The Cajun Doctor

  In 3-D, high definition, color! Under normal circumstances, Daniel would have told himself he should count his blessings, but he wasn’t in the mood for counting blessings. He’d rather count all the ways Samantha was driving him batshit crazy.

  “This is a great property,” Edgar remarked, looking around, “and the house has good bones. I know because I worked on a mansion down in Savannah’s historic district that was filled with termite holes, practically fell down on itself, like Swiss cheese. ’Course I’m only seein’ your place from the outside.”

  “It’s about the same inside. A lifetime of work to be done.”

  “Well, that’s why I’m here. To help. While I can.”

  “But just with the slave cabin, at first.”

  Edgar nodded. He understood that this was a trial. “You won’t be disappointed.”

  After his initial inspection of the cabin, which was really just a square space, roughly twenty by twenty with a small fireplace, and an extra room hardly bigger than a closet for sleeping. Edgar declared it “a piece of cake.” He went on to explain that the rudiments of electricity were there. A trip to the hardware store for some parts and tools, and “there would be light,” he proclaimed. Plumbing was a bigger deal; it would require some digging to connect to the main line of the house. Still, something he could do with some rental equipment.

  “I’m thinking a little kitchenette over there with a sink under the window, an apartment-size fridge, and a little two-burner stove. It would be like an efficiency. Living room and kitchen combined, all in one space, no divider. They must have used that fireplace over there for cooking and heating in the winter. I would just shove a portable heater in there.

  “The biggest problem I see is no bathroom. They didn’t have indoor bathrooms back in the day. If you want a bathroom, you’ll have to give up that little bedroom. It could barely hold a bed, anyhow. That couch out there on the porch looks like a sleeper sofa. Works for me. What do you think?”

  “Works for me, too, but in the meantime?”

  “I’ll get this main room cleaned up and the furniture inside. That will be enough for me, as long as I can use your shower and bathroom for a few days.”

  “You can use the facilities in the garconniére apartment. No one is there during the day most times, anyhow.” At least while Aaron was sleeping there.

  Edgar nodded. “I’ll make my first priority the plumbing so I can get a bathroom up and going. Nothing fancy. One of those surplus warehouses should have everything I need.”

  Daniel knew all about warehouses. In fact, he felt like an expert on the subject, after the visit he and Samantha had made to the furniture warehouse . . . was it only two days ago?

  Samantha! There he went again! Samantha on his mind!

  “Yo, Dan!” It was Aaron coming up the walkway.

  Daniel motioned for Edgar to join them. “This is Edgar Gillotte, the man I told you about last night. Ed, this is my brother Aaron, who fancies himself a hotshot flyboy.”

  “A pilot,” Aaron corrected, as he shook Edgar’s hand. “A hotshot pilot.” He looked freshly showered and shaved, must be going to work. After a five-minute tour of the premises, Aaron patted him on the back. “I’m impressed, bro. Looks like you have everything under control.”

  Hardly. My life is out of control.

  “Luc called this morning. He and the feds will be here this afternoon. Are you going to be around, or should I tell Luc you’re hiding out like a wimp?”

  “I’ll be here,” Daniel said. He probably would have made some excuse if Aaron hadn’t pre-empted him with the wimp accusation. Daniel wanted to ask about Samantha, and Aaron knew he wanted to ask, if his smirk was any indication, but Daniel would be damned if he would give in first.

  “Do you happen to have a crowbar? I could pull up . . .” Edgar stopped midsentence as he came out onto the porch. His jaw dropped as he was staring over Daniel’s shoulder. “I think I’m in love,” Edgar said, and he appeared to be serious. “She is absolutely gorgeous.”

  Damn! Samantha must have decided to join the crowd. But when Daniel turned, it wasn’t Samantha he saw. It was Lily Beth waddling toward them, and Emily was waddling right behind her, oinking joyously, no doubt in anticipation of a kiss from her best bud, Daniel.

  Daniel glanced back at Edgar to see if he’d been teasing. But no, Edgar stood gaping, not at Emily, of course, but at Lily Beth, like a poleaxed teenager at first sight of his first nude woman. And Lily Beth stopped at the broken gate, staring at Edgar with equal appreciation.

  Daniel and Aaron exchanged glances and raised eyebrows.

  Emily trotted forward and Daniel picked her up like a baby with her snout on his shoulder.

  Aaron gave him a look of disgust.

  “Tante Lulu keeps harping about some thunderbolt of love, but maybe she meant Edgar, not me,” Daniel said, even as he stroked Emily’s bristly back. But then he set the pig down so she could do some exploring in the yard.

  “Or not me, either,” Aaron added. “She’s been after me with her matchmaking wand, too.”

  But the contrast! A very pregnant almost-doctor of physics and a college dropout, blue collar, unemployed worker?

  Did wonders never cease?

  Apparently not, because Angus came running out of the back door and along the path to the cabin. He was singing that Pharrell Williams “Happy” song and every couple steps, he stopped to do a few hip hop dance moves. When he got closer, out of breath, but smiling, he announced, “It’s over. Jimmy Guenot and his gang got arrested last night. Just saw it on Huffington Post. It’s hotdamnohmygodyippee over!”

  “It’s over?” Lily Beth asked. “Really?”

  “Yep. I pulled up the Times-Picayune page on the Internet to double-check, and the raid involved three mob bosses, including Jimmy Guenot, twelve other ‘soldiers’ and some sleazy lawyer/accountant. In all, they brought in ten million in loan sharking notes, fifty pounds of cocaine, a truckload of marijuana, and a warehouse full of stolen property. They also closed down a strip joint that was a front for prostitution.”

  They all began to clap and then join Angus in an impromptu “Happy” dance. Not Daniel, who wasn’t much of a dancer, though he was dancing on the inside. Aaron, on the other hand, could be one of those Chippendale dancers with his sexy moves. Where did he learn that crap? And Lily Beth . . . oh, Lord! She looked like an elephant dirty dancing with Edgar whom she was calling “Eddie” already. As skinny as Edgar was, you could call it “Elephant Pole Dancing.”

  That’s how out of control Daniel was. He was making jokes with himself.

  Just then, it occurred to Daniel that Samantha hadn’t come outside to celebrate with them. That was odd.

  “Where’s Samantha?” Daniel asked Angus.

  “She stayed inside to start packing her bags. She’s pissed at you.”

  “Uh-oh! More trouble in paradise!” Aaron said as he hip-bumped him in the middle of his fool dancing.

  “Huh? How dare she be pissed at me. I’m the one who’s pissed. At her.”

  “Dontcha just love a good pissing contest?” Aaron said, out loud, and everyone laughed, even though they had no idea what pissing contest Aaron was talking about.

  In the midst of all that gaiety, Daniel left the premises.

  He was not going to be here when she left.

  The gig is up . . .

  Samantha kept watching for Daniel to come see her all morning and then into the afternoon. When the two feds, along with Luc and John LeDeux, arrived at three and there was still no Daniel, she had to accept that he wasn’t just avoiding her, he was saying good-bye. Sayonara. Adios. Every which way but in person.

  “Where’s the doctor?” Brad Dillon asked. He wasn’t wearing a suit and tie today, but he was wearing a blue dress shirt . . . the collar unbuttoned and sleeves rolled up . . . tucked into black slacks.

  “I think he went to the hardware store,” John said. “Do you need him here for this meeting?”


  “No, but I would have liked to thank him for his service at the scene.”

  “Send him a Hallmark card,” Luc advised.

  “Bite me,” Brad countered. “Do you know the difference between a skunk and a lawyer? No? The answer: No one wants to hit a skunk.”

  “Ha, ha, that joke is as old as you are.”

  “Cajun douche bag!”

  “D.C. dimwit!”

  Luc and the FBI agent had been sniping at each other ever since they arrived, something about a promise being put in writing that hadn’t been so far.

  Samantha would have liked to escape, maybe go check out the progress on the cabin and to learn more about Daniel’s plans. Was this a one-shot deal for one parent of a sick child, or a bigger deal, like a whole new mission for Bayou Rose? But she could be as stubborn as Daniel. Let him make the first move.

  Brad told them what had happened with the Dixie Mob arrests and the implications for Angus. Also, he gave an update on the baby selling scheme.

  “Does that mean we can go home now?” Samantha asked, with a sinking heart because she hated to leave with things unsettled between her and Daniel.

  “I’d prefer that you wait a few days, maybe until after the weekend. There are a lot of loose ends to be tied up, and we need to cross our I’s and dot our T’s to make sure there aren’t any stragglers out there who could pose a danger.”

  “Is that an official order?” Luc asked.

  Brad sighed with exasperation. “No, it’s not an order. It’s a recommendation.”

  Luc turned to Samantha, Angus, and Lily Beth. “Then I suggest that you all stay here a few more days. It’s not a hardship, is it? And y’all are invited to the pool party at my house on Saturday to celebrate Tante Lulu’s birthday. Maybe you could plan on leaving Dodge on Sunday.”

  “That would work,” Brad said.

  “You’re invited, too,” Luc said with exaggerated generosity.

  “That would be just great. I’m not your aunt’s favorite person. Tante Lulu told me to get the pole out of my ass when I made an offhand remark about her hair.”

  “Did she use those exact words?” John wanted to know.

  “No. She used the word hiney.”

  They all laughed at that.

  “I can’t believe this all went down so quick and easy,” Angus said.

  Sonnier . . . “Sonny” . . . was the other agent at the meeting, dressed like he was ready for the gym, again. He addressed Angus’s remark. “Not so quick . . .’cept in the case of Coltrane, and, believe me, that’s not the way we want an investigation ta end. But the Dixie Mob case, we’ve been workin’ on that fer two years now. Yer evidence was just icing on the cake.”

  “So, you could have done without me?” Angus said, a little pee-ohed.

  “Not at all,” Sonny interjected. “Every bit of evidence . . . physical, oral, whatever . . . is a brick in the wall of the cases we develop. One brick slips out, and the whole wall kin collapse. Do ya get mah meanin’, cher?”

  “I do,” Angus conceded grudgingly. Then, he brightened and asked, “I don’t suppose you could get back my Jaguar that I sold to Jimmy for half its value to pay off one of my early debts.”

  Sonny laughed. “Jimmy still has the Jag. We wondered about that. Not his usual style. But, no, my friend, you are not gettin’ yer car back. It’s government property now.”

  “Will it be sold?”

  “Possibly. At public auction.” It was Brad speaking now. “Why? You want to bid on it?”

  Angus’s face reddened. “Maybe my father would buy it back for me.”

  “Angus!” Samantha and Lily Beth both said at the same time.

  “Okay, okay, I guess that was pushing it,” Angus conceded.

  “A bit of advice, son,” a somber-faced Brad said then, “cut the gambling.”

  “I already have. I haven’t even played online poker for two weeks.”

  They all rolled their eyes at that.

  After this was over, Samantha was going to find out if Angus had a gambling addiction, and, if he did, he was going to land in a rehab center quicker than he could say, “Royal Flush!”

  You’d think the chaos of their lives with its peculiar ups and downs these past few days would be over. Not a chance.

  Just then, Fred Olsen, the other FBI agent, in country club attire again . . . i.e., slacks, golf shirt, and even an Augusta National cap . . . came into the doorway, the one leading through the hall to the ground floor verandah. “You won’t believe who just arrived.”

  “Oh, no! Did Tante Lulu come back? How did she get here? Her car’s still parked out front,” John said.

  Luc grimaced and replied, “Are you kiddin’? She could have hitchhiked if she wanted ta come bad enough.”

  “It’s not Tante Lulu,” Fred told them with a wide grin. “It’s Braveheart and Florence ‘Hatchet Face’ Henessey.”

  And in walked her father in full Scottish dress, complete with kilt, tartan, and sporran, attire which didn’t surprise her or Angus, but must be a bit of a shock to the rest of them in the room. And beside him walked a frowning Florence, his wife, who apparently was also known as “Hatchet Face.”

  “What the hell is going on here?” her father asked at the same time Brad asked, “How did you know these folks were here? It’s supposed to be a friggin’ secret.”

  Her father waved a hand airily. “I have a friend in the police department.”

  Brad shook his head with disgust, then put up his arms in surrender. “Well, our cover is blown here now. You all might as well go home.”

  So, it was over, Samantha thought. In more ways than one.

  Turns out it had been a one-night stand, after all.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Saved by Braveheart . . .

  Daniel knew something was different at Bayou Rose when he returned from the hardware store. His first clue was that there were no vehicles parked in the front driveway. Not Aaron’s truck, though he was probably still at work. Nor the FBI or police unmarked cars, which meant the meeting was over. Even Samantha’s BMW was missing.

  Daniel felt a sudden lurch of despair. For some reason, he’d thought Samantha and her gang would be staying another few days. Something must have happened.

  He drove around the side of the house and parked as close as he could to the slave cabin, rather “the cottage,” which he supposed was more politically correct. Edgar, who’d stayed behind, came out to help him unload all the plumbing and paint supplies he’d purchased. The celery green paint for the walls . . . not moss green, nor sage green . . . but celery green, as ordered by Tante Lulu before she’d left. As if she was some kind of bleepin’ construction foreman for this project.

  Even though he kept emphasizing that this was only a one cottage venture, Tante Lulu was making plans, he could tell. In fact, she’d called his cell phone this morning and without preamble declared that all the cottages should be painted a different color, like Sunshine Yellow for the first, and others could be such cornball colors as Bluebird Blue, Grassy Green, Pansy Purple, and so on. Apparently she’d had a dream about them. Samantha would have a fit about the historical inaccuracy of the colors, if she ever found out.

  Edgar asked Daniel to come inside and see what he’d been doing while Daniel was out shopping for supplies. Edgar, his face flushed with pride, paused in the act of tossing some cushions onto the sofa.

  Daniel glanced around at the used furniture arranged on a green-and-black area rug, and he had to admit that the room looked nice. The oak coffee table with matching end tables, brass lamps, even a bookcase. Once the walls were painted, a few pictures hung, and maybe some curtains put on the windows, it would be a cozy little retreat for the parent of a sick kid. Just what he’d envisioned, but more.

  It occurred to Daniel that, if Samantha and Angus and Lily Beth were no longer here, he could call the workers to return for work on the mansion. Somehow, the thought wasn’t heartening. More pounding and scraping and power tools!
/>
  “Where is everyone, by the way?” he asked with as casual a tone as he could manage.

  “They all left after that meeting with the police and FBI goons. Man, don’t think I wasn’t nervous with all those police cars around?”

  “So, the FBI said it was safe to leave here now that the arrests were made.”

  “Well, not exactly. It was when Samantha’s daddy showed up and raised hell.”

  “What?”

  Edgar went on to tell a preposterous story, which had been related to him secondhand by Lily Beth, about this kilt-wearing Scotsman and a woman named “Hatchet Face” interrupting the FBI/police meeting. Afterward, Daniel said, “So, it’s over.”

  “It’s not over ’til the fat lady sings,” Edgar opined.

  Daniel didn’t know any fat singers, but he did know a witchy Cajun matchmaker, who probably thought she had the final say in anything affecting any and all members of her extended LeDeux family.

  Unfortunately, or fortunately, Daniel was a member of that family.

  When all else fails, go to the expert . . .

  Samantha was back in her New Orleans home, considerably lighter on animals, but heavier in the heart.

  She now had only Axel, Maddie, and Emily . . . and Clarence, of course, who was going to be adopted soon. She hoped.

  But she was a different woman now. A woman in love. Dammit! Unrequited love. Dammit. How had this wonderful/awful attachment happened so quickly and so powerfully?

  Well, it wasn’t so quickly, she was beginning to realize. Over the past few years, since she’d first met Daniel at John LeDeux’s wedding, there had been a spark. She’d always considered it a spark of hostility, but now she was beginning to think there had been an attraction from the get-go, and she’d chosen to handle it with snarkiness. After all, he was a doctor and she’d been committed to lumping all doctors in one big dungpile of egotism, selfishness, and greed.