by Bonnie Dee
I sat back on my heels, rolling the remaining gauze and putting it back in the package. “Are we going to talk about what I saw or act like it didn’t happen?”
“I’d prefer ‘act like it didn’t happen.’” Rick’s eyes were closed again, but he smiled. He appeared exhausted, his body trembling with shock, but his sense of humor was still intact.
“Fine. Get some sleep, but later we’re going to discuss it.” I stood and helped Rick to his feet. He put an arm around my shoulders and leaned against me. The towel slipped from his hips and dropped to the floor.
I kept my eyes focused in front of us as I led him to my bedroom.
“You can sleep here, but try not to bleed on my new sheets.” I bundled him into bed and pulled up the covers, resisting the urge to smooth his hair back from his forehead. The man was too damn hot, lying against my pillow.
Rick looked up at me hovering over him and I’d never seen such a serious expression on his face. “Thanks, Amy. I knew I could come here.”
“Yeah, well, I’ll be expecting time and a half on my paycheck.”
I turned off the light and left the room. It wasn’t until I was in the hall that everything hit me. My legs gave way and I leaned against the wall and slid down to the floor, my body shaking.
Maybe it was the werewolf thing that did it--my primal attraction to a man with such an overtly wild side. Or maybe it was Rick’s endearing trust that I would aid and shelter him. Either way, that morning was the day my chronic obsession with Rick began.
* * * *
“I have a lunch meeting at Liborio with Dave Hickock.”
I jumped so hard at the unexpected interruption to my daydreaming that I nearly fell out of my chair. “Crap! You scared me. Don’t do that.” I looked from my computer monitor, long since kicked into screensaver mode, to Rick, standing beside me. “What?”
“I just said I have a lunch meeting. That’ll wrap up the Hickock case.” Rick glanced at his watch. “After that, I have to snap a few more shots of Mrs. Loomis and her personal trainer then I’ll start checking out this Addington guy.”
“Don’t you ever get sick of cheating spouses and sleazy motels?” Dealing with case after case of infidelity compounded the mistrust Jesse had given me about relationships. If it hadn’t been for my parents’ solid marriage, I would have doubted such a thing could be possible.
“Yeah, but cheating spouses are our bread and butter. Like you said, we have bills to pay.”
He was right, but it didn’t make it any easier to witness the sad results of love gone wrong every day.
Rick went to meet Hickock, and I took my paper bag lunch to a park bench in Lafayette Square only a couple of blocks from our little office on Carondelet. It was way too hot and humid to be sitting outdoors. Other office workers were staying in air-conditioned restaurants so I had the park pretty much to myself. I sipped my iced coffee, watched the birds arc against the blue sky overhead, and imagined Rick in wolf form racing through City Park. It was the largest stretch of open land inside the city limits and I knew he hunted there during his change when he didn’t want to drive out to the country.
I should quit teasing him about human prey. I knew he worried about possibly hurting someone even though all he’d eaten so far was wild game—little rabbits and squirrels, I presumed. My tongue was like razor wire sometimes, yet I seemed helpless to stop the cutting words that came out of my mouth.
After lunch, I returned to the office and called our landlord to cajole him into giving us an extension on the month’s rent. The glazier arrived to fix Rick’s office window and when he left, I got ready to leave. I planned to track down and extract money from one of our elusive clients at his place of business.
I’d just slung my purse over one shoulder and picked up my keys when the front door opened and a man entered the office. It was Brian Addington, looking just as handsome as he did in the photo Rick had showed me.
I set my purse down on my desk. “Can I help you?”
“Yes, I’m here to see, uh,” he glanced at a business card in his hand, “Rick Plazier. I should’ve called first, I suppose to set up an appointment. But I didn’t want to explain my situation over the phone. Another client of yours, Anthony Loomis, recommended Mr. Plazier.”
“Sit down, Mr...” I caught myself in time, remembering that I shouldn’t know his name.
“Addington. Brian Addington.”
“Mr. Addington. Rick’s out of the office right now, but I can help you.”
The man hesitated, looking doubtful.
“I work with Mr. Plazier on all the cases,” I assured him. “Whatever you would tell him, you can say to me.” I led him to Rick’s office and gestured for him to sit in the chair in front of the desk. “Can I get you some coffee?”
“No, thanks.”
I sat down in Rick’s chair, relaxed as if I owned the place, and folded my hands on the desk blotter. “What can we help you with, Mr. Addington?” It wasn’t my place to interview new clients, but I’d been itching to take a bigger role in the investigations. Besides, I was extremely curious about why Mr. Addington sought Rick’s help on the very day his wife had come here. Besides, Rick would surely want me to find out as much as I could about the man.
“Call me Brian.” He looked down as if embarrassed to meet my eyes. “It’s my wife, Angela. Something’s ... not right. I think she might be having an affair.”
Addington launched into the same story Rick had told me about the rushed romance and quickie Vegas wedding. He related almost the exact same tale of questionable phone calls, doubts and mistrust.
“This morning she told me she had a dentist appointment but I checked her calendar after she left and there was nothing written down.”
“That’s doesn’t prove anything, Mr... Brian. Maybe she didn’t happen to write it down, or maybe she keeps her schedule in more than one place.” I knew Angela had been here instead of at the dentist, but there was no way to allay Brian’s suspicion without giving her away. The case was intriguing and I wondered which spouse was really the one with something to hide.
Addington sighed and slumped in his chair. “I’m probably being completely neurotic. I should go back to work. Hell, I should see a therapist.”
“Maybe the mysterious phone calls have to do with her old life back in Vegas,” I suggested. “Loose ends to be tied up or something. Maybe it’s a part of her life she’s embarrassed to share with you.” I thought of Rick’s mention of Angela being a former Vegas showgirl. If she’d been in a topless revue, she might not want her new husband to know.
Brian nodded. “I guess I have to accept the jealousy and doubt that go with having a beautiful woman for a wife.”
His comment had me leaning strongly toward the therapy idea, but I could feel our client slipping away and we really needed the money. “Look, Brian, why don’t you let us do a background check on Angela and maybe keep tabs on her for a few days? If there’s something you should know about, we’ll find it, and if there isn’t, your mind will be at ease.”
“Really? You don’t think I’m being irrational?”
Considering his wife had come here this morning asking for the same thing, they both seemed pretty messed up to me.
“No, of course not. We’ll lay your fears to rest so your marriage will be based on a foundation of complete trust and confidence.” It sounded good and I collected half the fee up front before seeing Mr. Addington out the door.
I sat back down at my own desk and spun around in my chair a couple of times. What would Rick think about me taking on the spouse of the woman he had offered to represent? There was a clear conflict of interest.
But Brian wasn’t Rick’s client. He was mine. I’d been in the private eye gig for almost a year now. I knew the routine and could do it as well as Rick. It was time to prove myself.
I pictured Rick’s surprise when I went to him with a file of phone records and surveillance photos proving that Angela Addington and not her spouse was the cheater.
I might get a raise or even a partner’s share in the business.
I grabbed my purse and headed out once more. As the steamy, tropical air enveloped me, a thought occurred to me. Assuming one of the Addingtons really was cheating, why would he or she put a tail on the other, taking a chance that his or her own guilty secret would be uncovered? It seemed there might be something more than simple infidelity going on and I was determined to figure out the mystery before Rick did.
Chapter Three
Rick
The pounding headache I’d woken up with that morning faded as I wolfed down paella at Liborio’s. The lunch was Dave Hickock’s generous way of thanking me for proving his wife was a cheater. The specifics of their pre-nup gave him the adultery loophole he needed to escape his marriage financially intact, which was a cause for celebration. It was a sad and increasingly familiar story and I might have been depressed by the demise of yet another marriage if I weren’t so damn hungry. I figured my hunger had to do with the metabolic change my body went through during the full moon phase.
“Man, you saved my ass,” Dave said. “Anything I can do for you, just ask me. I’m serious.”
For Amy’s sake, I considered telling him to make sure he paid his bill promptly. But collections were more her thing than mine.
After lunch, I stopped at my mother’s shop on St. Anne Street. Mère was laying the Cajun accent on thick for the tourists, giving one woman a tarot reading and pushing the crystals that were on sale. I browsed the books on New Orleans history at the back of the shop while waiting for the group of ladies to make their purchases and leave. Mom told them where to meet their cemetery tour guide then sent them on their way.
“Chèr, how are you? You haven’t been by the house in weeks.” She came out from behind the counter, her hug enveloping me in a sandalwood-scented cloud. Her rings pressed cool and hard against my skin as she pulled my face down to give me a kiss on each cheek.
“Yeah, well, I’ve been kinda busy. How is everybody?”
“Good. Your Oncle Louis bought more real estate, another fixer upper that Ramón will have to do all the work on. They got into a huge fight over it and Ramón threatened to walk out again, but they made up like always do. Cousin Marie eloped with that Yankee her mother’s been so worried about her dating. I told Ada if she kept giving ultimatums it would only encourage the girl to take up with him and of course I was right. Now the whole family’s taking sides about it. You know how they are. Everybody’s got an opinion.”
“I know.” My sprawling family tree has so many branches I’m not sure I even know who all my relatives are.
My mother’s voice lowered although there was no one else left in the shop. “So, how are you?”
I knew she was asking about my monthly shape-shifting. It made me feel like a teenage girl on her menstrual cycle. I wished she’d quit asking me about it every time we saw each other.
I shrugged. “Fine. Annoying. The usual.”
She fixed me with her piercing black eyes, giving me the look that convinced the tourists she could see into their past, present or future. “Garçon, as long as you try to convince yourself it’s some kind of phase you’re going through, you’ll never be able to embrace your whole, true self. You have to accept what you’ve become. What you are is part of who you are.”
“What the hell does that even mean? Save the psycho-babble for your readings. I got bit. I got turned. I’m dealing with it as best I can. End of story. I don’t want to talk about it.”
And she wondered why I didn’t come over more often. Every damn relative I had wanted to discuss my ‘condition’ whenever they saw me. It was the big family secret that wasn’t really a secret. Everybody knew. When my seven-year-old cousin, Angie came up to me at a gathering and shyly asked if she could watch me change some time, it was the last straw. I quit going to family events after that.
“All right.” Mére raised her hands in surrender, bracelets jangling. “You’ll talk about it when you’re ready.”
Which would be never. “I appreciate your concern, Ma, but I’m fine. Really.” I reined in my temper and took it down a notch. “Actually, I stopped by because I hoped you might be able to help me with something.”
I set a photo down on the counter by the pamphlets on love potions. It showed an extreme close-up of an intricate circular design. “Have you ever seen this mark before? It looks occult. I thought you might recognize it.”
She picked up the photo and frowned, her hand toying with the crystal pendant she wore around her neck. “Yes, this symbol is familiar, but I’m not sure where I’ve seen it before.” She set it back down. “Can I keep it? I’ll look in a few books, talk to some people then get back to you.”
“That’d be great.”
She looked at the photo again. “What is this design printed on? It almost looks like ... human flesh.”
“It is. Two nights ago I found a girl’s body in City Park. I went back the next day and took some pictures of it then called the police. This mark was branded on her stomach. Not tattooed--branded. Mike in Forensics told me they identified the girl as Missy Hardewar. She went missing from her home in Metairie three months ago.”
“Poor child! How did she die?”
“That’s the weird part. Mike said there was little trauma other than the brand and some bruising around her wrists as though she’d been in restraints. But she was completely drained of blood and had puncture wounds on her throat. What does that sound like to you?”
“Lestat wannabes performing some kind of ritual?” My mom paused. “Or else, the real thing.”
“That’s what I thought, which is why I’m investigating on my own. The police won’t look into the second possibility.”
She nodded and looked at the photo once more. “I’ll see what I can come up with on this design. There’s something right on the edge of my memory, but I can’t think of it right now.” She put the photo in the top drawer behind the counter then looked at me again.
“What?” I sighed, waiting for the second barrel.
“I know you don’t like to talk about your other self, but I’m curious. You found this body in the park and went back later, which means you’re aware of what happens while you’re in your wolf form.”
“Yes, I told you before. That’s how I know I’ve never hurt anyone.” I picked up a handful of polished stones from the dish on the counter and let them trickle from my fingers. “My memories aren’t exactly like human ones. They’re more sensations, impressions of things, but they’re enough to tell me where I’ve been and what I’ve done.” I glanced at my watch, anxious to be out of there and away from her relentless prying. “I have another couple of stops to make this afternoon. Give me a call if you find out anything.”
“I have a better idea. You come to Louis and Ramón’s tomorrow night,” she commanded. “The whole family is going to be there for Grandpère’s birthday. Bring Amy with you. I like that girl.”
My mother and Amy were two diminutive, forceful women, who should’ve clashed, but had somehow, incredibly, taken to each other.
“We’ll see.”
“You’ll come,” she said firmly. “You should value your family more. It’s important. As a matter of fact, you might start thinking about having one of your own instead of going through women like they were Kleenex.”
“Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind.”
“I’m serious. Being alone is no good for you. A nice girl like that Amy...”
“Please, Ma. She hates me and even if she didn’t, you know I can’t get involved with anyone, because of my ... situation.”
She sniffed. “You use your shape-shifting as an excuse to keep you from having a serious relationship. The truth is you’re a commitment-phobe.”
“Goodbye. Call me when you find out something about that mark.” Walking away from an argument with my mother was the only way to deal with her sometimes. It gave me a better appreciation for my father who had done just that when I was three
. He never came back and we never talked about him.
“You’ll come to Grandpère’s party,” she shouted after me as the door swung closed.
After the irritating visit with my mom, I was ready to stop somewhere for a drink, but it was the prime time for catching Carrie Loomis and her personal trainer at Hotel St. Piérre for an afternoon tryst. I’d screwed up my previous attempt to photograph them when my camera battery went dead.
It took less than a half-hour to follow and shoot the couple kissing and signing in at the front desk of the hotel. I even got a shot of them entering their room. Afterward, I’d planned to start researching Brian Addington, but my energy was dwindling after my exhausting night and busy day. All I wanted to do was go home and sleep.
Instead, I stopped at Clio’s for a drink. My favorite bartender, Ginnie was on her shift. When I walked in the door, she smiled and opened a bottle of Acadian.
“Hey.” I slid onto my regular stool, the one with the duct-taped vinyl.
“Hey.” Ginnie set my beer in front of me. She wore her strawberry blond curls pulled back into a ponytail at work, but I knew how beautiful that curly mass of hair looked spilling over her bare shoulders by candlelight. “Hot out there?”
“It’s July.”
She smiled at my succinct answer before walking to the other end of the bar to draw a draft for Johnnie Johnson, the old man who practically lived on the corner stool.
“How’s your kid?” I asked when Ginnie came back over.
“Living with his dad for the summer. He’s a teenager. He needs his father right now.” She wiped a cloth over a spill on the dark surface of the bar. “My shift is over in another twenty minutes.”
“Sounds good.” I accepted her invitation.
I did finally get a nap that afternoon, just not in my own bed.
* * * *
It was late afternoon by the time I got back to the office. Amy was locking up for the day.
“Anything new happen this afternoon?” I asked.
“I got the rest of the money Wiesel owed us, the glass repairman fixed the window, and your forensic friend, Mike called with more information about the girl you found in the woods. In addition to blood loss and the brand, there were signs of sexual abuse--vaginal and anal tearing, but no semen.”
