Neighbors and Other Strangers Read online

  He thought about the phone call he had received from his New Orleans contact several months ago regarding an ex-cop named Burgess. He had given Burgess a few small jobs, more to keep an eye on him than for any other reason. Burgess had, as Rossi’s New Orleans friend predicted, asked for another favor. Rossi told him he would think about it. He hadn’t given Burgess an answer.

  Reaching for one of the prepaid mobile phones that were a part of doing business these days, he dialed a New Orleans number.

  “You called me several months ago about a dirty cop named Burgess. As you said, he requested a favor involving Trent Marshall. How dangerous is Marshall?”

  He listened, thanked his friend and ended the call. He handed the phone to one of his security team to be destroyed.

  With a sigh, Rossi forced himself to leave his beautiful garden. Business must be addressed. He returned a few minutes later having used a high frequency radio transmitter to send a burst transmission. A message that was both compressed and encrypted. He would receive a reply using the same method when the recipient chose to send it. If the recipient chose to reply at all.

  “Why did you decide to have the wedding at your mom’s farm?” Mandy asked.

  “I don’t think we had a choice,” Trent said, good-naturedly. He wisely let Darcey tell the rest of the story.

  She had called her mother first thing Thursday morning to tell her the news. She had turned on the phone’s speaker so Trent could hear the conversation.

  “I’m so happy for you, Darcey,” her mom gushed. “This is the best news you could ever give me. Well, except maybe when you call to tell me there’s a grandchild on the way.”

  “Mom! Let’s not rush things,” Darcey said, laughing as she watched Trent’s eyes grow wide.

  “I’m just so excited,” Betty said. “And, Darcey, we have to have the wedding here at the Pines. An outdoor wedding. It’ll be beautiful!”

  “We haven’t even talked about details yet, Mom,” Darcey said.

  “Darcey Jane,” Betty said, “I went to New Orleans for Thanksgiving. I flew to San Francisco for Christmas. It’s my turn. It’s only fair that I get to host your wedding.”

  Darcey mouthed to Trent, “She used my middle name!”

  Trent smiled. He kissed her ear and whispered, “Tell her we’d love to have the wedding at the Pines.” He went back to the kitchen to let the women negotiate the details while he made breakfast.

  “Well, OK, Mom, you win,” Darcey said. “But we were thinking late June. It’ll be awfully hot.”

  “Don’t worry about that. We’ll get misters and fans. We’ll set up canopies. It’ll be wonderful. And you’ll be the most beautiful bride ever.”

  After breakfast both got on the phone to call Ivy with the news.

  “Trent, I told you that woman was something special the first time I met her,” Ivy said. “I know you’ll take good care of that boy, Darcey. And if he don’t take good care of you, let me know. He’s not too big for me to handle.”

  She was thrilled to learn that the wedding would be at the Pines.

  “I’m gonna call your momma right now, Darcey,” she said. “We got plans to make.”

  “Don’t y’all get too carried away, Ivy,” Trent said. “Darcey should have some say. This is her wedding.”

  “Oh, we’ll do it up like she wants,” Ivy promised. “But y’all got to let us old folks have a little fun.”

  Jordan Baron congratulated them both and wished them well. He wasn’t particularly surprised. He was appreciative when Trent asked him to be his best man. Jack Blake, the sheriff of Sabine Parish where the Pines was located, agreed to stand up with Trent also. Especially since it was an election year. There would be voters at the wedding.

  Scott’s phone rang. He looked at the number and frowned.

  “Sorry,” he said. “I have to take this call. It’s a client.”

  “Tell’em it’s Sunday,” Miles said.

  “Take it in a bedroom, if you want privacy, Scott,” Darcey said.

  Scott nodded his thanks as he spoke into the phone, entering the condo.

  “It seems to me, my dear, that there was never any doubt the wedding would be held at the Pines,” Preston said, chuckling. “I knew when I first met your mother that she would be a force with which to reckon when she made her mind up about something. I’m looking forward to it. And I’m also looking forward to another of these delicious beignets and more café au lait. Trent, would you be so kind?” He held his cup out.

  “Anyone else for café au lait?” Trent asked.

  Miles handed his cup to Trent. “Chief Operations Officers don’t wait tables. I’ll have another.”

  “Darcey, you’ve created a monster,” Mandy said, laughing at Miles’ theatrics.

  “Well, just think of it, Miss Mandy,” Miles said. “Who would ever have thought a kid who grew up on the streets would wind up in such an exalted position? Or, for that matter, that this little group would be headed to a farm in Louisiana for a wedding among the horses and cows and chickens and who knows what else?”

  “We don’t have cows and chickens, Miles,” Darcey said. “Only horses. And one donkey.”

  Preston chuckled. “It’s the serendipity of life that makes it interesting, Miles.”

  As Trent prepared the coffee in the kitchen, the sound of Scott’s voice attracted his attention. He looked up to see Scott speaking animatedly into the phone. He couldn’t understand what was being said but judging by the look on his face Scott had a visceral fear of whatever was being discussed.

  It wasn’t Trent’s business. He took the café au lait back to the terrace.

  Their guests having left, Trent and Darcey cleaned the kitchen. Trent took the trash down the hall and around the corner to the bin located past the elevator. He heard doors opening and closing. He heard Mrs. Philby’s anxious cry. James Williams’ nasty laugh. Wanting to avoid becoming involved, he stopped just out of sight. The next thing he heard came unexpectedly.

  Mrs. Philby’s voice became calm. It dropped to a lower register.

  “You think you frighten me, James Williams,” the old woman said, speaking deliberately. “You think I’m just a doddering old fool. Perhaps I am. But let me ask you something. Did you know I sleep with ear plugs?”

  Silence.

  “Do you know why?”

  More silence.

  “Do you know what the letters MRAD mean?”

  Still more silence.

  “Median Range Acoustics Device,” the woman continued. “My condominium is equipped with such a device. If anyone attempts to break into my condominium, they will be met with a sound of such intensity, at such a high decibel level, they will be overcome. The pain will be debilitating. Their ear drums will burst. They will be permanently deaf. I warn you to back off.”

  She paused.

  “Leave me alone,” were her final words.

  Trent heard two doors close. Williams had said not a word. Trent made a mental note to get ear plugs.

  Saturday, June 25th

  They had worked quickly to put the wedding together in only two months. Darcey insisted that she didn’t want it too big or too fancy. Betty and Ivy grumbled but agreed. Still the old house at the Pines never looked more beautiful. Having been described as the finest example of early 19th century “Dog Trot” architecture in the nation, the ancestral home of Betty Anderson’s family, the Belmonts, was in its glory.

  The sun was bright. The forecast for temperatures in the mid-80s. Quite comfortable for late June. To be safe, Betty and Ivy, as promised, arranged for a large tent-like canopy to be erected. Fans and misters were set up all around the seating area where the wedding would take place as well as on the edges of the canopy.

  Trent stood with the minister in front of the crowd dressed in a white linen suit, sans tie. His groomsmen, Jordan Baron and Jack Blake, wore black suits, also with no ties.

  Two of Darcey’s cousins were assigned to escort Betty and Ivy down the aisle
. As Ivy took the seat reserved for the groom’s mother, whispering was heard in the crowd. It wasn’t that anyone disapproved of a black couple at the wedding. There were, in fact, several black families, friends of both sides, in attendance. It was a surprise that she was honored by being seated in the chair reserved for the groom’s mother.

  Not everyone in attendance knew that when his mother passed away unexpectedly Trent became very close to Ivy and Walter. Later, when first his father, then his mother’s aunt passed, Ivy and Walter became the only family he had. He insisted that they be publicly acknowledged.

  But it was when Miles Diaz-Douglas made his way down the aisle to take his place as one of Darcey’s bridesmaids that the rustle of the crowd became truly audible.

  Not knowing what to expect, Scott sat muttering quietly to himself, wishing he had another of Trent’s peach martinis. Still he had to admit Miles did make a stunning bridesmaid.

  Miles happily pranced down the aisle in his black suit and pink linen shirt. He loved the pink shirt. It reminded him of sunsets and strawberry daiquiris. He held a bouquet of white flowers with one pink rose in the center. He took his place on Darcey’s side of the minister.

  Jack Blake was nervous. “I don’t know about this guy, Trent,” he whispered. “It’s an election year, you know.”

  “Yes,” Trent said quietly, “and do you know how many gay voters there are in this parish?”

  “No.”

  “Neither do I. But you just won all their votes.

  “I see what you mean,” Jack said, now smiling. He looked over the assembled guests. Wondering.

  Mandy Rillard followed Miles. She wore a fashionable black dress and carried the same bouquet of white flowers as had Miles.

  The beautiful white flowers of the Spanish dagger, the plant that had come to be known as the Lord’s Candelabra in the soon to be combined Marshall-Anderson families, were in full bloom. It was those flowers that Darcey chose for herself and her bridesmaids to hold when they made their way down the aisle.

  Trent watched Darcey walking toward him, her hand on the arm of Preston Johnson. The old man was elegant as always in his black suit. The sun glinted off his silver hair and mustache, the gold handle of his ever-present cane. He placed Darcey’s hand in Trent’s then took his seat beside Betty. He could not have been more proud had he been Darcey’s father.

  Trent held Darcey’s hands. For years he had felt lonely even when surrounded by people who cared about him. He held her hands and felt the loneliness fade into the past. He didn’t know what the future held for them. He could hardly wait to find out.

  The champagne flowed freely after the brief ceremony. Toasts were made by Jordan and Jack, Mandy and Miles.

  Preston rose and tapped his glass, indicating his desire to make a toast. As the guests quieted, he spoke in his cultured tone.

  “The phrase locum tenens usually refers to the medical profession. But I beg your indulgence to use it in a more general sense today. It has been my honor to serve locum tenens…temporarily… in the place of your father today, Darcey. I know he would be so proud if he was here. On his behalf, and in spiritual kinship with him, I wish you both a long and happy life together.”

  As it turned out, Miles was a huge hit with the guests. The sheriff even insisted on having his picture taken with him. But Miles refused…adamantly refused…Darcey’s dare to ride one of the horses.

  “Absolutely not,” he said, defiantly. “That is not the kind of animal I am accustomed…”

  “Miles!” Scott interrupted.

  Miles caught himself before he said something inappropriate.

  “Well, no. I won’t do it. That’s all.”

  Everyone laughed. Even the ones who weren’t quite sure why they were laughing.

  Sunday, June 26th

  Alexis was relieved promptly at six o’clock by the guy who had drawn the Sunday night shift. She liked him. He was a funny looking little guy around 30, a bald spot already beginning to show through his short hair. He always seemed nervous around her, but he was polite and he made her laugh.

  Monday and Tuesday were her days off. She was looking forward to sleeping late both mornings. It was a short ten minute walk to the Montgomery Street BART station. From there it was just over half an hour and another ten minute walk to the house in Richmond, just north of Berkeley, her home for now. After all she had been through, it was an idyllic place.

  She walked briskly, watching the myriad of people crowding the streets of the city. She was amazed, happily so, at how her life had turned around. She had been born Alexis Brandt near Sacramento to a dysfunctional family. In her desperation to escape she made bad choices. Heavily into drugs by 15, she was turning tricks on her own at 16.

  Then she met John Neal. He rolled up beside her on his Low Rider. He had an evil smile that turned her on and an endless supply of drugs. He convinced her to go with him to New Orleans. They’d have some fun, he said. There would be easy money, he said. She was stoned. She didn’t care. She climbed on the bike behind him and held on.

  In the Crescent City, John took her to meet an older man. The man gave John some money and that was the last she saw of him. The next ten years were a maze of strip clubs and motel rooms with strangers who had the price. Every day was a desperate search for another day’s supply of whatever drug would let her escape the misery of her reality. They called her Piper. She didn’t know who Piper was. It was someone she pretended to be.

  Her life took a turn when she was arrested the last time. It happened by accident. The lieutenant wasn’t vice. He wasn’t looking for hookers. She propositioned him in front of the casino. With a crowd of tourists looking on, he had no choice. He arrested her more out of pity than sense of duty.

  As he guided a stumbling Piper into the precinct, Bev Prentiss was coming out.

  “Where y’at, Jordan?” she said, greeting him with the uniquely New Orleans phrase.

  “Awright, Bev. Awright.”

  “Who you got there?”

  ”Don’t know her. She calls herself Piper.”

  “Mind if I talk to her?”

  Jordan stepped away to give them privacy, making sure to stay between his prisoner and the door.

  Bev ran a rehabilitation program for addicts. She had a special feeling for young women on the street. Girls like Piper. Bev had been one of them. But that was a long time ago. She was over 60 now and had put on several pounds since her time on the street. Today she was dressed in her usual jeans and men’s blue work shirt with the sleeves rolled up.

  She had helped several women recover from the addictions and move on to happier lives. She had some failures. Some were heartbreaking. But she never gave up on the girls as long as they didn’t give up on themselves.

  She talked quietly to the young woman for a few minutes. Jordan saw Piper nod her head. He saw Bev speak again. From the look on her face she was speaking sternly. Piper chewed on her lip. She nodded her head again.

  Bev seemed satisfied. She left Piper sitting on the bench looking dazed.

  “Think you might talk to a judge and get her assigned to me?” she asked. “I think I can help her. At least I’d like to try.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  The next six months were hell for Piper. By the seventh month, Piper no longer existed. Alexis Brandt had come back to life.

  Bev and Alexis decided it was best if she got out of New Orleans. She needed to be in a place where no one knew Piper. Where no one would try to convince Piper to come back to life to walk the streets again. Bev had a friend, a retired nurse who worked with her at the rehab facility, who had inherited a small house in California’s Bay area.

  When Bev asked, Abby said she would be happy to rent Alexis a room. She was a good choice. She knew exactly what she was getting into. She could help Alexis in her continuing recovery. If problems developed, Abby knew how to handle those, too.

  Alexis was almost skipping up the short sidewalk to the small house. Her li
ght brown hair bounced on her shoulders. Her birthday was coming up in August. Abby had promised to take her to Napa Valley to commemorate the occasion. She didn’t remember anyone ever acknowledging her birthday. Her first birthday celebration would come when she turned twenty-seven. But the past didn’t matter. She was excited for the present. For the future.

  Stepping lightly up the two concrete steps to the porch, she unlocked the door and stepped inside. She froze where she stood. All the light seemed to have suddenly been sucked out of the house, leaving her in darkness. Darkness that threatened to close in on her. To crush her.

  “Hello, Piper,” the overweight slob sitting in Abby’s favorite chair greeted her. The small semiautomatic pistol in his hand was pointed directly at her. The Smith & Wesson .40 caliber was popular with people like Steve Burgess. It sported a lightweight plastic frame with stainless steel barrel and slide. It held a fourteen round magazine. As far as semiautomatic handguns go, it was relatively cheap.

  Alexis was barely able to speak.

  “Burgess,” she finally managed to utter. “What are you doing here? How did you find me? How did you get in here?”

  “The how isn’t important,” he said, with a sneer. “I found you and I’m here. That’s all that matters. And you’re going to help me.”

  Alexis summoned her courage.

  “No, I won’t help you,” she said. “I’m not going back to being Piper. She’s dead and she’s going to stay dead. You can shoot me if you want. I won’t help you.”

  Burgess laughed.

  “I wouldn’t dream of shooting you, Piper,” he said. “I’ll let you watch me shoot the old woman you live with here. I’ll let you stand close to her so you are covered with her brains when I blow them out of her skull.”

  “No, don’t hurt Abby,” she pleaded.

  “She’s safe, Piper,” Burgess said, “as long as you do what you’re told.”