Waters Run Deep (23 page)

“Okay, we don’t have to take you downtown.”

“You call that crappy little one-stoplight town downtown?” Mick asked.

Nate laughed at that. “Yeah, you’ve been most accommodating, Mr. Manners, and we at the sheriff’s department appreciate your cooperation as we investigate this case.”

The actor snorted. “Figures all you have to do around here is chase phantoms. Chickens and threats against a kid…that’s all y’all got to do? What? Did a cow get out of the pasture, too?”

“Maybe we better take him in. Resisting arrest?” Wynn glanced at Nate.

“Please,” Mick said. “I gotta be up at six o’clock for a shoot. I cooperated, like he said.”

Nate nodded. “Let’s cut him loose. I’m tired of messing with the jackass.”

“Back at you, buddy,” Mick said, as Nate switched off the blue flashing lights.

“I knew you’d see in me what you see in yourself. I like that about you, Mick.”

“Well, there’s nothing I like about you.”

Nate grinned. “I’ll take myself off your Christmas list.”

* * *

“So why are you doing this?” the actress said from the vanity where she plucked her eyebrows. Her nose was no longer red even though it looked puffy. No black eye, unlike Annie. “I mean you got no stake in me getting pissed at Tawny. Hell, she could fire you for being nice to me after I acted like such a bitch.”

“No, she wouldn’t do that,” Annie said, wandering around trying for nonchalance, but looking hard at the objects scattered around the room. She hated hotel rooms. Hard to feel at home in a place with Bibles in the drawer and switches at the base of cheap ceramic lamps. “I know how it feels to be on the receiving end of—”

“—stupidity?” Jane finished for her.

“Not exactly stupidity. More like someone being blind.”

Jane spun around. “You’ve been taking care of the kid for over a month, right? So you know he’s a little turd and Tawny indulges him and makes excuses for him.”

Annie didn’t think Spencer was a turd. He was a little boy. Sure, he was slightly spoiled, but he also had a wonderful innocence, a lust for adventure and the sweetest sloppy kisses at bedtime. “It’s easy for mothers to overlook faults.”

“Then you don’t have a mother like mine. She points out everything wrong with me. Nothing I do makes her happy. Ever. She complains about every part I don’t get and the fact I’m not even considered B list.”

“My mother died when I was twelve.”

Jane’s eyes met hers in the mirror. “Sorry. I guess I shouldn’t complain about my mother, but they can all be like that. If yours was still around, you’d probably be complaining about how you’re not good enough either.”

Annie would gladly take her mother’s censure if she could have her back. But her mother had never been critical. As an elementary teacher with curling auburn hair, crinkly blue eyes and a somewhat wide bottom, her mother had fit the image of a laughing Irishwoman who made everyone feel good about who they were. Her death had broken Annie’s father, scattering their small, once-happy family into dark corners to grieve alone. Yeah, Annie could handle maternal criticism. Happily. “Maybe. I’m glad I’m not a mother myself. It’s hard being around kids. Nothing easy.”

“Better you than me,” Jane muttered, stepping from the alcove bathroom and hovering over the bag Annie had set down. “I can’t stand all the fawning she does over him. Makes me want to puke. The kid monopolizes all her time now. Can’t even get her to go out for a drink with me anymore, and she used to be quite the party girl. What’s this?”

“Chicken and andouille gumbo.”

“Oh.” Jane pulled the lid off and sniffed. “Mmm. Smells good. What’s andouille?”

“A spicy sausage.” Annie sank uninvited on the bed and crossed her legs. She hadn’t seen anything in the room to arouse suspicion, just lots of clothes, a few Diet Coke cans and some torrid-looking romance books. Too bad Jane didn’t have to go to the bathroom, so Annie could dig through drawers. “So, you’re not a Spencer fan?”

Jane ladeled a spoonful of soup into her mouth. “Whoa. This is incredible.”

Annie nodded.

“I don’t dislike the kid. Just hate what he’s done to Tawny. She was fun at one time. Now she’s different.”

Might be enough motive to threaten Tawny’s child, but it still seemed weak. Who flirted with kidnapping as a way to make a best friend become the life of the party once again? If Jane were the person writing the threats, then she needed a better reason. But Annie had seen some strange things done in the name of some seemingly minor slight.

“We all grow up, I guess.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Jane said, slurping the gumbo. “Guess I’ll apologize to Tawny tomorrow. I shouldn’t have gotten so pissed.

The swelling went down. By tomorrow, hopefully it will look normal.”

“I meant to tell you it looked better.”

Jane didn’t say anything. Silence sat between them and Annie felt the nonverbal cue Jane wanted her to go. She needed to draw more from the woman, do some mental and physical digging around, but if she pushed too hard, Jane would grow suspicious and clam up.

“I’ve got an early call,” Jane said.

“Oh, of course,” Annie said, rising and starting toward the door. “I’ll be on my way.”

“It was decent of you to bring me dinner and check on me. Not many people would have been so nice.”

Annie shrugged. “Trying to earn wings.”

“Why? More fun to earn horns.” Jane laughed at her own joke before setting the bowl on the faux-wood dresser and following Annie to the door. “Well, thanks again.”

“Sure,” Annie said, stepping out where the outside light hummed and bugs swarmed her head. She ducked and glanced back at Jane. “See you around.”

Jane smiled. “Be careful. Crazy people running around, you know.”

With a final wave, Annie walked to her car, pressing the button that made it beep to life. She was bummed about not accomplishing much. Okay, so Jane had a narcissistic mother who pressured her to succeed. A dime a dozen. The woman hadn’t seemed jumpy, tense or remotely suspicious. Annie had struck out.

She started the car and pulled onto the highway off I-49. Since a few gas stations clustered around the highway, Annie pulled into one to refill the tank of the rental car. Not many people were out; in fact, there was only one car and a motorcycle at Arby’s. Big eighteen-wheelers sat silent, parked in a dark lot behind the truckers’ gas station, as their brothers in transport whooshed by on the overpass, stirring the night air.

As Annie capped the tank, she caught movement out of the corner of her eye. A woman in a baseball cap crossed the highway, carrying a paper bag from the one of the convenience stores. Normally, Annie wouldn’t have noticed, but the woman moved quickly with evident nervousness. She headed toward one of the cheap motels, head down, steps brisk. The yellow halo of the motel lights caught her profile as she furtively glanced over her shoulder and entered a room at the back of the motel.

Tawny.

Annie glanced at her watch. 10:17. The woman had to be visiting Mick or someone else involved in the production of the movie if her nervousness was any indicator.

Despite what Annie believed, Tawny was stepping out on her husband.

Disappointment struck her as she pocketed the credit card and got back in the car. When she’d left earlier, Tawny and Carter had seemed to be getting along, laughing and pretending to be fussy diners as Spencer served up Play-Doh spaghetti and hot dogs.

They’d looked almost happy. So why would Tawny sneak out to hook up with Mick Manners? Sure, the guy was good-looking and somewhat darkly charming, but he had a worn look about him. Disillusioned, cynical and bored. Like a faded rock star who’d partied too hard. Like that John Malkovich character from Dangerous Liasons. Jaded.

Carter was arrogant, sure, but he loved his wife. Annie could see that.

Briefly she debated going to the hotel and snooping around to see who the actress might be meeting, but Tawny cheating wouldn’t be related… Or would it? She needed to think about what this meant to her case.

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow she’d see Nate and maybe he could get someone to check out Mick—and hopefully get a firm lead. She needed to feel as if she mattered to the case, and wasn’t just the bodyguard. She missed having an investigative partner—someone with whom to bounce ideas, to spout theories and have her back.

Tomorrow she’d tell Nate about Tawny. About Jane and her mother, her barren womb and her grudge against her best friend.

Tomorrow she’d catch a break. She felt it in her bones.

THE PHONE RANG EARLY in the morning, waking Nate from heavy sleep. He grabbed the cell phone from his nightstand and grumbled

“This better be damned important” into the receiver.

“I can’t do this,” she said.

At first he’d thought it was Annie, but then the accent hit him. Sally Cheramie. Or Della. His sister.

“Sorry,” he said, staring at the blinking red numbers on his alarm clock. The power had gone out sometime during the night. He sat up, allowing the sheet to fall on the floor, padded naked across the room and squinted at his watch. 7:08 a.m. Too damn early to deal with this even though he knew he’d have to take it off his backburner at some point. Picou had hounded him like a mockingbird after a cat. He’d dodged the pecking long enough. Della had come to him. “What can’t you do?”

“This. This whole I-have-a-new-family thing. I can’t. My grandmere is sick and she doesn’t know about you. About the Dufrenes. She thinks I’m her real granddaughter. That’s what Sal told her, and she had no reason not to believe him…or maybe she didn’t want to. I don’t know.” Her voice shook and she sounded like a jumper he’d once talked down off an overpass. It had ended well, but had been dicey for a good ten minutes.

“Deep breath, okay?”

He heard her inhale then exhale. “She called me yesterday.”

“Who?”

“Your mother. I mean, my mother. Picou.”

Irritation flooded him. He’d told the infernal woman to give it time. “You have to understand how excited she is. She had you ripped from her and has been waiting over twenty years—”

“I know,” Sally interrupted. Or was it Della? Either way, the woman on the other end was in tears. “My grandmere’s in organ failure. She’s dying and I can’t do this to her. I can’t tell her I’m not a Cheramie.”

He closed his eyes and counted to ten. He had to choose his words carefully and not fly off the handle like his father would have done. “You don’t have to tell her anything, okay?”

There was a long pause. He could hear her thinking. “Okay.”

“But, you have to do what’s right. You didn’t ask for this to happen to you, but when the lab technician let it slip you weren’t related to Enola Cheramie, things were set in motion. They can’t be undone, Della.”

“Don’t call me that,” she said, her voice stronger. Fierce. “My name is Sally, and I never should have called Dennis at the sheriff’s office.”

“But you did, and now even if it’s hard, you have to move forward and be fair to our family. We loved you, we lost you and we’ve found you again.”

Silence sat on the line. He studied the red flashing numbers on the alarm clock before picking it up and fiddling with it, resetting it so it would chirp the next morning and get him to the station on time.

“I know. I do. But it’s complicated.”

“Yeah, it is, and it’s going to get worse. We haven’t told anyone beyond my, I mean our, brothers and Lucille. Once word gets out about you, people are going to talk. It will be a sensational news item, maybe even national press. We’re going to deal with a lot of crap.”

“Don’t tell, Nate. Please. Not until my grandmere is stronger. She’s not doing well, and I don’t think she can take the idea I’m not hers.”

He paused, weighing his words. “But you are hers, Della. And you’re ours, too. She raised you and, I’m presuming, loved you.

Even she can understand how you feel…and how we feel.”

“Maybe,” she whispered, “but please, I know it’s hard and maybe it’s wrong, but can I please have a bit more time? I’ll come to Bayou Bridge soon. I promise.”

He wanted to yell at her, but he knew her world had been rocked. He pictured his mother, the way her eyes had flooded with relief and joy, and knew Della couldn’t wait much longer. “Yeah, we won’t tell the world, but you need to come to Beau Soleil. For our mother’s sake.”

Again, there was a long pause. “Okay. I’ll come, but I won’t make any long-term promises. I’m not sure I want to—” She broke off. “I don’t know if I can be called Della. Don’t know if I’m ready to be the girl you lost. I’m me. Not her.”

“None of us is asking you to give up who you are. We’re asking you to give us a chance. We all have to go slowly.” He congratulated himself on restraint. He really wanted to tell her to get her ass to Beau Soleil so his mother could finally heal, so the smile could finally reach her eyes and stay there. He wanted to tell her to stop being selfish. But he didn’t. Because he didn’t know anything about his long-lost sister…nor about what she felt. He’d always been a Dufrene. Always had an identity. So he bit his tongue. “If your grandmother is stable enough, why not drive up this weekend? You said you have a boyfriend, right? See if he might escort you to the Arch Angels Feast Day at St. Aquinas.”

“Will you be there?”

“Yeah, I’m on the committee. Mom is chairing the event so she can’t have a meltdown when she meets you. Abram won’t be there—ULB’s playing Florida—and Darby’s still in Spain.”

She sighed. “Okay. I can do this. I’m scared as hell, but I can do it.”

“Of course you can. You’re a Dufrene,” he said.

This time she didn’t correct him. Instead they confirmed times for a meet-up at Beau Soleil before going to St. Aquinas for the festival, where there would be a shrimp boil and several crafts booths, plus bouncies for the kids. Perfect time for strangers to be in town. No one would think it odd they hosted friends or a cousin or two, especially since Picou chaired the committee.

Nate hung up and turned the shower on. He had a full day ahead—one that didn’t need the complication of long-lost sisters or the comparative prices of bounce-house rentals.