“I think it’s time for you to go somewhere safe. Somewhere better than a hotel,” said Gary. He slid a Rolodex closer. Scrolled through for Laertes Sonnier’s number. “One of the detectives here, Dylan Dirck, is a serious animal lover. And he’s about to start a two-week vacation. He’s just going to putter around the house, so I’m fairly certain he’d be happy to take care of Tomi for you, so you won’t have to board him at a kennel.”
“Sure, ask him.”
After a brief phone conversation with his old friend Sonnier, Gary gave a heads up to some of the uniformed officers about where he’s taking Mrs. Donovan. Asked them to keep an eye on her if they patrolled the area.
Officer Jeff Wentzel wrote Sonnier’s address on the palm of his hand.
There’s a house in New Orleans, Northcutt told them, which belongs to a renowned archeologist who’s out of the country for an indefinite stay. Sonnier had given Gary the key a long time ago with the request that the house and yard be inspected once in a while.
>+<|>+<
BJ didn’t care for her new accommodations. At least she had her old standby. The new novel she’s working on. She reread the part where she’d left off, then moved forward.
<>
Alma LeJeune had been drinking heavily when she called Detective Boutin.
“I’m on my way,” he told her.
When he arrived at her door, he automatically twisted the knob. Was somewhat dismayed to find Alma didn’t have it locked. He stepped inside, peered over his shoulder to see if he’s being watched. Closed the door. Standing in the foyer, he tuned-in to the sounds in the house. Mick entered the den. Found Alma sitting crossed-legged in the middle of the couch. Barefooted, dressed in a T-shirt and blue jeans. A short glass in her hand. Assured she’s okay, he poured a shot of tequila from an open bottle.
She put her glass down, and slumped against decorative pillows.
He sat beside her. Knocked the drink back in one gulp, set his glass next to hers. He pulled her into his arms. Propped his feet up on the coffee table. Alma rested her head against his shoulder. Closed her eyes. He caressed her face and forehead.
“Nice. No one’s ever done that for me,” she murmured.
Mick gave her a light affectionate squeeze, dropped his head on the back of the couch and stared at the ceiling. “Talk to me, baby. Tell me of all the events in your life that led up to you sitting in front of a computer trying to find someone to love you.”
She drew in a ragged breath. “Rex isn’t the affectionate type. Every time I tried to get him to comfort me with a hug, he’d barely wrap his arms around me. Or, he’d say I know what you need, nod his head toward the bedroom, and then wink at me like I’m no different than a neglected pet begging for a little pat on the head.”
Mick lit a cigarette. Offered one to her. She declined.
“I spent most of my life being shuffled from one door step to another. I lost myself in a fantasy world of books. They saved my life after years of physical and emotional abuse, having an empty belly most of the time, and living in abject poverty all of the time. I think I was seven when I was put into foster care. The oldest daughter of my foster parents, I think her name was Pamela, was a hateful, spoiled brat. She was jealous of my long hair, so she made her mother chop it off. Once a week, every week, Pamela loved to force me to sit on the closet floor in her bedroom, put her shoes together with their mates, and then line them up in a neat straight row. I didn’t understand why she needed so many pairs of shoes when she only had two feet.” Alma sat up. Gulped down a mouthful of her drink.
“I don’t know what to say.”
“There isn’t anything to say. It happened,” said Alma. “I’ve learned to accept things as they are. I don’t care as much as I used to. All I want now is something, just some little thing, I can call my own. Something no one can ever take away from me. All my life, every time I ever got something, I had to pay a price for it. I’ve never been able to simply ask for something and get it. And if I did finally get whatever it was I wanted, somebody would either take it away or figure out how to spoil it for me. Someone’s always waiting in the wings to wipe the smile off my face. I’ve had to spend my whole life kissing ass just to keep people from messing with me. I’ve seen the worst the world has to offer, and little to none of the best. I don’t have a clue how it feels to be spoiled and pampered like Pamela. To have someone wait on me hand and foot. Nor do I want to. I’m capable of taking care of myself. Working hard is what I do best.”
She wiped her cheeks dry. Drained the glass, and stared at its thick bottom. “I’ve spent a lifetime standing on the outside looking in,” she murmured more to her than him.
“I can’t undo the harm that’s been done to you, but I can do everything within my power to try to keep anything else bad from happening to you. All my years as a cop, I’ve seen many women trapped in a world of misery, and left with nothing but unleashed anger. There hadn’t been much I could do for them, either. I know you don’t realize it, Alma, but you already are somebody. You have an old-fashioned way about you that, in this day and age, makes you very unique. You are the real thing, and nobody can ever take that away from you.”
What the...? Alma got up to fetch the bottle of tequila to keep from laughing at the dumb stupid idiot.
CHAPTER 43
Wrapped in Mick’s arms, Alma gazed longingly at him. He kissed her, easy at first, much more urgently as the warmth spread. “Come with me.” She led the way to her bedroom. How victorious it would be to have another man on Rex’s side of the bed. To have another man’s essence warm the rumpled sheets.
They stopped midway into the room. Mick lifted off her T-shirt. Took a step back to see her better. Alma brought her hands up to cover her bare breasts.
Gary smiled. He took hold of her hands. “This is just between us. What we do behind closed doors is nobody’s business but ours. You don’t ever have to feel embarrassed with me.”
<>
BJ paused to reread the last paragraph. Noticed she’d typed the name Gary instead of Mick.
She sipped tequila, pondered the meaning of the misstep.
She needed a release. Detective Northcutt would give it to her. She slid the phone closer, and called him.
>+<|>+<
Gary pulled into the driveway of Sonnier’s house. Wondered if something had happened. BJ sounded strangely calm on the phone.
The moment he stepped through the door she threw her arms around his neck. He didn’t fight the feeling when she kissed him, or when she took him by the hand and led the way to the master bedroom.
Drawing closer, Gary slowed his pace. The house belonged to someone else. Someone he’d known for a long time. BJ seemed to understand. She bypassed the room, and continued on toward one of the other bedrooms.
He cupped the back of her head, pressed his lips hard against hers. She leaned in closer. Caressed his back. In a rush of emotion they tore at each other’s clothing. She wrestled with pulling his shirttail free. He fumbled with the buttons on her blouse. Stopped to kiss her madly.
Breath hot and moist.
Bodies damp and sticky.
Falling backward onto the bed, breathing heavily, she reached the first plane without warning. Reveled in the sensation.
When he stretched out beside her she went wild. Forward, backward, under… she was all over him. Lightning bolts of passion seared his insides.
Minutes later, she rolled away from him, completely spent.
Gary remained on his back, crossed an arm over his eyes. He panted hard enough to have a heart attack. Good god, I haven’t had that kind of sex since high school. He lifted his arm. She’d fallen asleep. He noticed the difference in her features when she was relaxed. Still waters run deep. He pulled her close. Lying with his cheek against her forehead, he closed his eyes. Fantasized about far-off places they could go.
He already figured out Genette’s been seeing another man behind his back. How fitting it’d be if she were seeing BJ�
��s husband. The two deserved one another. Up until now, Gary had remained faithful. He is, or was, a one-woman man.
BJ had told him about Isabella. At first it angered him. Now he was grateful to the rat bastard. He never could’ve gotten this close to her if her husband had been treating her right. As shitty as he was toward her, though, she still displayed a sense of loyalty to Frank. Gary realized he never would’ve even met her if Donovan had been good to her.
He dozed off.
She got out of bed. Stood before the dresser, and brushed her long black curls.
Gary opened his eyes a little. “Why do you wear the blonde wig? You have beautiful hair,” he mumbled. Fell asleep.
She stared at him by way of the mirror. “I want to stay in character until I finish my story.”
BJ’s lip curled. She deliberately dropped the brush on the dresser.
Gary woke up. “You okay?” He yawned. Sat up and noticed it was almost dinnertime. “Something happened a while back I meant to tell you about.” He shoved his legs into his pants, stood and zipped.” It was the night I left you at the hotel. Driving home I felt myself trying to doze off. I couldn’t feel my foot on the gas pedal, either. Next thing I knew, I was about to veer off the side of the road. Before I plowed into the river this bigass raven landed on the hood of my car. I stomped the brake, he flew away. And just like that, I snapped out of the trance or whatever the hell I was in. The only part I still can’t remember is how I hurt my leg.”
“Edapo,” she whispered, angrily.
CHAPTER 44
Jeff Wentzel drove in alongside the curb, up the street from the house where BJ Donovan was holed up. He switched off his headlights, parked, and got out. Hunkered down, he made his way through several backyards toward the rear of Sonnier’s house.
He peered through the kitchen window in time to see BJ lean across a small oak table to set a cup of coffee in front of Northcutt. Long blonde curls fell forward, shielding her face from view. Gary winked then smiled at her. Mouthed the words thank you. She barely paid attention to him as she slid the sugar bowl closer.
I didn’t know he was doing her, thought Jeff. He could’ve sworn Northcutt’s interest was only on a professional level.
He trotted back to his car. Quietly shut the door. Slouched behind the wheel. Alternated between watching the fading glow of sunset and the house.
Less than fifteen minutes later, right when he was about to crank the engine and call it a night, BJ and Gary strolled out onto the porch. Jeff slid further down while also pulling down his ballcap. Northcutt’s moving her somewhere else? Why didn’t he share the information with the department?
“Because he’s doing her, dumbass.”
The couple sat in Northcutt’s car. Talking, Jeff guessed. He drove past them without turning his head. By the time he circled the block and returned, Northcutt’s car was gone. At first, Jeff stayed in the street. The living room light shined through a vertical slit in the drapes. Frowning deeply, he pulled into the driveway and parked. He couldn’t remember if the light was on when they came outside.
Did they have a little love spat and say goodnight?
He advanced on the front door. If BJ’s alone, he planned to carry out his plan of taking her to a hideaway of his own. She was his to bang, not Northcutt’s. Jeff glimpsed at the closed door of the garage. If she’s not alone, he had a readymade excuse for being there.
He thumbed the lighted doorbell button three times. Gave up. One hand on his hip, the other hand continually rubbing the back of his neck, he paced the small empty porch, tried to figure out where they might’ve gone. He snapped his fingers once. Damn.
He got in his car, backed onto the street, headed to his left. He figured if Northcutt had gone to the right, he would’ve seen him when he circled the block earlier. Jeff accelerated.
When he reached the stop sign at the far end of Sonnier’s street, he looked left, then right. I’ll be damned. He could see Northcutt’s powder blue 1965 Mustang beside a gas pump at the service station farther up ahead. Jeff stayed where he was since there wasn’t any traffic behind him. He watched Northcutt drive onto the main street, go straight for one block, then ease into the right lane.
Jeff waited until Northcutt took the upcoming exit before entering the main street.
He caught up to the Ford in time to see the right turn signal flash on. The road off the exit was narrower and curvier. He slowed down, giving Northcutt plenty of time to move out of his line of vision. Theirs were the only cars in the area.
Coming out of a long curve the road abruptly straightened. The taillights on Northcutt’s Mustang were nowhere to be seen. Jeff speeded up, tried to close the gap.
Two more miles, he knew for certain there was no gap.
Gary Northcutt had gotten off the road. Somewhere behind me.
He pulled onto the narrow shoulder. Lit a cigarette, his mind backtracked.
Didn’t I pass a sign? He couldn’t remember.
Jeff drove back, slowly, scanning the left side of the road.
When he found the frickin’ sign, he didn’t understand how the hell he’d missed it. Damn thing was as big as the broad side of a barn.
S.S. NATCHEZ
Dinner and Jazz Cruise
By the time he found the parked Mustang, the ship carrying Northcutt and Donovan had already left the dock.
CHAPTER 45
Detective Northcutt found the envelope lying on his desk when he came in to work. He hung up his overcoat. Fixed a cup of coffee. Taking a seat, he picked up the white envelope. Nothing other than To Gary scrawled across the center.
He stared through the envelope and saw himself smiling at BJ, as she sat across from him at a candlelit table on the Natchez. She’d eaten most of her dinner. Finished all of her wine. He stood up, and extended his hand to her. Walking with his arm wrapped around her waist, he escorted her to the deck where a jazz band played. Skyline views of the city were beautiful. The cruise itself was very romantic. He hoped she enjoyed the evening. The whole thing had been a last minute decision on his part. He assumed she needed a break from the hell she lived in, but he wasn’t sure. Trying to read her was equivalent to trying to see through a thick slab of cold granite.
Gary slid a folded sheet of paper out of the envelope. The letter had been typed in a plain font on a computer.
Hello Detective Northcutt,
So nice to see you’re on top of things, so to speak. Hee-haw. Blondes really do have more fun, don’t they? I bet those movie star looks of yours come in real handy for getting the ladies. Am I right? Huh? Ah. I don’t care anything about you. I’m only interested in BJ Donovan. Soon, very soon, I’m coming face to face with the object of my affection. Too bad for you, but hey, that’s the way the cookie crumbles. I’ll be in touch.
C-ya around.
No signature.
Gary lit a cigarette, exhaled slowly.
“C-ya, huh? I know enough about the Internet to know that’s online lingo for see you. Cookie crumbles? When and where have I heard that dumb phrase before, as in recently?”
The more he tried to remember, the more elusive the memory.
He rubbed a hand across the side of his face. He knew he needed to turn the letter over to the lab for fingerprint analysis, even though he was certain none would be found, but he was reluctant for anyone at the department to know he’s having an affair with a married woman. A married woman who’s also in direct contact with a serial killer.
CHAPTER 46
Renee Yeager, a twenty-five-year-old petite blonde rookie, had been handpicked by Captain Foret to act as a decoy for the alley murderer. He flat-out refused to use the word bokor.
Northcutt and Cantin had arranged for her to have a room at the Riverside apartment complex near the wharf on the other side of Decatur Street. The apartment building was in such a rundown condition the detectives couldn’t understand why the property hadn’t been condemned. Good thing for them, though. The place suited their purpose.
Posing as Trixie from Dixie, Yeager made herself as visible as possible while she strolled to and fro on Decatur.
Officers Hebert and Martin, assigned to protect her, were easily distracted by a couple of passers-by who wanted to speak with them about the recent murders.
A deep rumble of thunder.
Yeager ventured closer to the alley, tried to find shelter from a sudden downpour. A large raven swooped down as if trying to chase her away. She ran into the alley instead.
A louder thunder boom muffled the sound of her being struck from behind with an aluminum bat carelessly discarded a moment later. She dropped where she’d been standing.
Raindrops resembled tears, trailed across her cheeks. Strong arms stood her up, half walked and half dragged her to a nearby car where the motor hummed with the enthusiasm of an impatient vibrator.
To the discerning eye, they were just a couple of drunks. Yeager was roughly shoved into the back seat, then covered with a black or dark blue bed sheet.
CHAPTER 47
“The new novel gathered no moss because it was dead in the water like the reflection of the man in the moon.”
BJ shrugged one shoulder.
I’m so damn brain dead I can’t even come up with a decent figure of speech.
After having a couple of phone conversations with Detective Schein she’d collected enough data to outline the nonfiction story. He’d even arranged for her to interview the boys, now grown men, who had made the grisly discovery in the barn.
And that was that.
Long Night Moon (Bad Mojo Book 1) Page 13
