A Marked Man (13 page)

“Yup,” Jim said, already getting into the calendar of events for the week. “Wedding reception on Saturday afternoon. That’s a good one.”

“Sure is.” Annie slipped her feet into her sandals, gathered her purse and said, “’Bye, call if you need me,” before heading out.

Getting through the patrons took time but meeting and greeting went with her territory.

“Hold up, Annie.” Bobby Colbert got up from a table close to reception, a great big smile on his face. “I was afraid you might be off duty.”

“I am,” Annie said and almost bit her tongue. “Got to get along and deal with the chores that don’t do themselves.”

“This is a great place,” Bobby said. He wore a brown silk shirt the same color as his eyes and she could smell his cologne. “Not that I’d expect you to run a place that wasn’t great.”

“Thanks. Sit down. Your meal will get cold.”

“Sit down with me.” He looked around. “I’ll get you a drink. Have you had dinner?”

Escape was all she wanted. “Not tonight, Bobby, but thanks for the offer.”

The smile left his mouth. “Better things to do?”

Annie stared straight into his eyes. “No.
Other
things to do. Thanks, though.”

He narrowed his eyes and she thought he would keep pushing her, but he sat down instead, pushed his plate aside and rested his chin on cupped hands.

“’Night,” Annie said and walked away.

She didn’t hear any answer.

At last she passed Blue the alligator and used a shoulder to open one of the swinging doors to the outside and the covered bridge over the shallow ravine that stretched a short distance in front of Pappy’s.

Annie stood to one side of the door, chasing thoughts around in her head. There was something she had to do—sooner or later but not when it would soon be getting dark. She wouldn’t dwell on it, or even let the idea stick.

A soft, warm breeze swept through and a clump of palms beyond the bridge rustled and clacked their fronds together. She walked out to the full parking lot and went to the row of spaces farthest from the building. Once inside the Volvo, she locked the car and sat there, frowning at nothing, struggling with indecision. The thought of going back to her apartment depressed her.

She hadn’t needed to run into Bobby. He never failed to make her feel creepy. What she really wanted was to see Max.

From the way he’d treated her, she had to think he’d expect her to apologize when they did meet, yet she hadn’t done anything wrong.

The loneliness freshened. She had nothing in common with Max. His life had been spent around successful people, rich people. And he had accomplished so much. She had taken note of his record as a humanitarian who traveled to operate on patients in other countries, patients who couldn’t pay anything. And he had operated on war victims, mending their broken faces as well as they possibly could be.

She switched on the car. Why had he shown any interest in her at all?

They’d had sex. There wasn’t another word for what happened between them, but she wouldn’t change a thing about it—except for the embarrassment over the slight bleeding and maybe some of her wildness. She had seen Reb who verified that Annie needed lubrication. Reb had examined her and made oblique references to it being a good idea to take things more slowly next time.

Annie blushed.

The way she’d been with Max that night was no different from the way men were supposed to approach sex most of the time—she had needed it to happen. And now she had to pull herself together and move on.

Joe and Ellie would let her talk to them.

And what would she say?

There was Father Cyrus who made her feel welcome and as if he wanted to talk to her, but she didn’t have anything to say to him, either.

Spike had enough to deal with. Her meandering ideas wouldn’t help him—or her.

Annie drove between lines of cars to the exit from the parking lot and turned right. She couldn’t go home, not yet. Since she got her first car, only about four years ago, she had used driving as a way to clear her mind.

The narrow roads and lanes were familiar in that they were the same as so many in the area. Although the light was failing, she had no fear of getting lost because her sense of direction rarely failed her.

Her breathing seemed shallow and she opened her mouth. When she rolled down the window, the breeze had turned to wind and she shuddered. A creepy feeling climbed her spine. The wind brought a needle-sharp, stinging sensation into the car. Like ice. Hot ice on the wind. Annie’s heart beat faster and harder.

The truth was that she had no real human ties to Toussaint, or to any other place but Pointe Judah, and going back there would be admitting failure. Her cousins would never say as much, but they would know she hadn’t been up to taking advantage of her chance to make a good, new life.

Headlights shone into her rearview mirror. Her eyes felt gritty and she pressed them shut for a moment. How long had there been another vehicle behind her? She couldn’t make out what kind of car it was.

Now she was paranoid. No one ever promised her the roads were hers alone.

She drove on, repeatedly looking into the mirror, swallowing around stiffness in her throat, going a little faster, and faster still. The other vehicle kept right there with her.

This time he felt charmed. At first he hadn’t wanted Max involved with Annie but he’d been wrong. He was going to make sure she helped him get what he wanted. “You go for it, Annie. I’ll do what I can to help.” He laughed. “I’ll do everything I can to help you help me.”

He kept her car in sight but didn’t get too close.

A
nnie saw the sign for Loreauville and realized she had automatically taken the 86 loop road. She had driven north, not without thinking where she was going, but without considering what it really meant.

The headlights behind her had gone away.

Others had slipped in, two, sometimes three vehicles.

She wasn’t being followed.

A side road, not much more than a track, cut west toward Bayou Teche, on the outskirts of St. Martinville. With no rain or fog, even in the near darkness she saw crooked tree limbs silvered by the moon. Heading north again, she drove as far as the bridge over the Teche before figuring out that she and Max hadn’t needed to cross the bayou because they’d driven up from Toussaint on the opposite side.

“Idiot.” She pursed her lips and rattled over the water—and pulled to the side of the road to see if she recognized any cars traveling behind her. A light colored pickup passed, then a nondescript sedan, also pale. Nothing else came immediately so Annie carried on.

The town was busier tonight. By the time Annie reached Main Street and bore left, she met with other vehicles—not many, but at steady intervals. The Pepper Festival could be coming up and when she’d lived in the area there used to be a lot of activity in town around that time.

She lowered her window and heard the rapid rhythm of a rubboard, the mad pace of a banjo, sounds of more than one good fiddler and an accordion. Foot-stomping music. Annie raised her shoulders and smiled a little. Farther along on the opposite side of the road she could see bright flags flying and colored lights. A small crowd had gathered there, dancing and clapping on the sidewalk.

A pretty town, St. Martinville, with a lot of good people. She just hadn’t had a chance to enjoy living there.

She reached St. Martin de Tours Church and instinct took her to the little street where she turned left instead of right, as Max had on his route, and found the alley.

No headlights showed behind her.

Annie passed the closed bagel shop, continued on to the beaten-up street along the Teche, and made a right. A faint sheen wrapped the surface of the water like a film of ruckled black plastic and she saw it through moss hanging from cypress trees, their bark stripped to a smooth, pallid skin. She drove slowly, looked in one direction, then another. People who never came here, never saw how the land had ways of framing pictures in every direction even by night. The hurricanes had done their worst in so many places, but, like Toussaint, St. Martinville was mostly unscathed. But wicked storms would never manage to snuff out the breathy essence of the richness that was Louisiana.

Her hands slipped on the wheel and she wiped her palms, one at a time, on her gray pants. She pulled the Volvo to the overgrown verge at the spot where she thought she had followed Max over the fence and into the trees. And she sat there with the engine idling, peered through the passenger window, but couldn’t see much more than a wall of trees. One thing she’d discovered was a pending contract on the site. Could Max have decided to buy it anyway?

A flashlight lay on the floor in the back of the car. Annie kept it there for emergencies. This counted as an emergency. No more pretending she wasn’t exactly certain why she’d come. Tonight she would look for any sign that the ugly mental pictures she’d seen could have been real.

There had been no more imagined incidents for days. She was strong again and coming at a late hour could be the best decision since no one would expect her to be here. And, as deserted as it was, no one was likely to pass and see the parked car. Annie grimaced. A deserted stretch of abandoned road could well draw others looking for a quiet place.

Hammering on her window almost choked her. Thudding in her throat hurt and her heart went wild. She couldn’t make herself look to see who it was.

“Annie.” Muffled, her name came through the glass. A woman’s voice.

She did turn then and looked into Wazoo’s exasperated face.

Annie pushed her fingers into her eyes and shook her head. When she settled down a little she unlocked the door and got out of the car. “What are you doing here? How did you get here?” She looked around but there was no sign of Wazoo’s van. “You scared me, Wazoo. I feel awful.”

“You feel scared because you doin’ somethin’ dangerous. I parked on Main Street and walked. No, once I saw you goin’ in the alley, I ran. Annie Duhon, you are a madwoman. They all say Wazoo’s the crazy one, but they don’t know ’bout you, girl.”

“Go home,” Annie said. “Now.” She wanted to get on with what she intended to do and after the shock she’d just had, she’d be jumping at every pop or snap.

“Whatever you doin’, I’m comin’ with you,” Wazoo said.

“No, you are not. You had a date—Wazoo, why aren’t you with Nat?”

“Because a lady I like needs me to keep her alive.”

Annie spread her hands. “What are you talkin’ about? Why would you say a thing like that?”

“Maybe because there’s a woman missing in Toussaint. I hear there could be more law called in anytime. But my friend is drivin’ around in the night plannin’ who knows what.” She took a step backward. “Oh, excuse me, I’m probably intrudin’ on a assignation. That must be it. You’re out here to meet a lover and have wild sex in the trees, in the dark. All wet, slick skin and runnin’ away naked when you want to be caught.”

“Wazoo! I am not here for any such reason and you know it. You like to shock people with what you say.”

“Why are you here, girl?” Wazoo stuck her face into Annie’s. “And don’t you tell me lies because they make me unpredictable. Just ask a few people about what happened when they lied to Wazoo. I’ll give you some names. Ask Nat Archer. That boy scrubs every word he says to me before it slides outa his mouth. That’s on account of him forgettin’ he was tellin’ a lie one time.”

“Okay,” Annie said. “Got it. I won’t lie to you. I’m staying here on my own. You’re goin’ back to find Nat and quit worrying. That’s the absolute truth.”

“I’m not goin’.”

“Yes, you are. I’ve got to do this my way. I’ll be perfectly safe—I won’t take any chances.”

“Do what your way?” Wazoo said. She made a circle, looking in all directions. “This place is
empty,
Annie. You already takin’ chances. There ain’t one soul around here.”

“So I’ve got nothing to worry about, do I?”

“What you goin’ to do?” Wazoo stood so close, Annie had to stop herself from stepping backward.

“I’m going to sit in my car and think. I know this area well. I grew up in St. Martinville.”

Wazoo’s eyebrows rose. “You did?”

“Yes.”

“You got family here?”

“Not anymore.”

“You goin’ to see someone else?”

Sometimes a little lie was the only answer. “Yes. Cousins. We’ve had our problems and I want to clear the air. That’s why I came right here because I know it’ll be real quiet and I can think about what I want to say.”

Wazoo looked at the sky. “You got that little bag I gave you?”

“Yes.” She hadn’t wanted to leave it behind.

“Keep it with you.” Wazoo turned sharply in a flurry of long skirts and started away.

“How did you get here?” Annie called after her.

“In my van. How’d you think I got here? I was behind you all the way—way behind. Good thought to pull off the road after the bridge and let folks pass. Only I see you goin’ down there and had a need to stop for a little while myself. Just long enough for you to get started again.”

“Sneak,” Annie said, waving. “But thanks, Wazoo.”

After the woman was out of sight, Annie waited another fifteen minutes just to be sure Wazoo didn’t decide to come back.

With the flashlight in her hand, car keys in her pocket and her purse locked in the trunk of the car, Annie climbed carefully across the soggy, scrub-covered verge to reach the fence. Again she held the sagging top wire down so she could climb over. It wasn’t easy to do, but she kept her flashlight off until she’d fumbled her way well into the trees.

Moonlight didn’t make it past the dense overhead foliage. Annie turned on the flashlight and trained its beam on the fallen trunks, brush and overgrown vines snaking in every direction, like a treacherous jungle in some places.

She moved on, careful not to twist an ankle, until she reached the edge of the clearing where she’d seen Max. Annie swallowed, and swallowed again. Her throat felt filled with sand.

Breaking from what felt like her last connection to safety, she left the trees and walked slowly across uneven ground, sweeping the light from side to side. A line showed up in the dirt, and then another, and another. Max’s lines made with a stick.

Annie followed part of the faded outline but made little sense of it. She supposed it must be his idea of how a clinic might have been built there.

She didn’t know when Green Veil was supposed to open. People talked about continuing work, especially on the inside, but said the clinic could be ready to go in a month or so. They would need a lot of staff and most would have to come from places other than Toussaint. That would be good for the town, bring more business and fill up available housing.

Max’s stick markings came to an end.

Annie continued to move her flashlight in one direction after another. She wouldn’t find anything. A waking nightmare was what she’d gone through.

The small, white beam picked up a twig shaped like a sturdy wishbone, a black twig only inches from her right sandal. She bent closer, touched the stick with a forefinger and looked at it. Soot clung lightly to her skin.

Standing up straight, Annie checked around. All she saw was the bumpy ground strewn with bits of debris and an occasional struggling bush.

The twig rested in the palm of her hand. Black bits had fallen off. A piece of burned wood—in the middle of nowhere.

“Wise up,” she told herself aloud and tossed the twig away. “There are always pieces of burned wood lying around in places like this.”

But there were more scorched fragments scattered like a trail of breadcrumbs. She followed them to the far side of the clearing and faced another wall of vegetation. When she stood still and listened, rather than silence, she heard a thousand critters skittering in there, and the rustle of wind passing through leaves.

A single fat raindrop smacked her nose and Annie groaned. Still sighting dark pieces of debris, she reached the first of the trees and picked her way between trunks and over logs sprouting suckers. Dead leaves lay thick enough to bury her feet with each step.

Another charred and rotten snag of wood and several small, carbon-coated branches rested against some rocks. As if someone had been carrying an armload and these few, and the ones behind her, had been dropped in passing.

The sparse trail continued deeper into the trees. Annie kept going. Several times she scouted the surrounding area but never found pieces other than those in the meandering sprinkle.

A paper-chase? No accident but rather a deliberate attempt to lead someone…where?

Water spattered her face, slid down her neck. By the muted thumping overhead, the rain fell heavily. The thick canopy kept out a good deal of the deluge, but she smelled the odor of moistened, decaying leaves.

The singed trail petered out. And there was nothing to see, nothing different. Just dripping leaves where some rain made it through, deeply scoured tree trunks, and always the mounds of decaying material underfoot.

The front of her right sandal shot under a stick, jamming between her toes and the sole of the shoe. And Annie tumbled.

Immediately she scrambled to her feet again. Being on the ground made her feel vulnerable. The burned pieces didn’t have to mean anything. Annie flicked the light back and forth, looking for any sign of…of what? Of a place where a person could have been buried?

Imagination was her blessing and her curse and in this place she felt the latter. Next she’d drift into the realm of scraping shovels and twisted bodies.

Annie turned around and started back. She looked for the same trail she’d followed in. Where were those sinister twigs now, darn it. Standing still, she breathed deep to steady her heart and decided she’d become disoriented and should be going the opposite way.

Her progress was too fast and she knew it, but getting out was all she cared about. The deep and deeper shades of darkness and the inky shapes flashed by, and she turned again, went another way with her arms held out in front of her, fighting off curtains of vines that scratched her skin, plucked her hair.

A sharp jab gouged her scalp.

Annie screamed and beat the air around her head—and dropped the flashlight.

She caught the next scream before it broke free, and held absolutely still. Still except for the sweat that drizzled between her shoulder blades and breasts and from her temples to her jaw.

Her breathing sounded loud, like water through a rocky blowhole where the ocean roared in and sucked out. When she bent over she saw the glint of the flashlight at once and grabbed for it. The thing had fallen on a teepee of roots and it slipped between them the instant she touched it.

The sound of the rain changed to what resembled a battalion of drum majors using tin sticks.