The phone rang at two-thirty, while I was napping on the couch, tissues and tea within easy reach. I didn’t want to move, but the caller ID said Ashe Security & Investigations, so I thought it was Michael.
“Hi honey,” I said sleepily.
“Put your boyfriend on the phone,” Jerry snarled. No commentary about my slip.
“He’s not here, Jerry.” I rarely saw him this angry and it concerned me.
“What do you mean he’s not there? He said he had to run a quick errand and would be back for a two-o’clock meeting. I just had a guy back out of what could have been a very lucrative contract because of him. Where is he?”
This was not good. I joked about Jerry being a Boy Scout, but when it came to dependability, Michael was almost on the same level. “I mean he’s not here, Jerry. I haven’t seen him since he left this morning. He’s not answering his cell?” An obvious question, but he might not have thought of it if he was this pissed off.
“He took a cue from you and didn’t take his cell phone with him wherever he went for his “quick errand.” I thought he meant you.”
“And you thought what?” I snapped. “That I kept him from going back to work by taking him to bed for a nooner? I’ve got the flu, Jerry; I can barely move I feel so lousy. You know he’s more responsible than that.” Besides, by the time he made it here from the office he’d have about fifteen minutes before he had to head back. I like to take my time. I wiped my nose.
“Yeah, well I thought the same about you yesterday and look where that got me. You didn’t even give me the courtesy of a phone call to let me know you were all right.”
“At four a.m.? I was trying to be considerate.” I was also trying to avoid a confrontation similar to this one.
“You think I was sleeping?”
Well, yeah, I did. I was now reminded of why Jerry left the New Orleans Police Department. He took the crime victims’ plights personally. It gave him nervous ulcers. Those will keep anyone awake. I was not, however going to think of myself as a victim. I sneezed, blew my nose in a decidedly unladylike manner (Mom would have had a lace handkerchief in a purse or discreetly concealed in a sleeve and you never would have heard her) and tried to help him get a grip. To think logically.
“Jerry, did he take his car?” Start with the basics. Simple questions might get him to calm down and think more rationally. It was a way I had used as a reporter to get an interviewee comfortable.
His answer was terse. “Yes.”
“Okay, then there could be traffic, there could be an accident causing more traffic, he could be stuck behind a school bus, it’s the right time of day. This is Michael we’re talking about. Is he helping someone in trouble?” Wouldn’t he have told me?
“He would have told me. Or you.”
Damn. “Have you tried emailing him?” Michael bought a PDA before most people had heard of them.
“Tried it, no answer.”
“Damn. Now you’ve got me worried.”
“Good. You can think of someone besides yourself for a change.”
I felt like I’d been slapped. Hard. “I know you’re pissed off, Jerry, but that was uncalled for. I’ll be hanging up now.”
“Wait, Zo!”
“What?” I put the phone back to my ear, but didn’t bother to modulate my tone. I’d ducked talking to him because I knew he’d give me a hard time, but I was not going to take abuse heaped on top of being worried and being sick. It’s not like I planned on getting drugged and tossed in an alley, never mind getting accused of being a hooker.
I heard him take a deep breath. God give me patience and give it to me now, I thought. Kind of like Saint Augustine’s famous, “give me chastity, O Lord, but not yet!” I could hear my mother laughing. I missed her.
“He left about two hours ago,” Jerry had a hold of himself now. “He said he might be back a little late from lunch. I figured he was checking on you, no big deal. You’re the only thing I know that can distract him when he’s working.”
Thank you. I think. “Don’t blame me,” I said lightly, “you’re the one who sent him to Bloody Murder.”
Blessed silence, then he said. “Zo, are you really okay?” in a much more subdued voice.
“The flu’s knocked me flat, Jerry. I feel like hell. I probably look worse. Besides that, I’m a little banged up, but nothing’s broken. It’s no worse than falling down a flight of stairs. Really.”
“That doesn’t make me feel any better. Last time you fell down a flight of stairs it was because you tripped over a dead guy.”
“What are the odds of that happening again?” I replied “No, don’t answer that. We’re just going to have to sit tight. I don’t have a GPS locator on Michael, you know. I don’t know where he is.” Or where he could be.
“All right,” he mumbled. “I guess I wasted a good yell on you.”
I had to laugh. He really was worried, and that was as close as I would get to an apology. It was a tossup as to which of us was more of a control freak. And to think marriage to Ally had mellowed him. “Yeah, you did, but I forgive you. I’ll let you know the minute I hear anything. You do the same for me. “I said goodbye and we hung up.
Michael and I didn’t live in each other’s pockets. It was one of the things I liked about our relationship. He didn’t need to know where I was every second, though it wasn’t really hard to figure out. If I wasn’t at work or with him, I was most likely to be with Marie. Or at home, especially in the wintertime. It was a little too cold to spend a lot of time walking around the city and I rarely bothered to rent a car. Still, I was troubled. If Michael was discarding his boy scoutish tendencies, something could be seriously wrong. I checked my email. Nothing. I called my voice mail. Plenty of nothing. Enough of this, I decided, and called the store. I needed a friendly voice.
“Bloody Murder bookstore. This is James, how can I help you?”
Oh good. “It’s Zo, James. How’s it going?”
“Pretty dead, really. Pardon the pun. I haven’t seen a soul since Sam came in for an afternoon cup. He said to say he misses you and to get better. Are you feeling better? When are you coming back?”
“That’s sweet of Sam,” I said. To be honest, I feel pretty crummy. I’ll be back...” When? I didn’t know. If Michael hadn’t vanished, I would have gone home after going to the doctor tomorrow. Damn, if he expected me to be here, and I had no way of telling him I wasn’t, then I really wanted to be here. “I don’t know when, James. Did Michael stop by there today? I need some more clothes.” That was true. God help me, I hadn’t misused the truth this much since high school. Was I always this good at it? I didn’t think I wanted to know the answer.
“No, he didn’t, but he might have gone up the stairs on the St. Philip side. You did get a weird phone call, though.”
Holy pranks, Batman. “Weird how?” was all I said.
“Let me find the message.” I heard paper shuffling. “Here it is. She wouldn’t leave her name, but said, “Tell Zofia he lied to her.” That’s all she said. She wouldn’t leave a number. I checked the caller ID, she was calling from a pay phone.”
Zofia, not Zo. That narrowed the field a little bit. Someone I had met, but didn’t know well. Or, maybe someone who had seen my business card with my full name on it? Alternately, maybe a credit card receipt. A quick Google search would bring up Bloody Murder’s address and phone number. My cell and home phone were unlisted. That pointed the identity of the liar directly at Maurice the bartender. “That’s okay, James. I know who it was. Is Feliz there, or are you by yourself?”
“She said she could do payroll at home, so why should she pay the sitter?”
Good answer. “Okay James, hold down the fort.”
I couldn’t find a phone book, but the computer was right there. Two websites and a search and I found the phone number for the Inn at Bourbon. How to tackle this? Tell Maurice that I know he lied? He denied seeing Ian to both Marie and me. Well, I reasoned, if my straightforward approach didn’t get it out of him on my first try, and Marie at her flirtatious best didn’t either, it was time to try one of life’s other more powerful motivators: Fear.
“Get me Maurice.” I growled at the young-sounding woman who answered the phone. I could feel her jump on the other end. Good, it was working.
It took a minute for him to pick up the phone. “Yes, this is Maurice how can I help you?” he sounded bored.
Adding a shrill whine to my voice wasn’t difficult with a cold, and I certainly didn’t sound like myself. “We had a deal, you jerk! I paid you, and you were supposed to keep your stupid mouth shut!”
“I have! I didn’t say anything! The blonde came in on Tuesday, I didn’t tell her a thing. Another woman came in the next day. Really pretty, on the short side, lots of dark curly hair. I don’t know who she is; maybe you do. I told her the same thing I told the blonde. What do you want for a lousy hundred bucks?”
I had what I needed, but I kept up the pretense. “I want what I paid you for--silence. You don’t know who you’re dealing with. If you’re smart, you’ll keep it that way.” I slammed the phone down. Got him.