Page 51 of The Cajun Doctor

— Maybe it was just Aaron trying to find his phone. If it was, Daniel was going to demand to know where he went on these nightly jaunts. What if something urgent came up, like angry snakes returning in hordes to overtake the plantation house, or a miraculous appearance of St. Jude at his namesake birdbath, or Publishers Clearing House knocking on the door?

I must be losing my mind.

The ringing stopped, finally, and the phone pinged, indicating it was going to voice mail.

Daniel scrambled to dig the device out of the side crease in the recliner and checked the caller ID. To his shock, he saw that it was Samantha Starr. Huh? Without any hesitation, he fumbled around and eventually clicked on “voice mail,” hearing a female voice: “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!”

Daniel couldn’t help but notice the nervousness, maybe even fear, in Samantha’s voice. Was it that loser ex-husband of hers? Daniel had heard rumors about the guy. A slimeball, to say the least. Or maybe she had an intruder.

And, frankly, why would she call Aaron, and not him? That really pissed Daniel off. He wasn’t sure why.

Quickly, he hit reply to Samantha’s call on Aaron’s phone, but got a busy signal. He tried again three more times. Still busy.

Maxine sidled up and rubbed against his leg. “Meow, meow!” Was the cat trying to tell him something? Some hidden message about Samantha? Yeah, right. More like, where’s the rest of that canned tuna fish? That’s all Daniel had been able to find for a cat in his meager pantry. Samantha had brought along a box filled with kitty litter, but no kitty kibble.

He glanced out the window toward the big house and saw only a dim lantern on the outside wall of the main floor verandah. The mansion itself was dark, indicating no one was home. Aaron left the exterior light on if he was out for the night. Usually. But then, his pickup truck was missing from its usual parking spot, as well.

Daniel hit reply on Aaron’s cell phone a few more times, to no avail. Next, he made a visit to the head, then splashed cold water on his face. Looking in the mirror, he saw that he looked like hell. Bed head, day-old whiskers, bleary eyes. With a sigh of resignation, he went into his bedroom and replaced his wrinkled, cat-hair-covered khakis and golf shirt with a pair of faded jeans, a plain gray tee, and ratty athletic shoes. Five minutes later he was on his way to New Orleans.

“Siri, give me an address for Samantha Starr in New Orleans,” he said, clicking the Bluetooth button on his steering wheel. Once it gave him an address, he ordered, “Siri, give me directions.” Easy peasy, as Tante Lulu would say.

There was very little traffic; so, it took him only half an hour to get to the city. Cruising through the upper-class Garden District neighborhood, he soon found Samantha’s home. A brick, two-story dwelling surrounded by a chest-high brick wall. Not much of a front yard, but there was probably more property in the back, which he couldn’t see from here.

Getting out of his car, which he parked on the street, he noted there were no other vehicles around. They must be parked in driveways or garages. Not many parties or visitors on a Sunday evening, he guessed. But wait. There was a dark-colored car down the street a ways. He couldn’t tell through the tinted windows if there was anyone inside, or not.

He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting . . . maybe an ultra-modern penthouse condo . . . but definitely not this. It was so . . . so . . . traditional.

Expensive, though. Samantha’s house was smaller than the antebellum mansions surrounding it, probably an original carriage house, but worth a fortune nonetheless. Daniel didn’t know much about real estate, but he would bet his favorite stethoscope that this structure was in the million-dollar range. Which wasn’t surprising with Samantha’s monied background. Spoiled rich girls did not rent condos in the ninth ward. Which was probably unfair of him, but no more unfair than her sweeping generalization about doctors.

He opened the front gate, which caused motion detector lights to go on . . . Good for her! . . . and walked up the short sidewalk to the front door. Since there were lights on inside, he had no qualms about ringing the doorbell. He probably would have even if the lights were out. He took perverse pleasure in needling Samantha all the time. Like some adolescent kid who pulled on a girl’s pigtails, or teased her incessantly, in an asinine attempt at seduction. The sort of stunt Deke Watson might have pulled, if he’d lived long enough.

Oh, crap! Where did that thought come from? He did not allow himself to think about the boy, even after all these years. It was pointless, and, frankly, hurt too much.

Even so, he sometimes wondered if Jamie Lee, Deke’s father, had stayed clean and stuck around to console his estranged wife, Bethany? And did they have other children? Daniel couldn’t imagine taking such a second chance on grief, but that was him. And wasn’t it interesting . . . or telling . . . that he remembered their names after more than two years, when he’d dealt with hundreds of parents of sick kids in his career?

He shook his head to clear it of those disturbing memories, which wasn’t really necessary since the noise on the other side of the door would have shocked the dullest brain. It appeared that his doorbell ringing had awakened a menagerie. Loud dog barking and cat meowing. And somewhere more distant inside the house, the yip yip yipping of puppies. At least he didn’t hear any goats bleating. Samantha had mentioned a goat, and geese or ducks, hadn’t she? But, no, she’d claimed to have gotten rid of those other animals earlier in the day. And a pig . . . he seemed to recall something about a depressed pig.

He pressed the doorbell again.

“Oh, damn!” he heard Samantha say on the other side of the door. She’d probably looked through the security hole to see who was there. His assumption proved true when the door swung open suddenly, and Samantha gaped at him. “You! What are you doing here?”

“Thanks for the warm welcome.” Before he had a chance to say more, a German Shepherd the size of a small pony limped up to him and barked loudly, practically in his face. He would have been alarmed except the dog’s tail was wagging and it had a loopy grin on its face. On the other hand, there was more danger with the long-legged cat with spotted fur that resembled a cheetah, which arched its back and hissed at him, but then it seemed to sniff the air . . . probably smelled Maxine on him . . . and ambled off to do some cat thing. He also heard other dogs barking somewhere else in the house, and two more cats prowled by, scarcely paying him any attention, and was that a pig sitting on a low stool before the window? Yep, the animal was oinking. It didn’t look depressed to him, but how did one recognize pig depression?

Holy fricking animal house!

“Seriously, Daniel, what are you doing here?”

“You wound me,” he said, clapping a hand over his heart. “I come as Prince Charming to the rescue, and you treat me like the Prince of Frogs.”

“Some prince!” She surveyed the area behind him as if expecting someone lurking on the street. Seeing something, she flinched and murmured with dismay, “Still there.”

He assumed that she referred to the car with the shaded windows. “Who’s still there?” he asked.

Before he could turn around and check the object of her distress, she stepped back, allowing him entrance to her home. In fact, when he hesitated, she grabbed his arm and yanked him in, slamming and locking the door behind them.

Ooookay!

A quick glance around showed the foyer of the house with a central hallway going forward into some kind of windowed great room. A staircase in the hallway led upstairs. To the left was a library/office, and to the right, a living room where a gas fireplace provided the only light. It was to the latter that she led him.