Blown Away (7 page)

“Carolina, this is Songee. She runs this house and keeps me in line.”

Cari swallowed past the knot in her throat, wondering how long the pain of loss would last. Everyone always said she and Susan looked like sisters, if not twins. But that wouldn’t be happening anymore.

“I’m pleased to meet you, Songee,” Cari said.

Songee nodded. “I’m sorry, miss. You just took me by surprise. I have many cousins, but don’t any of them look like my twin.”

“No need to apologize,” Cari said. “Our mothers were twins. We were born within a month of each other, and we grew up together, which accounts for some of the same mannerisms, as well.”

Then she glanced at Mike, who pointed to the chair to his right. “Sit,” he said. “Songee will make you some eggs to go with these fine biscuits and bacon. Just tell her how you want them cooked and how many.”

Cari felt as if she would choke if she ate anything, but she also knew she needed her strength for what lay ahead.

“Maybe I’ll have one fried egg, well done, please.”

Songee smiled. “Yes, miss,” she said, and got the coffeepot from the sideboard and poured some coffee in Cari’s cup. “Sugar and cream are on the
table. I’ll be right back with your egg,” she said, and left the room.

Cari sat down, then put her hands in her lap.

“What did you tell her?” she asked.

Mike put down his fork, then leaned back. “The truth.”

Cari’s eyes widened. “Do you think—”

“Don’t worry. She’ll keep your secrets, just like she keeps all of mine.”

Cari hesitated, then leaned forward. “I have a plan.”

Once again, Mike was struck by how different Carolina and Susan really were. Susan was the kind who always waited for instructions. Carolina had yet to wait for much of anything.

“I’m listening,” he said.

“I need to get to a hairstylist. Can you recommend a salon?”

Mike frowned. This wasn’t what he’d expected. Getting her hair styled seemed out of place considering everything else that had happened.

“Yes, but can I ask why?”

Even though he saw a sudden film of tears in her eyes, her chin jutted.

“Because I’m going back to Bordelaise for the funeral. I will not stand by and hide while others bury Mother and Daddy…and Susan.”

Mike frowned. “What about the killer? I thought you wanted him to think you were dead?”

“He’ll see Susan because he’s expecting to see
Susan. And I need to get to the hair salon because Susan is about to get a makeover.”

Mike’s eyes widened with newfound respect. Damn, but she was something.

“As soon as breakfast is over, I’ll have Songee find you a stylist.”

“Thank you,” Cari said, then took a list out of the pocket of her gray slacks and handed it to him. “While they’re working on me, I would appreciate it if you could get these items for me. I think you’ll be able to find all of them at any good pharmacy.”

Mike eyed the list curiously. “Bandages. Gauze pads. Surgical tape. A sling.” Then he frowned. “A sling?”

“Susan had an accident, remember?”

A slow smile spread across Mike’s face. “Oh, yeah…I get it. With enough bandages, the obvious similarities to you and Susan would be expected, but at the same time, disguised.” Then he pointed to her head. “What about the staples in your head?”

“The hair is already gone from there. The rest is about to be shortened dramatically.”

Mike eyed her thoughtfully, picturing the way everything she was talking about would change her looks. “You know what? You just might pull this off.”

“Not might. Will,” Cari said. “And when we get to Bordelaise, you’re going to have to force yourself to call me Susan, whether you like it or not.”

“I know,” he said, and looked away.

“I know this is hard for you, too. Susan talked about you all the time.” Cari hesitated, then added, “Even though she always denied it, I always thought there was more than a working relationship between you.”

“A lot of people thought that,” Mike said. “Truth was, she was one of my best friends. I admired her. I depended on her. But romance never clicked.”

Cari frowned, thinking of her broken engagement to Lance. “Love is a pretty fickle emotion. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t, and for a whole host of reasons.”

Before anything more could be said, Songee returned with Cari’s food.

“Eat up while it’s still warm,” she said. “Anything else you two might be needing?”

Mike eyed Cari, who shook her head. “We’re good, Songee, but thanks.”

The woman nodded briefly and bustled out of the room, leaving them on their own again.

Cari was staring down at her food, wondering if she was going to be able to swallow it, when Mike leaned forward and added a piece of bacon and a hot buttered biscuit to her plate.

“You don’t want to hurt Songee’s feelings, now do you?”

Cari sighed. “No.”

“I find it much easier to get along if I do as she says,” Mike said softly, then picked up her fork and handed it to her.

Cari looked at the fork, then up at Mike. There was so much compassion on his face it was almost her undoing. She took the fork, then looked away. By the time she got herself under control, he was reaching for his third biscuit.

C
ari sat motionless in her chair at the salon, watching as her long, dark hair fell to the floor in swatches. The stylist Mike brought her to was not only cautious regarding her injuries, but highly skilled. Somehow she’d managed to create a perky style of spikes and wisps that almost concealed the missing hair. She was working a styling product through the wisps as Mike came striding back into the salon.

Cari could tell by the look on his face that her transformation was drastic.

“Wow,” he said. “Talk about changing your appearance! I don’t think you’re going to have much to worry about come Thursday.”

She nodded. “Good. Did you get the stuff on my list?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Thank you,” she said.

“You’re very welcome,” Mike said, as he pulled out his wallet and paid the stylist.

Cari eyed the money changing hands, making a mental note of yet another thing she was going to owe him. One day she would have her life back, and then she could repay him. Then her conscience demanded she amend the thought. She might be able to give back the money she owed, but she would never be able to repay Mike Boudreaux for his willingness to trust a total stranger.

“Are you ready?” he asked, as he slipped his hand under her elbow.

“As ready as I’m ever going to be,” she said.

A short while later, they were home.

Marcey Ball was bordering on hysterical. She’d called her husband’s cell phone so many times that the batteries in her own cell had gone dead. It wasn’t like Austin not to call home. She was six weeks away from the delivery of their first child, and no one was more excited about being a first-time father than Austin.

He’d left home yesterday for a day trip to Louisiana and hadn’t been heard from since. The last time she’d talked to him had been right before he’d boarded the plane to Baton Rouge. He had not checked in at the office or with Mr. Martinelli. She didn’t want to admit that something terrible must have happened, but in her mind, there was no other explanation.

So it was with shaking hands that she finally made a call to the Chicago Police. When her call was answered, it took every ounce of guts she had left to say, “I need to speak to someone in Missing Persons.”

“One moment, please,” the operator said.

Marcey started to shake. Making this call was a final confirmation of the fact he’d gone missing.
God, oh God, help me find him.
She was on the verge of tears when her call was answered.

“Missing Persons… Detective Smith speaking.”

Marcey flinched. She hadn’t been prepared to hear a female voice. It took her a moment to pull herself together.

Sandy Smith frowned. She was already up to her eyes with paperwork and in no mood for hang ups. She grabbed a handful of napkins and blotted a spill of coffee from her desk as she repeated herself. “Hello? Detective Smith.”

Marcey took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t—Sorry. I need to start over.”

Sandy tossed the napkins in the trash and reached for a pen and paper. “That’s okay, ma’am. Let’s start by you giving me your name.”

“Oh. Yes. Uh… My name is Marcey Ball.” Then she relayed her address and phone number. “I called because my husband is missing.”

“What’s his name, Mrs. Ball?”

“Austin Ball. He’s a lawyer…a partner, actually, in a firm downtown.”

Sandy frowned. “Are you referring to Meacham and Ball?”

“Yes.”

Instinct told the detective this might be more than the marital fight gone bad that usually led to someone taking off for a few days. Meacham and Ball’s choice of clients would never make the social register, even though they were some of the wealthiest in the city.

“Has he checked in with his office?”

“No. They haven’t heard from him, either. I think I was the last to talk to him.”

“When was that?” Sandy asked, making notes as they talked.

“Yesterday. He was at O’Hare, getting ready to board a plane for Baton Rouge, Louisiana.”

“Was this on business?” Sandy asked.

“Yes, but I don’t know details. His partner, Paul Meacham, can fill you in on that. Austin never talked business at home. You know…client privacy and all that.”

“Yes. Okay, Mrs. Ball. I’ll do some checking and see what I can find out, okay?”

Marcey shivered. “It’s something bad,” she said.

Sandy frowned. “Why do you say that?”

“Because I’m six weeks away from delivering our first child. My husband is so excited. He always calls me…at least three times a day. He was supposed to go with me to my doctor appointment this morning.
I went alone. Whatever has kept him from calling me has to be bad.”

“I see. Well, let’s don’t borrow trouble. Let me do some checking, and then I’ll get back to you.”

“Yes. Thank you.”

“I’ll be in touch,” Sandy said, then hung up.

She looked down at the notes on her desk, then picked up the phone again. First things first. Check the airport and see if a man named Austin Ball really got on a plane to Baton Rouge, then go from there.

The cleanup at Bordelaise was slow but steady. By Wednesday evening, power had been restored to the town. Debris removal was a work in progress. The main concerns revolved around the child who was still missing, and the lack of information regarding the four missing prisoners. It was as if they’d all disappeared off the face of the earth. Gossip had turned into dire predictions, and the tentative assumption was that the prisoners had perished in the tornado and their bodies had yet to be found. The little boy, though… People from three neighboring parishes had been searching the area around Bordelaise and even into the swampland for signs of Bobby Earle. Searchers with bloodhounds, even a National Guard helicopter, had joined the effort, but all to no avail. Katie Earle had been hospitalized, bordering on a nervous breakdown, and they were still looking for her estranged husband, J. R. Earle.

It was the impending services for Frank, Maggie
and Cari North that finally brought the town together again. With the absence of a family to help bury the Norths, and the uncertainty of Susan Blackwell being able to travel after her own accident, the members of Frank and Maggie’s church had stepped in.

A potluck dinner was to be held after the upcoming service, and the compassion that would have been offered to surviving family members had shifted to Lance, since he’d once been engaged to Cari.

Lance liked being the object of concern and had begun to believe that he was invincible. Whatever had happened was in the past. He was convinced that his troubles were over.

Joe was putting the finishing touches on a corned beef sandwich when the phone began to ring. He licked the mustard off his thumb and then answered absently, thinking it would probably be Lance. It was Lance’s bad luck that Martinelli mistook Joe’s Southern drawl as his.

“Hello,” he said.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Morgan. It’s Dominic Martinelli again. I think it’s time we resume our conversation from the other day regarding the lack of payment on your outstanding loan.”

Joe was about to explain who he was, and then he heard the word “loan.” His stomach dropped, and it was all he could do to keep breathing.

“Um…I, uh…” he stammered.

Martinelli took the hesitation as more of the same he’d been getting from Lance for the past six months.

“Look, Morgan. Business is business. You’ve defaulted on a loan. I’m calling it in.”

Joe felt the room beginning to spin. “Calling it in?”

“Yes. I had the papers calling in your collateral drawn up and sent one of my lawyers to deliver them the other day. Remember, I asked you if you’d seen Austin Ball? You said you had not. So you can expect another visitor before the weekend.”

Joe panicked. What the hell had Lance used for collateral? To his knowledge, the only thing of value he had left was—

Oh God.

“Mr.…uh, Dominic…there’s something you need to know. I’m not Lance. I’m his older brother, Joe.”

“Ah…my bad,” Martinelli said. “Have your brother call me as soon as he gets home. I’ve given him all the time I can. I’m sure you understand.”

“Wait!” Joe said. “I need to ask. What did Lance use for collateral, and how much did you lend him?”

“Why, the property, of course…for a quarter mil, with a deuce still outstanding.”

Joe staggered backward, then dropped into the nearest chair.

“Jesus,” Joe whispered. “Morgan’s Reach? He mortgaged Morgan’s Reach?”

“Yeah.”

“And two hundred thousand is still unpaid?”

“Yeah. It’s not like I want to do this, but business is business.”

“This property has been in our family since the late seventeen hundreds.”

“Yeah, that’s what he said,” Martinelli said.

“I’m half owner, and I knew nothing of this.”

Martinelli’s demeanor shifted from affable to firm. “Then you’ve got a beef with your brother, not me. You’ve got thirty days to vacate.”

“Oh God, wait, wait,” Joe muttered. “Give me a couple of days to liquidate some assets and the money will be in your hands.”

“Are you serious?” Martinelli asked.

“As a heart attack,” Joe muttered.

“I’ll give you a week,” Martinelli said.

“Thank you,” Joe said. “Oh…wait. I need a number where I can reach you.”

“Your brother has my number,” Martinelli said.

Joe’s demeanor shifted, too, from shock to fury. “Yes, and I’ve got
his
. Since he’s not in the habit of telling the truth and I’m the one who’s going to cough up the money, then I want your number.”

“Yeah, sure. Whatever,” Martinelli said, and rattled it off. “I’ll be expecting to hear from you in a week,” he said.

“Yes,” Joe said, and hung up.

He stared at the sandwich he’d just made, then got up and walked outside and off the veranda, past the pile of downed limbs he’d been gathering and all the way
to the family cemetery. The old wrought-iron gate squeaked in protest as he opened it and walked inside.

The mausoleums dated all the way from 1798 up to those of their parents, who’d died in an accident in 2005. He walked among the little stone houses with the interred bones of his ancestors while anger built. When he got to his parents’ mausoleum, he stopped, then shoved his hands in his pockets and stared at the names carved into the side.

“It’s your fault, you know. From the day he was born, he could do no wrong. You excused him at every turn in his life. Not once was he ever held accountable for anything. You paid off the windows he broke one Halloween. You paid off the judge to make the drunk driving charges go away. You paid off the girl he got pregnant in high school. And ever since you’ve been gone, I’ve followed suit, like a damned lemming, paying off his bad checks and buying him out of one fix after another…but no more.”

Joe pivoted angrily, striding past the tombstones and mausoleums, then paused and turned, as if someone had just called his name.

“No more!” he shouted, and slammed the gate behind him as he left.

Lance was whistling as he got out of his car and headed toward the veranda. Joe came out to meet him as he started up the steps.

“Hey, brother, how’s it going?” Lance asked, and
started into the house when Joe grabbed him by the arm and spun him around. Lance frowned. “Hey! What’s wrong with you? That hurts.”

Joe was so furious he could hardly speak. “You better be glad it’s just your arm, because I am struggling with an overwhelming urge to wring your goddamned neck.”

Lance’s voice deepened angrily. “What the—”

“Does the name Martinelli ring a bell?” Joe asked.

Lance’s stomach lurched. “Oh shit.”

“Yeah. It definitely hit the fan while you were gone,” Joe said, then grabbed Lance by the shoulders and literally shook him. “What in hell were you thinking? Morgan’s Reach has been in our family for over two hundred years. It has survived hurricanes, an outbreak of malaria that killed every male ancestor but one, a civil war, a depression, good times and bad, and now you come along and mortgage it—illegally, I might add, because I own half of it—to some Yankee and let it default? Jesus Christ, Lance! Have you lost your mind?”

Lance shrugged off his brother’s anger. It wasn’t the first time Joe had been pissed at him. At least now it was out in the open.

“I needed some capital. If it hadn’t been for the hurricane ruining the last crop, I would have been fine.”

Joe stared at Lance as if he were a stranger. Even now, his brother was blaming something besides himself for his problems.

“You have been nothing but a class-A fuckup your entire life,” Joe snapped. “The only thing about you that has changed is your age.”

Rage shifted through Lance so fast it made him shake, but he couldn’t argue with the truth. He just didn’t have to like it.

“Calm down. I’ll figure something out,” he said.

“I already did that,” Joe said. “The money will be paid. But you, little brother, have just lost your birthright. The only way I’m buying you out of this mess is if you sign over your half of Morgan’s Reach to me.”

Lance felt as if someone had cut the earth out from under him. “No! Hell no!” he cried. “I’m the one who loves the land. I’m the one who chose to live on it and work it. You wanted the city. You left it for Savannah, remember?”

“Yes, I remember. And I also remember how many times I’ve bought you out of messes since Mom and Dad died. This was the final straw. You might live here, but it’s still half mine, and you mortgaged it illegally. How much do you want to bet if records were searched, I would find my name forged to something?”

Lance looked away, unable to meet his brother’s gaze.

“Damn you!” Joe shouted. “You did, didn’t you? And you still think you deserve another pass? Well, guess what? No more. I’ll pay Martinelli, but you will sign over your rights to me first. If you don’t, I’ll
start by pressing charges against you for forgery and go from there.”

“You wouldn’t!” Lance cried.

Joe’s whole body was shaking. “Try me,” he whispered.

Lance cursed beneath his breath, then strode past his brother and into the house.