Saving Savannah (4 page)

“I’m a detective, not a magician. Besides, I’ve been stickin’ close ta home with Celine bein’ pregnant and all.” She was in the house at the moment, taking a nap on the same cot Tee-John slept on all those years ago when he ran away from his father, Valcour LeDeux, when he got to drinking. That man was meaner than a grizzly with a corncob up its butt.

Imagine. Tee-John having another chile. And this time he would be around to see the
bebe
be born. “I hope she has a girl this time.”

“That would be nice, but Etienne sez it better be a boy or we’re sending it back.”

She had to smile at that. The little imp! “Back ta Savannah. Fer two weeks, I been goin’ over ta Nawleans ta talk with her. You were right, she’s livin’ in her car. I ain’t et so many chicken dippers in all my life. I think I’m startin’ ta cluck.”

“Oh, Lord! You’ve been going to that strip joint, haven’t you?”

“Yeah, and I’m learnin’ some good dance moves, too. Didja ever hear of the twerk?”

“I’m afraid to ask.”

“It involves bendin’ yer knees and spreadin’ them. Sorta like squatin’ ta pee in the woods.”

“I pee against a tree.”

She swatted him on the knee with her folded Richard Simmons fan for the interruption. “Then you vibrate yer tushie real fast. You could say it’s like shimmyin’ yer butt. Me and Charmaine been practicin’. When Charmaine showed Rusty how it was done, he almos’ had a heart attack. Then he took her ta bed fer a whole afternoon. Leastways, thass what Charmaine said. Want me ta demonstrate?”

“Please don’t.” He was staring at her like she was a little bit crazy. Nothing new there. “I bet Savannah is pissed about you bird-doggin’ her.”

“You could say that. Las’ night, fer example, I followed her around Walmart ’til she stopped and asked what I was doin’ there. I tol’ her there ain’t no law sez I cain’t shop wherever I want. ‘At midnight?’ she asked then. Jeesh! I did buy her little girl a pretty sundress, though.”

“I’m afraid to ask how you got ta Walmart, presumably in Nawleans, at that ungodly hour. No. Don’t tell me. I’ll be the one havin’ a heart attack then. I’m surprised that Savannah accepted your gift.”

“She couldn’t not accept. I tore off the tags and ripped up the sales receipt.” She thought for a few moments. “Mebbe we should kidnap the two of ’em.”

“We are not kidnapping anyone. Get that idea out of yer head right now.”

“You doan have ta yell.”

“Sometimes yellin’ is the only thing that will get through yer fool head.”

“You ain’t helpin’ much.”

Tee-John shrugged. “I gave you all the info I could find.”

“Tell me again.”

“Savannah Jones, born almost thirty years ago at St. Margaret’s Hospital in Savannah, Georgia. No known birth parents. Adoptive parents, James and Ellie Jones, deceased. A graduate of the University of Georgia with high honors. Had been an English teacher at a private school in suburban Savannah. Then suddenly, she resigned and moved to Nawleans where she taught school in the lower ninth ward until Hurricane Katrina. She lost her apartment and her job because of the floods and hasn’t been able to get back on her feet since then.”

“There’s a puzzle in there somewheres. I jist ain’t figgered out what it is yet.”

“Oh, I forgot ta tell you. A friend of mine in Georgia dug up something interestin’. Turns out Savannah got engaged to a Captain Matthew Carrington, just before he shipped out for Afghanistan more than five years ago. Todd and Evelyn Carrington, his parents, are big-shot, country-club types. Carrington was a POW for several years, but he escaped about six months ago. That’s all I know.”

Tante Lulu smacked him on the arm. “You knew that and dint tell me. Sometimes, I swear, you got the brain of a flea.”

“I was gonna tell you.”

“Hah! I doan suppose you got any addresses or telephone numbers.”

He pulled an index card out of his shirt pocket and grinned at her.

She grinned back.

“Be careful what you do, auntie. Savannah is runnin’ from somethin’, and it could very well be this guy. Maybe he was abusive. Or maybe he didn’t care about being a father or a husband.”

“I’ll be careful. Jist you watch me. I know how ta handle people. I’m a people person.”

Tee-John rolled his eyes.

She didn’t care if he was skeptical. Tante Lulu had a feeling she was about to solve the puzzle.
Thank you, St. Jude.

A good soldier needs a battle plan .
 . .

MATT WAS AT HIS parents’ home packing up the rest of his belongings to ship to his Fort Dix apartment. In the meantime, he was staying at a hotel. No way was he going to live at home, not after what his parents had done.

He was now on leave, and he was meeting this afternoon with a private detective who had a good track record for finding missing persons.

The phone rang as he was carrying the last of his boxes through the hall and down the steps. He heard his mother answer in the library.

“Yes, this is the home of Matthew Carrington. Who is this?”

Glancing in the open doorway, he saw his mother bristle. “I am Evelyn Carrington, if you must know. Why do you wish to speak with my son? Don’t you dare call me an old biddy .
 . . you . . . you old biddy. I’m going to hang up now.”

That’s all he needed, his mother screening his calls. Matt put down his box and stepped in the room, signaling his mother to hand him the phone.

“Hello. Matthew Carrington here.”

“Thank the Lord!” an elderly sounding voice with a Southern accent exclaimed. “I’m Louise Rivard, but you kin call me Tante Lulu, like everyone does. Are you the Matthew Carrington that was engaged to Savannah Jones?”

The fine hairs stood out on the back of Matt’s neck, and he felt as if a vice were clamping his heart. He sank down into the desk chair. “Yes,” he replied hesitantly.

“Boy, you are harder to find than pepper in a pile of pig poop.”

Is she calling me the pepper or the poop?
“Boy? I’m thirty-five years old.”

“So? I usta play jacks with Moses. What does age have ta do with this?”

The woman is obviously a wack job.
“Yes, I was engaged to Savannah. Do you know where she is?”

“Sure do.”

The vice around his heart lessened, and he breathed deeply. “Is she okay?”

“No, she’s not okay. Would I be callin’ you if she was okay? Jeesh! Some men are dumber ’n a flyin’ brick.”

The damn vice slammed shut again. “What’s wrong?”

“Wrong? I’ll tell you what’s wrong. She’s poor as a bayou church mouse, workin’ in a strip joint, and about ta skedaddle off ta live in an igloo or sumpin’.”

Huh?
“And my daughter .
 . . is she with her?”

“I declare, the Taliban musta done that water drip torture on yer brain, bless yer heart. And by the way, I ’preciate yer service to our country. I give ta the Wounded Warrior Project all the time.”

“My daughter .
 . . ?” he prodded.

“Of course Katie is with her mother. Ain’t you been listenin’?”

Katie. Her nickname is Katie.
Something else occurred to him then. Savannah is a stripper. He found that hard to believe. They’d made love in the dark, at first, because she was too shy to let him see her naked. “Savannah is actually working in a strip joint?”

The old lady let out a snort of laughter. “Guess you’ll hafta come and find out.” Then she added, “I find it interestin’ that yer more concerned about her job than the fact she and yer daughter are homeless, living in an ol’ rattletrap of a car.”

Matt put his face down on the desk and groaned inwardly. This just got worse and worse. “Give me her address, and I’ll be there in .
 . . wait a minute. Where are you calling from?”

“Loo-zee-anna.”

He grinned, suddenly giddy with relief and anticipation. “That’s a big state. Where exactly are Savannah and Katie?”

“Well, thass the thing. I cain’t tell you ’til I’m sure it’s safe.”

He stiffened. “What do you mean? Is she with someone else? Did she get married?”

“Savannah’s still single, but she’s skittish as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rockin’ chairs. That girl’s been on the run fer some time. How do I know it’s not you she’s runnin’ from?”

He swore a blue streak and demanded, “Where the hell is she?”

“You ain’t gonna accomplish nothin’ with cuss words.”

“Sorry,” he said, realizing he couldn’t afford to antagonize his only lead to date. “What do you want me to do?”

“Come meet with me so I kin check you out.”

He resented the idea. Big time. Still he said, “Where?”

“Bayou Black. Thass outside Houma, Loozeanna. Jist ask anyone fer Tante Lulu’s place.”

“I’ll be there.” He checked his watch, saw that it was already seven p.m., and added, “Tomorrow morning.”

“Okey-dokey. One last thing. Savannah thinks yer dead.”

This just keeps getting worse and worse.
“What? I was a prisoner of war, never officially declared dead.”

“That ain’t what yer mother tol’ her.”

He was about to confront his mother, but decided that could wait.

“Do you have one of them dress uniforms .
 . . like that Richard Gere wore in
An Officer and a Gentleman
? Wimmen drool over stuff like that.”

Yeah, that’s what I want. Grandma Moses getting the hots for me. Not!
“I have a dress uniform,” he offered hesitantly, “but Gere played a Navy officer, I think, and I’m Army. Army Special forces.”

“Thass even better. We Cajuns like ta do things up right when it comes ta grand reunions. The Cajun Village People, a surprise weddin’, that kinda thing.”

“Huh?”

“You gotta play this jist right,
cher
. Knock Savannah’s socks off .
 . . or her panties, as my nephew Tee-John would say.
Tee-hee-hee!”

Am I really about to take love advice from a senior citizen?

“Wimmen melt over men in uniform.”

That he did know for true. Yo-yo panties were not uncommon for soldiers picking up chicks in a singles bar, especially near a base just before deployment.

“I remember the time my Phillipe came home from the war jist before D-Day.” Her sigh could be heard over the telephone lines.

This woman is hundred-proof crazy.
Still, she was his only link to Savannah.

“You might wanna say a little prayer to St. Jude, too. He’s the patron saint of hopeless cases.” The old lady was on a ramble again. “You got a hope chest?”

“Huh?”

“I make hope chests fer all the men in my family ’cause men are basically hopeless. Do you want yer pillowcases monogrammed with M & S or S & M?”

Oh. My. God!
“I might be hopeless, but I don’t need any hope chest or pillow cases,” he started to say.

But she had already hung up.

Despite his confusion, he was smiling.

Until he saw the look of fury on his mother’s face.

“You’re going to chase after that girl, aren’t you?”

“I’m going to chase after both of my girls.” He’d already tapped in numbers for information and asked for the airlines. While he waited, he turned to his mother. “How could you tell Savannah that I was dead?”

Her pale face got flushed. Then she attempted to defend her actions. “You might have been.”

“That’s pathetic.”

“Matt, we’re your family. We were only doing what we thought best for you.”

He shook his head. “As far as I’m concerned, the only family I have is in Louisiana.”

You could say it was a LeDeux invasion .
 . .

IN TWO MORE DAYS, Savannah and Katie would be leaving for Alaska.

Her car was up for sale on one of the Internet auto sites. The plane tickets were purchased. She had reservations at a bed and breakfast in Anchorage. She’d even put in applications for teaching at several schools, and the prospects looked good.

If she hadn’t used up so much of her money making last minute purchases for their trip, she wouldn’t be working these last days before departure. Savannah was owed two weeks’ salary, which she doubted she would get if she weren’t here on Friday, payday.

And she hadn’t even had to sell her ring, which had been a real possibility there for a while. She’d pawned it twice a few years back, but then redeemed it, being the only thing Savannah had from Matt. She wanted to pass the ring on to his daughter one day.

“Jones, get your ass out here! You have three frickin’ orders up.”

Savannah grimaced as Hal Frankin’s voice boomed at her through the door of the ladies’ room. She could procrastinate only so long. She gave herself one last look-see in the mirror and cringed. A Daisy Mae blouse with a stretchy neckline, meant to be off the shoulders, was tucked into black shorts, very short shorts. On her feet were red high heels that already made her toes ache, and she hadn’t even started her shift.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” she said as she ambled out.

Hal was leaning against the wall, arms folded over his bull-like chest, waiting for her. “What the hell is up with you?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“That outfit is supposed to show the tops of your boobs and half your butt cheeks. How’d you manage to make it look like librarian’s day at a strip joint?”

A lot of tugging and seam loosening.
“I’m wearing the damn thing.”

“That’s a good idea, actually.”

“What?”

“You could do a strip routine as a prissy librarian with a nympho secret side.”

Can I barf now?
“I am not stripping. I’ve told you that a dozen times before.”

“We’ll see about that. Does CPS know you have a kid living in a car on the dangerous streets of the French Quarter?”

She gasped.

“Just kidding,” he said, but she wasn’t sure that he was. “You wanna keep this job?”

“Yes.”
Hell, no!

“Then stop bein’ so—”

Just then, the chef yelled out, “Pick up 8, 9, 10. Mayday! The eggs are gettin’ cold.”

That was her cue. Thank God!

She rushed over to pick up her orders. As she was balancing a tray over her shoulder, she passed Celeste Arnaud coming off the stage. Celeste was stark naked, except for five-inch clear plastic heels and a garter filled with dollar bills. A cell phone was pressed to her ear.

“I told you, Sammy. You cannot eat Sweet Froots cereal for lunch. With that much sugar, you’ll be bouncing off the walls. Tell Nana to make you a sandwich.”

Hal was up on stage, revving up the crowd for the next dancer while Savannah served food to three tables. She took two more orders over to the counter, hot wing sausage and scrambled eggs, a Cluck Burger made with ground, boneless hot wings, and a Cobb salad with bits of hot wings substituting for bacon. Wincing at the shrill static of the sound system before it erupted with “Mustang Sally,” she saw Sally Anderson, a college student who needed to supplement her scholarship money, come galloping out to loud cheers. She wore a cowboy hat, chaps, a G-string, boots, a garter, and a little vest that barely covered her breasts. There was much hooting and yelling and whistling, especially from the men sitting at the horseshoe-shaped bar that surrounded the stripper stage. And it wasn’t even the noon rush yet.