House of Blues

man. A lawyer . . . Her
eyes filmed over and her voice dropped to a whisper. "But
somethings off; somethings way off." Again she glanced at the
door. "Let me just check something."
    She opened the door and stepped out for a moment. She
came back nodding. "She's still talking. I'd better take Sally
back."
    " No." Reed squeezed the child against her,
and Sally, instinctively, hugged her tighter as well. "You took
my baby for this frustrated grandmother? Did you sell her? Is that
whats happening here?"
    Evie looked horrified. "Oh, no. Oh, no, it
wasn't that."
    " Well what?"
    " I was just She paused, apparently trying to get
her thoughts together about what had happened. "I don't know, I
was just incredibly stupid. Thats all."
    What kind of stupid, dammit? But she held her tongue, knowing nothing she could say would speed up
the process.
    Evie shrugged, obviously still trying to make sense
of it. "I just got involved with somebody I didn't know that
well. When I think back on it, I guess thats what happened. He seemed
like a pillar of the community. You know. Lawyer. Nice house and
everything"—she indicated the room surrounding them—"but
I guess when you get down to it, I just . . . really didn't know him.
I should have known. I never dated anybody that nice before. Men like
that don't like me; why would they? But I thought, since I cleaned up
and everything—"
    Cleaned up. Right. "Evie, what happened?"
    "I got drunk. I got drunk and kidnapped Sally so
we could be a happy little family .... "
    Reed couldn't help herself: "You must have been
seriously loaded."
    "Don't, Reed. Just don't, okay? Don't you think
I feel bad enough?"
    "Sorry." But she wasn't. She felt like a
Stephen King character, the imprisoned writer in Misery, at the mercy
of a lunatic.
    Sally said, "Mama? Go home now? Daddy?"
    " Soon, honey. Soon." Reed's conscience
throbbed. She didn't believe in lying to children. But she didn't
need an argument now. For the moment, Evie had replaced her ditsiness
with a look of determination. ''When things went wrong—you know, at
Mother and Daddy's—I came to Mo. My boyfriend. I mean, what else
would you do? I thought he'd protect me. But he ordered both of us
locked up; all three of us, I mean. I don't know why. I swear I
don't. When he came to talk to me that night, all he said was, there
was a huge meeting going on here and he'd have to get back to me. I
didn't even realize I was locked in until I tried to leave the
bedroom."
    " Meeting," said Reed. "That explains
what Barron Piggott was doing here. And Bruce Smallwood and Lafayette
Goodyear."
    She looked up at her sister. "But the boyfriend,
Evie. A thug named Mo!"
    " His name is Maurice Gresham and he's a very
nice—"
    "Maurice Gresham?"
    " You know him?"
    "Very well. He and his wife are regulars at the
restaurant. Every Tuesday night, just about."
    "Wife! Did you say wife?" Evie's eyes
flicked, panicky.
    "Evie, he's no lawyer. And he couldn't possibly
own this house. He's a cop—and not a chief or anything either. I
don't know if he's even a sergeant."
    Behind Evie the door flew open and the entrance was
filled with one of the real big guys she'd mentioned, dressed in
khakis and a polo shirt. Pointing a gun at the three of them.
    He stepped into the room, the Dragon behind him.
    Evie was right. There was something strange about the
Dragon, if that's who Anna was; something shaky and slightly out of
control. Her face was chalky and her skin drawn. She looked as if
she'd had a horrible shock.
    The big guy put his gun
away and began the task of peeling Sally off her mother.
    * * *
    Skip couldn't say when she'd last been to church on
Sunday. She didn't know what to wear. Pants were just about all she
had, so they'd have to be okay. Maybe with a silk blouse and some
nice earrings. Showing respect was the thing. As if she'd taken care.
She was puttering around looking for something suitable when she
heard Steve sit up in bed and stretch. He was a slow starter in the
morning.
    She said, "You like a little investigative
jaunt. How about church?"
    "I think I'll pass. I went once."
    She had occasion later to wish he'd gone, so she'd
have a reality check on what happened. She'd been a lot more than
once, and it was always the same, except that day.
    The church, in a part of the Ninth Ward to which not
even she had ever been, was surprisingly affluent—meaning it was a
small neat wooden building capable of holding about a hundred people,
instead of a garage or