by S. A. Austin
Lucas examined the camera without touching it. “Shit. How’d we miss it before? Or did we? Maybe it’s new. And if it is new, why’d he install it?”
“Isn’t there supposed to be a little green or red light to show whether or not it’s in use? Every security camera I’ve ever seen lights up once it comes on.”
“This might be one of those cameras I’ve heard of where people can link up online and actually see one another. A webcam, I think it’s called. I’m pretty sure the newer ones have a red and a green light, but this one is obviously an older model. He should just get a laptop. They have a built-in camera that isn’t as noticeable.”
“Yeah, and I don’t like that. I keep a bag clip over mine to prevent hackers from spying.”
“I don’t know about you, but this guy and his apartment give me the creeps,” said Lucas, looking the room over. “We’ve done what we came for. Let’s get out of here.”
“Hold on a second.” Gary slid out the top drawer of the filing cabinet. Much to his surprise the photos were still there. “We’re missing the obvious. He found the window open. That’s what tipped him off and got him cleaning out his computer. Yes? And for the camera to work, the computer has to be on.”
Wentzel’s phone rang, startling them. They stood stock-still. The answering machine came on after the second ring. A soft whirring sound, followed by a familiar voice.
“Hello, it’s BJ.”
Gary walked closer to the desk. Visualized her talking on her phone: shaking her head once to toss her hair out of her way.
“Something’s come up. I’m canceling our appointment for Saturday.”
Her voice sounded uneven. Was she in her car, driving with the window down?
“I’ll get back to you later.”
Eerie silence.
Gary and Lucas exchanged a baffled expression.
“I haven’t been able to reach her for the past few days. Every time I called she either didn’t answer, or her phone wasn’t on. But here she is, leaving messages for some other guy.”
Lucas had chosen to stay out of it, whatever it was. He didn’t have a clear understanding of Northcutt and Donovan’s relationship. Gary was into her, that much he knew. Lucas suspected the feelings weren’t mutual. He didn’t know for sure. Gary hadn’t confided in him, which said a lot about their relationship.
Lucas locked the door.
They proceeded to the stairwell, preferring not to use the elevator for superstitious reasons.
“Wanna go get a beer?” Gary asked. “I have something to tell you.”
I jumped the gun. “Sure.”
On the sidewalk in front of Wentzel’s apartment building, Gary looked up and down one street after the other. He pointed to the first street he had looked at. “I think the bar’s this way, on Decatur. Remember? The bar Wentzel stumbled out of the morning we investigated Nolin’s death? The morning we talked with the woman’s employer?”
The light changed, they strode across the intersection.
“We talked a little about it being too early to be out drinking.” Lucas stopped in mid-stride after stepping over the curb. “He’d worn a dark blue hoodie. A hoodie on a hot summer day? Damn. The witnesses said somebody tore out of the alley wearing a dark blue hoodie.”
“Are we sure we’re talking about the same day Nolin’s body was...?” Gary glanced at his watch. “I’m sorry. I can’t get my mind off BJ’s phone call. Why’d she call him? And what appointment was she referring to?”
“He called her Suite Sue in the email. These two got something going on?”
“I don’t know. If they are online lovers or whatever, why does she have to make an appointment to see him?” Gary was ill at ease. “Appointment. An odd choice of a word, don’t you think?”
CHAPTER 57
Unsuccessful in reaching BJ by phone, again, Gary grew a little more apprehensive in light of her call to Wentzel.
Northcutt and Cantin agreed to hold off telling Captain Fortier what they’d done in regards to Wentzel. Lucas had a social gathering he’d rather not miss. Gary, too, had a plan.
Leaving the sedan in their assigned slot at the police department, they split up after a quick goodbye. Gary got in and started his Mustang. Drove to Sonnier’s house.
A couple of blocks away he could already see that her car was gone. Two cars occupied the space inside the garage, and he knew neither belonged to BJ. He parked in the driveway, shuffled the keys around on a metal ring looking for the one he needed.
Out of force of habit he knocked on the door, then entered. Remained in the foyer until his senses adjusted to the heavy stillness.
Gary visited the spare bedroom first. The bed was neatly made. Carpet vacuumed. The closet was empty, not even a stray clothes hanger. About to turn away, he saw a little piece of yellow-lined paper torn off a legal pad stuck to the bottom of a wicker wastebasket.
eld Lane, 5:30
He did not have a clue about the cryptic message. Obviously the last three letters of a street name, but which one? And what’s it all about? He lay the paper in the middle of his billfold, hoping his city street map was where he’d put it the last time he used it.
So she moved out.
“And didn’t care enough about me to pick up the phone and tell me.”
I guess she didn’t need as much protection from her stalker as I assumed.
He rubbed his chin.
Did she even have a stalker to begin with? I’ve never seen any physical evidence.
Gary Northcutt had a hard time accepting reality. He’d never been a one-night stand before. It was not a good feeling.
Going room to room in an unhurried step, he inspected the rest of the house. No signs of violence. He wasn’t surprised. Quite clear she’d left of her own free will. She had dusted and vacuumed the other rooms, as well. A kind and considerate thing to do, he thought, since Laertes was nice enough to allow her, a total stranger, to stay under his roof.
Just when he put his hand on the doorknob to leave, it came to him.
Damn, she’s almost certainly at the restaurant. Okay. She felt she had no reason to stay here, went home, and then it was back to business as usual.
A quick check of the time. He hoped Lucas remembered to get the wedding gift he’d hidden in his desk at the office before he left to pick up his date, the sister of the groom.
Might as well get something to eat.
“And I know just the place.”
He drove fast to Wild Capers, on the lookout for traffic cops all the way.
Gary waited, patiently, for the maître d’ to return from seating a party of four. He stopped a busboy who was passing by in the other direction. “Excuse me, is Chef Donovan here?”
“Yessir, she’s in the kitchen.”
“Has she been here all evening?”
“I don’t know. Look, mister, I been havin’ to go to the bat’room for a half hour. Talk to the maître d’.” He pointed to a man dressed in a black suit and bowtie.
“Thanks.” Gary let him pass in front of him.
The maître d’ approached. “Bonswa! Komon ou ye?”
Gary stood with his hands on his hips. “I’m fine, thanks.”
“N’ap boule! Good. I am Beau. How many in your party, sir?”
Gary smiled. Second time he’d been asked the same question. And in the same place. He’d bring Lucas with him the next time. “Just me.”
Beau raised an eyebrow in a hoity-toit manner, held a menu against his chest with his arm, turned on his heel. “Follow me, please.” His hair gel shimmered under soft lighting.
Seated at a table meant for four, Gary accepted the menu, but kept it closed. “Who’ll be preparing my meal? Chef Donovan? Is she here?”
Beau bent slightly at the waist. Speaking quietly, he said, “For a change. Ever since her book was published she’s been flitting all around the state of Louisiana.”
“Doing what?”
Beau stood erect, stopping short of clickin
g his heels together. “Why, a book signing tour, monsieur,” he said equivalent to: What the heck else would she be doing? “Your waiter will appear before long. Enjoy your meal.”
“Will you please tell BJ, er, Mrs. Donovan, that I’m here. My name is Northcutt,” Gary refrained from using his title. He wasn’t there in an official capacity.
“Wi.” Beau stepped away, wiggled a finger at the busboy exiting the bathroom, and spoke to him. They glanced at Gary. The younger man disappeared into the kitchen.
To his server, Gary said, “I’ll have spaghetti with Allemande caper sauce, and iced tea.”
* * *
The busboy tapped his boss on her back.
She glimpsed at him. “What is it, Clovis? Can’t you see I’m busy?” BJ continued stirring creamed potatoes.
“A customer said to tell you he has no cut.”
She fully turned around. “He has no what?”
Clovis jabbed a thumb over his shoulder at the closed kitchen door. “No cut.” He went to the counter for an empty buspan.
BJ stood at the little square window on the kitchen door where she was able to view much of the dining room. Behind her were the clatter of dishes and the chatter of food orders being called out. Before her was Detective Northcutt.
No cut, I get it. Dammit, is he following me now? Does he think he owns me after one fucking night together… spent fucking?
She untied her apron, hung it on a peg next to an old chef jacket hiding her black purse. Opened the purse, and took out Sonnier’s house key. Smacked the door open with her palm, her lips stretched flat.
Gary jumped up. Smiled ear to ear, relieved to see she’s fine.
“Hello, Detective.”
Her icy greeting froze the smile on his face. He cleared his throat. “Hello, BJ. I, um, I was hungry.” Ah jeez. “Couldn’t think of a better place to eat.” Stop it, you idiot. “How’s your dog?” How’s your dog? Good grief. “Tomi, is it? Have you had a chance to talk to Dylan? He adores him, by the way. The dog, I mean. Dylan adores the dog. Your dog.” Holy moly.
She remained expressionless. “No. I haven’t had a chance to call Dylan,” she hesitated, “or anyone else, for that matter. The story, it’s, well, you’re a writer, you know how it is. As for Tomi, I’m thinking about giving him to your friend. Dylan seems nice enough. Frank’s gone a lot, and I’m starting to be, what with a new book tour and such, so Tomi would be stuck at the kennel way too much. He’s Frank’s dog more than mine, but,” But what? She’d forgotten about the animal. “I care about him. Do you think Dylan would be willing to keep him permanently?”
“I can’t say. Want me to ask him?”
“Yes. I have to go, I have work to do.” She put the key on the table. Turned to leave.
“Thanks,” he said, pocketing the key. “Nice to see you again.” Ask to really see her again.
She disappeared around the corner.
Gary slumped in his seat, regretful of the missed opportunity. Holding a fist under his chin, he admired the oil painting above his table depicting a picturesque street scene. In Italy?
“Want to have coffee with me at Benyay’s?”
He flinched when she spoke, startled by her sudden and quiet return to his table. “Yes,” he blurted, “I-I would.” He made an attempt to stand, but she blocked him.
Her eyes turned coal black and her lips thinned to a grimace. An optical illusion? Chill bumps raised the hairs on his arms and legs.
“I’ll be in touch,” she whispered close to his ear.
The song Black Magic Woman erupted in his head making his heart skip a beat.
CHAPTER 58
MIDNIGHT
South of New Orleans, the evening tide mirrored the silver moon and led her safe and sound to Chalmette. The air was curiously warm for that time of the year. She followed the rhythmic beat of the drums. The swampland teemed with other sounds, as well. Birds fluttering. Insects chittering. Reptiles slithering. Once in a while, she’d hear the splash of water. She shoved aside Spanish moss hanging low on bald cypress trees. The music enveloped her, pulled her in. Thorns snagged the hem of her long, ruffled skirt. She moved forward, uncaring. She was on a mission and would not be deterred.
When she approached the clearing the flickering light of the fire revealed her presence. The music and dancers stopped. Seeing it was she, the voodoo service resumed but in earnest. BJ kicked off her flats, held her skirt up midway with both hands. Alternated between stomping her feet then pirouetting as she danced around the campfire.
The others backed up to give her more room. Chanting grew more intense. Hers. Theirs. Her long black curls whipped her face and gleamed with the radiant hues of the flames. She twirled faster and faster. Couples embraced. Kissed. Fondled.
She fell on her knees, reached out to the fire and tried to sweep its spirit into her soul. Waved her arms to and fro drawing the fragrant scent of mesquite up and over her. She thrashed about on the ground. Her breathing grew heavier, went deeper.
She got up, still writhing. Pulled off her short tunic top. Round and round she spun, twirling the garment in the air with dizzying madness. Sweat beaded on her face, adhering strands of hair to her forehead and cheeks. A field of subtle, luminous radiation surrounded her.
The others joined her special dance.
Many bare feet pounded the dry dirt into dust with their frenzied movements.
Suddenly, the drummers slowed the beat.
She spread her feet apart, closed her eyes. Clutching her shirt between her hands, she held her arms high above her head and moved rhythmically from side to side.
Doktè Jon, the bokor, the one she’d visited in times of great need, walked up behind her. Ripped her shirt from her hands. Unzipped her skirt, let it fall to the ground. Taking possession of her, he rubbed scented oil over her body that grew warm then hot. Kneaded her breasts until she gripped his wrists and shoved his hands lower. Leaned back against him, both swaying to the slow tempo of the drums. He glided his hand between her legs. She bit her lip to keep from moaning, as his fingers expertly pinched and probed. Reaching the first level of pleasure, anticipation rising to a fever pitch, she clawed his arms. “Prese prese!” she cried out. “Hurry.”
Four women ran forward. They carried BJ around the campfire to put her on a makeshift bed on the ground, inciting a wild sex orgy in the others.
The bokor lay down beside her.
She stroked his dick with one hand, herself with the other. He put his hand over hers, made her go faster. Panting irregularly through her nose, toes curling tightly, she came again.
Men and women danced around them, their voices raised higher in song.
“She’s a whore, she’s a saint. She’s holy, no she ain’t.”
She screamed in ecstasy.
He clutched her hips with his smooth brown-skinned hands, sweaty biceps reflecting firelight. They moved their bodies in sync with the increasing pace of the drums.
“Kounye-a!” Her muscles flexed hard in climax.
She sucked in a lungful of smoke and dank night air. Exhaled slowly, lowering her legs flat against his. He rolled onto his back, closed his eyes and bent an arm over his damp face.
A woman covered them with a dark bed sheet.
BJ fought to clear her head, as the effects of Doktè Jon’s magical potion wore off and the drumbeats slowed then stopped.
Minutes later, he asked “Kisa pi nou fe?” He slid the sheet out of the way.
“What must we do?” She wiped her cheeks dry. Lifted herself up on one arm, hair spilling over her breasts as she turned to face him. “We must end an affair. That’s what we must do.”
“Kisa ou bezouen?” He collected her skirt and top, and set them beside her.
She put her clothes on much slower than they had been removed.
“What do you need,” he asked again, patiently.
“I don’t know yet,” she replied, irritably.
Scooping her hair into a low ponytail she watched the
others milling about without direction. Their painted, sweaty bodies were spent, satisfied. She counted twenty-three. Some stood in small clusters and chatted. Others grouped together inhaling cannabis. Some standing alone, smoking thin cigars, flicking ashes at the dwindling fire. A man brought forth a pail of water to douse the embers, and stir the ashes into the dirt.
BJ walked over to where the bokor drank thirstily from a pricey bottle of wine, a young ghost-white boa constrictor squirming around his neck.
“I need something to put fire ants in a frenzy,” she said.
Doktè Jon nodded his support. Handed her the bottle. Removed the snake, and placed it on her neck. Smiled at her bravery.
She drank enough wine to ease a throbbing headache. Re-imagined her plan when he set a threadbare valise on the trunk of a fallen honey locust tree.
CHAPTER 59
Chef Donovan informed her kitchen staff her publisher had arranged an on-air interview with a television host in St. Louis, Missouri. She’d be gone for a couple of days. She told the members of her wait staff they’d better flip the tables at least twice for the duration of every service.
BJ took I-10 and aimed for Lake Charles.
Drove to the hotel Frank had mentioned in a phone call to her.
She stayed in the distance and fixed her eyes on the main entrance of the building. Contemplating Plan B, she saw him coming out of the lobby door with his arm around the slim waist of a gorgeous, tall woman with short blond hair. He smiled at her, kissed her on the cheek.
BJ followed them to a shopping plaza where they stopped at a bookstore. Waited until they were inside. Already dressed in character, she entered the building to find them browsing in the New Releases section. Moved within eight feet of her husband and his mistress.
Frank pulled down BJ’s book from the shelf, and handed it to the woman.
