Midnight Caller

by Leslie Tentler

  Her response was to snuggle in more deeply. She’d just begun to doze when he pulled the sheets away, causing Dahlia to leap from the foot of the bed. Sitting up with a squeak of surprise, Rain made a fruitless grab for the covers that were held just out of her reach. Trevor’s lips curved into a soft smile. “Tempting, but we need to get going.”

  “I need coffee.”

  “Run first, coffee later. C’mon. I have a lot to do.”

  “It’s Sunday,” she repeated.

  “I know, but I need to file some reports before I attend a status meeting this afternoon. My laptop’s downstairs, so I can do it from here when we get back.”

  She blinked at him. “I’m not going to be able to keep up with you.”

  “I’ll take it slow.”

  With a longing glance at her pillow, Rain climbed out of bed and began to get dressed. She struggled into a sports bra, a blue tank top and running shorts, and secured her hair with an elastic band. Turning, she noticed Trevor sliding a small gun into an ankle holster concealed underneath his sweatpants. His eyes met hers in the room’s retreating shadows, and she tugged self-consciously on her ponytail.

  “I must look horrible. I haven’t even brushed my teeth yet.”

  “You look beautiful.” He stood and touched her cheek. Rain curled her fingers around his wrist as she gazed at him.

  “I’m not a morning person.”

  “Really? I didn’t notice.”

  He kissed her well enough to lift her mood. Despite the continuing search for Armand Baptiste, despite the grisly accident scene at the canal, Trevor seemed somehow more at peace this morning. If she’d managed to provide a distraction for him, however brief, she was grateful. At least she’d awakened with him next to her, instead of alone, with a uniformed police officer in her kitchen downstairs. She would be glad for the few hours she had with him before duty called him away.

  “You’re not sore from last night, are you?” he asked after she came out of the bathroom. Seeing her small grin, he clarified his question. “From playing bumper cars with the truck. Not from…us.”

  “I feel fine,” Rain answered truthfully. Trevor took her hand and led her from the bedroom and down the stairs. He disarmed the security system using the keypad near the front door. Outside, the sun was just beginning to rise over the roofline of the houses across the street, and the scent of gardenias drifted over from a neighboring yard.

  “I do yoga in a studio,” Rain remarked. “An air-conditioned one.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with a little cross training.”

  “I expect beignets with my coffee.” She stifled a yawn as Trevor braced his hands on the veranda’s wrought-iron railing. Stealing a look at her, he bent his head and began to stretch out his calves.

  “Sure, but that’s going to cost you an extra mile.”

  The maroon leaves of the Japanese maple concealed the rusted Chevrolet, which sat at the end of the street in the quiet Marigny neighborhood. James Rivette slouched in the driver’s seat as he stared at the West Indies-style cottage. He gripped a waxy paper cup filled with coffee, its heat diluted by the whiskey he’d poured into it from a bottle he kept in the glove box.

  At one time, the house had been his home. He’d made the down payment and handled the monthly mortgage for more years than he cared to remember. James took a long sip. He’d lost the place in the divorce. It was barely recognizable these days, painted in a god-awful shade that was somewhere between a faggoty pink and a violet.

  He rolled down the window and let the warm morning air into the car’s stale interior. The aroma of bacon and eggs wafted from one of the brightly hued houses, making his stomach growl. For several seconds, he considered driving to the nearest diner. But he thought of the money he’d been given and decided to stay put.

  James sat there until the coffee was gone and he was left drinking straight from the bottle. One thing was certain—whoever his mystery benefactor was, it was clear Trevor had stepped on the wrong toes this time.

  He’d been given to reminiscence lately, and for some reason the cold and rainy day of Sarah’s funeral popped into his head like a floodlight being turned on. James hadn’t seen his elder son in years, but he’d recognized him immediately among the mourners. Trevor had stood with his arm wrapped around Annabelle as she cried, the two of them under the Mercier Brothers Funeral Home tarp that had been hoisted up next to their mother’s crypt. Somber-faced and handsome in a black suit and trench coat, Trevor briefly met James’s stare. Then he’d callously dismissed him, instead looking out over the aboveground tombs and statuary as if his own father was no more than a ghost. Ostracized, James had been left shivering at the crowd’s edge, rain dripping off him like a stray mongrel.

  Later that day, he’d followed Trevor to Louis Armstrong Airport in the same beat-up Chevy he sat in right now. The holier-than-thou FBI agent hadn’t realized he was being tailed. James had considered confronting his son and reminding him who was the better lawman. Instead, he’d ended up drinking alone in one of the airport bars. He took another gulp from the bottle, upending it and draining it dry.

  Who was he to keep someone from bringing Trevor down a peg?

  The stranger had been well dressed, with hoity-toity manners that smacked of money and privilege. Yet despite the dark sunglasses, there was an aura about him that James recalled from his days as a beat cop working the rough streets of Storyville and Treme. The thugs there had the same disingenuous smile, which concealed an innate desire to cut out your heart if you turned your back on them. Similarly, his gut told him the stranger was someone he wouldn’t want to cross.

  Besides, a deal was a deal. They’d shook hands on it, shared another drink, and James had taken the money.

  He belched and tossed the empty bottle out the window. Then he sat up straight as, like clockwork, the house’s door creaked open. Still wearing pajamas, the little girl carried a carton of milk against her chest. Taking in the tangle of dark curls, James felt a sense of nostalgia. She looked just like his sweet Annabelle at that age.

  He struggled to remember the child’s name. What was it? Haley.

  James put his hand on the Chevy’s door handle and heard its soft snick as he opened it. He got out, taking care not to create too much noise. She was on her way to a toolshed in a neighbor’s backyard, behind which a litter of kittens waited for their milk. The man told him she came out every morning to make sure the strays got their breakfast. He’d called James late last night, announcing the time to earn his money had arrived.

  He wasn’t doing any real harm. Didn’t he want to get to know his only grandbaby, anyway?

  Picking his way past a butterfly bush that hung heavy with cone-shaped flowers, he followed the same path the little girl had taken.

  37

  Two coffee cups sat on the kitchen counter, and only a dusting of powdered sugar remained from the beignets purchased at the corner bakery. Rain trailed a finger through what was left of the snowy confection. From upstairs came the knock of the old house’s pipes, indicating Trevor was in the shower.

  As she began clearing away their breakfast dishes, she noticed the blinking light on the phone console that hung on the wall. When had a call come through?

  Rain dialed into the message system. A synthesized voice announced there was a single message, with a time stamp of late the previous evening. She entered her access code. Oliver’s speech was slurred.

  Dr. Sommers? You need to pick up. You’re not answering your cell. I’ve got to talk to you. Fuck. Just pick up the phone…

  Her cell phone. As a rule, Rain kept it with her since it was the number she gave to patients for use in case of an emergency. But she now recalled tossing it onto the seat of the Taurus after making the 911 call. Last night she’d forgotten to bring it inside. Oliver’s second call, the one made to her home, had gone unnoticed. She wondered if it had been sent straight to voice mail when Trevor was on the phone with the hospital and police.

 
In her office, she located the number for Oliver’s cell. It rang repeatedly but no one answered. A call to the residence on St. Charles Avenue garnered the same response. What should she do? Going to look for Oliver would be pointless, since she had no earthly idea where to find him.

  Rain walked into the parlor as Trevor came downstairs. He wore jeans and a fresh T-shirt, his hair damp and his own cell phone gripped in his hand.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, seeing his expression.

  “Annabelle just called. It’s my niece, Haley. She’s gone.”

  Rain thought of the little girl and her heart froze. “Someone took her?”

  “Not someone. My father. I need to get over there now.”

  Still wearing her running clothes, Rain accompanied Trevor to Annabelle’s. She found her cell phone in the car and as Trevor drove, she tried to reach Oliver again, but to no avail.

  One emergency at a time, she thought as she stuffed the phone into the patchwork denim bag she’d brought with her. It was one of Celeste’s favorite sayings, something she’d repeated often when Rain was in the high drama of her teenage years. She only hoped a similar theatrical flair was behind Oliver’s call. One thing was for certain—James Rivette had impeccable timing. Rain glanced at Trevor as he drove well above the posted speed limit and wondered how much one man was supposed to take.

  Turning onto the street, she saw a squad car in front of a neat raspberry-hued cottage with gingerbread trim and a wide front porch. They parked, and she went with Trevor up the sidewalk as a police officer emerged from the house. Trevor dug his shield from his back pocket and presented it. The two men walked to a line of green-leafed hosta plants at the yard’s edge and spoke in quiet tones.

  Going up to the porch, Rain looked inside through the open front door. Annabelle sat huddled on the couch, a tissue wadded in her slender fingers. Alex was next to her, trying to console her, while Brian paced the far side of the room. Rain turned as the officer got into his squad car and drove away.

  “They’re going to put out an Amber Alert for the Chevy he drives and they’re sending a unit to watch his apartment,” Trevor said as he came up the porch stairs. Distress filled his eyes. “He left a note on the front door that said he was taking Haley out for breakfast, like it’s a perfectly normal activity. I swear, if he does anything—”

  He stopped speaking as Annabelle appeared at the door. Rain embraced the other woman.

  “It’s okay, Anna,” Trevor promised. “We’ll get her back.”

  Annabelle met her brother’s gaze. Her voice shook. “You were right. I should’ve gotten a restraining order.”

  “You had no idea he’d pull something like this.”

  “Has Dad ever tried to make contact with Haley before?” The question came from Brian, who’d followed Annabelle onto the porch.

  “Never,” Annabelle said, sniffling. “He’d never even come to the house until a few days ago when—”

  “He was looking for me.” Trevor finished the statement and Rain touched his arm. She knew that in his mind, he’d already accepted responsibility for his father’s stunt, as well as anything that might happen to his niece.

  “What can we do?” Alex asked. He’d stepped outside behind Brian.

  “Nothing,” Brian said. “It’s like the old days. We’re powerless.”

  “Like hell.” Trevor headed down the stairs. “I can go out looking for the bastard.”

  Brian caught up to him before he reached the gate. “Where are you even going to start? The police already have an alert out for the car—”

  “I can’t just sit around here while—”

  The phone in the house rang. Annabelle rushed inside with the rest of them on her heels. As soon as she answered the phone, her body went rigid. “Where are you? I want my daughter back!”

  Still holding the receiver against her ear, her eyes swung to Trevor. Rain’s stomach tightened.

  “He wants to talk to you.”

  Trevor took the phone. He didn’t waste time with a greeting. “I want Haley back now. You hear me, old man?”

  He listened to whatever his father was saying on the other end of the line. Wearily, he passed a hand over his face and released a frustrated breath.

  “We’ll be there.” Although his voice was low, the threat it held was clear. “If Haley’s shed a single tear, I’ll kill you.”

  Trevor disconnected the phone. His eyes were the color of cold gray steel. “He’s drunk. He claims he just wanted to get to know his grandchild. They’re over at City Park, riding the carousel.”

  Brian laughed bitterly. “You’re kidding.”

  “He wants us to meet him—you, Annabelle and me,” Trevor continued. “He says he made a mistake and if we don’t involve the police further, he’ll give Haley back without incident.”

  He looked as though he wanted to throw something through one of the room’s paned windows. “He was going on about how unfair life’s been to him. How none of what happened to any of us was his fault—”

  His words broke off angrily, and Annabelle went to him.

  “I just want to get her back, Trevor. Please.”

  “We’re calling the cops and telling them where he is,” Brian said as he reached for the phone.

  “No.” Trevor stopped him. “He says if he sees any cops, he’s going to run. I don’t want Haley caught in the middle of this. I’ll make a call to the police on the way over, tell them to stay on the park’s perimeter but not to approach.”

  Trevor turned to look at Rain, who stood next to Alex.

  “Go with your family,” she said softly. “You don’t need to keep up with me. Besides, a stranger might agitate him.”

  He appeared hesitant. “When I call the police, I’ll ask for the officer who was just here to turn around and come back. It shouldn’t be more than five minutes. Until then—”

  Alex spoke up. “I’ll stay with her. We’ll be fine.”

  Outside, Rain and Alex stood on the porch as the others climbed into Brian’s Audi, leaving Trevor’s damaged rental sedan behind. The doors slammed closed and Brian started the powerful engine. The car peeled away and disappeared down the street.

  “Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” Alex intoned, running a hand through his hair. “Can you believe this?”

  “Unfortunately, I can.” Rain thought of what she’d learned about the family’s violent, tragic past. The secrets were bubbling to the surface, and she thanked God that at least Trevor wasn’t meeting his father alone. He desperately needed Brian and Annabelle there to ground him, to keep him from losing control.

  She sighed worriedly, recalling that Trevor said his father was intoxicated. He’d put Haley in a car and driven away with her, risking her safety.

  “Maybe we should go back into the house. Until the police get here,” Alex suggested. She followed him inside and locked the front door behind them. As they went into the efficient galley-style kitchen, Rain resigned herself to the fact that she’d have to wait as calmly as she could for the events at City Park to play out. In the meantime, she could try to contact Oliver again. So far, he hadn’t returned either of the messages she’d left him.

  “We could have some coffee,” Rain said as she searched inside her bag for her cell phone. The coffeemaker on the counter held a carafe full of the dark brew. Not that her nerves needed an added jolt of caffeine, but it could help pass the time.

  “Coffee, hell.” Alex opened one of the cabinet doors and peered at the rows of canned goods and other staples. He gave Rain a strained smile. “I’m a train wreck, honey. Where do you think Annabelle hides the bourbon?”

  38

  Although the massive live oaks in City Park provided a canopy against the sun, the midmorning humidity had already grown oppressive. Trevor’s T-shirt stuck to his skin as he scanned the children’s play area for his father.

  True to his claim, James slumped on a wrought-iron bench across from the antique carousel. Haley sat next to him. Still dressed in her
striped pajamas, she swung her moccasin-clad feet contentedly and munched on a pink cloud of cotton candy. Lyrical calliope music floated through the trees’ low-spread branches.

  “Son of a bitch,” Trevor fumed. He felt Annabelle touch his wrist.

  “Don’t scare her,” Brian said. “She doesn’t understand what’s going on.”

  As they approached, Haley called to them and climbed down from the bench. She ran to Annabelle, who scooped the child up in her arms.

  “Haley, you know better than to get in a car with a stranger.” Annabelle glared at her father as she wiped sticky sugar from her daughter’s face.

  “But he isn’t a stranger!” Haley waved at James, who waved back. “That man who came to our house, Mommy? He’s my grandfather! He said so!”

  “It’s about time I got to know my grandbaby.” James put his hands on the knees of his trousers and winked conspiratorially. “Ain’t that right, sweetheart?”

  “Anna, take Haley to get cleaned up,” Trevor instructed.

  Putting Haley down, Annabelle took her hand. “Let’s go to the restroom. Then maybe we’ll take a ride on the carousel.”

  With a concerned glance at Trevor and Brian, she led her away. James leaned back against the bench. Nearby, the miniature train that ran through the park’s camellia gardens rumbled past, its bell clanging as children laughed and shouted from its seats.

  “If it ain’t the saint and the sinner,” he mused, his glassy gaze traveling over his sons as they approached.

  Trevor kept his voice low and controlled. “Annabelle’s taking out a restraining order on Monday. You come within two hundred feet of her or Haley again and you’ll land your ass in jail, if what you pulled today doesn’t already put you there.”

  Hauling himself from the bench, James pushed a blunt finger into Trevor’s chest. “I got rights to see that little girl—”

  “No, you don’t. And don’t touch me.” Trevor shoved his father’s hand away. He could smell the alcohol on his breath.