4 DEAD ... If Only

by Heather Haven

  I followed, jumping over rocks and avoiding broken glass, which slowed me down. By the time I reached the door he’d gone through, I knew it was too late. He was long gone. I hobbled inside, anyway, and found myself in a small boutique shoe store. It seemed like everywhere I went in New Orleans, I ran into shoes of one sort or another.

  “Good morning, lady,” said a small Asian man with a very slight accent. He was amused by my appearance and the absence of shoes on my feet. Not thrown, but amused. “You’ve come to the right store, lady. We carry shoes.”

  “Did a man just come through here?” I knew the answer but wanted a moment to catch my breath.

  “You mean the one who ran through here like he was being chased by Gweilo?”

  “How’s that?”

  “The devil. But you are a pretty girl. You do not look like the devil. But maybe you are an unhappy girlfriend? My son once knew a girl who was so --”

  “Ah, no, no.” Great; a chatty guy with a lot of time on his hands. Just what I needed. “Listen, you didn’t happen to see where he went, did you?”

  He shook his head and gestured to the hordes passing in front of his shop window, although his store was empty, save the two of us.

  “You do not wish to buy shoes?”

  “No, no. I’m going to go and hopefully retrieve my own.”

  My phone rang. I turned my back on the shopkeeper, who shrugged and went behind the cash register. I took the call without even looking at the number, figuring it was Gurn or Mom. It wasn’t.

  “Ms. Alvarez? It’s Mama Biggs.”

  Right away I could tell something bad had happened. Not because she didn’t call me ‘missy’, but because her voice was shaky, with a hoarseness that comes from dealing with strong emotions.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Reed’s missing. My boy’s gone.”

  I drew in a sharp, noisy breath. Very unprofessional, but it was a gut reaction. She went on.

  “Last night at supper he was talking about being a detective, just like you. I told him to stop this foolishness, practice his clarinet, get good grades. I was hard on him. It was a feeling I had, a strong feeling. What he was talking about, it would come to no good. I could see it. And I got scared.

  “He sassed me back and I, well, I slapped him. I never, never done anything like that before. His daddy used to slap his momma sometimes; him, too, but I never…” She interrupted herself, as if talking about striking the boy made the memory even more painful. “This morning I got up and went to his room. His bed wasn’t slept in. He’s gone.”

  Mama Biggs became silent then let out a sob. I could hear her fighting for control. Me, too.

  “Did you phone the police?”

  “Yes, after I searched the neighborhood for him. They just called me to say they found his bike at Colbert’s Motors, but not him. Nowhere.” She took a deep breath and gulped out, “My visions tell me this has something to do with you. I can see it, feel it.”

  Maybe it did. I thought of the man I’d lost only moments before. I thought of Manning’s dead wife. Then I thought of the cellar beneath the boat trailer. A body could be hidden there for weeks before anyone found it. Did the police know about the cellar in their search for Reed? I certainly never told them.

  “I’m on my way, Mama Biggs. I’ll be there in less than half an hour. We’ll find him. Try not to worry.” That’s my job, I thought, and hung up. I turned to the man behind the counter reading a newspaper written in ideograms, possibly Chinese.

  “I need a pair of closed, walking shoes. Size nine and hurry.”

  “Oh, it changes now? Before you do not need. Very well. See what you like. Then we talk,” he said, not looking up from his paper.

  “Put the damn paper down and get me a pair of size nine shoes! Now!” I banged on the counter with my open palm. There was no time for civilities.

  He dropped the paper with a start and hurried over to his larger ladies’ shoes. “Such a rush. Walking shoes. Hmmm.” He thought for a moment and I almost smacked him. “All we have in your size are espadrille wedgies and high heels. What about these boots? I have your size in both colors.”

  He grinned and pointed to two pair of cowboy boots or should I say cowgirl boots, displayed on a stack of shoeboxes. One was ginger-colored suede, the shaft wearing dozens of crimson hearts sewn up both sides. The other pair was black leather. Shiny, bright red stars in various sizes crept up the shafts, apparently without an ounce of shame. Good gawd.

  “Are you kidding me?” Through the front plate glass window I noticed Gurn coast slowly by, still stuck behind the garbage truck. “Never mind. Get me the black and step on it.”

  He leaned down, glommed onto a box, and pulled it from the pile. “Here you are.”

  “Peds. I needs peds, or I’ll never get them on.”

  He ran behind the counter, snatched up two from dozens in a jar, a pair of boot hooks, and handed the lot to me. His amusement continued to grow.

  I jammed my feet into the cut-off panty hose he had the nerve to pass off as peds, and crammed my feet into the boots, pulling up on the boot hooks. Once I got into them, they didn’t feel too bad. In fact, pretty comfy. I stood, taking my wallet out of my purse and tossing the credit card on his counter.

  “That will be six-hundred and fifteen dollars.” He wore a great, big smile.

  “What?” I leaned against the counter for support.

  “Handmade, lady, and limited supply. Take them or leave them.” His hand hovered over the card machine, his smile never fading.

  “Oh, fer crying out loud, give them to me. I don’t have time for this.”

  He did something with something, handed me back the card, and I ran for the door.

  “Lady! Don’t you want your receipt?”

  “No!”

  I slammed the door shut and got my bearings. About five doors up was the pizza shop and I saw our slow-moving car. I ran toward it with a clomping sound that made passersby’s heads snap around. All I needed were spurs and a ten-gallon hat. I flung the car door open and dove inside, startling Gurn. He looked at my wild hair pulled free of its elastic band, the muddy dress, and outlandish boots on my feet.

  “What happened? You only left ten minutes ago.”

  “Well, that’s a long time, all things considered. Forget getting the place ready. You gave Mom your keys, right? Because we need to head over to Colbert’s Motors. I’ll tell you why on the way. Do your best to get out of the French Quarter ASAP.”

  * * *

  Twenty minutes later, the car tore into the graveled yard of Colbert’s Motors and Gurn jammed on the brakes. Though neither of us said it, we were scared to death about what we might find when we opened the cellar door.

  We leapt out of the car, and made a run for the back. It takes a certain knack to run in cowgirl boots, a knack I didn’t have, so Gurn got to the back of the building before me. By the time I arrived, he’d thrown the trailer hitch over to the side and was lifting the mound of chains. He tossed it into the surrounding brush. The back looked undisturbed, but I knew what was directly below the boat trailer. And feared what it might hold more than I can say.

  The ground was still wet and the wind had picked up again, burning my face and hands, and scattering the gravel back over the cellar door. Gurn reached down and pulled up on the metal ring with a grunt and threw the cellar door open.

  I stepped forward and held my breath, listening to the wind and the clinking sound of the gravel we’d failed to clear fall and bounce onto the steps below.

  Here’s the part with the good news and the bad news.

  The good news - we didn’t find the body of a small boy.

  The bad news - we did find the body of a woman.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Don’t Tell Me This Is not Getting Dicey

  She lay at the bottom of the steps, face up, the back of her head blown away. What was left of her long, over-processed red hair was splayed out in a pool of nearly dried blood
, indicating that with the high humidity level, her death happened much earlier. It’s odd what you think about when you see a dead body. This was my second time in less than twenty-four hours, but I sure hoped it was the last. This body-finding stuff wears you down.

  Gurn and I stared at her in momentary silence. A gust of wind nearly knocked me into the cellar, what with me balancing precariously in the cumbersome boots. I reached out for Gurn’s arm to steady myself. The touch of my hand brought him out of shock. He turned to me.

  “Something in your face tells me this is Felicity Llewellyn.”

  That’s when I realized he’d never met the lady before, dead or alive.

  “It is.”

  I tore my eyes away from his, drawn to the sound of the banging of the back door against the siding of the Quonset hut in the ever-increasing wind.

  “Gurn, that door was locked yesterday and trust me, she wasn’t down there, either. I don’t know what happened here after I left yesterday, and Reed is still missing.”

  Gurn nodded and crossed the gravel to the building. He went inside, while I stood inert, trying to figure things out. The police were here earlier. They would have checked the building for signs of life.

  They would have found Reed, if he’d been inside. The only reason they hadn’t found Felicity Llewellyn was they didn’t know about the bunker.

  Everything including the weather was happening at a whirlwind. A sudden gust picked up a piece of paper, and like a small tornado, swirled it around until it hit me mid-section, held fast by the blustery weather. I snatched at it and saw it was a folded business card, my business card. Reed had done that with my card yesterday before putting it in his pocket. I almost sobbed with guilt and fear.

  Gurn reemerged from the Quonset hut, and came to my side.

  “Nothing, but it’s a mess in there. Somebody took it apart pretty good. Maybe the police. But there’s no blood, nothing to indicate she’d been shot there.” He looked down again at Mrs. Llewellyn lying in the cellar. “It probably happened in there. In any event, we need to call the police.”

  He took out his cell phone about to raise it to his ear. I reached out with my hand and covered his phone, pressing down.

  “No, Gurn. Don’t call the police yet.”

  “Why not? We have to let them know.”

  “Reed was here.”

  “I know. The police found his bike.”

  I showed him the folded card and started talking rapid-fire, not allowing him to interrupt, even if he’d wanted to. “Something’s happened to him and I’ve got to find him. If you call the cops, they’ll make us stay here for hours answering questions, maybe even drag us to the police station, wasting time we can’t spare. I need to find Reed.”

  “By yourself? Are you kidding? People are getting killed right and left. I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

  He pulled away from me and raised the phone to his ear. I lunged for it again.

  “Please, Gurn. Listen, we’re running out of time. Manning’s known everything we’ve said and done probably since the family came to New Orleans. I’m sure that’s how one of his thugs knew where to look for us a few minutes ago. Manning knows we’ve located him and we’ve got what’s left of the files he tried to burn.”

  His eyebrows furrowed and he looked at me, lowering the phone again. “Then he knows the Feds might not need his testimony for a conviction of the porno ring. He’s on his own.”

  “Exactly. But right now I’m worried about Reed’s disappearance.”

  “You think Manning took the kid with him?”

  “I do.” My voice was shaky.

  “That still doesn’t mean you’re going anywhere near him without me. He is one dangerous man.”

  “I totally agree. All I’m asking is, to save time let’s split up. You stay here and talk to the police. I’ll go and talk to Mama Biggs. She’s only about two blocks from here. Maybe she’s got some information she doesn’t even know she has.”

  I felt him waffle. I pressed my advantage.

  “I need to let the family know the latest development, too. But I promise not to do anything, go anywhere, without calling you first. Please, darling. A little boy’s life might be at stake.”

  The waffle won.

  He let out a big sigh and shook his head. I could tell Gurn wasn’t happy about any of this.

  “You’ve got your gun with you?”

  I nodded and tapped my shoulder bag.

  “Your phone’s fully charged?”

  I nodded again.

  “And you swear not to do anything or go anywhere without calling me first?”

  “Scout’s honor.”

  “Then get going. When I call the police, I’ll try to leave you out of it. Your prints are all over that cellar, though, aren’t they?”

  I started to run and tossed over my shoulder, “Yes, but that’s for another day.”

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Winds Are Picking Up

  I got nearly a quarter of a block when my phone rang. I ripped the phone out of my bag and hoped it wasn’t Gurn telling me he changed his mind and I should come back. Because I wasn’t going back. I wasn’t going anywhere except to search for a child who was missing because of me. I looked at the incoming number.

  It was my brother.

  I paused, already out of breath from fighting against the wind to get to Mama Biggs’ house. It had picked up tremendously over the past half-hour. Leaves and trash were being blown every which way. I ducked behind the Plexiglas of a neighborhood bus stop. The sign announcing the designated stop vibrated and squealed, metal protesting the onslaught of the wind. I put one finger in the ear not with the phone pressed against it, trying to block out the noise.

  “Richard, where are you?”

  There was a slight pause. “Where are we? We’re here at the safe house, you ninny, where you’re supposed to be. That’s everyone, including the Rottweiler. Tío went back and found him locked in the garage. The cats have already shown him who’s boss. Where are you?”

  “Following developments, Richard, and not good ones. Is Lila around? Can we do a conference call?”

  Whether it was the tone in my voice or the fact I’d called Mom Lila, Richard’s brotherly irritation changed to professional deference immediately.

  “Yes. She’s moving furniture around in the living room. She’s been trying to fill in time. You know how Our Lady gets. Just a minute, I’ll tell her to call you. Don’t hang up.”

  There was a short span of waiting. Someone’s umbrella, bent and misshapen, skittered along the sidewalk, passing me faster than I can run. The other line beeped. I answered then pressed conference. After I made sure all three of us were on the line, I brought Lila and Richard up to speed.

  “Where are you now, Lee? I’m trying to get a fix on you through your GPS.”

  Richard and his GPS. Honestly.

  “I’m behind a bus stop, trying to stay out of the wind. But I’m heading to Mama Biggs’ house. I need to talk to her. What’s going on with the weather, anyway? Does anybody know? It’s like a hurricane out here.”

  “That’s exactly what it is.” Richard’s voice sounded worried and exasperated. “Or promises to be. There’s` a tropical storm with the potential of turning into a hurricane anytime within the next twenty-four-hours. Good God, girl, don’t you listen to the radio or TV?”

  “I’ve been a little busy, Richard.”

  “The stall off the coast of Florida for the past few days has started moving and fast. Depending on its trajectory and how warm the water, it could build in strength, or dissipate, or veer west toward Axapta or come straight up the Panhandle or the Louisiana coastline.”

  “That’s a lot of ‘or’s.”

  “For New Orleans, a tropical depression probably means fifteen to twenty mile-an-hour winds with gusts up to thirty-five. If it become a category one, that means sixty-five to seventy-five mile-an-hour winds and a possible storm surge of twelve to fifteen feet. The ent
ire area is on alert for possible evacuation.”

  “Thank you, Al Roker.” Suddenly every man in my life was a weatherman.

  I must say Lila was being very quiet about Felicity Llewellyn’s death. So far, she’d been silent during the whole conversation. That usually meant when she did speak up, I wasn’t going to like where it was headed. I heard her clear her throat. Danger, Will Robinson, Danger.

  “Liana, this is your mother. I want you to stop what you’re doing and come back immediately. There will be no arguments over this, young lady.”

  Yup. That’s where it was headed. Lila became Mom again in a very big way. She hadn’t used that tone on me since I was a teenager. Even then I hated being told what to do, especially in that ‘this is the queen speaking’ sort of way.

  “What? What?” I extended my arm and held the phone out from behind the protective Plexiglas. It almost got blown out of my hand, but I let the wind beat at it and began to shout. “I can’t hear you! Gotta go. I’ll call you later!” I hung up.

  Actually, I might not be able to call anyone later. Phone towers have a way of going over in strong winds.

  Good. Maybe I don’t have to talk to anybody until I finish this.

  I went back out into the elements and fought my way to Mama Biggs’. Periodically, slashing rain came at me, feeling like pebbles thrown at my face, arms, and legs. All around me I heard groans and complaints from the world at large to the fierceness of the storm.

  Back in the Bay Area, any type of rain, even the most gentle, is referred to by meteorologists as a storm. What I was experiencing in New Orleans was a storm with a capital ‘S’. Like most Californians, when I see the real thing, it’s a bit of a shock. And why didn’t I bring a raincoat?

  I shivered as I ran up the three flights of the backstairs to Mama Biggs’ kitchen. She must have been on the lookout for me, because I only knocked once before she flung the door wide open. Pushed in by the wind, I smashed into her and we both struggled to close the door.

  I turned to face a woman who looked smaller and older than the day before. Fear and self-recrimination has a way of doing that.