“So, you’re telling me to get out of town?”
“Pretty much,” he said with a nod as he stood up and tossed the empty wallet in front of me. “You can pick up the rest of your personal effects at the desk.”
“At the risk of getting myself in deeper,” I said. “What about the fact that I violated a crime scene?”
“You’re a lucky man, Mister Gant. To be perfectly honest, you didn’t violate much. The scene was officially cleared yesterday. The motel staff just hadn’t made it around to cleaning up yet.”
“I see, so no harm done.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” he returned. “You managed to waste my time, and that’s another one of those things that tends to bother me.”
“Sorry about that.”
“Yeah. Sure.”
A quick impression from the motel settled into my gut as I stood from my chair. However, instead of being the horror that had gone on behind the door of room 7, it was the sick fear I had felt for the woman at the office when she had been so willing to open the door.
“Detective Fairbanks, is there any chance you could do me a favor?”
“I’m fairly certain I just did. Storm didn’t tell me you were greedy too.”
“I’m not. It’s not really for me,” I pressed. “It’s for the lady who runs the motel. Is there any chance you could go have a talk with her?”
“I did.” He tapped the folder. “Or did that slip past you?”
“I mean about something else.”
“What?”
“Safety, I guess. She was just too trusting. I mean, she just opened the door to the office and didn’t even ask to see my credentials up close. What if my aim had actually been to assault her?”
“Then you’d be at the morgue right now sporting a toe tag instead of here talking to me.”
“What do you mean?”
He shook his head and chuckled. “Mister Gant, while your concern is commendable, the woman you are so worried about is a retired cop from Tennessee. She had you pegged as an imposter from the word go, and she was packing a Glock in her housecoat. The only reason she didn’t just shoot you before calling us is that she knew we’d probably want to talk to you first.”
CHAPTER 8:
My rental car had yet to be impounded according to Detective Fairbanks, so it was supposed to still be sitting on the parking lot of the Southern Hospitality Motor Lodge where I had left it. I had been allowed to use a phone to call a cab while I was waiting for my personal effects, and since it took several minutes to get me officially signed out, by the time I was at the curb, my wait was relatively short.
I set about the task of getting my credit cards and other odd items situated back into my wallet after I had told the driver where I was going and then settled back in the seat. I quickly checked my cell phone and noticed it was off, so I thumbed it on and laid it in my lap as I continued to arrange my life in the worn fold of leather. The phone started vibrating and warbling the instant it latched on to a signal.
I knew the familiar tone was alerting me to voicemail, but that could wait. When it finally stopped, it was only briefly before starting into the upwardly stair-stepped trill of an incoming call. I shoved my still disorganized wallet into my pocket then picked up the chirping device and glanced at the screen. The display showed that the caller was Ben. Apparently, Detective Fairbanks hadn’t wasted any time letting him know I’d been released.
My thumb hovered over the talk button as I debated whether or not I really wanted to listen to my friend read me the riot act at this particular moment in time. According to the digital clock in the corner of the LCD, it was already pushing 10 A.M. I knew I would have to deal with him eventually, but right now I wasn’t sure I was in the right frame of mind to take the flak. Fortunately, the internal deliberation was rendered moot by my hesitation, and the call defaulted to voicemail.
I let out a sigh and then proceeded to punch a speed dial number before tucking the device up to my ear. The phone at the other end rang twice then was picked up by a hospital operator.
“Doctor Helen Storm, please,” I asked.
“Whom should I say is calling?”
“Rowan Gant.”
“Hold please.”
The strains of some unidentifiable instrumental piece flowed into my ear for the better part of three minutes before the line clicked and a fresh voice came on.
“Good morning, Rowan,” Helen said. “I was expecting you to call much earlier.”
Ben’s sister was sometimes harder to talk to than he was. Not because she would become as undone as he, but rather the opposite. Being a psychiatrist, she had far more effective ways to let you know you had screwed up. However, I assumed she wouldn’t have any reason to do so in this case. On top of that, I wasn’t calling her about me; I was calling about my wife. Felicity was currently under her care, for several reasons; not the least of which was that she was the only one I trusted where that was concerned.
“I was unforeseeably detained,” I replied.
“I know. Benjamin called me earlier.”
“Lovely,” I mumbled. Obviously my assumption had been wrong. “So, I guess he’s ready to kill me by now.”
“He certainly is not happy. However, for the most part he is understandably concerned about you and what you are getting yourself involved in,” she continued. “As am I.”
“What’s new about that, Helen? You’ve been concerned about me since the day we met. I doubt that’s going to change anytime soon.”
“I suppose you are correct about that, Rowan,” she replied. “However, there are those times when I am even more concerned than usual. Such as now, for instance.”
“I appreciate it, but I’m fine.”
“I sincerely doubt that you are.”
“Is that my friend or my analyst saying that?”
“Both.”
“Yeah. I’m not surprised.”
“Have you been getting any sleep?”
“Sure. Plenty.”
“You are lying, Rowan. I can hear in your voice that you are exhausted.”
“Listen, Helen,” I said. “I didn’t call to talk about me. How’s Felicity doing?”
“She is holding her own at the moment,” she replied. “She has good moments and bad. Right now she is in a mild depressive state, but that is to be expected under the circumstances.”
“Has she had any more of the episodes?”
Episode was the only generic term I could muster for what I meant. Helen had actually witnessed Felicity under the control of Miranda before I left for New Orleans, so she knew exactly what I was talking about.
“Fortunately, no.”
“Good.”
“Is there a reason she might have?”
“I’m not sure…” I allowed my voice to trail off for a moment. “All I can say is that I think I might have riled up the Lwa just a bit.”
“How so?”
“I can’t really get into any details at the moment. Let’s just say Miranda and I had an encounter.”
“You found her?”
“Not physically, no, but…” I left the alternative unspoken.
Helen sighed and a fresh measure of concern threaded into her voice, “Rowan, you do realize that you are making my case for me. You are not going to do Felicity any good if you manage to lose touch with yourself in the process.”
“I know that, Helen.”
“You need to be careful.”
“What makes you think I’m not?”
“I know you too well. You are there alone, and you do not have anyone to stop you from taking unnecessary risks.”
“Yeah,” I muttered. “I suppose you do know me. Well, I am. Being careful, that is.”
“I hope you are correct, however, I suspect that what you perceive as being careful is a far cry from fact.”
“You don’t have to mother me. I know what I’m doing,” I returned, even though I wasn’t sure I believed the statement myself. Rath
er than allow it to go any further, however, I changed the subject. “So, like I said, I called about Felicity. Not me. Is there any chance I could speak to her?”
“Yes, there is. In fact, I suspect hearing your voice might help her mood,” she replied. “Hold on for a moment, and I will have the switchboard transfer you to her room.”
The music filled the earpiece once again, though this time I thought I might have recognized the tune. I didn’t get much of a chance to place a title with it, however, as I was treated to a much shorter wait than when I was originally placed on hold. The song was abruptly cut short, and I heard my wife’s voice in its place.
“Rowan?”
“Hey…” I said, trying to inject some liveliness into my tone. “How’s my favorite redhead?”
“Okay.”
“Just okay? Helen says you’re doing pretty good.”
“Aye,” she muttered, her singsong Celtic lilt coming through. “Helen should know, I suppose.”
“Yeah, that’s what she gets paid for.”
She fell quiet, but I could hear her breathing softly at the other end. After a long pause I asked, “Are you still with me?”
“Aye,” she mumbled. “I’m here.”
“Would you rather not talk right now?” I asked, trying desperately to keep disappointment from invading my voice.
“No,” she replied then corrected herself. “I mean… I do want to talk. It’s just… It’s just that it’s so good to hear your voice right now.”
“Yours too,” I told her.
“What about you then?” she asked. “How are you?”
“Me? I’m fine.”
“Breugadair.”
The accusation actually made me smile. Even though she had just called me a liar, the fact that she was interjecting Gaelic into her speech meant that she was much more her old self than even she realized.
“What makes you think I’m lying?” I asked.
“I’m depressed, Rowan, I’m not stupid.”
My voice softened. “Can’t get anything past you, can I?”
“Of course not.”
“Well, you don’t need to worry about me. I’ll be fine.”
“Aye, you haven’t been sleeping, have you?” She wasn’t really asking, she was telling.
It was obvious that my powers of deception were more than a bit anemic lately, but then, according to my wife they always were. I decided not to even make an attempt at denying the observation.
“Not enough,” I admitted. “But, like I said, you don’t need to worry about me. You need to worry about you.”
“Worrying about you is part of what makes me who I am.”
“Same here,” I told her. “But you need to concentrate on feeling better. I’m responsible for getting you into this, and I’ll get you out of it.”
“How do you figure that you’re responsible, then?”
I closed my eyes and gave my head a slight shake. I knew immediately that I had said the wrong thing, but there was no way to take it back.
“That’s not important right now,” I told her.
“Aye, it is to me.”
I let out a cautious breath as I tried to choose my words. “Let’s just say that if I had never become involved in Ariel Tanner’s murder investigation all those years back, we’d probably be having a much more normal life. Maybe all this wouldn’t be happening.”
This wasn’t a new thought for me. It was simply one that I usually kept to myself. But, it had weighed on me for quite some time. Had I never opened the door to that other realm by insinuating myself so deeply into that first investigation, maybe the dead would be speaking to someone else instead of me. And, if that were the case, Felicity wouldn’t be sitting in the psychiatric wing of a hospital because an out of control Lwa was using her as a horse.
“Aye, Caorthann,” my wife soothed. “You had no choice. Ariel was your friend.”
“I’m supposed to be cheering you up,” I finally muttered.
“You are…” she replied, and I could actually hear the smile in her voice.
“I’m glad you think so, because I don’t feel like I am.”
“How is it down there?” she asked, switching the subject without acknowledging what I had just said.
On reflex I looked out the windows of the taxi at the piles of detritus as I spoke, “Not as bad as we saw on TV, but it’s still not good.”
“Are you keeping your wards up?”
“Yeah. I am.”
When she replied, her voice was still illuminated by the somewhat bright tone that had made me smile a moment ago. “Cac capaill. You’re lying again. You haven’t been able to shield yourself for more than ten minutes in years. I know coven initiates who ground better than you.”
I allowed myself a grin at the comment, complete with the Gaelic profanity. Knowing Felicity as I did, I took the curse as yet another positive sign.
I felt the car slowing and looked up. We listed briefly as the driver swung the vehicle into the motel’s lot in a tight arc and then eased us up in front of the office.
“Hold on, honey,” I said into the phone as I fished out my wallet.
I did a quick mental calculation of the tip and stuffed some bills into his hand with a quick “keep the change,” then stepped out of the vehicle and started across the lot to my own car. The trip had put a dent in my traveling cash, but I wasn’t hurting yet. Still, I figured plastic was probably going to be my best choice to pay for my meals from this point on.
“Okay, I’m back,” I said after returning the phone to my ear.
“Have you been eating?” she asked, still bent on taking care of me by long distance.
I didn’t think she needed the worry, but it seemed to be giving her something to focus on. So, if it made her feel better, I wasn’t going to argue.
“Aspirin and coffee.”
“Rowan…”
“I’ll get something later. I promise.”
“Something healthy.”
“You got it. Something healthy.”
“So what are your plans today?” she pressed.
I glanced at my watch and saw that it was 10:20.
“I’m going down to the main branch of the library to check their archives. If I’m lucky I’ll be able to pick up a lead on Miranda from some of the genealogy records. I don’t know if it will do any good, even if I find something, but maybe.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be meeting up with Doctor Rieth to have a look at the cemetery?” she asked.
“That isn’t until tomorrow. She’s still in Baton Rouge right now. But, I have a map so I might go out there myself this afternoon.”
I stopped at my rental car then pulled the key out of my pocket and unlocked the door. I opened it but didn’t get in right away. I just stood there watching the traffic out on Airline Highway.
“Please don’t,” Felicity appealed.
“Why?”
“Just… I don’t know. Just don’t go alone. Please wait until tomorrow when Doctor Rieth is with you.”
“Okay,” I answered softly. “I can do that. Don’t worry.”
“Promise?”
“Yes, honey. I promise,” I said, unconsciously nodding as I spoke. “Truth is I should probably go back to the motel and grab some sleep once I’m done at the library.”
“Aye, I think you should.”
Silence fell between us. I turned to slip into the car, and my eyes caught the sight of a maid’s cart outside the door of room 7. Some of the furniture was already resting in a pile near the entrance to the open stairwell on the left.
“I’m loving you right now,” my wife finally said.
“I’m loving you too,” I replied.
“Well…” she began hesitantly. “I suppose I should let you go.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right. I still need to figure out how to get to the library from here.”
“Call me later? When you wake up from your nap…”
“Absolutely.”
“I love you.”
“I love you too, sweetheart.”
I waited to fold the cell phone in half until I heard the click at her end. I hated to end the call just as much as she, but I really did need to figure out where I was going, and get there.
It took a moment for me to realize I was still staring in the direction of room 7 as the maid and a man who could have been a maintenance worker went in and out the door at random intervals. I absently wondered how soon they might have the room ready for rental and even considered going over to the office to ask. Of course, the lady behind the desk probably wouldn’t be particularly interested in renting it to me after what had happened a few hours ago.
Besides, I also remembered what Detective Fairbanks had said. While I’m sure he was well aware I had no intention of leaving New Orleans just yet, I suspected another run-in with the local constabulary wouldn’t go nearly as well as the first. I knew I was going to need to fly beneath their radar for the rest of my visit. Occupying a room at a motel run by the person who had turned me in didn’t strike me as falling into that category.
But, even if that hadn’t been the case, staying here would probably be a very bad idea. Even though my current digs were far less than desirable, I had to take another important point into consideration. They could replace everything in that room except the ghosts. They were there to stay, and I wasn’t all that keen on spending any more time with them than I already had.
I shook my head and started to get into the car. As I slid into the seat and closed the door, I noticed a figure standing in the doorway of the office. It was the owner, sans housecoat this time, although I’m betting she was probably still well armed. She stood sipping from a cup and watching me through the window with a determined stare.
I decided to check my map when I was a little farther down the road.
CHAPTER 9:
It had been heavily overcast when the police turned me out, but any precipitation was sporadic. Now, however, it was falling steadily. Not pounding, by any means, just a steady rain. At least it waited until I was indoors.
I had just finished yet another perusal of the microfilm drawers in the archives division of the New Orleans Public Library. Now, I found myself gazing out the window at the small third floor courtyard, watching the water spatter against the windows. Even up here, the sharp smells of mold and mildewed carpet were prominent as they jetted out through the ventilation system.
The End Of Desire: A Rowan Gant Investigation Page 8