Waters Run Deep

by Liz Talley

  “You’ll get there,” Annie said, picking up the rental car keys from the counter by the back door.

  Picou’s voice was heavy with tears. “I hope.”

  Annie set the bag on the counter and did something so uncharacteristic she shocked herself. She walked to Picou and wrapped her arms around her. “You will.”

  Picou held tight to Annie. Her arms were bony and strong and the silver braided hair at her shoulder smelled like lemons. Annie couldn’t remember the last time she’d hugged another woman, but she knew this was right. For both of them. Something sweet and warm invaded Annie’s heart as she gave Picou a final squeeze. Something that reminded her she was innately human and needed the healing touch as much as Picou did.

  “Thank you, sweet Annie,” Picou said, using her index finger to wipe the dampness from beneath her haunting violet eyes. “I needed that.”

  “So did I,” Annie said, picking up the keys and bag she’d abandoned. She lifted the shopping bag in toast. “Two good deeds in one night. I’m earning points somewhere.”

  Picou smiled and gave her a thumbs up. “You’re earning your wings, kiddo.”

  Annie slipped out the door, feeling vaguely satisfied at having done something heartfelt. It had been a while since she’d tossed her reservations aside and acted on what her heart had urged.

  She looked down at her flat stomach and remembered.

  Scratch that.

  Five days ago, she’d listened to her heart. Or was that her libido?

  She set the bag on the passenger seat and started the car. Time to put her emotions away and her thinking cap on. She needed to find out if Jane had been leaving the threats, and if she had, Annie would find out.

  Nothing stopped Annie when she was ready to break a case, and as she gingerly touched the purple bruise on her cheek, she decided she was past ready.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  MICK MANNERS WAS definitely an ass.

  But Nate kind of liked him. Like recognized like, he guessed.

  “So you’re taking me in because I bought a chicken at the store? I’m doing a high-protein diet thing to slim down from my role on Lost in Laos, and my assistant had the stomach flu so I had to go myself. Look, I regret it. Do you know how many people wanted my autograph? One lady who looked about fifty years old asked if I would sign her bra.”

  “Can it,” Wynn said, grabbing the man’s arm and forcefully steering him toward the unmarked car.

  “This is bullshit,” Mick growled. “I’ll have your asses handed to you on a silver plate.”

  “I’ll make sure to shower. Wouldn’t want anyone ogling my derriere on a silver plate if I hadn’t cleaned up proper like,” Wynn said, unlocking the car and opening the back door. “You can come quietly, like we’re good friends taking a ride, or we can cuff you and book you for resisting arrest.”

  “Whatever,” Mick said, sliding into the car and slamming the door.

  “That went well, don’t you think?” Wynn said, looking over top of the car at Nate.

  Nate grunted and slid into the passenger’s seat. Normally, he drove, but Wynn had sensed the deep anger brewing in him after their perp in the robbery case’s alibi panned out, and had insisted. He’d also requested Nate try playing good detective with Mick while he played the role of bad cop extraordinaire. That had lasted for all of ten minutes. Nate hadn’t lost it on Manners, but he’d come close a few times.

  “I want my attorney.”

  “I want you to shut the hell up,” Nate responded, turning down the static on his handheld. “Then I want you to think hard about what is about to happen. About what your adoring fans will think when they hear you’re threatening a five-year-old boy just because his mother won’t let you play on her playground.”

  “What?” Mick rattled the cage between the seats. “You guys are effin’ crazy.”

  “No, that’d be you, bud. You’re the one displaying dead birds and writing freaky poetry.”

  Mick Manners reared back against the seat. “I can’t believe this shit. This is like—”

  “—in the movies?” Nate finished for him.

  “Yeah. Dirty cops looking to pin something on someone so they can grab the limelight and say they solved a case.”

  Nate slid his gaze to Wynn. His partner smiled. He loved this sort of drama. “We can keep that from happening if you’ll tell us why you did it.”

  “Why I did what? I didn’t do anything.”

  Nate shrugged and flipped the lights on the dashboard. They were out in the boondocks, but he felt Mick’s panic.

  “Okay, fine. I have a thing for Tawny. I always have. We dated before either of us broke into the business, and I fell for her. She’s sweet and her ass is as tight as a schoolboy’s.”

  “And you know about schoolboy backsides?” Wynn tucked a toothpick in his mouth.

  “No, man. I don’t swing that way,” Mick said with a derisive laugh. “Sometimes I wish I did, then I could get Tawny and her amazing tits outta my mind.”

  “Right,” Wynn said.

  “So I’ve been flirting with her. Keene has been so wrapped up in business. I saw Tawny’s sadness. Nothing easier to pluck than a lonely chick. And this was a chick I liked to pluck, so I gave her some attention. Tried to make it more than friendly, but she’s stuck on Keene. She was just using me to make him jealous. I might have been okay with it if she’d given me some action, but I got nothing but blue balls.”

  “So did that drive you to write poetry? Threaten her son?”

  “Hell, no. I ain’t that damn desperate, man. I can bag chicks on the set to ease my pain, you know. I may be a shit sometimes but I don’t mess with no kids. And I’m not screwed up in the head enough to kill birds. I ate a damn chicken, man. That’s it. I threw the carcass out a few days ago.”

  Nate knew he told the truth. They’d stretched it when they grabbed hold of the fact he’d eaten a chicken a few days ago. Hell, half the department picked up chicken at Maggio’s Supermarket—both fried and rotisserie. Nate made a loop with his finger. Wynn jerked the car hard to the left and spun around on the empty blacktop.

  “Damn!” Mick yelled, banging against the bars separating them. Nate smiled because Wynn lived to pull stunts like that.

  “Okay, we don’t have to take you downtown.”

  “You call that crappy little one-stoplight town downtown?” Mick asked.

  Nate laughed at that. “Yeah, you’ve been most accommodating, Mr. Manners, and we at the sheriff’s department appreciate your cooperation as we investigate this case.”

  The actor snorted. “Figures all you have to do around here is chase phantoms. Chickens and threats against a kid…that’s all y’all got to do? What? Did a cow get out of the pasture, too?”

  “Maybe we better take him in. Resisting arrest?” Wynn glanced at Nate.

  “Please,” Mick said. “I gotta be up at six o’clock for a shoot. I cooperated, like he said.”

  Nate nodded. “Let’s cut him loose. I’m tired of messing with the jackass.”

  “Back at you, buddy,” Mick said, as Nate switched off the blue flashing lights.

  “I knew you’d see in me what you see in yourself. I like that about you, Mick.”

  “Well, there’s nothing I like about you.”

  Nate grinned. “I’ll take myself off your Christmas list.”

  * * *

  ANNIE SET THE BAG NEXT to the bureau strewn with dirty clothes. Jane wasn’t the tidiest of persons.

  “So why are you doing this?” the actress said from the vanity where she plucked her eyebrows. Her nose was no longer red even though it looked puffy. No black eye, unlike Annie. “I mean you got no stake in me getting pissed at Tawny. Hell, she could fire you for being nice to me after I acted like such a bitch.”

  “No, she wouldn’t do that,” Annie said, wandering around trying for nonchalance, but looking hard at the objects scattered around the room. She hated hotel rooms. Hard to feel at home in a place with Bibles in the
drawer and switches at the base of cheap ceramic lamps. “I know how it feels to be on the receiving end of—”

  “—stupidity?” Jane finished for her.

  “Not exactly stupidity. More like someone being blind.”

  Jane spun around. “You’ve been taking care of the kid for over a month, right? So you know he’s a little turd and Tawny indulges him and makes excuses for him.”

  Annie didn’t think Spencer was a turd. He was a little boy. Sure, he was slightly spoiled, but he also had a wonderful innocence, a lust for adventure and the sweetest sloppy kisses at bedtime. “It’s easy for mothers to overlook faults.”

  “Then you don’t have a mother like mine. She points out everything wrong with me. Nothing I do makes her happy. Ever. She complains about every part I don’t get and the fact I’m not even considered B list.”

  “My mother died when I was twelve.”

  Jane’s eyes met hers in the mirror. “Sorry. I guess I shouldn’t complain about my mother, but they can all be like that. If yours was still around, you’d probably be complaining about how you’re not good enough either.”

  Annie would gladly take her mother’s censure if she could have her back. But her mother had never been critical. As an elementary teacher with curling auburn hair, crinkly blue eyes and a somewhat wide bottom, her mother had fit the image of a laughing Irishwoman who made everyone feel good about who they were. Her death had broken Annie’s father, scattering their small, once-happy family into dark corners to grieve alone. Yeah, Annie could handle maternal criticism. Happily. “Maybe. I’m glad I’m not a mother myself. It’s hard being around kids. Nothing easy.”

  “Better you than me,” Jane muttered, stepping from the alcove bathroom and hovering over the bag Annie had set down. “I can’t stand all the fawning she does over him. Makes me want to puke. The kid monopolizes all her time now. Can’t even get her to go out for a drink with me anymore, and she used to be quite the party girl. What’s this?”

  “Chicken and andouille gumbo.”

  “Oh.” Jane pulled the lid off and sniffed. “Mmm. Smells good. What’s andouille?”

  “A spicy sausage.” Annie sank uninvited on the bed and crossed her legs. She hadn’t seen anything in the room to arouse suspicion, just lots of clothes, a few Diet Coke cans and some torrid-looking romance books. Too bad Jane didn’t have to go to the bathroom, so Annie could dig through drawers. “So, you’re not a Spencer fan?”

  Jane ladeled a spoonful of soup into her mouth. “Whoa. This is incredible.”

  Annie nodded.

  “I don’t dislike the kid. Just hate what he’s done to Tawny. She was fun at one time. Now she’s different.”

  Might be enough motive to threaten Tawny’s child, but it still seemed weak. Who flirted with kidnapping as a way to make a best friend become the life of the party once again? If Jane were the person writing the threats, then she needed a better reason. But Annie had seen some strange things done in the name of some seemingly minor slight.

  “We all grow up, I guess.”

  “Yeah, whatever,” Jane said, slurping the gumbo. “Guess I’ll apologize to Tawny tomorrow. I shouldn’t have gotten so pissed. The swelling went down. By tomorrow, hopefully it will look normal.”

  “I meant to tell you it looked better.”

  Jane didn’t say anything. Silence sat between them and Annie felt the nonverbal cue Jane wanted her to go. She needed to draw more from the woman, do some mental and physical digging around, but if she pushed too hard, Jane would grow suspicious and clam up.

  “I’ve got an early call,” Jane said.

  “Oh, of course,” Annie said, rising and starting toward the door. “I’ll be on my way.”

  “It was decent of you to bring me dinner and check on me. Not many people would have been so nice.”

  Annie shrugged. “Trying to earn wings.”

  “Why? More fun to earn horns.” Jane laughed at her own joke before setting the bowl on the faux-wood dresser and following Annie to the door. “Well, thanks again.”

  “Sure,” Annie said, stepping out where the outside light hummed and bugs swarmed her head. She ducked and glanced back at Jane. “See you around.”

  Jane smiled. “Be careful. Crazy people running around, you know.”

  With a final wave, Annie walked to her car, pressing the button that made it beep to life. She was bummed about not accomplishing much. Okay, so Jane had a narcissistic mother who pressured her to succeed. A dime a dozen. The woman hadn’t seemed jumpy, tense or remotely suspicious. Annie had struck out.

  She started the car and pulled onto the highway off I-49. Since a few gas stations clustered around the highway, Annie pulled into one to refill the tank of the rental car. Not many people were out; in fact, there was only one car and a motorcycle at Arby’s. Big eighteen-wheelers sat silent, parked in a dark lot behind the truckers’ gas station, as their brothers in transport whooshed by on the overpass, stirring the night air.

  As Annie capped the tank, she caught movement out of the corner of her eye. A woman in a baseball cap crossed the highway, carrying a paper bag from the one of the convenience stores. Normally, Annie wouldn’t have noticed, but the woman moved quickly with evident nervousness. She headed toward one of the cheap motels, head down, steps brisk. The yellow halo of the motel lights caught her profile as she furtively glanced over her shoulder and entered a room at the back of the motel.

  Tawny.

  Annie glanced at her watch. 10:17. The woman had to be visiting Mick or someone else involved in the production of the movie if her nervousness was any indicator.

  Despite what Annie believed, Tawny was stepping out on her husband.

  Disappointment struck her as she pocketed the credit card and got back in the car. When she’d left earlier, Tawny and Carter had seemed to be getting along, laughing and pretending to be fussy diners as Spencer served up Play-Doh spaghetti and hot dogs. They’d looked almost happy. So why would Tawny sneak out to hook up with Mick Manners? Sure, the guy was good-looking and somewhat darkly charming, but he had a worn look about him. Disillusioned, cynical and bored. Like a faded rock star who’d partied too hard. Like that John Malkovich character from Dangerous Liasons. Jaded.

  Carter was arrogant, sure, but he loved his wife. Annie could see that.

  Briefly she debated going to the hotel and snooping around to see who the actress might be meeting, but Tawny cheating wouldn’t be related… Or would it? She needed to think about what this meant to her case.

  Tomorrow.

  Tomorrow she’d see Nate and maybe he could get someone to check out Mick—and hopefully get a firm lead. She needed to feel as if she mattered to the case, and wasn’t just the bodyguard. She missed having an investigative partner—someone with whom to bounce ideas, to spout theories and have her back.

  Tomorrow she’d tell Nate about Tawny. About Jane and her mother, her barren womb and her grudge against her best friend.

  Tomorrow she’d catch a break. She felt it in her bones.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  THE PHONE RANG EARLY in the morning, waking Nate from heavy sleep. He grabbed the cell phone from his nightstand and grumbled “This better be damned important” into the receiver.

  “I can’t do this,” she said.

  At first he’d thought it was Annie, but then the accent hit him. Sally Cheramie. Or Della. His sister.

  “Sorry,” he said, staring at the blinking red numbers on his alarm clock. The power had gone out sometime during the night. He sat up, allowing the sheet to fall on the floor, padded naked across the room and squinted at his watch. 7:08 a.m. Too damn early to deal with this even though he knew he’d have to take it off his backburner at some point. Picou had hounded him like a mockingbird after a cat. He’d dodged the pecking long enough. Della had come to him. “What can’t you do?”

  “This. This whole I-have-a-new-family thing. I can’t. My grandmere is sick and she doesn’t know about you. About the Dufrenes. She
thinks I’m her real granddaughter. That’s what Sal told her, and she had no reason not to believe him…or maybe she didn’t want to. I don’t know.” Her voice shook and she sounded like a jumper he’d once talked down off an overpass. It had ended well, but had been dicey for a good ten minutes.

  “Deep breath, okay?”

  He heard her inhale then exhale. “She called me yesterday.”

  “Who?”

  “Your mother. I mean, my mother. Picou.”

  Irritation flooded him. He’d told the infernal woman to give it time. “You have to understand how excited she is. She had you ripped from her and has been waiting over twenty years—”

  “I know,” Sally interrupted. Or was it Della? Either way, the woman on the other end was in tears. “My grandmere’s in organ failure. She’s dying and I can’t do this to her. I can’t tell her I’m not a Cheramie.”

  He closed his eyes and counted to ten. He had to choose his words carefully and not fly off the handle like his father would have done. “You don’t have to tell her anything, okay?”

  There was a long pause. He could hear her thinking. “Okay.”

  “But, you have to do what’s right. You didn’t ask for this to happen to you, but when the lab technician let it slip you weren’t related to Enola Cheramie, things were set in motion. They can’t be undone, Della.”

  “Don’t call me that,” she said, her voice stronger. Fierce. “My name is Sally, and I never should have called Dennis at the sheriff’s office.”

  “But you did, and now even if it’s hard, you have to move forward and be fair to our family. We loved you, we lost you and we’ve found you again.”

  Silence sat on the line. He studied the red flashing numbers on the alarm clock before picking it up and fiddling with it, resetting it so it would chirp the next morning and get him to the station on time.

  “I know. I do. But it’s complicated.”

  “Yeah, it is, and it’s going to get worse. We haven’t told anyone beyond my, I mean our, brothers and Lucille. Once word gets out about you, people are going to talk. It will be a sensational news item, maybe even national press. We’re going to deal with a lot of crap.”