Piano in the Dark (19 page)

I’d come to know Detective Melendez pretty well since the day he read me my rights at the hospital: An aggressive, hard-nosed cop who liked to sink his teeth into a case and not let go. Mysteries were his enemy. In that case, I’m sure I was frustrating to him.

Or rather my attorney was.

“C’mon, we got the medical records on his person! Records stolen from Dr. Prisbani’s office the night before this lady disappeared. Right after your client fled Ben Taub Hospital! Don’t deny it!”

“From what I understand, those records were present in the house on Nicholson, but weren’t in his possession.”

“So who else put them there? The tooth fairy? Jeezuz! He was there alone!” he growled as he abruptly left his seat across the tiny table from us and paced the room. When he returned, he leaned across the table without sitting. Looked at me briefly, then spoke to my lawyer. “At a minimum, we’ve got your client on breaking and entering.”

“We might be willing to concede that point, Detective. But need I remind you that my client was suffering from a subdural hematoma and wasn’t in full possession of his faculties.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know. I was at the hospital. His brain had an
owie
. I heard that bullshit,” he obliged with a little bit of salty language. “But I think we can make a case. Your client’s life is in disarray. At least two assaults that witnesses can confirm, even if no charges were filed. There are reports of an argument between Ms. Nuttier and him at the art gallery. And now your client’s wife has filed for divorce. I can connect the dots, Counselor.”

I tried to conceal my surprise, but was unable to restrain a noticeable flinch. My lawyer, sensing the news unsettled me, just like the detective wanted, patted me on the leg. Dawn was serious about moving on.

“What do you want from me?” I asked, disobeying the instructions of my lawyer…Maryann Milner. My former employer.

“What I want to know is, What did you do to Charla Nuttier? Is that why you broke into the house on Nicholson? To hide out? Guilt? Where is her body!”

“Stop right there, Detective!” Maryann shouted. “My client has obliged your fantasies, but you and I both know you have no evidence of this. In fact, to the contrary, I have affidavits from the cabdriver who stated my client was distraught that night and looking for Ms. Nuttier out of concern. He certainly didn’t want her killed. Besides, we now know that Charla Nuttier isn’t even her real name. Perhaps she had some secrets to hide. Or reason to disappear. Oh. And there’s this.”

Maryann removed a single document from her briefcase and slid it toward the detective. I tried reading it upside down, but the detective scooped it up and digested its nature. Watched him stew for a moment before speaking.

“Who the hell is Smith Sampson?” Detective Melendez growled. One of the other people in the room who’d remained silent in the corner during our powwow came over. The brother in a top-end store-bought suit read over the document as well then whispered something in Detective Melendez’s ear. Then the two of them hastily left the room.

“What’s going on?”

“Your get-out-of-jail-free card, Chase,” Maryann said, the barest hint of a smile showing.

“Now just keep your mouth shut.”

Outside the room, something was going on. A heated argument between Detective Melendez and someone else, by the sound of the voices. Then all fell silent.

Detective Melendez returned. Didn’t bother sitting down and didn’t bother to look at Maryann as he addressed her. Kept his eyes on me.

“Will that be all?” she asked.

“You’ve posted bail. You can go. But don’t leave town. We’ll let you know if we have further questions.”

“I’m sure you will, Detective,” Maryann chimed as she pulled her chair away from the table and motioned for me to follow her. She left her business card behind on the table, presumably to further frustrate Detective Melendez.

“Thank you,” I told Maryann as we exited HPD headquarters and stepped into the fresh air on Travis Street. I wanted to give her a hug, but it didn’t seem appropriate, based on her demeanor.

“Just doing my job…my feelings for you aside.”

“I didn’t do anything to her. I promise.”

“I know. I’ve been assured of that. Still doesn’t stop you from being a cheating spouse.”

“True, and I’m going to do my best to repair that damage. Heal those wounds with Dawn even if she doesn’t take me back. By the way, I never slept with our client Iris.”

“Didn’t think so, Chase. But what’s done is done. The firm could never take you back after all this negative attention. For what it’s worth, your former friend Jacobi will never make partner as long as I have a say.”

“So who hired you? I know it wasn’t Jacobi. And what was that document you gave the detective?”

“I’ll let Smith discuss that with you,” Maryann replied, signaling with her eyes to look across the street. I complied to see Smith Sampson in a blue T-shirt and white old-man shorts standing around. With his sweatband he had a serious eighties vibe going on. From the sweat-soaked shirt, it appeared he’d been jogging. He waved at us like he didn’t have a care in the world.

“Friend of yours?” I asked, suddenly figuring who could afford Maryann’s retainer.

“We go back a ways,” she replied, finally cracking a smile. “I’ve known Smith since he first came here from New York. Ran into him in Katz’s Deli and we hit it off. Helped introduce him to the gay and lesbian community around town and he’s just taken off. Well, I’m sure you two have much to discuss. Go talk to him. I have a lunch fund-raiser to attend. Be well, Chase.”

I thanked Maryann a final time, leaving her to follow her schedule. I crossed the street over to Smith, who was jogging in place while looking at his watch.

“Hello, Mr. Hidalgo,” he said. “Care to take a walk?”

“Sorry about slapping you back at the art gallery,” I said, trying clumsily to break the ice.

“Apology accepted. I like my slaps a little less rough from my men. And never to the face,” Smith said, displaying a bit of crude humor as we walked along. Awkward silence followed once more.

“Should I be thanking you for the bail and the lawyer?”

“I suppose. Ava would’ve wanted it,” he said as we came to McKinney and made a right turn.

“What was that paper Maryann gave the police?”

“An affidavit I signed. Attesting that Ava told me she was leaving the country. No evidence of a crime and no evidence of Charla Nuttier being who she really is, no case. Poof.”

“And they’re not going to push to find out who she really is?”

“Chase, look around. Houston is classified as a sanctuary city to the undocumented,” he offered with a grin. “What’s one more even if from another world?”

“Do you believe that? That she went home?” I asked of the only other person who might not think me crazy.

“I do,” Smith said with a nod and conviction in his eyes. “And who’s to say there aren’t others out there?”

“Wait,” I said, stopping in my tracks. “
Are you one
?”

“From her Earth?” he said coyly. “No, dear man. I wish. Seems like a nice place, until her husband died.”

“But when you say others—”

“Why would there be just one parallel world? Say there are others and that, from time to time, people pop through for whatever reasons—fate, second chances, lost loves. Maybe vibrational frequencies line up or perhaps it’s simple random chance. Maybe some come from places far worse than this. Maybe someone popped through perhaps a long time ago. Say, like Manhattan in the 1970s.”

“You?” I asked, stunned. “Could you go back one day? Like Ava?”

“If—if it were me, I couldn’t ever go back. That location no longer exists on this side. Unless I took a helicopter ride over restricted space or can suddenly fly. Haven’t quite mastered that one yet,” he said with a hearty laugh.

“Huh?”

“The World Trade Center. The forty-third floor of the south tower. That may be where someone like myself came through. But it’s no longer there.”

“Oh my God.”

“Breathe. It’ll be okay, Mr. Hidalgo. Some feel the pull to return more strongly than others…can’t resist. I never had that problem. Thank God. Perhaps that’s why I was left here—to help others like Ava.”

“Does Maryann Milner know the truth about you?”

“No. And neither did Ava. She just looked at me as a good friend. The less the better. As you can see, things can get awfully difficult when people bring up such things. They instantly think you’re crazy or unstable.”

“Is Smith Sampson even your real name?”

“Of course it is. Now,” he added with a grin. “But like I said, I’ve been here a while.”

“Do you miss home?”

“No. I’m much happier here. Mine is far different than dear Ava’s. People like me were persecuted there,” he remarked, a less whimsical tone intruding for the briefest of moments. “Like I said. Maybe it’s fate when people pop over. Ava got to see you again…so to speak.”

“You know she’s pregnant.”

“Yes. She told me. Interesting,” Smith said, assessing something in his head. “Maybe that’s what triggered her return. Perhaps her purpose here was fulfilled. Just know the baby’s in a good place and that they’ll want for nothing. Ava’s a millionaire over there. And the baby will grow up knowing his or her parents loved one another despite your
confusion
.”

“Her. It’s a girl,” I uttered on reflex, stopping dead in my tracks.

“How…how do you know?”

“Dunno,” I replied, expressionless. “Can’t explain it. Just a hunch that overcame me.”

“Hmm,” Smith mumbled as he stared oddly at me for a brief moment. “These crossover unions are always intriguing.”

“Think I’ll see them again?”

“Who’s to say? She loves you, Chase. Just take that and run with it. Learn from it. Grow. Oh,” he said, checking his watch. “Speaking of ‘run,’ time’s up. Thanks for being my therapist.”

With that, the odd old dude with the sweatband jogged away, resuming his pace down McKinney toward Discovery Green Park.

A visitor more comfortable with himself and this world than I.

A bad storm front rolling in from Texas had rendered visibility almost down to zero. A flock of illuminated brake lights had guided me this far. I’d come over the big bridge past the ubiquitous chemical plants and the town of Westlake, crossing the body of water from which the city of Lake Charles got its name, relying on my GPS. Checking the clock in the car, I had time to spare.

I still held on to the microcassette from Dr. Prisbani’s file on Ava.

All this time.

Had avoided it until now, but had begun listening to some of Ava’s session on the drive in. Appropriate at this moment, I guess. Finally off probation for breaking and entering and no threat of further charges called for a trip such as this. Decided to pull into North Beach, just off I-10 and wait out the weather.

While watching whitecaps atop the gray water and staring at the Lake Charles Civic Center along the shore just southeast of me, I pushed
play
again. Going back in time several years to when I was happily married and hadn’t met Ava.

Yet.

“What are you thinking about now?” Dr. Prisbani asked of Ava.

“Chase,” she answered. Was odd. Hearing my name, but someone else being referenced. Missed the sound of her voice, though.

“What about him?”

“Remember how I was crying over him in the bathroom when I came here.”

“When you say
here
, you’re still referring to coming to this world from someplace else?” From her notes, I knew how skeptical Dr. Prisbani was about Ava’s claims.

“Yes, that’s it. Was thinking of happier times. Thinking back to how he would sneak away after we made love. He’d think I was asleep, but sometimes I would get up and follow him.”

“And? What was he doing?”

“He’d be all alone. In the dark…just playing the piano in our front room. It was the most beautiful thing to just listen to the music pouring from his soul. Like to think that maybe he was inspired. I hold on to that.”

“That is a positive, Ava. Is there something you wish you could take back or do over?”

“Yes. We had an argument before he left for his trip.”

“About?”

“Chase wanted a child. Someone to continue his musical legacy. Like his father. He idolized Joell. Those two had such a strong bond. But I wasn’t ready for children. Being selfish I guess. We never argued, but that was a bad one. Don’t know how it got out of control. Still don’t understand. It was like the wrong things kept being said. Wished I could take it all back. In the end, I told him to go on without me. We slept apart that night and…he flew out that morning to…the Netherlands to perform. And…I never saw him again. He died in a—a—car wreck in Rotterdam.”

“Do you need a tissue?” Dr. Prisbani asked of her sniffling subject.

“No. No. I’m okay,” Ava replied before she pressed on. “We’d gone to the Netherlands for the first time the year before. It was one of the happiest times in my life. We promised each other that we’d come back. That trip was supposed to be our return.

“That was my thought when I came here. Happiness…and how I’d lost it. Chase was my happiness, Doctor.”

I wiped the tears from my eyes, cursing that I’d tortured myself like this. I shut off the recorder and stepped out into the rain. I marched across the clumping beach sand to the water’s edge where I hurled both the recorder and microcassette in the lake.

Lightning flashed in the distance. The storm was worsening and wouldn’t be any better soon, but I couldn’t stop now.

For my journey wasn’t over.

“Loved one?” he asks, daring to interrupt the moment.

“You might say that,” I answer, not taking my eyes off the grave that held a small child.

Rainwater continues to run down my face with a steady stream rolling off my nose.

“I did good, huh?” he asks, proud of his detective skills.

“Yeah, man. And I paid you good.”

“
Oui
. You pay good money,” he says as he leans over into my space to get a better look at the headstone in the rain. I can smell wet cigar. “And it’s her birthday too.”

“I noticed.”

“Is dat a relative of yours? Your daughter?”

“No,” I answer, tired of his presence as I stare at the name chiseled into the marble, nestled in between two little angels:
AVA EVANGELINE FOLSE
“It’s my wife.”

“Huh? Your
wife
?” he grunts, wiping rain from his face to look at the headstone and tiny grave again. “Whatever. You pay good money,” he repeats again.

As he stomps off, I am finally given peace.

“Finally we meet,” I mouth.

This was an odd journey. Started with the premise one day that if Ava found me, why couldn’t there already be an Ava here.

My Ava claimed she was from Pouppeville, Louisiana. Dr. Prisbani was right in her notes. No such place now. But perhaps in Ava’s world it never changed its name to Rayne. It was the longest before I figured to try that angle, but I had the advantage of belief in what my Ava said. Once that domino fell, the rest came into focus.

The person in this grave was taken way too early. Choked on a marble at six years old per the old newspaper article I found in the course of my research. If she’d lived, she would’ve gone on to attend Sam Houston State University over in Texas.

And I would’ve met her.

At least, that’s my theory.

Don’t quite know how these things work.

A light show fills the sky, illuminating a figure that’s been standing watching me the whole time. I fall over in the mud in surprise. It comes forward as I pick myself up from the muck.

“What do you want?” the figure demands to know. It’s an elderly woman in black. No umbrella. Fair-skinned with silver hair beneath a black church hat that isn’t shielding her much from the storm. I look at her a little more closely. The pronounced nose, similar lips, and the familiar texture of her hair that shows. Creole. Then I realize she’s not asking me what I want with the cemetery.

But what I want with this grave site.

Hers.

Well…not hers directly. Rather, her daughter’s.

“You ain’t gonna speak?”

“Sorry, ma’am. You startled me.”

“Nobody supposed to be here in this rain.”

“I was just here paying my respects,” I answer.

“You know my family?”

“Uh…no, ma’am. Just whenever I see those that departed too early…It saddens me.”

“Oh,” Ava’s mom says, softening before my eyes. She really should have an umbrella. “Nobody comes on her birthday anymore except me. It’s like people move on.”

I walk closer, rain really picking up. Making it harder to talk over nature’s din, so I speak up. “I’m sorry to hear that. Maybe I can come out with you next year. Keep you company,” I offer.

“Who you?” she asks, a flash of reticence in her hazel eyes.

“Chase, ma’am. Chase Hidalgo,” I answer, trying to look proper and respectful while drenched.

“You from around here?” she says. eyeing me. It’s as if the rain isn’t fazing her. But what’s a little harsh weather compared to the loss of a loved one?

“Just passing through. From Texas. But I want to learn more about this town…and its people.”

“Hmph. You gonna catch pneumonia,” she scolds. Reminds me of my mom then. “Do you drink coffee?”

“I do today,” I joke.

“I can make you a pot. Tell you more about my lil’ Ava. If you want. She was my heart…my li’l light. Had big dreams for that one,” she says as she shakes her head in regret.

“I’d like to hear about those dreams, ma’am. And about her. I’m sure she was a wonderful daughter,” I say to my new friend.

“Hmph. Well, c’mon then. This rain ain’t stopping anytime soon. And I don’t want you sick.”

I take Mrs. Folse’s hand and lead her out of Saint’s Joseph’s Cemetery.

Eager to learn more.