by JoAnn Ross
He tried to think of one person he knew who’d risk his life for strangers and was coming up with a big fat zero when the woman slapped a white plate onto the tray. The burger had been piled high with lettuce, tomato slices, and onion.
“Fixin’s are on the table,” she said. “You want fries with that, cher?”
“Sure he does,” Nate answered for him. “And dessert.”
“We got rice custard or molasses pecan pie.”
“Got any vanilla ice cream for the pie?” Nate asked.
Her gaze flicked over Josh in a measuring way he’d come to recognize. “I suppose I can round some up. You gonna want whipped cream on the custard?”
“Darlin’, you read my mind. We’ll take both for the jeune homme, here, and I’ll take the custard and some coffee.”
“I don’t want any of that rice crap,” Josh said.
“Is that any way for a risk taker to talk?” Nate asked. “Joe, the cook, isn’t quite up to my maman’s standard—she made a riz au lait that could make the angels sing—but his comes pretty damn close. Antoine’s, up in N’Awlins, tried to hire him away last year, but his wife is a nurse up in ICU and neither of them was all that eager to leave Blue Bayou, after havin’ lived their whole lives here, so we were lucky to keep him.”
“They’ve always lived in one place?”
“Sure. Mos’ folks around here were born on the bayou.”
Josh figured that counting the foster homes and two residential treatment homes, he’d probably moved twenty times in his fourteen years. Everytime those envelopes with the flourescent red Overdue stickers would start coming in, his mother would pack up their stuff and they’d take off in the middle of the night. The last time his backpack had gotten left behind, along with class records from three previous schools, which always made it tough to enroll in a new one.
Not that his mother had cared if he showed up in class, but he did. Not only was school an escape, so long as he could survive the inevitable challenges from the bullies; the classroom was the only place he’d ever felt safe. And in charge of his own life.
“Okay,” he said when he realized they were both looking at him, waiting for an answer. “What the fuck. I’ll try it.”
“Good choice,” the woman said with a nod. “Maybe I should get you some soap, too. So you can wash out that potty mouth.”
“She’s got a point,” Nate said as she retrieved their desserts.
“Excuse me, your Heinass.”
“Cute.” They carried their trays to a round table in the far corner of the room. The better, Josh figured, to conduct the interrogation.
Nate picked up a small bottle of red sauce and doused his fries and burger. “Want some peppers?”
“On French fries?” Josh reached for the catsup.
“Pepper juice goes on jus’ about anything. You haven’t tasted fried eggs till you’ve had them with Tabasco. We grow the peppers right outside Blue Bayou. Most kids grow up eating it as soon as they graduate off their maman’s milk. Guess you’re not used to that.”
“No.”
“So that’d mean you’re not from around here.”
The burger was halfway to his mouth. Although it was one of the hardest things he’d ever done, nearly as hard as spending the past month on the run, Josh lowered it to the plate. “Did you bring me down here to feed me? Or pump me for that effing cop?”
“A little of both. But since you’re on to me, how about we skip the questions till after supper?”
They ate in silence, the boy wolfing the food down as if he’d been starving for days. Which, Nate figured, could well be the case.
“You know,” he suggested after a while, “Detective Hart is only trying to help.”
“She’s a cop.”
“So?”
“So all she cares about is making busts and taking bribes.”
“That’s quite a negative viewpoint you’ve got goin’ there. Did you pick it up on the streets? Or from someone you know? Like, maybe, your dad?”
“I never had a dad.”
His face grew hard, once again reminding Nate of his brother. Jack had prided himself on being the hellion of Blue Bayou. The truth was, he’d just been hurting so bad, he hadn’t known any other way to deal with his anger. Nate had been mad, too, but at twelve he’d been a lot more afraid of Finn than Jack was.
Besides, although no one would have ever said it out loud, as the baby of the family, Nate had been their maman’s favorite. Which was why it’d fallen to him to try to ease her hurt after that terrible day that was scorched into his memory.
“That must be tough. I lost my dad when I was twelve. About your age.”
“He take off?”
The kid didn’t agree about the age thing, nor did he correct him. So much for that ploy. “No. He passed on. But at least I got to know him for a little while.”
“Yeah, some guys get all the luck.” Ignoring the big red-and-white No Smoking sign just a few feet away, the teen reached into a pocket and took out a book of matches. “You got a cigarette?”
“No. Besides, this is a nonsmoking building, and you’re too young to smoke.”
“Am not. I’m just small for my age.”
“Won’t get a whole lot bigger if you smoke,” Nate said. “And die of lung cancer by the time you’re in your forties.”
“Everyone’s going to die of something.”
“True enough. But me, I’d rather drop dead after makin’ love to a jolie fille rather than going bald from chemo and hacking my lungs out.”
“Is that how your dad died?”
“No. He was shot and killed by some crazy, mad-as-a-hornet swamp dweller tryin’ to murder a judge.” Nate sighed at the memory. “He was as big and strong as ever at breakfast, when he lit into me for getting caught up in a ball game and forgettin’ to mow the lawn the day before. By lunch he was lying on the courthouse floor, bleeding to death.”
“That sucks.”
“Yeah.”
A silence settled over them.
“Did it make you mad?”
“Mais yeah. I used to lie in bed at night and imagine going down to the jail with his service revolver—he was sheriff of Blue Bayou—and blowing the guy away. But my maman was real torn up about losing him, so I didn’t want to make things worse for her by getting myself sent away to prison. ’Sides, like we say in bouree, you gotta play the cards you’re dealt.”
“What if you’re playing against a stacked deck?”
Nate suspected the kid had been born with the cards stacked against him. “I don’t know,” he said honestly.
“You damn bet you don’t. Like I said, some guys get all the luck.” This time the silence lengthened. Grew deeper. “I don’t even know who my dad was.”
“That’s gotta be tough.”
“Nah.” He drew in on a paper straw, making a loud sucking sound in the bottom of the milkshake cup. “I figured if she didn’t know, I didn’t want to. I never would have wanted any of those scumbags she brought home to be my dad, anyway.”
“Brought? As in the past?”
“She died.” She’d died of a drug overdose, but that wasn’t any of this guy’s business.
“I’m sorry, cher.”
“Well, that makes one of us.” The chair legs scraped on the vinyl tile as he pushed away from the table. As they returned upstairs, Nate figured it was a good thing he hadn’t followed Big Jake Callahan into law enforcement, because he couldn’t even get a confession out of a half-starved kid.
After leaving the teenager in the more than capable hands of Tiny Dupree, Regan and Nate went to Eve Ancelet’s office, where Judi Welch of the parish Department of Social Services was waiting.
“Hey, Judi,” Nate greeted her with a hug. “Aren’t you lookin’ as pretty as a speckled pup?”
“Flatterer.” She punched him lightly on the shoulder. “But actually, you’re close. I’ve been sick as a dog all week with morning sickness. Which, in my case, is inaccuratel
y named, since it pretty much lasts all day.”
“Sorry to hear that, chère. But Matt must be real happy about the news.”
“He is. Especially since he got a promotion last week,” she said proudly. “He’s now assistant bank manager. It pays enough to add another bedroom onto the house.”
“Good for him.” Given the choice between being thrown into a pool of piranhas in a feeding frenzy or spending his days wearing a suit and tie and sitting behind a desk counting other people’s money, he’d go with the man-eating fish any old day. “How’re the girls?”
She had three. When the third one, Angelique, had been born and he’d shown up at the hospital with flowers, Matt had jokingly said that he’d always wanted his own basketball team, but had gotten a harem instead. Since Judi had always been Blue Bayou’s most outspoken, card-carrying feminist, Nate had been stunned when, instead of lighting into her husband, she’d laughed as if Matt had been doin’ standup on Letterman.
Love, he’d figured, obviously scrambles your brain. Which was why he’d decided a long time ago to stay clear of it.
Regan watched their easy banter, noticing how the social worker didn’t even back away when he brushed a curl off her temple. She’d bet her last pay raise they’d slept together. Reminding herself that it was none of her business if Nate Callahan had affairs with all his constituents, Regan yanked her mind back to business.
“Mrs. Welch is here to interview the boy,” she told Nate.
“I figured as much. Not going to be easy,” he said. “The kid’s wearing pretty tough armor. I did manage to find out that his mom’s dead. And he doesn’t know who his father is.”
“If he’s telling the truth,” Regan said.
“Well, since we’ve no idea who he is, DSS is going to have to take charge of him and find temporary placement,” Judi said.
“He can come home with me,” Nate said.
“You?” Judi appeared as surprised by the offer as Regan was.
“What’s wrong with me?”
“You’re not married,” Judi pointed out.
“So? You never heard of single fathers?”
“Sure. I just never thought of you as being one.” She tapped the tip of her ballpoint pen on her clipboard. “Are you actually volunteering to become a foster parent? Or to adopt the boy if it turns out he’s available?”
“You said you needed a temporary home. I’ve got an extra room. And I think we understand each other well enough that we could get through the next few days without him burning down my house.”
“Don’t be so sure of that,” Regan said. “He’s at a ripe age for pyromania.”
Nate thought of those matches the kid had taken out of his pocket. “We’ll be okay.” He hoped.
Judi frowned. “You haven’t been prequalified.”
“Got anyone else in town who is?”
“No. Well, there are the Duprees over on Heron, but they’ve already got three kids staying at their house along with their own two. And since the Camerons are currently between kids, they decided to take that vacation in California they’ve always dreamed of. The McDaniels just took a newborn last week, so she’s pretty swamped.”
“See,” he said as if the matter had already been settled, “I’m the logical solution.”
“That’s very sweet of you to offer, Nate, but you’re not in the system. I don’t have the authority to just let you take him home like he’s some stray puppy you picked up off the street.”
“We’ve kinda bonded.” Okay, so it was a stretch.
“He belongs in an official juvenile care facility.”
“You mean a kid jail.” Regan was surprised by the way his jaw tightened and his eyes turned hard. “Dammit, Judi, you know what happened to Jack when he landed in one of those.”
“From what I’ve heard, it was difficult. But he survived and became a better person for it.”
“He survived because he was a lot tougher than this kid, and because he’d come from a family who cared about him with a mother who never failed to show up on visiting day the entire year he was there.”
“That was a boot camp for repeat offenders. I’m talking about a residential care center.”
“Center, boot camp, they’re still no place for a messed-up kid.” He folded his arms, which, while not nearly the size of the gargantuan custodian’s, were admittedly impressive. Regan suspected those rock-hard biceps and well-defined muscles came from swinging a hammer, not reps on some spa weight machine. “I may not be the perfect solution, but I’m a helluva lot better than one of those places.”
“You’d have to get judicial approval.”
“No sweat. Since Judge Dupree got himself reap-pointed to the bench, he can vouch for me.”
Judi rubbed her forehead with her fingers. Sighed. Then gave him a warning look. “You know, this isn’t going to be a walk in the park.”
“I realize we’re not talking about the Beav here. The kid might try to come off like Eminem, but deep down he’s just a kid.” He winked at Regan. “And if he gives me any real trouble, I’ll have the detective shoot him.”
Judi shook her head. “Lucky thing I know you well enough to know that you’re joking. Some DSS workers might just find that statement worrisome.”
“See? Who better to vouch for me than the lady in charge of placement, who knows me so well?” he said with one of those devastating smiles.
She studied him again. “Peter Pan and the lost boy,” she murmured.
Peter Pan again? Obviously she’d been talking to Charlene. Nate had forgotten the two women had been on the high school prom court together. Terrific.
“All right. We’ll give it a try,” she said finally. “But I can’t cut corners just because it’s you, Nate. Since jurisdiction crosses parish and perhaps even state lines, depending on where the kid ran from, I’m going to have to make sure all the i’s are dotted and the t’s crossed.”
“The judge is staying with Orèlia during the week to save himself the drive into town from Beau Soleil, so we can stop on the way to checkin’ Detective Hart into the inn.”
Regan held up a hand. “I don’t need—”
“Of course you don’t need me to drive you, chère,” he cut her off. “But I figured you’d want to get down to working on that project of yours, which I promised to help with,” he reminded her. “You can come along with me, and I’ll have Dwayne drive your car over to the inn first thing in the morning.”
“I’m not here for a vacation. I want to get an early start.”
“The car’ll be there before you get up,” he promised. “Besides, you’ll get a lot better break on the rate if I’m with you when you check in.”
“Oh?” She arched a brow. “I suppose the night clerk is an old friend?”
The sarcasm slid right off him. “Well now, you know, she is. But that’s not the reason I can get you a discount rate. The reason is that I’m part owner.”
“You own a hotel?”
“Only about a third.” He glanced at his watch. “But it’s gettin’ late, and I hate botherin’ the judge at home, since it wasn’t that long ago he had heart surgery. How about we just save the explanation for after we check you in?”
12
Nate called the judge to let him know they were coming. Ten minutes later, they were stopping in front of a white two-story house on the corner of a tree-flanked cobblestone street.
“I’ll wait in the car,” the kid said.
“Sorry, cher,” Nate said. “But you’re coming in with us.”
“I didn’t hear anyone reading me my rights,” he grumbled.
“And I didn’t hear anyone putting you under arrest,” Regan said mildly. “So why don’t you make it easier on all of us and come along? Unless you’d rather the mayor call for a trooper to take you to the nearest residential facility.”
Apparently deciding he was outnumbered and better off with them than in some juvenile detention center, he gave in.
“You di
dn’t lock the door,” Regan reminded Nate as they began walking up the front sidewalk.
“No need. This is—”
“A peaceful town.”
“Got it on the first try.”
“This house would cost a small fortune in L.A.,” Regan said as they climbed the steps to the front door. “The porch is nearly as wide as my apartment living room.”
“It was designed for sleeping outside during the summer,” Nate said. “Back before air conditioning.” He rang a doorbell that played the opening bars of “Dixie.” “It’s also good for sitting out, watching your neighbors, and chatting with folks that walk by.”
“People still actually do that?”
“Not as much as they used to,” he allowed. “But probably more than in the city.”
“Sounds boring,” the kid said.
Sounds nice, Regan thought. Unfortunately, if the citizens of her precinct were to try it, they could be hit by a stray bullet.
The judge might be old enough to be her grandfather and a bit frail looking, but his voice had the deep, sonorous tones made for projecting throughout a courtroom.
“Heard you’re a detective,” he said after Nate had introduced them.
“Yes, sir. I work homicide in L.A.”
“So what brings you to town?”
“I was overdue for some R&R, and I’ve always enjoyed Louisiana.” It wasn’t exactly the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, but this wasn’t a courtroom, and she hadn’t sworn an oath.
“Most people go to New Orleans.”
“I’m not most people, Your Honor.”
He gave her a razor-sharp look she suspected he used to keep order in his courtroom. Then he turned to Nate. “So you need a temporary custody order.”
“Yessir.”
“You have any idea what you’re getting into?”
“No, sir. Not exactly. But it just seems like the thing to do.”
The judge shrugged. “You always were the soft one in the family. Just like your maman.” His stern expression softened for the first time since he’d opened the front door. “She was a good woman.”