Crescent City Connection

know—”
    “Lovelace, be quiet. I’m telling you this line isn’t safe. Listen to me—this woman’s not what you think. She’s a cop, but she’s really smart and she’s really nice. I mean really nice; she’s worried about you.”
    “Oh, sure.”
    “Try to keep an open mind, okay? The main thing is, she’s had a personal experience with your grandfather. He kidnapped a kid close to her and the cop got the kid back—but not before some people died. You hear what I’m saying, Lovie? Your grandfather’s a murderer. You really can’t forget that.”
    Lovelace hated the schoolteacherish sound of her friend’s voice. She spoke petulantly. “He wouldn’t hurt me. I’m his own flesh and blood.”
    “You don’t know what he might do. The cops and the FBI think you’re in danger. I’m worried sick, to tell you the truth— this is not something to mess around with. I want you to call Detective Skip Langdon at the New Orleans Police Department.”
    “That’s the cop?”
    “Yes. She’s in Homicide.”
    “Homicide!”
    “I keep telling you—this thing is serious. Call her. Promise me you’ll call her.”
    Lovelace wished she’d never picked up the phone. “Why did they send a cop from New Orleans?”
    “Because the thing with your grandfather—the other kidnapping—happened there.”
    Lovelace felt tremendously betrayed. If Michelle was asking her to turn herself in, whose side was she on? “Michelle, what did you tell her?”
    “Look, I had to make a decision. I told her you’re with Isaac.”
    “Dammit, Michelle!”
    “Shut up. There’s really a lot to say. I didn’t know his address, so all I could do is describe him. I’m sorry, Lovelace, but I’m just so damn worried about you—you’ve got to call this cop, I’m not kidding—this is far, far the best move you could make right now. You need as much protection as you can get from Errol Jacomine.”
    “Goddammit, you’re supposed to be my friend!”
    “I am your friend, and I have another message for you. A bigger bombshell than the FBI—are you ready?”
    No, I am not ready. Don’t you dare say another word.
But she managed not to hang up.
    “Your grandmother called.”
    “But my grandmother—”
    “Right. Dumped your seven-year-old father at your grandfather’s, and hasn’t been heard from since. This woman told me the story. That’s right, isn’t it?”
    “Anybody could know that.”
    “Is your dad’s middle name Theophilus?”
    “Holy shit.”
    “Guess who your grandmother is?”
    “What do you mean, guess who she is?”
    “I mean she’s a famous person. Rosemarie Owens.”
    It took a moment for the penny to drop. “Rosemarie Owens. The one whose husband was just killed. After he dumped her for some supermodel.”
    “Good thing you read People magazine.”
    “Rosemarie Owens called me? What the hell does she want?”
    “Now, that I couldn’t tell you—but she said it’s urgent. Do you want her number?”
    “God, yes.” She’d rather call her than a cop.
    Michelle gave her the number. “And here’s Skip Langdon’s,” she said. “Just take it down, okay? What can it hurt?”
    Things were moving way too fast. Her best friend had betrayed her, her grandmother was not only alive, but some kind of pop culture celeb, and the FBI was looking for her.
    This is a joke, she thought, it can’t be real, and dialed the number Michelle had given her.
    A machine answered, a woman’s cigarette-voice. “We may be home and we may not. It depends how intriguing your message is. Start talking when you hear the tone, and you better make it fascinating.”
    Despite the aggressive tone of the message, the voice was somehow playful, in a Mae West kind of way. She took a deep breath. “This is Lovelace Jacomine calling Rosemarie Owens.”
    There was a click as someone picked up the receiver. “Lovelace, baby, I’ve been worried sick about you.”
    Could this really be her grandmother? This stranger who called her “baby”?
    “I got a message to call you.”
    “I’m so glad you did. I didn’t even know you existed until a few days ago, and now you’re the most important thing in the world to me.”
    What in hell did the woman want? Lovelace was speechless.
    “Are you there, darling?”
    “Is this Rosemarie Owens?”
    “Mee-maw to you, sweetness.” Was the voice slightly slurred? Had she said “shweetness”? “I’m just so very, very glad you called.”
    “Michelle said it was