Forgive me, but I have some wonderful, wonderful news about my sister.”
Vicki reached down for Richard’s hand while she spoke. He held on to hers and looked up adoringly. She swallowed hard and went on.
“As most of you know, for the past nine years, Robin has been unable to speak more than a word or two, if that. Months would go by, sometimes as much as a year, and
she wouldn’t say anything, just stare out the window. But this morning she spoke a full sentence. Shortly after that, she said even more. The nurses said she had an actual conversation with the doctor. It’s like a miracle.”
The family’s reaction was huge. Gasps of astonishment went around the table, then another round of applause. Reed and Mama Biggs, not knowing much of the history, nonetheless smiled at everyone’s joy. Vicki took a deep breath and continued.
“They can’t predict how much she will recover, but for the first time, they are hopeful, very hopeful. I don’t know if it has anything to do with Dennis Manning truly being dead now, but ever since he did die for real, she seems to have turned around. I’m sure you’re thinking this can’t be right; it’s only a coincidence, but still…”
She broke off and looked down at the table, trying again to recover her emotions. Richard stood and enveloped her in his arms, crooning words I couldn’t hear. They held one another fast, rocking back and forth. At that moment, there was no one else in the world but the two of them. It was a beautiful thing to see.
“‘There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy’,” Mom mumbled, looking out into space. When she realized she’d spoken out loud, and that we were staring at her, she said in explanation, “Hamlet.”
“Oh, I read that,” Reed said. “Shakespeare, right? One bad-assed dude.”
“Reed!”
Mama Biggs’ reprimand of him was so strong on the one word, the entire table burst out laughing. Vicki and Richard joined in the laughter and sat down, their private moment finished. After the laughter peaked, Gurn spoke up. The grin I love so much nearly broke his face.
“Well, that’s one way of putting it. Shakespeare was one bad-assed dude, for sure.”
“But out of deference to the man,” Mom said, in her best lady-like manner, “it would be more appropriate to say he was a genius. We can save the expression ‘bad-assed dude’ for someone like Bruno Mars.”
“You know who he is, Mrs. Alvarez?” Reed stared at Mom in admiration. “You are one cool lady.”
DEAD....If Only (The Alvarez Family Murder Mysteries Book 4) Page 24
