*** No One Left To Burn ***
Chapter 1
8
The room was pretty much as I would have imagined it would be for a young
girl Lila’s age. It wasn’t a real large room if judged by standards
previously established. But it was a
room of sufficient size for two casual chairs, an entertainment center, a couch
and a coffee table all in addition to the normal bedroom furnishings.
A large four-poster bed was in the far-left corner with nightstands
holding lamps on either side. The
bed was covered with a light mauve satin spread.
In the center of the bed were several stuffed animals.
One looked like a fluffy black and white teddy bear.
I wasn’t sure what the others were exactly, a lion or maybe a cat and
then something else. I wasn’t even
really sure about the teddy bear. It
might have been a stuffed
The bathroom suite was off to the left, opposite the closet and was
light, bright and airy. I wasn’t
quite sure where to begin looking, so I flipped an imaginary coin in my head.
It came up imaginarily tails, so I started with the closet, if that makes
any sense. It doesn’t to me now,
but at the time it seemed logical.
I don’t know what I expected to find in the closet other than what I
did find - a lot of clothes. Clothes
of all color, clothes for all occasions, and clothes for all seasons.
Also along one wall of the closet were four long shelves holding enough
pairs of shoes to make Imedla Marcos envious.
I just rummaged around with no real direction.
I felt John watching me as I browsed and that bothered me, so I turned to
him and said, “John, would you have a recent photo of Lila that I might
see?”
After he left the room, I chatted lightly with Meagan.
She was easy to talk to because she looked you square in the eyes when
she spoke. I enjoyed looking her
square in the eyes too, and other places as well.
We didn’t talk about anything in particular, just stuff.
I did learn that the entire domestic staff, except the head housemaid,
was off on an annually scheduled two week paid vacation. No cook, no houseman,
and no maid. Damn, I thought, Life
must be tough as hell for that half a month.
Enough small talk, I thought. It’s
time to get back to work. I started
looking through the chest of drawers. After
I foraged through the first two drawers, it was clear that this gal, Lila, sure
went in for fancy undies. Out of the
corner of my eye I could see Meagan smiling at me as I shuffled through stacks
of all kinds and colors of frilly panties, bras and other lacey accessories.
I casually contemplated how many men, if any, had seen them in action.
I continued with the other drawers pulling them all the way out to see if
anything had fallen or been placed behind them.
There was nothing.
I walked into the bathroom suite and sat down on the small vanity stool.
The dressing table was mirrored on three sides, one large one in the
center and narrow ones on each side angled in.
Looking into the mirror on my left I could see the enormous Roman tub
that was large enough for a small pool party and next to it, a gold trimmed,
glassed-in shower stall. The
bathroom was very sterile looking. The
room was completely white; carpet, walls, ceiling, tub and shower, dressing
table and chair. Only a few items
were there for contrast. A few
neatly hung brightly colored towels and wash cloths and a number of lacquered
nick-knacks and figurines sitting on the dressing table provided the room’s
only primary colors.
I had just finished going through the left-hand dressing table drawers
when John returned. I watched him in
the large mirror as he came into the bath area.
I turned to face him and he handed me the snapshot I’d asked for.
“This is my daughter, Lila, Rick. We
took this last month at the Shrimp Festival for the Blessing of the Fleet.”
The Blessing of the Fleet is an old Cajun custom carried over from their
lives in
I studied the photo in silence, wondering if I would find her looking
like this. I contemplated the
possibility that I might not recognize her if I found her fully dressed.
That’s because I hadn’t yet looked at her face.
My stare had been nailed to the lower portion of the print.
She was wearing a very scanty bikini that covered only her essentials and
only the bare essentials of those.
She was more than quite well endowed, and the top of her two piece
swimsuit looked as if she had a couple of cantaloupes crammed into the cups.
She had the rugged, tanned, muscular body of an athlete.
I perused the panorama of her entire body, that is, finally looking at
her face. Then I knew that if I saw
her as she was depicted here I would recognize her anywhere, even fully clothed.
She was a gorgeous hunk of woman. She
reminded me of a picture I had seen not too long ago on a billboard ad on I-10
just west of the intercoastal waterway overpass.
I think it was an ad for some kind of sunscreen.
I’m not sure. Anyway, it
was a scene of several scantily clad young, buxom, California-type girls.
Their sun-bleached hair swirled as they chased through the sand.
They wore little makeup yet all were radiant and glowing with that clean,
fresh Cover Girl look about them. The
more I think about that billboard, the more I think it should have been a condom
ad.
There was something naggingly familiar about the subject in the picture
that John handed to me. I studied
all of her physical characteristics, but couldn’t put my finger on what called
to my memory.
John eyed me closely while I gazed at the photo.
I held the snapshot up to him between thumb and forefinger and asked,
“May I have this for a while, John? It
could be a great help.”
“Yes, of course you may, Rick. If
there’s anything I have or anything I can do for you, I want you to feel free
to call upon me. Now or anytime.”
“Thanks, John. I will
certainly do that.” I had just
started to put the photo into my inside jacket pocket when I took one more
gander at it. Then I took a long
survey of Meagan, and then another look at the photo of Lila.
It came to me then, what had been puzzling me about the girl in the
picture with the shrimp boats. With
the exception of Lila’s long flaming red hair, she was the spitting image of
her sister, Meagan, right down to the two muskmelons.
“If there’s nothing more you need from me up here, Rick,” John
said, “I’ll be going back downstairs. I have some mail to dispense with.
However, if you do have something come up, I’m sure Meagan can minister
your need in good fashion.”
I was sure she could. I
looked over at Meagan and that head of curly black hair was slowly nodding
again, only this time I believed that I detected a slight twinkle in her eyes.
“After I’m finished downstairs, Rick,” he said, “let me fix you
another drink.” While speaking, he
rubbed his hands together rapidly, as if trying to dry them.
I knew he was nervous about the situation, and his concern for Lila
showed in his demeanor. I could see
it in the way he walked, in his speech, in the stoop of his shoulders, and in
his nearly blank facial expression. Now
the effects of anxiety made their presence known in his sweaty palms.
He asked Meagan the same question, and she promptly and politely
declined.
I was a little more hesitant when I replied, “Well, let me look around
here just a bit more, John. I
won’t take too much longer, and then perhaps I’ll take you up on that.”
I thought of the last stiff one he’d fixed me and said, “But a little
less strength this time if you please.” He
must have taken what I said as an acceptance, because he gave me an unsteady
thumb up as he left the room.
I went back to the dressing table to finish looking for whatever clue
might unveil itself. I
had already gone through the left-hand drawers.
Nothing there. I next
checked the center one as I had done the others. The center drawer contained
such items as combs, brushes, tweezers and a hand mirror.
There was also a great supply of mascara, eyeliner, powder, many tubes of
lip-gloss and various other cosmetics shit.
Oh yeah, and an empty box that once contained an E.P.T. kit.
Well, well, great Pumpkin, I thought, it does surely seem that some lucky
lad has been dipping his pen in the young lassie's ink well.
There was nothing left to look through in the dressing table except the
right hand stack of drawers, and I made short work of those.
I was about to forage through the contents of the final drawer when I saw
an envelope lying right there in plain sight on top of a box of tampons.
Regular.
I opened the envelope and pulled out the contents.
I was temporarily disappointed. It
was a birthday card. I opened the
card and found a short note written at the conclusion of a very maudlin lyric.
The dark and light blue strokes of the pen looked as if the note had been
written with a very cheap ballpoint pen or a good one about to go dry.
The note read:
“Good news sweetheart. I
met the friend I told you about at the River Queen Lounge the other night and he
said that he has everything taken care of.
Arrangements have been made for you for next week.
You should get this on Saturday. Why don’t you call me as soon as you
do? Max the bartender says to say hello.
I love you.” It was signed, Charlie.
I put the card back into the envelope and turned it over to look at the
front side. The return address was
smudged but discernable. I slipped
it into my inside coat pocket with the photo.
I sat on the small chair in front of the dressing table for a few more
moments and looked around the room. I
hadn’t come up with a hell of a lot. There
was no way I would know if a suitcase were missing or how many bras or panties
or pairs of pantyhose should be accounted for in Lila’s bedroom.
There was no way to tell if she’d taken time to pack or not.
But something was missing from the bathroom.
I could feel it. I stared at
the floor with my chin resting on clinched right knuckles, characterizing
Auguste Rodin’s 1880 sculpture The Thinker, when it came to me.
I knew what it was because it was missing.
I hadn’t seen it. I quickly
searched the dressing table drawers once more.
Not there. I looked over at
the pedestal sink. It wasn’t
there. I walked over to the gold
trimmed shower and looked in. Nope.
I didn’t know about bras and panties, but if fraud or force took Lila,
her abductor allowed her time to pack her toothbrush.
So much for disappeared and in serious trouble.
I finished with the bathroom. I
had a couple of clues to start with. One
was the name of Lila’s friend in
I went back out into the other room where Meagan stood by the window
looking at it rain. We made small
talk while my search progressed through the rest of the bedroom.
Meagan wasn’t in the bathroom when I found the card from Charlie, so
she wasn’t aware of the note. I
was sitting on the bed rummaging through the last of four drawers of the two
nightstands when there was a lull in our idle chatter.
I off -handedly asked, “What do you think about all of this, Meagan?
Do you have any clue at all as to what Lila might be up to, or what might
have happened with her?”
She came over and sat down in the casual chair closest to where I sat on
the bed. Not as flippant as she had
been earlier I noticed. Her demeanor was more sober when she sat with her hands
gripping the end of the arms of the chair. The
skin over her knuckles was pulled tight from her hold, and her hands were white,
two strangely white fists at the end of her deeply tanned arms.
“Well, Rick,” she said, smacking her lips.
“This is just a wild hunch, and I might be all wrong.
I have only a woman’s intuition for foundation, but I’ve been living
with Lila all my life, and I know how she functions.
I know her quirks and idiosyncrasies.
So, from just the way she’s been acting for the past three or four
weeks, I think Lila got herself pregnant and took off for
.
That would make sense if you thought about it.
It’s understandable that an abortion, if that really were the case,
would be hard to keep under wraps in a town the size of Pont-Rouge.
Very hard. So, it would make
a lot more sense to leave town, at least for a day or two.
But not for a week, and without question, not for a week without calling
home.
“You think she went to
“Yes, I do, Rick.” She
looked down at her shoes and tapped her toes together when she answered.
“I have a strong feeling about that being where she is and why.
Of course I can’t say anything like that to father.
It might destroy him. And
then that might not even be the case.” She
looked back up at me and added, “Like I said, it’s just a feeling.”
I thought about the note on the birthday card suggesting that something
was being arranged for her, and then there was the empty box of an E.P.T. kit
I’d found in Lila’s bathroom. Perhaps
Meagan was right-on about what was happening.
Maybe she does have the right feelings.
However, and I constantly remind myself of this, one must try to avoid
falling into the trap, often set by oneself, of locking on tightly to what
appears to be the obvious and only solution to a puzzle and as a result
completely missing the true resolution.
Just then, John returned to the room carrying two filled highball
glasses. He looked like he’d
swigged down a couple while he was gone. If
Scotch gave him strength, he was now well on his way to becoming a real Sampson.
He wasn’t going to be of any further help.
I had started to think he was a lush, but during some of my small talk
with Meagan she’d mentioned that her father had only started drinking real
heavily about a week ago. She
thought it was because of his concern for Lila.
Here again she might be right-on, but I have a rather good measure of
experience with the products of the fermentation process, and just between you
and yours truly, I thought he was a booze sponge of long standing.
I very cautiously took a sip from the glass he gave me, remembering the
shock of the one he had previously concocted.
Then, satisfied that I would most likely survive, and my throat would not
squeeze shut causing me to gasp, turn blue, and succumb to strangulation, I
continued to nurse my drink while I slowly made a final tour around the room
looking at everything and at the same time not really looking at anything at
all.
I paused at the window and looked out.
The large raindrops noisily pelting the glass blurred my view.
It had been raining like that since late morning and the water in the
low-lying areas was already reaching flood stage. The
drainage ditches that ran on each side of the roads and highways were quickly
filling with run-off. Soon they
would be full and the water would be lapping at the pavement’s edge.
Without reprieve from the horrendous deluge, the water would continue
rising and cover the entire surface of the road making driving on Highway 90
with its many low spots virtually impossible.
I began to consider the necessity of spending the night in Pont-Rouge and
getting a fresh start back to
“If you still want me to try and locate your daughter, John, perhaps we
should discuss my fee. I charge $300
a day, plus expenses. I’ll do my
very best to get the job done and get it done in a timely fashion.
But you must understand that I can’t guarantee success, only that
I’ll do my best. I’ll keep you
posted on my progress, and if it looks like a dead end, I’ll let you know.
I won’t drag it out or string you along just to make a buck.
I have plenty of work to keep me busy.”
I knew he’d consider my fee a mere pittance, and he confirmed what I
thought to be true with an expression that never changed, and he gave me a
casual shrugs of his shoulders.
“Rick,” he said, sounding somewhat like he was about to run out of
steam. “I don’t want to hire
someone who might do a half-assed job of this.
I want my daughter found, and I believe you’re the person I’m looking
for to get this job done right. I
assure you, your fee is quite acceptable to me.
However, I have taken the liberty of making a check out to you in the
amount of $2,500. When you find
Lila, there will be another check for you in the same amount, in addition to
your expenses.”
His hand was shaking slightly; I’m sure from emotion, when he placed
the crisp yellow piece of paper in my hand.
There was nothing much I could say at the moment, so I didn’t say
anything and just took the check. John
led the way back to the front entry, with me at his side and this time with
Meagan bringing up the rear.
“With the rain coming down like it is, and has been all day,” I said,
“I’m afraid the highway back to
Yeah, right, I thought. If I
can find a vacancy? What are you
thinking, Stevens? Like everyone
wants to come to
“There’s a Fiddler’s
“Thanks, John,” I said. All
I needed was a bed, bath and bar, but not in that order.
“Incidentally, how did you happen to get my name?”
I remembered how he got my phone number.
As John was starting to answer I heard Meagan trip slightly as she
followed behind. I smiled to myself
and wondered what she might be looking at, or what she might be thinking. Rick
firm-buns Stevens.
“I called the police headquarters in
I stepped out onto the large covered porch then turned and shook hands
with Meagan. While shaking John’s
hand, I thanked him for the drinks and told him I’d be in touch.
I thought about talking to the local authorities and Lila’s friends
before I went back to
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