by S. A. Austin
They strolled from one corner of the city block to the other, none in any particular hurry. The night wasn’t going anywhere. Neither were they. Not until they earned a few bucks. But, it’s Monday night and most of the men seemed to prefer staying home and watching the Saints game. It was cold out, and the scantily dressed ladies of the Big Easy had other places they’d rather be, too. But who the hell cared?
Sarri wanted to be alone for a while. Saying goodbye to the others with a round of hugs, she returned to the alley where she’d satisfied the smartass earlier. She ducked into the alleyway, just far enough in to get out of the wind to gather her hair up into a ponytail.
Zoe and Daisy continued leisurely wandering in no particular direction. Wind howling about their heads, neither heard a sound from a lane littered with garbage bags coated with urine or torn open by hungry strays.
No one heard a sound as Sarri was dragged deeper into the alley.
Or when someone said “you’re nothing but garbage” as her stretchy black miniskirt and underwear were tugged down to her ankles.
Even the monotone sound of chanting failed to alert a potential rescuer.
CHAPTER 27
BJ Donovan pitched her car keys on the foyer table. Turned on the lamp. Backed her feet out of a pair of black loafers. Set her purse and tote bag on the armchair. The reading had been quite grueling. Book signings were much more to her liking. They are a comfortable one-on-one setting. When called upon to read a lengthy excerpt from her novel, she’d always catch at least one person staring at her as if hoping she’d get tongue-tied so they’d have something to snark about later. Some people enjoy being cruel.
She did manage to shake off a bad case of nerves at a downtown bar. It wasn’t her kind of place, but it was dark, and she doubted any of the patrons or dancers read books much less bought any. No one knew her, which suited her purpose at the time.
She walked back and stood at the bottom of the staircase. Listened for any sounds other than the metallic squeak of the ceiling fan in the upstairs hallway. A squirt of oil would solve the problem, but if she wanted it done she’d have to do it herself. A vision of the stepladder tipping over and sending her headlong down the stairs made the squeaking a lot less annoying.
In the kitchen, she prepared a cup of instant coffee. Tucking a box of honey flavored graham crackers under her arm she mounted the stairs.
She stretched out on the peach and tan floral chaise lounge in her writing room. Nibbling on a cracker, the décor began to get on her nerves. The non-vibrant colors weren’t her first choice. Weren’t her last choice, either. Her husband had chosen the combination. She let him because, at the time, she didn’t care.
She shoved the other half of the cracker in the pack. Set the box on the end table. Shifted her body onto her side. Saw the blinking cursor on the computer screen.
“Huh?”
She didn’t realize she had left her story open.
Or had she?
Has Frank come home?
She rushed to the hall closet, grasped the silvery knobs on the French bifold doors and pulled them apart. His black three-piece luggage set wasn’t standing together on the floor. She lightly slapped the side of her leg. “It’s official. I’ve lost my mind.”
BJ felt very hungry, for some odd reason. She tore into the pack of crackers. Bits and pieces falling on the sage green carpet. She brushed crumbs off her clothing with her hands. Hurried down the stairs. Reminded herself to vacuum the carpet before going to bed so the crumbs wouldn’t attract unwanted visitors during the night.
At the kitchen counter, she set about piling ham and cheese on dark rye. Added lettuce and tomato. Slathered mayonnaise across the top slice of bread with a frosting spatula. Forked a dill spear out of its jar.
“Mmm,” she hummed with her mouth full.
She washed the food down with milk. Made a face when the milk clashed with the taste of pickle juice. Quietly burped in her fist. Hunger satisfied, she picked up the day’s newspaper, ascended the stairs a little slower this time.
BJ spread the newspaper open with both hands the way Frank always holds it. Skimmed over an article about a third businessman murdered in a hotel suite, this time in Baton Rouge. The only connection between the men, thus far, was a pair of odd-colored handcuffs.
Handcuffs had red stripes on yellow, she read.
She read her horoscope. Folded the newspaper, and cast it aside. Turned on the TV in time to catch the end of the weather forecast. More rain on the way.
BJ sat down at her computer table. Opened her story. Scrolled back to the last chapter she’d written and pulled the details together.
Alma laid on the bed staring at a thin crack in the ceiling. She wondered how it had gotten there? Wondered if the roof leaked? Wondered how and when her life had gotten so screwed up?
All she wanted was fodder for her stories. Not this. Truth be told, she had no hint of what ‘this’ was. She fought back the word lurking in the dark corners of her mind: stalker.
Alma jumped up off the bed like she’d been bitten by a sinister swampland no-see-um.
She brewed a pot of chamomile tea. Got a cup with a matching saucer from the cabinet. Between tiny sips of hot tea, she tossed around a few thoughts about what she might enjoy doing other than visiting chat rooms. Rex was out of town. She felt secure in the knowledge he didn’t know what’s happening.
“His knowing would spoil everything.”
Back in the study again, Alma switched on the desk lamp. With the gloominess at bay, she read her email. Only one message and it was from him. She still didn’t know who her evil secret admirer was. If it’s Roger, he’s using a different email address.
Dear Alma,
Enough is not enough, apparently. Two down. More to come. Until you agree to spend some time alone with me. Are you going to stand idly by and let dead bodies pile up around the city? Do you have so little compassion for others? One day you’ll get the message. Or maybe your husband ought to, Suite Sue?
She read the paragraph again. Made sure it sounded believable that Alma’s secret admirer had gone on a killing spree just to grab her attention.
BJ inhaled sharply. About to call the New Orleans police department something hit her.
Fodder for her stories? Roger?
“Why, and when, did I make Alma a writer?”
CHAPTER 28
Gary Northcutt laid on the bed in the dark. He glimpsed at the digital clock on top of the chest of drawers. Nine-thirty. His wife, Genette, slept soundly beside him. He repositioned his arm under his head. She rolled over onto her stomach, turning her head away from him. She’d fallen asleep moments after the lovemaking.
Or has the act been reduced to just plain sex?
His mind moved toward the Garden District. Did BJ Donovan call her husband, and ask him to shorten his trip and come home? If so, what did he think about what’d been happening to his wife during his continual absence? Will she tell him if he asks her? His reaction?
He thought back to their first meeting. At Wild Capers. She kept her eyes down most of the time. Held her arms close to her body in a non-threatening way. Kept her jaw clenched so her secrets wouldn’t spill out. Sat still, ready to flee.
Gary’s cell phone vibrated on the top of the nightstand.
He threw back the sheet and comforter, and pushed himself off the bed. Genette pulled the covers tighter around her. Mumbled a word or two. Another man’s name?
The caller, speaking louder than necessary, identified himself as Officer Jacob Wentzel. He said he’d been assigned to work the service desk since his partner, Darrell O’Rourke, was in the hospital undergoing knee surgery.
Gary interrupted him. “So why are you calling me?” He rubbed his eye with a palm.
“I don’t know. I guess I thought you’d wanna know that some woman named Donovan called here asking for you. I think she’s the book writer I read about in the newspaper.”
“Hold on.” Gary went to the den. P
ulled down the brass chain on the desk lamp. Lowered himself into his comfortable overstuffed chair. “Go ahead.”
“She wanted you to know she received another email from that guy, and you’d know which guy she’s talking about. I told her you’re off duty, but she insisted I get in touch with you.”
Gary detected a note of jealousy in Wentzel’s voice. “Thanks for calling. I’ll take care of everything.”
CHAPTER 29
Gary arrived at the Donovan residence within twenty minutes after speaking with BJ on the phone. The house was ablaze with light.
BJ must’ve been watching at the window. She swung the door open before he unbuckled his seatbelt. He walked fast, all the way into the foyer. No sooner had she closed the door than she fell into his arms. She didn’t cry this time, only trembled nonstop.
He wrapped his arms tighter around her, held her close. Lightly rested his chin on top of her head, breathed in the flowery scent of her shampoo. “Where’s your husband?” Only then did it dawn on him that the guy was flat-out never home.
“He’s in Bigfork, Montana.” She gently withdrew from his embrace. “I changed my mind about calling him.” Turned to walk away. “I printed the email. It’s in the kitchen.”
Gary followed her. He read the note. BJ opened a bottle of tequila. He placed the sheet of paper on the table. Accepted one of two glasses in her hands.
“Don’t you have anyone you can stay with until your husband comes home?”
She looked at him. About to ask why the hell should she do that, she cocked her head, moved into character mode. “No. As you can see,” she angrily sliced the air with her hand, “I’m pretty much alone.” A brief pause. “I don’t have any family. And Cyndi Nortman, my one and only true friend, has problems of her own. She’s already moved back to Memphis.”
“Tennessee isn’t far away.”
BJ banged her glass down on the counter. “I can’t leave. I have a restaurant to run. Books to write. In case you and everybody else haven’t been paying attention, I have a goddamn life.”
Gary was taken aback.
So was BJ. Sometimes she confused Alma’s life with her own. “Uhm, besides, Rex sure as hell wouldn’t understand. I have no excuse. If I said I wanted to visit Cyndi, he’d insist on making me wait until he’s free to go with me. He’d never let me travel any great distance without him.” She debated how far to go on this pity trip. Enough to complete the chapter.
“Rex? Isn’t your husband’s name Frank?”
“Why yes, yes it is. It’s Frank. Did I just call him by my character’s name?”
Gary nodded.
“I guess I’ve spent too much time in my story, here lately. Anyway, Frank doesn’t know. About any of this. He’d have a fit if he did, and I, for one, couldn’t handle it. You can’t reason with an unreasonable person. He knows how to take things and turn them around on me. He hears what he wants to hear, filters out the rest. In other words, all he’d hear is that I have been flirting with guys on the internet. If you’re advertising, you must be selling, he’d say.”
“Surely you can tell him about this. It isn’t like you’ve actually done anything wrong. There are a lot of oddballs on the internet, and I can see how easy it’d be for one to latch on to somebody. It happens a lot, I’m sorry to say. Nobody really knows who, or what, they’re talking with in there.”
Give me a break. You don’t know anything about being on the internet. BJ’s patience had worn thin, but she kept up the pretense. “I understand what you’re saying, but since the person I’m talking with isn’t standing in front of me, I can at least get an impression of them by the words they use. I live in a world of words. They say more than you think.”
Gary scratched his forehead to hide his expression. “I’m worried about you. Professionally and personally.”
She felt her cheeks grow hot. She grabbed her glass. Drank thirstily. Poured another shot of the golden liquor. He thinks I am a complete and utter fool.
“BJ?”
Her bottom lip trembled.
“I am so sorry. I truly didn’t mean to make you feel bad. I care about you. Probably more than I have a right to. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
She looked down. “People can’t hurt you unless you let them.”
“Yes they can.” He gathered her in his arms. Tenderly kissed her forehead.
When he pressed his lips to hers, she tilted her head back in the crook of his arm and looked up at him. Teardrops disappeared in her hair. The need for genuine affection burned through her soul, but now was not the time nor the place.
Misunderstanding her reactions, he became embarrassed. He released her. “I’m sorry. Damn, I keep saying that, don’t I? I think it’s best if I leave, don’t you?”
She took him by the hand, led the way to the door. “We’ll... we can talk later.” She inched the door closer to him.
Gary involuntarily stepped behind the threshold. “Sure. Call me, any—”
BJ shut the door. Locked it.
“My god, I didn’t think he’d ever leave.”
She bounded up the stairs. Hit the button on the computer to turn it on. Dashed back down to the foyer. Peeked out the window. Made sure the detective was definitely gone.
In the study, she brought up her story. Wiped her face with her hands. Typed everything exactly the way it had just happened. BJ re-read the last sentence, the one about shutting the door in the cop’s face.
Where to go with the next chapter?
“I don’t mind making a storyboard, but I can’t see wasting time putting together a longass outline. I mostly write as I go.”
Hmm.
She held down the backspace key and removed the ending of the chapter. Began again.
Alma gave Boutin another shot of tequila. She took him by the hand, led the way to the living room. They spent the better part of the next hour getting to know one another.
CHAPTER 30
With Gary Northcutt’s embrace still fresh in her mind, BJ typed faster to resist a warm glow spreading throughout her body.
“Alma,” said Mick, “have you ever spoken to anyone about your life? I mean, other than me?” He focused his attention on the statue of a black wolf on a mahogany wall shelf. He’d learned there were some things he couldn’t say without upsetting her, which in turn struck a little fear in his heart.
“As far back as I can remember, I’ve tried to find someone to talk to. Someone who’d listen without tossing his or her own problems into the mix. Every time I got a new job or moved to a new place, I searched for a sympathetic ear. I finally understood. No one cares. Everyone has problems of their own, so they don’t want to hear about someone else’s. Unless, of course, your problems make theirs seem trivial in contrast. I gave up. The ordinary life isn’t for me, anyway.”
Alma folded her arms across her chest, marking the end of the depressing dialogue.
Mick got to his feet. “It’s getting late.” Much as he hated to leave her, his shift would begin in a few short hours. “I know you don’t want to hear this. But I think you need to get out of this house. You can check into a hotel, and stay there until your husband returns from his business trip.”
He also cautioned her about her email.
“I want you to call me when you’re about to open it. I prefer to be on the phone before, not after. And until we can get a handle on this guy, you really ought to keep your internet service. It’s the only link we have with him right now.”
Mick toyed with the idea of giving her a goodnight kiss.
She went to the front door. Changing her mind at the last second, she said “If you’ll wait until I pack a few things, I think I will check into a hotel. I’d appreciate it if you’d follow me,” she came a little closer to him, “and stay until I’m settled in my room.” Her voice trembled with emotion.
“It’d be my pleasure, and I’ll sleep a lot better tonight knowing you’re out of harms way.”
Alma’s mind was on what to
wear to the hotel bar. She heard the end of his sentence, though. Snaking her arms around his neck, she kissed him. Tenderly, briefly, in a noncommittal way.
At the stairway, she turned to him and said “I want to apologize for my behavior...” What’s his name? She’d grown accustomed to referring to him as Detective Boutin. Oh yeah. “Mick. I want you to know that I do not go around hugging and kissing every man who wants it. I’m just confused about everything right now. So much is happening to me all at once.”
“We’re fine. I understand. More than you think. I know you’re upset. Things, happen.” He was embarrassed, too. Never in his law enforcement career, or in his married life, had he ever behaved in such an unseemly manner. Everything about her got under his skin.
Waiting in the living room, he listened to Alma moving around upstairs, opening and closing drawers and closet doors. He remembered he hadn’t finished his drink. When he raised the glass, he spotted a newspaper on the table at the other end of the couch.
A closer look showed the face of a murder victim, inside of a red circle. Why had Alma drawn a ring around the woman’s face? Does she know the woman whose body had been disfigured in a dark alley? He was pleased not to see a big red X over the face. That would’ve seriously concerned him. He made a mental note to ask her about the woman after she’s settled in at the hotel.
Lamplight shined on the glass in his hand. Twisting the glass one way and then the other, he concentrated on the color of the tequila.
