by K. C. Sivils
“One more thing.”
Heat’s ominous words froze Sharon in her tracks.
“It’s entirely possible nothing happened to Nick. He’s just a runner of his own volition. Even if I find him, I won’t force him to come back if he doesn’t want to.”
“James…”
“No. I find people, even ones who don’t want to be found. I don’t kidnap people. If this Nick doesn’t want to come back, I’ll tell Anna where to find him, but that’s it. Take it or leave it.”
Sharon considered Heat’s stance on the matter. “Anna won’t like that.”
“Anna can find another detective then. Those are the conditions. My people don’t want me to take this case as it is.”
“Leave Anna to me then,” Sharon solemnly replied.
Heat watched Sharon leave. He had no doubt she would be back with Anna in tow, chastened and a bit more willing to cooperate.
“Amy!”
His receptionist yelled back from her desk through the open office door. “Yes, Heat?”
“Were you listening on the intercom again?”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“I don’t see how you can eat that.”
“It’s better than what you’re eating, Katie. Don’t be so judgmental.”
Katie curled her nose up at the sight and smell of the pepperoni and sausage pizza in the box Becca had carefully balanced on her lap. Tapping away at the keyboard of her laptop with her right hand, Becca looked up at her best friend.
“Pizza should not have fruit on it.”
“Should too,” Katie replied, picking up another slice from her pizza and taking a nibble.
Not in a mood to fight with her friend, Becca changed subjects deftly, nodding at her laptop screen. "This stupid history project is killing me."
“Yeah,” Katie agreed, grinning. “You shouldn’t have waited so long to get started.”
“Like yours is done,” Becca quipped.
“Yep. Proofread, corrected, printed, and ready to turn in. Finished it Saturday morning before we went shopping.”
Becca's tongue made a brief appearance, the intent of which was to let Katie know what the tongue's owner thought of the completed history paper.
“Want me to put what’s left in the fridge?”
“Yeah,” Becca answered, her tone pensive. She watched as Katie transferred the remains of Becca’s pizza into the same box as Katie’s pineapple pizza. “Don’t let them touch,” Becca warned. “I don’t want mine to get contaminated.”
Katie made a face and mumbled, “whatever.”
Her task finished, Katie went downstairs to store the leftover pizza. She returned in a few minutes with two bowls of ice cream. “Chocolate chip, cookie dough,” she mumbled, handing a bowl to Becca. “I hid the pizza in the fridge in the garage, so our brothers don't eat it."
“I’m going to watch some YouTube,” Katie informed Becca, sitting down at her desk and opening up her laptop.
“Hey, can we talk for a minute?”
“Sure,” Katie replied patiently, having waited all evening for a moody Becca to finally talk about what was upsetting her. “This about your parents or my parents?”
“Both.”
“Okay,” Katie replied, turning in her chair to give Becca her undivided attention. “I’m all ears.”
“First, I want to apologize for being the reason your parents got into an argument.”
"No, biggie. My parents have been known to fight from time to time."
“Yeah, but it was about my family.”
Not having anything to say, Katie just shrugged and took a bite of her ice cream, licking the spoon to get every bit.
“Look, I’ve been thinking,” Becca announced.
“Uh oh, you’ve been thinking,” Katie teased.
“Shut up, you dweeb.”
“Geek.”
“Nerd.”
The insults delivered and received; Becca continued with her train of thought. “I might want to go home sometime this week.”
"What for? You're supposed to stay here till your mom gets home."
"No, duh," Becca retorted. "But it's a bit inconvenient to snoop into family finances, contracts, and such, my dear Katie, when the parental units are at home."
“Or the possible imminent arrival of said parental units.”
"Yes," Becca replied in a drawn-out fake English accent. "Most inconvenient that, what with the time it takes to snoop properly, so one doesn't get found out."
“Of course, we should make a call upon your manor on our way home tomorrow,” Katie replied with an equally dreadful accent.
"Actually, my dear, Katie. I would prefer we go sometime in the middle of the night. Later this week, perhaps."
"Of course, Becca. It wouldn't do to have the parental units responsible for our supervision to learn we were snooping about in family affairs. A most unacceptable breaking of protocol."
The two friends burst into giggles, lifting Katie's spirits. She hated to see her friend in a mood. Even if Becca's spirits only lifted for a while, it made Katie feel better as a friend. "Ditch the history for an hour. Let's watch a show."
Needing no further encouragement, Becca clicked on save and closed her laptop. Katie grabbed hers and hopped on the bed, placing her machine between the two of them. “Pretty Little Liars?”
“Sure,” Becca replied, taking a bite of her ice cream while Katie busied herself getting the show pulled up and streaming.
---
The waitress smiled as she set a diet Coke in front of Heat, Sharon, and Anna in that order. The young woman bowed, stood up, and departed to place their orders.
“Hussy,” Sharon hissed.
Anna covered her face with her right hand while Heat looked surprised.
“Flirting with you like that with my Anna sitting right here.”
Heat turned red in the face while Anna looked away, her own cheeks already blush. “Mom, seriously.”
"Well, it was rude," Sharon pointed out. "For all that young woman knew, you two are married, and Heat is being nice to his nuisance of a mother-in-law. Probably to earn husband points to make up for some egregious sin he's either committed or plans to commit, like going to some football game with his buddies, leaving you all at home alone, Anna."
“Heat, I’m sorry,” Anna apologized, clearly embarrassed.
“Apology accepted,” was his gruff reply. “Now, down to business. First, let’s get a few things clear.”
"Oh, I've explained everything…" Sharon was silenced mid-sentence by the combination of Heat raising a hand to silence her and the nasty glare he sent her way.
“I’m going to explain things, so I know Anna is clear on how things have to be.”
Sharon returned an equally nasty glare to Heat and stood up. “Have the hussy bring my food to the bar. I believe I’d like a drink.”
Heat didn’t wait for Sharon to get settled, instead resuming where he’d left off. “You lie to me once, I walk away. Is that clear?”
Anna nodded.
"Say it aloud," Heat demanded.
Anna made a face but complied. "Perfectly clear."
“You answer every question I ask, truthfully, no matter how personal or embarrassing. Is that clear?”
“Clear,” Anna snapped.
“Sharon seems to believe your husband was in deep with someone over gambling debts.”
“Millions,” Anna replied softly, covering her face with both hands, looking down at the table.
“And you paid it off?”
“Most of it,” Anna whispered. “But Nick had been bleeding us dry. I trusted him with the money, our investments.”
"I doubt whoever he owed killed him then," Heat said dryly. "Your husband's a loser who bets big and loses big, and he has a bank that pays off what he owes. You don't kill a customer like that."
“Then why did he disappear?”
“He might have just decided he wanted to start over. No family, no debts, just make a
clean break and go somewhere else.”
"Nick is an actor. People recognize him," Anna protested. "I'll admit he's a made-for-TV actor at best, but his face has been on magazine covers because of me. I don't see how he can just leave like that."
“Easy,” was Heat’s blunt answer. “Plastic surgery, grow a beard, maybe color his hair. People disappear all the time, Anna, and a lot of the time it’s because they want to.”
“Nick wouldn’t do that,” Anna answered in protest. “He loves his family.”
“Yeah, cheaters, thieves, and abusers love their family,” Heat said, his voice flat and emotionless. “You’re a possession, the goose that lays the golden egg, nothing more. Your husband loves control, he loves the image, but he doesn’t love you or your children. Don’t kid yourself, Anna.”
“You don’t know Nick, so keep your comments to yourself.”
Heat stared at Anna; his face devoid of all emotions. Anna's face, in return, was filled with a mixture of horror and anger. Each studied the other, trying to discern what the other was feeling.
“Did you have him on an allowance?”
"I had Nick on a short chain," Anna answered, glancing up. Her face transformed into a pleasant expression, her trademark smirk in place. Heat didn't move, keeping his eyes locked on Anna. A teenage boy set up a portable stand and set a large metal serving tray down with their meals. The young waitress appeared, smiled at Heat, and ignored Anna while the boy served hot bread. As she had done earlier, the waitress served Heat, leaving the teenager to serve Anna.
“My mother decided to eat at the bar,” Anna said politely. “Would you take her food to her there?”
"Certainly," the waitress replied, looking at Anna for the first time. Her smile disappeared as she pointed at Sharon to the teenager and jerked her head. The teenager got the message and grabbed Sharon's food, and vanished. The waitress picked up the serving tray and the portable stand, glanced at Anna, and then bowed and smiled, flashing her white teeth at Heat. "If you need anything else…"
“That’s all for now,” Heat said dismissively. “If we want something else, we’ll let you know.”
Anna frowned, her smirk gone, as she watched the waitress head back towards the kitchen. “I see what mom meant,” she mumbled.
“Not used to that?” Heat commented.
“What?”
“Having the competition ignore you like that.”
Anna picked up her silverware and placed the cloth napkin in her lap, ignoring Heat's comment. Her pride had taken enough of a beating lately, and she wasn't going to acknowledge some local waitress who had the gall to flirt with Anna Devereaux's date with her sitting there.
“What else do you want to know,” Anna asked with a mouthful of food.
“What makes you think your husband is in trouble this time?” Heat watched Anna’s face, chewing his food slowly. He swallowed and spoke again. “Sharon says he regularly takes off for what he calls adventures. Why was this any different?”
He watched as Anna stared at her food. This was hard for her, a fact that pleased Heat. It occurred to him part of why he'd decided to take the case was to hurt Anna if he could. Watching her squirm was giving him great pleasure.
“Last Saturday,” Anna said softly, reaching into her purse, “Nick went with one of his golfing buddies to see a college football game.” She looked up at Heat. “In Baton Rouge, no less.”
"Funny," Heat replied. "Boucher and I went to see a game last Saturday. Good times."
Anna pulled her smartphone from her purse and unlocked the screen. Her index finger swiped the screen several times until Anna found what she was looking for. She handed the phone to Heat.
“I got that texted to me. That’s Nick’s friend.”
Heat stared at the screen. Displayed was a news story about a murder outside the stadium following Saturday night’s game. A photograph of a dead body lying face down under one of the old live oak trees south of the stadium was included in the news story.
“Then I got this message,” Anna said softly, holding her hand out for the phone. Heat handed it back and waited while Anna’s finger worked its magic again before returning the phone. There on the screen was the message, “somebody has to pay.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“She needs to divorce this guy. How come I don’t get to drive? What am I supposed to drive when we get to Baton Rouge?”
“For the last time, Boucher, we’re renting you a car when we get to Baton Rouge.”
“You don’t trust my driving,” Boucher grumbled, his face expressing a childlike pout.
“Not over the basin, I don’t,” Heat replied.
Boucher flipped through the pages of the file he’d been examining. He closed the folder and dropped it on the pile of folders between his feet on the car’s floor. “I don’t want to seem ungrateful, Heat. I appreciate you hiring me until my suspension is over.”
“Don’t mention it,” Heat mumbled. “This is not a one-man job.”
The pair rode in silence as the mile markers on I-10 flew by. Both men held their breath over the steep Calcasieu River Bridge at Westlake, not exhaling until Heat’s Pilot was descending on the eastern side of the bridge.
“You gettin' hungry, Heat?"
“We’ll eat when we get to Rayne,” Heat replied. “Not until then.”
“Rayne? C’mon, Heat. The Frog Capital of the World? I can’t wait that long.”
Heat shook his head and sighed. Not in the mood to deal with Boucher’s incessant womanizing and knowing Elijah knew every cute waitress between Houston and Baton Rouge, Heat testily replied, “Rayne or nothing at all. I don’t care how cute she is.”
“Fine,” Boucher whined, picking up the folder again. He thumbed through the financial statements Anna had printed for them in Heat’s office. “I recognize two of these account numbers from my days with the Baton Rouge PD. This Nick was dealing with some serious people.”
Heat just nodded, not wanting to think about the case and the fix he’d potentially gotten himself into. As much trouble as Boucher could be, Heat was glad his friend was along to work the case. Boucher was one of the best investigators Heat had ever crossed paths with. Given Boucher’s own penchant for mischief, he had insights into the minds of gamblers and womanizers most people would never pick up on.
A glance at his friend indicated Boucher was lost in the bank statements, shaking his head, no doubt appalled at the sums of money Anna's husband had gambled away or wasted on one trip or another without his family accompanying him. Heat decided he'd give the financials a good once over when they checked in their hotel room in Baton Rouge but leave the details to Boucher as much as possible. Heat already hated Nick Devereaux. Seeing the hard evidence of how the man abused Anna financially would create conflict with Heat he didn't need. Half of him would want to walk away and never find Nick Devereaux. The other half would want to pull the trigger when he found Devereaux. Neither was a reasonable frame of mind for him to be in while working the case.
Time passed quickly as Heat sped along I-10. Boucher was lost in Anna's financials, looking for anything that would give them a possible lead, and Heat tried to calm his nerves listening to a bootleg of a Rolling Stones live show from the early 1970s. Spotting the green highway sign indicating Exit 87/Rayne was the next exit, Heat eased off the accelerator, allowing his Pilot to coast as he approached the exit.
He turned right on Highway 35/95 to head south, elbowing Boucher and pointing at the first of many frog murals, this one having been painted on the concrete beneath the overpass.
“Ever seen Monsieur Jacques?”
Boucher grunted and returned his attention to Anna's financials. "She spent a fortune, Heat. You know what kind of money people like her make. Anna's almost broke."
"There he is," Heat pointed out, nudging Boucher again. Both men watched as they drove past the tuxedo-clad metal statue of a frog, both the town's symbol and that of the Jacque Weil Company, who made a fortune exporting
frog legs to restaurants throughout the country.
“Want some frog legs?”
"No," Boucher answered, taking note of another of the thirty-five frog statues in Rayne. "Some gumbo would be good, though. On second thought, some crab cakes or pepper jelly oysters would really hit the spot."
“Chef Roy’s then,” Heat replied, taking note of yet another of Rayne’s famous murals and frog statues as he began navigating the pilot to the well-known restaurant.
---
“I think James is still sweet on you.”
“Mom, don’t go there,” an exhausted Anna pleaded.
“He hardly put up a fight when I asked him to change his mind,” Sharon pointed out.
"James is a good man. He's helping out a wife who desperately needs help, and let's not forget mom, this is costing me a fortune. James isn't doing this for free."
“Whatever the reason is, I still think James is sweet on you.”
"I don't," Anna replied. "What I did to him was selfish, cruel, and completely uncalled for. I would never have asked James for his help, except he's the best."
Sharon watched her daughter sitting in a chair in their hotel room, looking out the window at the courtyard below. Anna's expression looked as if she were far, far away, looking for something, anything, to provide relief from the burden she carried alone.
"Let's go for lunch, my treat. You pick a place, and we'll go." Sharon smiled cheerfully at her daughter, picking up her purse and looping the strap over her shoulder. "Calories don't count all day today. Let's stuff ourselves."
Anna looked up at the smile on her mother's face and the expectant attitude she conveyed. More than once, Anna had resorted to the same trick with her own children, misdirecting their attention for a few hours to give them relief from their troubles.
“Sure, mom. Why not. Calories don’t count today.”
---
"It's 3:00 am. Why are we here?"
It was becoming more difficult to ignore the idiot his employer insisted he bring along. He adjusted his night-vision binoculars again, giving the exterior of the house one final cursory going over.