Mallory Kane - Sanctuary in Chef Voleur

Then, as Hannah watched in horror, he pulled out the gun. No! Don’t! She covered her mouth with her hand to keep from screaming.

Billy Joe fired. The gun bucked in his hand and the bullet struck the garage wall at least three feet above the other man’s head.

Without changing his position or his expression, the big man’s finger squeezed the trigger. Billy Joe bucked once, then the back of his shirt blossomed with red, like ink in water. He made a strangled sound, then collapsed to the floor, right where he stood. The small gun he was holding dropped to the concrete with a metallic clatter.

Hannah tried to scream, but her voice was trapped behind her closed throat. The last thing she saw before she turned and ran toward Billy Joe’s car was the big man’s dark eyes on her and the gaping barrel of the gun pointed directly at her.

* * *

A LONG TIME later, Hannah wrapped her hands around the thick white mug, savoring its warmth. It was almost midnight—four hours since she’d watched a man shoot Billy Joe in the heart. In one sense it seemed as though it had happened to someone else. But then she would close her eyes and she was there, watching the blood spread across the back of his shirt like a rose blooming in fast-forward on a nature show.

He was dead. Billy Joe was dead, and the secret of where he’d taken her mother had died with him. A spasm of panic shot through her and her hand jerked, spilling the coffee. She grabbed a napkin from a chrome dispenser and laid it on top of the spilled liquid.

Ever since her mother had disappeared, Hannah had been imagining things. She knew her mother was not literally dead yet—not from her disease. But nightmarish images of where she was being held swirled continuously in Hannah’s mind.

She could be lying in a bed or on a pallet on a cold floor, her breathing labored, her paper-thin skin turning more and more sallow as the time since her last dialysis treatment grew longer. Without the life-giving procedure, the toxins that her diseased liver couldn’t metabolize would kill her within days, if Billy Joe hadn’t killed her already.

Her once-beautiful mother, still young at forty-two, was an alcoholic. She’d been as good a mother as she could be, given her addiction, while the liquor had systematically destroyed her liver. By the time Hannah was sixteen, she had become her mom’s caregiver.

Right now, sitting in the bright diner with the mug of hot coffee in her hands, she couldn’t even remember how she’d gotten into Billy Joe’s car, peeled out of the driveway or gotten on the interstate. Her only thought had been to run as if the hounds of hell were behind her. All she remembered was that desperate need to stay alive so she could find her mother.

A few minutes ago, four hours and almost two hundred miles later, she’d been forced to stop because she was about out of gas. She took a swallow of hot, strong coffee. What was she going to do? Go back to Dowdie, Texas, where Sheriff Harlan King was already suspicious of her and her mother? He’d been called twice in the past few months, once by neighbors and once by Hannah herself, complaining about her mom’s and Billy Joe’s screaming fights. Two years ago, he’d nearly busted her mom for possession of marijuana.

She thought about what he and his deputies would find this time. Her brain too easily conjured up a picture of Billy Joe, lying in a puddle of his own blood on the floor of the garage, her mother, missing with no explanation, Hannah herself gone, with brand-new tire skid marks on the concrete driveway, and who knew what kind of evidence of illegal drugs in the garage, on Billy Joe’s body, even in her mom’s house.

She couldn’t go back.

The sheriff would never believe her. He’d arrest her and send her to prison and one day they’d find her mother’s body in a ditch or a remote cabin or an abandoned car, and people in Dowdie would talk about Hannah Martin, who’d killed her mother and her mother’s boyfriend, and how quiet and friendly she’d always seemed.

It was a catch-22. If she went back, all the sheriff’s emphasis would be on her, and they probably wouldn’t find her mother until it was too late. But if she didn’t go back, then it might be days before anyone knew her mother was missing. Either way, she was terrified that her mom’s fate was sealed.

She put her palms over her eyes, blocking out the restaurant’s harsh fluorescent lights. She’d spent the past twenty-four hours begging Billy Joe to bring her mother back home. She’d sworn on her mother’s life and her own that she wouldn’t tell a soul, that she would do anything, anything he wanted her to, if he would only bring her mother back home so Hannah could take care of her.

But Billy Joe had been cold and cruel. He’d pushed her up against the wall of her bedroom and told her in explicit detail what he would do to her if she didn’t shut up.

At that moment, Hannah had begun to devise a plan to follow Billy Joe to where he was holding her mother. But now, Billy Joe was dead.

Hannah’s eyes burned and her insides felt more hollow and scorched than they’d ever felt before. Her mother was her only family, and she had no way to find her. Pressing her hand to her chest, Hannah felt the loneliness and grief like a palpable thing.

She picked up the mug and drained the last drops of coffee, then slid out of the booth and went to the cash register. A girl with straight black hair and black eye shadow that didn’t mask the purplish skin under her eyes gave Hannah a hard look along with her change. “You want a place to sleep for a couple hours?” she asked.

Hannah shook her head.

“No charge. There ain’t a lot of traffic tonight. I’ll give you the room closest to here. You don’t have to worry about anybody bothering you.”

“Thanks,” Hannah said, “but I’ve got to get to—” Where? For the first time, she realized she had no idea where she was going. Or where she was. “Where am— I mean, what town is this?”

The girl frowned. “Really? You don’t know? Girl, you need some rest. You’re about ten miles from Shreveport.”

“Louisiana?” Hannah said.

The girl angled her head. “Yeah.... You sure you don’t want to sleep awhile?” She paused for a second, studying Hannah. “You can park your car in the back. Nobody’ll see it back there.”

Hannah shook her head as she took her change. “Thanks,” she said, giving the girl a tired smile. “That’s awfully nice of you, but I’d better get going.”

“Where you headed?”

Hannah stopped at the door and looked out at the interstate that ran past the truck stop, then back at the girl. She’d driven east, but she had no idea where she was going or what she was going to do when she got there. She had to have a plan before she went back to Dowdie. Otherwise all she’d accomplish would be to get herself arrested.

Shreveport, Louisiana. She wasn’t quite sure where in the state Shreveport was, but there was one place in Louisiana she did know. Chef Voleur, on the north shore of Lake Pontchartrain.

She recalled a photo her mother had given her a long time ago. It was a picture of two young women, arm in arm, laughing. Her mother had always talked about Chef Voleur and her best friend. We loved that place, Kathleen and me. That whole area around Lake Pontchartrain, from New Orleans to the north shore, is a magical place. She stayed, and I wish I had. Living there was like living in a movie.

She made a vague gesture toward the road. “This is I-20, right?”

The girl nodded.

“I’m going to a town called Chef Voleur,” she said. “To visit a friend of my mother’s.”

“You know you’re going to get there around three o’clock in the morning, right?” the girl said dubiously.