Not Dead Enough Page 25

  “They found her?”

  “Yes.” I didn’t tell Anmar that Salve might have still been alive. That was too cruel to add to the other cruelties she was hearing.

  “Sally was kind. That was how we could tell her and Sabrina apart. They looked exactly alike but didn’t act alike. It settled into their faces. Laugh lines for Salve. Anger and frustration for Sabrina.”

  “Seeing Sabrina again, alive, I realized it had to be her twin. As great as the family resemblance was, it wasn’t Andrea.”

  “You thought it might be her?”

  “Yes. I was pulled in to see if I could ID her as the client in my office. But I’d seen her for less than an hour, didn’t know her well. Enough to notice the strong family resemblance when I saw you, but not enough to be sure.”

  “You think Andrea is still alive?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “But no sign of her in this mess?”

  “No, none.”

  She looked down at her phone, then at me. “I got a text from a number I don’t know. It just asked, ‘are you okay?’ I answered yes. That was hours ago. I’ve heard nothing since.”

  “You think it was Andrea?” I asked.

  “I hope it was her. It’s all I have left.”

  She had more questions. I did my best to answer them. The fake dropped meeting address to lure Ellis and his ilk to a confrontation that could get the attention of the police. How I figured out that Holly Farmer and Halley Foster were the same person, and with that everything fell into place. Halley coming back to New Orleans to get Sabrina, the plan for them to disappear with the briefcase into the sunset—or more appropriately, the dark side of the moon.

  “But what would Halley get out of it?” she mused.

  “Money and power,” I suggested. “What she wanted all along. She was smart enough to know she’d always have to be second to a man if she sided with Ellis. This way she could be in charge and pay them back.”

  “Feminist murder. How empowering.” She managed a ghost of a smile. I saw a hint of the woman she should have been. Strong, funny, able to take on the world. Maybe she could find her way there from here.

  “What will you do now?” she asked me.

  “Go home and face the music”—aka a lot of questions from Joanne and Danny.

  “You broke the law for me.”

  “Let’s say I stretched it. A bit. Returned property to the only family member not in jail, on the run…or no longer with us.”

  “I don’t know how to thank you.”

  “Cash is always appreciated.”

  She laughed. She was a handsome woman when the worry went away.

  “Serious. Pretend you hired me to find your sister and this is what I stumbled on. I’d appreciate having my expenses paid. I doubt Sabrina will give me more than the advance. I’m not asking for more than that. Things like today’s airfare, the hotels.”

  “Done. As soon as I sort things out. That’s probably a pittance to what’s in here.” She tapped the briefcase.

  “It’s not my family. They didn’t damage me. The pittance will be plenty.”

  She glanced at her watch.

  I looked at mine as well. “Planes to catch?”

  “Soon.”

  “Where?”

  “London. First stop, at least. Probably better to stay out of the country for a while.”

  “Probably.” We stood up, then headed down the stairs from the food court.

  “And where will you go?” she asked.

  “Back to New Orleans.”

  “You could come to London, you know.”

  I smiled, sad, wistful. I wanted to fly away, a world of adventures. But there were too many things holding me to earth, to the sultry streets of New Orleans.

  She smiled, too. Also wistful. “Thought I’d ask. Nicer to go with someone than alone.”

  “You’ll find Andrea. I’ll keep looking as well.”

  “Thank you.”

  We stopped, the moment before we had to go in different directions.

  “My whole life I was raised to think I needed a hero,” she said. “A man to come sweep me off my feet and take care of me. I finally learned to get over that, no heroes, only people. And now one appears.”

  “I’m no hero.”

  “To me you are. One I’ll probably never see again.” She leaned forward and kissed me. We held it long enough to be real. This time her lips were soft. Trusting.

  Then she turned and walked away.

  I watched her until she disappeared in a crowd of people getting off a plane.

  Then I headed back to the domestic terminal.

  Chapter Seventeen

  It was late, past eleven, when I got back to New Orleans. The one blessing was that I had no luggage, so could head directly for my car.

  Even with the night, the day had barely cooled, the heat seeping into the concrete and asphalt as if waiting only for the sun to blaze again. End of summer with all the weeks before to leave a little more hot air behind each day until you felt caught in a sticky, sweating squeeze.

  I was dripping halfway to my car.

  Someone was leaning against it.

  Joanne.

  She looked exhausted.

  She watched me as I approached.

  “How long have you been waiting?” I asked.

  “I used police resources,” she answered, without really answering. “Found out which flight you were on, so got here in time to find your car. Checked which flight you left on and knew you only had time for short-term parking. You’re giving me a ride back to the city.”

  “Okay,” I said, as I opened the door. We both would be happier out of the heat.

  “Where did you go?” she said as she settled into the passenger seat.

  “An unrelated case,” I hedged. “Had to courier a package to a client.” I fumbled for my seat belt so she couldn’t see my face.

  “A briefcase full of Brande account info?”

  “Joanne, that would be illegal, wouldn’t it?” I started the car, put the AC on high.

  “Probably,” she answered. “But it wouldn’t be illegal enough for me to worry about it if it went to help some battered Brande women escape.”

  “That’s what you think I did?”

  “A missing briefcase and you take a hurried trip to Atlanta? Leaving, mind you, a distraught Karen sobbing over her putative girlfriend and an even more distraught Cordelia holding a gun on them.”

  “I knew you’d be there soon.” I pulled out of the parking space and headed for the exit.

  “And the minute we arrived, that briefcase couldn’t go missing.”

  “I did what I thought was right,” I said. Lame. I didn’t think I could explain why I’d given Anmar the money. Except Salve Brande had been murdered, cruelly and senselessly. For that cost, some of the Brande women—maybe just one—should get away.

  “I know. One of the most annoying things about you. And one I admire the most. Stubborn integrity. Yeah, I’m a police officer, but I’m not here as one. I’m here as a friend. I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

  “Really? So if I confess it all, you won’t arrest me?” There was no traffic this late at night, no line to pay at the exit.

  “Your word against mine, doesn’t get to probable cause,” she replied.

  “A trusted cop against a disreputable private eye?”

  “We’re women; we’re lesbian. Not firm ground to stand on for either of us.”

  I sighed. She was right. I paid the parking tab. I quoted, “Feminism is the radical notion that women are human, too. Maybe someday.”

  “Maybe. But let’s not worry about that tonight. I’m exhausted.”

  “I’m sorry; you didn’t need to meet me out here.” Only a few cars on Airline Drive; I pulled into traffic without pausing.

  “Yes, I did. Like you, I have a few stubborn areas. I was not going to let you just slip away and leave me wondering what really happened.”

  “You f
irst. Were you able to arrest Sabrina and Halley?”

  “Yes, right now just fraud, but we’re working to build more charges.”

  “Murder.”

  “If we can. Elbert Brande—”

  “Junior Boy,” I said.

  “Perfect. Anyway, he’s already doing his best to blame everyone else.”

  “You have him in custody?” I turned onto the access road to get to the interstate, the fast way back into the city.

  “Oh, right, you’ve been flying all over the place.”

  “Just Atlanta.”

  “Halley and Sabrina set him up as well, telling him to be at the same house Karen was showing, right at three p.m. Guess they thought if both he and Karen were there, it would clinch it being the double-crossing part of the family.”

  “So what happened?”

  “Ellis lost his temper and fired first before asking questions. Claims he was only firing a warning shot, but he winged Junior Boy in the arm. He wasn’t hurt badly, but bleeding enough—and scared Ellis might fire a few more warning shots and kill him—that he looked happy to see us.”

  “You were there?” I merged onto the interstate.

  “At the tail end, after I’d dealt with Sabrina and Halley—and calmed down both Karen and Cordelia.”

  “Well, I’m glad they’re okay,” I said as I passed a slow-moving truck.

  “I’m sure they are, too. Or will be. Karen is still insisting Halley is innocent.”

  “Ain’t love grand?” Traffic was light, as light as it gets on I-10. I continued my law-breaking ways and cruised over the speed limit. Joanne didn’t seem to care. It was a long day and we were going home.

  “Only when it really is love,” she replied. “So, yes, a couple of SWAT teams converged just as the first shots were fired. They found Junior Boy whining and bleeding, pissed enough that he fingered Ellis right then and there as the shooter. They arrested them all. Junior Boy is selling everyone out, hoping he’ll get leniency.”

  “So much for family loyalty.”

  “Their only loyalty was to the money and power. Take that away and it’s everyone for themselves.”

  “What’s the best exit to get to your place?” I asked. I didn’t go to Joanne’s via I-10 East.

  “Carrolton. Get on Tulane and take that to Mid-City. And you’re spending the night with us. I’ve already told Alex to make sure there is no cat vomit in the spare room.”

  “Thank you, but—”

  “No buts. I need to sleep tonight, and I can’t sleep if I have to worry about some extra Brande cousin stupid enough to come after you.”

  I didn’t argue. I wouldn’t admit it, but I didn’t want to be alone either. And likely Alex would make blueberry pancakes in the morning. Even if Joanne had to work, it was the weekend. I simply said, “Thanks, Joanne. For no cat vomit. And not arresting me. And…being at the airport to make sure I was okay.” I exited the highway.

  “Wasn’t even thinking of arresting you. The real reason I don’t give a damn about the briefcase—and will swear you never had it—is that it righteously fucks the Brande men. They would have reclaimed any of the accounts we couldn’t track back to criminal activity. It disappears, they get nothing. I like that as an ending.”

  I did, too.

  Chapter Eighteen

  It was slight, the changing of the seasons here, the sun slanting at a different angle, a breeze that didn’t feel weighted with humidity, small harbingers of time passing. Searing August slipping into September, sliding past the heat of what most places call Labor Day weekend and we call Southern Decadence, aka drag queens melting in the heat. Still hurricane season, but we were past the cruel dates, Betsy, Camille. Katrina. Anniversaries safely past until the next year. It was no longer jarring leaving my car to walk up the steps to my house.

  I tore down the poster with the snake picture on it, still menacing as wrinkled as it was by the rain. Yesterday Torbin told me the truth—a resident disgruntled with the constant invasion of tourists in an illegal short rental had put them up as a tactic to scare them away. I would buy the most realistic fake snake I could and leave it on his doorstep. Revenge is a Southern tradition.

  I threw the poster in my trash can and entered my house.

  Tomorrow I was meeting Joanne, Alex, and Torbin for dinner and drinks. We hadn’t decided where but would meet at my house. So this evening I needed to clean and tidy it up. No one admitted it, but a trade-off had been reached. Danny and Elly were probably meeting Cordelia and Nancy. A couple of weeks ago, I’d gone out with Danny and Elly, presumably Joanne and Alex taking their turn with what I was now—and only to myself—calling the “Uptown Couple.”

  The newspapers called them the “Bad Brandes” and the story was only now dying down. Until the reality TV show The Real Mobsters’ Housewives of Atlanta aired, at least. I hoped I was making that up. I’d had to spend more time than I wanted in answering questions about what I’d done. But Joanne and Danny were kind enough to mostly keep my name out of the papers.

  The New Orleans police had arrested everyone they could, with charges from Ellis’s attempted murder to firearms violations. Atlanta law enforcement swooped down on their compound. Over the years they had gotten secure and sloppy, keeping the drug and sex trafficking account books conveniently available to them and therefore the police when they searched. They were now digging up the rural plot of land and had already found three bodies. Most of the Brandes—especially the men—wouldn’t get out of jail for a long time.

  Halley and Sabrina had turned against each other, both claiming they weren’t the ones who gave the lethal dose to Salve. Forensics found traces in Halley’s Jeep that proved they had used it to dump her body. They wouldn’t get out of jail for a long time either.

  The Brande women? Some of them stood by their men. Maybe they really loved them. Maybe it was the only life they knew and they were too afraid of starting again.

  Some of the women didn’t.

  I picked up the mail and put it on top of the stack, smiling at a postcard from yesterday. I had learned to recognize the handwriting. She used only her new names, never the one I knew her by, never named the location. She was now Helmi Schausberger, and Andrea was Dawn Rhineheart. American, but from German ancestors. If I saw those names, I would know it was her.

  Anna-Marie had made good on her promise to pay me. Several weeks ago an international money order arrived at my office. Maybe it was a pittance to her, but it was enough to cover my bills and cushion me through the fall.

  She called on occasion but never told me where she was—the habits of mistrust die hard. Occasionally a text with a picture. An old city, one I didn’t recognize, but sun, a large square, buildings with carved stone and high arches. A table in the shade of the dazzling light and a sparkling drink in her hand. Her smiling. A wide smile, happy. At times I still wished to join her, soar over the clouds and land in a place I’d never been before, where I could start with nothing to hold me to everything I had become. She had nothing to go back to, no choice but to go forward. Life held me here: Torbin, my job, my friends, the streets I had trod on for my entire adult life, the sultry summers that gave way to the bright blue of fall days.

  It could be somewhere in colonial South America or on the Adriatic Sea, a smaller city in Europe. A place where she could smile widely.

  The text she received in the airport had been from Andrea. They had reunited a few weeks ago. She had risked calling me late one night—at least in my time zone—to tell me. Andrea had initially been part of the plot, but she quickly realized that Sabrina and Halley only cared about themselves and were using everyone else as padding to protect themselves. If she didn’t agree with everything they wanted to do, she was in danger. She hid in a small cabin in Tennessee, one she picked at random from a tourist guide, and cut off all communications, afraid they could trace her.

  They both had the same smile, hair that became easily windswept. But I thought I could tell them apart. Andrea’s
eyes were open and direct, Anna-Marie’s held back, couldn’t find trust as easily.

  That call, when she knew her twin was alive, well, and on her way to join her, her voice was joyful. I tried to picture her, as happy as she sounded, her words flying over themselves in her exuberance to tell the news. “She’s safe! I’m going to see her tomorrow! We’re back together. Safe from them!” But I hadn’t yet seen the pictures, the happy ones taken with Andrea, and could only remember the sad, longing smile she’d shown me. I settled for hearing the elation in her voice, letting her happiness make me happy.

  Now that they were together, the texts and pictures were less frequent. That was okay. Expected. She needed to find her new life.

  They had been in contact with two of the younger Brande women, told them to go to college, they would pay for it.

  A few women saved.

  I had mentioned Sharon and Margaret to them. Another money order, enough to pay rent and cover basics for about a year. They had agreed that I would dole it out in monthly allotments. It turned out that Sharon’s family had owned a donut shop and she had worked there growing up. And the coffee shop that rented from me was now doing a thriving donut business. Sharon hadn’t been good at school, but she was a genius with dough. She—and Melba—had made me break my vow to not buy things there. Bacon praline donuts, OMG. I kept it to once or twice a week by saying I had to go to the gym every time I had the donuts. So far I’d (mostly) kept to it.

  The computer grannies had taken in Margaret. She was doing admin work, answering the phones, filing, and they were teaching her computers, workplace etiquette, and helping her start taking classes again.

  Maybe a few more women saved.

  There had been another letter in yesterday’s mail. Handwriting I knew well.

  I didn’t want to open it.

  Joanne and Danny had kept me updated—at least as far as they were willing to go without violating confidences. They had to be talking to Karen and Cordelia, and they wouldn’t tell me everything.

  Karen had insisted Halley was innocent and demanded I be arrested for punching her. Halley, true to form, was willing to play along and act the blameless victim. To the point that Danny grumbled I should have hit her harder. That lasted until Karen discovered Halley had used her credit cards for a few major purchases and taken over ten thousand from her bank account.