4 DEAD ... If Only

by Heather Haven

  I followed instructions and began to read the short missive. When I finished, I sank down to the side of the tub. It took me a second or two before I could utter anything, and then it was only a single word.

  “Gurn.”

  He turned to face me, the one word stopping him from wiping his face on his towel. He carried it with him and sat beside me.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “It is from Richard.” Together we read the short but disturbing message in silence.

  Fly to NOLA General Hospital ASAP. Terrible danger. Think Vicki will be arrested for murder.

  I looked at Gurn. His face registered all the shock, confusion, and fear I was feeling. My voice shook when I spoke.

  “If this is a sample of texting, I don’t like it one bit.”

  Chapter Two

  What Life Throws at You

  I pressed Richard’s number on my speed dial, put the phone to my ear, and listened to it ring and ring. For somebody who’d been burning up the wires a short time before, where the hell was he?

  We finished dressing in a hurry, and gathered up our things. While Gurn paid the bill, I tried Richard’s number again. It rang as we dashed out of the building. I was about to hang up when I heard my brother’s voice.

  “Lee, thank God you got back to me. I’ve been calling and texting you for like, an hour. Don’t you answer your damned phone?” His voice was tense, accusatory, and raw; nothing like the laid back nerd of a brother I know and love.

  “And what took you so long to answer your phone?” I can hold my own in the tense, accusatory, and raw department. I flung open the rental car door and jumped inside.

  Richard became contrite. “Sorry about that, but the doctor had to give me an update on Vicki. They’re trying to stabilize her.”

  “Stabilize her?” It felt like my heart thudded against my back teeth. “Is it Vicki in the hospital? You just said she might be arrested. What’s happened?”

  “Hang on, Lee. I’m going into the hallway, so we can talk. We’re not supposed to use cell phones anywhere but in a designated place.”

  There were rustling noises and the sound of movement. Gurn started the car and peeled out of the parking lot, while all sorts of thoughts raced through my mind. Within our familial dynamics, Tío supplies unconditional love, Mom supplies class and grace, Richard supplies his IT genius, and I supply….the cat?

  But it’s Victoria Lombard Alvarez, twenty-six years old and barely five foot one, who supplies the heart. Smart enough to be the owner of a successful business at a young age, she manages to remain a warm, loving person with a forgiving nature all at the same time. And she was soon to deliver my first niece or nephew.

  I tried not to panic at the thought of something being wrong with either her or the baby. And what was all this stuff about her being arrested? I nearly chewed through the phone waiting for Richard to start talking again.

  “I’m back.” Richard’s voice sounded more normal.

  “Then tell me what’s going on and right now. I can’t stand it. I’m putting the phone on speaker so Gurn can hear, too.”

  Gurn took a corner so sharply I had to hang onto the strap over the door. Richard’s voice came over loud and clear throughout the car.

  “You remember the man who raped and nearly beat Vicki’s sister, Robin, to death?”

  Whatever I thought he was going to say, that wasn’t it. Throwing my mind back to Vicki’s history before she became part of the Alvarez clan, I came up with a name I nearly choked on saying.

  “Dennis Manning, wasn’t it? What about him? Why is this coming up now? He died nine years ago.”

  Richard took a deep breath and expelled it noisily. “Vicki swears she saw him in the French Quarter earlier today.”

  “That’s impossible!” My response was louder than it had to be, my protest stronger. “He blew up his own boat, with him on it, for Christ’s sake.”

  “That’s what we all thought.” Richard’s ragged voice went on. “But Vicki keeps saying she recognized him, beard and all. She says he recognized her, too, because he ran when he saw her. She took off after him before I even knew what was going on. She didn’t answer her phone, but I eventually tracked her down by her GPS. It was over a half an hour before I caught up with her.” He gulped and stopped talking for a second before he blurted out, “By the time I did, she was lying in someone’s backyard, unconscious.”

  “Unconscious!”

  “The doctor is hoping it’s a mild concussion. It’s too early to tell. They’re doing a CAT scan now.”

  “Is that safe in her condition? A CAT scan?”

  “The doctor assured me there’s no risk to her or the baby from radiation. And they have to see if there’s any bleeding in the brain.”

  I gasped when the seriousness of the situation struck me, sucking in air long and noisily. Clapping a hand over my mouth, I wished I could take the reaction back. Richard didn’t need anybody else reacting like this; it was a luxury the rest of us couldn’t afford. He and Vicki had to come first.

  Gurn gave me a look that said he agreed. Then he spoke up. “You want to tell us what happened, Rich?”

  “Yes. Okay. But let me talk for a minute and don’t interrupt. This is hard enough. When I found Vicki…there was a dead man lying beside her.”

  I swallowed hard over that one, determined not to ask the thousand questions reeling around in my head.

  “From what I could see, the man’s skull was crushed in. And it looked like it had just happened. I freaked out; I really did. I don’t know how I managed to call an ambulance and then the police.”

  “Who’s the dead man? Manning?” Gurn’s words tumbled out of him.

  “No, it isn’t. I don’t know who it is. I don’t believe Vicki does, either. She’s pretty woozy, but when she’s with us, she doesn’t remember anything about being there. The police think she killed him; I know they do. They haven’t said as much yet, but a wrench was clutched in her hand. I know somebody put it there when she was out. It was covered with blood.”

  His voice broke, and then he was silent, except for shallow breathing. I could tell there was more to this story.

  “What else?”

  “The doctors are worried about the baby. Vicki’s so stressed about Manning, she can’t keep her blood pressure down. And she doesn’t even know about the dead man.” Richard choked up again. “I’m scared, Sis. I might lose her or the baby….or both.”

  He began to sob. I did, too, but kept it to myself. The big sister side of me kicked in.

  “Stop thinking like that, Richard. The doctors will stabilize Vicki, the baby will be fine, and when we get there, we’ll find out what’s going on. Where are Mom and Tío?”

  “They’re on their way. I reached them about a half an hour ago. They were attending a fund-raising lunch over in the Garden District. You know, the one Felicity Llewellyn gives every year.”

  Gurn spoke up, issuing orders in an urgent tone. As Richard’s former commanding officer in NROTC, it was a natural place for him to go.

  “Rich, you concentrate on Vicki. And don’t either of you answer any more questions by the police. Tell them you have to talk to your lawyer first. If necessary, we’ll hire one when we get there. We’re heading back to the hotel to check out. You’re two hours later; after I file a flight plan, we should be able to leave within an hour, so probably land around seven o’clock. Meanwhile, you hang tough.”

  Richard’s voice took on a feigned brightness. “Easier said than done, but I’ll try. Just hurry up and get here. I’m out of my element on this one.” The line went dead.

  We stopped at one of the two red lights in town. I became quiet, trying to get my bearings. Gurn turned to me.

  “How are you doing?”

  “Trying to process all of this. Thinking it out.”

  “Don’t project anything into the future, sweetheart. It never looks good when you do. Why don’t you fill me in on the details of Vicki’s sister? Rich has
been pretty mum and I’ve never wanted to press it. I could tell it was a painful subject for both he and Vicki. I don’t know much other than her sister had been raped, then institutionalized.”

  “I only met her once, if you can call it that. It was very sad.”

  “Her name is Robin?”

  “Yeah.” I cleared my throat and sat up taller in the passenger’s seat. I tried to be unemotional and detached, something I rarely pull off.

  “I remember when I saw her at the sanatorium that one time. It was about three years ago. Robin was sitting in a chair staring out a window, looking hardly more than a child. You’d never have known she was nearly twenty-four years old. I don’t think she aged a day since it happened. But that wasn’t the worst part. What was terrifying was there didn’t seem to be anything going on inside of her. She didn’t seem to be seeing or thinking or feeling…anything. Just empty. I’ve never seen anything like it before or since.”

  “My God.” Gurn swallowed hard.

  The light turned green, but we sat in silence until the car behind us tooted his horn. Gurn hit the gas pedal, and the car leapt forward almost with a life of its own. He slowed down after he realized he was exceeding the speed limit and glanced over at me.

  “Okay, so what exactly took place nine years ago?”

  I sucked in a deep breath. “When Robin was fifteen, she was taking a summer prep course at the local junior college. Around three pm, she got off the bus from school and started walking home. It was a three-block walk. The driver of a passing delivery van confirmed he saw her and Manning together on the side of the road. An hour later, a neighborhood boy was walking his dog in the woods near his house. He saw Manning kneeling over Robin, hitting her and yelling, ‘Shut up, shut up’. Manning took off when the dog snarled and lunged at him. The boy ran home for help. Robin was barely alive when they got her to the hospital.”

  “What made everyone think this monster was dead?”

  “When the cops did a search, Manning’s boat was missing. The next morning, a fishing trawler saw it blown up off Pacifica, about a half mile from shore. There were traces of blood, but a body was never found. The Coast Guard figured it had been thrown overboard by the blast.”

  “Accidental explosion or planned?”

  “Undetermined.”

  More silence.

  “What else? Come on, Lee. I know you.”

  “The fact the Coast Guard never found a body has always nagged at me. But it happened before Vicki came into our lives, so I learned to brush the suspicions aside. Until now.”

  “So you’re thinking it’s possible Vicki could have seen Dennis Manning in the French Quarter this morning?”

  “Yes.”

  He waited. I was silent. Finally, he prompted me.

  “And? You know, whatever’s going on inside your head, I’m with you one hundred percent. Whatever you do, we’re partners in this.”

  “Glad to hear it. Because if he’s out there, if Dennis Manning is still alive after all these years, I’m going to find the son-of-a-bitch and bring him to justice.”

  Chapter Three

  If Only It Were Like The Movies

  I ran up the un-air-conditioned staircase of the New Orleans General Hospital to the fifth floor. I needed the exercise, I told myself, after sitting in a small plane for much of the day. The truth was hospital elevators are notoriously slow and I was anxious to see what was going on with Vicki. Even though the Cessna had access to phone service and I’d been calling every hour for an update, no one was answering. I was scared. Anything could have happened while we were airborne.

  What I didn’t need was a temperature of ninety-seven degrees with a like humidity. That’s one of the minuses of living near the gorgeous Gulf Coast in the summer, the feeling of walking through a steam room whenever you move.

  New Orleans General was fifteen minutes from the French Quarter and touted as one of the best in the state. Hurricane Katrina had done her damndest to engulf the hospital with her floodwaters, but only managed to damage the basement and ground-level floors before receding.

  Recently done over, the lobby more resembled a luxury hotel. Comfy, dark blue couches and chairs gathered in seating areas. Well-tended plants, and watercolor paintings displayed on pale blue and green walls greeted patient and visitor alike. The only give-away it was a hospital was the steady flow of doctors, nurses, orderlies, and uniformed volunteers instead of bellboys.

  Arriving at the fifth floor, I was sweaty and out of breath. I threw open the stairwell door of the head trauma wing and was hit in the face by a welcomed blast of chilled air.

  At the end of a long cream-colored hallway, my mother and brother sat next to one another on similar furniture to those hanging around in the lobby. I couldn’t help but notice a nearby third person, not our Tío, but a policeman. Staring into space, the officer was across the hall from the family on a hardback chair. All three were lost in their own private thoughts.

  Mom’s posture was that of the consummate lady, of course. Body erect, hands clasped in her lap, ankles crossed, she wore a yellow and grey patterned Bolero jacket over a sundress of the palest yellow. The look was set off by a pair of Gucci Ursula ankle-strap high heels in a slightly darker yellow, matching clutch bag resting under her well-groomed hands.

  Her ash blonde, shoulder-length coif was perfect, unaffected by the humidity. Just in the short time I’d been in New Orleans, my hair poofed out to three times its normal thickness, ringlets and frizz competing for space on my head.

  Richard, God bless him, while he resembled Mom in the coloring department, looked like he’d been run over by a steam-roller that came back for a second round. Wearing a threadbare, wrinkled dark blue t-shirt with the Discretionary Inquiries logo across the back in white, he sat slumped over, head down, elbows resting on the thighs of a pair of faded, ripped jeans. He looked like the weight of the world sat on his thin shoulders. I guess it did.

  In unison, the heads of two blondes and one cop snapped in my direction with the echoing sound of the press bar opening the door. Once they saw me, mother and brother leapt up and rushed in my direction. We went into a three-way embrace, no one saying a word for a moment. The policeman went back to his mind-numbing stare of the far wall. I turned to my brother.

  “How’s Vicki?”

  “The doctor is with her now.” My brother forced a smile to his lips.

  “Liana.” said Mom, embracing me again. “You’ve finally arrived. We’ve been anxiously awaiting you.”

  My mother tends to stress individual words within sentences when she speaks. I’ve often thought about contacting the CIA and suggesting they use this form of torture in their Black Ops.

  She went on, “What took you so long? I’ve been frantic. And where’s Gurn?”

  “Gurn’s driving the cats to the hotel. Seven hours cooped up in a carrier can take a toll on even a cat of Tugger’s temperament. I’m sorry it took so long to get here, but I left voicemails and emails midflight for you, letting you know we had a slight delay due to bad weather. Didn’t you get any of my messages?”

  I looked from one face to the other. Both shook their heads.

  “Sorry, Sis,” Richard mumbled. “They’re very strict about cell phones in the head trauma unit. I have to go to another part of the hospital and I’m in texting mode only.”

  My kid brother’s voice sounded tired, as if speaking was almost too much of an effort. I scrutinized him in more detail. Not only was his face haggard and drawn, there were smudges of dirt and dried blood on the front of his t-shirt. Were the blood smears from the dead man or Vicki? I involuntarily shuddered.

  “Where’s Tío?” I looked up and down the long hallway, in case I missed seeing him.

  Before Richard could answer, our mother piped up. “Mateo is in with Victoria trying to bring her blood pressure down by using alternative measures. The doctors are being most cooperative.”

  “Ohhhh, alternative measures.” I nodded my head all-kno
wingly. “I remember hugging a tree once, when I had the flu. I think they call it tapping into the energy of the world around us.”

  Mom stared at me. I went on, inserting foot in mouth up to thigh.

  “Sure, like instead of the doctor pumping a sick kid full of antibiotics, his mom spreads Vicks Vaporub on his chest, bundles him up in a blanket, and makes him lay in the sun to help ‘bake out a cold’.”

  “What kid?” Richard looked at me, puzzled. “Did I know this kid?”

  “Richard, it’s not a specific kid.” I was filled with exasperation. “Don’t you get it? I’m just using this as an example.” I thought for a minute. “Of course, this works best when you live in warm climate, especially in the winter. Otherwise, frozen kid.”

  Mom finally found voice. “Liana, the situation is stressful enough without you talking utter nonsense to your brother and me. Please do not be so trying.”

  “Right, Mom.” I need to learn when to shut up.

  She drew herself up to her full five foot four inches. She was wearing her five inch stilettos and me my flip-flops, so we met eye to eye: hers cold, mine twitching.

  “Alternative medicine,” she said, “is any practice that is put forward as having the same healing effects of medicine but is not based on evidence gathered using the scientific method. It has nothing to do with wrapping a child in a blanket. Mateo has studied the science and philosophy of different approaches to healing extensively, as did his mother, your paternal grandmother. You should know that.”

  “Right. I do know that. Sorry. I didn’t mean to natter on. I sometimes do that. Diarrhea of the mouth.”

  At my last words, an expression came upon her face, as if something formerly dead for several months found consciousness and hoisted itself upon her lap. Her eyes fluttered closed. I saw my error and tried to make amends.

  “Whoops. Sorry. I’ll try not to try. Sorry.”

  Richard was silent during what is often the standard exchange of dialog between this particular mother and daughter. Mom rallied, opened her eyes, and gave me a genuine and warm smile.