Trent arrived home to find Beau, as always, chomping at
the bit to get out for a walk.
“Jennie’s going to have her
hands full,” he said after he’d clicked the leash to Beau’s collar and opened
the front door. The dog practically dragged him to the driveway so he could pee
on the tree next to it. After that, Beau calmed down some as they made their
way to the park. Twenty minutes later, having taken a brisk jog along the
park’s paths, they returned home. Trent
fed his apparently starving animal, grumbling that he couldn’t be that hungry since there was still kibble
in one of his bowls.
Then Trent fixed his own supper, setting it out on
the kitchen table. He realized when he started eating that his stomach was so
tied in knots he wasn’t sure he could finish.
It can’t be Rory. It has to be some sick joke. But as before, he couldn’t think of anyone who would
pull something like that. He glanced at the clock over the stove. Four hours. I’ll got crazy waiting.
Getting up, he put the
remains of his half-finished meal in a container which he deposited on the top
shelf of his refrigerator. Then he went into the living room. Looking at the
bookshelves surrounding his desk along one wall, he contemplated finding
something to read until it was time to leave. Nothing remotely interested him.
It was the same with the TV shows he discovered when he dropped down on the
lounge chair next to the sofa and surfed through them.
Too restless to sit still,
he headed upstairs to change into more comfortable clothes. Take a shower. That’ll kill some time.
He stripped, hanging his
slacks and shirt neatly in the closet, then tossing is underwear in the hamper
in the bathroom. His shower was short because all he could think about was the
times he and Rory had shared them. “Which is the last thing I need to be
remembering right now,” he grumbled as he got out and dried off, wrapping the
towel around his waist then using as second one on his hair. Not that he really
needed to since it was almost military short.
Going back to the bedroom,
he stood in front of his open closet, trying to decide what to wear. In the
end, he chose jeans and a navy-blue shirt. Once he was dressed he checked the
time again. Well that killed an hour. Now
what?
He knew what he should do,
get undressed and go to bed. He had a plane to catch in the morning, to go to
the funeral of a man who, if the message really was the truth, wasn’t dead.
His license, his ring, his bones. He’s dead! Quit
trying to think otherwise. He’s probably been dead since the last night we
talked. But…
Trent knew he had to do as the message said. He even knew
exactly where in Lafitte’s he’d find Rory. At their favorite table in back. The
one Rory had chosen because, according to legends, it was where the ghost of
Jean Lafitte would sit while eyeing the modern-day customers with a great measure of
scorn.
God, I’m beginning to believe he will be there. He
won’t be, so get that out of my head. But someone will be and I have to find
out who is so vicious they want to play sick games with me.
Too restless to stay put at
the house, Trent
decided to go to Lafitte’s now. A couple
of their notorious Hurricanes and I won’t give a damn who shows up. It could be
Lafitte himself, offering to take me to where he buried his treasure and I’d
believe him and follow along.
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