The Kindness of Strangers (Skip Langdon Mystery #6) (The Skip Langdon Series) (24 page)

Paulette nodded, as if proud of her addiction. “I did every drug I could get my hands on, till I met Daddy. Reverend Jacomine. I owe my life to that man. You ever do drugs, baby?”

Puzzled, Torian shook her head.

“That’s my girl. Don’t you ever start, either. It’s just a way of not thinking about what ya real problem is. Trouble is, it dodn’t solve it. Postpones it, tha’s all. I’d give my life for Daddy, you know that? He helped me that much; he means that much to me.”

Torian felt slightly tense, not sure whether this was the standard anti-drug lecture or some bid to become a disciple of Errol Jacomine. She sort of hoped it was the latter.

“He’s a wonderful man,” she said, hoping the simple sentence wouldn’t convey her deep longing for someone wonderful in her life, someone she could believe in completely, not just a little bit in a certain area at a certain time of day if she were lucky.

But Paulette seemed ready to go on to other things. “What happened to me was somethin’ like what happened to Adonis, ‘cept I was much older. I was about your age, and I had two loves in my life—my little brother and my little sister. I was those kids’ mama. Really. My mama never stopped to think about that—she jus’ up and left.” She took a bite of toast and looked thoughtful while she chewed it. “I don’t know. I jus’ don’t know who took care of them later on.”

“You mean you just came home one day and everybody was gone—like Adonis did?” Surely something that cold couldn’t have happened twice.

“She took me to my daddy’s house and never came back for me.”

“I wish my mama’d do that.”

“Thought you had baby sisters. Wouldn’t ya miss ‘em?”

“My dad’s kids.” She guessed she had to stick to her story about having two of them.

Paulette nodded. “Well, I understand, then. Because it was my sister and brother I missed. My mama never was much of a mama. My dad—he drank, and he didn’t have no interest in me, so I ran away. Tha’s how I got to New Orleans. I hitchhiked down here, and I didn’t have a penny, and I met a man who said he’d take care of me. He turned me out and got me on drugs.”

“He was a pimp?”

“Sho’ was, baby. He was a pimp. Finally, when I met Daddy through a friend, and I got off drugs, I knew what I wanted. Know what it was?”

Torian shook her head.

“I wanted my little brother and sister back again. So tha’s what I told Daddy and he told me he could give me that. And he did. He helped me open up this place for kids like you—every day a new kid comes, I get my little brother or sister back.”

“Do you get paid for this?”

“No, baby, I don’t get paid. I got to work full-time, doin’ somethin’ else, just to keep it open. I’m a carpenter, baby. Tha’s where I got these muscles. You ever seen a lady carpenter? Daddy told me I could do it. He encouraged me even though I thought I’d never get a job. But he said he’d give me one. Sho’ enough, he did, and now I do a lot of work for folks in the church. But, listen, tha’s not what I want to say to you.

“I know ya thinkin’ of goin’ back, but I want ya to stay here a few days and think about things. Ya know, Daddy’s real worried about ya, and so am I. Because ya got a problem ya don’t even know about. Ya main problem’s not ya mama, honey, it’s ya boyfriend.”

“What are you talking about? I haven’t even got a boyfriend.”

“Sure you have. Noel Treadaway’s ya boyfriend. Ya know when I met that man who turned me out? I was jus’ your age and he was Noel’s.”

“Noel’s not a pimp!”

“No, sweetheart, I didn’t mean that. But there’s somethin’ wrong with a grown man who’s hanging with a kid.”

“We’re in love.” Torian could feel herself slouching, pouting, behaving like the kid Paulette described.

“Yeah. That’s what my man said, too.”

“He’s not trying to get me to have sex. He refuses to have sex with me.”

“That’s a funny kind of love, ain’t it, baby? Look, all I’m sayin’—this dude’s trouble for ya, one way or another. I just want ya to think about that, okay?”

Torian got up. “I’m leaving.” She was pulling her few things together when Paulette called up to her.

“‘Torian. Somebody to see you.”

Noel! It had to be. No one else knew she was there.

She raced down like a kid whose dad has come home, but it wasn’t Noel at the bottom of the stairs.

“Reverend Jacomine! I look terrible. I mean—”

“I just came by to make sure you’re comfortable.”

“You did? You came by to see me?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

“I don’t know. You’re busy.”

“Well, you were a mighty upset young lady yesterday. I was hopin’ you’d be feeling better today.”

Torian gave Paulette a glance. Had she called him? No, there wasn’t time.

A funny thing, though—Paulette was looking at the Rev as if he were God.

But he was looking at her, Torian. As if she were the center of the universe. “You feelin’ better, Miss Gernhard?”

She loved the way he called her that. She still couldn’t figure out why he was here. She couldn’t believe he cared so much—about her, a perfect stranger—that he’d come out to see her.

“I feel—fine.”

“Paulette said you’re ‘bout ready to go home. I thought maybe you didn’t like it here.”

“Oh, I do. I love it. I just thought—I mean, everyone else has real problems. I just felt kind of trivial, I guess.”

“Well, not at all, Miss Gernhard. We’d love for you to stay as long as you like.”

“Thank you, but—”

“One more night? Just to get a fresh perspective? For me?”

Torian smiled. “Sure. What can that hurt?” The longer she was away, the more Lise and her father would worry. Who knew? They might even miss her.

Chapter Sixteen

LISE THOUGHT:
HAVE I got a sinus headache? I must have a sinus headache. My head couldn’t hurt like this if I didn’t.

Her cranium felt as if it would explode, which was the way sinus headaches made her feel, but at the same time, veins throbbed; muscles twitched.

She held some ice to her head, and when that didn’t help, she got out some more ice and poured vodka over it. She had called her ex-husband, but he didn’t answer. Somehow, that was a relief. She didn’t think Torian was with him—whatever else you said about him, at least he had a rudimentary sense of responsibility, meaning he’d probably have let her know if Torian were there.

She had called Sheila, of course, but the little bitch denied even talking to Torian in two days, which Lise didn’t believe. They spent hours on the phone every day and if each didn’t know every move the other made, Lise would be astonished.

Suddenly she thought,
I know! The babysitting people. She likes that woman.

“Mrs. Treadaway? Oh, right, Miss Leydecker. Dr. Leydecker, I mean—you’re a shrink, aren’t you?”

“Not really. But I am a therapist. May I ask who’s calling?”

“Sorry. It’s Lise Gernhard. Torian’s mother. I haven’t seen Torian and I wondered—”

“Haven’t seen her? Since when?”

“Well, I—” She stopped, too ashamed to tell the truth.

“This morning.” Lise hadn’t seen Torian the morning after the fight—she’d spent the night at Charles’s. Then the next night, she’d come home late and assumed her daughter was asleep. Now it was the morning after that. She had no idea how long she’d been gone.

“I’m sorry. We haven’t seen her today.”

“I just thought—she and I had a fight last night, and she’s told me about your talks.”

“‘Talks?”

“Oh, yes. She idolizes you. I think you’re the only adult she listens to.”

The woman—her name was Boo, wasn’t it?—laughed in a way that wasn’t a laugh, that came out like a snort, as if she were just filling the air until she thought of something to say.

Lise thought,
I wonder what I did to make her nervous.

Finally Boo said, “I’m sure that can’t be true.” Then, quickly, “Listen, I’ll send her home right away if I see her.”

Well, Lise hadn’t really thought she was there. Discouraged, she had another drink and thought about it.

That proved the right thing to do, because once she thought it through, there was really only one explanation. She ran a comb through her hair and walked over to Sheila’s.

The uncle answered the door, and Lise recognized him. “Oh, hi. I’ve seen you at Matassa’s.”

“Hi. Yes. What can I do for you?”

“I’m Torian’s mother. Sheila’s friend?”

“Oh, of course. Come in.”

He’s kind of cute. A little old for me and a little short, but—wait a minute, isn’t he gay? Didn’t Torian say that?

She really had no idea, but someone might have said it if Torian hadn’t—it was that kind of neighborhood. He wasn’t married, that part Lise was pretty sure of. Which probably meant he was gay—that was where she’d probably gotten the idea.

He said, “Do you mind coming in the kitchen? I’m making dinner.”

She followed him into as beautifully equipped a kitchen as she’d seen in the French Quarter. He was cleaning up after breakfast. An enormous woman stood against a counter, wearing jeans and holding her purse, as if waiting for him.

“Skip Langdon,” he said. “This is Torian’s mother—uh—”

“Lise. Are you Sheila’s aunt?”

Sheila, coming into the room, snorted.

Lise turned around. “There you are. Listen, it’s you I want to talk to.”

The girl smiled. “Hi, Mrs. Gernhard.” She was maddening. There was no question she knew where Torian was—hiding out in Sheila’s room, probably.

“Where is Torian?” Only when Sheila stepped back, as if frightened, did Lise realize she was shouting.

The large woman took a step toward her, and Lise remembered who she was—the cop who lived in back. In fact, now that Lise saw the cop and heard her name, she realized the cop was someone she had seen on television. She was quite a famous cop in New Orleans, and not only that, she was at least six feet tall.

Wait a minute, I haven’t done anything illegal. I’m just here to find my kid.

A wave of righteousness washed over her. She saw no need to do anything different.

“I don’t know where she is,” said Sheila, and her voice was whiny. She was a little younger than Torian; Lise remembered what an awful age fifteen was.

“She has a boyfriend, hasn’t she?”

Good. The girl looked alarmed.

“She’s probably holed up in some fleabag with some dude with dreadlocks and nipple piercings. Right, Sheila?” Lise was deliberately exaggerating, making it worse than it could possibly be, to back Sheila in a corner, make her want to explain how cute and clean-cut little Jeffrey or Jason really was. But oddly, the girl seemed to be relaxing.

She said, “No. She isn’t. Torian’s not like that.”

Lise took a step toward her. “Well, she has other friends, right?”

Sheila shrugged. “Mrs. Gernhard, I don’t know where she is. I swear it.”

“Yes, you do. Goddammit, Sheila, you do and you’re going to tell me now!”

The uncle put a hand on her shoulder. Funny, she’d almost forgotten about him. “Lise, I’m giving Skip a ride to the airport. Sorry, but we’re right down to the wire.” He removed his hand and spoke very quietly, as if trying to calm her. “I’m really sorry Sheila doesn’t know where Torian is, but it can’t be helped. She just doesn’t.”

To her horror, Lise started to sob. “Oh, God, my baby’s gone, and it’s all my fault. Oh, God, she’s really gone!” She turned to the cop. “Can’t the police do anything?”

“How long has she been missing?”

“Is that all you can do? Ask stupid questions?”

She saw Sheila look beseechingly at Skip Langdon, as if begging the cop to rescue her friend from the madwoman, and that frightened her.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean that. I’m just upset.”

Skip Langdon nodded. “I understand—everybody gets upset about that one. If your kid’s been missing an hour, it seems like a day and a half. Have you filed a report?”

“A report?” Lise wiped her eyes with a tissue the uncle handed her.

“With the police. Maybe they can help.”

“Skip. Come on.” The uncle was standing at the door, jingling keys. The cop left.

“Lise?” said Sheila. “Can you get home okay?”

Lise nodded, puzzled at the question. But in fact it was hard to get home, picking her way through a sort of Impressionist landscape, made fuzzy and strange by her tears.

And when she arrived, the apartment seemed like a cave—dank and uninhabited. She called, “Torian? Torian?” But knowing it was futile. She would know if her daughter were there.

She sank down on the couch and cried some more, finally getting up and pouring a drink to give her the courage to call Wilson again.

But she had not yet found the courage when there was a great banging on the door. “Lise! Goddammit, Lise, let me in.”

Wilson. How he’d gotten in the front door she didn’t know—probably told a neighbor he was her husband.

“What in the fuck is this about losing Torian?”

She’d left a message on his machine. “She’s not with you?”

“With me? Would I be here if she were with me? What the fuck do you mean?”

“She ran away. She hates me.”

His face said he could understand perfectly. “Has her bed been slept in?”

“She made it up. She does that.”

“Goddammit, Lise, I haven’t got time for this crap! Don’t you think I have anything else to do?”

“This is your daughter, you asshole.”

“Have you called the police?”

“No, I—”

“Well, why not, goddammit?”

“Stop firing questions at me—I can’t think.”

“Oh, shit. You’re shit, you know that? You make Medea look like a great little mom.” He turned around and walked out.

What was he going to do? she wondered. The answer came to her, clear as sunlight in the garden:
Nothing. Make me do all the work as usual. Blame me if anything happens
.

She started to cry again, only this time she poured a drink right away, hoping it would make her sleep, at least. True, it was mid-morning, but Lise felt a great urge to go back to bed and stay there for about six hours. If Torian weren’t home by then, she could call the police.

In fact, maybe it would be a good idea to take some aspirin. She went into the bathroom and took six or eight of them.