Murder in the Garden District (Chanse MacLeod Mysteries) (26 page)

“I love you, Mom,” I managed to choke out.

The whole Sheehan case, really, had been about mothers and their children. Cordelia and Wendell. Janna and Carey, Grace and Alais, and of course, Vernita and Jerrell. Sure, Jerrell hadn’t been Vernita’s son, but she thought of him that way.

“Thanks again, Paige,” I said.

“What are friends for?” she said quietly.

She turned up the sound on the television with the remote. The governor was holding a press conference, urging everyone who lived in the path of the storm to evacuate as soon as possible. He reiterated that there would be no rescues until after the storm had passed, when in any case the water supply would most likely be contaminated.

Paige muted him. “I hate that bastard.”

“I don’t like him either, but I have to give him credit,” I said. “He’s handling this crisis pretty well.”

“It’s easy when you’ve experienced the exact same crisis once already,” Paige retorted. “They’ll compare him favorably to Governor Blanco, who had, what? A whole three days to prepare? He called a state of emergency before the damned storm even entered the gulf.”

“Maybe they’ve learned from the mistakes last time.”

“Whatever. I’m going to make a sandwich. You want anything?”

“Yeah.” I wasn’t hungry, but knew I needed to eat something.

We spent the next few hours talking, watching the clock as it slowly moved towards six. I wasn’t looking forward to getting on the road. The traffic reports seemed to indicate some lessening on I-10—the drive to Baton Rouge was now projected to take a little more than four hours. Cameras showed the line of cars heading west. Ginevra was holding steady as a Category 3, and the slight turn to the west was continuing. The eye was projected to come ashore through Breton Sound, almost due south of Lake Borgne, by five-thirty. But the storm surge was still going to come in through Lake Pontchartrain, and New Orleans would be on the east side of the eye—the side that contained more rain. A normal downpour always flooded the streets on the east side, so the pumping system would already be working hard to pump the water out when the storm surge came into the lake and rushed into the canals looking for a way out. All we could do was pray the levees held this time.

At five-fifty, Paige chased Nicky down and placed him, struggling and howling, into his cat carrier.

“I’m going to put him in the car and then do one last check around here,” she said.

I listened to the news one last time. The eye was now projected to come ashore near Grand Isle, where a solitary man refused to evacuate. Grand Isle was almost completely destroyed by Katrina, and already the sea level was starting to rise. This was very bad news for Lafourche and Terrebonne parishes, which took a beating not only during Katrina but also during Hurricane Rita a few weeks later. The Louisiana Gulf Coast had not fully recovered from that one-two punch during the horrible hurricane season of 2005, which remained the worst on record.

I hit the OFF button, and the television screen went black. I heard footsteps coming up the stairs. The door opened.

“You’d never know there was a storm coming,” Paige said. “It’s hot out there, but such a beautiful day.”

“It was beautiful the last time,” I said.

Paige walked around the house, checking windows to make sure they were closed. She went through the refrigerator again, and carried the bag of perishables to be discarded to the front door.

“Seems kind of silly to put this in the garbage,” she said. “It’ll just blow away. But I don’t want this shit to rot in the house. I’ll check upstairs and then we can go, okay?”

I reflected on our situation while she moved around upstairs. Ginevra wouldn’t come ashore until around six the next day. We had twenty-four hours to get to Houston. A full tank should get us both there, even at the gas-guzzling crawl we were expecting.

Paige gave me a shaky smile as she came downstairs. “This is it.”

I took her in my arms and we held each other for a few moments, and then she broke away from me. I went out the door first. She slammed it shut with a loud clang that startled me in the silence. I put my key in the car door and turned it, pulling on the handle.

That’s odd
, I thought.
I was sure I locked it when I got here
.

But I couldn’t swear to it. It was something I did reflexively, and I’d had a lot on my mind when I’d pulled up.

I looked in the backseat. Nothing seemed to be missing.

I put the key in the ignition and gave it a little gas.

Nothing.

All the dummy lights came on. I slammed my fist on the steering wheel, turning the key again.

Nothing. Not even that annoying
rrrrr-rrrrr-rrrrr
that signified a dying battery.

But if the battery were dead, the dummy lights wouldn’t come on.

I popped the hood, got out and slammed the car door shut just as Paige opened her car door and called back to me, “Stupid son of a bitch won’t start.”

My body went cold, despite the humidity.

“Pop your hood,” I called as I lifted mine.

My distributor cap was gone, and so was Paige’s.

Vinnie hadn’t left town. We were trapped in an empty city with a hurricane on its way—and a professional killer about to pounce.

I did a quick 360-degree turn, scanning the immediate area as I shouted at Paige to get down. I dropped to my knees, scrutinizing the big brick apartment building across the street. If he was in there, we were easy targets.

But he wouldn’t be behind one of those windows, peering through the blinds. A professional would first make sure he had a clear shot. His second priority would be to ensure easy access to the target, in case he missed that first shot. The third priority was a clear and easy escape route. I could rule out the massive apartment building. If he missed a shot from there, we’d be able to escape while he came down to the street. If Vinnie was still here—and undoubtedly he was—he had to be on the same side of the street as Paige’s house. He would have to come get us.

I reached up and opened my car door, keeping my head down, and retrieved the gun in the armrest between the front seats. As I shut my car door, I glanced over at Paige, who was getting hers. Sweat rolled into my eyes.

I dialed Venus from stored numbers on my cell phone, and swore under my breath when I got the circuits-busy message yet again. Fingers shaking, I sent a text—
SOS P n I stranded cars
dead Vinnie here SOS
—and said a brief prayer that Venus and Blaine would come soon.

I scuttled along the side of my car to the back fender and made a hurried scan of the house next door and the ones beyond. All the windows were empty. I pulled my head back and moved to the front bumper of the car. Paige was at the back fender of hers.

“Nothing at the house next door,” she said, her voice low. “Where do you think he is?”

I ran over the geography of Paige’s house again in my mind. The fences were high, with razor wire on top. Even with a ladder, the drop down would be at least seven feet. He’d have to jump across and come down on the concrete, and risk breaking a leg or spraining an ankle. From Paige’s side of the house, we’d hear him. It had to be the house to the left, which had a parking area that led to the back of the house. I couldn’t remember if the backyard was fenced off from the lot. Blaine and I had focused on access to Paige’s lot. There was also no way of knowing when Vinnie took the distributor caps. He may have come over the fence at any time after I arrived, and we hadn’t heard him over the Weather Channel.

He didn’t seem interested in coming after us on the street. It was possible we could make a break for it, run the few blocks to my apartment, barricade ourselves in there and wait for help. But if we did that, we’d be in the open crossing Coliseum Square. Even if we made it safely across the park, we’d be sitting ducks while I unlocked the door. There was no way of knowing how long it would take help to arrive. Hopefully, this would be seen as enough of an emergency for Venus and Blaine to let their colleagues attend to looters and evacuating the city.

But we couldn’t count on that. Nor could we stay cowering behind our cars. To get out of range, we simply had to make it to the corner and around the building there. We could also try for the Avenue Pub, almost the exact same distance in the other direction. I discarded that option immediately. Vinnie would have no problem killing us and eliminating any customers who might be there, if the pub were even open. It was bad enough Paige was in danger.

The best option was to make a break for Paige’s apartment. It was only a few yards to the gate and then to the safe side of the house. Her landline was working; we could try Venus again from inside. Her Internet was also working, and the apartment was practically a fortress. The windows were too high off the ground for someone on foot to reach, and even with a ladder, he’d have to break one to get in, which we would hear. By the time he was inside we’d be on him, guns drawn. The only other way in was to kick down the first floor door—again, we’d be ready. Blaine had worried about the second floor patio, but I didn’t see how Vinnie could get in that way without us hearing, either.

The problem was that we’d be trapped inside. Still, it was the only way to buy enough time for Blaine and Venus to save us.

“We have to get back inside your apartment, Paige,” I said.

“I can’t leave Nicky out here, Chanse. It’s too hot. He’ll die without water.”

“We need to go fast, Paige. Lugging the carrier will make us sitting ducks.”

“I’ll get him out of the carrier.”

Before I could object, she crab-walked to the back door of her car. I stuck my head out between the cars, to reconnoiter our escape route. If I opened the gate and got to the porch, Paige could run to her door and open it for me. If Vinnie was in the house next door, he had no good angle on us. We could make it. Paige gripped Nicky firmly with both arms while I told her the plan, her gun tucked in the back of her jeans. Nicky hid his head in her armpit.

Clutching the key to the gate in my left hand and my gun in the right, I crawled between the cars, dashed for the gate, shoved the key in the lock, twisted it right and heard the lock disengage. I shoved the gate open and dashed up the stairs, flattening myself against the door to John and Michael’s apartment. The gate clanged shut. I jumped over the side railing and stayed down until I was on the side of the house, then ran back to Paige’s apartment, shut the door behind me and twisted the deadbolt.

I leaned against the door in time to see the white and orange flurry of Nicky scampering up the stairs.

Paige gave me a thumbs-up as she connected with Venus on the telephone and filled her in. She put the phone down and plopped into the reclining chair.

“She’s radioing it in,” Paige told me. “She doesn’t know how long it will take. I’m sorry, Chanse, we should have evacuated as soon as you got here. It was stupid to wait.”

“No, it wasn’t,” I said, feeling really tired. “The U.S. Marshals told me Vinnie had cleared out, and when nothing happened again, I thought they might be right after all. I let down my guard. I’m the one who should be sorry, Paige. When Blaine and I checked out your place the other day, I didn’t notice that the backyard next door is easily accessed. Vinnie just needs a ladder to get over the fence. But the only way in here is through the front door, so we should be okay.”

“You forgot the patio. My landlady and I share it. The side door to Harriet’s apartment is a piece of crap. It’s really a set of French doors. They’re old and warped, and you have to latch them to make sure they stay closed. The wind can blow them open. If Vinnie gets over the fence, he can come through there.”

“Surely she latched them before she evacuated, Paige. She put up razor wire on all the fences to keep out looters. Don’t you think she’d have secured the doors against the hurricane?”

“A hard kick would open those doors, Chanse—and I don’t know that we’d hear it. They’re opposite the front apartment. My patio door isn’t secure, either. The knob doesn’t latch. I have to use the bolt.”

I resisted a brief urge to scream at her. Why didn’t she tell us this before? I had a sinking feeling in my stomach.

“What about Harriet’s patio door?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then stay here and guard the stairs while I make sure the upstairs is secure. If Vinnie gets to me, he’ll be a perfect target for you.”

Paige’s face paled, but she nodded. She moved to the couch with her gun.

“I’ll shout before I come back down the stairs,” I said. “If you hear someone else coming, be ready to shoot.”

“Understood. But don’t forget to call out—I don’t want to cap your ass.”

The stairway to the second floor hugged the wall and made a ninety-degree left turn about eight feet up, as you got closer to the ceiling. It made another ninety-degree turn when you passed the ceiling. I started up the stairs, gun ready.

 The upstairs hall was empty as I came around the second turn. In the bedroom, Nicky sat on the bed, cleaning himself. He looked at me and made a chirruping sound. The closet door was closed, but I knew it was crammed so full of clothes no one could fit inside. I did a quick sweep of the bathroom. All clear. The patio door was ahead.