They lost their tail between City Park and Claiborne. A short time later, they pulled into the backyard of a French Quarter row house on Dumaine Street where their mom and her visitors had parking privileges. Keeping a sharp eye out for company, they walked the three blocks to her apartment that was located above a bar and grill where the odor of stale beer vied with the knock-you-down smell of boiling shrimp.
They rang the bell at the tall side door, identified themselves, and waited for the buzz of the lock’s release. Entering a dim hallway, they climbed a spiral staircase with a wide mahogany railing and treads worn a half inch deep. Their mom waited at the top with a wide smile, hair hanging over her shoulder in a silver-threaded brown braid, and arms that were held wide and appeared wider due to the expanse of a blue cotton caftan that she’d picked up in Morocco years ago. The closer they came to the apartment door, the more blatantly obvious it grew that she was responsible for that aroma of hot shrimp that was anathema to many but ambrosia to a true son of Louisiana. She was cooking. Of course.
“Honey,” she said, folding Wade into the soft, scented, bone-crushing hug that was her specialty. “Thank God.”
“Yeah, yeah, I missed you, too,” he said, his voice a little husky, and not only from the pain of having his slashed side thoroughly squeezed.
Everybody else got a hug as well, including Chloe. It was just the way his mother was, a hugger, a toucher, a feeder of hungry souls. Sometimes he wondered if that wasn’t what she tried to do with her art as well.
“Get dressed, Mom,” he began as Chloe emerged, dazed, from that enveloping embrace. “We have to go.”
“But you just got here. Sit down a minute. Have something to eat.”
“We don’t have time. I mean we have to get out of here, all of us, and right now.”
“Wait a minute,” she said, breaking across what he was saying. “Come here again.”
“Mom…” he began as she caught him close with one arm and lifted a hand to his face.
“You have fever, and I think I felt something here. She poked his side. “Right, a bandage. What have you done to yourself?”
“Nothing. Listen to me…”
“He has a what?” Adam scowled at him over his shoulder as he closed and locked the door.
Chloe spoke up then. “It’s a knife wound, and probably needs attention and antibiotics.”
“Figures,” his mother said in exasperation.
“Later,” he said with an accusing glance in Chloe’s direction. “I’m telling you we have to get a move on.”
“What’s the hurry?”
Just then, a timer went off in the kitchen. His mother released him and moved away in that direction without waiting for an answer to her question. He followed her, talking with all the persuasion he could muster while watching her take a huge pot of broth swimming with shrimp, potatoes and corn on the cob from the gas range and pour it directly into the sink to drain. Steam redolent of pepper and spice rose to sting their eyes as they all crowded into the small room. His mother paused to stare at him over her shoulder as he reached the most salient part of his story, the arrival of Chloe’s stepbrother with murder on his mind. Then she pulled a large plastic container from under the cabinet and began to scoop shrimp and vegetables into it.
“Didn’t you hear me?” he demanded.
“If you think I’m leaving my good food here for a bunch of killers, you’ve got another think coming.”
“There’s no time,” he insisted in exasperation. He looked at his brothers for support.
“We have to eat,” she returned unanswerably. “Especially you, since you need your strength. We’ll take this with us.” She glanced at Adam. “Dump the ice from the fridge into that little ice chest behind you, will you, honey?”
“Mom!”
“You may as well stop arguing and help her,” Clay said. Glancing around, he picked up two loaves of French bread in their white bakery wrappers and tucked them under one arm.
“I know just the place to go,” his mother said with a smile of approval for her younger son. “That old place on the River Road where I stayed back in the spring, painting en plein air. Nottoway, it’s called. They were wonderful to me.”
“We can’t involve other people.”
“It isn’t other people, it’s a hotel. Well, sort of. Besides, it’s closer to Turn-Coupe.”
“A hotel is definitely out. We can’t risk having anything show up in a credit card database. These guys may be medieval in their thinking, but they have computer capability.”
“No problem. I know the manager. Besides, you were thinking maybe of Grand Point?”
Wade swiped his fingers back through his hair. “I don’t know. It doesn’t seem right to involve the family.”
“We’re already involved,” Clay pointed out. Reaching over his mother’s shoulder, he snagged one of the jumbo pink shrimps just before she closed the lid on her plastic container. Blowing on it to cool it, he peeled it with two quick moves and popped the morsel into his mouth.
Wade’s saliva glands kicked into overdrive. It had been ages since he’d tasted really fresh seafood. Even as he recognized his weakening resolve, he was aware of Adam’s almost casual drift to a point where he could see out the kitchen window to the street below. With a narrow glance from one brother to the other, he asked, “Meaning?”
“I called Roan,” Clay answered. “Adam got in touch with Luke and Kane, too, since there’s no telling how many limbs these jihadis mean to lop off the family tree. We all agreed that choosing a single point to defend was best. Grand Point is being turned into a fortress as we speak.”
That had a good sound to it. Roan was the sheriff of Tunica Parish where the old home place, Grand Point, was located. He could bring in some heavy law enforcement artillery if necessary. Luke and Kane had a comprehensive knowledge of the lake and the swamp that backed up to the house, and also the consummate skill with weapons of men who had hunted since they were kids.
“Fine, but Wade needs a doctor first,” his mother said. “Who knows what kind of infection he may have picked up over there?”
“She’s right,” Chloe agreed. “My friends and I did the best we could, but it wasn’t a lot.”
“I’m sure you did fine,” his mother said hastily.
“Doc Watkins could come to the house,” Clay suggested.
The look his mother gave him was unimpressed. “I doubt that old man has so much as picked up a medical journal since he retired a decade ago. Besides, these two are dead on their feet.” She swung on Chloe. “When was the last time you really slept, either of you? Or had a decent meal, for that matter?”
“A while,” Chloe answered.
“That’s what I thought. So it’s settled.” She turned to the refrigerator and took out what appeared to be a bowl of potato salad and a large bread pudding. Handing one to Adam and the other to Clay, she lifted a brow. “There now, we’re ready. So why are we still standing around here?”
Nottoway, located at the town of White Castle some thirty minutes or so from Baton Rouge, had once been a plantation house in the grand manner, the center of several thousand acres devoted to sugar cultivation. A huge pile in shining white, it had columns that soared three stories tall, miles of verandas, and at least a couple of hundred windows. According to the brochure Wade picked up in the reception area while his mom went in search of the manager, it was the largest antebellum home ever constructed in the South, with sixty-four rooms that included a bowling alley and a ballroom. The main house was open daily for guided tours, while the overseer’s cottage and the garçonnière, where younger sons and visitors had once been housed, were fitted out as guest rooms. Set back in the center of a walled enclosure, reached only by entrance through a separate building that housed the gift shop, it had a secluded air and surprising degree of natural security.
“Now isn’t this perfect?” his mother asked as she led them to a back room on the second floor of the overseer’s cottage
and threw open the door.
Wade allowed Chloe to go first, then followed her inside. The place was actually a minisuite, with a table for two placed between a pair of windows, desk in one corner, fireplace with the bed opposite, a second, smaller bedroom that had an armoire and single bed, and the requisite bathroom. The furnishings, including the white-painted iron bedstead, looked like authentic antiques instead of reproductions. Though not particularly posh as hotel rooms went, it was comfortable. For him, brought up at Grand Point, it felt like home.
“Seems all right,” he said in half grudging acceptance.
“I love it,” Chloe said, gazing around with a serious expression on her face.
“There, that’s the kind of answer I like,” his mother said with approval. “Now, let’s eat. The manager was kind enough to call the doctor from her cell phone so there’ll be nothing to connect it to any of us. He’ll be here in half an hour.”
The accommodations were a little cramped for feeding a group, but the five of them managed. Wade wolfed down his share with more dispatch than finesse, and was happy to see Chloe doing the same. When he’d caught up with his appetite, he peeled a few extra shrimp for her, since she seemed to be having trouble. The smile she gave him as she accepted them was a better reward than any medal.
“So what about Janna and Lara?” he asked as he reached for the bread pudding. He spooned a serving into one of the plastic bowls they’d picked up when they’d run by a discount store for a couple of changes of clothes and other things to make life more comfortable. “They’re at Grand Point?”
“Lara was out of the condo, out of New Orleans and on her way to Grand Point five minutes after you called,” Adam answered with a shake of his head. “She’s been telling me for three or four days that she had a bad feeling about you, and thought we ought to be there because you were coming home.”
“Janna’s at the house, too, with Lainey,” Clay added. “School started this week, but we decided to keep her out. No use in taking chances.”
The protective concern in the faces of his two brothers got to Wade, somehow. He must be more tired than he realized. Clearing his throat a little, he asked, “Tory? Regina?”
“At Grand Point, since that’s where Roan and Kane are at the moment,” Adam said, since Clay now had his mouth full. “April was off on some book tour, but cut it short. Luke should be picking her up at the Monroe airport about now.”
That accounted for his close cousins and their wives. There were more, since the woods around Turn-Coupe were full of Benedicts, but these five, with their families, were the most likely targets after Chloe and himself. They were peace-loving men, slow to anger but formidable when roused. Ahmad didn’t know what he’d done by threatening them.
The doctor arrived as they were finishing the last of the wine that had been brought as a welcoming gift by the tall black majordomo who seemed to run the place. Wade was led into the smaller bedroom for a thorough and somewhat painful inspection of his wound. The doctor announced that it was healing well except for a small pocket of infection around one stitch, something Wade could have told him if asked. But at least the medic was reasonable enough to allow him a hot shower before he scrubbed the area with peroxide, steeped it in Betadine, then applied a considerably less bulky bandage. There followed a quick injection of antibiotics before Wade was permitted to pull on a new pair of jeans and T-shirt. The doctor then left a handful of antibiotic samples to be taken later by mouth, accepted his fee with an awkwardness that suggested handling payment in cash was a rare occurrence, then left as quickly as he had come.
Not long afterward, Adam and Clay began to talk of everything that was being done at Grand Point or that needed to be done. It was a fair indication of their thoughts and a prelude to departure. Their mother gathered paper plates and cups and packed away what was left of the food. Hugs, handshakes and back slaps were exchanged all around. Clay offered to stay and stand guard in the small parlor outside the room, though it was plain to see that he was torn between that and a strong urge to check on his family. Adam mentioned a friend of his on the New Orleans police force who wouldn’t mind a little off-duty security work. Their mother informed them both that the hotel had its own security, on top of which, the idea was to avoid attracting attention. They were still arguing as they went down the outside stairs.
Finally they were gone. Wade closed and locked the door. He stood staring at the mechanism that was as antique as the rest of the place, thinking that it probably wouldn’t stop a six-year-old determined to get inside. Then he turned to face Chloe.
She was watching him with her arms clasped around her and her eyes dark blue with distress and exhaustion. “You have a nice family,” she said, her voice so soft he could barely hear her. “I’m sorry they had to be dragged into this.”
“Nothing to be sorry about. You didn’t do it.” He prowled to the back window where he stood to one side, staring out through the lace curtain.
“It wouldn’t have happened if my father hadn’t sent you after me.”
“And he wouldn’t have sent me if you weren’t in trouble. Does that make it your fault? Some things can’t be avoided. You have to make the best of them.” As she made no reply, he glanced back but didn’t know what to make of her odd half smile. “I mean it.”
“I know you do. I was just thinking that for someone who seems so intense on the surface, you’re very comfortable to be around.”
Comfortable. He could feel one corner of his mouth turn down. “Thanks. I think.”
Her smile flashed a bare second then was gone again. “It’s a bad situation that your family is facing. I hope they understand how terrible it can be.”
“They have a fair idea.”
“Ahmad blames us for Treena’s death, I’m sure, and not himself. His regret over it will add to his fervor. He needs to hurt somebody, hurt us so we understand and share his pain, then wipe out the images in his mind by erasing all trace of proof that we lived. He will remove the Benedict clan from the face of the earth, if he can.”
“It won’t be easy, I promise.”
“He’ll stop at nothing, not even his own death.”
The fatalistic sound of her voice made the hair rise on the back of Wade’s neck, though he refused to acknowledge it. “That can be arranged.”
“The question is just how many of your brothers and cousins, their wives and children, he will eliminate first.”
The thought wasn’t pleasant. To head off this disaster by fighting shoulder to shoulder with those of his blood and heritage was an ancient yet immediate instinct. He could feel it pouring through his bloodstream, coalescing around his heart. It went against the grain to remain here, even when he knew he’d be more useful after he’d had a chance to rest and recover. “I don’t know a lot about how fanatic Ahmad and those he has with him can be, but I’ll tell you this much,” he said in hard tones. “If he harms a hair on any Benedict, particularly any Benedict woman or child, his life won’t be worth Jack shit.”
Chloe gave a small shake of her head. “That won’t bring anyone back or make the pain of loss any less. I can’t stand to think about it. And I can’t imagine how it will end.”
Wade, deep in thought, made no answer. He was aware of the moment when she turned away, however, knew that she picked up the bags holding her new clothing and toiletries and moved in the direction of the bathroom. He heard the door close and, after a moment, the sound of running water.
He stood still a minute or two, staring at nothing. Then, driven by restlessness and a strong sense of unease, sick of being penned up, he swung abruptly and scooped the key from the desktop. He let himself out of the room, locking the door carefully behind him.
To his left was the cottage’s front parlor, to his right a pair of double doors at the end of the hall that led onto a back veranda. He turned toward the rear exit, then crossed to run lightly down the wide stairs to the ground. Directly in front of him was a small lagoonlike pool with a sta
tue on a mound in the center. He moved off in that direction.
The air was warm and incredibly humid against his skin. It felt right and natural, unlike the harsh, dry atmosphere of Hazaristan. He figured that people were formed and tempered by the climate of the place where they were born, that it entered their genes and their personalities in some fashion. Not that this accounted for the extreme attitudes and ideology of men like Ahmad. Parents, teachers and the sum of their experiences also helped create them. It wasn’t often that Wade gave much thought to the kind of home he’d come from, other than its problems. But he had to admit that it had been safe, and its values solid and unchanging. He’d had the freedom to roam the woods, the lake and the swamp, to test himself against these things and against the elements. Though his parents couldn’t manage to get along together, there had never been any real doubt about where he belonged or the fact that he was loved in spite of his faults. It made a difference.
Alert and on the lookout even in his reverie, Wade drifted around the perimeter of the pool and what had once been part of a carriage house without getting too far from the overseer’s cottage. Seeing nothing unusual, he struck out at an angle that took him closer to the main house. He circled toward the front, reconnoitering and exploring at the same time, glancing up at the welcoming arms entrance stairs railed in wrought iron, the many windows that overlooked the landscaped lawn, passing the gift shop and the garden that fronted the restaurant. Following the walk, he prowled under huge banana trees and past other tropical flowers to where he could see the overseer’s cottage once more. A tour group was just leaving after viewing the main house, the last few stragglers disappearing into the gift shop. Nothing else moved. Not even the majordomo or a custodian was in evidence, though a lawn mower sat near the walkway and an impulse sprinkler played water over the grass with a noise that was like a theme song for a late summer afternoon.
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