CHAPTER 24

BJ Donovan had gone straight home, after having given up on the search for the absent maître d’ of Wild Capers, in order to keep from losing essential story details she’d mentally collected during her conversation with the homicide detective.

She brought a cup of coffee to her office along with a sheet of paper on which she’d written down some of her thoughts while waiting for the coffeemaker. Clicked on the stereo, turned the volume low. Started typing the instant she sat down at her computer.

Dining with Detective Mick Boutin at So-and-So restaurant, Alma tells him she has a stalker. She says

“She says what?” BJ leaned back in her chair, held her chin on her palm. No sooner had she told Detective Northcutt she had a stalker than she quickly downplayed the statement. She dug around in her desk drawer for an inkpen and paper. Wrote: give the restaurant a name.

Alma was ready to get out of the house, and go somewhere new for a change. Someplace where she didn’t have to talk to anybody. Perhaps the wooded trail at the little park in her neighborhood?

While lacing up her running shoes, the phone rang. “Hello?”

“Hello, Alma. Did you get my email, pretty girl?”

The creepy whispering voice in her ear frightened her. “Who is this? What do you want from me?” Without waiting for a response she shouted “I have nothing you want.”

“Yes you do, Alma,” he said. “You have everything I ever wanted in a woman. And I can make you very happy.”

Alma slammed down the receiver. Pretty girl? Roger was the only person whoever called her that.

BJ paused. Fiddled with the pencil holder on her desk to help her think. Made a decision to change the character from slightly dull Roger to slightly exciting Jacob. No one would ever know pretty girl was Roger’s thing. Except Roger. And he doesn’t matter.

Her hand shook while she filled a cordial glass with brandy. The trip to the park was cancelled.

She put the empty glass next to the phone on the foyer table. Had a seat in the beige armchair beside it. Tapped out the number on the business card Detective Boutin had given her at the restaurant.

“Homicide,” said Detective Johnny Doughnut on Boutin’s phone, which had started ringing as he was passing by.

She highlighted Doughnut in yellow to remember to change it later. Stopping just to come up with a name for a character or a place always screwed up the rest of her thinking.

“I need to speak with Detective Boutin,” Alma exclaimed.

“Who’s calling?”

“Tell him its Alma, Alma LeVeaux. Please hurry.”

“Hang on, ma’am. He’s downstairs.”

She listened to the steady ticking of the clock. It seemed like an eternity for him to answer.

“Alma, what’s wrong?” Detective Boutin asked.

“I got a call from that maniac, my stalker.” She sniffled, noisily.

“Give me your address.”

“I live in the French Quarter, 1313 Bokor Lane.”

“I’m on my way. Don’t answer the phone or let anyone in but me. Understand?” Thunder crashing overhead, Mick reached for his windbreaker. “Alma, where’s your husband?”

“He’s in the upper Midwest region. Michigan, I think. Please hurry, Detective Boutin, I’m very frightened.”

BJ pushed away from the computer. After a quick pee break, she went to the kitchen. Splashed tequila in a short glass. Swallowed too fast and started coughing. Drank a little more to soothe her raw throat.

She returned to the story, the words swirling around her brain so fast she feared losing them.

Mick Boutin announced his arrival at Alma’s townhouse by rapidly banging an antique dark brass knocker in the shape of a raven’s claw. When she opened the door he felt a tug on his heartstrings. She was crying, defenselessly. He wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms and comfort her, but that was her husband’s job. Mick not only didn’t want to create any problems, but he sure as hell didn’t want to receive any, either. Particularly from a jealous or irate husband.

No sooner had he closed the door than she fell into his arms, buried her face against his chest. Continued crying. Taken by surprise, he didn’t know what to do. He caressed her back. “Calm down. Everything’s going to be all right.” He loosely folded his arms around her waist. She seemed small and fragile.

Alma grew aware of her actions. She backed away. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me. I was just so upset. His voice, it was downright creepy.”

“Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay.” A loud clap of thunder. A vision of his wife’s face replaced Alma’s. He released her. “Tell me what happened.”

Rain tapped against the window panes. The room felt damp.

“He asked if I had read his email. He said I had everything he ever wanted. Then he said not only could he make me very happy he planned to show me how. I-I hung up the phone before he said anything else. His voice, it was muffled, garbled. Like maybe he held a handkerchief over the mouthpiece?”

“I hate to tell you this, but there isn’t much I can do for you. You could get a new phone number. That’d be a start.”

“I couldn’t do that without first discussing it with my husband. When he’s out of the office or his cell phone is off for any number of reasons, his calls come here. Everyone he knows would have to be contacted. Everyone. I have no idea how many people have our number. But beyond all of that, what possible reason could I give him for wanting the number changed?”

She snatched a handful of tissues out of the box on the foyer table, patted her face. Wringing her hands, she paced the foyer. Dabbing tearless eyes, she peeked at him over the tissues and assessed his emotional reactions and facial expressions.

“Rex was supposed to go from Detroit, Michigan to Lake Charles, Louisiana today. If everything goes according to plan, he’ll be in his hotel room around five this evening. I’ll give him a call later, and ask him to come home.”

“Good for you,” Mick responded, encouragingly. “He needs to stick around more often, and do something to help you with this awful situation you’ve gotten yourself into.”

“No! He’ll just get angry and scold me, or worse, for messing around with the internet in the first place. I can’t tell him. Don’t you see?” On a calmer note she added, “I’ll have to think of another reason for him to come home.”

Mick nodded. “All right. Call if you need me.”

Alma locked the door, surprised Boutin didn’t ask to see the email she claimed her stalker had sent to her.

Not quite ready to call Detective Northcutt, she scrolled back to the start of the chapter so she could relay the details of her stalker exactly the way she’d written them. “I wonder if the cop will bitch a fit if he finds out that I’m just using him to get this novel written?”