by Livia Quinn
It had looked like it was never going to happen, but I'd given Jack a little glimpse of my stormy nature at the clubhouse earlier today. To say he'd been shocked, would be like saying Destiny is a little different than the rest of the communities on Storm Lake. Destiny is literally another world. But to Jack's credit, he hadn't run screaming into the night. I chuckled, swiping at my cheeks. "I wish you could have seen his face when Dylan shifted into his beast, but I'm being mean because Jack was operating on overload."
Aurora's right eyebrow angled up. "I doubt that's normal for someone of his experience."
She had that right. Jack had ten years in as a Navy pilot, not to mention his job with the Memphis police and here, as sheriff. He was not one to buckle under stress, at least not the mundane human variety.
My phone vibrated and Dylan's special ring, "Ain't No Way to Treat A Lady" filled the room. Aurora shook her head and I shrugged. What could I say? He'd earned that ringtone. "Yes?" I answered putting him on speaker.
"Lang got a call. He'll let me know when he's done, so stay close to your phone. We'll get this done tonight. I'll call Aurora."
Aurora leaned over to talk into the phone. "No need to contact me, Dylan. I'll be here marking stock and rearranging."
"Zeus' furies! I was looking forward to getting this over with," I said, after Dylan hung up.
"We need to talk, Tempest." Aurora leaned forward as she weighed her words. Must be bad.
"What did I do?"
She let out an exasperated sigh. "That's what's bothering me, Tempe. Why do you think you've done anything wrong?"
I shrugged. "Even Jack said it seems like I'm at the center of everything that's happened so far, everything bad he meant. I wouldn't be surprised if he—"
"Stop, right there!" I blinked. Aurora's voice cut through the air like a blade. She'd never used that tone with me. "I can see I haven't been a very good godmother." She took my hand and held it tightly. "I want you to really listen to me." This statement was accompanied by one of her piercing looks.
"You're not trying to hypnotize me are you?" I asked.
"No, of course not," she said, flicking that thought away as if it was silly. "Not that I couldn't. Now, don't interrupt, and pay attention." Her eyebrows leveled as she aimed her Serious Mentor look at me.
I shut up, expecting a lecture. It didn't turn out that way.
"It's natural for vulnerable children to blame themselves for events that happen, and think there was something they could have done to prevent it. But children are innocents, at the mercy of their caretakers. And even well meaning adults can screw up and make the wrong decisions based on what they deem to be good counsel. Meanwhile their children are left to figure life out the best way they can, especially when they aren't in the loop as you put it. You've heard the old saying, Bel K'jaka?"
I racked my brain for the meaning. "Mm… fickle magic?" I guessed.
"It means literally 'Life is Fickle'."
"Ah." I grimaced, "Stuff happens."
She nodded. "Anytime. Anywhere. Anyhow. Life is one big mountain with a lot of hairpin curves, and we deal with it by accepting who and where we are. You've heard me say this before, Tempe. No matter what's going on around you or who is to blame—I hate that word—you are where you are supposed to be, playing your own special part in the universal Qi."
Her aqua gaze got darker, "This shame you feel stems from a false belief that you have control over what happens to you and River."
She was referring to how I'd responded to the planted information about my family, and my feelings toward my mother. Oh, how I'd like the opportunity to make that right. My stomach clenched so hard I nearly doubled over from the ache. I understood. I had been blaming myself for things I had no control over.
"So you're saying…"
"Stop apologizing for who you are, and for what you are. Just be her. She is exceptional and has a long exciting life ahead of her.
"You have a purpose, Tempe, and it will take shape when it's meant. The Ancients have a saying, 'One meets his destiny on the road he takes to avoid it.' If you're living your truth, you cannot avoid your destiny."
I wanted it to be true. There was something inside that kept me from breaking free… fear, resentment? But the urge to let loose was there. It had been for quite some time. I'd pushed down even harder in the past week for fear that Jack would see who I really was, and run, but that was probably going to happen anyway. I couldn't worry about that until I found my brother. He was my number one priority… always had been.
"Has my… resistance kept us from finding River?"
"I'm not going there, Tempe. Focus on what is and what can be done now. The next time you feel menori rise, forget the rules; push back the guilt and doubt; and let her rip, baby. Let her rip."
I nodded. "I'll try."
She groaned.
"Okay, I promise not to hold back." I risked getting punched and smiled, "Whatever that means…"
Chapter 2
Tempe
5 pm Somebody finally gets it!
* * *
Curious about the call Jack had responded to, I dialed his number, acting as if nothing had happened earlier.
"I just questioned the woman that filed the complaint against you," he said without preamble, pretending as well.
"Mrs. Karrakas?" The Karrakases lived on the fairway of Enchanted Glen Estates near the clubhouse. She'd filed a complaint a few weeks earlier alleging that I'd stolen a golf club, which she said was a gift for her husband. Since it hadn't required a signature, I'd placed it in their open garage near the back door.
"There's something not right about her," Jack said.
"Yes!" I said. Somebody finally gets it. "I've been saying that for years. Where did you see her?"
"You'll hear about it before long anyway. Dr. Shone called and needed help with Lancelot."
"Lancelot? Our Enchanted Glen mascot?" Lancelot, a very large, very old alligator lived in the slough near the clubhouse. His slough is the "hazard" at the eighteenth hole. The course had been closed when I discovered the body in a pool of blood in the foyer. Since then we'd learned a lot about the identity of the victim, including that he wasn't human, but we were still in the dark as to who had killed him. Thank the gods, Jack now knew it wasn't me.
"The same. The course was getting ready to open again tomorrow and their new maintenance man spotted Lancelot on the fairway. He was afraid to approach him at first, but when he realized the gator wasn't moving, he called Chris. She hasn't tended to very many alligators so she called the game wardens to get them to transport him to LSU. It seems our Sir Lancelot came down with something. He might have a belly full of golf club."
"My golf club?"
"More specifically, Mr. Karrakas' club. The only identifiable part on it was the head. Lancelot twisted and scarred it up pretty good. He's got a hell of a bellyache. I asked Mrs. Karrakas to identify it, even though I had a pretty good description from McGuinness. It took several of us to load the big boy in the game warden's truck so they could carry him to Baton Rouge."
"Poor baby."
"More like old man. He's got to be at least twenty years old."
"He's probably older than that. I think he was ten when we had the 'Save Lancelot’s Slough ' campaign. Remind me sometime, I'll show you some pictures."
Silence.
Right. The conversation had been all business, no mention of what happened earlier. He was probably still trying to convince himself it hadn't happened.
"I just left Aurora's. I'm going to run home and change before we meet—"
I realized then, I was speaking to dead air.
As I unlocked my front door, Montana called. "Hey, Temp." She sounded excited. "I think I just saw that construction worker drive up and go into the Wasted Turtle. The description of the truck matched the tag you gave us. Rafe and I had to pick a post in this area so I figured we'd see if anyone showed up. Couldn't hurt, right?"
She was talking about the construction
worker who'd been the last one to see my brother, the night before he went missing. Rafe and Montana are EMTs. That's her 'day job' the one humans know about anyway. If you were to meet her under certain conditions, you'd run like hell, especially if you're assaulting a defenseless woman. Rafe is human but enlightened about his partner, and I've always wondered if there wasn't something else going on between them, maybe not romantic because given Montana's "mission", relationships with men are complicated.
"We're 10-11 in the lot across the street and he just drove up. He's got an old beat up red Chevy—you can't miss it—ladder, buckets, a bunch of crap tossed in the bed. We'll try to hang but if we get a call, we'll have to go. You want to head over or do you want me to call Jack?"
"No, I'm on my way. I should be there in less than ten minutes."
Will Crain had been avoiding everyone including Jack, which made his story suspicious. Menori roused as I considered how I might convince him to unload his conscience.
* * *
Tempe
7:40 pm A friggin' terrible sleuth
* * *
I drove up beside Montana and Rafe who were still idling and awaiting their next call. The smell of diesel wafted through my window as Montana leaned her head out of the cab of the ambulance. "He's still in there. His truck has a fancy locked toolbox and some other stuff in the back." She pointed to a scuffed up red Silverado parked close to the side exit. "That's it over there."
I was still feeling guilty for not realizing my brother was in trouble until I received a call from one of his subcontractors, Max Rutledge, the morning his bottle went missing from our mantel. He'd been irate after River hadn't shown up at the construction site.
My brother is the poster boy for responsibility, and I'd known then that something was very wrong. Max had been apologetic after informing me he assumed because of something one of his workers told him that River had overslept, or worse.
Montana asked, "What did this guy tell his boss exactly?"
"He told Max he saw River with a brunette Sunday night 'looking chummy' but he's never answered his phone or been available to sit down with the sketch artist. Jack checked out the address Max had in his records. It's been vacant for a year."
The emergency radio squawked and Rafe listened, then flipped on the siren. "Unit 23 is responding. We're outta here," he said to Montana
"Thank you, Montana," I said as she rolled her window up.
I turned my truck around to face the bar and settled in to wait. The evening had turned cold. The only reason I noticed was that customers exited the bar and then pulled up their collars or hoods and ran for their vehicles. I don't experience temperature changes, unless I concentrate on it, you know, turn on my internal thermometer?
If Jack called, I probably wouldn't tell him about my location, or my intentions. It would make him… unhappy. But I refused to hand over this little recon mission to anyone, because it was the first time I'd had an actual lead I could pursue. Being a law enforcement officer, the sheriff might need a reasonable suspicion of guilt—or whatever they call it—to follow this guy, but all I needed was, well, a bit of gossip and sheer desperation.
As I waited, I remembered what Aurora had said. Phoebe… Mother had needed to be near me. My chest burned with guilt at the way I'd condemned my mother for her lack of involvement in our lives. But how could I have known?
Aurora said the plan didn't work, but it seemed to me it had worked fairly well. If it convinced me, it had to have convinced others. The jury was still out on whether I'd been safe because of it, or if my response to their plan kept me from going through my quickening sooner. Who knows what would have happened if Dutch and Phoebe had stayed around to be parents and protect us.
Then there was the situation with Dylan. My teeth nearly cracked when I thought about the morning I'd turned the corner and found him wrapped around one of my female customers—while we were living together. Now that I had the whole picture, I knew he'd definitely been trying to get caught. At the time I'd thought it was a relationship issue—he'd wanted out and was too chicken to tell me, but now I realized it had all been part of the scheme. Which just made me even madder with all of them.
I scanned the parking lot. It certainly was a seedy area, the bar backed up to the levee. I'd heard there were plenty of illegal activities being traded out there—everything from sex and drugs to fantasy football bets. Paper debris blew across the gravel lot where it accumulated against the walls and under the porch. Several patrons had already reached their limit and were sleeping it off; one man, snoring loudly on one of the benches, was in danger of toppling onto the pavement. Another half inch and he'd wake up with a concrete headache.
A tap on my window made me jerk to the right. A figure in black stood next to my truck holding something out toward me. A white long stemmed rose. Ducking my head to peer out at the man, I saw that it was Rosco. The African American flower man was thin, but not frail. No matter the weather Rosco dressed in thrift shop elegance—all black except for the threadbare white shirt—black pants, tie, felt hat and a long duster. In the South Louisiana heat and humidity, this made him stand out as he walked the streets with his half dozen long stemmed roses. Few received them, and no one knew why they'd been chosen.
I glanced at the bar as I rolled my window down. I'd never been approached by Rosco before. Now would not be a good time for Will to make his appearance. Menori swished inside me and I wondered what she sensed. I didn't feel threatened though as I accepted the rose from Rosco. "Thank you." I reached into my ashtray to offer him some change, but when I turned back he was gone. I looked everywhere but he'd slipped away into the dark.
I closed my eyes, breathing in the flower's strong perfume and when I opened them, a man stepped out of the bar, his greasy brown hair and paint-splashed coveralls making me think he was my target. He went straight to the truck with the tools in it. Yes! Will Crain. Hopefully he would be a little drunk and a lot careless. He slipped his key into the door lock on the first try—not drunk. Oh, well. I'd have to be very careful. He got in and started the engine. One of his rear taillights was out. That should make him easy to spot from a distance this time of night.
I stayed where I was hunched down behind the wheel and didn't start the engine until he'd turned the corner at the end of the block. I eased out of the hardware store parking lot and drove slowly to the corner. Spotting his single taillight, I pulled onto the road a safe distance behind him.
Why had he given Max Rutledge a phony address? Maybe he was involved with the woman who was seen with River. River's old girlfriend, Paige, had acted very defensive when I'd confronted her on Sunday. My money was on her, but perhaps it was just that I didn't like her. Did Will say he saw River and the "curvy female" to throw suspicion off himself? What if he was directly involved in abducting River? Why though? What would a construction worker have to do with my brother's disappearance? They were both in the construction business, River as an employer… maybe it was personal.
What if Will Crain had River at his place? My breathing quickened and my foot jerked off the gas. Careful, Tempe, not too close.
I let a car turn into the lane in front of me knowing I would be able to see when Will turned off. We drove for about four miles before his good blinker light went on and he turned down a road that led to an older section of Destiny where a line of houses and duplexes from the fifties were often rented to farm workers. I slowed at the end of the block and watched his truck drive into the driveway of a dingy white single-family rental.
He got out, walking with exaggerated nonchalance looking for all the world like he hadn't a care. After letting himself into the house, he did the strangest thing. He turned on the light in his front room, and instead of closing his front shades to ensure privacy from prying eyes, he opened the blinds wide so he would be in full view of everyone. Especially me.
As they say in the PI business, I'd been made.
Chapter 3
Tempe
&nb
sp; 8:15 pm The weenie strikes a deal…
* * *
I sat back, stunned. Oh, I wasn't stunned that he'd figured out I was following him, but why make such a point of being seen? At home. Alone.
Now what?
I backed under a tree out of the circle of light cast by a streetlamp and waited, keeping my eyes trained on the house, deciding what my next move should be.
Less than a minute later I heard incessant yapping followed by the sound of toenails on pavement which stopped right outside my door. The yapping continued. Irritated, I stuck my head out the window to see a mottled gray weenie dog grinning up at me. No, I wasn't imagining it. The mutt had frizzy wiry hair that stuck out everywhere and his oddly bent ears looked like a cinch for a malpractice case. The face that stared up at me—the light in those eyes would have been recognizable in any form. He barked again with that weird toothy grin.
"Marty, shut up!"
I popped the door open as quietly as possible, though what did it matter? The stupid dog, er, Imp had put a spotlight on my presence. "Get in here."
His long furry body bounded over my lap to the passenger seat. He didn't change forms though.
"What do you want?" I wanted to shake him until his phony hotdog hairs fell out. "Is it River? Have you found him?" My voice had risen.
In a blink Marty changed, plopping his butt down on the seat, the wrinkly skin above his eyes turning down. "I'm sorry, Tempest. I didn't mean to worry 'ya."
"So you don't know anything?"
He shook his head. "It's as if he—well, I don't know. I've never not been able to contact him before."
"So what's with the Dachshund getup? And why didn't you pick one of those pretty classic ones?"
"Oh, you like the shorthairs better?" And just like that, sitting before me was a beautiful little black and tan, the expression on its doggy face so sweet, for a moment I forgot who I was talking to. "You like?" he asked, lifting a paw and stroking his "brow".