by John Moore
I left the group sitting on the balcony to call Jess. Even though she rarely left her desk during business hours, I called her on her cell phone. “Hi, Alexandra, I suppose you are calling about Clinton Cunningham’s death, right?” she asked, sounding like she was out of breath.
I hoped the cancer wasn’t getting the better of her. “Yes,” I said.
“Can’t talk now. I’ll have to call you later. ACC’s plant on the Gulf has suffered a major explosion. I’ve got reporters on the way. This story is hot. I’ll call you when I have some details.”
Bam, she hung up after dropping that bombshell. Jess never was much for long explanations or small talk. “Just the facts” was her mantra, like all true reporters or cops. She could have been great at either one, but she’d sure made her mark on New Orleans as a reporter. I ran back to the balcony and told the group the news. “I wonder what happened?” Tom said. “I’ll bet the pollution is spreading in the Gulf as we speak. I’d better get to work.”
Tom sped off to his office, and Piper scanned the Internet to find any information on the explosion. I just sat on the porch wondering how all of the recent events were going to affect our plans to bring organic food to everyone. Zach spoke up, “Alexandra, Maddy and I appreciate the opportunity you have given us. We know it won’t be easy to pull off starting an organic farming operation, but what in life is easy? There have been obstacles facing every great person who has accomplished anything worthwhile in life ever since the first caveman picked up a rock to throw at the tiger stalking him. Edison, Lincoln, and even Colonel Sanders struggled before they found success. We are all in this together, and persistence will pay off. We believe in you, Alexandra.”
Zach’s words were as true as any statement ever made. Adversity is always just around the corner, no matter what a person is trying to accomplish. I knew neither my mother nor Sarah would approve of me getting discouraged, and I could hear their voices chiming in with Zach’s, egging me on. I’d beaten Victor and Barton Rogan before, and by God I could do it again.
My phone rang, and it was Sophia. I excused myself and went to my bedroom to speak to her privately. “Sophia, did you hear the news about Clinton Cunningham dying?” I asked.
“I did, Alexandra, and that is why I am calling. I spoke to Detective Baker about it a few minutes ago. There doesn’t seem to be any foul play in his death, but he’s heard some other disturbing news. Victor Ivanovich is wasting no time declaring his intentions to take over the prostitution and drug business in the French Quarter. Several of his men are on their way to New Orleans as we are speaking. Bart Rogan is flying them in with his jet.”
“Holy shit. He really isn’t wasting any time,” I said. “What are Clint’s men going to do?”
“Nobody’s sure. Right now they are getting ready for a fight. But I’m afraid there’s more bad news. The Scorpions are working with Victor and Rogan again. They plan on supplying the drugs for New Orleans after Victor takes over. My brother told me the Colombian authorities are tracking the Scorpions’ movements. They have a new leader who replaced El Alacran. No one knows who he is, but the word everywhere is he’s deadly.”
“None of these developments are good for New Orleans,” I said. “The city has barely recovered from Katrina, and now we are about to have a dangerous group of the devil’s spawn ruling the underbelly of the city. I don’t know if the French Quarter can survive.”
I went back out to the balcony to join Zach and Maddy. They were listening to a group of street musicians who’d set up a block away, none of which were over the age of thirteen. They had a percussionist, two horn players, and a guitarist who sang, playing a bluesy, jazzy version of “Sweet Georgia Brown.” They played well enough to win any of the talent shows on television. Watching them made me realize that Victor, Rogan, Colombian drug gangs, nor anyone else could kill the essence of this city. The music, the food, the free-wheeling spirit, and most of all the people were the core of New Orleans. They had survived pirates, wars, and hurricanes without missing a beat, and they could survive the bastards that were conspiring to take over the city now.
We all sat on the balcony listening to the music and people-watching. The day passed and I learned a little more about Maddy and Zach. They were deeply spiritual people who felt like being in harmony with the universe was the way to a happy life. Zach said his break with the universe when he was doing drugs cost him much more than he’d ever imagined, and he was committed to living the rest of his life in a spiritual state. I wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but if the peace that resonated around him was a result, it was a wonderful thing.
Tom came home a little after dark. He burst onto the balcony with a bottle of wine and several glasses. He shushed us all and poured us each a glass of wine. “I have some news to share with all of you. My friends who were looking for property in LaPlace for us to farm found the perfect piece. It belonged to an old farmer and his wife. They’ve both passed within a week of each other, and their only child doesn’t want to live on the property. He lives in Baton Rouge and works in a law firm as a paralegal. I’ve got a signed purchase agreement here for us to purchase the land. It is conditioned on us being able to obtain financing, and I’ve spoken to our banker, and he says we’ll definitely qualify for the loan. So, if we sign the purchase agreement, there’s no turning back.”
Tom unfolded the agreement and handed it to me. “Oh my God, Tom, we can’t afford this property. Do you think we can get a loan to purchase it?” I asked.
Tom’s smile radiated like the morning sun.“Our banker was confident when he said we could, so I think so. We can go to the bank tomorrow and get the process started. If they finance it for us, we can get started right away. The land has been farmed for years, and the fields are flat but a little overgrown with weeds and grass.”
“What will we do for equipment?” Zach asked. “All of our equipment is on the farm in Indiana.”
Just when I thought Tom’s smile couldn’t get any broader, it did as he said, “That’s another beautiful part of this deal. The farm equipment comes with the farm.”
“No way,” Maddy said. “That’s incredible.”
Tom held the agreement up and said, “OK, everybody, if we sign this, there’s no turning back. Alexandra and I will be putting everything we have on the line. We have to be successful, no matter what it takes. Are you all in?”
I jumped up.“Wait! Wait!” I screamed. “We aren’t all here.” I ran inside and yelled to Piper to come downstairs and join us. I explained everything to her as we went back onto the balcony. “OK, Tom, go ahead.”
“Before Alexandra and I sign, everybody here has to pledge to work their asses off to make the farm successful. Are you all in?”
A resounding “YES” reverberated off of the buildings in the French Quarter. Tom and I signed the purchase agreement, and just like that, we were in the organic farming business in Louisiana, and there was no turning back.
Chapter Seventeen:
Rebirth
We’d just signed an agreement that put Tom and me in a sink or swim position. I had to admit to myself that I had reservations. We didn’t know anything about farming, except what I’d learned as a child about corn, and organic farming was a horse of a different color. But my inner voice nudged me to sign the purchase agreement. Was that my mother trying to get me back on a farm or the universe telling me organic farming was the right thing for me to do? It didn’t matter at this point, because the agreement was signed and we were committed to succeeding or losing everything. OK, I could admit to myself that I was scared, but fear wasn’t always a bad thing. I’d heard someone say that bravery was feeling the fear but doing it anyway. God, I hoped they were right. I would soon find out if I were brave or dumb.
We were all so excited about buying a farm that we didn’t talk about Clint’s death. I did think about him before I went to sleep, and was a little sad remembering him s
itting at his desk, in charge, in the middle of his life, and then—bam. Gone. One less soul on earth.
Was he a good man or a bad man? I couldn’t decide, but then it came to me: He was, like most people, a mixture of both. Surely there were people who would miss him and mourn his passing. After all, a group of jazz musicians paraded down Bourbon Street honoring his life, but I wondered more what impact he had had on the world, and what impact his death would have. Without Clint, no one was around to stand in Victor’s way. I went to sleep knowing I would have to deal with three of the devil’s spawn: Victor, Rogan, and the Quarter Killer.
Morning shined its bright light in the Quarter, bringing to life all of the slow-moving early-morning activity. It was a new day with new tasks to accomplish, and the first task was for me to drink a cup of Community Coffee on the balcony. Tom joined me as we watched the sun conquer the night.
“Tom,” I said. “I forgot to ask about the explosion at the ACC plant. Did you find out anything?”
“It was confined to one section of the plant, but a horrific explosion from what I heard,” Tom said. “One person was killed, but I don’t know any other details.”
“That’s awful,” I said. “Maybe the tragedy will shine some light on ACC’s activities. Was anyone ever able to prove the leak you detected came from that plant?”
Tom cocked his head to the left and shook it side to side. “No, and now I’m afraid they never will.”
“So when do you think we can close on the land in LaPlace? I am ready to get my hands in some dirt,” I said. “You know I’m handy with a tractor. I drove my dad’s tractor all the time as a child, tilling the soil and planting corn. I haven’t forgotten any of those skills.”
Tom laughed at me. He inched closer and put his arm around me. “Sometimes I forget you’re just an Indiana farm girl.”
“Tom, I am not just a farm girl.”
“True. You’re a sexy woman . . . good at sitting on balconies and drinking coffee and wine—”
I raised an eyebrow.
“And a kickass journalist/investigator/crime-fighting superhero.”
“You forgot organic food mogul.”
“Mogul, huh?”
“Do-gooder mogul.”
“That I can live with.” We kissed for a few minutes and then he pulled away. “Seriously, we need to organize ourselves. We have a great deal going on right now. If we are getting married in the next three weeks, we have to make some final arrangements, so let’s go tomorrow and get our marriage license. My friends at the Aquarium of the Americas have cleared the way for us to have the wedding on the last Saturday in August. The ceremony will have to begin at seventhirty in the evening.”
“Oh, Tom. That’s wonderful,” I said. “I can’t believe you were able to swing the aquarium for us to be married in. Can we get the license first thing in the morning?”
Tom nodded.
“Will your parents be able to come?” I asked.
“They’ve already booked their flight. They arrive a couple of days before the wedding, and they have booked a room at the Marriott on Canal Boulevard. Neither of them has been to New Orleans, so they are very excited.”
“I’ll get everything ready for the reception after. Our home is the perfect place,” I said. “I’ll make a guest list. Do you want to invite any of the people you work with?”
Tom thought for a minute before he answered, “No, but you can invite some of the ladies from the shelter if you’d like.”
Wow, I thought, this is going to be so much fun. Our life was changing so quickly. I used to believe that having a career as a journalist was all I wanted, but not now. I wanted to do more than report the news. I wanted a family and I wanted to make a difference in people’s lives. I wanted to provide food, real food, for hungry people, and to battle killers who victimize common people, whether they do it from the street or from corporate boardrooms. And I wanted in on the action, not simply as a journalist but on the front lines, in the fight. For the first time, I realized I was an activist. I wanted to be in the game, not reporting from the press box.
My wish was coming true since I had strong forces trying to stop me from pursuing organic farming. I could feel Rogan and Victor plotting. What were they up to? That little voice inside me told me I wouldn’t have to wait long to find out.
I spent the day with Charlotte and Maddy making wedding plans. We ordered a wedding cake sweetened with stevia topped with a plastic bride and groom dressed in a camouflaged tux and wedding dress. Maddy insisted I get a groomsman cake shaped like a dolphin, and I knew Tom would just love it. Before the day was over all the plans were made. Maddy and Zach went to visit some old friends, leaving Charlotte and me alone.
“OK, Charlotte, it’s time for you to come clean,” I said. “What’s going on between you and Michael Keeson?”
Charlotte’s face turned bright crimson and her eyes widened. “What do you mean?”
“Come on, girl, you know exactly what I mean,” I said. “I’ve seen the way you two are around each other, sneaking looks and brushing up against each other. I recognize the ‘I want to do the wild thing look’ in your eyes.”
Charlotte dropped her shoulders and smiled at me. “You are right. I have thoughts about him and me together.He’s sent signals, but we haven’t done anything but flirt so far,” she said. “Though I put a strong face forward, I’m not ready to get involved with anyone yet. I miss Mr. Morris. I cry almost every night, Alexandra. He was such a wonderful man.”
“It’s OK,” I said. “Take time to grieve. Don’t rush your feelings. You’ll know when the time is right to move on.”
“Thanks. I needed to hear that. I’m trying too hard to get on with my life. I don’t think Michael is right for me, cute and smart as he is. I’m trying to mask my pain, and I feel guilty for not spending time with Mandy,” she added. “I promised Mr. Morris I’d try to get her on a better path. I haven’t spent anytime with her.”
I pursed my lips and shook my head in agreement. “I know what you mean. I feel guilty too because I haven’t tried to help her either. She’s into her voodoo world, and I’m afraid the people she’s hanging out with may be a serial-killer-worshiping cult.”
“Maybe we should ask her to help us get ready for your wedding,” Charlotte said.
Oh my God, I thought. Did I really want her around that much? She may be a horrible influence on Piper. She may bring Bob Broussard with her to my home, even though he’s a fugitive who escaped from a mental institution. But I did promise Mr. Morris just like Charlotte had, and as far as I knew, Mandy hadn’t killed anyone. She was just one of those lost sheep in life.
“OK, Charlotte,” I said. “I’ll call and asked if she wants to help us. But I’m drawing the line at chicken sacrifices. No blood rituals at my wedding.”
Charlotte laughed till tears rolled down her face at the vision of voodoo rituals at my wedding. It was true I had changed a great deal since I moved from the corn farm in Indiana, but not enough to practice voodoo. My farm values were rooted much too deep for that sort of change. I guess my need to change the world had always been an elemental part of me. Now I could see that my childhood desire to become a journalist like Lois Lane was really more about helping people and righting wrongs than writing. Lois didn’t just sit at her typewriter and work. She got out into the world and solved problems, and I could see my passion was solving problems and helping people.
Mandy needed help, and I had to give it to her. Of course, Lois did write stories too, and I was going to write the story of the Ritual Killer of the Quarter. That was it, the name I was going to give the serial killer. The story was going to be great as long as I could get to the bottom of the killings. Now it was settled. I would help Mandy and she would help me, whether she intended to or not.
“Our Sweet Treat stevia company is making money,” Charlotte said. “But it reall
y isn’t enough to support you and me and pay Michael’s salary. We have to develop a marketing scheme that will get the word out. Do you have anything in mind?”
“I’ve been thinking about something that I wanted to talk to you about,” I said. “Remember when we went to the Processed Food Show in Las Vegas?”
“Sure do, because we had a blast getting room service and drinking wine in the room,” Charlotte answered.
“That we did,” I said. “We went to the Canyon Ranch Spa Club in the Venetian Hotel. They had a health food cafe in the club, I noticed. They also had a product section where spa guests could purchase product used in the treatments as well as books and other items. What if we sold Sweet Treat stevia in spas around the country as a way to introduce it to a broad swath of the American public?”
Charlotte grinned at me like I’d just invented a cure for cancer. “That’s a perfect idea. Spas are all about healthy lifestyles. Many have newsletters they email to their customers updating them on current trends in health and wellness. Most have websites where they offer their products for sale. They have a personal relationship with their customers and would recommend Sweet Treat as an alternative to sugar.”
“Newsletters . . . I could write articles for them about the health risks sugar poses and the benefits of sugar. Most of the people I saw at Canyon Ranch were women, and women are always concerned about their weight. Sweet Treat could be marketed as a great healthy weapon in the battle against excess weight.”
Charlotte jumped up and hugged me.“I love it. I am going home and working on a presentation for the spas. I’ll get online and research the best areas to kick off our campaign. I know there are a huge number of spas in south Florida and all up and down the East Coast. We’ll choose the best place to test market before we embark on a national campaign. I can call on the spas and get massages while I’m there. I love this business,” she said.