The Cajun Doctor

by Sandra Hill

  Yeah, right. He wasn’t angry. More like flaming furious. Samantha could practically hear the phone lines sizzle.

  She had a lot to think about.

  Finally, Angus and Lily Beth returned, walking into the kitchen together, both looking much better, though worried and exhausted. The white T-shirt, with the Krewe of Rex, Mardi Gras letters in the traditional purple, green, and gold colors, fit Angus perfectly; Samantha had bought it for a sleep shirt last year. He’d pulled his long blond hair off his face with what Samantha recognized as one of her elastic ponytail holders.

  Lily Beth’s belly strained against the oversized shirt and elastic-waisted running shorts Samantha had given her, but at least they fit. She, too, had pulled her blonde hair back into a ponytail.

  They looked so young.

  Sitting at the counter, the two ate voraciously, accompanied by all the two percent milk Samantha had in the fridge and then a pitcher of sweet tea. They even devoured the generous slice of Tante Lulu’s Peachy Praline Cobbler Cake which Samantha had brought back from the plantation for her bedtime snack.

  Samantha had shooed the animals back into the sunroom and set up a child gate so that Angus and Lily Beth could eat in peace.

  “So, y’all own the Starr grocery stores?” Lily Beth commented as she licked the last bit of icing off her fork.

  Samantha gave Angus a dirty look. Had he been bragging about the family wealth . . . even as he was poor as a church mouse? And was Lily Beth with him because she thought he had hidden assets? “Not us precisely. It’s a family enterprise, and we’re a big family. We all work in the stores or the main office, or at least some of us do.” She gave Angus a meaningful frown at that last.

  “I love the fruit tarts they sell in the Starr bakeries. Every birthday, growin’ up, I asked mah mother fer a fruit tart, instead of a traditional birthday cake.”

  Not a gold digger then, Samantha decided. She’d just been making conversation. “I know,” she said, “The fruit tarts are my favorite, too. Next to the Chocolate Domes.”

  “Oh! Yes!”

  “Are you still hungry, Lily Beth?” Samantha asked. “I have a frozen pizza in the freezer. Our latest. Sicilian flat bread with garlic pesto.”

  “I’m always hungry, but, no, if I eat anymore, I’ll bust.”

  An uncomfortable silence followed. Samantha still didn’t know why they were here. Or what trouble they were in. “You mentioned your mother. Can’t you go home for help?” Samantha knew she sounded like she didn’t want to help them. Frankly, she didn’t, and she kind of resented being put on the spot by a person or persons who weren’t really her responsibility. Not that she would turn them away. Still . . .

  Lily Beth shook her head, seeming to be choked up.

  “Lil’s parents died in a car accident last year,” Angus told Samantha.

  “I am so sorry,” Samantha said, feeling bad now. “Let’s go in the living room,” she suggested. Because of the brick wall around her property, the interior of the house, from the back, wouldn’t really be visible to anyone circling the perimeter or cruising the alley out back. Like Nick. Still, she would feel better away from all these windows. She would tidy the kitchen later. Or in the morning. She planned to take off work tomorrow, except for a foundation board meeting at noon. And she had to deliver some of these animals to new homes. Thank God!

  Lily Beth headed right for the sofa and, instead of sitting at one end and making room for Angus, she laid down on her side, head on a throw pillow, and curled up into as much of a fetal position as she could with her belly, and fell immediately asleep.

  With a blush, Angus apologized, “She’s been through a lot.”

  Samantha could only imagine. She went over and arranged a soft mohair afghan over the girl’s body, then motioned for Angus to sit on one side chair while she sat in the other. The room was chilly from the air conditioner having been left on all day. So, Samantha also clicked on the gas fireplace, which she rarely did in the summer or in the daytime. It wasn’t even seven p.m. now. But the fire did give the room a warm glow.

  Most of her furniture, aside from what was in the sunroom, was antique, gathered over the years through family hand-me-downs or French Quarter antique shop forays, a mishmash of different eras and fabrics and style which was oddly comfortable, especially with the cozy fireplace. The sofa Lily Beth lay on was a tufted camelback in a gold and green floral pattern. The chairs, passed down from her grandmother, were faded velvet and damask in colors that complemented the sofa. The carpet was a very old Aubusson that was threadbare in places; it once graced a bedroom in the former Orleans Crescent Hotel. One of the hurricane lamps had belonged to a cousin of Robert E. Lee. She cherished the history and provenance of all the pieces.

  “Now, give it to me straight, Angus. How did you get involved with Nick? And start from the beginning.” She decided not to tell him about Nick’s call. Not yet.

  Angus gulped, then started to talk. “I met Nick at Harrah’s in Lake Charles a year or two ago.”

  “A casino?” She’d never known Nick to go the casinos, except for the one in Monte Carlo that time when they’d been on vacation. More a touristy kind of thing.

  “I have this little problem,” Angus said.

  Uh-oh!

  “Well, it’s a big problem. Gambling.”

  “Oh, Angus!”

  “I’m not an addict. But I developed this computer program for beating the odds at Blackjack, all kinds of poker, actually. Not card counting. Something better. Awesome. But so far it hasn’t been perfected.”

  “Oh? Just how far from perfection are you?”

  He grimaced and disclosed, “Two hundred thousand.”

  “Dollars?” she gasped.

  “No, doubloons.” He immediately regretted his sarcasm and said, “Sorry. Yeah, that’s my current balance, but it keeps growing every day, no matter how much I pay them. Interest. I even sold my Jag.” Now, that was big. Angus loved the Jaguar that he’d inherited from his mother on his sixteenth birthday. Samantha’s father had bought the red Jaguar convertible for Darla as a wedding gift. Angus’s present situation had to be serious for him to have given that up.

  “Pay them . . . who? Loan sharks? The mafia,” she scoffed, then went slack-awed at Angus’s nod. “You can’t be serious. This isn’t New York City, or Sicily, with some Marlon Brando godfatherly character.”

  “Not that mafia. The Dixie Mafia.”

  Her slack jaw went slacker. She’d forgotten about those Louisiana lowlifes. “Oh, Angus!” She sighed, then straightened and asked, “How is Nick involved? Is he into gambling now, too?”

  Angus shook his head. “Nah. I mean, he would if it worked. He needs money bad, even worse than me. But he’s not very good at gambling.”

  That was like the pot calling the kettle black, but she refrained from pointing that out.

  “Again, what is your involvement with Nick?”

  “I work with him.”

  “How? You have no medical experience. You’re a tech expert.”

  “Not his medical business. His other business.”

  “And that would be . . . ?”

  “Selling babies.”

  “Whaaat?” she practically shrieked, causing Lily Beth to roll onto her back and blink several times before falling back asleep.

  “For more than a year now, I’ve been helping Nick solicit college students willing to let him deliver their babies and then put them up for phony ‘adoptions.’ Easy peasy, actually. That Nick is one slick dude.” Angus actually had the nerve to grin as if the enterprise and Nick were commendable.

  Seeing the glower on her face, he got serious and continued with his explanation. “Nick delivers the babies himself to avoid any detection from hospital personnel. He gives the girls ten thousand dollars up front, another ten thou on delivery, I get ten thou, and then Nick sells the babies for up to a hundred thou, mostly to foreign markets.”

  “Angus! That’s illegal.”

  “I k
now, I know. But it’s not really that immoral. People want babies, and there aren’t enough newborns to satisfy the need.”

  “Splitting hairs,” she remarked.

  He shrugged.

  “What’s your involvement?”

  “I hack into the files of college medical centers. In particular, I look for pregnant coeds, then cross file that with those seeking counseling, then another cross file for those either getting or applying for financial aid. Also, word of mouth. I know lots of people on lots of campuses. Piece of cake finding chicks in financial trouble, who are pregnant but not wanting to abort.”

  “Have you lost your mind?”

  “We’ve been very careful, covering our tracks. Not just one college. Here and there across the South. It’s like shooting fish in a barrel. The girls are thankful for our help, usually. Of course, they don’t know the babies are being sold.”

  “Of course,” she said, sarcastically. “Just how many are we talking about here?”

  “Twenty, this past year.”

  “WHAT?” she screeched. She did the quick math in her head. Twenty times a hundred thousand dollars equaled two million dollars. Even with the thirty percent to Angus and the girls, that was a huge profit.

  “Shhh. You’ll wake Lil.”

  “Getting information from you is like trying to catch dandelion fluff, but I’m beginning to connect the dots between you, Nick, Lily Beth, and the, Holy Cripes, mafia. Spit it out, please. All of it.”

  “Nick is desperate for money, and—”

  “Nothing new there.”

  Angus scowled at her interrupting him. “Nick is desperate for money, and I’m desperate for money. But now, Nick is furious with me, and with Lil, for reneging on her baby deal. So I can’t rely on that income anymore. The mafia wants me to pay them back, like yesterday. If the mob doesn’t kill me, Nick will.”

  “Why is Nick so upset about Lily Beth? Surely, if he’s dealt with so many pregnancies, it can’t be the first time a girl has changed her mind.”

  “Yeah, but this is the kickass gene pool. A physicist and an athlete. He’s got a frickin’ bidding war going on for the baby.”

  “Lily Beth is an athlete?” Somehow, she didn’t look the part, but then it was hard to tell with her baby bump.

  “No, Lil is a physicist. Well, a doctoral candidate. She’s already racked up two hundred G’s in student loans, and she lost her fellowship money. She couldn’t stop barfing long enough to teach her classes. Some dude in her class had a thing for garlic.”

  “Really? Lily Beth, a physicist?” Samantha was having trouble fathoming that idea. Talk about making rash judgments about someone! “How can Nick get away with this? What hospital does he use for deliveries?”

  “No hospitals. Have you seen that medical building of his? Southern Women’s Maternity Center. Talk about luxury. It’s like a spa for rich women needing to pop out babies.”

  “Angus!” Samantha chided.

  “Well, it’s true. The women can get manicures and pedicures in between labor contractions. One lady had her roots done by a hairstylist just before they wheeled her in for a C-section.”

  Angus had to be exaggerating. But then, knowing Nick, maybe not.

  “In any case,” Angus went on, “there are more nooks and crannies, including several specially equipped birthing and operating rooms. He does the ‘special’ deliveries after hours. Plus, his girlfriend, Misty Beauville, assists him.”

  “Misty? Is she a doctor? Or nurse?”

  “No. An extreme athlete of some kind. She does marathons. But she has EMS training, or something.”

  Samantha rolled her eyes. “You’ve got to go to the police.”

  “No, no, no. We can’t.”

  “Why? Nick has to be stopped.”

  “He’ll kill us. He already showed us his gun collection.”

  “Nick has a gun collection?”

  Angus nodded. “Believe me, there was a motive in his showing us the weapons. And don’t forget, I have the Dixie Mafia dogging me, too. Literally. If you think Nick has guns, you’ve gotta see what Jimmy Guenot has out on his plantation. Dogs. Big wild rabid dogs . . . pit bulls, I think . . . that he starves and then sics on enemies, or those loan sharkees who fail to pay up on time. That’s what happened to me when I went there yesterday to try and reason with Jimmy.” He lifted his shirt to show bite marks and scratches on his sides and abdomen. None of them appeared to have broken the skin, but just barely. “Good thing I had a tetanus shot last year. Good thing I can run fast. But I think I broke my finger vaulting over the chain link fence.”

  “Ang-us! Listen, Tante Lulu’s nephew, John LeDeux, is a cop, and I think he had a case involving the Dixie Mafia a few years back. Let me call him.”

  “No!” he said vehemently. “I’m gonna land in jail, or dead, for what I’ve done for Nick, and what I still owe in gambling debts.”

  “How about Lucien LeDeux? He’s my lawyer, and as good as they come. Let me call him. I bet he’ll have good advice.”

  “No police. No lawyers.”

  “Well, if nothing else, Lily Beth has to see a doctor.”

  “No doctors, either. It would get back to Nick.”

  “What are you going to do then?”

  “Hide. Somewhere no one will find us. Just for a while. ’Til we have a chance to think. Regroup.”

  “Where?”

  “Well, Bruce has that condo in Costa Rica. He just bought it last summer; so, Nick probably doesn’t know about it. Maybe if we could get there and hide out ’til things cool down.”

  “Dad would never agree to that.”

  “He doesn’t need to know. I hacked his passwords and was able to contact the caretaker. I told him Bruce was my dad. I can pick up the key anytime. Bruce is so busy, he’ll never know.”

  Angus underestimated her father. “Have you thought this thing through? Do you have money for airfare? What would you live on while you’re there? Do you plan to get a job? How about prenatal care for Lily Beth, maybe even delivery? And how long would you need to regroup in Costa-freakin’-Rica?”

  Angus just looked at her, and she knew he was banking on her being his personal banker.

  “It’s not a solution, Angus. You’re just postponing the inevitable.”

  “I know. I’ve been a world class loser, and I am going to get my act together, but right now my responsibility is to Lil. She has no one. Just me.” He exhaled whooshily. “I got her into this mess. I have to be the one to get her out.”

  “So, if I get you plane tickets to Costa Rica and if I loan you some money, do you promise . . .”

  “We can’t go commercial. We need a private plane to get us there so there’s no record.”

  “Whoa! Not too demanding, are you, Angus?”

  “Don’t you know anyone who could get us there? Doesn’t your friend Tante Lulu have a nephew with an air charter business?”

  Samantha didn’t know Remy LeDeux that well, but she did know someone else with the credentials. Hmmm.

  “Please, Sam. If you help us, I promise to own up to everything. I’ll talk to any police or lawyers you want. And I’ll pay you back for the money you lend me. Believe me, I’ve learned my lesson.”

  “Take Lily Beth upstairs and put her in one of the guest bedrooms. You take the other. I know it’s only eight o’clock, but you’re both beat, physically and mentally. Get some rest. I’ll see what I can do to help you.” She put up a halting hand when he started to protest. “I know, time is important. We’ll do something first thing in the morning.”

  Angus woke up the sleeping girl and half walked, half carried her upstairs. When she was alone, Samantha sighed. What a godawful mess! This was worse than anything she’d ever imagined about Nick.

  What an immoral, in fact criminal, no-good excuse for a man her ex-husband was! She wouldn’t be surprised if he’d involved Angus in his schemes just to get back at her. Oh, she couldn’t delude herself. Angus was equally responsible.

&nb
sp; Again, what a godawful mess!

  First things first. She went into the kitchen and cleaned up the mess. While she discarded trash, put away whatever food hadn’t been eaten (not much), and wiped off the counter, she thought, thought, thought about the options. Then she took a shower and put on a comfy sleep outfit, silk pants and a camisole top, and tried to get some rest. It had been a grueling day. Finally, at nine p.m., she admitted that she’d never be able to sleep unless she took some action. So, she picked up her cell phone and scrolled down to find a number she’d just added in this afternoon, a contact she had hoped to leverage finding homes for rescued animals.

  “Hello. Aaron LeDeux here. I’m not available at the moment. Leave a message. You know the drill.”

  “Hey, Aaron, this is Samantha Starr. We talked this afternoon about the possibility of an animal rescue operation at Bayou Rose. But that’s not why I’m calling. Aaron, something has come up here. Something very . . . dangerous. Can you call me right away? I need help!” Aaron was a pilot. He had access to planes. And maybe, just maybe, his assistance would be less obvious than using Remy’s company.

  Samantha clicked off the phone and tucked it in her pocket. It was still early, and she doubted she would sleep tonight, but she should try. Tomorrow promised to be a busy day. She determined that first thing in the morning she was making one particular phone call.

  Tante Lulu could recommend a place for her to buy a gun.

  Or maybe not.

  Chapter Eleven

  Sometimes being a hero is just too much damn trouble . . .

  Daniel awakened suddenly to the sound of a phone ringing. Upon opening his eyes and feeling the crick in his neck, he realized that he’d fallen asleep on his sofa. His new pet cat, Maxine . . . the apparently pregnant cat, dammit . . . didn’t even bother to raise its head.

  Last he recalled, he and Aaron had been watching a rerun of one of the late-night talk shows. Jimmy Fallon and Justin Timberlake doing a funny, surprisingly good, singing/dance duet about being happy.