Chapter 20

The call came Tuesday morning. It was my cell phone, vibrating in my pocket as I sat on the sofa reading. It was a different book now – I'd finished Lisey's Story and was now getting into A Morning for Flamingos, one of the Dave Robicheaux mysteries that James Lee Burke writes. Cecelia was out in the shed, lifting weights in amounts that after all these years I still find incredible.

I grunted with irritation and fished the phone out of my pocket. The caller ID said only "Unknown," but there are so few people who have the number, all of them people I've given it to, that I answered it anyway.

"This Darvin Carpenter?" the voice on the other end said.

"Yeah."

"This is Joey Dellaprima."

Joey the Rabbit, I thought. "Yeah, Joey, what you got?" I sat up straight on the sofa.

"I found out about that kid. They're gonna make a video tomorrow night – she's gonna star, her and two three guys. You want the address?"

That was like asking if I wanted to keep breathing. "Yeah, give it to me." I didn't have anything to write with, but I knew I'd remember it long enough to get to a pen and a piece of paper. As I spoke I was already heading down the hall to the study where I had legal pads coming out my ears.

He told me the address, and the time the shoot was supposed to start. "Hey, you know, I got nothin' against porn, right? But kids, that's different. You get her outta there, okay?" He was definitely sounding east coast this morning.

"I'll get her out." And I hung up without another word. If he wanted to remind he I owed him, I wasn't going to let him – I wasn't going to do anything to let him think that I was in his debt. Besides, I had to think.

When Cecelia came in, soaking from her workout, I was sitting at the counter with a pad and pen in front of me. I had my pants on, of course, but I hadn't put a shirt on yet and my tanned hands and forearms, and my face and neck, contrasted with the whiteness of the rest of me. I'm the only member of my family who's like that; everyone else – Cecelia, Darlia, my brother Memphis and his wife Miss Kim – are lighter where they don't get sun but it's just a lighter shade of their natural color. My dad was a full-blood, but I sure don't look it.

Cecelia took a look at me, and said, "I shall hurry my shower."

I nodded, and sat, and waited.

When Cecelia was done with her shower she came back out to the kitchen, poured herself a cup of coffee, and sat down beside me. She'd put on an around-the-house outfit – a sleeveless white blouse that, though not sheer, would have let the light through if she'd stood in front of it, and a skirt that only fell to her calves. She was barefoot, and had even left her hair loose, something that normally she does only when she's going right to bed. I admired the muscles in her arms – she's as thin as a sprinter, but even more muscular, and those women aren't flabby by any means.

"I presume," she said, "that you have something to tell me."

"Yeah, else you wouldn't be settin' there now," I said. "You know what I look like by now."

She smiled slightly. "I do. So tell me."

I bit back a comment about her unwonted use of one-syllable words. It wasn't the time for that. "Joey called – he's the guy I called back on Friday, an' then had the meetin' with. He's give me the information I wanted." Cecelia's face changed slightly – I suspected she'd bitten back her own comment, on my poor grammar. "Tomorrow we're gonna raid a place, and get the girl outta there."

"I am not trying to find a way out," she said, "but asking for my information. Why are we not going to advise the police of this information?"

I nodded. "That's a good question, C. An' the reason is time. I could tell 'em, yeah. But just on my say-so they can't kick a door and pull people out. They'd have to investigate, find out whether I was tellin' the truth or just blowin' hot air, an' by the time they had enough to get a warrant on, an' got the warrant, and then raided the place, the shoot would be long done. I don't have to fiddle with warrants – I can just kick the door and take the girl outta there, and dare them people to holler to the cops."

"And speed is of the essence. She has already endured more than she ought to even know exists; we do not wish her to experience another bout of sex with some man she doesn't even know."

"Joey says that they're gonna use two or three, this time."

I immediately regretted saying it, for Cecelia's face looked like I'd punched her in the gut. But when I opened my mouth she held up her hand. Slowly the normal color came back into her face – she can't ever go completely pale, not with her complexion – and she said, "I simply have to get used to such things, don't I, if I am to work with you in an investigatory capacity."

I nodded. "But not so used to it, C, that you stop caring."

"If I find that I am losing my compassion, I will of course immediately cease all involvement in investigations, assuming of course that after this case I still desire to pursue that line of employment. I am, at this moment, far from certain that I shall still possess that desire once we're done with this case."

"Whatever you decide, Cecelia, I'll stand behind you."

"I know you will, Darvin, which is why I have the courage to even consider becoming an investigator." She finished her cup of coffee. "Explain to me the plan we shall execute."

I did.

Letty picked Darlia up from school that afternoon. Cecelia and I got a nap – something that's rare for both of us, but we wanted to be absolutely ready for what was coming. When we got up she fixed us a snack, fried cheese sticks and mushrooms, and we ate at the dining room table, she with a cup of coffee and me with a vanilla Coke.

When we were done, she washed up the dishes and I got an old tablecloth we no longer use for anything else, and spread it over the gleaming wood of the table – oak, I think it is, though I've never asked Cecelia and have no idea where I got that impression. I also have the impression the table's an antique, but again I don't know where I got the notion.