Not Dead Enough Read online

  I scrambled up as quickly as I could. I had surprise and intelligence on my side; he had brute strength and anger on his. I had to make sure he didn’t have a chance to use them. On my feet, I aimed one kick to his groin and another to his sternum.

  This old lady had a brown belt in karate.

  He let out a huffing grunt, then curled into a ball.

  “End of the road, bitch,” I said as I took off running, going downhill.

  I kept running for at least three corners and four blocks; only then did I look for a hiding place, up a random driveway and into the bushes of a darkened house. I hoped everyone was asleep and would not be woken any time tonight.

  I slid down to the ground, catching my breath. Sweat was rolling off me—fear and heat. At least I was watering the plants. Once the blood ceased pounding in my ears, I strained to listen to the night.

  Far-off traffic. A distant TV. The rustling of a breeze, then still again. The buzz of insects.

  A car.

  I scrunched against the hedge so no part of me would be visible as a shadow outside its outlines.

  A slow car.

  No, two, traveling as a pack. Two large, dark SUVs. Slowly trolling the streets.

  I held my breath as if that would help conceal me.

  But I had hidden myself well, far enough off the road to be well beyond anything but a direct beam of light, hidden behind a dense hedge well into the yard. Totally trespassing, but that wasn’t my biggest worry.

  They prowled past me.

  Once I could no longer hear them, I chanced a look at my watch. Almost two a.m.

  These were not patient men.

  I stayed where I was for another forty-five minutes, silently swatting insects off me, out of the matted sweat in my hair.

  But the mosquitoes were driving me crazy and I couldn’t stay here all night. For all I knew, I’d picked the house of a baker and he—or she—would be up very early.

  I stifled a groan as I stood from my cramped position.

  Slowly, carefully, I made my way back down the road, listening for any cars, hiding in dark patches at the first glint of headlights. But the few cars that passed were single and traveling as if intent on getting where they were going and not looking for someone.

  After a few blocks I had to pull out my phone to look at a map to find out where I was. I had taken off haphazardly and didn’t pause to read the street signs. The brief flash of light from my phone was a risk, but I needed to know where I was to know where I had to go.

  It was a gamble to go back to my rental car, but it was also a risk to call a taxi. For all I knew, the Brandes had a finger in every taxi company in the area. It might be even more dangerous to wait until the next day to retrieve it. A rental car still there in the daylight would be all too obvious.

  I was slow and careful. Didn’t come back the way I’d left. Once I got close, I waited in a dark area to watch the street for several minutes. I told myself give it ten, but the mosquitoes pushed that to eight and a half minutes. The street was quiet, still a few cars parked around, the lights still on at the Brande house.

  The party still going.

  I hugged the shadows as I headed to the car, alert for any prowling headlights.

  The street remained quiet.

  I quickly got in, then shut the door as silently as I could.

  It was muggy in the car, the still hot night uncomfortable in this small space. I didn’t turn the car on yet.

  I grabbed the small duffle I carried with me. You never know when you might need binoculars or a long distance camera. Or a disguise. I pulled out an old ball cap and a pair of glasses, fake ones with just glass in them. That would have to do. I also slid down in my seat to make myself look shorter.

  I turned on the car.

  The street was narrow enough that it would be hard to make a U-turn, so I drove slowly and steadily past the Brande compound, as if just someone going home and not a person worrying about being killed.

  The music kept playing. None of the smokers glanced my way.

  I kept driving, taking the side streets, a meandering return to my hotel, making sure no one was following. It was late enough at night that few cars were out, especially in these back lanes.

  I couldn’t trust it, but I doubted Junior Boy told Big Daddy Ellis Brande that I gave him the slip by beating the crap out of him. Junior Boy was stupid enough to think his ego was more important than admitting what had happened long enough to wonder how a middle-aged lady like me knew how to fight. If so, those two SUVs had looked long enough for him and his pals to get bored, and that would be it. Ellis, even Donnie might be more worried. Clearly there was something going on with the women in the Brande family they didn’t want outsiders to see.

  I got back to my hotel room around four a.m. I stayed awake only long enough to take the briefest of showers, then collapsed into slumber. After putting the chair in front of the door.

  Chapter Ten

  Tired as I was, I woke shortly after eight a.m. I turned over to go back to sleep, then heard a noise outside my door. A moment of listening told me it was another guest leaving their room and not caring if the door slammed.

  But I was awake. And I needed to be awake.

  After lousy hotel coffee and a crushed granola bar scrounged from my luggage, the first thing I did was take the rental car in to exchange for another. I lied and said it was making a weird noise. I made sure to get a different color and make.

  If I was wrong about Junior Boy telling Big Daddy, the latter might have had enough smarts to photograph all the cars in the area. Or he might do that anyway for security. I didn’t want to be driving the same car. I hadn’t seen cameras, but this was their area and they had a long time to hide them.

  Next I had a real breakfast, eggs, toast, grits. And a lot of coffee. Caffeine would have to make up for sleep.

  Then I found a phone place and got a burner phone. I turned off my real phone, and it would stay that way until I was back in New Orleans. Maybe a few months after.

  And next—was a quandary.

  Smart would be to get on the next plane back to New Orleans and forget I’d ever been here. Drop this case like the big stinking piece of turd it was.

  But…I had learned things I couldn’t unlearn. The dead woman looked enough like Anna-Marie Brande to be related to her. No proof. It could be an odd coincidence. Save for how interested all the Brandes were in whether I’d seen someone who looked like her in New Orleans. Donnie had been clumsy in his interrogation, too intent on getting information from me to realize what his questions were revealing.

  I drove around a bit, then found a shopping mall—not that I needed to shop, but it was a place with a purpose and to look like what I was pretending to be, someone just visiting Atlanta. People enjoy shopping malls, I’ve heard. It’s a place to be anonymous and alone without calling attention to yourself. I could think while I wandered the mall, pausing at shop windows, letting people behind me pass to make sure I wasn’t being followed.

  Paranoid?

  Probably.

  The Brandes’ misogyny was to my advantage. Donnie clearly took me as what I presented—a harmless woman, someone he could manipulate. Even Ellis thought a few snarls from Junior Boy would keep me in line. It wasn’t likely they’d consider I might be a top-notch private eye.

  Unless they already knew.

  Someone had involved both me and Karen. Was it the Brande women trying to escape? Or the Brande men trying to capture them? But if they knew, would Ellis have so easily dismissed me with the second tier? I’d like to think not, but men who hated women the way they did, didn’t respect them. Maybe he thought the male part of Junior Boy outweighed anything a woman—one over forty—could counter with.

  Maddeningly, I had what I knew—the Brandes were involved and the dead woman might well be Anna-Marie’s sister—but nothing resembling proof I could dump on Joanne’s desk and leave it to her and the resources of the police.

  I bought
a pair of socks with cats and books on them. And a bag of high-end popcorn.

  The expenses on this case were mounting.

  I headed back to the car.

  The next step was the obvious one. One I didn’t want to take.

  Call Anna-Marie.

  Maybe it was a trap, and she was more loyal to the family she knew than her desperate loneliness. But I had seen it in her eyes, the way she looked at me. She wanted out of the cage, as much as she was afraid of leaving. I was an independent woman, maybe a dalliance, a long night of bodies touching, taking her away. Maybe someone who could show her how to be free.

  If I called her, I would be using that despair for my own ends. It was a fire that might burn us both.

  I drove back to the hotel, packed, and checked out, claiming I had to leave due to a business emergency.

  I headed for the crowded convention hotels in the downtown area, parking the car at a lot a few blocks away—expensive, but far cheaper than big hotel parking.

  Again, an anonymous space, hundreds of people in and out. One with far better security than my hotel on the beltway. In my room, I took another shower, a long lingering one, to wash off all traces of the heat and sweat of yesterday, the grip of Ellis on my arm, Donnie on my shoulder, Junior Boy’s clumsy attack.

  With as many of my sins washed away as water could, I dressed, comfortable lightweight gray pants, a decent button-down shirt. Not to stand out, but not to look like I didn’t belong.

  Then I dialed Anna-Marie’s number, reading it carefully off the card she had given me.

  Voice mail.

  “Hi, you asked me to call. I’m calling,” was the message I left.

  Five minutes later, my burner phone rang.

  “Sorry, I had to get somewhere private.” Her voice had an edge, doing something she shouldn’t. Something she could get punished for. If this was a trap, she was a phenomenal actor. She added, “You called. I didn’t think you would.”

  “I wasn’t sure I would either,” I admitted, as close to honest as I could be. “You don’t seem like a nice, safe suburban girl.”

  She laughed, a harsh one. My comment wasn’t funny but absurd.

  “But,” I continued, “I’m curious.”

  “About?”

  “About you. It would be interesting to talk.”

  “Talk? We both know what this is about.”

  “Do we?” I countered. “Is just sex all you want?”

  She was silent.

  Long enough for me to prompt, “Anmar, are you there?”

  “Maybe.” Then softly, “I don’t know.” Her voice almost broke.

  “Why don’t we get together and talk?”

  “Okay,” she said. “Where?”

  I suggested the hotel bar—at a different hotel than the one I was staying in. Much as I didn’t think this was a trap—or if so, one she was caught in as well—better to be safe. We agreed to meet in a few hours.

  I walked for a while, but it was too hot on the concrete streets. There was a small mall attached to the hotel though a walkway, but I was malled out for the day. I went in only to get cool and look for something to eat. I wasn’t really hungry, but I didn’t want to meet Anmar for drinks on an empty stomach.

  Then I went back to my room, nibbled a little, then set my phone alarm, carefully laid my clothes over the desk chair, and took a nap. I could be full and alert for meeting Anmar.

  I woke well before our meeting, giving myself plenty of time to get dressed, snack some more, and even brush my teeth afterward.

  I took a roundabout way to the other hotel, a slow saunter down a long block before taking a corner and heading back in its direction. It wasn’t just caution; it also gave me time to think. And there is always the dumb luck quotient—I could run into Junior Boy running errands to Big Daddy’s favorite cigar shop.

  My luck held, only passing strangers, all of us safely anonymous.

  Anna-Marie Brande was a dangerous woman. Not with malice and intention, but because of who she was and what she needed, the fearful pull in her made her unpredictable.

  If I was young, I would have been wildly attracted to her, the perfect damsel in distress. Caught in the surety of youth that the world could be made better; that we could fix the broken hearts. Even our own. Still innocent of how fragile life was and how quickly the irrevocable could catch us, haunting us for the eternity left in our short lives.

  But I wasn’t young anymore. I could not save Anna-Marie Brande. Maybe she could. Maybe nothing could.

  My goal was simple and brutal: to get information from her while hiding who I was and what I wanted. Would I sleep with her?

  That wouldn’t be wise.

  But I wasn’t always wise.

  I entered the hotel and found the bar. I was early, enough that I picked the table, one in back, with my seat facing the door.

  I almost ordered my usual Scotch and at the last minute switched to a dirty martini. Scotch was too much the real me to risk.

  Anmar arrived just as my drink did. She seemed younger, or maybe it was the light. Or being away from the contempt of the Brande men. Yes, my younger self would have been smitten. Wearing a sleeveless silk top of light lavender and sun-washed jeans that were just loose enough to look comfortable and tight enough to show her gym-worked body, her hair was long and loose, catching the light as she headed to my table, glints of auburn and chestnut in the dark coffee color. Still a family resemblance to the woman who had been in my office—and the morgue—but Anmar wasn’t hiding behind a façade like that woman.

  “Hi,” she said, standing before my table.

  I stood, greeted her as if I knew her, with a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek.

  Then she sat down, perused the drink menu, but ordered the first one when the waiter asked what she wanted.

  I started. It was my game. “Your family is kind of unusual.”

  She looked at me. “You think?”

  “Old-fashioned ideas about women.”

  “The power of money. It buys a lot of things.”

  “Really? What’s it bought you?”

  “Only for those who have it.”

  “You don’t?”

  “The old-fashioned family controls the money very tightly. I’m like everyone else; I get my small share for my loyalty.”

  “The men control it all?”

  “The man controls it all,” she answered.

  “Ellis?” I guessed. Adding, “He thought Donnie was talking too much to me. I got a brief introduction.”

  She nodded. “Ellis. My beloved grandfather. He thinks my father is useless, a toady. And he’s right. A useful useless man. Willing to be second place as long as it’s safe.” She reached across the table for my drink as if to wash the taste of it from her mouth. “I didn’t guess you to be a martini girl.”

  “It depends on my mood. Some days it’s a dirty martini mood.”

  She took another sip. The more gin she took, the less for me. Probably a good idea.

  “What happens when Ellis goes?” I asked. “Will you have a kinder benefactor?”

  “There are no benefactors in the family. It’s all transactional. It’ll be worse when he’s gone.”

  “Why?”

  “A bloodbath.”

  I raised my eyebrows.

  “Not literally,” she continued, then added softly, “I hope.” Another sip of my drink. “No, when he goes there will be two generations of men fighting to take over—his sons and nephews who are waiting their turn and the next generation who don’t want to wait.”

  “Doesn’t he have a will or successions?”

  She laughed her dry, bitter laugh. “We’re not that kind of a family. Survival of the strongest—and most ruthless.” She finished my drink. Hers arrived. She signaled the waiter to get me another. “So whoever takes over will be even more ruthless than Ellis.”

  “That doesn’t sound like a happy family,” I commented. “What do the discontented ones do?”

&
nbsp; “We’re all loyal. There is no discontent,” she said sarcastically.

  “Right. You don’t seem very content.”

  “But I’m just a woman. Our contentment doesn’t count very much.”

  “If you really thought that you wouldn’t be here with me.”

  She took a sip of her drink. “Oh, but this is allowed. A discreet affair. A hotel room. We spend the night together and no one knows.”

  “We’d know. And what if you want something more? What if you fall in love? Want a life of your own?”

  She took another swallow. My second drink arrived.

  “No one breaks away?” I pushed. “Runs for the door to see what’s on the other side?”

  She picked up her drink again, then put it down. Softly she said, “I think my sister Andrea did. I think she’s dead.”

  I reached out and took her hand. It wasn’t wise, but it was kind. “I’m sorry. She hasn’t been gone long. How can you think that?”

  She took a long sip of her drink but didn’t let go of my hand. “Something I overheard. They forgot that women listen. Ellis was saying ‘no one gets away with this; the lesson this time will be harsh.’”

  “He said this in reference to your sister?”

  “No, but who else could he mean?”

  “Any of the young bucks trying to take what he doesn’t want to give. Donnie being stupid chatting up a woman he doesn’t know.”

  She took a wavering breath. Then let go of my hand. “Too public,” she said as she took another drink. “Maybe,” she added. “I’d like to think that.”

  I kept my face neutral, I’d meant to be honest and kind—Ellis’s words could have meant anyone else—but there was a woman who resembled Anna-Marie in a morgue in New Orleans.

  Maybe I could come up with a way to tip off Joanne to pull the dental records without admitting my foolish adventure into a crime family. Know for sure before Anna-Marie learned about the body that looked like her. Could it be her twin? Yes. No. Maybe.

  “How many in your family? Who is mostly likely to piss Ellis off?” I said.

  “Ellis was one of five boys,” she said.

  “And how many girls?”

  “Two. Outnumbered their whole life. Probably why they weren’t good at fighting back. And he had five sons. Three daughters. I’m the daughter of the favored son.”