Obviously, this guy believed in his business. She worked to hide her disappointment. “It sounds like a great service.”
“It is.” From the way he was looking at her, he was ready to sign her up. “Let me get you some information.”
Before she could refuse, he had retrieved a flyer from under the counter. “Just in case you should ever need one.”
She thanked him, slipped the flyer into her pocket and returned the conversation to the reason for her visit. “I really need to get in touch with the girl who wrote this letter. Is there any way I can get her actual address from you?”
“Sorry.” A customer entered the store and the man’s gaze drifted toward the door, then back to her. “I can’t give that out.”
“Not even if it’s an emergency?”
“We guarantee our clients full privacy. Short of a court order, that is.”
“Look—” she lowered her voice, pleading “—it’s really important that I find out who’s renting that box.”
“Can’t do it. Sorry.”
She lowered her voice more. “I know this sounds crazy, but a little girl’s in danger. Couldn’t you bend the rules just this once? Please?”
His expression went from helpful to annoyed. Obviously, he didn’t buy the kid-in-danger scenario. She tried again anyway. “Please? I promise, this is a matter of life and death. An eleven-year-old girl—”
“No,” he said sharply. “I will not make an exception. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a customer.”
Anna left the store, frustrated, fired by renewed annoyance with Detective Quentin Malone’s lackadaisical attitude. If Malone had been the one demanding the box owner’s address, he would have gotten it. No pleading necessary. She was certain of that.
What did she do now?
The name, she realized. Minnie went by the surname Swell, an unusual name for this part of the country.
Jo and Diane. At the Green Briar Shoppe.
Of course. Jo Burris and Diane Cimo knew almost everybody on the North Shore. If anyone by that name had passed through their boutique, they would remember.
Anna climbed into her car and drove across Highway 22 and onto the service road. Anna had met the two women when she had wandered into the boutique on her first visit to the North Shore. Warm, fun-loving and outgoing, Jo and Diane had made her feel as welcome as an old friend. An hour and a half later, Anna had exited the store with two outfits she couldn’t afford and two new friends worth more than any amount of money.
Jo’s shop was located in an aging strip mall on the service road just a couple of minutes from what had become the hub of Mandeville. Anna parked in front of the store, climbed out of her car and went inside. The bell above the door tinkled, and Jo, a gorgeous woman of an indeterminate age, looked up from the box she was unpacking.
She smiled warmly. “Anna, I was just thinking about you.” She spoke in a honeyed drawl that Anna didn’t doubt had sent many a man’s pulse racing. “We’ve gotten the prettiest things in.” She held up the rose-colored chenille sweater she was unpacking. “With your hair, honey, no man could resist.”
Anna laughed, took the sweater and held it against her while she stood in front of a mirror. She gazed at her reflection, then made a sound of regret and handed it back. “It would, Jo. If only I could afford it.”
“You could put it on layaway, pay just a little every week.” Jo’s bangle bracelets clicked together as she re-folded the sweater. “It would look so good on you.”
Anna didn’t weaken, though she longed to try the sweater on. Instead, she turned the conversation to the reason for her visit.
“Swell,” Jo repeated, drawing her eyebrows together in thought. After a moment she shook her head. “Sorry, Anna honey, I just don’t recognize that name.”
It had been a long shot, Anna knew, but still she was disappointed. “How about the name Minnie?” she asked. “Hear anybody talk about a girl named Minnie?”
Again Jo shook her head. “But Diane might have. Or one of our customers. We can ask around, if it’s important?”
“It is, Jo. Really important.” They chatted a few minutes more, during which Anna avoided Jo’s not-so-subtle curiosity about the reason finding Minnie Swell was so important. After quickly flipping through the racks, oohing and aahing over several things and promising to come back and shop when she had more time, she left—no closer to helping Minnie than she had been first thing that morning.
* * *
When Anna arrived at work fifty minutes later, she found several messages waiting for her, two from her agent and one from Dr. Ben Walker. She returned her agent’s call right away. “Hey, Will, what’s up?”
“They’ve upped their offer.”
Her stomach dropped to her toes. “What did you say?”
“You heard me, Madeline called this morning and upped Cheshire House’s offer on the new proposal.”
“But why would they up their offer?” she asked. “I haven’t even officially refused—”
“I’d called, expressed your concerns, pointed out what a monumental personal sacrifice they were asking you to make.” He made a sound of satisfaction. “I love it when a plan comes together.”
Anna swallowed hard, heart thundering in her chest. “Will,” she murmured, “the issue isn’t the money. It was never the money.”
“Anna, they’re offering fifty thousand.”
For the second time in five minutes, Anna’s stomach took a tumble. “Say that again.”
He repeated the figure and she laid her hand on Dalton’s arm for support. She knew that figure was a far cry from the multimillion-dollar advances the brand-name authors pulled in per book, but it was a quantum leap from the twelve-thousand-dollar advance she had received for her last.
“How much?” Dalton whispered, nearly dancing with excitement.
Propping the phone to her ear with her shoulder, she opened and closed her hands five times. He brought his to his chest in mock heart failure.
“Same contract stipulations,” her agent continued. “A full tour and no-holds-barred publicity campaign.”
Her soaring spirits took a nosedive. “They won’t budge on that?”
“Not even a millimeter.” At her silence, he rushed to add, “Think about it, Anna. Think about what this could mean to your career. We’re talking bestseller lists. Name recognition. An advertising budget. Then, if this book sells as they expect it will, the publishing stratosphere. Now, think what you stand to lose if you turn this offer down. With your present numbers it’s not going to be easy to sell you to another house. You’ll be regarded as a bad bet and a money loser.”
His words hurt. That he could spit them at her so matter-of-factly, with no regard for her feelings, hurt more. “I thought you believed in my work,” she said, voice thick.
“I do. But in this market it takes more than a great story to sell books. It takes a hook. And you’ve got that, Anna. Use it. Don’t throw this opportunity away.”
“I hear what you’re saying, but I…I can’t do this.” She shook her head. “I know I can’t.”
“Why are you sabotaging yourself this way?” His tone took on an unpleasant edge. “Don’t you see? This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, you can’t throw it away.”
“I don’t want to, but—”
“I’ll go back to the table. I can get you more money than this. I’ll get you a guaranteed publicity budget. Cover and title approval. Right now they see you as a potential gold mine, and if you agree to go along with their plans—”
“Will! Stop and listen to what I’m saying. I want to, but I can’t. I can’t do it!”
For a long, uncomfortable moment, her agent said nothing. When he finally spoke, his tone was bitter but resigned. “Is that your final decision?”
“Yes,” she managed to say, all but choking on the words. “It is.”
“You’re the boss.” He paused. “If I were you, Anna, I’d consider getting some professional help with this
problem. And it is a problem, even if you don’t see it that way.”
He hung up and Anna was left with the dead receiver pressed to her ear. Struggling to keep ahold of the despair careening through her, she returned the phone to its base unit. She wasn’t a fool. Along with a new publisher, she would be looking for a new agent as well.
Starting over. She would be starting over, after how hard she had worked. How she had struggled.
“Did he hang up on you?” Dalton demanded, already knowing the answer, outraged. “I never liked him, Anna. And neither did Bill. He’s an arrogant little prick.”
She tried to smile but failed miserably.
“I never told you this,” Dalton continued, “but on several occasions he was quite rude to me on the phone.” Her friend lowered his voice. “Not only is he an officious A-hole, but a homophobe as well. I’m certain of it.”
But he was a good agent, she thought. One well respected in the publishing community. And one who knew how to sell books.
The shop door opened and a woman entered. Dalton glanced at her, then back at Anna. “Are you going to be all right?”
When she nodded, he gave her shoulders a quick squeeze, then hurried to help the customer.
The phone rang and she snatched it up, hoping it was Will, calling back to apologize. “The Perfect Rose.”
“Anna, it’s Ben Walker. But wait! Before you hang up, please just listen to me.”
Anna curved her fingers around the portable phone, a part of her wanting to slam the phone in his ear just as Will had slammed it in hers. But having just been on the receiving end of that humiliating experience she couldn’t do it. “Go ahead,” she said. “But make it quick, I’m working.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “For intruding on your life the way I did. It was inappropriate and insensitive. I knew how you would react but in my zeal to interview you, I forged ahead anyway. Please accept my apology.”
She felt moderately appeased, but only moderately. “I prefer not to be reminded of the past. I’ve moved on.”
“But you haven’t, Anna. Don’t you see that? If you’re so afraid of the past you have to hide from it, it’s not your past. It’s your present.”
Jaye had said almost the same thing to her. As had her father, the other day on the phone. And just a few minutes ago, her agent.
Get some professional help with this problem. And it is a problem, even if you don’t see it that way.
Who better to help her than a doctor with a specialty in childhood trauma? Who more knowledgeable than a doctor writing a book on the subject?
Do it, Anna. What do you have left to lose?
“Tell me again,” she murmured. “Why were you so eager to talk to me?”
“Just meet with me. I’ll tell you about me, my practice, this project. No strings. If you’re uncomfortable or simply not interested, I won’t bother you again. I promise.”
She heard the excitement in his voice; felt a corresponding excitement within herself. Still she hesitated. One moment became two became several. What did she have to lose? she wondered. She had already lost Jaye, her anonymity and her publishing career. What was left?
“Okay,” she murmured, “I’ll meet with you. How about tonight at five, the Café du Monde. First one to arrive gets a table.”
CHAPTER 14
Thursday, January 18
4:45 p.m.
Anna arrived at the Café du Monde early. Located on Jackson Square in the French Quarter, the Café du Monde had exactly one food item on its menu—beignets. That one item had made this unassuming little café a New Orleans legend. No tourist’s visit to the Crescent City was complete without at least one stop for the decadent squares of fried dough. New Orleanians themselves were not immune to the call of the café and actually turned up their noses at beignets from any other source. After all, the best was the best and with perfection so close, why settle for less?
Anna took a seat outside despite the chill, choosing a table along the sidewalk facing St. Peter Street. She loved this time of day, the early-evening rush of businesspeople heading home, the subtle shift from light to dark, day to night, frenzied to unhurried.
Anna ordered a café au lait and sat back to wait, using the minutes to people watch. She scanned the faces that passed, noticing body language and expressions, catching bits and snatches of conversations, filing the information, the impressions away for a time when they would emerge in a scene or in one of her characters.
People both fascinated and frightened her. They were a constant source of joy, curiosity and bedevilment. Was that the way a psychologist thought of his patients? Anna wondered. Was that the way Dr. Walker thought?
She shivered suddenly, grateful for the arrival of her steaming mug of coffee. She curled her hands around the mug, admitting to herself that she was nervous. She had seen a number of shrinks in the years after her kidnapping. The last time she had been sixteen and an emotional wreck—depressed, wary and distrustful of others, constantly on edge. Her parents, their marriage in tatters, had forced her to go. She needed someone to talk to, they had insisted. Someone to share her deepest, darkest thoughts with. Someone who would understand and help Anna put her feelings into perspective.
But the woman hadn’t understood. How could she have? The worst thing that she’d ever lived through, Anna had decided, was a bad hair day. The therapist had been condescending, her probing questions unsympathetic and intrusive.
Anna had been resentful, angry at her parents for forcing her to see the woman. When they had finally agreed to let her call it quits to the therapy, she had vowed she would never again subject herself to that kind of mental assault and battery.
Then what the hell was she doing here? Anna wondered. She glanced at her watch and saw that the doctor was ten minutes late already. Why not bolt? Just stand up and walk away?
Why not? By being late, he had given her the opportunity. She could leave and not even feel guilty about it. She grabbed her purse and dug out her wallet to pay for her coffee. She realized with a sense of shock that her hands were shaking.
“Sorry I’m late.” Ben Walker came up from behind her and slipped into the chair across from hers. “I couldn’t find my keys. I had them this morning, then they were gone. This morning,” he continued, loosening his tie. “What a nightmare. The alarm never went off and I overslept. Which isn’t surprising considering I was on the Internet doing research most of the night.” He laughed. “I swear, it’s a good thing I didn’t go into teaching. I’d be a Disney cliché, the absentminded profess…”
His words trailed off as he took in her expression, the open wallet in her hands, the two dollars on the table beside her half-full coffee cup. His face fell. “How late am I?”
“Not too,” she answered, feeling somewhat calmed by his self-deprecating manner. How could she be intimidated by such a self-proclaimed bumbler?
She pulled a deep breath in through her nose, feeling a little like a kid caught with her hand in the cookie jar. “Actually, I was having second thoughts about our meeting. My experiences with shrinks haven’t been all that great.”
“You have friends who are shrinks?”
She drew her eyebrows together. “I don’t follow. What does that—”
“So, you do?”
“No, but—”
“How about family members? A boyfriend?” She answered in the negative again and he arched his eyebrows. “Oh, you mean you’ve had a doctor-patient relationship with a shrink?”
“Yes, several.” She tilted her chin up slightly. “When I was much younger.”
“After the kidnapping?”
“That should be pretty obvious.” Her chin inched up another millimeter. “After the kidnapping, yes.”
The waiter arrived. Ben ordered a café au lait and plate of beignets, then turned back to her, never missing a beat. “That’s not the kind of relationship I’m proposing. Not at all.”
“No?” She arched an eyebrow. “Exactly what sort o
f relationship are you proposing?”
“Author and author. Interviewer and inter viewee. Maybe, eventually and if I’m lucky, friend and friend.”
A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, and Anna realized with a sense of shock that she liked him. She realized, too, that all thoughts of leaving had disappeared. She closed her wallet and returned it to her purse. “You’re good.”
He laughed, thanked her and leaned forward, expression earnest. “But I mean it. Look, Anna, I’m not trying to head-shrink you. I’m hoping you will simply and honestly talk to me about your life, your feelings, the choices you’ve made and why.”
“I assure you,” she murmured dryly, “that my life story will make anything but fascinating reading.”
“You’re wrong about that. To me, it will be. To the people who pick up this book, it will be.” He sobered. “Let me tell you a little about myself and my practice, then maybe you’ll see why I’m so interested in interviewing you.”
He began by telling her about himself, his upbringing and schooling. He was an only child, raised by a single mother—whom he adored. He had been the result of a brief dalliance with a man his mother refused to speak of, and other than one uncle, he’d had no family. He remembered little of his early childhood other than that they had moved around a good bit.
“Without friends and much family, it was a lonely childhood. Then I started school. I loved it. Excelled at it. Learning and books became my constant companions. It didn’t even matter if I had to change schools, because I never had to leave behind the opportunity to learn.”
Anna propped her chin on her fist, totally into his story, the sound of his voice melodic and soothing. “Why psychology?” she asked.
“I wanted to help people but I can’t stand the sight of blood.” He grinned. “That’s only partly true, however. People fascinate me. Why they do what they do. What makes them tick. How events can profoundly affect a person’s life.”
She had to admit, as a writer, she was fascinated with the same things. That fascination translated into fully rounded characters imbued with both strengths and weaknesses, characters whose sometimes tragic pasts had far-reaching present-day consequences. “Why childhood trauma?”
Dark and Twisted Reads: All the Pretty GirlsA Perfect EvilBone Cold (A Taylor Jackson Novel) Page 79