A Dark Horse Page 7

  For a few seconds the only sound on the line was the sound of uneven breathing.

  “Natalie?”

  Detective Lejeune’s voice was so achingly gentle that it actually hurt. Natalie placed a hand against her chest, on top of her heart, as though she could somehow touch the source of the searing pain.

  “Are you still there, Natalie? Is there someone there who can help you now?”

  Natalie turned toward her bedroom, her forehead wrinkled. Her chin quivered as she spoke. “I…I’m not sure.”

  There was another awkward pause. “Your mother? Maybe you could call her.”

  Natalie shook her head sharply. “Not until I see him and we know for sure.” Her voice trailed off as the lump in her throat grew too big to speak around. Oh, Josh. “I—I…”

  “Do you have any questions?”

  “Yes. No. I mean—” she stopped again. I should have questions. But she just…didn’t. What was left to say? Everything was too late. Josh was dead. Detective Lejeune had said that they couldn’t positively identify Josh from just the photo she had, but Natalie already knew deep in her heart that going to New Orleans would be nothing more than a formality. She could hear what the detective wasn’t saying.

  Then the tears began, scalding and fierce. They splashed onto her bare breasts and then the floor with a delicate plinking sound. Natalie swallowed hard a few times before she found her voice. “I’ll be there…” She cast through her memories, trying to recall if there was a nonstop, early morning flight. She told herself not to think about telling her mother and stepfather. Not now, not yet. Because surely that would drive her to her knees. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  Chapter Four

  “I’m so-sorry, Det-detec-tive.” On her hands and knees, Natalie lurched forward and brutally retched into the toilet in the ladies’ room at the New Orleans morgue. They hadn’t made it there in time the first time Natalie had vomited, or the second. This was round number three. Her stomach was long empty and cramped viciously as her body ignored that fact and tried to turn itself inside out.

  “Don’t apologize.” Adele held Natalie’s hair out of the way with one hand and rubbed small circles between her shoulder blades with the other. “It’s okay,” she said softly, her lips near the back of Natalie’s head. “Just let it out.”

  Detective Lejeune had told Natalie that Josh looked different now. She’d said in hushed, almost reverent tones that Josh had been through a lot and for her to be ready to be shocked and disturbed and a million other things. She’d warned her that the teenager was unkempt and very thin and that his body showed the wear and tear of someone who’d lost themselves to drugs and ultimately violence.

  And Natalie had listened closely, nodded numbly, and girded her emotional loins as she told the morgue attendant to raise the curtain that separated her and her brother. And now, only a few minutes later, she understood that nothing could have prepared her for this.

  Nothing could have prepared her to see the boy that she had taught to ride a bike, who loved peanut butter cookies, and hockey, and fuzzy slippers that resembled Sasquatch feet, looking as though he’d been living under a bridge or in a concentration camp. Nothing could have set her mind on the path that would allow her to accept seeing him stretched out on a cold steel slab, a white towel covering the ruined half of his head and a pristine sheet draped over his skinny body.

  This was so beyond what she knew and could process that she’d asked the morgue attendant to look for several known scars to convince herself that she even knew this sad, dead boy at all.

  Natalie sat back on her heels and drew in a shaky breath. Then another. Until the spasms in her stomach began to ease. “I didn’t mean to do that. The mess I made…the morgue floor…I’m sorry.”

  Adele gently squeezed her arm. “Don’t be embarrassed about that.” She moved away and plucked a few paper towels from the dispenser and ran them under cool water.

  When Natalie tried to get up to join the detective at the sink, Adele said, “S’okay. I locked the door. Nobody will bother us.” She pressed the cool towels against Natalie’s clammy, hot forehead and let her sit there on the bathroom floor as long as she needed.

  Natalie’s eyes fluttered closed as she greedily sucked in the comfort the way a man in the desert attacks a tall glass of water, knowing that once she got home no one would take care of her like this again, not without expecting something from her in return. Her mother and stepfather were out of the question.

  And Hannah was a lot of things…attractive and brilliant, chief among them, but their relationship was…complicated. Natalie knew she’d be lying to herself if she said Hannah was her safe passage in a storm.

  Natalie experienced a rush of not only gratitude, but also affection, for the detective, and after a moment more, felt a bit more like herself. A bit more in control. The worst was done and she would deal with the rest. “Thank you.” She took the paper towels from Adele’s hand, folded them in half, then used them to wipe her mouth and chin.

  Adele merely nodded and graced her with a kind smile.

  With a groan, Natalie teetered to the sink to wash her hands and rinse her mouth.

  Adele never left her side, then seemed to remember something, and pulled a roll of breath mints from the pocket of her cotton slacks. She held them out to Natalie, who gave her a grateful look.

  Natalie popped two mints into her mouth and began to chew, the flavor and strong scent already helping to quell any lingering nausea. “Do all the family members who come here get this sort of attention?”

  Adele looked a little flustered and refused to take the roll of mints back from Natalie. “I don’t know. Luckily, I don’t have to come here often, but when I do, I help out however I can.” She shrugged lightly. “It’s my job.”

  “Somehow, I don’t think holding my hair while I vomited multiple times is in your job description, Detective.”

  “I didn’t mind.”

  Natalie found herself envious of Detective Landry Odette as she wondered what it would be like to have someone in her life on a full-time basis who was capable of such tender devotion. She threw away the paper towels and mint wrappers and brushed her hands off on her pants.

  “Any chance you’d like to get some tea to settle your stomach? It always makes me feel better after I’ve been sick.”

  The questions that wouldn’t come at half past four in the morning now flooded Natalie, and she nodded. Suddenly, she wanted more time together.

  “Good,” Adele said, obviously relieved.

  For the first time, Natalie noticed the wrinkled clothes and dark circles under the other woman’s bloodshot, honey-brown eyes.

  “I know just the place.”

  * * *

  “Have a seat. I’ll be right back to make us that tea in just a minute.” Adele ushered Natalie into a tall paisley highboy chair in her living room, then moved to her thermostat and turned up the air conditioner.

  Outside, the sky was a stunning blue, and hot sunshine beat down on large, steaming rain puddles. The air was heavy and smelled like ozone and muddy water. To Natalie, New Orleans was like being on the inside of a giant, tropical volcano.

  Grateful for the sudden blast of cooler air from a nearby vent, Natalie gave Adele a watery smile when Adele said, “Make yourself comfortable,” before padding out of sight down a dim hallway. Her already light footfalls grew quieter with every step.

  Natalie glanced around Adele’s living room, a little overwhelmed. Okay, a lot overwhelmed. Without permission, tears filled her eyes and then spilled over. She brushed them away with shaky fingers, and when they wouldn’t stop, she just let them come. Natalie didn’t want to fall to pieces but wasn’t sure she could stop herself.

  She couldn’t get the image of Josh’s dead body out of her head. No matter what else was in front of her, there it was in her mind’s eye, festering. Then there were the drugs. Detective Lejeune had said Josh had most likely been using heroin. Heroin. Just t
he word was terrifying. Jesus, what kind of insane death spiral had her brother been living? And why couldn’t she help him? Why wouldn’t he let her?

  Adele returned a few minutes later and crouched down in front of Natalie. “Where are you staying?” she asked softly. She handed the other woman a box of Kleenex.

  Mindlessly, Natalie’s hand reached out for the Kleenex box of its own accord. Dazed, she frowned. “Huh?”

  “What hotel?”

  “I-I don’t know. What?” Then the words seemed to register. “No place yet. If it hadn’t been him…I mean, at the morgue…” Tears continued to stream down her face, and it was Adele who snatched a tissue from the box and began to tenderly wipe Natalie’s cheeks. “I wasn’t sure whether I would fly home tonight so I-I-I bought a one-way ticket and didn’t get a hotel room.”

  “We have a guest room. You can lie down there.”

  “N-no.” Natalie’s frown deepened. “You weren’t expecting a guest.” But the idea of staying suddenly called to her with the strength of a dozen sirens. She felt safe when she was with the detective, as though everything would somehow end up all right, even though the time for that had long since passed.

  “You’re more than welcome in my house, Natalie.” Adele extracted a few more tissues and attentively continued to tend to the never-ending stream of hot tears. “In fact, maybe you’d like to lie down now?”

  Yes. And pull the covers over my head and block out the entire world.

  “You’re tired too,” Natalie said, as though somehow it wouldn’t be right for her to rest if Detective Lejeune didn’t. She leaned in to the other woman’s touch.

  “I am tired,” Adele agreed in a weary murmur. “But I can’t sleep quite yet anyway. I have to pick up Logan from daycare. Then there’s his dinner and bath and we need to spend a little time together.” She stifled a yawn. “But we’ll be going to bed as early as I can manage.”

  Natalie’s shoulders caved in on themselves, the tension falling from her body in visible waves. “Thank you. I d-don’t want to be alone.” She sniffed.

  “You’re not alone.”

  “But…” Natalie didn’t know why she was trying to find a reason she couldn’t stay when she so desperately didn’t want to go. Like maybe she didn’t deserve to feel safe and peaceful when Josh wouldn’t ever feel anything again. “Your husband might not want…he might not want you to-to bring your work home with you.”

  Adele released a heavy sigh. “You’re not work, Natalie. You’re a person. And Landry will be fine.”

  There was an edge to Adele’s voice that Natalie didn’t understand.

  “C’mon.” Adele gently tugged her from her chair and led her down a hall to a modest-sized guest room. She gestured to a side door. “Bathroom is in there.”

  Restless but drained, Natalie lay down on top of the bed, her eyes closing immediately, though the tears didn’t seem to want to stop. “Wake me. Wake me when you’re ready to pick up your s-s-son, and I’ll find a hotel. And—”

  “Shh…” Adele took the tissue box from Natalie’s already limp hand and set it on the nightstand. “We can talk later.”

  Natalie’s mind began to drift. Part of it here, basking in the other woman’s strong presence, part of it holding Josh’s small hand the first time the little boy braved the cold water of Lake Mendota, and part it of it back home, in her seat, in her mother’s kitchen.

  She heard the light click off and the door creak closed, and in the next few breaths Natalie floated into an exhausted slumber.

  * * *

  Deep purple clouds had moved in and hung over New Orleans in the dark hours before dawn when Natalie awoke.

  It took a few seconds to remember where she was and why she was here, and her stomach twisted into a painful knot when she did. “Oh, God,” she hissed lowly, wishing this had all been nothing but a bad dream.

  Natalie knew she should have called her parents yesterday afternoon or evening. But between a drive from the city morgue to the detective’s house—where she vacillated wildly between silent numbness and gut-wrenching sobs—and when she practically collapsed in Detective Lejeune’s guest room, the right moment never came.

  A phone call at this hour would surely frighten her mother. Then again, Natalie pondered with icy logic, what the older woman would be afraid of was that someone was dead. And someone was.

  But how could Natalie tell her mother that Josh was dead over the phone? It seemed cruel. Especially when she still wasn’t sure exactly what had happened to him. Detective Lejeune had only given her the barest description of a possible robbery gone bad, promising more when she got to New Orleans and then delaying that discussion again until after their trip to the morgue. After that, Natalie had been in no condition to do much of anything but cry.

  Even after what had to have been twelve solid hours of sleep, she felt fatigued, but too uneasy to go back to bed. Eager to think of anything but her brother’s murder, she softly crept from the guest bedroom and began to explore the silent house, grateful for this respite before dealing with her parents.

  Natalie had never been able to process strong emotions quickly. And even though Josh had been gone for two years, and she’d wondered a hundred times if the worst had happened, now that it actually had, it felt a little like the sky was falling all at once.

  When Adele had offered her a drink to settle her stomach, Natalie assumed they’d head to one of the hundreds of cafés in the city, not the detective’s own home. Being here now, especially in the middle of the night, felt very personal. Oddly so. The more Natalie considered it, the more she realized the characterization fit their relationship perfectly. Oddly personal. Adele was professional, of course, but she exuded so much warmth and empathy that Natalie couldn’t help but see that as something that came directly from the woman, and not simply as part of her job.

  In all honesty, Natalie had never met anyone quite like Adele.

  The short amount of time they’d spent together now, and two years ago, was so intense for Natalie, as though her chest had been cracked wide open with nothing to block Adele’s view directly inside. On one hand the vulnerability was mortifying. Unacceptable. On the other, the detective had never stopped trying to jam a life preserver over her head even as Natalie floundered.

  Natalie thought about the day before and the horrors that had piled on top of each other, one after another, and recalled how Detective Lejeune had held her hand the entire time. Ugh. Think of something else! Something simple. So she exited the hallway and examined the living room and its contents in the bluish light of predawn.

  The space wasn’t at all what she expected from two police detectives with a small child…or maybe it was children now? Two years was a long time. If pressed to guess, Natalie would have said Detective Lejeune inhabited a newish apartment that was more fashionable and modern than classically pretty. And she would have been completely wrong.

  The bright yellow house with white and turquoise trim was what Adele had described as an 1850s Creole Cottage and was located in the Faubourg Marigny neighborhood of the city. It wasn’t large, but Natalie hazily recalled that it looked to be the nicest property on an old block. And judging by the number of houses under renovation and the detailed paint jobs in progress, it was a street in transition.

  Natalie ran her fingertip over a dust-free bureau top as she walked. Either the detectives had the mother of all housekeepers or one of them was seriously anal retentive about messiness. No toys or magazines or dishes marred the sense of pristine order that she had to admit felt comforting when everything else around her was so out of control.

  The living room was furnished with mahogany antiques that complemented the rich ochre walls and sage green cloth accents that looked mostly gray in the dim light. Silver-framed photos of smiling people dotted most of the available surfaces, and an enormous Oriental rug covered dark wood floors and dominated the center of the room. Several shuttered side windows were filled with stained glass that allowed am
bient light from other houses and streetlights to stream in. During the day, she imagined, the late afternoon sunshine would scatter colored light beams everywhere.

  The vibe of the room was one of quiet refinement, a comfortable mix of masculine and feminine, function and old-world class.

  An elegant cop. Who knew?

  * * *

  Adele appeared behind Natalie, her hair a little messy from sleep and hanging freely around her shoulders. A thin, melon-colored T-shirt and heather-gray gym shorts had replaced her designer slacks and silk blouse, and showed off long, lean legs and bare feet. Adele’s face had long since been scrubbed free of makeup, and her gun and badge were locked safely away.

  What had happened at the Dixie Brewery and then her confrontations with her lieutenant and Landry left her feeling like the outside layer of her skin had been peeled away. But even so, she couldn’t stop thinking about Natalie and how crushed she’d be in her shoes. When Adele heard the light creaking of the floors she’d been meaning to fix, she left her room to make sure it wasn’t Logan walking the halls.

  She knew it wasn’t Landry. He hadn’t come home at all.

  Hidden by the shadows, she’d observed Natalie peacefully exploring and decided to fetch that long-promised cup of tea to give the professor a little more time on her own. Natalie seemed almost content and Adele was loath to interrupt the moment of desperately needed peace.

  Both cups now in hand, she decided to make herself known.

  “Do you like them?” Her voice low, Adele smiled at the windows a little nostalgically. “A friend of the family, who was an artist, made the stained glass when I was a little girl. I couldn’t wait until I had a place where I could use them.”

  She handed Natalie a bone china teacup full of steaming liquid.

  Natalie looked startled to see her, then stared at her for several seconds longer than was strictly polite, her eyes just a little wider than normal.

  Adele bit back a chuckle. She’d experienced the same thing once when she was a child and had seen her grade school teacher at a local service station, pumping gas. Seeing her out of her element, in sweatpants and a hoodie, just seemed wrong somehow, as though she wasn’t a regular person who should exist beyond the confines of her job.