Page 50 of The Cajun Doctor

Samantha didn’t know Remy LeDeux that well, but she did know someone else with the credentials. Hmmm.

“Please, Sam. If you help us, I promise to own up to everything. I’ll talk to any police or lawyers you want. And I’ll pay you back for the money you lend me. Believe me, I’ve learned my lesson.”

“Take Lily Beth upstairs and put her in one of the guest bedrooms. You take the other. I know it’s only eight o’clock, but you’re both beat, physically and mentally. Get some rest. I’ll see what I can do to help you.” She put up a halting hand when he started to protest. “I know, time is important. We’ll do something first thing in the morning.”

Angus woke up the sleeping girl and half walked, half carried her upstairs. When she was alone, Samantha sighed. What a godawful mess! This was worse than anything she’d ever imagined about Nick.

What an immoral, in fact criminal, no-good excuse for a man her ex-husband was! She wouldn’t be surprised if he’d involved Angus in his schemes just to get back at her. Oh, she couldn’t delude herself. Angus was equally responsible.

Again, what a godawful mess!

First things first. She went into the kitchen and cleaned up the mess. While she discarded trash, put away whatever food hadn’t been eaten (not much), and wiped off the counter, she thought, thought, thought about the options. Then she took a shower and put on a comfy sleep outfit, silk pants and a camisole top, and tried to get some rest. It had been a grueling day. Finally, at nine p.m., she admitted that she’d never be able to sleep unless she took some action. So, she picked up her cell phone and scrolled down to find a number she’d just added in this afternoon, a contact she had hoped to leverage finding homes for rescued animals.

“Hello. Aaron LeDeux here. I’m not available at the moment. Leave a message. You know the drill.”

“Hey, Aaron, this is Samantha Starr. We talked this afternoon about the possibility of an animal rescue operation at Bayou Rose. But that’s not why I’m calling. Aaron, something has come up here. Something very . . . dangerous. Can you call me right away? I need help!” Aaron was a pilot. He had access to planes. And maybe, just maybe, his assistance would be less obvious than using Remy’s company.

Samantha clicked off the phone and tucked it in her pocket. It was still early, and she doubted she would sleep tonight, but she should try. Tomorrow promised to be a busy day. She determined that first thing in the morning she was making one particular phone call.

Tante Lulu could recommend a place for her to buy a gun.

Or maybe not.

Chapter Eleven

Sometimes being a hero is just too much damn trouble . . .

Daniel awakened suddenly to the sound of a phone ringing. Upon opening his eyes and feeling the crick in his neck, he realized that he’d fallen asleep on his sofa. His new pet cat, Maxine . . . the apparently pregnant cat, dammit . . . didn’t even bother to raise its head.

Last he recalled, he and Aaron had been watching a rerun of one of the late-night talk shows. Jimmy Fallon and Justin Timberlake doing a funny, surprisingly good, singing/dance duet about being happy.

Which brought up a pet peeve of Daniel’s. Why did happy people always try to make everyone else happy?

“If life gives you lemons, make lemonade.”

“If a door shuts, open a window.”

“Life is just a bowl of cherries.”

“Miracles do happen.”

“Every cloud has a silver lining.”

Bullshit! These Pollyannas needed a good dose of reality. Personally, he believed there was a lot to be said for being grumpy. A good shield against the crap side of life.

Forget Jimmy Fallon and Justin Effin’ Timberlake and goofball gladness. Now there was an infomercial blasting away on the TV. No, I do not need a supersonic toilet plunger that doubles as a concrete mixer, thank you very much.

The phone continued to ring in the middle of his jaw-cracking yawn. A quick check of his watch showed it was only nine o’clock. What a boring life he led, fast asleep when he could be out on the town, like Aaron, or wherever the hell he went when he disappeared every night. Who would be calling me on a Sunday evening?

— Aunt Mel? She called whenever the mood hit her, but they’d already talked to her today. When Tante Lulu had dropped her bomb that afternoon about Aunt Mel possibly moving here, Daniel had called Alaska, and Aunt Mel said there was nothing definite, but a Realtor was bringing by a hot prospect. Maybe she’d come for a visit sometime to see if she would like it, before making a commitment to move.

— Speaking . . . rather thinking . . . of Tante Lulu, maybe it was her calling. The old bird had no sense of appropriateness when it came to anything, whether it be time or subject. For example, her constantly telling people that he wasn’t gay. As if that were even a possibility! Yep, she could very well be calling for something as simple as asking if he wanted any more okra from her garden. The answer was “Hell, no!”

— An emergency? Oh, Lord, don’t let it be one of those “patients” I served today. I don’t care what Tante Lulu says, I am not licensed to practice in Louisiana. Yet. If ever.

— Or, most likely, it was just a wrong number.

Rising groggily, he followed the sound of the phone. Not his cell phone ringtone, he belatedly recognized, rather Aaron’s raucous Zydeco music. Daniel had no idea what time Aaron had left . . . Didn’t Aaron mention a late night date? One of his mysterious bootie calls? But this was early yet. An early bootie call then? As in an extra long bootie call? . . . but he must have forgotten his phone.