Out of the Dark

by Sharon Sala

  He took a deep breath, willing the nausea in his belly to settle. He needed a miracle, and he needed it fast.

  Two days had passed since Luke had taken the painting to the crime lab, and he was just about to give them a call to see if they’d gotten a hit when he got a phone call from his friend, the detective.

  Almost at the same time, Shelly Hudson was seated in her living room, going through a packet of photos that her friend, Deb, had just sent her from their day at the street fair. Shelly had called Deb the same day she and Luke had lunch together, but Deb had been as lost as Shelly when it came to remembering any names. However, she’d mentioned the photos and promised to send copies. Shelly hadn’t mentioned them to Luke, since there was no guarantee that they would be any use to him, but these were wonderful. There was even a close-up of the artist herself, talking one-on-one to Shelly.

  Shelly stared intently at the photo, once again struck by the woman’s beauty. Then a tiny bell rang in the back of the house, and she realized the timer on her stove had gone off. She laid down the photos and went to get her muffins out of the oven.

  As Shelly was tending to kitchen duties, Luke was hurrying to answer his phone.

  “Hello.”

  “Kelly, this is Marsh. We got a hit on your fingerprint.”

  “I had a feeling the artist might be a fly-by-night kind of painter. What kind of rap sheet does she have?”

  There was a moment of silence; then Luke heard papers shuffling.

  “Marsh?”

  “Where did you say you got this painting?” the detective asked.

  “San Francisco. Why?”

  “Can you meet me at Sam Cochrane’s home in about thirty minutes?” he asked.

  “Yes, but why? Sam hired me to find the artist. Whatever you need to tell Sam, you can tell me first. I’ll pass on the information.”

  “Look, Kelly, in good conscience, I can’t really do that, because in effect, we were looking for her first.”

  Luke frowned. “I don’t get it. What do you mean?”

  “This fingerprint belongs to his daughter, Jade.”

  Luke stifled a gasp. “Holy…Are you sure?”

  “You know the drill. Fingerprints don’t lie.”

  “Oh man, this is going to knock Sam off his feet.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I figured, which is why I was wondering if you’d mind being there when we tell him. I know you two are pretty good friends.”

  “I’m on my way,” Luke said. “Don’t announce yourself until I get there.”

  Luke’s hands were shaking when he hung up the phone; then he turned and stared at the painting he had leaned against the wall. He picked it up, grabbing his car keys on the way out the door. His heart was pounding, his thoughts in a whirl. All this time without a word of his family and now this. It was almost too good to be true.

  He was stopped at a light when his cell phone rang. He answered quickly, thinking it might be Marsh.

  “Kelly,” he said shortly, then realized it was Shelly.

  “Luke, I have something you need to see,” she said.

  “Like what?”

  “Photos. My friend Deb got some great photos of both the man and the woman from the street fair.”

  Luke’s heart skipped a beat. “Where are you?” he asked.

  “I’m home.”

  “Can you meet me at Sam’s?”

  “Well, sure, but—”

  “Just do it, Shelly, and hurry, okay?”

  “Luke, you’re scaring me. Is anything wrong?”

  Luke started to grin. “On the contrary, Shelly. Everything is right…very, very, right.”

  He disconnected just as the light turned green and shot through the intersection. A few minutes later he was at Sam’s. Detective Marsh pulled up the driveway, parking directly behind Luke’s car.

  Luke got out, then reached back into the car to retrieve Sam’s painting.

  “Hell of a deal, isn’t it?” Marsh said.

  “I can hardly believe it,” Luke said, then glanced toward the house. “Maybe we should have called. Sam might not be home.”

  “He’s home and expecting us,” Marsh said.

  “You didn’t tell him anything, did you?”

  “No, but he’s plenty curious.”

  “I can only imagine,” Luke muttered, and then rang the bell.

  As he did, another car pulled up in front of the house. It was Shelly.

  She got out on the run, carrying a manila envelope clutched close to her chest. Sam opened the door as she reached the front step. He’d been expecting the detective, but not Luke and Shelly.

  “What’s going on?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” Shelly said. “I was asked to meet Luke here.”

  Luke glanced at Marsh, then handed Sam the painting that he’d borrowed.

  “Just let us in and we’ll tell you what we know.”

  Sam took the painting, then stepped aside to let them enter.

  “When is Velma coming back to work?” Shelly asked, as they followed Sam back to the library.

  “Tomorrow,” Sam said, as he hung the painting of Margaret back on the wall. Then he turned around. His expression was grim as he faced the trio. “Somebody start talking.”

  “We got a hit on the fingerprint,” Marsh said.

  Sam’s expression didn’t change. “That’s great, but Luke could have told me that. Didn’t he tell you that I hired him to find the artist?”

  “Yes, sir,” Marsh said, “but you don’t understand. The identification of the artist turned out to be a clue in one of our cold case files.”

  Sam grimaced. “Are you telling me that the artist is a criminal?”

  “No, sir,” Marsh said. “A missing person.”

  Sam shrugged, then sighed. “Oh, well, I certainly don’t begrudge that. Some family’s life will take a change for the better.” Then he looked at Luke. “So who are we looking for?”

  “Your daughter.”

  Sam’s expression froze. He staggered slightly, then steadied himself on the sideboard behind him. Luke took him by the arm.

  “Come on, my friend. Let’s sit down, okay?”

  Sam let himself be led to a nearby chair. Shelly followed and sat down, too. She stared at the men, then laid the envelope in her lap and started to cry.

  “Are you telling me that the woman I talked to was Jade?”

  “If she is the one who put the thumbprint on the painting, then, yes,” Marsh said.

  “I was such a fool. If only I’d asked about Margaret’s daughter.” She dabbed her eyes with a tissue, then leaned back in the chair, unable to grasp all she’d been told. “What I don’t understand is why she didn’t say that the painting was of her mother? She just called the woman Ivy.”

  Luke knew there were several reasons why someone who’d been missing didn’t volunteer information, but none of them were encouraging. He chose his words carefully so as not to upset Sam.

  “There are all kinds of reasons,” he said. “And you shouldn’t blame yourself. Jade was so young when Margaret left that what you said may have meant nothing to her. Also, we have no way of knowing what she was told. For all we know, she may not remember enough of her childhood to make any connections to what you said. Lots of times children who are stolen from one parent are told by the other one that the parent is dead…or, in some cases, that the parent doesn’t love them anymore.”

  “Dear God,” Sam said. “What are we going to do? This is Margaret all over again. She didn’t want to be found and stayed lost for all these years. If Jade doesn’t want to be found, what’s to stop this from happening all over again?”

  “Me,” Luke said, and then pointed to the envelope in Shelly’s lap. “Are those the pictures?”

  She nodded, then handed them to him.

  Luke opened the envelope and dumped them out onto the coffee table between them. Almost immediately, his gaze fell on a close-up of the woman in the booth. He knew he should say somethin
g, but there were no words for what was going through his mind.

  At thirty-seven years old, he’d seen his share of attractive women, but the face in the photo was beyond attractive. She was, without doubt, one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen in his life. He picked up another, then another and another, staring in disbelief at the delicate curve of her cheek and the thick, black hair falling in waves over her shoulder and down her back. When he finally let himself look at the man with her, his stomach knotted. The man was, in his way, as physically beautiful as a man could be.

  “Let me see,” Sam said.

  “Keep in mind, it still has to be determined if this woman is truly the artist. We only have her word that she put the fingerprint on the canvas.”

  “I saw her doing caricatures,” Shelly said. “And the shirt she was wearing had some tiny paint stains. I remember seeing them and thinking how perfectly bohemian.”

  Luke handed him the photos, watching his friend’s expression for signs of distress. But he need not have worried. The moment Sam’s gaze fell on the woman in the photo, he exhaled a deep sigh.

  “Oh God…dear God…she looks like my mother.”

  “Are you sure?” Marsh asked. “You’re not just seeing something in her that you want to see?”

  Sam looked up, his eyes lit with joy, tears rolling down his face.

  “Wait here,” he said, and hurried out of the room. A couple of minutes later he was back with a small framed photo. “This is a picture of my mother and father on their wedding day. You judge for yourself.”

  They crowded around the photo. Marsh and Shelly murmured to each other about the similarity in likenesses, but Luke remained silent. Finally Sam noticed.

  “Luke, what do you think?”

  “That you have a beautiful daughter,” he said, and then picked up the photo with the best view of the couple’s faces. “And I need to make plane reservations for San Francisco.”

  Sam clutched Luke’s arm. “Find her, my friend. I need this in my life before I die.”

  “I’ll find her,” Luke said, but he didn’t voice the other part of what he was thinking. He had to find her or live the rest of his life haunted by her face.

  A short while later they were all gone, leaving Sam with more hope for the future of his family than he’d had in years.

  Four

  Rain peppered the windows of the bus near Jade’s face, blurring her view of the passing countryside. She was tired of the travel, but afraid to go back to sleep for fear she would have another nightmare. Besides that, Raphael didn’t look well. He’d suffered from motion sickness nearly the entire trip, and she was getting worried. His skin was pale and clammy, and she’d begun to notice for the first time that his face looked drawn—even thin. She always expected him to look after her, while she rarely considered that he might need care. He was her rock—the strong one who never complained. Guilt shafted through her as she leaned over and laid the back of her hand against his forehead. He didn’t have a fever, but his eyelids had a bluish, almost translucent appearance. As soon as they reached New Orleans and got settled, she would find the health department and make him get a checkup.

  Satisfied with her decision, she looked back out the window, only to realize they were coming into the outskirts of another city. Then she saw the city limits sign and started to smile.

  New Orleans.

  They were almost there. She grabbed Raphael’s arm and shook him awake.

  “Rafie…wake up. We’re here.”

  Raphael stifled a groan as he sat up. He combed his fingers through his hair and rolled his head on his neck, trying to stretch out the kinks.

  “I’d give a lot for a shower and a bed,” he said. “How about you?”

  Happy that he seemed more like his old self, Jade forgot about health departments and doctors and threw her arms around his neck.

  “It’s raining, Rafie.”

  He threaded his hands through her hair and then curled them into fists, as if trying to draw energy from her vivacity. Then he grinned, knowing she was waiting for him to finish what she’d started.

  “And rain washes our troubles down the drain.”

  “Yes, yes, yes. All our troubles. Down the drain.”

  A short while later they were at the bus station retrieving their bags, along with one long cardboard box containing a few small paintings and what was left of Jade’s art supplies. But walking to search for lodgings in this weather with all their belongings would have been difficult if not impossible. Either they stayed in the bus station until the rain let up, or splurged and took a cab.

  Jade took one look at the weariness on Raphael’s face and suggested getting a cab. To her surprise, he didn’t argue.

  A short while later they were loaded up and on their way to a hotel suggested by the janitor at the bus station. Raphael was only vaguely aware of the water running wildly through the streets and the sodden streamers of Spanish moss hanging far too low to the ground. Instead his gaze was centered on Jade, who was staring out the window. Her nervous, almost fearful, expression was focused on the faces of the people huddled in doorways and standing beneath porches.

  But Raphael knew it wasn’t curiosity that made her look.

  No matter where they went or how far they’d come, she was convinced that one day she would come face to face with one of the abusers from her childhood. He knew the odds of that happening were small, yet he had long ago accepted that if it did, he would have to kill the man. She would expect it of him as he expected it of himself.

  A few moments later, the cab driver stopped at a red light, then looked up into the rearview mirror and caught Raphael’s gaze.

  “You people just visitin’ or you plannin’ to stay?”

  “If everything works out, we’ll probably stay,” Raphael said.

  The old man nodded, then scratched his head before glancing back toward the light. It was still on red. He looked up again.

  “Son…you and your lady look like real nice people, and if you don’t mind my suggestion, you might want to try a different hotel.”

  Suddenly Jade was in on the conversation. She grabbed hold of the back seat and leaned forward.

  “Why? What’s wrong with it?”

  The old man glanced over his shoulder, his dark eyes reading something on Jade’s face that he seemed to recognize.

  “Ain’t none of my business,” he said, in a slow, southern-sweet voice, “but the place we headed to does business at night that you might not want to be ’round, if you know what I mean.”

  Raphael put a hand in the middle of Jade’s back. It was just a touch, but enough to settle her anxiety. Although their life had been anything but sheltered, they’d never sought out the lifestyle of the people who lived on the streets—just tried to survive it.

  “We appreciate your opinion,” Raphael said. “If you have a better suggestion, we’re listening.”

  For the first time, the driver smiled, wreathing his cafe au lait face with time-weathered wrinkles.

  “My sista Clarice has a real nice place down in the Quarter. It ain’t nothin’ fancy, but it’s clean, and it’s safer than where you was plannin’ to go.”

  “We’d be obliged,” Raphael said. “By the way, what’s your name?”

  “Clarence Deauxville. Clarice is my twin sista.”

  Raphael nodded. “I’m called Rafe,” he said. “This is Jade.”

  Clarence tilted his head. “You up to tryin’ out my suggestion?”

  Raphael glanced at Jade, who nodded nervously. “Yes,” he said.

  Clarence’s smile widened. The light turned green, and he accelerated through the intersection, taking a right at the next street as he spoke over his shoulder.

  “Only take a few more minutes and we’ll have you outa’ dis here rain.”

  Jade frowned at the cabdriver, then leaned against Raphael. There was nothing in her background that told her it was safe to trust the kindness of strangers. But Raphael was holdi
ng her close and she was sorely sick of travel. The thought of a bed—any bed—was too enticing to ignore.

  “It will be all right,” Raphael said softly. “Besides, if it’s not, we can always go somewhere else.”

  She relaxed, but only slightly. It wasn’t until they arrived at their new destination that her nervousness began to subside.

  The old two-story house was long and narrow, running north to south on the matching lot and bounded on three sides with a tall iron fence. Only the front of the house was open to the street, and the tiny patch of green grass that led to the front porch was standing in water.

  “Real sorry about the weather,” Clarence said, as Raphael counted out the money owed. “You two hurry on up to the porch. I’ll get your bags.”

  Still, Jade hesitated, suspicious that the man was planning to abandon them there and drive off with their things.

  Again Clarence seemed to understand what she was unable to say.

  “It’s all right, missy,” he said softly. “Ain’t everybody tryin’ to hurt you. I’ll bring your things right up. You can count on that.”

  Jade hesitated, then sighed. “Yes, well, all right and…thank you.”

  He nodded solemnly. “You welcome, missy.”

  There was a Welcome sign hanging on the front door. Raphael grabbed the doorknob and turned it, pushing Jade in front of him as they walked inside. What had once been a formal sitting room had been turned into a lobby/reception area. The furnishings were dark and ancient, but there was a clean citrus scent in the air that Jade recognized as orange oil. From the shine on the woodwork, she could tell that someone was religious about its care.

  Within seconds, a small, skinny black woman appeared from the hallway. It was evident that Clarence the cabdriver had been truthful about one thing: Clarice was definitely his twin. She smiled cordially until she realized Clarence was with them. At that point, her expression lightened even further as she gave him a hug. The familial welcome relaxed Jade even more.